CSQ 46-4 We Have Always Been Here: Decolonizing Gender

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

PRESIDENT

Kaimana Barcarse (Kanaka Hawai’i)

VICE PRESIDENT

John King

TREASURER

Steven Heim

CLER K

Nicole Friederichs

Valine Brown (Haida)

Kate R. Finn (Osage)

Laura Graham

Stephen Marks

Mrinalini Rai (Rai)

Tui Shortland (Māori)

Jannie Staffansson (Saami)

Stella Tamang (Tamang)

FOUNDERS

David & Pia Maybury-Lewis

Cultural Survival Headquarters 2067 Massachusetts Ave. Cambridge, MA 02140 t 617.441.5400 f 617.441.5417 www.cs.org

Cultural Survival Quarterly

Managing Editor: Agnes Portalewska

Contributing Arts Editor: Phoebe Farris (Powhatan-Pamunkey)

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Copyright 2022 by Cultural Survival, Inc.

Cultural Survival Quarterly (ISSN 0740-3291) is published quarterly by Cultural Survival, Inc. at PO Box 381569, Cambridge, MA 02238. Periodical postage paid at Boston, MA 02205 and additional mailing offices. Postmaster: Send address changes to Cultural Survival, PO Box 381569, Cambridge, MA 02238. Printed on recycled paper in the U.S.A. Please note that the views in this magazine are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of Cultural Survival.

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FEATURES

12 Relearning Our Past Histories Through Our Native Tongues

Denver Toroga Breda (Khoikhoi) A personal account of reconnecting to Khoi identity through Indigenous language.

14

Decolonizing Paradise: A Pasifika Artist’s Vision in Venice

Cristina Verán

An interview with artist Yuki Kihara (SāmoanJapanese) about her work and Fa’afafine identity.

16 Thoughts on Indigeneity

17

and Gender

Pues Youth Collective (Yaqui) write that to be non-binary is to decolonize.

Gender Equity from the Principles of Indigenous Kichwa Realities

Christian Pillalaza Kichwa Peoples hold their own concepts of feminine and masculine energies and gender roles.

18 Fluid Intersections

Nati Garcia (Maya Mam) Shania Sontariakon/Sandoval-Cross (Kanien’ kehá:ka/Afro-Maya) discusses gender, sexuality, and Indigenous identities across borders.

20

Mixtec/Queer: Rebuilding the Past, Reimagining the Future

Claudio Hernandez (Na Ñuu Savi) Learning to celebrate being Queer and Indigenous together through reconnecting to ancestral ways.

22

One Community, Multiple Identities

Daniela Esmeralda Vázquez (Nahua) Transitioning in a rural Indigenous community in Mexico is a complicated process.

Spotlight Roberto de la Cruz Martinez (Binnizá)

24

Transgressing Imposed Gender Roles in Guatemala

Dorotea Gómez Grijalva (Maya K´iche’)

Lesbian feminist writer Gómez analyzes conventional concepts of gender as internalized by Indigenous Peoples.

Artist Rosanne Romiglio Ashley (Blackfoot, Wolastoqiyik/ Maliseet, Mi’kmaq)

Cover photo: "Nafea e te Fa'aipoipo? When Will You Marry? (after Gauguin)", 2020, by Yuki Kihara (see page 14). C-print mounted behind acrylic glass. Art piece part of Kihara's "Paradise Camp" 59th Venice Biennale exhibit.

Decolonizing Gender

Dear Cultural Survival community,

As 2022 comes to a close, I want to thank you for your unwavering support and partnership. This year marked our 50th anniversary, and while we had a lot to celebrate, Indigenous communities are facing new challenges, including rights violations in the transition to the Green Economy due to extractive industries and threats from fortress conservation efforts, not to mention ongoing criminalization, violence, discrimination, and marginalization. After five decades, our work continues to secure Indigenous Peoples’ rights.

Cultural Survival focuses on Indigenous Peoples in their totality. We understand that colonization has twisted our collective worldview, and as a result, we live today in a world where gender relationships are out of balance. Much of the violence and inequities have been caused by a disruption in the continuity of ancestral values and traditions that held together the cohesiveness of communities. Indigenous Peoples’ views and understandings of gender are just as diverse as their cultures. However, imposed patriarchy and Christianity vilified Queerness in our communities, making it into a threat to be eradicated. There is also a fundamental difference between Indigenous Peoples’ approaches to issues of gender equity and that of Western societies. While Western societies glorify the individual, Indigenous Peoples prioritize the communal. We believe that within this sense of community, Indigenous Peoples can best develop the tools needed to assert their rights and achieve gender equity.

This issue of the CSQ is dedicated to uplifting our relatives of other genders and those who identify as non-binary. In many pre-colonial Indigenous societies, there were multiple recognized genders, and

those folks held different revered roles. Colonialism, Christianity, and the patriarchy forced many of these identities into hiding. We share with you a few stories of decolonization from the viewpoints of some who are unearthing some of this buried or interrupted knowledge, how they are reclaiming and finding meaning in those identities, and the challenges they are facing.

2SLGBTQ+ youth face heightened rates of familial rejection, homelessness, substance abuse, and suicide, and are often left to fend for themselves. Violence and hate continue against members of the 2SLGBTQ+ community, who often face a significant level of risk of being public about their identities. We see this violence occurring every day when we turn on the news. We send our love and support to all those affected by hatred and violence and commit to building a future that respects the diversity of people of all genders and sexual orientations. We find hope in the reconnection to ancestral knowledge and languages that has brought healing and strength to many and serves as a path for our youth.

In 2022, our team has grown, and so has our impact. None of our work can be done without your financial backing. We are asking you to renew your commitment to supporting Indigenous Peoples’ rights and to help resource our work so we can ensure Indigenous Peoples’ rights are fully respected, protected, and fulfilled. We have an ambitious goal to raise $250,000 by December 31, 2022, for our end-of-theyear campaign. We cannot do it without you!

With wishes for a healthy, prosperous, just, and peaceful holiday season and New Year 2023,

Galina Angarova (Buryat) Executive Director

www.cs.org

CULTURAL SURVIVAL STAFF

Galina Angarova (Buryat), Executive Director

Mark Camp, Deputy Executive Director

Avexnim Cojtí (Maya K’iche’), Director of Programs

Verónica Aguilar (Mixtec), Program Assistant, Keepers of the Earth Fund

Michael J. Beeler, Individual Donor Manager

Bryan Bixcul (Maya Tz’utujil), Executive Coordinator

Jess Cherofsky, Interim Advocacy Program Manager

Michelle de León, Executive Assistant

Roberto De La Cruz Martínez (Binnizá), Information Technology Associate

Danielle DeLuca, Senior Development Manager

Shaldon Ferris (Khoisan), Indigenous Radio Program Coordinator

Sofia Flynn, Accounting & Office Manager

Nati Garcia (Maya Mam), Capacity Building Manager

Adriana Hernández (Maya K'iche'), Emerging Strategies Coordinator

Natalia Jones, Advocacy Associate

Mariana Kiimi (Ñuu Sàvi/Mixtec), Advocacy Assistant

Dev Kumar Sunuwar (Koĩts-Sunuwar), Community Media Program Coordinator

Rosy Sul González (Kaqchikel), Indigenous Rights Radio Program Manager

Bia’ni Madsa’ Juárez López, (Mixe/Ayuuk ja’ay & Zapotec/Binnizá), Keepers of the Earth Fund Program Manager

Marco Lara, Social and Digital Media Coordinator

Kevin Alexander Larrea, Information Technology Associate

Jamie Malcolm-Brown, Communications & Information Technology Manager

Amparo Monzón (Maya K’iche’), Program Assistant, Community Media & Indigenous Rights Radio Programs

Cesar Gomez Moscut (Pocomam), Community Media Program Coordinator

Edson Krenak Naknanuk (Krenak), Lead on Brazil

Diana Pastor (Maya K’iche’), Media Coordinator

Guadalupe Pastrana (Nahua), Indigenous Rights Radio Producer

Agnes Portalewska, Senior Communications Manager

Sócrates Vásquez (Ayuujk), Program Manager, Community Media

Miranda Vitello, Development Coordinator

Candy Williams, Human Resources Manager

Raquel Xiloj (Maya K’iche’), Community Media Grants Coordinator

Pablo Xol (Maya Qʼeqchiʼ), Design and Marketing Associate

INTERNS

Katrina Arriola, Ellie Collins, Christian Pillalaza

DRC | Indigenous Peoples Formally Recognized (NOVEMBER)

After 14 years of activism by Indigenous rights activists, the president of the DRC signed and promulgated a new law on the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of the Indigenous Pygmy Peoples, the first-ever legislation that recognizes specific rights of Indigenous Peoples, including land rights.

U.S. | Two Montana Voting Restriction Laws Struck Down

(SEPTEMBER)

A Montana circuit court deemed two state laws that hinder Native American participation in the electoral process unconstitutional. HB 176 would have ended Election Day registration and HB 530 prohibited paid third-party ballot assistance.

Australia | Court Halts One of Australia’s Dirtiest Gas Projects

(SEPTEMBER)

An Australian court has revoked the federal government’s signoff for gas company Santos Limited’s drilling in the Timor Sea, ruling in favor of Dennis Tipakalippa, an Indigenous leader from the Tiwi Islands. Tipakalippa and other community members were not properly consulted about the drilling plans for the $3.6 billion AUD Barossa project.

Global | 200 Rights Defenders Murdered in 2021

(SEPTEMBER)

Global Witness recorded that 200 land and environmental defenders were killed in 2021. Mexico recorded the highest recorded number of killings at 54; more than 40 percent of those murdered were Indigenous people.

U.S. | California Law Enacted Prohibiting Racist Place Names (SEPTEMBER)

AB 2022, recently signed into law by California Governor Gavin Newsom, codifies the prohibition of the use of the racist slur “squaw” for geographic and

Representative Mary Peltola (Yupik) was elected to Congress in September. Source: Wikipedia.

place names and sets up a statewide process to replace these offensive names in partnership with California Tribes.

U.S. | New Bedford Schools Must Better Address K’iche’ Speakers’ Needs (SEPTEMBER)

A settlement was reached after a twoyear investigation by the U.S. Department of Justice into services provided to K’iche’-speaking students and families by New Bedford, MA public schools. The plan includes communicating with parents and helping them through the registration process, translation and interpretation of essential information, and ESL instruction.

U.S. | Congress Gains Historic Sixth Indigenous Rep. (SEPTEMBER)

With the recent swearing in of Alaska Rep. Mary Peltola (Yup’ik), six Indigenous Americans are now serving in the House of Representatives—the most at any point in the legislative body’s history.

South Africa | Court Sides with Indigenous Peoples

(SEPTEMBER)

The Makhanda High Court revoked a decision to grant Shell Oil company exploration rights to conduct a seismic survey off the Wild Coast. Zulu and Xhosa Peoples, Wild Coast communities, and NGOs had asked the court to block the proposed seismic survey, arguing it would cause irreparable harm to the environment, livelihoods, and cultural and spiritual practices of communities.

UN | CEDAW adopts General Recommendation Indigenous Women and Girls

(OCTOBER)

The Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) adopted the long-awaited General Recommendation No. 39 on the Rights of Indigenous Women and Girls, which includes the first language in a binding international treaty focused on the rights of Indigenous women and girls and answers an enduring call by Indigenous women for a specific instrument to further and protect their rights.

Costa Rica | Supreme Court Upholds Indigenous Rights to Land (OCTOBER)

The Constitutional Chamber of the Costa Rican Supreme Court rejected a request of unconstitutionality brought against Article 3 of the country’s Indigenous Law that prohibits non-Indigenous people from acquiring or selling land inside any of the country’s 24 Indigenous territories.

U.S. | Sacred Items in Massachusetts Museum to be Returned to Lakota (OCTOBER)

Approximately 150 sacred Lakota cultural items are being rematriated to the Oglala Sioux Nation and will be stored at the Oglala Lakota College in Kyle, SD, after being stored at a Massachusetts museum for more than a century. Some of the items are thought to have a direct link to the 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre.

Malaysia | Oil Palm Concession Revoked Near Gunung Mulu National Park (OCTOBER)

The government of the Malaysian Borneo state of Sarawak revoked an oil palm concession that threatened Indigenous territories following protests and a lawsuit by Penan, Berawan, and Tering Indigenous communities defending their resources and livelihoods in the Mulu region.

Alaska

ADVOCACY UPDATES

CERD Issues Recommendations to U.S. on Indigenous Peoples’ Rights (SEPTEMBER)

The UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) issued its Concluding Observations on the status of racial discrimination in the United States, its first review since 2014. Cultural Survival and partner organizations Batani Foundation, Earthworks, and First Peoples Worldwide, prepared and submitted a report detailing violations of Indigenous Peoples’ rights in the U.S. and how the country’s focus on transitioning away from fossil fuels violates Indigenous rights. The Committee recommends supplying sufficient funding to combat the ongoing crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit people (MMIWG2S) and violence against Indigenous women; adopting additional measures to honor treaties and fortify consultation methods; and guaranteeing the principle of Free, Prior and Informed Consent.

Cultural Survival and First Peoples Worldwide Urge Distinction between Indigenous Peoples and local communities (OCTOBER)

Cultural Survival’s Advocacy Program launches international campaigns in support of grassroots Indigenous movements as they put pressure on governments and corporations to respect, protect, and fulfill the rights of their communities.

AXIS Capital Adopts New Policy on Indigenous Rights (OCTOBER)

Insurer AXIS Capital has recently implemented a new human rights policy indicating that it will no longer underwrite energy projects that fail to obtain the Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) of impacted Indigenous Peoples. Growing demand for the transition minerals required for renewable energy technologies means increased impact on Indigenous Peoples globally, as Indigenous territories contain significant heavy metal reserves. Failing to adopt FPIC and Indigenous rights policies subjects financial institutions to unnecessary and costly legal, political, reputational, and operational risks. Cultural Survival and the Securing Indigenous Rights in the Green Economy Coalition applaud the new policy and expect its full implementation.

CESCR Issues Recommendations to Guatemala on Indigenous Freedom of Expression (OCTOBER)



A growing international position conflates Indigenous Peoples and their affirmed rights to lands and territories and Free, Prior and Informed Consent with local communities. Combining these two entities disregards the collective rights to which Indigenous Peoples are entitled as distinct, self-determining Peoples. Cultural Survival and First Peoples Worldwide join the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues in opposing the collective term “Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities” (IPLC) and support the practical implementation of widespread recognition of the two groups as different entities with distinct interests and rights.

Cultural Survival Demands Justice for Indigenous Leaders Assassinated in Paraguay

(OCTOBER)

On October 23, 2022, Paĩ Tavyterã

Guaraní Indigenous leaders Alcides Romero Morilla and Rodrigo Gómez González were assassinated during a con frontation between security forces from the Paraguayan State and the Paraguayan People's Army, a non-State armed group. Other people from the community were also injured. Cultural Survival is in solidarity with the Guarani Paĩ Tavyterã People in Paraguay in view of these acts of violence against land defenders in their territories and condemns the recent murders of the two Indigenous leaders, as well as the attack on other members of the community.

The Committee on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (CESCR) issued its Concluding Observations of its review of the status of these rights in Guatemala. Cultural Survival jointly submitted a report with partner organization Sobrevivencia Cultural focusing on the right to freedom of expression through community radio, which is recognized in Guatemala’s Peace Accords, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, and most recently in a decision of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. In its Concluding Observations, the Committee recommends that Guatemala adopt a legal framework recognizing community media and take the necessary steps to implement the InterAmerican Court decision; prevent the criminalization of defenders; and guarantee the right to FPIC.

Cultural Survival Advocates for a Just (NOVEMBER)

On November 6-18, 2022, the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) Conference of Parties (COP 27) took place in Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt. Five Cultural Survival staff members and an Indigenous activist colleague from Chile were present advocating for Indigenous Peoples’ rights and participated in several side events pertaining to Indigenous defenders, Indigenous women’s rights and leadership, and the need to ensure the respect of Indigenous rights in the sourcing of the transition minerals.

Read more news at www.cs.org/latest.

UNTIL OUR HEARTS ARE FILLED WITH OUR LANGUAGES ONCE MORE

Reflections from the Pertame community on the First Master-Apprentice Language Revival Conference in Australia

Master-Apprentice Conference participants and trainers in Alice Springs, Australia.

Farrelly (PERTAME)

In August 2022, the Pertame community, a small, critically endangered Central Australian language group, came together with 11 of the world’s most premier First Nations Master-Apprentice Language Program experts to make history. The Pertame School, backed with the generous support of First Nations Tertiary Education Institution: Batchelor, teamed up with the Global Indigenous Language Caucus, the Yuchi Language Project, Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival, and the Next Steps Language Revival Project to host the first Master-Apprentice conference in Australia. More than 100 Indigenous participants representing 35 endangered language groups across Australia attended in Elder and learner teams. They came with the urgent goal to learn how to create new fluent speakers of their languages from their few remaining Elder speakers.

In 2019, the Global Indigenous Language Caucus sent an email to Indigenous Australian language centers inviting representatives from Australia to their Master-Apprentice training in New York, having seen the grave danger Australian languages were in. The caucus only received one reply from all of Australia—from the

Pertame language program. Pertame Elder Kathleen Bradshaw-Swan and I traveled to New York to be trained in the Master-Apprentice Program method, which pairs fluent Elder (master) and adult learner (apprentice) teams together to use breath-to-breath learning in real life contexts to create new fluent speakers of endangered Indigenous languages, and took our knowledge back to become the only active MAP in Australia.

The training in New York was revolutionary for our Pertame language program. It gave us a vision for our endangered language that we had never even conceived before: we could actually bring our language back as the living, breathing voice of our community. We knew this knowledge would benefit Indigenous communities across Australia. We had to move the conversation in Australia away from the traditional archive/record/study/write approach to speak, breathe, live, and thrive in our languages. We knew we were the bridge to connect the most successful grassroots community language activists in the United States with the wider language revival movement in Australia. From this connection and urgent mission, the conference took shape.

Kathleen Bradshaw-Swan (PERTAME), Elder

Wow, what a massive week we had! Two cultures coming together in Mparntwe Alice Springs—our Native American friends from across the ocean and our own Indigenous language speakers from across Australia. Such a diversity of peoples and languages, but with one dream: getting

Vanessa

All photos courtesy of Pertame Language School.

Kathleen BradshawSwan, a Pertame Elder, speaking with youth.

back our precious languages that were brutally taken away from us. It is up to each and every one of us now to ensure the passion and enthusiasm of the conference keeps growing, until our hearts are filled with our languages once more.

Doreen Abbott (PERTAME), Elder and Language Master

What an experience I had being a part of the Pertame tribe that invited people from over the ocean and all across our land to this conference! Meeting and greeting everybody filled me with a warm feeling. Our Native American friends taught us all how to keep our languages alive and strong. My sister Pam Abbott and I loved every session at the conference. If we keep teaching the children and apprentices the language, with patience and time we will have very strong speakers in all our communities that will eventually become the next generation Master speakers. This conference gave us the opportunity to get to know each other and become friends for life. Thanks to the Native American trainers for sharing their knowledge with us. I hope that their languages will be kept alive and strong and that we can all keep in close contact with each other to build on what we have learned.

Samantha Armstrong (PERTAME), Language Apprentice and Conference Organizer

I am a Pertame woman from Idracowra and Tunga. Reconnecting to my language is a learning journey I share with my children and grandchildren. It is one also shared with my two aunties, Auriel and Leeanne Swan, my cousin Vanessa Farrelly, and my niece Shania Armstrong. Our Elders Lyurra Christobel and Kathleen Swan and Yaye Doreen Abbott are our Masters. They are our mentors who teach us Pertame from their lived experiences of maintaining and keeping the language strong so that we apprentices can learn and speak as our ancestors did when there was no English spoken in our Pertame country.

I was fortunate to be part of an amazing team and I am forever grateful for my irteya Vanessa Farrelly’s and Alyawarra wonder woman Kathryn Gilbey’s support from start to finish. We were supported by an amazing network of volunteers who worked tirelessly to ensure everything ran smoothly. The opening ceremony was so beautiful and powerful, bringing two cultures together to celebrate a special week ahead and to celebrate everything that makes us who we are. Although we live in different parts of the world, we are all the same. Our relationship with every living being on country all have a special meaning to us, and that connection is our mother tongue.

I enjoyed every aspect of learning from our Native American friends; just hearing their experiences of their own revitalization efforts to make their own languages strong again inspired me even more. Participating in workshops made everything clearer and it gives me so much hope that I, along with my children, can make Pertame

strong by speaking it more and throwing out English. Even my children have been inspired—my youngest daughter, Abby Lee, said to me the other day that we should speak Pertame now so that she can speak it more and be confident when they are in class learning with the other Pertame kids.

Vanessa Farrelly (PERTAME), Project Organizer and Language Apprentice

We really had the dream team of the foremost experts of the Master-Apprentice model in Alice Springs at this conference. What made them so powerful was not the content of the training, but the fact that they are the living, breathing proof that it works. We all face the same barriers as Indigenous people in Australia, and now we have the method, the hope, and the inspiration we need to fight tooth and nail for our languages. As we have seen, this is a lifetime journey. We will have to put aside all shame of being ridiculed, of getting it wrong, of being corrected by our Elders. We need to grow thick skin and be guided by the fire inside us to become a fluent speaker. We will have to commit at least 10-20 hours a week of learning, and we will have to not retreat to the comfort of an English translation. We will have to continue with little funding, and chase our Elders around to actively turn every situation into a language learning opportunity. After this conference, we now know we can do it, and we know how to do it. The only question left is, will we do it? Will we make the time, the effort, and the courage to learn our language as an adult? Our Elders are our encyclopedias of our ancient heritage, and we don’t have the luxury to tap into their wisdom forever. I cannot wait to see the Master-Apprentice model take off in Australia, and watch all the language groups present at the conference take on the challenge of continuing their language as the living, breathing, spoken voice of their community.

Learn more about the Pertame School at www.pertameschool.org.

Pertame children joining Lakota Prairie Chicken Dance.

RESURGING THE MISHOON CULTURE LIKE NEVER BEFORE

Chenae Bullock (SHINNECOCK)

In the Northeastern Coastal Algoquin language, our word for dugout canoe is “mishoon.” Our coastal Tribes have utilized the waterways as ancient highways for thousands of years. As the original population of the American northeastern region, traditional culture is difficult to practice due to laws against our ways of living, which include coastal Tribes not being able to access waterways and being challenged for fishing rights and foraging for trees and plant medicines. These rights and practices have been taken away from our Peoples as early as 1627, and we are still fighting for these rights. Our canoe culture allows for the continuous survival of our threatened heritage as coastal people. Much of American and Native American history begins with our geographical Northeastern Coastal Algonquin history through the waterways.

Over the years, more traditional work has been done to resurge and revitalize our traditional canoe culture. We are passing down the traditions of identifying the right trees to build dugout canoes, working alongside traditional dugout canoe builders who are teaching the next generation of wisdom keepers, and getting more experience paddling in our traditional waters, all of which is resurging and healing our communities. As culture bearers, our work helps to illuminate the wider view and understanding of Indigenous people through cultural competency and connectivity to humanity and global diversity.

In June of 2012, I led members of the Shinnecock Indian Nation on a historic four-day canoe journey from Shinnecock territory in Long Island, New York to Mashantucket Pequot and Mohegan territory in southeastern Connecticut across the Long Island Sound with intentions of forming a traditional mishoon society. This journey had not been made in over 400 years. Upon my return, a few of my medicine teachers shared with me that my spirit was awakened during that canoe journey and that much would begin to change. This included my name, Sagkomanau Mishoon Netooeusqua, which translates to, “I lead Canoe I am Butterflywoman.” It was during that time in my life that I fully stepped into who I am, and have not deviated since. Tribal communities from southeastern Connecticut recently created the largest mishoon made in over 400 years. Fourteen paddlers launched the mishoon in the Mystic River, including members of the Wampanoag, Shinnecock, Narragansett, Schaghticoke, and Pequot Tribes. This was the largest New England mishoon that paddled from Mystic Seaport to Noyak Beach. At each stop, canoe families follow common protocols, which includes asking permission to come ashore, often in their Native languages.

Andre StrongHeartBear (Nipmuc) carving the mishoon.

Photo by Chenae Bullock.

Photo by Scott Foster.

Once ashore, they are invited to set camp. At night in the longhouses there is gift giving, honoring, and the sharing of traditional prayer, drumming, songs, and dances. Meals, including an evening dinner of traditional foods, are provided by host Nations.

Canoe journey events are large and exhilarating experiences, assisting the resurgence of our responsibility as Indigenous people to the water for all humanity. Global water crises such as the Navajo water crisis, where a large percent of Navajo families live without running water; contaminated drinking water in Flint, Michigan; the fight against the Dakota Access Pipeline; and the struggle to stop Line 3, a proposed pipeline expansion that would bring nearly a million barrels of tar sands per day from Alberta, Canada, to Superior, Wisconsin, are all examples of things we pray for during paddle gatherings.

Building canoes are an important part of paddle journeys because the mishoon is an extension of our people. The mishoon is alive and must be taken care of throughout her lifetime; the cultural teachings we pass down include those traditional instructions. As coastal people, we were placed on the coast to protect and serve the water and the land. Many of our sister Tribal communities no longer have control over their water sources and are fighting for Indigenous water rights. Our work to resurge our traditional canoe comes with a sense of urgency. Our cultures are what sustains the environment through our Indigenous ecological knowledge. The more people learn about biocentric lifestyles and sustainable living, the more we can collectively come together to help restore the global biodiversity that is needed for our unity.

As we continue to gather to practice our canoe culture, we see how coastal communities are working towards truth and reconciliation within their towns, cities, and states. We are seeking to create a stewardship to compare and learn how assimilation has impacted Indigenous coastal communities with the goal of fostering the restoration of our traditional practice. An inspiring example of creating an educational experience for both Indigenous communities and the public is the recent mishoon burn that took place in Sudbury, Massachusetts at the Wayside Inn in fall 2022, facilitated by Andre StrongHeartBear (Nipmuc) and Hartman Deetz (Mashpee Wampanoag). I was one of three apprentices invited and welcomed with Tribal volunteers to work on the mishoon.

The canoe was burned for six days straight—a process that can sometimes take up to 10 days—and shaped the mishoon to a shared vision. The apprentices were each able to include our personal, hand carved designs on the mishoon to adorn her. Then, after all of the carving and burning was complete, we floated her in the pond nearby. In the words of StrongHeartBear, “These vessels (mishoons) will teach you about patience, pain, love, and acceptance. Every drop of water that falls on the flame connects the spirit of our ancestors to the present day, awakening the

truths of our stories to be told.” When finished, these canoes will be comparable to ones that were used by Northeastern Indigenous Peoples thousands of years ago. It is essential that we continue to pass this knowledge on and to maintain our Native cultures and practices for generations to come.

When I am called to be present to take care of traditional work, everything else is put on hold. This is the balance that is being restored when we take care of our traditional work. When we do not counterbalance the colonized mindset and way of life by going deep into our traditional practices, we lose more and more of ourselves. But the moment we retreat into our ancient societies, balance is restored—and that’s the work we have done collectively as sister Tribes, from the start of our prayers during the Green Corn gatherings to paddling in this mishoon built by us.

Being able to bring our medicines together to build a vessel to help heal the waters and all life on land with ancient wisdom has been such an honor. The importance of the Elders being present with the babies is symbolic of the full circle around our mishoon society. We carry so much medicine as individuals and each of us has different roles, but we are meant to be going in the same direction. I am looking forward to bringing in more resources and building stronger relationships with people to continue to make these experiences possible so our canoe culture can continue to thrive.

This year in New York City for Indigenous Peoples Day, I was asked by global Indigenous Elders and water protectors to lead the 8th Annual Water Ceremony on the East River. More people than ever before brought waters from around the globe to be prayed over. In our teachings, when we have water ceremonies, we ask those who are closest to the body of water in which we are gathering to come forth to put their prayers in the water. We as canoe people and culture bearers have a responsibility to come together collectively and help protect waters everywhere.

— Chenae Bullock, (Shinnecock) is a community leader, water protector, cultural preservationist, Indigenous perspective historian, and humanitarian. She is also the founder and CEO of Moskehtu Consulting, LLC and a 2022–2023 Cultural Survival Writer in Residence.

Chenae Bullock preparing for the 2022 Water Ceremony in New York City.

Photo by Adrian Childress.

CLIMATE CHANGE

INDIGENOUS GENDER CONCEPTS

IN THE CONTEXT OF CLIMATE JUSTICE

Everly Faleafine (SAMOAN)

Aperson’s Indigeneity flocks from deep within, and most of the time we lack understanding of what that is founded upon. Some may say it is through the color of your skin or the texture of one’s hair. But in most cases, we define Indigeneity as the language we speak and the cultural practices we commonly adhere to. Indigeneity is encoded in one’s DNA, and in the matter of traversing through time and spaces, our individualities and cultural beliefs have succumbed to the rituals of socially dominant groups. Today, we identify our values and perspectives as Indigenous Peoples of the sun. It has been a challenge to employ our own individuality, particularly in the context of environmental equity. I am an Indigenous Pasifika and a trans woman of color. My Indigeneity as a Samoan-born individual already puts me under the microscopic lens of the mainstream, as Pacific Islanders equate to one percent of the U.S. population. My gender identity as a Fa’afafine (Samoan third gender), which in our culture means way of a woman, contributes to another disadvantage. The doubly adverse effect of being Indigenous and Queer may come as no surprise; according to research by the Center of American Progress, one out of three 2SLGBTQ+ Americans have been victims of discrimination in some way during 2020, including more than three in five transgender Americans.

Transgendered people are deliberately underrepresented in talks of environmental justice and liberation. This discrimination disables a transgender’s ability to adequately respond to environmental harm, according to an article in the American Journal of Public Health. Climate change raises the hardships of Trans and Queer people worldwide. Because of this, Queer liberation must be held up as a core concept of climate justice organizing. My colleague Amasai Jeke, Regional Community Organizer for UTOPIA Washington, whose mission is to “provide sacred spaces to strengthen the minds and bodies of Queer and Trans Pacific Islanders through community organizing, community care, civic engagement, and cultural stewardship,” describes the challenges we are facing because of climate change in Samoa: “The impacts of climate change are a lived reality every day. Many of the coastal villages are shrinking at a fast pace due to sea level rise; villagers are still in shock that this would happen in their lifetime. More and more families have moved inland and to higher grounds to escape not only the sea, but the sea spray, which damages property including houses with iron roofing. Window frames that once needed replacing every five years now require replacing due to rusting at least once a year.”

Jeke continues, “Moving inland and to higher grounds means starting all over again, rebuilding homes, replanting crops, and adapting to a different kind of terrain. The swift reaction is a demonstration of adaptation and resilience

UTOPIA WA joins the “#PayUP4LossAndDamage” campaign involving Pacific Islanders’ climate action plan to demand carbon emission companies and countries to pay up.

Photo by Jaron Goto, UTOPIA WA.

in the face of climate adversity, but the economic loss and damage to livelihoods is a major impact. These experiences are not only common in Samoa, but [also in other] Pacific Island countries. With the increasing global surface temperatures, the possibility of more droughts and increased intensity of storms will likely occur. Pacific Island nations account for only a tiny fraction of the pollution that drives global warming, but are among the most vulnerable to rising sea levels and extreme weather linked to higher average global temperatures. The risks over coming decades are particularly severe for low-lying atoll nations such as Kiribati and Tuvalu, to name a few. One of the core issues that Pacific Island countries are addressing constantly is Loss and Damage, which has been a long-standing concern for Samoa [and] all island states. Climate change is the single biggest security threat, as it threatens our livelihoods and well being.”

From a Pasifika perspective, the environmental disparities and gender inequalities in the U.S. do not always reflect the experience in the Samoan islands. As Indigenous Pasifika Islanders, we bear much of the brunt from natural disasters like sea level rise. We combat climate change by way of inclusivity. As a collective, especially in political spaces, our voices as Trans Pacific Islanders are regarded as essentially important as a final piece to the puzzle. In Samoan culture, there is a concept we are all familiar with, and that is respect. This is held as one of the most well represented values instilled in our governing system. However, our cultural values intertwine with religious beliefs, and although our culture and heritage gives us Trans and Queer folks the light of day to express our thoughts and experiences, religious ideologies rendered by chiefs and matais (community leaders) are not always supportive of our ideas and suggestions.

More recently, we have seen a lot of changes with our community leaders, who have become more inclusive and accustomed to the third gender. If you were to ask a Samoan heterosexual cisgendered male or female about Fa’afafine, they would simply say we are profound with our service to the community. Rarely will you hear them say things like we have the right to marry within the Christian faith, occupy leadership positions, or even have legal rights to change our gender on our birth certificate.

The Queer community has struggled for the longest time for their rights and visibility. We possess a strong urge to fight and build knowledge of climate change.

Our gender identity is often unrecognized or frowned upon, referred to as insignificant in the event of a political conversation. Most political spaces are masculine heavy, thus contributing to the difficulty of fully engaging in conversations as a Fa’afafine. My experience as a Fa’afafine who has lived in American Samoa for more than 20 years sparked somewhat of a fascination by the clemency that is our Samoan culture. This has empowered me to be an educator, to participate widely in religious activities, and to live openly as a Samoan Fa’afafine in my own right.

I have been at the forefront of fundraising activities in efforts to replenish financial losses during several natural disasters, including the devastating tsunami of 2009 that took our islands by surprise. At the end of the day, we are a community founded by the love we have for one another, despite our differences.

Now, I am more dedicated than ever to consider the reality we face as frontline communities living in foreign lands, which colonially constitutes how assistance is distributed. American Samoa belongs to a system of isolated locations in the midst of a climate catastrophe. Our climate justice program within UTOPIA Washington helps amplify much of the concerning elements we face as people of the Pasifika islands living in the diaspora. We believe the roots of climate change are tied to the roots of multiple systems of oppression, and as an organization we have been working to develop strategic analyses around the fight against climate change. With respect to the intersectional and cultural lenses as People of Color, there has been participation in numerous talks or conversations around climate awareness and what we can do in the diaspora to vocalize and execute policy change. Since we share one planet and one future, we have a responsibility to each other, no matter where we live or how different our cultures are.

— Everly Faleafine (Samoan) is a Climate and Environment Program Manager for UTOPIA Washington.

LEFT: UTOPIA WA plants a tree to commemorate the lives lost due to acts of transphobia. Trans Awareness Week and Trans Day of Remembrance, November 14–21, 2021.

CENTER: UTOPIA WA Adopt a Street program with Kent City.

RIGHT: UTOPIA WA staff and community members clearing the street of debris. Photos by Mel Ponder Photography.

Reimagining Traditional Storytelling through QUEERNESS AND STAGE PERFORMANCE

Madeline Terbasket dressed as a Coyote, a trickster in Syilx stories.

Nati Garcia (MAYA MAM, CS STAFF)

Madeline Terbasket in front of a mural painted by them celebrating Indigenous history in Keremeos, OkanaganSimikameen community.

Photo courtesy of Madeline Terbasket.

Madeline Terbasket (Syilx, Ho-chunk, and Anishinaabe) is a Two-Spirit performing artist from Canada. Also known by their drag name, Rez Daddy, they do traditional storytelling, burlesque, drag, and filmmaking. Terbasket grew up in Similkameen Valley in British Columbia and now resides in Penticton, BC, where they are reimagining traditional stories with their physical comedy, Queerness, and vulnerability. Terbasket’s stage performances allow them to reconnect to their Two-Spirit, while kinship and traditional stories are reminders to stay connected to their identity and be proud of being Syilx. Traditional oral stories within Indigenous communities hold values and histories and strengthen connections to the land, culture, and language. Terbasket found medicine in storytelling and the healing remedies of laughter. Nati Garcia recently spoke to Terbasket.

Nati Garcia: Tell us about your journey as a Two-Spirit artist.

Madeline Terbasket: The reason I do Queer storytelling is that I didn’t get to hear stories growing up that had Queer characters in them. Our traditional stories had the Queer characters taken out of them because of colonization and shame. I have written a series of stories featuring Queer characters in the style of Captikʷł [a collection of teachings

about Syilx Okanagan laws, customs, values, governance structures, and principles that define and inform Syilx Okanagan rights and responsibilities to the land and culture]. It’s so fun to perform them because I know that the youth need to hear them. I came out as Two-Spirit in 2019; before then, I didn’t know what Two-Spirit was. It wasn’t something that my community knew about or talked about. I knew you could be Indigenous and Queer, but I didn’t know there was a term for it. I went to a workshop with Juacho Allen Linley and they talked about a word in our language for being Two-Spirit, and that totally just blew my mind. In English, it is a female deer who grew horns like a male deer. That completely changed my life and made me

Photo by Billie Jean Gabriel.

feel like there was a place for me. I knew I was bisexual my whole life, but I didn’t know I was non-binary until 2019. Changing my pronouns has been a big change in my life. It took [my family] a while to get my pronouns down because I started out with she/they. When people used they/them pronouns for me, I felt so myself and so I just changed to them. My family is very supportive of me. In my Indigenous community, we are a small Indian Band. We actually had our second annual Pride Day. It was so cool because it wasn’t the town putting on Pride, it was our Band. The Indigenous community put it on and the rest of the community showed up. That was amazing. Indigenous communities need to work on unlearning things that were taught in residential schools and all the colonial thoughts about Queer people.

Have you had to do archival research to find these terms that existed pre-colonially? Where do you draw your inspiration?

I haven’t done that research. Mourning Dove [Christine Quintasket (Syilx and Sinixt)] was our first Syilx author. She wrote about our Coyote stories; Coyote was like our trickster. In the back of her books, that’s where she put a lot of the dirty stuff, and sometimes the Queer stuff is in the back of the book as well. There are characters you know are gay, but it’s on the down low. I get my inspiration from Mourning Dove and a lot of our Elders. I’ve heard them tell stories my whole life. When I first started telling stories, I would pretend to be an old Native man. I get a lot of my humor from watching Native TikToks as well.

What empowers you to draw out these characters and represent them in a positive way?

One of my stories is about a young person named Badger. Badger wants to dance in the powwow and wants to dance in a style that isn’t typically their gender. They want to dance chicken in the Powwow, and to do that they have to come out to their mom and get regalia made. That story was based on how I feel about Powwow, that it shouldn’t be so gendered. It should be about what style you’re dancing. I really want to dance chicken; that is why I wrote that story. At the end, everyone was standing and holding up Badger as they danced around the arbor. It’s so special to uplift Queer people and show them respect because a lot of our Indigenous Queer people have to leave their community to feel safe and to feel loved.

The other one is about a lesbian sparrow. She asked Creator for help because she’s so lonely. Creator said, if you sing to me every day, I’ll send you a lover. She gets these lovers who turn out to be guys because she didn’t tell the Creator that she wanted women lovers. That one is about not assuming people’s sexuality, not assuming that you know someone just because they are a certain gender. It’s definitely humorous and powerful. Humor connects people and draws them together and creates space for

learning on a different level. That is why I’m so passionate about these stories, because they’re letting people know about Queer people, their struggles and triumphs.

How is the millennia-old tradition of storytelling related to your identity and culture?

I take storytelling very seriously. My people have been telling stories since the beginning. We have our trickster, Coyote, who teaches us by doing the wrong thing so that we learn how to do the right thing based on his mistakes. I’m not just telling stories to tell stories. I want to make people feel something, learn something, and also just have a good time together. Laughter is medicine; our people have known that forever. I also really love to use my body as part of the storytelling. I do a lot of physical comedy. There could be parts of my story where I’m not talking and I’m just making faces. That’s really important to model to people because many people are kind of stuck in their head. Your body holds so much of your past and your trauma, all your emotions.

What message do you have to share with anyone out there that may have similar experiences as you? Coming out has had a ripple effect on people around me to be more accepting of themselves. I think the more that we all come to accept ourselves in any way, Queer or not, just accepting who you are and expressing that, it will just have such beautiful effects on the world. If we all just lived as our authentic selves and had more joy in our lives, that would make the world so much more beautiful. I haven’t talked about my mental health. I just want people to know I live with bipolar disorder. It has made my life up and down, but it makes me grateful for the times I have that are just still and calm. There are many times in my life when I’ve been at my lowest. I’m just so grateful that I am here today to live this beautiful life that I’ve created. I want to say that because there are so many youth that we’re losing because they’re not accepted. There’s so much more that’s coming for you. It might be dark now, but I hope you know that things will get better.

Madeline Terbasket doing a drag performance as Rez Daddy.

Photo by Nickford.

RELEARNING OUR PAST HISTORIES THROUGH OUR NATIVE TONGUES

Denver Toroga Breda (KHOIKHOI)

Ivividly remember 13-year-old me, a tiny, effeminate, bespectacled young individual born and raised in a poor community that I now call a refugee camp, a place called Lavender Hill, hidden behind Huri ǂOaxa or Table Mountain, a place where no one was supposed to live. Our ancestors didn’t live on these dry sand lands.

We, who believed that post-apartheid 1994 South Africa would be the dawn of our !norasib, our freedom. Our Khoi people who were the first to !kham, or fight colonizers, who were the first to lose our wealth and our freedom, and here we were, erased again, stuck in the language of our Dutch enslavers, in a community like so many Indigenous communities in the Americas, filled with non-stop gang unrest and a people erased from sight, buried alive.

I am a person formed in the womb of a Khoi taras, she who carries the world’s most ancient DNA; she herself a victim of human trafficking, who at the age of 16 was sent away to be a slave in the households of colonizers like the many Khoi women before her, finding herself in //Hui!Gaes, or what colonizers would later call Cape Town. Cape Town, which they turned into Cape of Torments, would also be known as the “Tavern of the Seas,” our one-time paradise corrupted and destroyed by colonizers.

I struggled to navigate a world that made me feel so unworthy, where my attraction to another human being

was unnatural and immoral in the eyes of a white Jesus and his mother. I struggled to find my way amongst a people in a book who didn’t resemble either my family or community, in a home where the Bible filled this very prominent place; this book with all these verses of Sodom and Gomorrah, condemning people like me as “sinners and sodomites,” words and identities my aboxan, or ancestors, never heard of before the arrival of these invaders from Europe, to burn in the pits of a colonial imaginary hell.

We would never burn another human being. We were too much of a Khoikhoi, people of people guided by the belief that you are a person, that your humanity matters more, and that you are worthy of !goasib, or respect.

Depression, isolation, and self-hate are what I would know from a very young age. Whilst my peers would be playing games or just enjoying what appeared to be their carefree existence, I struggled with self-acceptance, fighting what I considered to be immoral and punishable thoughts in silence. I think the silence was probably the hardest part. It was also a time of intense bullying.

I still look back at my years of school, mostly remembering the beatings, the scars, and the name calling that never ended, the fear of using the bathroom, the isolation, as if I was somehow a diseased person; Christian, homophobic teachers, many of whom said nothing, in spite of witnessing the terror on my body and mind. Why would they have said anything when their Bible justified my oppression? I

prayed to white Jesus, asking him to !nora, or free me from these “dirty” thoughts, and yet they never left me.

Some of my earliest memories are of walking with a friend, a Khoi and Queer person, who was stoned by a group of young men. Another memory that still haunts me is seeing this young man, his eyes filled with so much anger and hatred toward me, looking at me whilst kicking his soccer ball with all his strength into my face. My nose bleeding, my spectacles shattered, only to be told by my teacher that I was to blame, and not once given the opportunity to explain my side of the story.

School left me traumatized, tormented, suicidal, and depressed. I was lucky enough to be in a space after school where I could start my healing journey. Many psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, self-help courses, and two years of antidepressants saved me from suicide. But it really was re-connecting to my Khoi identity, reconnecting to my African identity, learning the gowas, or languages, of my ancestors, hearing the stories of my aboxan, hearing that words in our language speak to the existence of /Gui/nam, or same-sex love.

It allowed me to return to a time before the arrival of these pirates from the Netherlands who disrupted our lives, forcing us to know only their words, corrupting our belief systems and internalizing their many toxic ideas, especially those of transphobia, homophobia, and the fear of our Two-Spirit individuals.

It’s interesting how we as Khoi people are the most erased, and yet we are always the ones quoted in conversations about homophobia being un-African. It was documented that our Khoikhoi people had words like koetsire, describing men seen as sexually open to other men, and soregus, which describes a friendship that entailed same-sex lovemaking.

One of the first documented same-sex relationships in South Africa was that between a Khoi man, Klaas Blank, and Rijkhaart Jacobsz, a Dutch man, on Robben Island between 1718 and 1735. The two men were in prison on Robben Island and were in a relationship for more than a decade before they were drowned for committing what the colonizers regarded as unnatural acts. I always see their story not just as a Khoi people, who provided both food and comfort to colonizers and enslaved people on this land, but that our love transcended the beliefs of the church, which continues in many instances to shame same-sex love.

What was also very interesting was discovering that Khoikhoi as a language is rooted in taras, or women. This is no surprise considering that Khoi societies were matrilineal societies. It was our women who tani, or carried the most influence in our societies, and even today very little has changed. You can go to any Khoi community, and despite this “coloured” identity forced upon us, we still see how our women are leading in church, in schools, in our homes. She makes the majority of the decisions. Taras means women, but also supreme leader.

Khoikhoi as a gowas, or language, also has what is called a communal gender that allows you to add the letter ‘i.’ So if you are unsure of the gender of a person, adding the ‘i’ becomes the equivalent of the ‘they’ we know today. I love this because it really goes back to the name we had for ourselves: Khoikhoi translates into people of people, a reminder of your intrinsic value as a person, anu, or worthy of love and respect, in contrast to colonizer societies that value you only in terms of colonial worth.

Sadly, we have also been witness to the most brutal forms of violence to our Khoi 2SLGBTQ+ communities. Again, it speaks to how the words on a people’s tongues corrupts the beliefs and thoughts of a people. And when our thoughts are corrupted, we are corrupted.

I think of David Olyn, who was murdered by and set alight by our own Khoi people. They spoke about killing a “moffie,” and because the historical violence of our ancestors is hidden from us, they didn’t know that hundreds of years ago we were savagely burnt alive by these Dutch colonizers, burnt for our land and our cattle and to destroy our communities.

I also remember Kirvan Fortuin, this most talented Khoi dancer from Macassar in the Western Cape, who was stabbed to death by another young Khoi person. She told everyone about a moffie that she was going to hurt. How did we go from this place where we celebrated our taras and all that was from her womb to hating ourselves and her?

I wished I had this information when I was younger. It would have saved me from much hurt. But we will share and remind the next generation that many of our phobias that we tani, or carry, today, are but a product of others.

— Toroga Denver Breda (Khoihoi) is a Hui!Gaeb/Cape Town-based Khoikhoi First Nations gowab ╪Khaikhai-ao-I (language revitalizer), karetsanas-ao-i (poet), and kuwiri (disruptor). Through his kurus (art), he challenges the kakapusa (erasure) of South Africa’s Native languages and the stories of his abogan (ancestors).

Ritu Thapa

Definition of /Gui/nam, or same sex love.

Photo by Toroga Denver Breda.

DECOLONIZING PARADISE

A Pasifika Artist’s Vision in Venice

CV: How did you, as someone Indigenous to and living in Sāmoa, end up representing Aotearoa New Zealand in the 2022 Venice Biennale?

YK: I’m a dual citizen, an identity steeped in diplomatic ties from when Sāmoa was under New Zealand colonial administration. Though currently in Auckland, I’ve been living and working in Sāmoa over the past 11 years— specifically Mount Vaea, Upolu Island. Ancestrally speaking, my Sāmoan family is from the villages of Lauli’i on Tutuila Island and Fitiuta on Ta’ū Island, both of which are part of American Sāmoa. My father is from Ōsaka, Japan. My proposal for “Paradise Camp,” made together with curator Natalie King, was one of 13 submitted to the Arts Council of New Zealand, also known [in Māori] as Toi Aotearoa. It was unanimously selected by a jury of arts professionals to represent the New Zealand’s Pavilion.

Yuki Kihara is a global sensation. “Paradise Camp,” the Sāmoan-Japanese artist’s latest exhibition, premiered to critical acclaim as New Zealand’s representation for this year’s Venice Biennale. Her outspokenness as an Indigenous Pasifika artist and Fa’afafine, which translates to “in the manner of a woman,” defining Sāmoa’s third gender, underscores the significance of this moment in time.

Kihara’s interdisciplinary creative practice, often provocative, frequently piercing, and at times playful, at once confronts, engages, and deconstructs themes of gender and colonization in a career spanning over 20 years of such output. Her works tour widely and are included in permanent collections of major institutions such as the British Museum, Nationaal Museum van Wereldculturen in Amsterdam, Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts in Taiwan, Te Papa Tongarewa Museum of New Zealand, and many others. Cristina Verán recently spoke with Kihara.

Cristina Verán: Tell us a bit about your arts background.

Yuki Kihara: I’m formally trained as a fashion designer and have worked in multiple roles in the fashion, publishing, performing arts, TV, and film industries, in front of and behind the camera. These experiences inform my art practice; one centered in a research-based approach that challenges the dominant, singular historical narratives through a wide range of mediums, including performance, sculpture, video, photography, and curatorial practice.

CV: Describe the genealogy of ideas and aesthetic choices put forth in “Paradise Camp.”

YK: This project began from my initial encounter with French artist Paul Gauguin’s paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, coinciding with the occasion of my solo exhibition there, “Living Photographs,” in 2008. Prior to this, I’d only seen his images in the form of souvenirs. I recalled an essay written by [Māori] Professor Emerita Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, which discussed the models of Gauguin paintings as being Māhū; the Tahitian third gender. These figures reminded me of my Fa’afafine friends, as the landscapes also reminded me of home. I would later discover that Gauguin had actually used photographs of people and places in Sāmoa as inspiration to produce some of his paintings about Tahiti and the Marquesas representing his ‘paradise on earth,’ and I found a few of these, taken by New Zealand colonial photographer Thomas Andrew, included in Gauguin’s “Noa Noa” journal. He’d probably collected them without any care for where they actually came from or who the people were in the photos, so long as they fit into his imagination of the “primitive.” “Paradise Camp” was made with the Fa’afafine audience in mind, as that is who I want to empower with my work. In order to disrupt Gauguin’s heteronormative view of paradise, I chose to deploy an exaggerated, camp aesthetic, showing paradise instead from a Fa’afafine perspective. This re-directing of his paintings toward their original inspiration became a process of reclaiming the narrative.

Cristina Verán

Yuki Kihara at the New Zealand Pavilion at the 2022 Venice Biennale.

Photo by Luke Walker.

CV: How does the conceptualization of paradise by European colonizers imposed on the Pacific compare with Pasifika ideas of the region? And what counternarratives are of interest to you?

YK: In his 1993 essay “Our Sea of Islands,” the late Tongan philosopher Epeli Hau’ofa wrote: ‘Continental men, namely Europeans, on entering the Pacific after crossing huge expanses of ocean, introduced the view of ‘islands in a far sea.’ From this perspective the islands are tiny, isolated dots in a vast ocean. Later on [they] drew imaginary lines across the sea, making the colonial boundaries that confined ocean peoples to tiny spaces for the first time. Today, these boundaries define the island states and territories of the Pacific.’ I wanted to extend this idea of ‘colonial boundaries’ to the popular understanding of paradise— essentially binary and heteronormative, as derived from Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden—to include how we in the Pacific see gender and sexuality, which is like a pie chart with various shades of grey.

CV: How would you characterize the historical impact of colonially introduced notions and legal codes on Sāmoa, and how has your work responded to them?

YK: Going back to the eve of our Sāmoan Independence, the New Zealand colonial administration had introduced laws as part of the Crime Ordinance Act of 1960, which were against homosexuality and directly targeted the Fa’afafine community. It led to the persecution of any “males impersonating women” in public spaces, and anyone caught committing such ‘offenses’ was fined and imprisoned for up to six months. The idea behind it all was that, in order for Sāmoa to become independent, it had to be heteronormative. Fa’afafine were therefore considered a hindrance to Sāmoa’s Independence.

Sixty-two years after that anti-Fa’afafine law was imposed in Sāmoa by New Zealand, I produced “Paradise Camp” using New Zealand taxpayer funds and featuring Fa’afafine models. I see this gesture as a form of restitution of colonial violence against our former colonizer, to disrupt the continuing neo-colonial order.

CV: How has Fa’a Sāmoa (‘the Sāmoan way’) traditionally understood third-gender people, as compared to Western concepts of 2SLGBTQ+ identities?

YK: In their research, Sāmoan American artist and writer Dan Taulapapa McMullin, with whom I co-edited the book “Sāmoan Queer Lives,” found a Sāmoan origin story in which the human race first began with two males. How and when such Indigenous Queer stories were written of and actively circulated in Europe by the Western explorers, missionaries, and merchants who encountered Māhū, Fa’afafine, and countless other Indigenous third gender communities coincided, as Dan’s work has revealed, with the West’s first beginning to entertain the concept we now understand as ‘Queer.’

By custom, Fa’afafine served very specific roles in Sāmoan communities; for example, as caregivers of young children and the elderly. Such roles have shifted with the introduction of capitalism, but this core essence as caregivers still remains. Our cultural identity has become undermined and overshadowed though, by the Western-originating Gay Pride movement, which, in my view, is homonormative, individualistic, and representing the white middle class.

CV: What’s next for you? And when will Sāmoa get to experience “Paradise Camp”?

YK: The exhibition will continue its journey after the Venice Biennale to Powerhouse Museum on Gadigal Land (Sydney, Australia), from March through December 2023, then tour Sāmoa in 2024. For more information visit yukikihara.ws.

— Cristina Verán is an international Indigenous Peoples  issues specialist consultant, researcher, strategist, curator, and media producer. She was a founding member of the United Nations Indigenous Media Network. As adjunct faculty of New York University at the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music, her work focuses on Indigenous popular music and culture.

“Three Fa'afafine (after Gauguin),” 2020, by Yuki Kihara. Pigment print on Hahnemühle paper, mounted on aluminum.

“Fonofono o le Nuanua: Patches of the Rainbow (after Gauguin),” 2020, by Yuki Kihara. Quadriptych; pigment print on Hahnemühle paper, mounted on aluminum.

Thoughts on INDIGENEITY & GENDER

The gender binary feels like a tool used by the colonizer to set barriers in the way of us reconnecting with our traditions and ceremonies. As femmes, we are placed in a role that is conducive with the patriarchy. In ceremony we must honor our roles as “women” next to our men; however, in society, the expectation is that we uphold the roles of both genders. The evolution of gender reflects on our capabilities as Indigenous folx not just to create relations with the land, but to portray that relationship in real time by being adaptive, reflective, and in revolution with ourselves and soil. To decolonize is to be non-binary.

Pues Collective

BECAUSE OF MY GENDER, I hope the outside world is soft with me every day.

Because of my gender, I view the world with pessimism and despair.

Because of my gender, I cannot exist outside of certain boundaries.

Because of my gender, I may never return home.

Because of my gender, violence upon me is normalized.

Because of my gender, my truth isn’t the truth.

Because of my gender, I will go through insurmountable barriers just trying to exist.

Because of my gender, I am sexualized from an early age

Because of my gender, I do not get to decide what is right for me.

Because of my gender, I am angry.

Because of my gender, I am a creator of life, we plant the seeds.

Because of my gender, I am soft with the exterior world.

Because of my gender, I innately care for the land and its inhabitants.

Because of my gender, I nurture those around me.

Because of my gender, I dream of a new reality full of paz y amor.

Because of my gender, I carry the spirits of my past relatives and ancestors.

Because of my gender, I will live out my hopes and dreams.

It was recently spoken to me by another Indigenous person to view the concept of identities like the skin of a snake; to shed that skin once you’ve outgrown it, and grow new skin to protect you for the next era of growth. Gender provokes that same necessity to shed such labels we’ve outgrown, especially those that stem from definitions set and influenced by colonization. Can the choice to not conform to gender normatives be an active revolt against colonization?

Gender to me is my reclaimed sexual and spiritual power. It is the duality of energies and my connection to the land. Being Chicana/x is how I have relearned to view the world, and I am no longer limited to how the world views me. It means everything and nothing to me. My gender will be redefined or even obsolete in the future. My gender, my culture and my brown body in existence is Revolution.

I am thankful for those who have been in my life who have broken the norms and binaries of gender/identity through living their genuine life. To step outside the box is to be seen as different or wrong by many of our peers, unsure of what is traditional to us as Indigenous Peoples and what was forced upon us through colonization. How do we expect understanding and growth when we are confined to a place with four walls surrounding us?

At times I am still confused on why the fluidity of identity must conform to gender, but I am also appreciative of the energy within nature and this universe that time and time again breaks down our limited human concepts on what life and balance can mean. The bravery we can find in our people is astonishing; we are eternally grateful for those whose lives are a revolutionary act.

— PUES Collective (Yaqui) is a group of writers, graffiti artists, seamstresses, musicians, tradesmiths, environmentalists, and graphic designers based on the south side of Tucson, Arizona. They focus their intentions on traditional ways of communicating by protecting their culture from mainstream media.

PUES Collective are recipients of the Cultural Survival Youth Fellowship.

GENDER EQUITY

from the Principles of Indigenous Kichwa Realities

Christian Pillalaza (CS INTERN)

The debate around gender equity was not initiated solely in the West. Among Indigenous Andean Peoples, the Kichwa hold their own concepts that explore feminine and masculine energies and gender roles—principles that are challenged by the widespread internalization of colonialism and Christianity by many Indigenous communities.

“It is important to rethink the term ‘gender’ as a Western and anthropocentric trend; for many [it is] Eurocentric,” says anthropologist Sammia Quisintuña (Kichwa ChibuleoSalasaka). Indigenous Peoples in Latin America have records from tens of thousands of years before the common era. Their own history, territorial characteristics, and worldviews enrich the discourse about gender and expand the spectrum of the predominant debate in the media.

Yanantin is the principle of complementary duality. “It is to think of the runa (Indigenous person) not only according to their genital parts, but also to include the entire Pachamama and its sentient entities,” says Quisintuña. To speak of complementary duality is to understand the existence of two energies—male and female—that can coexist in balance in the same being. The most prominent symbolic example is the chakana (Inca Cross), whose structure represents masculine and feminine energy and symbolizes the dynamic between the universe and the life it contains. For Andean Peoples, this symbol represents the life cycle, and therefore is a reflection of how the world is conceived.

The Yanantin also tells us that these energies are present in human beings, animals, plants, mountains, and beings that surround us. “All entities have that energy to a certain extent and percentage,” Quisintuña says. Quisintuña is from the town of Salasaka, a territory sheltered by nature and sacred places. It is common to see ceremonies and personal rites in these mountains in search of favors from Pachamama, and gender characteristics are even attributed to it. The Andean world also recognizes a third gender, kari-warmi. Kari-warmi is similar in principle to the

chacha-warmi (male/female complementary concepts)— affirmation that there were pre-Columbian realities in which gender roles were not so marked and segregated.

Within these pre-Columbian historical records are the existence of women caciques and women curacas who would lead a community. These are authorities who administratively and politically direct the community, both in preColumbian times and in the conquest. But at the same time they maintained marked and extensive patriarchal practices within the communities that continue to the present. Quisintuña points out that this is reflected in gender roles such as childcare being the exclusive domain of women, and in the role of paternal authority within the family.

Twenty years ago, it was unthinkable for a woman to be a member of cabildo (town council), a position historically occupied exclusively by men, but collective processes have changed and women now are reclaiming these spaces. Little by little, women have been chosen to chair commissions, lead projects, and hold the highest dignity of president of the cabildo. This person should enjoy support, respect and high integrity within the community.

Today, it is still taboo to speak of sexual and gender diversity in many Kichwa communities. “They are going to infect everyone. We are going to disappear. It is like a disease. We are going to become extinct,” are phrases that Quisintuña says she has commonly heard in Indigenous territories, and that for a marked majority in her town, “Warmi is Warmi and Kari is Kari” (a woman is a woman and a man is a man).

Within the history of the Indigenous Peoples in Abya Yala, it is necessary to recognize and celebrate the existence of wise people with both female and male energies who have been part of the communities. “It is important to think about them, discuss them… think about how they can work today. Because we are not like before. Our Ayllus (families or communities) are not small, we do not have agrarian economies, and there are many Indigenous people in the cities,” Quisintuña says. Change will only stem from an honest acknowledgment of reality.

LEFT: The most prominent symbolic example is the chakana (Inca Cross), whose structure represents masculine and feminine energy and symbolizes the dynamic between the universe and the life it contains.

BELOW: Sammia Quisintuña has a Master’s degree in Anthropology from the Center for Research and Higher Studies in Social Anthropology in Mexico.

FLUID INTERSECTIONS

Gender, Sexuality, and Indigenous Identities Across Borders

Shania Sontariakon/Sandoval-Cross, 26, is Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) from Kahnawà:ke, Canada and Afro-Maya from Axaja, Guatemala. They were born and raised in unceded

m, Sḵwx̱wú7mesh, and Selílwitulh territory by strong Mohawk matriarchs and political refugees with predominantly Latin American and diasporic Asian communities. They have been working with Indigenous youth for more than 10 years, dedicating their work to creating and maintaining safe spaces for Indigenous Two-Spirit and Queer youth. They currently reside in Vancouver, BC, and are pursuing a degree at the University of British Columbia in First Nations and Indigenous Studies. Cultural Survival’s Nati Garcia (Maya Mam) recently spoke with Sontariakon/Sandoval-Cross.

CS: How do you express your identity in your language and cultures?

Shania Sontariakon/Sandoval-Cross: When I’m with somebody who’s not from my communities or from a Queer community themselves who doesn’t identify as Queer, I use exclusively they/them pronouns. But when I’m with folks in my communities, I’m okay with she/they. I think there are different understandings of gender and sexuality that come along with the pronouns, so they change based on what’s happening.

In Spanish, there’s a lot happening in terms of gender inclusive language, like putting an ‘e’ at the end of things rather than an ‘o’ or an ‘a’. But when it comes to having to navigate that in terms of older generations, like with my grandmother, sometimes it’s not always safe because of laws and religious upbringings and patriarchy due to settler colonialism. When I’m in a situation where I know I have more privilege in terms of how I present as feminine, I tend to push those narratives in the ways that I speak. But sometimes you do feel like you’re compromising your own identities in order to be in certain cultural spaces and with certain folks. Sometimes I just have to go by ella and use all the feminine [conjugations].

CS: Tell us about your journey of discovering your identity.

SSC: In terms of being Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk), I was really lucky that being Queer was super accepted. A lot

of my family are Queer, so it was never a subject of concern or being fearful of having to come out. But for my Afro-Maya family, who are here as political refugees, it’s scary for my dad to say, ‘I’m Black and I’m Indigenous.’ It’s always, ‘I am Guatemalan.’ For him, having dealt with his traumas and his PTSD through becoming a fundamentalist Christian, my Queerness was never something that was safe to talk about up until recently. I was 25 when I finally came out to him, and that was after about a decade of him seriously doing his own healing journey. The only grandparent that I have left is my dad’s mom. She’s thankfully very accepting, but she still hopes I’ll have a husband one day. And even though I told her that’s not likely, it’s not something that prevents us from having a relationship, thankfully.

CS: What were some of the traditional practices of being Two-Spirit?

SSC: I do not carry my traditional language, Mam. My great-grandmother was the last one to speak it, [but] I did have my birthright and purpose read to me. The name that my Maya family calls me is Nia, which is a Mam word. When I introduce myself and I talk about my pronouns, you can use ‘she’ only if you understand my cultural context, because we do have those Two-Spirits, we have those energies. I am somebody who has a very high feminine energy. Christianity has taken a lot away from that, and having Spanish be my first language and the language that my family speaks, the understanding of how we carry those spirits and how they balance, everything gets lost. It affects our family structures and the ways that we can relate to one another and the ways that we live our lives. Colonialism complicated things so much. This is definitely something I wish I had better language for because I

All photos courtesy of Shania Sontariakon/Sandoval-Cross.

Shania Sontariakon/ Sandoval-Cross.

have experienced it thoroughly. The best way for me to talk about it is simply through the telling of my own experience. I was the first girl born into the family. In my identity and my names and my birthright and purpose, I am somebody who has a good balance, going into both [masculine and feminine] energies, even though the way that I present and lean into things is more within that feminine energy that we all hold.

CS: What documentation have you found about 2SLGBTQ+ Indigenous people from your Mohawk side?

SSC: Our Queer people have always been there, and there is definitely a resurgence happening now. There’s even a record of it when the Jesuits came into our communities. [There are] records where they talk about our Two-Spirit kin and how it was so unnatural to see a man be called a woman or two women living together. They specifically used Christianity to eradicate Queerness in our communities and saw that as a threat.

There are great Indigenous academics right now doing this work, like Leanne Simpson and Sarah Hunt. It’s affirming to see that work happen and to have those actual records coming out that we did exist. It’s like the settler colonialism and Christianity and that assimilation and indoctrination

that has happened to our Nation, gaslighting us all, saying we didn’t have Queer people or Two-Spirit people. But we did. Here are the physical records of these colonizers coming in and making note of how weird it was to see this and how normal it was in our communities and the positions that our Two-Spirit folks held in community and in ceremony and in terms of being knowledge keepers and storytellers, holding all of that knowledge.

A lot of our communities have lost the words for what we call Two-Spirit folks because it wasn’t safe to use that language when you had your Indian agents watching you or you were in residential schools. A lot of the time, the Elders or the community members that still hold the language don’t use those words because of the trauma that they’ve gone through and the fear and the hurt that they associate with those words. They’ll talk around it, or they’ll mention it in a story, but they won’t give you the actual word for it. So, there’s a lot of work being done to figure out those words or even create new words. And that’s kind of beautiful, just the mere fact that we are not static people, and we get to determine what these terminologies are, how our language still is living and can evolve to include the spectrum of folks that make up our community.

CS: If you could create a word that reflects your culture and complements your identity, what would it be?

SSC: In terms of my own Mohawk language, I prefer ‘Queer’ because I think it encapsulates my gender and my sexuality and it doesn’t demand a binary definition. It allows for the natural fluidity of sexuality and gender. When I think of the kinds of roles I see presently for Queer TwoSpirit folks in our community, they really are the leaders, the warriors. In my language, the word for warrior means the burden of carrying the peace. I think that’s kind of who Queer folks are in a way, because we truly are putting our bodies on the line for that equity and for that reciprocity for our community as a whole, not just in terms of our sexual and gender identities. There’s a very nurturing and intelligent knowledgeable aspect to that identity as well. I see a lot of my fellow Queers in community carry those roles in really beautiful and humble ways. I wish that word existed, and I wish I had the language myself to be able to do that.

CS: Is there a message that you would like to share with our readers who may find themselves in a similar process as you?

SSC: Take your time and don’t feel like you have to know it all in order to be yourself or to allow yourself to take up space in community. You don’t have to be totally out if that’s not safe for you, because sometimes it’s not. Who you are is valid no matter what your life experience is, no matter how you identify. You will find a community wherever you are as long as you allow yourself to. [Your] lived experience is so valuable, and no matter what those hardships are, [you’re] going to inspire and uplift somebody else in their life.

Shania Sontariakon/ Sandoval-Cross enjoying the outdoors in a national park in Canada.

MIXTEC/ QUEER

Rebuilding the Past, Reimagining the Future

Iam a Na Ñuu Savi (Person of the Place of Rain, Mixtec) born in Santa Maria, California, United States, to Nivi Ñuu Savi (People of the Place of Rain) who migrated there to work as farmers in the California agricultural economy. Ñuu Savi (the Place of Rain) is in Oaxaca, Puebla, and Guerrero, Mexico, where many pueblos are known by names that describe our history. In the Mixtepec variant of Tu’un Savi (Language of the Rain), San Juan Mixtepec is named Ñuu Xnuviko (the Place Where the Clouds Descend) in reference to a story about a tall Tuyuku (Montezuma Cypress tree) that stood in the main pueblo and over which many clouds would gather.

Mixtepec and Mixtec (the Place of Clouds and Cloud People) are Aztec names imposed when they conquered Ñuu Savi. The Spanish Catholics would later impose their language and religion on Na Ñuu Savi and Aztec place names; thus, San Juan Mixtepec became another name. The people of Ñuu Xnuviko who know each other as Na Ñoó (People of Our Pueblo) came to accept San Juan Bautista as their patron saint who protects us and ensures us rain. While Catholicism is a vehicle for rituals through which we practice reverence for nature, it is also a vehicle for our patriarchal tendencies. Our Indigenous present is full of synchronicities. It is with practices and histories coming together and pulling apart that I write about what it is to be Queer and Indigenous.

I can rarely cross the street in Santa Maria without seeing a family member, Na Ñoó, or Na Ñuu Savi from a different pueblo. I grew up in a male dominated community where women crack through the barriers of male violence to push forward their freedom to ko va’a (live well). In Mixtec communities, the goal to live well is surrounded by ideas of economic survivability, emotional well being, and physical health. To grow up in a low-income family of farmworkers is full of struggles. On days in which Mom

would count money she and Dad collected for rent and bills, Mom would say, “Na ko va’ako, ñaka ni vi” (Let us live well, that is all) to communicate that our financial struggles were not as important as our emotional and physical health. The added struggle of breaking through barriers like male violence, drug abuse, and illness made surviving harder for all of us. An added struggle I had to contend with in silence is homophobia.

As a boy, I learned that who I was, a boy attracted to other boys, was wrong. I kept this attraction a secret. I would watch gay storylines from TV shows and coming out stories on YouTube where couples and youth were met with physical harm, death threats, and parents who would abandon their children or abuse them for being Queer. As boys we are taught to think that men are defined by aggression and soft features are feminine, so I learned that being both gay and feminine is worse. I struggled with this deeply as a boy, and I refused to voice this part of myself for fear of abandonment and physical violence.

The first public 2SLGBTQ+ event I went to was not on purpose. 2SLGBTQ+ activists took over an intersection in Santa Maria in 2008, marching with signs opposing the State ballot initiative Proposition 8, which, if approved,

Claudio Hernandez (NA ÑUU SAVI/MIXTEC)

Claudio Hernandez in his regalia from San Juan Mixtepec dancing with Odilia Romero. Photo by Rafa Rodriguez.

would eliminate the right for same sex couples to marry. I was walking home alone when I heard a crowd chanting “No on 8!” They moved in a square with signs raised as the traffic lights turned green, stopping to welcome or argue with people on the street corners as the lights turned red. I didn’t interact with anyone, crossing the street in silence as the crowd chanted around me. Deep inside I wished I could have marched openly with this group. Eventually, I joined my high school’s Gay-Straight Alliance. Proposition 8 passed. I learned to be Queer in different versions of private and public, caring and not caring what people might think.

The second public 2SGLGBT+ event I attended was a vigil held to acknowledge a rise in 2SLGBTQ+ youth suicides in 2010, the same year Prop 8 was ruled unconstitutional. The third was Santa Barbara Pride in 2011. That same year I was part of a weeklong program, the Community Leadership Institute, made possible by Just Communities in Santa Barbara. Through this program I learned to articulate and empower myself as an Indigenous, low-income, Queer person through collective organizing to fight back against stereotypes and policies meant to disempower us. In 2012, I participated in 2SLGBTQ+ history workshops through the Pacific Pride Foundation in Santa Maria. It was an initiative created by Thedy Barahona after the passing of California’s FAIR Education Act, which mandated California schools teach LGBTQ history. We discussed Queer sexual and gender identities, the histories of abuse towards the community, and the histories of resistance. The workshops were well received, sometimes with the impact of students coming out to us or changing their minds about 2SLGBTQ+ stereotypes we discussed in class.

I am a 28-year-old man who hasn’t been out to my parents. If they come to know of my sexuality, my message to them is that I am living well despite my struggles. I visit home, although one of my motives for moving to Los Angeles from Santa Maria in 2014 was to practice my own version of ko va’a away from any perceived rejection from them or the community. I celebrated being Queer and being Indigenous apart. This distance helped me come out to my brothers, whose acceptance grew as I grew and celebrated Queerness apart from the Indigenous community that had raised me. In Los Angeles, I built another home I hope to welcome my parents in. I do not feel safe to do so yet. I don’t blame them for this feeling; I blame homophobia and colonialism, how both collude to build the present we are in.

I never put together who I am as an Indigenous Queer person until 2019 after volunteering at events organized by the then-leaders for the Frente Indigena de Organizaciones Binacionales and founding members of Comunidades Indigenas en Liderazgo, Odilia Romero, Janet Martinez, and Luis Lopez Resendiz. The night after Weaving Words and Rhymes, a rap concert that unites Indigenous rappers from the United States and Mexico, I had the opportunity

to speak to two men who rap in Tu’un Savi. Both had migrated to California from San Martin Peras, another Oaxacan pueblo in Ñuu Savi. Janet motivated me to ask about gay people in their town. One of them recalled an Elder calling an effeminate man Na Ivi (Two Person), whom he was advised not to look at directly because of their ability to use magic against people. This reminded me of what I had read regarding the spiritual affinity of Two-Spirit people, mostly known to describe Indigenous people outside of the normalized gender binary in parts of North America. I later learned that in Ñuu Xnuviko we are called Na Uvi Nuu, People of Two Appearances or Forces. Although I have tried to research more on the history of sexual and gender diversity in Indigenous Mexico, this part of our history has been twisted in literature, oral history, and practice by people from outside. I will have to ask community members directly. In the hopes of illuminating who we are, I would like to ask the following to others like myself who I want to learn from: How do we rebuild pasts, build presents, and plan futures in which we can live well as people who are Indigenous from “Latin America” and Queer?

— Claudio Hernandez (Na Ñuu Savi/Mixtec) is a 2022–2023 Cultural Survival Writer in Residence.

Saint John the Baptist at the San Juan Mixtepec Patron Saint Festival in Lamont, CA.

ONE MULTIPLECOMMUNITY,IDENTITIES

Daniela Esmeralda Vázquez (NAHUA)

In Acatlán, Mexico, when someone dies, a blessed palm is reserved for Holy Week that will be used both for the shoes that the dead person will wear in the coffin, and to make a cross that will be placed in their hands. Before their death, people choose the clothes they want to wear to the grave. Inside the coffin is a small amphora that is filled with water, a handful of corn or bread, and a good amount of clothing that they wore in life. Food is prepared for the vigil, which can be atole or coffee and bread. At the burial, low-income families offer soupy beans, rice, and tortillas, as well as pickled chili peppers. These foods are distributed to everyone who has been accompanying the family since the day before the burial, but rations are also sent home for relatives or to be eaten later. Those who can afford it prepare red mole with chicken.

After the burial, the prayers continue for nine days. When the novena ends, it is celebrated with pozole, red mole with chicken or pork, and bean tamales. On the Day of the Dead, food will be offered to the deceased on the altar and a candle will be lit in their memory. As long as there are relatives, the deceased are not forgotten. Most of the people in Acatlán assume that this ritual will accompany them in their death, and in fact it is what happens. But in the case of a Trans woman who was born in that community but had to leave her home due to intolerance, what will her death ritual be?

Daniela Esmeralda are the names that I chose for myself and that have been legally recognized on my new birth certificate. I am now what Western culture considers a “Trans woman.” When I was born, my mother gave birth to a child but that child was never happy and had to emigrate to a big city to find her freedom. In my adolescence my mother gave me a nickname, Ixaha told me, because my eyes would fill with water, perhaps because of the sadness of not being able to fulfill the dreams of my parents for being their son.

Gender roles in my community have continued without significant changes for several years. In most of the traditions and in daily life men assume their roles and women theirs. For example, in a death, the men are in charge of taking care of the pozole all night, going to look for firewood and keeping the fire burning, and checking that at dawn both the meat and the corn are cooked, since they

Daniela Esmeralda Vázquez, an Acateca in Mexico City.

serve as breakfast. The women are the ones who cook the beans and make the tortillas and the rice or the mole that are eaten in the afternoon. Neither women nor men are allowed to engage in any activity other than their own. Men have a higher hierarchy in the community, therefore having a son is considered valuable.

Due to the rigidity of the binary system, transitioning in an Indigenous community like Acatlán is a complicated process. There are no references to a past that would allow certain people to transition from one gender to another or suddenly modify their bodies to resemble to a sex other than that assigned at birth. “Small town, big hell” is a Mexican proverb, since there is a whole network of surveillance of bodies and genders. This surveillance is followed by physical violence to modify atypical gender behaviors, rejection, and something known in Nahuatl as pinauistli, which literally means shame. In a community where people continually gather in various activities from parties to community work, shame leads to isolation and lack of participation in community life.

I left my community when I was 15 under the guise of continuing my studies in Mexico City, but the real reason was unbearable family tension due to my gender identity. In the capital, I found freedom and started my transition. I visited my family every month, and every month they witnessed the changes that my image and my body were undergoing. On each visit my father forbade me to leave the house, as he did not want the neighbors to see me. For someone who had held important positions within the community, to find out that he had a son who was transitioning into being a woman was a great source of shame. They stopped taking me to family parties, or any other community event. Over the years, my visits became more sporadic: some birthdays, Day of the Dead, Christmas.

Identity, that is, how we perceive ourselves and the characteristics that define us, is not a unilateral matter. Although on each visit to my town people make it clear to me that they recognize me as a woman, they have stopped recognizing me as part of their cultural identity. It is as if my gender identity has erased my cultural identity and I have to make an effort to emphasize that I am also part of that community, that I still speak the language and know the traditions. But am I really still part of “my” community?

If I die in Acatlán, will I be part of the tradition on the treatment of deceased people? If I die before my parents or my sisters, how will they face a society that doesn’t officially recognize my existence? Will they respect my feminine identity and say that Daniela Esmeralda died?

The people of Acatlán recognize me as a woman because in their imagination I represent the binary to which they are accustomed. If this were not the case, I would surely be the target of ridicule. Sex and gender diversity is something outside of the limits of what is acceptable in Acatlán, so much so that there are no people who openly assume they are homosexual, lesbian, bisexual, or trans-

gender people who live there. Perhaps due to intolerance, those of us who are part of this diversity have had to go into exile, breaking family and community ties, while those who remain have to repress their desires or live them out in hiding. Will this dy namic continue? The answer will depend on the new generations and the influence of the new legal changes regarding the recognition of gender identity and marriage equality.

Just as Indigenous Peoples are fighting for their cultural identities by advocating for the rights to nondiscrimination and autonomy, they must also recognize that there is diversity in love, desire, gender expression, and body modification. Indigenous communities have to recognize that within their midst they house diverse people. This recognition, far from undermining the community, can enrich our Peoples even more by understanding that Trans people are also a valuable part of Indigenous cultures.

— Daniela Esmeralda Vazquez Matías (Nahua) studied Political Science and International Relations and is a defender of human rights of people of diverse sexualities and genders. She is the Founder and Vice President of Almas Cautivas A.C.

Day of the Dead offering at Vázquez’s parents’ house.

Alvarez Avenue, Acatlán, Guerrero.

All photos courtesy of Daniela Esmeralda Vázquez.

TRANSGRESSING IMPOSED GENDER ROLES in Guatemala

Dorotea Gómez Grijalva (MAYA K´ICHE’)

Gender as a concept was developed by the feminist anthropologist Gayle Rubin in 1975 and became a category of analysis of feminist theory to explain how inequality between men and women is a cultural construction that takes shape through gender roles. From feminist theory, gender as a category of feminist analysis has been important to highlight and understand how the structure of patriarchal domination has legitimized relations of domination of men over women, and the subordination of women to men. Feminist analyses also see gender as a useful category to understand that women and men weave our family and social lives under various systems of domination, among which patriarchy stands out.

Patriarchy is a system of male domination that is manifested and institutionalized through the exercise of power by men over women and children in all institutions that structure and organize the life of societies, and Pueblos Originarios (Original Peoples) are not immune from this. (I prefer to use the term Pueblos Originarios rather than Indigenous Peoples, because Indigenous is a category imposed during the process of invasion and colonization by Europeans.) One of the characteristics of patriarchal domination is the concept of the supposed superiority of men and the supposed inferiority of women. The patriarchy has used this justification to legitimize masculine domination over the feminine. One of the forms of this domination is the imposition of gender roles.

In daily life, gender is materialized through gender roles, which have to do with what is established and valued about how men and women should act, behave, and project themselves in the family and in society. Feminist studies and reflections from different social disciplines, based on the reconstruction of human history, have shown that gender roles are neither natural nor static, and therefore can be questioned and modified so that women and men have opportunities to develop as full persons without discrimination or violence.

Some of the ways that gender roles present and are part of the norms of relationship dynamics between Indigenous women and men are:

• Women work to support their families, but they are not taken into account in the same way as men when it comes to making important decisions within the families.

• Although women work outside the home or have their own businesses, they are also expected to be the primary caretakers of their children and parents, among others, a situation that is not expected of men.

• In social and political organizations, it is usually men who hold positions of community responsibility to make social or political decisions, and it is thought that women do not have the capacity to do so.

• When it comes to distributing inheritance, even in the best case, women are given less than men, because it is thought that men are the “heads” of their families. In the worst case scenario, women are not considered as heirs.

• In order for women to earn respect, they are required to do the housework, marry and become mothers, work outside of the home, and be obedient. Men do not have nearly as many demands placed on them.

• One of the strong gender norms for both men and women is to marry and have children to comply with the heteropatriarchal mandate.

• Women are restricted in their freedom to have friends, travel, and study, while men are given more freedom in these aspects of their lives.

I clarify that these examples do not occur only in Indigenous Peoples because they are a reality throughout Guatemalan society. I mention Indigenous communities in response to the objective of this space to share my opinion on how gender is materialized in the lives of men and women within the family, community, and society of these Peoples.

Fortunately, a great majority of Indigenous women have been, and are, protagonists in the daily and systemic struggles of questioning the gender roles imposed by the logic of the patriarchal system. It is thanks to these struggles that the new generations of women belonging to Indigenous

Photos courtesy of Edgar Soto.

Peoples have been able to gradually transgress these imposed gender roles.

At present, in the light of more spaces for reflection and awareness of the human rights that concern women and men, the voices that fight and question the patriarchal mandate that denies the existence of other ways of being men and women outside of the norm of compulsory heterosexuality are gaining relevance. Compulsory heterosexuality is a patriarchal mandate that has been imposed as “natural” to legitimize loving relationships only between people of opposite sexes, and that punishes, sanctions, prohibits, and despises loving relationships between people of the same sex, or those who fall outside of either gender norm.

This obligatory heteronormativity is being questioned by Indigenous Peoples in Guatemala, by both women and men. In the reality of the dynamics of these communities, there are other ways of being that transcend this mandate. Among Indigenous Peoples, there are women who live and identify as lesbians, bisexuals, Trans, or Queer, and also men who live and identify as gay, Trans, Queer, or bisexual. Depending on our political and life experiences, not all of us have advanced in questioning the imposed gender roles. I have observed that it is still a challenge to become aware that living a sexuality outside of compulsory heterosexuality also implies stopping reproducing gender roles in our social and couple relationships.

From my experience, transgressing compulsory heterosexuality implies a profound questioning of the prevailing patriarchal order, and consequently a questioning and

reversing in our daily lives the norms that have naturalized gender roles. In particular, it is to reverse the logic of domination/subordination and of the unequal exercise of power that has justified the naturalization of forms of violent and controlling relationships, and to question the continuation of practices and ideas that tend to overvalue the masculine and undervalue the feminine as we have been taught by patriarchy.

Gender as a category of analysis of unequal power relations between heterosexual men and women is useful to analyze to what extent we are blindly reproducing unequal power relations in the ways of living our sexualities outside of compulsory heterosexuality. Taking into account that our lives are traversed by different systems of domination—not only by patriarchy—it is important to recognize that there are other categories besides gender that allow us to understand our reality from an integrated perspective. Daring to make these reflections can help us to advance in our daily and political struggles, and above all, to build our lives and recreate them in the collective from a more humane and respectful dimension.

— Dorotea Gómez Grijalva (Maya K’iche’) is a lesbian feminist, anthropologist, and social worker. She has a master’s degree in Social Anthropology from the State University of Campinas, Sao Paulo, Brazil. One of her recent writings, a lesbian feminist perspective, is the article “My Body Is a Political Territory.” Much of her work focuses on violence, exclusion, and the political participation of women and Indigenous Peoples in Guatemala.

Dorotea Gómez Grijalva

LAND IS LIFE

A’i Cofán Peoples Defend Their Territory Against Oil Extraction in Ecuador

The A’i Cofán community of Dureno is located on the Aguarico River in the province of Sucumbios in the northeastern part of the Ecuadorian Amazon. For thousands of years, the A’i Cofán people have tended this territory, living in balance with their environment. During the last several decades this region has suffered oil exploitation and currently faces a threat from the State oil company, Petroecuador, a situation that is generating an internal division among community members. “We have always resisted oil exploitation,” says Albeiro Mendúa (A’i Cofán), Vice President of the Cofán community and Director of the Kuankuan Foundation, a community organization dedicated to the well being of Amazonian communities.

Petroecuador, via the Taiwanese company CSBC, is seeking to dig 30 oil wells through three platforms within the Cofán territory, which is home to one of the only remaining areas of dense and intact forest in the region. Dureno is a community of about 750 inhabitants who hold title to 23,650 acres of primary forest. Within it is conservation territory managed by the community through an agreement signed with the federal program Socio Bosque, which seeks to conserve native ecosystems via collaborations with Indigenous and campesino communities.

Despite the collective rights that the A’i Cofán, as an Indigenous Peoples, have to their territory, the Environment Ministry has granted permits to the oil drilling project without consulting them or obtaining their Free, Prior and Informed Consent. To confront this violation of their rights, the community’s Indigenous Guard has organized more than 130 people in resistance. This group of defenders includes women, men, youth, and even children who

accompany their parents up to two hours on foot to reach the resistance camp. Women are prominent participants in the decision making process for this action.

In 2021, when Petroecuador attempted to begin its project, the defenders removed machinery and subsequently returned it publicly along with a demand to stop all work. This year, the company returned with the intention of opening 12 kilometers of road and more than 4.5 square kilometers of land around each platform to drill the wells. The defenders have managed to put an end to the road construction that was already underway, removing machinery and preventing workers from entering. Petroecuador has now removed its own machinery and says that it wants to establish a dialogue with the community. However, Mendúa says there is nothing to dialogue about: “We have said no. We do not want to reach an agreement. The only agreement we are asking for is that they leave for good and that they leave us in peace.”

The State is obligated to conduct a consultation with the community according to its international commitments in accordance with its ratification of ILO Convention 169 and its vote in favor of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. However, experience has taught the community that if a company consults, they are going to extract oil, and they do not want to legitimize this process. Ecuador’s constitution requires consultation, but until a 2022 ruling by the Constitutional Court, it has not required that the consulted community consent to the implementation of a project. Waorani leader Nemonte Nenquimo calls the consultation process a trap.

“If the community says [yes or no], it does not matter because the consultation is not binding; the consultation

Dureno Indigenous Guard protecting their forests.

is merely an informative act,” says Lina Maria Espinosa, Senior Attorney at Amazon Frontlines. There are recent legal precedents of courts rejecting mining and oil concessions in situations where there has been no consent. In March 2022, the Constitutional Court of Ecuador released its decision recognizing the right of Indigenous Peoples to consent to development projects. Complicating the Dureno community’s case is the fact that the State has purposefully conflated their struggle against the oil project with that of another Cofán community defending its territory against mining companies, claiming that the former is in the Constitutional Court of Ecuador and that a decision is pending regarding the Dureno community’s struggle, but this is not the case.

The A’i Cofán Dureno community’s right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent is clearly not being fulfilled, yet it is fundamental to securing their remaining ancestral territories. Mendúa says, “Most of the Elders have said that this is the only territory we still have. In the past, they used to move freely in the Amazon and they thought that all the territory was ours, [that] it was free.” Now the Elders say that they feel imprisoned in a reduced territory. There is less space for fishing, cultivation, and food gathering. “For us, the land is life. It’s life, and for the Western world, there is nothing [here]. For us, there are invisible beings with whom we have coexisted, especially the animals. Shamans drink Ayahuasca and thus get permission to hunt animals to eat them. The land is where you get everything you need,” he says.

Prior to colonization, the A’i Cofán numbered 30,000 people. With diseases and other forms of violence that colonization has brought, the current population is a fraction of what it was, currently around 1,200. The A’i Cofán Peoples and their culture are strongly linked to their territory, and, as Mendúa says, “For them to exploit the oil issue now would mean extinguishing our culture. Our resistance itself is to defend.” Not all of the community agrees, however. Many young people see oil exploitation as an economic opportunity for the community, which is partly due to what Mendúa characterizes as manipulation and bribes by the oil company. This has resulted in a situation in which the State is able to define the pro-exploitation sector as the ‘legitimate’ representatives of the community, while those who oppose it are accused of being illegal or terrorists.

Mendúa says they are actively seeking out other organizations and communities that have experienced something similar to learn from good practices that have helped them overcome community divisions.

The community was not always divided in conflict. In the past, they have lived off the energy of their ancestral and community practices, as well as their relationships with tourism. They practice traditional spirituality and rely on traditional medicine. During the COVID-19 pandemic, they have used this medicine to care for their people. The community is located among lagoons and rivers and amidst great biodiversity. In January, “the spiritual renewal” or “the blossoming” will be celebrated with animals, offerings, and ceremonies, such as the Ceremony of the Chonta, a harvest ritual for the chonta plant.

The resistance against the oil extraction has been ongoing since June 2022. Many families have had to leave the camp since the start of the school year and the camp is currently dominated by young people, many of whom are taking turns missing school to carry on the resistance. The Indigenous Guard remains committed to their goal of not allowing any wells to start production. Mendúa emphasizes the community’s great need for international solidarity at this time of struggle: “We invite all the organizations that can join us because our struggle is not only to conserve the forest. The climate crisis is affecting us and it is evident what is happening worldwide. To conserve the forest is to conserve for the common good of all people.”

In 2022, to protect their territory and the environment, the A’i Cofan community received a grant from the Keepers of the Earth Fund, an Indigenous-led fund at Cultural Survival designed to support Indigenous Peoples’ advocacy and community development projects globally. Since 2017, we have supported 238 projects in 38 countries through small grants and technical assistance, totaling $1,070,602. The funds go directly to Indigenous communities, collectives, organizations, and traditional governments to support projects designed by the communities and in accordance with their Indigenous values. Cultural Survival uses a rightsbased approach in our grantmaking strategies to support grassroots Indigenous solutions through the equitable distribution of resources to Indigenous communities.

Protecting the forest is an intergenerational effort with women and youth at the forefront.

For Love of the Land and Communication |

ROBERTO DE LA CRUZ

Pastor (MAYA K’ICHE’, CS STAFF)

“

As a young man I thought that working in the fields was a punishment, but today I want to return there and develop projects, hardware, and software to facilitate the work of campesinos. It is my life’s work,” says Roberto de la Cruz Martinez (Binnizá), Cultural Survival’s Information Technology Associate and new staff member.

Roberto recalls his childhood in Juchitán, Oaxaca, Mexico, with nostalgia. “I come from the descendant of the corn and land, who taught me to love my culture, my language, and my people.” Growing up in the ‘90s, an era when transnational extractive projects had not yet disrupted or weakened the social fabric of communities, Roberto was aware even from a young age of the hard life of campesinos, who sacrificed their own future in order to make life better for their families. “I was surrounded by people who fought for campesino and workers’ rights. I have been an activist and militant in a political organization for more than half of my life,” he says.

Roberto has a Master’s degree in Computer Science and Telecommunications, and for a few years, he taught information technology. Later, he worked as a math teacher and became involved in the struggle for the defense of education and labor rights. During his time as a teacher, Roberto implemented programs to reduce school dropout rates and create opportunities for disadvantaged students, some of whom had been left behind when their parents migrated. “Sharing with my students in the afternoons by doing extracurricular activities was a great experience because I shared knowledge with them in fun ways . . . we learned together how to express our discontent and how to start a struggle,” he says.

After teaching, Roberto eventually went to work for Asociación Civil Telecomunicaciones Indígenas Comunitarias,

where he operated a community cellular network and carried out designs and programs. Roberto recalls this time with much fondness: “It is gratifying to remember how the faces of people lit up by making a call and hearing their family’s voices through the medium of community radio, or how happy they were that their radio station was able to broadcast.”

Indigenous communities need fast, reliable, and safe communications technology. Roberto sees it as an essential tool in the resistance of Indigenous communities. “It is necessary to strengthen traditional means of communication with the ones that account for the community; these are the community radio stations. [Community radios] need to take advantage of the technology to expand their reach,” he says. However, “Communication is not the only need. In Indigenous communities, there is also a lack of support for field workers. Indigenous Peoples and campesinos have suffered for decades due to capitalism. I consider it important to support them in organizing and strengthening them so that they can carry out their fieldwork, defend the land in a more efficient way, and live life with dignity: [eight hours to work], eight hours for the family, and eight hours to rest.”

In his free time, Roberto enjoys riding his bicycle, which he says helps him relax and clear his mind, and spending time with the people closest to him. His love for his profession makes him work on personal technology projects even in his free time. He says he is grateful for Cultural Survival’s flex work model, as he is able to spend more time with the people he loves, which is an advantage in these times where many jobs do not allow it.

In the future, Roberto hopes to work directly with communities in the preparation and implementation of collective communication projects ensuring that community radios have an infrastructure that allows for prolonged and secure operation. “I would like to see a world in which Indigenous people claim their rights and a true government of workers and campesinos can be established. It is impossible to dream of a world for Indigenous Peoples within this imposed colonial system as it is. I want to see our Indigenous communities embrace their ancestral beliefs, and above all, flourishing, rooted in their cultures, embracing them with pride, and sharing them with their children.”

Diana

Left to right: Roberto de la Cruz Martinez installing a community cellphone network; participating in the caravan to Ayotzinapa to demand justice for the disappeared activists; enjoying the natural splendors of his ancestral territory.

Four Winds One Breath ROSANNE ROMIGLIO-ASHLEY

Rosanne RomiglioAshley’s ancestral heritage is a melding of Blackfoot, Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet), and Mi’kmaq, as well as French Canadian and Italian. A versatile artist and graphic designer, she is the owner of the clothing and art studio Four Winds One Breath, as well as the CleanClear Creative design firm. She is also co-owner of Ashley Homestead Photography, all of which are located on a 27-acre farm with two ponds, vegetable gardens, beehives, hay fields, and a family-owned commercial cranberry bog located in East Freetown, Massachusetts.

Romiglio-Ashley says she was born into her art style. “I create artwork, clothing, jewelry, stone sculptures, and more that bridge seen and unseen worlds—like tools, touchstones, and totems you can use to heal, find peace, and stay connected to Spirit,” she says. “The sculptures started to emerge as I delved into my Indigenous background. From that point, everything I made felt guided, taking me on a journey home to my people.” Her creative process is simple: “I go inward first and find that place of peace within myself so that whatever I design or make next is infused with prayers of love, light, and healing for the person for whom it is being created. We never know our ripple effect in the world, so I strive to be mindful throughout my entire creative process.”

Romiglio-Ashley founded Four Winds One Breath based on Indigenous values. “The name was given to me by my ancestors. Four Winds represents the Four Sacred Directions, as well as the four ways my work expresses, and One Breath represents me: one breath, one person who creates, walking a sacred path connected to the larger circle of humanity,” she says. As an Indigenous artist, Romiglio-Ashley faces many challenges; preeminently among them, she says, is her skin tone. “Because I have a lighter skin tone, being of Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet), Mi’kmaq, French Canadian, and Italian descent, some circles are reluctant to see or accept me as an Indigenous artist,” she says. In spite of such experiences, she maintains a positive attitude that is infectious, lighting up the room with her laugh and radiant energy.

Romiglio-Ashley has been participating in Cultural Survival Bazaars for over 14 years, having been involved in the bazaars since she closed her Native art gallery, Four Winds Gallery, in January 2007. She says that “the coming together of the artists at the shows creates lifelong friendships. We come to know each other in a deep way, all while educating the public on Indigenous topics, struggles, and joys. There remains to this day a huge gap in understanding of our people among the broader society.”

Romiglio-Ashley says she has many fond memories of Cultural Survival Bazaars, but one that particularly stands out was the Pequot Museum in August 2013. “The music and sharing were incredible and the traditional Hawaiian dancers that performed that year made the event even more transcendent,” she recalls.

Romiglio-Ashley’s passion is to make the unseen world visible to others. “As a designer and artist, I am drawn to follow the thread of creative inspiration that I am given by Spirit until I can manifest it in visual form, co-creating with Spirit,” she says. “As a channel, I bring messages of clarity and light through the love our relatives and guides in the unseen realms have for us.” She also derives inspiration from the late Minoweh Ikidowin (Clouds in the Wind) from the Pocasset Wampanoag Peoples of the Watuppa Reservation in Fall River, Massachusetts, who said of her work: “There is a breath, a drumbeat, a heartbeat that evokes one’s spirits to the depths of one’s soul in all of Rosanne’s work. If you allow yourself to be pulled into her work you will begin to hear the silenced voices of our ancestors revealing the sacred ways they lived and loved all of the Creators’ blessings.”

All in-person Cultural Survival Bazaars in 2022 are still postponed due to the pandemic. We will soon announce the dates for the Summer 2023 Bazaar season. Until then, please support and buy directly from our Bazaar artists by visiting our directory of artists at bazaar.cs.org.

All photos by Rosanne Romiglio-Ashley.

Four Winds One Breath hand block-printed clothing and stone sculptures.

“The Blood-Soaked Snow #1” painting, honoring those who lost their lives at Wounded Knee.

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