Cultural Survival
INDIGENOUS EDUCATION
Safeguarding Our Knowledge for Future Generations
SEPTMEBER 2024
VOLUME 48, ISSUE 3
BOARD OF DIRECTORS
PRESIDENT
Kaimana Barcarse (Kanaka Hawai’i)
VICE PRESIDENT
John King
TREASURER
Steven Heim
CLERK
Nicole Friederichs
Marcus Briggs-Cloud (Maskoke)
Kate R. Finn (Osage)
Laura Graham
Richard A. Grounds (Yuchi/Seminole)
Stephen Marks
Mrinalini Rai (Rai)
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
Page 10
12
Managing Editor: Agnes Portalewska Contributing Arts Editor: Phoebe Farris (Powhatan-Pamunkey)
Copy Editor: Jenn Goodman Designer: NonprofitDesign.com
Copyright 2024 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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View writers’ guidelines at our website (www.cs.org) or send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to: Cultural Survival, Writer’s Guidelines, PO Box 381569, Cambridge, MA 02238.
On the cover: Paddlers from Samoa, Kiribati, Niue, and the Marshal Islands transfer from the large voyaging canoes to paddling canoes and are taken to shore for the welcoming protocols (see page 10). Photo by Kaimana Barcarse (Kanaka Hawai’i).
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ʻIke Kuʻuna ʻŌiwi
14
Kaimana Barcarse (Kanaka Hawai’i)
Indigenous Knowledge passed from generation to generation is native education in the Pacific.
12 Indigenous Educators Are the Firekeepers
Aviut Rojas (Nahua)
As an Indigenous educator, Aviut Rojas nurtures children’s engagement with the natural world.
14 Awakening Through the Kichwa Language
Byron Tenesaca (Kañari Kichwa)
Sisa Anrango (Otavalo Kichwa) is a Kichwa teacher specializing in creating fully immersive Kichwa online learning spaces.
16 A Story about the Beating Heart of the Nasa Yuwe Language
Nati Garcia (Maya Mam)
Catalina Vergara Realpe (Nasa) is focused on play-oriented activities for children to deepen their connection to the Nasa Yuwe language.
18 Sharing Our Experiences, Stories, and Territories in Our Voices, with Our Hands
Eli Wewentxu Huehuentru (Mapuche) and Pipi Villadangos Autonomous Indigenous education is a critical foundation for the construction of identity of Indigenous children.
20 Promoting San Education in Namibia
Georges Dougnon (Dogon)
Patricia Dinyando (Khwe San) is documenting and translating Khwe folktales to bridge the gap between Traditional Knowledge and modern education.
21 Our Culture Is Our Identity
Byron Tenesaca (Kañari Kichwa)
Gloria Guadalupe Dzib Kumul (Maya) is revitalizing the Mayan language through education.
22 Resilient Roots
Dev Kumar Sunuwar (Koĩts-Sunuwar) Koĩts-Sunuwar education in Nepal is safeguarding Indigenous culture and language.
24 Bridging Generations
Diana Pastor (Maya K’iche’) Náhuat Elders in El Salvador are passing on Traditional Knowledge via community radio.
26 Keepers of the Earth Fund Grant Partner Spotlight
Ekvn-Yefolecv (Maskoke)
28 Staff Spotlight
Elvia Rodríguez (Mixtec)
29 Bazaar Artist
Herminio Ramirez Diaz (Wixárika)
Indigenous Education: Safeguarding Our Knowledge for Future Generations
This issue of the Cultural Survival Quarterly is dedicated to uplifting the work of Indigenous educators and youth to revitalize knowledge systems and pass on languages and lifeways to future generations. Indigenous education honors the important roles of both Elders and youth as knowledge carriers and nurtures their leadership and creativity as they con tribute to a thriving community. In this issue, we are happy to highlight the dedication of several of our youth fellows who are con tributing to their cultures and communities through Indigenous education and working to build cultural pride among youth.
Cultural Survival’s Board Chair, Kaimana Barcarse (Kanaka Hawai’i), recently spoke about the difference between Indigenous education and western education. He said, “In my mind, a lot of western education teaches ‘about’ something. Sometimes it’s followed up with labs or practicum, but most times, it seeks in the realm of theory. Indigenous education happens by simply doing, by following the direction of the Elders who were taught by their Elders and their Elders before them.” This intergenerational transfer of knowledge is rooted in place and community and nurtured and shared through culture, ceremony, stories, and language. It honors our ancestors and their wisdom while ensuring the resiliency of our cultures and communities and safeguarding our future for generations to come. Indigenous education strengthens self-determination, cultural identity and pride, and resistance to erasure of our lifeways and knowledge systems. For this knowledge transfer to happen, our communities must have autonomy over our educational systems and the resources needed to implement them.
In my own communities, the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and the Chickasaw Nation are ensuring the revitalization of our languages by bringing together Elders and youth and offering opportunities for people who want to learn, speak, and teach. This includes both traditional and modern methodologies such as immersive language programs and internships, cultural events and gatherings, youth camps and excursions, in-person and online classes, publishing books, and developing software and apps. Continual community care and investment in learning opportunities allow Choctaw and Chickasaw ple to keep our languages, lifeways, and knowledge systems alive. I am grateful for these spaces to learn from and also give back to my communities as we co-create our Indigenous futures.
As Indigenous Peoples exercise selfdetermination and unlearn from colonial systems that have been imposed upon us, we are decolonizing and re-Indigenizing education while providing essential tools aligned with linguistic and cultural practices. Join Cultural Survival as we support Indigenous Peoples in safeguarding knowledge systems and languages for future generations. Ensure that Indigenous Peoples are engaged in decision-making and act in solidarity with us as we reclaim and reoccupy our ancestral and traditional homelands. Secure a future guided by the wisdom and leadership of Indigenous Peoples by supporting our ongoing work. Please give generously at www.cs.org/donate
Hטchi yakoke li hoke (I thank you all so much),
Aimee Roberson (Choctaw and Chickasaw), Executive Director
CULTURAL SURVIVAL STAFF
Aimee Roberson (Choctaw & Chickasaw), 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
Cliver Ccahuanihancco Arque (Quechua), Keepers of the Earth Program Assistant
Bryan Bixcul (Maya Tz’utujil), Advocacy Coordinator
Miguel Cuc Bixcul (Maya Kaqchikel), Accounting Associate
Jess Cherofsky, Advocacy Program Manager
Michelle de León, Grants Coordinator
Roberto De La Cruz Martínez (Binnizá), Information Technology Associate
Danielle DeLuca, Senior Development Manager
Georges Theodore Dougnon (Dogon), Capacity Building Program Assistant
Shaldon Ferris (Khoisan), Indigenous Radio Program Coordinator
Sofia Flynn, Accounting & Office Manager
Nati Garcia (Maya Mam), Capacity Building Manager
Byron Tenesaca Guaman (Kañari Kichwa), Fellowships Coordinator
Alison Guzman, Donor Relations Coordinator
Emma Hahn, Development Associate
Belen Iñiguez, Publications Distribution Assistant
Natalia Jones, Advocacy Associate
Mariana Kiimi (Na Ñuu Sàvi/Mixtec), Advocacy Assistant
Dev Kumar Sunuwar (Koĩts-Sunuwar), Community Media Program Coordinator
Rosy Sul González (Kaqchikel), Indigenous Rights Radio Program Manager
Marco Lara, Social and Digital Media Coordinator
Kevin Alexander Larrea, Information Technology Associate
Maya Chipana Lazzaro (Quechua), Bazaar Vendor Coordinator
Jamie Malcolm-Brown, Communications & Information Technology Manager
Candela Macarena Palacios, Executive Assistant
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
Tia-Alexi Roberts (Narragansett), Editorial & Communications Assistant
Elvia Rodriguez (Mixtec), Community Media Program Assistant
Mariana Rodriguez Osorio, Executive Assistant
Carlos Sopprani, Human Resources Associate
Thaís Soares Pellosi, Executive Assistant
Candyce Testa (Pequot), Bazaar Events 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
Miriam Abel, Ibu Holludu, Avilinia Reyes, Diego Padilla, Kelsey Armeni, Xiting Tong
Halito akana (Hello friends),
Mike Forbister (Ojibwe) of the Land Protection Team in front of the Wabigoon River system, which was contaminated by a Dryden pulp mill in the 1960-70s. The mill contaminated the fish and poisoned the Grassy Narrows First Nation.
Peru | Indigenous Communities in Amazon Demand Action to Prevent Killings of Leaders
MAY
The Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian Jungle is demanding protection measures following threats and killings of community leaders. To date, 34 community leaders have been killed since 2013 for opposing illegal activities on their lands.
Chile | Mapuche Leader
Héctor Llaitul Sentenced to 23 Years for His Advocacy
MAY
Héctor Llaitul, a prominent Mapuche leader, was sentenced to 23 years in prison by the Oral Court of Temuco. Llaitul was convicted of violent land seizure, theft of wood, and assaulting authorities.
U.S. | Tribal Nations Defend Their Role in Protecting National Monument
MAY
The Havasupai, Hopi, and Navajo Nations are defending their involvement as comanagers of the newly established Baaj Nwaavjo I’tah Kukveni National Monument against a lawsuit brought by the State of Arizona.
U.N. | States Pass Treaty Protecting Traditional Knowledge
MAY
Member states of the UN’s World Intellectual Property Organization passed a
treaty requiring patent applications to disclose the country of origin or source of its genetic resources and, when applicable, the Indigenous Peoples or local community that provided it.
U.S. | Shasta Nation to Receive Land Back from State of California
JUNE
Pacific, Caribbean, and West Indies | International Tribunal Rules
in Favor of Small Island
Nations
MAY
The International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea ruled unanimously that signatory states to the United Nations Convention of the Law of the Sea have an obligation to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and to assist developing states with climate adaptation.
Canada | Indigenous Languages Allowed in Ontario Legislature
MAY
All members of the Ontario legislature are now allowed to address the floor in any Indigenous language spoken in Canada.
U.S. | South Dakota Governor Banned from Tribal Lands
MAY
South Dakota’s Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe joined the other eight tribes in South Dakota in voting to ban Gov. Kristi Noem from entering their lands.
Canada
| Indigenous Pretenders Receive ThreeYear Sentence
JUNE
A Canadian woman has been sentenced to three years in prison for falsely claiming that her daughters were Inuit.
Gov. Gavin Newsom announced the State of California’s commitment to return 2,800 acres of land in Siskiyou County to the Shasta Indian Nation at an unspecified date.
Norway | Sámi Parliament Sues Norway Over New Wind Power Plan
JUNE
The Sámi are suing the government of Norway over a plan that would expand wind power, arguing it would degrade the land they used for reindeer herding.
U.S. | Minnesota to Return Land To Ojibwe
JUNE
In line with the larger global land back movement, the Milles Lacs Bands of Ojibwe will get 18 acres of land back from the State of Minnesota.
Canada | Mi’kmaq First Nation Reaches Agreement with Canadian Government to Establish National Park Reserve
JULY
The Canadian government and Prince Edward Island’s Mi’kmaq First Nations announced an agreement to turn a chain of sacred islands into a national park reserve, recognizing the area as subject to an active land claim.
Nepal | Humlo People Gain State Recognition
JULY
Canada | Grassy Narrows First Nation Sues Governments Over
JUNE
Mercury Contamination
Grassy Narrows First Nation is suing the governments of Ontario and Canada for failing to address the mercury contamination that has devastated the local environment and health of the community.
Nepal has officially recognized the Humlo People as an Indigenous nationality, providing them access to Stateprovided protections and services.
Photo by Geordie Day/ Ricochet Media.
ADVOCACY UPDATES
Indigenous Representation at OECD Forum on Responsible Mineral Supply Chains
In May, Cultural Survival attended the Organization for Economic and Cooperative Development (OECD) Forum on Responsible Mineral Supply Chains, where, alongside our partners from the SIRGE Coalition, we advocated for the importance of the participation of Indigenous Peoples in these international spaces. Dialogues were held with investors and car and mining companies regarding the need for the respect of Free, Prior and Informed Consent and protection of Indigenous rights.
UPR Report Highlights Indigenous Rights Violations in Bolivia
In July, Cultural Survival and partners from the Asociación de Pueblos Indígenas Orginiarios Campesinos Qhana Pukara Kurmi submitted an alternative report for Bolivia’s Universal Periodic Review. The report highlights the rights violations facing Quechua communities of the Ayllu Acre Antequera from mining activities in their territories without their consent. Communities there lack basic access to water, which affects their economic and food sovereignty. Due to these conditions, many people have been forced from their lands, impacting their cultural identity and weakening their social fabric. Attacks have escalated in recent months as miners’ unions have retaliated against peaceful protests by attacking community members in Totoral Chico, forcing more community members to flee.
Indigenous Rights Excluded from UN Environmental Agreements
MARCH
The sixth session of the United Nations Environment Assembly concluded with the adoption of 15 of 22 proposed resolutions, none of which included the rights of Indigenous Peoples and their Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC). The original language of Resolution 6/5, which recognized Indigenous Peoples’ right to FPIC and referenced the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, was removed during final closed-door negotiations. This exclusion disregards Indigenous Peoples’ rights and the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, leaving Indigenous communities vulnerable to business-related abuses without ensuring corporate responsibility or access to remedies.
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.
New EU Legislation Represents Progress
MAY
The European Council’s adoption of the Corporate Sustainability Due Diligence Directive (CSDDD) on May 24 marked a significant milestone in the pursuit of corporate justice. The approval advances corporate accountability and environmental protection, though it contains inadequate safeguards for Indigenous Peoples’ rights, with the only reference to the right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent as enumerated by the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in recitals 25a and 44c. Businesses operating within the EU framework must enforce a high standard of due diligence regarding impacts on Indigenous Peoples and ensure FPIC as outlined by the Declaration within the CSDDD framework. This is essential to mitigate significant risks to shareholders, people, and the planet. Cultural Survival and the SIRGE Coalition call on the European Union to respect Indigenous Peoples’ rights and ensure the right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent in the implementation of the CSDDD.
Also, the Critical Raw Materials Act, a new legislative tool to ensure the “secure” and “sustainable” supply of metals and minerals for the EU’s green and digital transition, entered into force on May 23, 2024, after one of the quickest legislative processes the EU has seen in decades. Unless the CRMA implementation ensures Indigenous Peoples' rights are respected, it will greatly increase the current and potential negative impacts of mining on Indigenous Peoples’ lands and well being. The SIRGE Coalition calls on the EU Member States to include FPIC in the CRMA implementation and avoid repeating past mistakes to achieve a truly just and green transition.
Civil Society Issues Recommendations for UNSG Panel on Critical Energy Transition Minerals
Cultural Survival and the SIRGE Coalition joined more than 230 allied organizations and groups’ recommendations to the United Nations Secretary-General Panel on Critical Energy Transition Minerals. Among the recommendations are principles to ensure energy transition minerals advance justice, equity, and human rights, including ways to equitably reduce demand; protect people and the planet; support equitable development and tax policies; promote equitable international trade and investment; and ensure strong United Nations action on transition minerals.
Read more news at www.cs.org/latest.
MAMA QOTA AT RISK
For the Andean Peoples in the South American highlands, Mama Qota is the goddess of water, the mother of waters. Mama Qota is also known as Lake Titicaca, an expansive body of water spanning some 8,300 square kilometers at an altitude of 3,800 meters above sea level on the border of Bolivia and Peru. Cultural Survival staff traveled the south of the American continent to document the situation facing Lake Titicaca and to speak with researchers, activists, academics, and residents of riverside communities. They shared their testimonies and findings about the pollution of the lake, the decrease in water level, and the death of endemic species, among other issues.
In the Aymara community of Quehuaya, Bolivia, located on the shores of Lake Titicaca, also known as Wiñaymarka, Oscar Limachi (Aymara) awaited us. Limachi is dedicated to tourism and the manufacture of crafts with reeds. With him, we toured part of the minor lake of Titicaca, Lago Menor, and visited Pariti Island, which, according to Limachi, has one of the best views of the lake. Limachi told us that in the mid-1970s, the lake had a depth of two meters; now it ranges from 30-50 cm in its deepest parts. “It was very crystalline. We even drank from it—it had no smell, there were good reeds, good algae, and large fish,” he said.
For these communities, many of whom are Aymara, the decrease in water level has transformed their way of life. Previously, they were communities dedicated to fishing, and now they have to look for other sources of economic income. “The local population is now out of work because of fish. Before we lived off of fish, [but] the lake has been lowered and the fish are lost. I was a fisherman before and that’s why I dedicate myself to tourism. What are we going to live on?” Limachi asks.
Jorge Molina is a researcher at the Institute of Hydraulics and Hydrology of the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés in Bolivia, one of the institutions that, along with other universities, agencies, and ministries, received a report from the National Naval Hydrography Service of Bolivia last year that warned of a worrying downward trend in the level of the lake. Molina told us that in 2023, the lake reached its lowest level in more than 70 years. He clarified that this low level is not the result of a single year of water loss, but “the result of several years, probably since 2002-2003, almost 20 years in which a tendency towards this decrease in levels is evident.”
Molina explained that “the level of a lake is maintained by a balance between the inflows and outflows of water. [The inputs] are normally rain and the contribution of the rivers in its basin, and are compensated in a water balance with the outputs.” In the case of Titicaca, the main outlet of water is evaporation; Molina said that 92 percent of the water that leaves the lake is through evaporation, and 8 percent leaves through the Desaguadero River, its main effluent. In the long term, Mollina said, “The balance of water inputs and outputs would have to be equal to zero, that is, inputs are equal to outputs. [However,] for a period of about 20 years, the balance can be a surplus or a deficit.” Currently, Lake Titicaca is experiencing a deficit water balance. There are multiple factors contributing to the deficit, but among the most important are climate change and pollution.
French researcher Xavier Lazzaro, who is also a scholar and enthusiast of Lake Titicaca, commented, “As a scientist, I had the chance to study the Lake Titicaca in 1979–80, at a time when the lake was very pristine, very well preserved like any lake in the Andes mountain range, because there was little population. El Alto did not exist. I returned 30 years later and I couldn’t believe what I saw: a lake impacted by the entire urbanization of El Alto, with rivers of sewage
Guadalupe Pastrana (NAHUA, CS STAFF)
Pink flamingos in Cohana Bay, Bolivia.
that flow into the smaller lake.” The city of El Alto, which borders La Paz and is the second largest city in Bolivia, has had accelerated growth since its founding in 1985. Furthermore, it is crossed (along with the municipalities of Viacha and Laja) by several rivers that carry all types of domestic and industrial waste and pollutants, and which flow into Lago Menor.
This region of Lago Menor is, according to Lazzaro, one of the shallowest along the Bay of Puno in Peru, which makes them “the two most sensitive areas to any disturbance of climatic or human nature.” Together with Limachi, we verified this. On a tour of Cohana Bay, located on the shores of Lago Menor, as soon as we got out of the car we confirmed the serious level of pollution—the bad smell of the Katari River, the dark color of its waters, and the large amount of garbage it carries are undeniable. However, birds that have inhabited these territories since time immemorial continue to arrive in this region; here, in Cohana Bay, we encountered dozens of pink flamingos. This region, which is now used by the inhabitants of Cohana for growing fodder, was a lake until a few years ago. Limachi told us that the lake has been receding more and more. We were surprised to learn this; as we traveled through the area, which is now passable by car, Google Maps indicated that we are moving over water, that there is still a lake in this place.
Lake Titicaca is an ancient being. In The Book of the Permanent Observatory of Lake Titicaca, it is written that Lake Titicaca is one of the 20 oldest great lakes. It is thought to be at least 9,000 years old, but the lake is the result of a succession of very ancient lakes, such as Mataro, which existed more than 2 million years ago. During this entire period, Titicaca has undergone great transformations naturally, but in recent decades the changes have accelerated.
We spoke with Gonzalo Lora, an environmental engineer, climate change expert, and activist for Lake
Titicaca, who warned that “today, Titicaca is seriously threatened, because apart from the natural dynamics of desiccation that are occurring over the millions of years, there are the threats of climate change.” In addition, Titicaca “receives more or less the discharges of 3 million people, the sewers of 3 million people in Bolivia and Peru, the industrial park of El Alto, Juliaca, and Laja, pollution from livestock farming, and pollution from mining.”
The largest reservoir of drinking water in the South American Altiplano and an emblematic lake for the great Andean civilizations is at serious risk, along with the endemic flora and fauna that inhabit it and the riverside communities that rely on the lake for economic, cultural, and spiritual purposes. “Titicaca definitely goes beyond being a beautiful landscape, being an interesting place, being the largest body of water on the continent; Titicaca is essential to sustain the ecological dynamics of the Altiplano and probably a large part of the planet. Lake Titicaca evaporates more or less on average 500 tons of water per second. That is a lot of water; it is an ecosystem service that we could not replace in any way. All this makes Titicaca a heart of water,” Lora said.
When we arrived with Lamachi at Pariti Island, he invited us to get off the boat, climb a hill, and look at the lake full of cattails. The brown and greenish patches contrasted with the blue of the lake. Here, at the top of this hill, we felt the wind strongly, cooling our faces and hands. In this area, Titicaca is still a deep blue. We looked at it and were convinced that, despite suffering the onslaught of climate change and pollution, Mama Qota is a being who resists, who regenerates, and who continues to provide life to this entire territory.
Listen to the radio documentary, “Mama Qota Is at Risk” at tinyurl.com/mamaqota and watch at vimeo.com/ 937717476.
Oscar Limachi (Aymara) is an artisan and tourist guide in the Lake Titicaca region.
GET TO KNOW CULTURAL SURVIVAL’S NEW EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
Aimee Roberson with members of Casa Tecmilco and the community radio station of Amatlán de Quetzalcóatl, Morelos, Mexico during a community visit in Morelos, Mexico.
by Jamie Malcolm-Brown
Aimee Roberson is a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and also of Chickasaw, Scottish, Irish, and English descent. A lifelong student of Mother Earth’s wisdom, she holds a bachelor’s degree in geology and a master’s in conservation biology. She is committed to reciprocity and community, and works with people to ensure that the social-ecological systems upon which we all depend continue to flourish. Throughout her career, Aimee has provided leadership to partnerships focused on environmental stewardship, co-creating a vision, integrating cultural values and ecological knowledge with science for meaningful decision-making, and implementing shared strategies in caring for people, wildlife, water, and ecosystems. Aimee comes to Cultural Survival from her role as the Director of the American Bird Conservancy’s Southwest Region. Previously, she served as Coordinator for the Rio Grande Joint Venture, and prior to that she worked for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Aimee is a co-founder of the Indigenous Kinship Circle and Regalia Making Relatives. She also serves on the board of the Big Bend Conservation Alliance, and previously served on the boards of the Rio Grande and Sonoran Joint Ventures. Shaldon Ferris (Khoisan), Cultural Survival
Indigenous Rights Radio Coordinator, recently spoke with Roberson.
Cultural Survival: You have a background in geology and conservation biology. How did you get into this line of work, advocating for Indigenous Peoples in the context of conservation and stewardship?
Aimee Roberson: Since I was a child, I’ve always been enamored with our natural world. I love to be in nature, to listen to birds, to learn about plants and all our relatives in the natural world. When I was thinking about going to college, I thought about journalism and environmental law. Ultimately, I really wanted to understand more about Mother Earth and how she works. Geology [has] been an incredible foundation for me to understand the geophysical processes of how Earth works and how that’s the foundation really for all life. I’ve come to understand how everything is interconnected and how understanding a much broader perspective of our world is really necessary to be good stewards and to conserve biodiversity.
When I went to graduate school, I wanted to get back to the idea of caretaking for our environment, [so] I chose to study conservation biology. I came to realize that one of the things that’s very important in this regard is the intersection
Photo
of biodiversity conservation and ecosystem stewardship with Indigenous Peoples and our cosmovisions, lifeways, and cultures. These things inform our knowledge systems— our understanding of how we are not separate from nature, that we are a part of nature, and that we have important responsibilities to contribute to the ecosystems that we live in. It became very apparent that mainstream conservation circles weren’t talking about this. They weren’t talking about the fact that while Indigenous people make up just over 6 percent of the world’s population, they steward 80 percent of the world’s biodiversity. In fact, conservation efforts at times have done just the opposite; instead of honoring the ancestral knowledge of Indigenous Peoples, they have removed us from our lands and made it impossible for us to be the caretakers. We need to shift the paradigm, and I became very interested in making this shift happen.
Tell us about your work with Indigenous Peoples on the ground, stewarding ecosystems, protecting biodiversity, and planning for climate change adaptation. AR: As we gather in community with Indigenous Peoples across North America, we’ve been learning about their struggles, about what they’re doing to ensure that their lifeways and cultures continue, about the challenges that they’re facing, especially about climate change. We’ve been working to help communities access resources, whether it’s funding, or in some cases technical assistance, to continue their good work, to continue taking up that responsibility to care for the land, to care for their cultures as part of the ecosystem.
What are the major challenges you see Indigenous Peoples facing today?
AR: Globally, we’re facing multiple crises. We’re seeing this extreme decline in biodiversity. We’re seeing ecocide, where ecosystems are being degraded to the point of no longer functioning and not being able to support life in the way they once did. And, of course, climate change has many challenges, as well as social inequity and injustice. All of these things are interconnected, and all of them are disproportionately impacting Indigenous Peoples, who are trying to care for their homelands and continue the lifeways of their ancestors. We see that things like colonization, unfettered capitalism, and climate change are all coming together to make it very difficult for Indigenous Peoples. On top of the challenges that Indigenous Peoples are already facing in trying to stay connected to their lands or reconnect to their ancestral homelands, climate change is making life and cultural survival more difficult.
What needs to be done to solve these challenges?
AR: We need to support Indigenous Peoples to do things in their own ways, to maintain connection to the land, to have their own way of governance, to make their own decisions, and to have autonomy and sovereignty. Indigenous Peoples
have been marginalized from the dominant cultures around the world through colonization. We need to offer additional support, whether that’s financial or technical, so that they can continue to live the way they want to live. We need to build networks and build solidarity with Indigenous Peoples so that we can learn from each other and support each other.
What is your vision for your role as Executive Director of Cultural Survival?
AR: Cultural Survival already has a really beautiful vision and purpose. I’m really grateful to be stepping into this role and to be a part of it. Elaine Alec, a member of the Syilx (Okanagan) and Secwépemc (Shuswap) Nations in Canada who is the CEO at Naqsmist Storytellers, defines CEO as Chief Empowerment Officer. I see that as my role, to empower the Cultural Survival staff to continue the good work they’ve been doing. For me, it’s really about, how do we work together as a team collectively? How do we fulfill a particular niche within the broader community of people and other organizations working on similar issues? How do we find our specific roles so that we can all together achieve that beautiful vision? These are the things I’m thinking about as I prepare to step into this role.
CS: You have mentioned that you are learning Chahta anumpa (Choctaw language), practicing traditional arts, and growing and preparing traditional foods. Tell us more about your passions.
AR: I’m passionate about the survival and thriving of my own cultures. One of the things that my family and I like to do is to grow our traditional foods. From both my Choctaw and Chickasaw ancestors, we have seeds that have been with our people, with our families, for hundreds and hundreds of years. In fact, they were carried from our homelands when we were forced to walk the Trail of Tears to Indian Territory. One of these is Chikashsha Tanchi Homma, which is a very sweet Chickasaw red corn. Another one of these seeds is Isito, a Choctaw sweet potato squash. These are plant relatives that we’ve been in relationship with for hundreds of years. I love being able to continue that relationship.
I’m also studying our language, taking online classes on a weekly basis and learning how to keep our language alive. I’m also the vice president of the board of a nonprofit group called Regalia Making Relatives. We hold cultural classes monthly and other events to help share our knowledge and connect youth and elders to continue our culture and traditions through traditional arts and other Indigenous Traditional Knowledge. And I love to do beadwork. It makes me very happy and relaxed. The Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma has an annual art show, and I was recently informed that my submission was accepted. This is another way for me to help contribute to the continuance of our culture. I am so very grateful for our people, our ancestors, and our lifeways, and I am humbled and honored to be able to give back in reciprocity.
FIRST INDIGENOUS-LED RIGHTS OF NATURE TRIBUNAL
Takes Place in North Carolina
L-R: Heather Milton Lightening (Anishinaabe, Nêhiyaw, Blackfoot, Dakota), Hartman Deetz (Mashpee Wampanoag), Dr. Crystal Cavileer (Occaneechi Saponi), Casey Camp Horinek (Ponca), La’Meshia Whittington (Apalwahči Mvskoke, AfroIndigenous), and Patrick Suarez (Meherrin Nation).
Hartman Deetz (MASHPEE WAMPANOAG)
In early April 2024, I received an email from my friend and colleague, Dr. Crystal Cavileer (Occaneechi Band of the Saponi), asking if I would serve as a judge on a Rights of Nature Tribunal. The Yesah Tribunal would be a case of the Haw River vs. the Mountain Valley Pipeline, or MVP. This would be an ethical tribunal, as opposed to a legal tribunal, meaning it would not be legally binding. We had no means to enforce terms of judgment. We could not jail or fine anyone or issue a cease and desist order, an injunction, or restitution. It did not matter if we lacked jurisdictional authority or if the case had legal standing. When I asked Dr. Cavileer why she chose to organize a tribunal instead of working through the channels of the state or federal legal systems, she said, “I choose to [seek justice] through the tribunal because it is the only way Indigenous voices will be heard without being shut down by the colonial government structure.”
The Yesah Tribunal was the first Indigenous-led Rights of Nature Tribunal in the world. Dr. Cavileer’s organization, 7 Directions of Service, partnered with Movement Rights and the Global Alliance for Rights of Nature to organize and facilitate the tribunal. An invitation was extended to the Mountain Valley Pipeline as well as the state and federal agencies responsible for protecting the environment, all of whom declined to attend. As the tribunal commenced, the Earth prosecutor, Pamela Martin, stated, “This tribunal relies on the Universal Declaration on the Rights of Mother Earth for its jurisprudence.” And while the United States has shown its lack of commitment to adhering to international law, 123 nations have signed the declaration, including the U.S. However, when it comes to accountability, the United States will be quick to remind the world that the declaration is non-binding and, therefore, easy to ignore. There are many laws on the books that are enforced, but there are also many laws on the books that are not enforced.
As I thought about the bias in the current courts and the values that they reflect, I realized that the western colonial world seems to have never questioned its own validity, never had a case of imposter syndrome. Did the judges and magistrates of the colonies ever consider how a king of a foreign nation could impose his will as law over another sovereign people in a land that was not his own? Did they ever consider it an overreach of their jurisdiction to push aside local laws and systems of land tenure in favor of a charter drafted a continent away, across an ocean, set up on the value system that had a clear and implicit bias for the rights of white Europeans over the rest of the world? No, they did not. They simply carried out their lives as if they were empowered with the authority to impose these laws on non-European people, and as a society, their people went along with it to eventually create a new system of law for the land.
Co-secretariat Natalia Green of the Global Alliance for Rights of Nature said in her opening statement that “this tribunal was brought about because of the failure of the state to provide justice.” Throughout the tribunal we heard from expert witnesses as well as personal testimony from community members impacted by the construction of Mountain Valley Pipeline. We heard about how the construction of the pipeline has called the police to report people for trespassing on their own property, how they have constructed fences that block access to cemeteries and burial grounds, how the air pollution from pumping
Photo courtesy of Katie Nehls/ Movement Rights.
stations and construction equipment have caused community members to have eye, nose, and throat irritations, headaches, and nausea. We saw photographs of sedimentary pollution of the river that ran for miles.
Expert witnesses talked about the impacts to endangered wildlife such as the Cape Fear shiner, the James River spiny mussel, and the Virginia big-eared bat, species that are so hyperlocal that they would be put at risk for extinction. We heard passionate testimony from Dr. Madhusudan Katti about the impact that noise and light pollution, as well as the visibility of the water, have on the social lives of animals. Their ability to find their flock, pod, or school could be seriously disrupted, as well as their ability to communicate and find mates to procreate to produce new generations of offspring. Dr. Katti said, “Tribunals like this can serve as an aggregate to hold humanity to account.”
For Tribal people like the Occaneechi Saponi, the interwoven relationships between all life are reinforced again and again with the words, “All my relations,” meaning all life here on Earth. Dr. Cavileer told me about how the James River spiny mussel was a big part of their traditional diet and how the shells are used to create distinct jewelry that signifies their bond to the place as Occaneechi Saponi. The further destruction of land and pollution of water is “retraumatizing,” she said. “Eco-grief and climate anxiety are real psychological trauma. We were paper genocided, our race changed on paperwork to another race, and then after that, we were enslaved, put into slavery. After the Civil War, some of the slave masters had to give back some land, and then to have that pipeline come in and take the land away again? It’s retraumatizing.”
It is time for us, as true human beings, to turn our backs on the legal system that makes living people second-class citizens to corporate persons. We are living in a time of tremendous change in the environment, in the world economy, in the sharing of information, and in the advances in technology that have even created computers that can think for themselves. The tools of a colonial system of law created in the age of sail power and wooden ships, of a pre-paper currency, of handwritten letters that might take months to communicate messages from sender to receiver, are no longer suited to meet the needs of today.
More and more, western science is starting to understand the complex interconnectedness of the natural world, the consciousness of trees, the social life of animals, and the human impact on the weather and our climate. Currently about 20 percent of the Earth’s land has been developed by humans. To imagine that human activity has not had a major impact on the planet is to simply ignore the facts. The development of nuclear power and nuclear weapons has raised the background radiation significantly since 1945, carbon gas emissions have changed the composition of our atmosphere, and if we continue to pollute our fresh water, we may not have drinkable water for all
of humanity within 50 years. If we, as human beings, destroy the other life on this planet, how will we survive?
But, if we have the power to harm the world to this extent, we also have the power to heal. This will require not only shifts in technology but also a shift in how we fundamentally view the world and the values we have as a society. The idea of re-investing in fossil fuels because it is a source of job creation has to be shifted to creating jobs that will remove the garbage patch from the Pacific Ocean, to building the giant carbon filters on the grand scale equivalent to the Hoover Dam, and to investing in jobs for soil renewal and removal of microplastics from the environment. To save ourselves, we have to consider the important roles that all life plays in creating this balance of life in the world we live in.
Hartman Deetz (Mashpee Wampanoag) has been active in environmental and cultural stewardship for years. He is a traditional artist as well as a singer and dancer, having shown his art in galleries and performed for audiences from coast to coast across U.S. He is currently a 2023–2024 Cultural Survival Writer in Residence.
Dr. Cavileer and her husband, Jason Keck, listen as witnesses give testimony.
Photo courtesy of Norman Sands/Way of the Sacred Mountain.
Inset: Dr. Katti gives his testimony to the tribunal about the social lives of animal communities.
Photo courtesy of Norman Sands/Way of the Sacred Mountain
INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE
ʻIKE KUʻUNA ʻŌIWI
Indigenous Knowledge Passed from Generation to Generation, this is Native Education
Delegates from Rapanui teach their song and dance to participants on a day of cultural exchange.
Kaimana Barcarse (KANAKA HAWAI’I, CS BOARD MEMBER)
The Festival of Pacific Arts & Culture, familiarly known as FestPAC, is the largest celebration of Indigenous Pacific Islanders worldwide. This year marked the 13th Festival of Pacific Arts & Culture, which convened in Hawaiʻi on June 6–16, 2024, on the island of Oʻahu. It kicked off on June 5 with a welcoming of a select set of representatives of each delegation who sailed on traditional voyaging canoes from the military base at Mōkapu to the shores of the Waʻa (canoe) Village at HakipuʻuKualoa, the birthplace of our kupuna (Elder) voyaging canoe, Hōkūleʻa. There they were welcomed with the traditional greeting protocols of visitors arriving on our shores. FestPAC started in 1972 and has been held every few years, with a longer hiatus due to the pandemic. The festival has been held across the Pacific and is planned and sponsored by the hosting nation. This year’s theme was Hoʻoulu Lāhui: Regenerating Oceania, honoring traditions with an eye to the future.
Although lauded as the premiere showcase of arts and cultures throughout the Pacific, an underlying theme emanating from the participating nations was succession through educating the next generation. As in many Native traditions viewed widely through an external lens yet put into practice from an Indigenous worldview, the theme
of Indigenous education was evident in the abundance of multi-generational participation, teaching from Elder to youth, and witnessing youth taking on kuleana (responsibilities) assigned to them by their Elders. How the youth accept and execute these kuleana are a vital step in their education and preparation to carry the traditions of their Peoples forward.
In Hawaiʻi, we have an ʻŌlelo Noʻeau (wise saying), “Ma ka hana ka ʻike,” which translates to “In doing, one obtains knowledge.” Only when one turns their hands to the Earth and does the actual work will they truly know, with all of their senses, the intricacies of the task taken on and the fullness of the fruit that comes to bear. Unlike other modern methodologies, our teachings are not theoretical, but rather follow a master-apprentice approach, an intricate holistic approach that includes the task at hand and elements of history, custom, spirituality, and more. An example of this is when my Kumu Hula (teacher of traditional dance) taught us a specific hula for a journey to Aotearoa/New Zealand a couple of decades ago. I offered to videotape the dance so students from other islands could learn it. He responded, “Kaimana, the video cannot be the teacher, the video has no hā (breath of life). You may record the dance to practice with, but before sharing the recording with others, you need to teach it to them in person so that the life of the dance continues on through the hā you share.” That was an intergenerational moment from teacher to student that shaped my thinking and doing in many ways for years to come, and I am grateful and humbled to see many examples of that intergenerational transference of ʻike throughout the Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture.
On the deep sea voyaging canoe Makaliʻi (Hawaiʻi Island), we witnessed a proud moment when a long-time voyager was able to bring his teenage son along as a new crew member. When not voyaging, this long-time crew member is a school teacher who is well versed in planting, growing, and cooking traditional foods with his students. In fact, some of the food they grow at their school is preserved and goes to feed the canoe on its many voyages. During this short leg of the trip, we witnessed the growing bond of father and son, and the lawe hānai (taking care of as one’s own) of other crew members to his son. It culminated when father and son prepared meals together for the crew and the son took on greater responsibility, allowing his father some reprieve.
Young adult and youth members of the Pinuyumayan Peoples of the Kasavakan Community of Taiwan shared
their journey through music and dance aboard the deep sea voyaging canoe Moʻokiha o Piʻilani of Maui Island. In this exchange on the water, they learned about voyaging traditions and how knowledge is also kept in song and dance in Hawaiʻi in a fashion similar to their Apuy (asking for fire) Project. They shared with their youth the similarities of our native languages and traditions of their Palakuwan and our Hale Mua, which are our menʻs houses where intergenerational learning and rites took place.
Also on the waters of the bay, a father raising his nineyear-old son as a waterman guided him on the operations of their double-hulled coastal sailing canoe in these waters of a less familiar island and bay. His teachings culminated when he stepped off the canoe and turned over the leadership to his young son to lead and take participants out on sails.
The Tahitian canoe, Faafaite, sailed from Tahiti to Hawaiʻi to participate in FestPac. Although the crew spanned the generations from youth to Elders, one element that made this voyage special for them is that their captain and navigator were both young and new crew members when Faafaite first visited Hawaiian waters in 2012 as a part of the Te Mana o Te Moana voyage. Now they are the leaders and are training the next generation to take their place. At an evening pāʻina (gathering), they shared their stories and recounted their learning journeys, and as they left our islands, they took with them some of our young leaders to learn alongside them on their voyage home.
On land at the waʻa village, we had the privilege of watching skilled weavers from many nations of the Pacific work together to weave a sail while at the same time inviting and exciting young hands to join in, learn, and do the work alongside them.
Perhaps the greatest and most poignant example of intergenerational transitions and the passing of the torch was the presence of the single-hulled sailing canoe Mauloa and the younger double-hulled voyaging canoe
Makaliʻi at the festival. Mauloa was the highlight of the exhibit hall, greeting everyone as they entered. Makaliʻi was part of the fleet that brought delegates to the shores of Hakupuʻu-Kualoa. Their relationship is that of the elder to the youth. When our leaders first desired to build the voyaging canoe Makaliʻi, they were instructed to kālai (carve) a traditional koa sailing canoe first, by following the customs and practices of old. With the support of the community and many Elders and knowledge holders who guided the traditions, protocols, and customs, this task was completed and the carvers were bestowed with the title Kālai Waʻa, Carvers of Canoe. They then were able, and given permission, to build Makaliʻi for our island. This effort did not stop there, as they constructed other waʻa such as Alingano Maisu, a gift to our teacher and master, papa Mau Piailug, and his people.
This festival truly embodies the wise saying, “He Waʻa He Moku, He Moku He Waʻa” (Our canoe is our island, our island is our canoe). This speaks to the interconnectedness and interdependence of life on the canoe and life on the islands. On our canoe, everyone has a role; there are no passengers. We are focused together on our destination and do our parts to realize the vision and reach land. If we can live on our island as we live on our canoes, interdependent on each other, and working together for the benefit of the whole, we as a people will thrive. If we as States and nations live in this way, we will thrive. If we live this way as a planet, we will all thrive collectively as residents, as family, of Island Earth.
Read this article in Hawaiian at tinyurl.com/ikekuuna.
Left: Crew from Hawai‘i and Aotearoa/ New Zealand sail Hawai‘i Island‘s deepsea voyaging canoe, Makali‘i, to Mōkapu to pick up delegates from Samoa, Kiribati, Niue, and the Marshal Islands and sail them to Hakipu‘u-Kualoa to join more than a dozen other canoes and delegates to partake in the traditional welcoming protocols to our island home.
Right: Delegates from Samoa, Kiribati, Niue, and the Marshal Islands transfer from the large voyaging canoes to paddling canoes and are taken to shore for the welcoming protocols.
At the dance exchange, Indigenous delegates from Taiwan taught FestPac participants a traditional hairflipping dance.
INDIGENOUS EDUCATORS ARE THE FIREKEEPERS
Aviut Rojas (NAHUA)
The rigid confines of the U.S. education system, with its 8:00 AM to 3:00 PM schedule, the classic setup of a public school classroom, and the lessons I regularly was unable to relate to never quite suited me as an Indigenous child, and once I began failing my classes, it made me question my own intelligence. It’s not that I didn’t understand the school work; it was that I was too uninterested to complete it. Yet, outside the boundaries of the classroom, my curiosity about the world grew immensely, and I found myself eagerly soaking up information far beyond what was expected at my grade level.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I was able to shed the guilt I felt for not graduating high school. I tried to remind myself that I was heading to college and pursuing a career, but even while studying to become a veterinary technician, I still felt out of place. The only space where I truly felt I belonged was outdoors. There, no one questioned my answers or confined my gaze to four walls. I wasn’t preoccupied with family and friends’ opinions, and most importantly I could move freely, allowing my thoughts to wander and gain a sense of clarity.
Luckily, I had been put into the Science and Nature Program at a young age, a pipeline program that Jane Klocker created at the American Museum of Natural History. The mission was to give science education to underprivileged communities. Klocker believed that if you
incorporated science into a child’s daily routine from the time they were a toddler, when they became adults, they would have the qualities needed to build independent and promising futures. What Klocker didn’t realize was that in the world I was growing up in, an opportunity like that could be the only chance for someone like me to avoid falling into a predetermined stereotype.
The definition of ethnobiology is the study of relationships among people and their environments, and in my opinion, it is a science that Indigenous people inherit from the moment they are born. As my biologist friend Jonathan Ferrier (Mississauga Anishinaabe) writes, “Indigenous people are very scientific—it’s just that our science includes the heart.” We see it everywhere in Indian Country, such as in communities where mothers bury their newborn’s placenta to nourish the soil with its nutrients, and in other communities where a child’s first hunt marks their entrance into adulthood. These practices are ways in which children develop independence, ideas, and a sense of communal responsibility. This is the science of our lives; our cultures are rooted in our relationship with the outside world, and we must learn to expand on it.
Indigenous children are young teachers in the making for their communities. We share stories with them, and they come up with new ones. The moment a child arrives into this world, its mouth opens in a welcoming outburst; its vocal chords are the first sound waves to travel into the world, mimicking the vibration of a drum. It is vital that we listen to our children. Their stories are part of generations of oral traditions, just from smaller mouths and inno-
Aviut Rojas (left) leading an art workshop for children and families at the Cultural Survival Bazaar in Newburyport, Massachusetts.
cent imaginations. It is a gift we are given in childhood that society often doesn’t allow us to preserve. So as adults in this new century, we must encourage conversations where children can actively participate and contribute their ideas.
When I look at the children I work with, I think about how everything around them could spark a future interest. From the moment they step outside, the outdoors becomes a place for them to seek life’s answers, and without interruption every kid will. If you pick up acorns and drop them on the other side of the park, could an oak tree start growing there the following year? How many drops of water can you catch by sticking your tongue out? Who lives inside a fallen tree? These questions lead to larger considerations: How can we preserve oak trees in the Northeast? How can we make water safer for our communities to drink? If trees are lost in an area, how will this impact the critters that rely on fallen trunks for their survival and the ecosystem as a whole?
We must recognize that we are not alone on this earth; we share it with a multitude of plants, animals, fungi, and microbes, and we live within diverse biomes. In an Indigenous classroom, all of these living beings are valued and considered important. Unlike the western tradition, which emphasizes individuality and encourages children to work quietly on their own, Indigenous teachings acknowledge that nothing in this world operates in isolation or remains silent. When we exclude children from connecting with their instinctual roles as living beings, we deny them a crucial aspect of emotional development. Reflecting on our roles within the life cycle helps develop empathy and understand the impact of our actions. By recognizing our connection to other living things, we develop a deeper understanding of our humanity, an essential part of growing up.
The more we learn, the more we build positive self-esteem. We gain confidence, self-reliance, and individual characteristics based on our beliefs and interests. Indigenous children have all the tools in their culture and traditions to succeed, feel valuable, and become positive adults in their community. This potential can be fully realized if, from an early age, their way of engaging with the world is nurtured and their classroom is adapted to their understanding of their environment.
As an Indigenous educator, this is the sole purpose of my job. I set aside the phonics cards and sensory tables, tools that are sometimes inaccessible in our communities, and instead, I take my students outside to interact with the world around them. It is essential for educational tools to be accessible to the children’s families, and the broader community involved in a child's daily life as well. This ensures that whenever we are not present, others responsible for the child's learning can easily access the necessary resources. This allows the family to bond, and in Indigenous teachings, the relationship between our Elders and the youth are greatly encouraged.
A simple fishing expedition using only a string and a bottle cap, as told to me by my partner, ignited a spark of ingenuity. On hikes, children discover a world of textures beneath their feet—acorns, sticks, rocks, and leaves. We transform exploration into education, building raft boats, pondering the engineering techniques of a beaver dam, and celebrating nature's bounty through berry foraging. Despite being told that our children lack the resources to develop as their white counterparts do, we can create these resources using the tools that nature offers us. We can develop an education system that works for them. We do not adjust the children to fit the education curriculum; instead, we adjust the education curriculum to fit the children.
I’ve found countless rewarding moments in my career as a childhood educator, but nothing quite compares to watching a child fully immerse themselves in nature and feel a sense of belonging within it. Given the alarming rates of suicide among Indigenous youth, it’s a profound relief to witness the pure delight of an Indigenous child exploring their surroundings. That spark in their eyes, that flicker of curiosity—it’s a beacon of hope. I cherish those moments when I see that light ignite within them, and I pray it burns brightly, shielding them from any difficulties they will be burdened with tomorrow. In a way, we educators are the firekeepers. We kindle and tend to an inquisitive flame in our students, hoping that it illuminates our generations to come.
Aviut Rojas (Nahua) is a youth and early childhood educator, a certified Indigenous birth doula, and an Indigenous mentor currently serving as a Science and Nature instructor at Emerald Cove Institute of Science in San Bernardino, California.
As an Indigenous educator, Aviut Rojas (Nahua) nurtures children’s engagement with the natural world, which often includes berry picking and foraging.
Photos by Cultural Survival, Scorzonera, and Aviut Rojas.
AWAKENING THROUGH THE KICHWA LANGUAGE
SInset:
Sisa Anrango
isa Anrango (Otavalo Kichwa) is a Kichwa woman from the Puñaru/Punyaro community in Otavalo, Ecuador. She currently works as an online Kichwa teacher specializing in creating fully immersive Kichwa learning spaces for all levels. In 2018, she received a scholarship to travel to the Basque Country, Spain, to participate in a postgraduate course on linguistic revitalization strategies and methodology for teaching second languages at the University of Mondragón. Aside from her roles as a teacher and activist, Anrango is dedicated to being a mother, an identity that has reinforced her efforts to revitalize her culture. For the last decade, Anrango has dedicated herself to researching her culture, rediscovering the history of her family’s beliefs and traditions, and replicating it in her life.
Anrango remembers meeting older people on the streets of Otavalo who sometimes asked her, as a young child, for help in Kichwa. “I remember feeling sad and ashamed at being unable to help them since I couldn’t understand them,” she recalls. “I didn’t know my grandparents and I always felt a lack of them in my life, so seeing these elderly people on the street and not being able to help them touched me because I couldn’t speak our language.” Although Anrango’s parents dressed her in traditional clothing from the time she was born, as a child they only communicated with her in Spanish, something she would later come to question.
Anrango had depression for much of her youth until a Kichwa course caught her attention. At that time, she was helping her mother with her small trading business and was able to enroll with the money she was earning. “In the course, the importance of keeping our culture and our
language alive was discussed. After years of suffering harsh and ugly racism, I was moved to continually hear about how beautiful our culture is and the value of our people,” she says. The same year that Anrango began her Kichwa studies, she would have the most important student in her life—her daughter—whose birth would lead her to reflect even more on the language of her people. She thought about her parents and how “they must have laughed, cried, been angry, and loved in Kichwa. I wanted [my daughter] to live with Kichwa, to connect and reconnect with our identity through Kichwa pride. I wanted my daughter to have an education in Kichwa and feel loved in the language of her ancestors,” she says.
Six months after her daughter’s birth, Anrango separated from her partner. Now a single mother and unemployed, Anrango was unsure what would come next. She thought about what made her happy: her Kichwa courses. She had memorized all the grammar, and although she still did not fully speak the language, she felt confident enough to teach an introductory course as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Although she did not have many students, she loved to create spaces for collective healing in her first classes, “reminding ourselves that our identity is valuable because society constantly tells us that everything Indigenous is bad.” Through these introductory courses, Anrango would continue to learn more about her language. “[My daughter] was like an awakening. The more I learned, the more I came to understand that everything I am is because my grandparents and great-grandparents were like that.”
Byron Tenesaca (KAÑARI KICHWA, CS STAFF)
Sisa Anrango (center right) with her daughter and five Kichwa Elders after the Shutichiy ritual at the Taxopampa waterfall.
In 2018, Anrango took a course on new methodologies for teaching secondary languages, focusing on creating spaces of total immersion so that students learned to speak Kichwa from the first class. The change of systems from grammar and philosophy to more conversational made her realize something: “Conventional education is very violent towards students and that violence permeates the learning process, so when people want to learn something new later in life, they are very afraid of making mistakes, very afraid of speaking, especially people who have left their studies. Conventional education has a dynamic of ridicule, humiliation, and penalization of errors. With each new group I have to give them security that they are in a space where things can be repeated, where they can make mistakes, where they will not be judged.” Applying this new methodology requires patience and a reliance on visuals and physical gestures. It no longer translates word for word, and the concentration required from students is greater. “They leave their comfort zone in the first class, which is key to learning the language and practicing it with other Kichwa speakers,” Anrango says, adding that in her own experience as a Kichwa student, it is better for individual learning and for the vitality of the language to practice everyday speech than to know all the grammatical rules. It was in this second stage of her teaching career when Anrango returned home.
Fulfilling one of her long-standing dreams, Anrango returned to live permanently in her community in 2021. Since then, she has dedicated herself “to returning to the earth and continuing a more intrinsic and careful life with nature.” Having worked with adults for most of her teaching career, Anrango’s new goal is to teach children. Her goal is not without challenges, however. One obstacle is the general perception of the Kichwa language in the town. “Working with my community is complex. The idea
that Kichwa is a backward language from ancient times is strong,” she says. The legacy of colonialism has left Indigenous languages devalued in Ecuador, and the general public does not view Kichwa as economically beneficial to their future. Anrango is working hard to change this narrative by focusing on self-esteem and positive development of identity among the young people. “One of the achievements is that [now] at least half of the community meetings are in Kichwa. I also have three projects underway in need of funding. One of them is a collection of poems in Kichwa for three-year-olds about the connection with nature and animals that needs to be illustrated and printed.”
For Anrango, finding a balance between pursuing her passion and dedicating time to her family while earning a decent living is important. In a country where learning English is considered more valuable than learning Kichwa, it can be difficult for Kichwa teachers to be compensated well. “I believe that all people who dare to teach their native language do so with the noblest will in the world, dedicating so much of their time, but we also have families to care for and living expenses to pay. For these educational spaces to be constant and long-lasting, there must be fair and equitable remuneration for the work and effort of language teachers. Society places a lot of responsibility on us as Native Peoples. If the language is lost, it is our fault; if young people stop wearing our clothing, it is our fault; if people decide to abandon their Indigenous identity, it is our fault. Everything is our duty and our responsibility,” Anrango says.
“When I learned Kichwa, I felt that I was also completing something that I was missing. I remember that there was a moment in my youth when I was very angry with my father and mother, thinking that they were so weak that they let themselves be influenced by society and they didn’t teach me Kichwa when I was little,” Anrango says. “Reflecting on that transition with my parents, perhaps I could have done it with more patience and more affection. To the young people who are learning Kichwa, have a lot of patience and faith in learning the language of your ancestors and take advantage of all the resources available in Kichwa. For those who have Kichwa speakers in your families, encourage them to speak Kichwa with you. Decorate your family environments with expressions in Kichwa. Greet and show affection to your relatives in Kichwa. That was the dream of our grandparents, that one day we would finally be free and could exist as we are without being violated. To live in Kichwa with our families, friends, and neighbors is to finally enjoy that freedom for which we have fought so hard. We have to recognize those achievements and take advantage of this freedom that we now have.”
To learn more about Sisa Anrango’s Kichwa courses and support her projects, visit, linktr.ee/SisaAnrango.
Sisa Anrango teaching her first Kichwa class in 2015.
A Story about the Beating Heart of THE NASA YUWE LANGUAGE
Nati Garcia (MAYA MAM, CS STAFF)
Catalina Vergara Realpe (Nasa) hails from the southwestern part of Colombia. Although her roots are tied to the territory of the Nasa People of Valle del Cauca, department of Cauca, she spent most of her childhood in Ecuador. Her experiences growing up opened her eyes to the diversity of cultures and their relationship to landscapes, which deepened her appreciation for nature and its inextricable connection to human existence. This realization motivated her to return to the ancestral lands of her people, and she eventually settled in the Indigenous Reserve of Paniquitá in the department of Cauca.
Witnessing how the Earth generously provides for the livelihood of her Peoples, Vergara became passionate about recovering the cultural identity of Nasa Peoples and improving their quality of life by providing alternative ways to reconnect to the land. She became deeply rooted to the lands and water systems, which guided her to see the importance of passing down Traditional Knowledge to younger generations. “This connection prompted me to pass on all that I have learned and experienced to the people around me. My inclination is particularly focused on the youth, as I consider them to be the seed of the future. My passion lies in fighting tirelessly for their rights, especially in the field of education, where I work hard to help young people access college opportunities through various scholarships,” she says.
In 2023, Vergara was awarded a Cultural Survival Indigenous Youth Fellowship to strengthen the capacity and leadership of Indigenous youth. Her fellowship project, “Ukwesx Laakwe Piyaka Naywe” (Strengthening the Nasa Yuwe Through Play), focused on play-oriented activities for children and youth to strengthen their cultural identity and deepen their connection to the Nasa Yuwe language. Linguistic and cultural diversity is one of the most precious heritages of humanity. In every corner of the world,
languages are the vehicle of traditions, knowledge, and life ways that have been forged over generations. Indigenous languages play an essential role, as they embody an integral part of the identity and cultural practices of Indigenous communities, interconnected with the fabric of landscapes, waterways, and ecosystems.
Vergara and her team conducted investigative research on the Nasa Yuwe language in her homeland of Paniquitá. The team covered an area of more than 80 square kilometers, encompassing 11 villages: Buenavista, La Estela, Campo Alegre, El Diviso, Palace, Hato Viejo, San Antonio, La Palma, Paniquitá Centro, La Primavera, and La Rivera. The study was conducted with the active participation of the Elders of the community to understand the distribution and linguistic competence in the region and how to incorporate it into educational systems.
The research revealed valuable data on the Nasa Yuwe language, where differentiations of speakers were identified
Event with Elders, Indigenous leader speaking as part of the fellowship project.
Left: Development of preliminary guidance as part of fellowship project.
Right:
Presentation of fellowship project to Nasa students at the educational school Tata Wala.
between villages. For example, the team identified a variance of the spoken form of Nasa Yuwe in Paniquitá from the other villages, where the language was identified as Naywen. This variant is different in its pronunciation, grammar, vocabulary, and in every aspect of the daily life of its speakers. Such a finding exemplifies the importance of linguistic diversity in the Paniquitá reserve. The study also paved the way for local community members to understand the benefits of strengthening and promoting the Nasa Yuwe language, as well as the implementation of effective strategies in schools and the promotion of community initiatives to strengthen the cultural identity of the Nasa Peoples. Another finding from the research was a decrease in the number of Nasa Yuwe speakers, which highlighted the need for action to preserve the language. Projects such as Vergara’s, which focus on implementing strategies to strengthen the language among children and adolescents in Indigenous communities, are essential to counteract the loss of the language and ensure its transmission to future generations.
The research study was also an important step in the ongoing commitment to ensuring the transmission of Traditional Knowledge and that cultural practices are passed down to the following generations, building a sense of belonging for the youth. “With every word that is spoken, with every story that is told, the Nasa Yuwe language lives on, linking our community to its past, its present, and its future,” Vergara says. “Language is the main tool for communication and the transmission of knowledge and experiences. Strengthening this language can help foster effective communication among people in the community, which can improve interpersonal relationships and reduce social conflicts. The teaching of the Nasa Yuwe language can have a positive impact on the education of Indigenous children and youth, as it allows them to better understand the concepts and values of their culture and environment.”
Through her fellowship project, Vergara collaborated with three mixed rural schools located in the center of the Paniquitá Reserve to incorporate culturally appropriate methodology and Nasa Yuwe language material into the curriculum to strengthen the connection among children and youth to their cultural identity and promote the integral development of the students, preparing them for a promising future. “This language is not only a means of communication, but also a vital vehicle for safeguarding the values and beliefs of a people, ensuring the continuity of their
culture and heritage. In response to the growing phenomenon of cultural uprooting in the new generations, our project, with the support of Cultural Survival, sought to promote the use of the mother tongue through playful activities. Children and adolescents are attracted to singing, dancing, games, stories, drawing, and the use of technology as a pedagogical medium. These activities, besides being fun, have a symbolic and cultural value that allows us to transmit and strengthen the identity of the Nasa Peoples. It is important to highlight that our objective was to strengthen the culture of the new generations and foster a deeper and more meaningful bond with their mother tongue. This leads to an awakening of interest in continuing to speak Nasa Yuwe, keeping alive the flame of our cultural heritage,” says Vergara.
Vergara faced a number of challenges while implementing her project, particularly the presence of illegal armed groups such as the National Liberation Army (ELN), which has been plaguing Colombia for over 60 years. This situation limited access to the work area and caused delays in proposed activities. However, Vergara was determined as part of the UNESCO declaration of International Decade of Indigenous Languages (2022-2032), “leaving no one behind, no one outside.” Despite the challenges, Vergara managed to meet all the objectives set for the fellowship and demonstrated her dedication and commitment to strengthening her mother tongue. The creation of these spaces is an important milestone in the Nasa Peoples’ struggle to preserve and strengthen the Nasa Yuwe language.
Through her fellowship project, Vergara held space in bridging conversation with Elders of the community with the younger generation. These engagements enriched intercultural dialogue and fostered mutual understanding and trust between the generations. Various creative activities were carried out through music and dance to engage and invoke authentic connection to the culture and language. The space also served as a learning center in the Paniquitá Reserve and became a place where members of the community could actively exchange knowledge, keeping alive the oral traditions, customs, and values of the Nasa Peoples. “This is only the beginning; we will continue to work tirelessly to ensure that our mother tongue remains alive and thriving for future generations. Our language is the heart of our culture, and we are committed to keeping that heart beating strong and clear forever,” Vergara says.
Fellow Vergara presented her fellowship project to parents of Nasa students at the local school.
SHARING OUR EXPERIENCES, STORIES, AND TERRITORIES in Our Voices, with Our Hands
Eli Wewentxu Huehuentru (MAPUCHE) and Pipi Villadangos (MAPUCHE)
My name is Eli Huehuentru. I am a 28-year-old Mapuche artist, part of the J.H. community Xomio, Padre Las Casas (PLC), Gulumapu-Wallmapu, Mapuche territory in resistance in Chile. My relationship with music began at the age of nine when I had a violin that came into my hands through a social orchestra project called FOJI in 2004 in the PLC community. There, I learned how to play the violin and share music with other children in the PLC children’s orchestra. At the age of 12, I began to teach violin workshops in a rural school in a neighboring Mapuche community, where I worked with a small group of children my age and younger. Rural areas do not have the same access to artistic education or spaces where creativity is encouraged as urban areas, and I understood that I had the possibility of sharing what I had learned with my peers.
As I grew up, I participated in different cultural spaces. Music gave me the opportunity to travel within and outside of the country, but each year the idea was to return to the schools in the communities to share with our people something of what I learned or a little of the music. These acts encouraged me to reflect on the responsibility we had as artists to hold space for the visions and feelings that have always been present in our communities but were rarely expressed in the classrooms, stages, theaters, galleries, or other public arenas.
The project, “Creative Workshops in Rural Schools,” was born as an initiative supported by the Cultural Survival Indigenous Youth Fellowship, thanks to the collaboration with Pipi Villadangos and Isaak Brand. Villadangos is a 25-year-old dancer and transdisciplinary artist from the Province of Buenos Aires who lived for two years in Gulu-
mapu. For him, teaching involves listening and learning and perhaps inventing something new together. He has studied and worked with the body since he was 11 years old through dance, anatomy, and performance. At the age of 19, he left the continent to continue searching. Brand is a visual artist, filmmaker, performer, and social educator with special training in artistic methodologies for psychosocial intervention in contexts of sociocultural-socioeconomic vulnerability. He is the co-creator of the visual arts and performance project INCHIW, and part of the contemporary creation and culture space, Temuco.
The development of our project proposed cycles of creative workshops in three rural schools in Gulumapu, Wallmapu. Most of the groups were integrated, so we were faced with the challenge of generating appropriate materials for children from ages 6 to 13. The workshops were held weekly for one month and included explorations in sound, visual arts, movement, and audiovisuals, culminating in a celebration. During these days in the schools, we understood the need to establish connections with the participants. In particular, we looked for activities in which the children could express their creativity while giving voice to their everyday experiences. As the workshops progressed, they were continually invited to express their ideas, thoughts, and feelings.
One of the reflections that accompanied this process for us as workshop facilitators was that of space, or the lack of space, that can exist in Mapuche childhoods, resulting from colonialism, racism, and capitalism in the imposed territory called Chile. From this place of recognition, we sought to offer or invite more participation for certain children in whom we noticed behavior more affected by this internalized racism. By becoming more present in schools, we noticed how the approach to our vision as Mapuche people gave the children more autonomy and power with which to face their experiences. This could be seen
Students writing at one of the creative workshops organized by Eli Huehuentru.
through certain differences that emerged between the schools and whether their sources of learning were more or less, connected to culture and the arts.
We decided to use a methodology that encompassed play, creation, and relaxation in which children could be introduced to an artistic discipline by watching videos, listening to music, or seeing live dance performances; to present an experience in which they could engage their senses and reflect on it. All of the material from the sessions was recorded and archived on video or in photos, and on the next day, the children could see themselves carrying out that artistic discipline and expanding their sense of possibility by seeing themselves in a new action. Audiovisual files were created completely by the children in the workshops as interviews that they guided, narrated, and recorded themselves, rotating roles to experience all of the activities.
It was touching for us to see that in many cases, these activities were totally new for the children and may have planted seeds of aspiration and interest in some of the students. We see these instances as a driving force to open up in children the idea of what is possible for them in the present and in the future. This was a topic of reflection at the closing of the workshops, with the purpose of encouraging the children to imagine and believe in as many possibilities as they desire.
Autonomous education of Indigenous Peoples is a critical basis for the construction of identity of children and young people. Their sense of identity is strengthened in the wisdom, stories, and lived experiences in the home, but in many cases, young people are being denied this form of education. The creative experiences that we shared with the students in the three Mapuche schools that we visited sought to integrate the learning cycle with the unique culture of the territory. We invited children to indulge in the curiosity of childhood to cultivate an appreciation,
interest, and attachment to the Mapuche ways of perceiving the world in such a way that included the notions of identity and ancestral vision that each Nation values when living in relation to their territory.
Our team of teachers was especially successful in establishing a non-hierarchical relationship with the children; we saw ourselves more as companions or moderators of their experiences. All of the proposed activities were framed so that all of the exploration, themes, development, and content were carried out by the children. The knowledge was transmitted from our diverse experiences, encouraging inclusion, respect, and care. We gave special importance to the process, accepting the final product without further demands. Artistic creation was presented and offered to children as a means of expression available in their interests, based on observation and expression in their daily lives, for the respect and happiness of Mapuche childhoods, and for the territorial resistance of the ancestral Peoples. Free Wallmapu!
Wewentxu Huehuentru (Mapuche) is a Cultural Survival Youth Fellow.
Eli
Students at a screening of their audiovisual projects created in the workshop organized by Eli Huehuentru.
Collaborative painting by students in the workshop organized by Eli Huehuentru.
PROMOTING SAN EDUCATION IN NAMIBIA: PATRICIA DINYANDO
Patricia Dinyando organizing a community gathering on Kwe Traditional Folktale in Bwabwata, Namibia.
Georges Dougnon (DOGON, CS STAFF)
The San Peoples, known as Khwe, make up 80 percent of the 5,500 people that live in the Bwabwata National Park in northeastern Namibia. Bwabwata is the ancestral land of the San. In 2007, when the national park was established, the San people were relocated and confined to limited areas. Many members of the community face hardship and survive by gathering wild food and medicines through knowledge passed to us by our ancestors. They primarily harvest Devil’s Claw, which is sold all over the world and is a vital form of income for families.
In addition to losing access to their ancestral lands, the forced assimilation and imposition of colonial systems deeply impacted the San Peoples’ ancestral lifeways and transmission of knowledge. According to Namibia’s 2003 language policy by the Ministry of Basic Education, Sports and Culture, the language of instruction in grades 1 to 3 should either be a mother tongue or the predominant local language. However, the language used in the lower primary grades of our schools is of the second-largest ethnic group, which Khwe children find extremely challenging to comprehend and leads to some children dropping out of school. Concerned by the decline in reading and writing skills among Khwe San communities in Khwedam, a group of six young San women of the community came together to advocate for the revitalization of the language through storytelling. Led by Patricia Dinyando (Khwe San), the collective endeavored to document ancestral folktales in Khwedam and translate them into English to enable other communities to access the Khwe San cultural legacy.
Dinyando hails from northern Namibia and is a passionate advocate for Indigenous rights and education. While pursuing a Bachelor of Education at the University of Namibia, she has been actively involved in community development, volunteering at the Women’s Leadership Centre to empower San women in political participation and serving as a young San women and girls group facilitator. “Growing up, I saw firsthand how the lack of education impacted our community. Our Elders possessed immense wisdom, but without a way to document and share it, this invaluable knowledge was at risk of disappearing,” Dinyando says.
system. The imposition of western education, with its emphasis on written language and formal schooling, marginalized Indigenous knowledge systems. Many Indigenous languages, including Khwedam, were suppressed, leading to a loss of cultural identity and a disconnect between generations.
The Khwe Yicerengu Xi project, supported by Cultural Survival’s Indigenous Youth Fellowship, is a cornerstone of Dinyando’s efforts to revitalize Khwe culture. For the project, Dinyando collected and documented 10 traditional folktales, a significant milestone in Khwedam literacy, and is planning to publish a children’s book. By documenting and translating Khwe folktales, she aims to bridge the gap between Traditional Knowledge and modern education. “Through this project, we are not just preserving stories; we are reclaiming our narrative,” Dinyando says.
Dinyando’s vision extends beyond safeguarding her Peoples’ heritage. She seeks to create an educational system that respects and incorporates Indigenous ways of knowing and to empower Khwe children to learn and thrive in their own language, building a strong foundation for their identity and future. The efforts of the San youth collective and Dinyando’s leadership is a powerful testament to the importance of Indigenous knowledge and the resilience of Indigenous Peoples. Her commitment to education is a catalyst for change, inspiring hope for a future where Khwe culture flourishes and young people have the opportunity to become leaders in their own communities. “I believe that education should be a tool for liberation, not oppression. Our children deserve to learn in a way that honors their heritage and prepares them for the future,” Dinyando says. “By sharing our culture with the world, we hope to inspire others to value and protect their own Indigenous heritage.”
Our Culture Is Our Identity REVITALIZING MAYAN LANGUAGE THROUGH EDUCATION
Byron Tenesaca (KAÑARI KICHWA, CS STAFF)
Gloria Guadalupe Dzib Kumul (Maya) is a 29-year-old educator from Valladolid, Yucatan, Mexico. Growing up in a household where Mayan was the primary language, she developed the ability to converse fluently in both Spanish and Mayan. This shaped her identity and ignited her passion for preserving and revitalizing Indigenous languages through education. Dzib is deeply committed to her Maya roots. She is a primary education teacher in Kanxoc, Valladolid, Yucatan, and recently earned a master’s degree in Intercultural Bilingual Primary Education. Her goal has always been to address the specific needs of Indigenous education in the digital era.
The pandemic highlighted the necessity of virtual resources in Indigenous education, and it inspired Dzib to design a website and social media page, Túumben Chúunul (New Beginning). The site is a place for digital sociolinguistic materials focused on the Mayan language: a crucial step in making Indigenous knowledge accessible in the digital world. She also developed Virtual Learning Objects that focus on teaching the Mayan language through a functional approach to enhance language acquisition. These interactive digital resources have fostered a virtual community where materials can be shared through social networks.
The resources Dzib created emphasize the vital role of Elders as the primary transmitters of language in bilingual households. In her community, where the majority speak Mayan, most schools and teaching materials only teach in Spanish—a gap that became especially evident during the pandemic’s shift to distance learning. With the support of Cultural Survival’s Indigenous Youth Fellowship, Dzib created a digital repository of bilingual virtual resources tailored for elementary school children incorporating the experiences of teachers, students, and parents.
Her fellowship project highlights the importance of bringing Indigenous languages into social networks from an inclusive perspective. It also provided an opportunity for educators and parents to recognize and elevate the Mayan language while offering professional growth and digital skills development for Indigenous education teachers.
The project enables the sharing of educational resources, allowing more Mayan speakers to access them on platforms such as YouTube and fostering a virtual intercultural exchange. Despite the challenges posed by a rigid and homogeneous educational system, Dzib remains committed to her mission. “The educational system needs to be more flexible, diverse, and innovative, allowing teachers to focus on developing cognitive, emotional, linguistic, communicative, and physical skills rather than just numerical results,” she says. For Dzib, seeing the personal and academic growth of her students is deeply rewarding. “It’s gratifying to witness the growth of my students. It’s in these moments that I know the seeds I’ve planted are beginning to grow, and better times are on the horizon for them.”
Dzib’s teaching methods emphasize the importance of linguistic revitalization and the creation of autonomous educational spaces within communities. She believes that preserving Indigenous languages is crucial for maintaining community knowledge and identity. “Autonomous educational spaces that focus on self-determination enable the development of life skills, allowing young people to communicate their aspirations and knowledge to improve their circumstances,” she explains. She encourages young people to communicate in their mother tongue and engage with their cultural heritage as she advocates for collaboration between Indigenous education and other educational institutions to promote critical interculturality.
Dzib’s journey is a powerful testament to the transformative potential of Indigenous education. Her unwavering dedication to revitalizing the Mayan language and creating inclusive educational spaces serves as an inspiration to educators and communities worldwide. Through her work, Dzib is not only safeguarding her culture but also empowering the next generation to embrace their heritage and contribute to a more inclusive and diverse future. She firmly believes that “Our culture is our identity” and that the best way to promote this is through the power of education: “Education, like sunlight, must reach everyone. The strength of teaching lies in collaborative work. Let’s recognize the greatness of childhood and ensure that teachers are the ones who bridge the digital, social, and educational gaps.” Visit Dzib’s project website https://gloriagdk7.wixsite.com/odasmayas
Gloria Dzib Kumul with five of her students wearing ternos, the regional traditional dress from Yucatan, holding baskets that belong to the Jarana las Canastas de Halacho, a local celebration.
RESILIENT ROOTS THE ENDURING LEGACY OF KOĨTS-SUNUWAR INDIGENOUS EDUCATION
Syãndar Sil is a dance performed twice a year that embodies a tradition where knowledge flows from one generation to the next through active participation.
Dev Kumar Sunuwar (KOĨTS-SUNUWAR, CS STAFF)
The Koĩts-Sunuwar Peoples of Nepal have a deeply rooted Indigenous system of education that emphasizes learning through observation, practice, community socialization, participation in cultural and spiritual rituals, and the transmission of oral teachings. Despite the increasing presence of modern classroomstyle education, the Koĩts-Sunuwar have maintained their traditional education methods. These practices remain a cornerstone of their cultural heritage, ensuring essential knowledge and skills are transmitted to future generations. “Our education is not confined to books and classrooms; it is woven into the fabric of our daily lives, passed down from ancestors to descendants. Our stories are our libraries,” says Dr. Lal-Shyäkarelu Rapacha (Sunuwar).
The system is not simply about knowledge transfer; it is vital for safeguarding cultural identity, language, and rituals. Koĩts-Sunuwar learning is deeply interpersonal. These interactions are integral to the community’s education, imparting moral values and lessons on harmonious coexistence with nature. Residing alongside eastern Nepal’s Likhu, Sunkoshi, and Tamakoshi Rivers, the Koĩts-Sunuwar maintain a deep connection to their ancestral homeland. Officially recognized as Sunuwar, the community of nearly 80,000 comprises over 70 sub-clans, all united by their traditional religion, Kirat-Dharma, and their distinct language from the Tibeto-Burman family. Their cultural heritage is a unique blend of traditions, language, and oral literature protected for millennia.
The traditional education system of the Koĩts-Sunuwar complements modern education. Shova Sunuwar, Chairperson of the Sunuwar Women’s Society, explains, “We may learn from books, but our true education comes from the whispers of our ancestors, guidance from the parents and grandparents, and the lessons of the land.” She says that Koĩts children learn by observing and imitating daily activities at home and in their communities. From infancy, they are guided on proper behavior, speech, and participation in household chores and socio-cultural rituals. They participate and cooperate in social gatherings, gaining
valuable hands-on experience and developing essential skills. In the process, they feel like vital community members and learn informally through everyday interactions. This upbringing fosters a deep connection to their heritage through a natural process of trial and error.
Unlike modern formal education, Koĩts-Sunuwar is intimately connected to nature, agriculture, health, and well being, with knowledge shared equitably among community members. Losing this system would threaten the KoĩtsSunuwar identity, and reminds us that Indigenous culture is dynamic, emerging organically from daily activities and reflecting the socio-economic factors and ideologies that shape a community’s identity. For Koĩts-Sunuwar, cultural practices, such as those related to food security, are crucial for survival. Their ancestors’ deep understanding of food and its importance highlights the profound connection between Indigenous culture and the natural world.
From birth, Koĩts-Sunuwar are immersed in stories and chants, primarily through the Mukdum (ancient religious and folk literature), performed by Poĩnb and Gyãmi (male and female shamans, respectively), and through the storytelling of their grandparents. These tales form a vibrant tapestry of cultural knowledge that thrives even in the age of technology, with stories now recorded in books and digital formats. Still, the power of oral transmission remains strong. “Our designs are records of our history,” says Puskal Sunuwar, a respected Poĩnb. “They tell stories of our ancestors and our connection to the land.” These designs, found on clothing, walls, and even musical instruments serve as repositories of knowledge akin to modern books. Even as written language has gained prominence, many KoĩtsSunuwar still rely heavily on oral traditions, recognizing them as a vital part of their cultural identity.
Oral education among the Koĩts-Sunuwar is particularly vibrant during ceremonies and rituals, where stories connect the community to the spirits, their ancestors, and the natural world. These oral traditions are collective endeavors that involve active participation from everyone in the community. Through interactive performances including songs, chants, and epic poetry, the Koĩts-Sunuwar maintain social order and cultural continuity. While classroom-style education has its place, it cannot replicate the depth and
communal engagement of the Koĩts-Sunuwar oral tradition. This form of schooling remains vital, ensuring the transmission of knowledge and values from generation to generation; even with the influence of formal education, many Elders con tinue to rely on Traditional Knowledge.
As globalization threatens local Indigenous knowledge, safeguarding the wisdom contained in cultural practices in written form is crucial. Incorporating Indigenous Traditional Knowledge into formal education and shaping policies to provide learning opportunities for Indigenous Peoples is essential for social justice and cultural continuity. Ceremonies like the Syãndar Sil have long been used to transmit moral values and educational messages and are central to the Koĩts-Sunuwar socio-cultural life. Shamanism, a spiritual tradition preserved for generations, is at the core of Koĩts-Sunuwar culture, and Shamans are revered as healers and spiritual guides. Their knowledge, acquired through inheritance and spiritual instruction, is used in drumming, dancing, and chanting rituals.
of their lives. This central body features the roles of Mulich (Chief), Ngãwach (advisor), Gauroch (judge), and Dibrung (communication officer), passed down through generations, ensuring continuity of leadership and tradition. As these systems have evolved, the spirit of community-led education persists in homes, fields, the chief’s house, community houses, and during rituals, ensuring a holistic learning experience. Customary institutions like the Koĩts-Chuplu, Mulich, or the Kgãwach (Chief Justice) and Nãso, including Poĩnb and Gyãmi, further guarantee the continuation of Sunuwar culture and knowledge. “Our traditions are vital for cultural continuity, food security, identity, and environmental conservation,” Uttam Kumar Sunuwar says.
Koĩts-Sunuwars’ Shamanic Traditions
The Mukdum is a rich oral tradition that lies at the heart of the Sunuwar people. It is a living entity passed orally from teacher to student during sacred ceremonies, and its narratives often reflect the Sunuwars’ historical hunting lifestyle, explaining their settlements near rivers, caves, and forests. The Sasi Mukdum, conveyed by the Poĩnb and Gyãmi, recounts the origin of the universe, humanity, and the Sunuwar themselves. “The Mukdum is our connection to the beginnings to the stories of creation that shape our identity. [It] is our history, science, and spirituality, all woven together,” reflects Sunuwar. The Megyo Mukdum contains powerful mantras for invoking deities, performing rituals, and healing by summoning nature gods and ancestral goddesses. “The Megyo Mukdum is our medicine,” Sunuwar explains. The Muili Mukdum houses mantras exclusively dedicated to invoking deities. This intricate shamanic system, found across Indigenous cultures, reveals the deep bond between humans and the spiritual world.
One shamanic ceremony, Syãndar Pidar, involves animal sacrifices performed with archery by the Nãso (ritual performer). A lively element of this ceremony is the Kashsil (Porcupine Dance), where the Mukdum is recited rhythmically alongside drums, embodying the Sunuwar belief that the porcupine taught them to identify safe food. The deep animist beliefs of the Koĩts-Sunuwar are reflected in their reverence for nature and the observance of Udhauli and Ubhauli, biannual festivals linked to agricultural cycles.
The Koĩts-Sunuwar community has also relied on customary institutions called the Koĩts-Chuplu to govern various aspects
The transition to formal, classroom-based education in Nepal profoundly transformed the Koĩts-Sunuwar and other Indigenous Peoples. Historically, education in Nepal has been tightly regulated. During the Rana regime (1846-1951), education was the privilege of the elite, and an English-based system was used to promote westernization. This period also saw the conscription of Koĩts-Sunuwar youth into the British and Indian armies, further disrupting their traditional way of life. After the Rana regime fell, educational institutions proliferated across Nepal. However, the Panchayat system (1961–1990) imposed a monocultural curriculum centered on Hindu values. This marginalized the diverse Indigenous cultures of Nepal. The emphasis on Nepali as the language of instruction and government further exacerbated these exclusions, leading to poor educational outcomes for many Indigenous children—a trend that persists today.
For the Koĩts-Sunuwar, the dream of Indigenous-led education in their mother tongue remains elusive. Despite the formal acknowledgment of inclusive education, significant obstacles prevent Koĩts-Sunuwar children from accessing quality education that respects and preserves their cultural heritage. While integrating Indigenous education into formal schooling presents practical challenges, initiating a discourse on its incorporation is vital. Bridging the gap between Indigenous knowledge and education systems and modern education is essential to ensure a holistic and inclusive learning experience for future generations.
Inset: Nãso, Som Bahadur Sunuwar, adjusts his Chirme (a traditional hatstyle ring made of bamboo) in preparation for the Kãs Sil (above), a dance performed during a Kãs Pidar ancestral ritual in Sabla, Ramechhap, Nepal.
Photo by Uttam Kumar Sunuwar.
BRIDGING GENERATIONS
Radio as a Tool for Sharing Náhuat Knowledge
Diana Pastor (MAYA K’ICHE’, CS STAFF)
When an Indigenous language becomes extinct, a vital part of a culture is lost. The ideologies, knowledge, and ways of life that are expressed through the words of that language cannot be communicated fluently through a foreign language. Colonization and the imposition of foreign languages, have, on many occasions, abruptly and violently displaced the original languages of Indigenous Peoples. Their histories, traditions, and ways of life have a greater chance of surviving as they actively maintain their language, using it as a tool to communicate their culture.
The loss of language has had a major impact on the education of Indigenous youth. The younger generations have grown up with new linguistic structures that have influenced their identity, values, and their relationships. Ideally, governments should protect Indigenous languages as facets of cultural richness, especially when the language is under threat. In reality, however, Indigenous languages are often neglected, and it is left to the communities to find their own strategies and solutions to rescue their languages. The speakers of an endangered Indigenous language, usually the Elders, become the guardians of the language, the teachers from whom it must be learned. However, the question arises as to how to engage and connect them with the youth. That is where radio comes in, a medium that continues to be the main channel of communication for Indigenous communities, especially those who exist in remote and isolated locations. Radio plays an important role in promoting the use of language by providing a space for free education and reflection on its importance to a community.
Because radio is one of the most accessible platforms of communication for Indigenous Peoples in many countries, this has resulted in an active community radio movement. For many Indigenous Peoples, the low cost of radio makes it the ideal tool for defending their cultures, lands, natural resources, and rights. Even in impoverished communities lacking electricity, many people can afford a small batterypowered radio. High levels of illiteracy in many Indigenous communities prevent people from accessing information from print sources. In many remote areas, Indigenous people, especially Elders, may only speak one language, meaning that important messages broadcast in other languages in the mainstream media often do not reach them.
A community radio station located in El Salvador, where the Indigenous communities are fighting to continue practicing their culture and maintain their languages with few native speakers left, is playing an important role in this movement. Radio Sensunat is trying to bring back the Náhuat language, which dramatically diminished following a historical repression that punished people for expressing themselves in their native language. The legacy of this often-violent repression, which primarily occurred between 1930–1945, has resulted in generational trauma that persists today.
To address this situation, Radio Sensunat decided to create a project involving the silenced generations—those who had to keep quiet about their knowledge and their language in order to survive. The Náhuat language is the only surviving language of the three Indigenous Peoples who inhabit El Salvador: the Lencas, Cacaoperas, and Náhuat. Despite the value and urgency of revitalizing Náhuat, it was not until 2014 that the Salvadoran government legally recognized the language. However, no efforts have been made since to protect it. The exact number is unknown, but it is estimated that only a few hundred speakers remain.
As part of their work to reclaim the rights of Indigenous Peoples and support Indigenous cultures and languages, the radio stations are educating the community and promoting their native languages. The idea was to use the radio as a tool to make the knowledge of the Náhuat Elders available to the entire population. “We are making efforts so that our language does not disappear. We do not distinguish between generations; everyone can teach and everyone can learn,” say members of Radio Sensunat. A team from the station interviewed Elders from the communities of Izalco, Nahuizalco, Santo Domingo de Guzmán, Tacuba, Cantón el Sincuyo, Cantón el Rosario, and Cantón Rafael. From these conversations, they produced content in Náhuat and Spanish to be broadcast several times a day. The Elders spoke about aspects of daily life of the Náhuat People, the names of certain foods, and how to say certain common words in Náhuat so that the listeners would become familiar with the language and hopefully become more curious about it.
Another objective of the project was to give recognition to the Elders of the community. Being given the opportunity to speak their language in front of a microphone and doing so with complete freedom was gratifying, since for many years they had been denied their right to speak their native language. When they heard their voices on the
radio, they were amazed. Members of Radio Sensunat say that including the Elders, who have been traditionally excluded, has opened the way for them to continue participating post-pandemic: “When COVID-19 reached the communities, our station coordinated with the Elders so that they could share information about the measures to take into account to combat the pandemic.” Messages about wearing masks, hand washing, and social distancing reached people who speak Náhuat, who felt they could trust the information since it came from people in the community.
The efforts to make the Náhuat language more prominent were well received in the communities where the radio stations have coverage. Listeners began to recognize the language and see it as an important and valuable element in the community, including the older generations, who for so long had been conditioned to forget their language and not teach it to the new generations. “Today, the Elders still come to the radio station wanting to share a song, tell a story, or talk about other topics,” members of Sensunat say, adding that it is a great joy for them that the Elders are asking for a space on the radio of their own initiative. At the same time, listeners are enjoying learning new things and are entertained by the knowledge of the Elders.
This experience also allowed Radio Sensunat to strengthen alliances with other Indigenous communities, such as Santo Domingo de Guzmán, which has a number of Náhuat speakers. For the Náhuat communities, radio continues to be an important means of communication since the government treats them as though they were invisible. Having the opportunity to hear and speak their native language allows them to recognize they have a shared history, which strengthens their relationship with one another and helps them fight against community problems.
“I love to speak and sing in Náhuat, because it is the language that our grandparents taught us,” says Antonia Morales (Náhuat), an Elder from the Indigenous community of Santo Domingo de Guzmán who participated in the project. “I am not ashamed to speak Náhuat; on the contrary, I am proud to speak it and teach it to the girls and boys, because it is what my mother taught me, who was one of the precursors of instilling, writing, and singing songs in Náhuat. We are grateful that this radio makes us known so that our culture does not die,” comments Estela Lopez, also from Santo Domingo de Guzman.
Other participants, such as Cecilia Isidro of the movement of Indigenous Unification of Nahuizalco, shared the women’s perspective: “We as young women have sometimes been marginalized for being Indigenous. But by getting involved and participating in spaces that help us to know our identity, it gives us strength to help other young people to safeguard that they also know our origins. We thank Radio Sensunat for giving us the opportunity to participate and make our culture known.”
Mateo Rafael Latín (Náhuat), mayor of the Indigenous community of Izalco, adds, “The truth is that we are tired of so much marginalization and abuse of our culture. We will fight to protect the legacy of our ancestors, and we thank this community radio for opening spaces of participation to defend what our grandfathers and grandmothers taught us.”
Náhuat community members Ligia Aguiñada, Bessi Ramirez, and Jehovany Rodríguez from Radio Sensunat contributed to this article.
Radio Sensunat is a Cultural Survival Indigenous Community Media Fund grant partner.
Opening ceremony to celebrate community radio workshops at Radio Sensunat in El Salvador. Photo courtesy of Radio Sensunat.
RETURNING TO LAND, RETURNING TO HOLISTIC INDIGENOUS LIFEWAYS
Maskoke residents of Ekvn-Yefolecv gather for ethnobotanical education in a language immersion context, on their traditional homelands they rematriated, 180 years after forced removal.
Photo courtesy of Ekvn-Yefolecv.
CS Staff
The story of the Maskoke Peoples is, as that of all Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island, a story of dispossession, cultural assimilation, and treaty violations. Forced out of their homelands by government-imposed removal policies, Maskoke People were displaced from their territories in 1836. Only in 2018 did a small community of Maskoke People finally re-matriate some of these ancestral lands and return to live once again in what is today called Alabama. Ekvn-Yefolecv, (ee-gun yee-fulllee-juh), a term that embodies the meaning of “returning to Earth/returning to the homelands,” is an ecovillage community that lies on 6,834 acres and was created for the purpose of linguistic, cultural, and ecological sustainability. There are only a handful of remaining Maskoke persons who speak their language, so an important part of the community’s efforts are directed toward language revitalization through immersion wherein children are raised exclusively in the Maskoke language, with their curriculum centering on traditional agricultural and ecological knowledge. Their efforts have proven successful, as they are now home to the only fluent-speaking Maskoke children on the planet.
Food sovereignty, including the decolonization and re-Indigenization of their diets, is a major component of their daily lives; Maskoke Elders too often die prematurely of chronic illness, taking with them their language and ancestral knowledge. Returning to a more traditional diet is crucial to securing better health conditions for the
eco-village. With support from the Keepers of the Earth Fund, residents embarked on a project to reintroduce important elements of the traditional diet. The lake sturgeon, sacred to the Maskoke People, was extirpated from Alabama’s streams in the 1950s by a combination of factors, including the construction of hydroelectric dams and the deliberate removal by settlers. The community built an aquaculture facility, then traveled to Anishinaabe homelands in Ontario, Canada to spawn the fish, return embryos to Maskoke homelands, hatch them, grow them, and over time, reintroduce the sturgeon fingerlings back into the watershed. They recently expanded the community’s aquaculture facility, creating space for other endangered species of sturgeon that are also native to the bioregion. Residents capture fish waste from the facility and divert it to their greenhouse in order to enhance nutrient density in vegetables they grow for community consumption.
Co-founders Tawna Little and Marcus Briggs-Cloud maintain that because Maskoke Peoples are a traditionally agrarian society, their daily contemporary lifeways must be fixated on regenerative agriculture if their language is going to survive. Briggs-Cloud, who has never spoken a word of English to his and Little’s children since their births, says, “We had to intentionally create a space where we can live every day in our language. It’s a pretty simple reality to comprehend that if our daily activities are not performed in our already fragile language, it will inevitably die.” He expounds on the connections between language and re-Indigenization: “Our traditional lexicon inherently lends itself to conversations engaging traditional ecological, cosmological, agricultural, astronomical, ceremonial, and
other forms of knowledge. So, instead of changing our language to accommodate the environmentally abusive realities of settler-colonial industrial capitalist ideology, we needed to change the way we live by recreating a society in which our language once functioned best—one premised on ecologically regenerative lifeways.”
Among their commitments to regenerative agriculture is Ekvn-Yefolecv’s return of bison to the landscape, as well as critically endangered livestock breeds like American Guinea Hogs, San Clemente Island goats, Gulf Coast sheep, and several heritage chicken breeds. Ecovillage residents actively create silvopasture (trees, forage, and animals all coexisting on the same land) primarily for carbon sequestration, wherein they implement the holistic management technique of intensive rotational grazing to improve soil health.
Restoring southeastern grasslands for the proliferation of native perennials is also a priority. This species diversification effort provides a forage polyculture in the pasture that improves the ruminants’ omega 3:6 ratio and phytonutrient richness, providing nourishing meals for ecovillage residents upon harvest of those animals. After becoming residents of the ecovillage, adhering to the community’s diet has led to several persons dropping significant amounts of weight and reclaiming their mobility; others have ended dependence on formerly prescribed pharmaceutical medications such as antidepressants and insulin for diabetes.
The ecovillage’s reintroduction of endangered species to the ecosystem has been of deep spiritual importance. Marilyn Cloud Dunson, Ekvn-Yefolecv Elder and Maskoke language speaker, sums up well the importance of these activities: “Oketv tat hiyowat, vcakēt owēpēkv, ponvttv, vpēukv, omvlkv fullicēyat vcayēcēt ponvttv vhonvpsvkvhanat svhēcēt, hompetv tis sēcvfeknickv ohfvccvn hompetv honticēt vpoket owēs. Nak-omvlkv pun somēcēkon kowēyat ohfvccvn nettv-setētayen vototketv sohfvcficēyat estē-catē em oponvkv setemponahoyēt vpokēt owēs.” (This is a very sacred time. We care for these animals so that they may be restored. They make us healthy, as well as the food we grow. We are here so that all of these things do not perish, including our language that we speak everyday while we fulfill this work.)
The community demands a nontoxic and ecologically regenerative built environment that includes timber framing from trees harvested onsite, conducting ceremonies to gain consent from each tree before harvest, felling and milling the trees to bypass embodied energy associated with the importation of timber from offsite, and mortise and tenon joinery with green timbers that avoids an energyintensive wood kiln drying process involved for lumber alternatives. They install wheat straw bales and hempcrete wall systems, and then apply earthen clay-based plasters to the walls and floors.
Other features of the built environment include several
A Maskoke child and Elder talk to a juvenile sturgeon in the Maskoke language before releasing it into the river.
20,000-gallon rain catchment cisterns, anaerobic biodigesters that combine human and animal manure with food scraps to generate methane cooking fuel, net-carbonnegative rocket mass heaters, living roofs that are irrigated to reduce temperatures inside buildings during hot months, and a host of other low-tech, integrated regenerative systems. Ekvn-Yefolecv is situated in a fire-adapted ecosystem. In partnership with The Nature Conservancy, they have burned 2,500 acres of their ecovillage over the past four years for the restoration of the critically endangered montane longleaf pine ecosystem, which hosts the culturally significant, endangered red-cockaded woodpecker.
Ekvn-Yefolecv is an income-sharing community, meaning all residents of the community work daily throughout the ecovillage in exchange for food, lodging, and a $400 monthly stipend. Little says, “I formerly associated this envisioned ecovillage way of life with being poor, which is how I grew up. I promised myself I would get out of poverty, and here I am using composting toilets and living on $400 a month. But I realize that in having the privilege of working directly with the Earth every day that I am not poor, and that I have agency in choosing to live in right relationship with her. We hold the land in common and commit to living simply in recognition that the accumulation of money is tied to the abuse of Earth and the exploitation of human bodies around the world.”
Ekvn-Yefolecv continues to work to build a linguistically, culturally, and ecologically resilient community for future generations to inherit. Kvlpv Jeter says, “We are honored to be a partner of Cultural Survival’s Keepers of the Earth Fund, especially because the very name of the fund encapsulates all that we stand for in our ecovillage. It feels so good that they see us and support us in our efforts to be good stewards of our Indigenous Maskoke homelands.”
In 2020 and 2023, Ekvn-Yefolecv received a Keepers of the Earth Fund (KOEF) grant to support their work. KOEF is an Indigenous-led fund within Cultural Survival designed to support the advocacy and community development projects of Indigenous Peoples. Since 2017, KOEF has funded 310 projects in 41 countries through small grants totaling $1,603,307.
Photo courtesy of Ekvn-Yefolecv.
ELVIA RODRÍGUEZ
“My female ancestors dreamed of being what I am today.”
Diana Pastor (MAYA KI’CHE’, CS STAFF)
From an early age, Elvia Rodríguez (Mixtec) always had a deep interest in social and international issues. Originally from Santo Tomás Ocotepec, a Mixtec town in Oaxaca, Mexico, she grew up surrounded by beautiful ocote trees, but also by the migration phenomenon that led many of the people of her community to migrate to cities in Mexico and the United States.
Elvia says that her community “still maintains the connection with their culture, the language (more than half of the population speaks Mixtec), food, and traditions, especially with the family.” She also highlights the care that her community gives to the place where they live. “My community is part of the territory. They do not exploit it only to benefit from its resources.” Despite this, Elvia does not idealize the place where she lives, because she knows that there are issues that they are still learning about, for example, the problem of gender-based violence.
Elvia studied International Relations, which allowed her to learn about legal, economic, social, and political issues and helped her to be more aware and critical about the context of Indigenous Peoples in Mexico and elsewhere in the world. Being a fearless, self-confident, and transparent person, Elvia has worked for the United Nations in Mexico and other civil society organizations in Mexico and the United States.
One of Elvia’s motivations for joining the Cultural Survival team, as Community Media Program Assistant, is to meet and work with professionals from other Indigenous Peoples, to hear their personal and professional experiences as well as their visions of the present and the future. She says, “For me, Cultural Survival is a network that has a holistic view of social problems, especially the inequalities and challenges that Indigenous Peoples face every day, not only in Latin America, but also in other regions of the world.”
By coming to Cultural Survival, Elvia is excited to support issues related to the art of Indigenous Peoples, as well as the revitalization, strengthening, and promotion of their languages, legends, and stories. Elvia also has a great interest in the customary law of Indigenous Peoples, where she has gained professional experience. “It is one of the most important elements for people to be able to live autonomously, without fear of being violated, exploited, or displaced, so that we have real decision-making power,” she says.
Elvia is proud to be a Mixtec woman, and she lives her identity in the spaces in which she lives and works. “I [was] not forced to reject my culture; therefore, I speak Mixtec whenever I have the opportunity. My Mixtec worldview is also visible in my way of interacting and addressing people in different environments. In addition, I wear the huipil of my people with great pride. I exercise my rights as a Mixtec woman thanks to my parents, grandparents, and community, and I raise my voice when I feel vulnerable and violated, because I have learned from the generation of adults who went through complex situations and who have fought for the rights that we have now.”
Elvia’s admiration for her Elders especially includes her mother and her two grandmothers. “With their example, they forged the foundations of the woman I am today. They were brave, hard-working, and resilient in difficult times,” she says. Elvia says that her ancestors dreamed of being what she is now, and that is why she always honors her mother because she has always listened to her and supported her in her dreams and adventures.
In addition to her ancestors, Elvia admires other women who have trusted her and who have been crucial in different stages of her personal and professional life. “The list of women I admire and who have contributed to my life is very long,” she says. “I am deeply grateful to all of them because they are the greatest example of the impact of helping and listening to women.”
PAINTING WITH BEADS
HERMINIO RAMIREZ DIAZ
CS Staff
Herminio Ramirez Diaz (Wixárika/Huichol) is a beading artist from San Andrés Cohamiata, Sierra de Jalisco, Mexico. He learned his craft at a very young age by watching his father, “out of interest, not out of obligation; empirically, first by seeing the basics, and then the most complex, exclusive designs, [always] with the essence of Wixárika. At 13 or 14, I had already learned and developed all the basic bead techniques and became inspired to create unique pieces. I started designing jewelry. I am always creating unique art with the essence of the Wixárika worldview. It is very important to be involved in the ceremonies and rituals of our People to continue deepening the knowledge of the culture,” says Ramirez.
Symbolism is important in Wixárika art, and Ramirez’s work incorporates symbols that carry a message of the Wixárika culture and cosmology. “It is a form of conservation and protection,” he says. “In each piece, the deer is reflected. In the spiritual and cosmogonic world, the deer is the main guide of knowledge linked to the Hikuri (peyote), sacred fruit of the gods, that only the Wixárika has access to. We have been given a gift, and through it, we are shown the path of the wise. Another element used is the cornfield, because it is a living being that sacrifices itself to give the fruits that feed [the deer]. The double-headed eagle is also used a lot, representing the union and communication between two different dimensions, one sacred and the other material, which is what we inhabit. In addition, the wise men or knowledge keepers of the community use their feathers for sacred ceremonies. Our art is a living form of our worldview,” Ramirez says.
Ramirez has had the opportunity to share his Wixárika art in Indigenous art spaces across Mexico, the United States, Ecuador, Asia, and Europe. His art has been shown at renowned venues and galleries, and now at the Cultural Survival Bazaars. “Wixárika art and craftsmanship is a process of continuous change,” Ramirez says. “Before the existence of the bead, the main raw material of our art, natural materials such as seeds, shells, bones, stones, and feathers were used. However, with the invasion of the Spanish on
our lands, they brought with them the glass material that was introduced little by little into our culture. Today, that glass material is the very fine Czech bead, and over the years we have adapted it to represent our symbology and worldview, decorating jaguar head figures, votive gourds, wooden figures, and other animals. It embodies sacred symbols of our culture, symbols that represent the divine. Meanwhile, in jewelry, I am inspired to make beaded representations of the plants and flowers that are used in ceremonies” Ramirez says.
Aside from being an important cultural practice, Wixárika art offers families a way to earn or supplement their living. “Art is an important cultural manifestation for the Wixárika Peoples, and also a way to protect and transmit our worldview. As Indigenous artists from Mexico, we are limited in finding markets for the exhibition of our art, spaces where Indigenous art is valued. Wixárika art and crafts are of vital importance to us, because in addition to functioning as an economic entity for many families, it serves to keep alive the traditions and creations of Wixárika artists,” Ramirez says.
In Mexico, as in most countries with Indigenous populations, there is a systemic violation of human rights. Faced with the threat of the re-entry of mining companies to Wirikuta, the Wixárika people formed the civil association Wixárika Union of Ceremonial Centers in 2006, and the Front in Defense of Wirikuta Tamatsima Wahaa in 2011. “We live in scarcity, and in some cases we are nonexistent to the State,” Ramirez says about his other work as a land defender and rights activist. “Our demands in territorial defense, our recognition, the autonomy of our communities are often ignored. The Wixárika Peoples have been fighting in defense of their territory for more than 50 years, and to date there is no recognition. We also continue to defend our sacred places in always from the imminent threat of large extractive corporations.”
Come to our upcoming Cultural Survival Bazaar at the Prudential Center in Boston, MA, on December 5–8, 2024. For more information visit: bazaar.cs.org
Examples of Hermino Ramirez Diaz’s beading work.
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