OPINION
REFLECTING REALITY TUFTS’ HISTORY AS A VESTIGE OF SETTLER COLONIALISM
By Brenna Trollinger
W
hen asked what he would do with a “bleak hill” in Medford, Charles Tufts replied, “I will put a light on it.” This is the story of how Tufts University was founded—at least the one Tufts chooses to highlight. But Tufts’ history does not start there; it begins centuries earlier. This hill—also known as Walnut Tree Hill and later College Hill—was not bleak or empty. It was, and still is, the site of many years of trauma and harm endured by Indigenous and enslaved peoples. While not widely known or publicized, enslavement and displacement are inextricably connected to Tufts’ past, present, and future. Currently, the Tufts campus is marred with buildings, residence halls, and landmarks that pay tribute to problematic figures in its history. As the student body of this university, we must ask: are these the stories we want to remember? Is this the history we want to honor? Slavery and settler colonialism created the foundation on which Tufts and many other American universities were built. However, when we think about the legacy of slavery and trauma at Tufts, it is vital to center the stories of those who endured this harm—not those who enacted it. Tufts must reconcile with its challenging past, rectify current sources of harm, and reflect the values it espouses on its campus. 22 TUFTS OBSERVER FEBRUARY 14, 2022
Tufts is built upon the unceded ancestral tribal lands of the Massachusett, Wampanoag, and Pokanoket Tribes. While the dispossession of Indigenous groups from their homelands occurred before its 1852 founding, Tufts, to this day, occupies and benefits from stolen land. In 2019, the Tufts Community Union Senate urged the University to “create an official land acknowledgment, increase the amount of Indigenous presence on campus, and raise awareness of Tufts history with Indigenous peoples.” Since then, Tufts, largely through student-led activism, has created a Native American and Indigenous Studies minor, celebrated Indigenous Peoples Day, and formalized a Land Acknowledgement Committee in charge of drafting a formal statement. To grapple with its position as a vestige of settler-colonialism, Tufts must take full responsibility for the displacement of Indigenous groups and erasure of culture which occurred on our campus. Recognizing that we are on stolen land
must go beyond empty sentiments and move towards tangible changes such as increasing support for Indigenous people on campus, student organizations like Indigenous Students’ Organization at Tufts, and national movements such as Land Back. A land acknowledgment, while a helpful first step and tool for remembrance, is not enough to rectify Tufts’ legacy of settler colonialism. Land is more than parcels to buy and control: there are communities, histories, and people connected to it. Tufts must move forward with respect for the land it occupies. Beyond acknowledging Tufts’ presence on stolen lands, Indigenous voices and histories should be highlighted and uplifted. The names, stories, and histories of the Indigenous groups who lived on Tufts’ campus remain untold and unheard. These unknown stories point to the larger pattern of cultural erasure which occurred as a result of colonization and the establishment of the university. This forgotten and violent history entangles Tufts within the larger narrative of slavery and dispossession in the United States. Even the name “Tufts” creates a historical callback to the complicated history of slavery on the university’s land. The land Tufts is located on was once
