Thoughts on history, memory, and music

Author: Daniel Cobb (Page 1 of 5)

American Studies

Learning by Doing: An Analysis of the Experiential Education of Never Alone, by Caroline Horne

Never Alone is unique in its unequaled ability to represent Indigenous culture and identity, while also giving the player liberty to interactively tell their own story by participating. As Clara Fernández-Vara explains in Introduction to Game Analysis, “the game is not a complete text without a player that interprets its rules and interacts with it” (Fernández-Vara, 7). In Never Alone, we see how this relationship between context and participation is crucial to understanding its importance and, as a result, being successful in game play. Never Alone is essential in the sphere of Indigenous representation because it is a form of education through experience that is like no other and demonstrates Indigenous identity with beautiful clarity and emotional impact.

Fernández-Vara explains how the disconnect between the academic conversation surrounding traditional literature and video games is slowly closing, and how video games are becoming “paratexts” for elements of diversity and historical representation. While video games were generally discussed only through economic and consumer lenses, they are now beginning to have a larger effect based on their content with games like Never Alone, which actively work to inform people of Indigenous culture. While playing the game, I found myself internalizing much more than the actual game. The ways in which myth, folklore, and spiritual themes were presented drew attention to the historical contexts of the game and how they relate to present day Indigenous culture (Fernández-Vara, 3).

These historical contexts, which define the player’s perception, are unlike those in games such as Red Dead Redemption, as discussed in Esther Wright’s “Rockstar Games.” While Red Dead Redemption has a much more violent perspective based on a “morality” system of points, which can at times be harmful to Indigenous identity through the ways which these points are centered around white colonial efforts, the game does provide some latitude of historical representation of Indigenous people (Wright). Never Alone is also in this genre of historically inspired games, however this game has much more “sovereign self-representation,” which make its impact especially important because players are able to immerse themselves in Indigenous culture specifically through the lens of Indigenous people, as discussed in Elizabeth LaPensée’s “Toward Sovereign Games.” “[A] game is sovereign,” she argues, “when self- determination is a respected practice throughout all phases of development from conceptualization to distribution.” This makes Never Alone essential to demonstrating how Indigenous representation can successfully be executed and effectively used to educate (LaPensée, 1).

Among the aspects of the game that especially draws attention to the historical context of its composition are the elements of “fictive” versus “realist simulation” time frames. I found myself wondering as I played the game, especially when the characters would die and be resurrected in unrealistic timing, are these based on actual tales of folklore? If so, is it a historical foundation of Indigenous culture? These questions emphasize the importance of this game in terms of its accurate representations and Indigenous design. The realms of elusive time, especially in the preplanned intermissions where the narrator discusses aspects of the characters’ journey, create an ethereal quality which adds layers of interest to the way in which the game is perceived as history, or the way which players can control the two “narrative gardens,” or characters, that dictate the course of the tale which is being told (Chapman, 98).

The ability to have “space as canvas” is also a tactic which serves to provide context for the player along with the interesting aspects of the structural layout of the game. By not only having the ability to observe but also to alter the “conceptual simulation” of the game, players learn by experience about Indigenous culture. Players are not just simply completing tasks within a preordained world, but their ability to change and alter the world and the spirits within it creates a perspective for understanding Indigenous life and culture which few other games rival. The interactive nature of Never Alone helps to establish its importance as a tool to educate gamers and students in both academic conversations and everyday life (Chapman, 101).

The relationship between the mystical elements of the game, the inclusion of cultural explanation which players can earn as they advance throughout the game, and the somewhat ambiguous ending of the game all not only draw players in as they actively learn while playing the game, but also call on the reader to ask questions and further educate themselves. In this way, Never Alone reaches audiences in ways which traditional academic texts typically cannot.

WORKS CITED

Chapman, A. Digital Games as History: How Videogames Represent the Past and Offer Access to Historical Practice. New York: Routledge, 2018.

Fernández-Vara, C. Introduction to Game Analysis. New York: Routledge, 2019.

LaPensée, E. A., Laiti, O., & Longboat, M. (2021). “Towards Sovereign Games.” Games and Culture, 155541202110291. https://doi.org/10.1177/15554120211029195

Wright, E. (2021). Rockstar Games, “Red Dead Redemption, and Narratives of ‘Progress.’” European Journal of American Studies, 16, no. 3 (2021). https://doi.org/10.4000/ejas.17300

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toward Digital Inclusivity with Never Alone, by Eliza Akers

As video games have gained popularity, the communities that have evolved around them have become increasingly restrictive. Although the image of a (usually white) young male with nocturnal tendencies, subsisting on junk food alone is a stereotypical picture of a “gamer,” whatever validity this image holds has much to do with the ways video games are marketed, and the stories they seek to tell. Despite the expanding range of video games available today, most are still heavily marketed towards boys and men, offering heroic scenarios, quests to conquer, and depictions of violence. Indigenous video games like Never Alone are important not only because they combat this stereotypical image of a “gamer” by creating more inclusive game narratives and opening up the gaming community to Indigenous people, but also because they have the capacity to educate non-Indigenous players about the people and cultures these games are inspired by. In this way, Indigenous games such as Never Alone may be instrumental to decolonizing the gaming industry by dispensing with the colonial narrative of the need to “conquer” that is present in many video games today.

Video games, like any form of media which seeks to tell a story, face the issue of which stories to tell, and for whom. Since video games are typically marketed toward men, the stories and narratives they perpetuate typically reinforce normative notions of masculinity. This is true of the game Red Dead Redemption and Red Dead Redemption 2. The scholar Esther Wright notes its reinforcement of the colonial idea of “civilization” versus “savagery” in the so-called Wild West. “[I]t suggests,” she observes, “a lack of critical engagement with and understanding of the colonialist implicitly white supremacist underpinnings of the civilization/savagery binary…” (Wright 9). Acknowledging the gendered marketing of video games, this statement is consistent with the political scientist Kevin Bruyneel’s discussion in Settler Memory of the heteropatriarchy’s drive to conquer and tame through violence as a driving force of colonialism. In light of this, the male-oriented marketing of video games coupled with the restrictive “boys club” nature of the gaming community is not merely an innocuous stereotype or phenomenon, but something that actively reinforces gender roles and the inextricable narratives tied up with them, such as the romanticization of colonial attitudes.

Adopting a legitimate and systematic way to analyze and discuss video games academically, as games studies specialist Clara Fernandez-Vara advocates, could potentially assist scholars in combatting the issues present in games like Red Dead Redemption. “By improving the discourse of games,” she write, “we can make it so that being well-versed in games can be admirable and knowing about games an intellectual currency” (Fernandez-Vara 10).  However, this call to analyze games as texts in an attempt to infuse them with cultural capital has drawbacks. Like many things that can be said to possess theorist Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of “cultural capital,” such as appreciation and knowledge of things such as art, cinema, and gourmet cuisine, there are barriers to entry. Notable among these are wealth and class, which typically exclude minority groups like indigenous peoples. However, as can be inferred by LaPensée, et al., the intellectual  legitimization of games in an academic setting may also allow for academic grants and funding for the creation of Indigenous games and the inclusion of Indigenous creators in game development.

Indigenous involvement is evident in Never Alone, from the artistic elements, storytelling elements, and Native language narration that traces the story as players move through the game. Ishmael Hope, an Indigenous collaborator and writer involved in the game, notes in an interview on the YouTube channel “History Respawned” that the involvement and support of Iñupiaq elders was especially instrumental in the creation of the game. Additionally, he discusses the theme of nature present in the game, as a character in its own right, not simply as the “enemy” but as a complex and guiding force.

In this way, nature is depicted in terms of the Iñupiaq understanding of nature, as alive alongside us and around us, so we can never be alone within it, revealing one of the explanations for the game’s title. Though subtle, this idea actively combats typical—and implicitly colonial–game narratives, as nature is not to be seen as an enemy to be conquered but as a force infused with agency—one that is inextricable from the subjects of the games, as well as the players that “inhabit” them during gameplay.

Works Cited

Fernandez-Vara, Clara. Introduction to Game Analysis. New York: Routledge , 2015.

LaPensée , Elizabeth A., et al. “Towards Sovereign Games .” Sage Journals (2021): 1–16.

Wright, Esther. “Rockstar Games, Red Dead Redemption, and Narratives of ‘Progress.’” European Journal of American Studies, 16, no. 3 (2021): 1–20.

Never Alone, by Noah Tessau   

Whether it be through tag in the yard, checkers, Monopoly, Pac-Man at the local arcade, Call of Duty on the PlayStation, or Super Mario Bros on the Wii, everyone plays games in some capacity during their childhood. Video games teach valuable skills of cooperation, problem solving, hand-eye coordination, and overcoming the frustrations of losing. There are games of many genres, including sports, warfare, and racing simulations. However, some games reflect values that offend or misrepresent groups of people. For example, harmful video games like Red Dead Redemption 2 and Oregon Trail reinforce settler memory narratives that disavow Indigenous people (Bruyneel). Never Alone is an important video game as it more accurately depicts Indigenous people and culture in a respectful manner and clashes against settler memory.

Games are texts that have cultural significance that can be derived from the context of the game (Fernandez-Vara, 6). Through this lens, Never Alone explores a traditional Iñupiaq tale through a little girl named Nuna and an arctic fox. After her Alaska Native village is destroyed by a blizzard, she must battle the elements and overcome many obstacles to find the source of the blizzard. Spirits help guide you, and the fox helps control the movements of the spirits. This, combined with the fact that the fox is faster, jumps farther, and climbs higher than Nuna reflects the value the Iñupiaq place on animals. They respect the animals they share the land with, as well as the land itself. This can also be seen with the interdependence of Nuna and the fox during the gameplay; when one of the characters dies, the other also dies.

A crucial part of Never Alone that sets it apart from games that tarnish Native Americans are the formal aspects of the game. Formal aspects are the diction of both visual and verbal texts, as well as the visual style of the game (Fernandez-Vara 15-16). The narrator speaks traditional Iñupiaq language. This makes the folktale feel more authentic to hear it coming from an Iñupiaq person, rather than in English from a non-Native. Additionally, this reflects on the oral traditions of Native communities, reaffirming the video game honoring Native Americans, rather than disavowing them. Furthermore, Never Alone provides short interview clips that provide insight into the cultural significance of aspects of the game. This helps the player become informed and shows the creators were thorough in accurately depicting Iñupiaq culture and in getting consent from Iñupiaq to develop the game.

Unlike Never Alone, Red Dead Redemption 2 perpetuates a narrative of Westward expansion by American “outlaws” on the frontier. Rockstar, the company that made RDR2, claims that the game is historically authentic (Wright 3). The game is based on the premise that Westward expansion was a safe space for white Americans to escape what was becoming a more modern, industrial America. The main character is a white outlaw with a rough past that seeks a fresh start (Red Dead Redemption playthrough). The problem with this is that it portrays the white man as the victim, when during the later 1800s (when this game takes place), Indigenous people were having land stolen from them and being forced to assimilate into “American culture.” The narrative that innocent white men traveled West was not completely accurate as “only ten percent of land between 1860 and 1900 was settled by individual homesteaders, the rest by rising private companies or the States themselves” (Wright 7). So, while Rockstar tried to portray the West as free land for individuals down on their luck to claim, the government or private companies stole the land from Indigenous tribes.

A significant difference between Never Alone and RDR2 was the research they did before creating the game. For Never Alone, the developers took trips to the Iñupiaq to consult with them and gain insights into their culture. Additionally, they asked Iñupiaq people, like Ishmael Hope, for help and feedback during the game development. Hope served as a write for Never Alone and hopes that the game will inspire Indigenous people and reveal the oppression of Indigenous people (Hope interview). On the other hand, Rockstar cited post-1960 Western films as one of their main influences (Wright 8). Rather than seeking advice from Native people in the Southwestern United States who could provide a good idea of what the so-called frontier was like during that time, Rockstar chose to use movies that actively disavow Native Americans. They reinforced films that perpetuate “Cowboys vs. Indian” stereotypes and settler memory.

It was an enlightening and fun experience to play Never Alone. The educational aspects did not feel overbearing or forced and provided great insight into cultural elements of the game. This game shows how to properly represent and respect Native Americans, unlike Red Dead Redemption 2, which plays on frontier myth stereotypes and disavows Native Americans. These titles serve as an important reminder that video games are more than just a game and have deeper meanings and backgrounds.

Works Cited

Fernández-Vara Clara. Introduction to Game Analysis. New York: Routledge, 2015.

“Never Alone Interview Series: Ishmael Hope.” Never Alone, 11 Nov. 2014, http://neveralonegame.com/interview-never-alone-writer-ishmael-hope/.

“Red Dead Redemption 2 – Native Americans Storyline.” YouTube, uploaded by Cinematic Gaming, 19 January 2020,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbL6BxsdTKI&ab_channel=CINEMATICGAMING

Wright, Esther. “Rockstar Games, Red Dead Redemption, and Narratives of ‘Progress.’” European Journal of American Studies, 16, no. 3 (2021), https://doi.org/10.4000/ejas.17300.

 

 

 

For Fox Sake: The Importance of Never Alone in the Video Game Industry, by Kasey Linton

The word “gamer” typically leaves a sour taste in my mouth: it generates the image of a sweaty white man, a bottle of Mountain Dew in his hand while he hurls profanities and derogatory speech at a screen, alone in his parents’ basement. In an industry marketed to this archetype and equally dominated by it, Never Alone acts as a guiding light for what video games can become, and how meaningful narratives can be crafted through inclusion and representation. The game mechanics highlight Indigenous—more specifically Alaska Native—values, and Indigeneity serves as a central thread of the story, not as a plot point or obstacle to overcome. This game is a celebration of Indigeneity through subtle, yet nuanced choices that challenge the pervasive frontier narratives common throughout the gaming world.

Mainstream video games often convey problematic and even dangerous messages. Tomb Raider, whose name is synonymous with “grave robber,” follows a white protagonist as she essentially loots tombs and burial sites of Indigenous cultures around the world. Oregon Trail reinforces the frontier narrative, while simultaneously participating in the erasure of Indigenous voices despite depicting a historical period of which they were an integral part (Oregon Trail playthrough). The Red Dead Redemption franchise romanticizes taming the “Wild West,” glorifying both settler and outlaw culture (Wright). These games are typical of much of the industry. When Indigeneity is included in these narratives, it is viewed from the outside looking in, often taking the role of an inconsequential plot point rather than a central focus. Recently, many of these games have released remastered versions, like Oregon Trail and Red Dead Redemption 2, which seek to reconcile the problematic storylines previous editions possessed through increased inclusion of Indigenous characters. However, these attempts to decolonize gaming actually contribute more to recolonization instead; these solutions are more akin to burying their shameful past than truly offering new Indigenous perspectives.

This problem is exactly why Never Alone is such an important and powerful addition to the gaming community: it challenges those harmful narratives. Indigeneity is a common theme woven throughout the storyline, expressed through the formal aspects and overview of the game. These elements are key components of game analysis, and we can use them to fully understand the weight that Never Alone holds (Fernandez-Vara, 13). One such game mechanic includes the fact that Nuna and the fox, the player characters, cannot engage in violent actions toward the antagonists, which speaks to the Alaska Native value of nonviolence. In addition, you cannot progress through the game without the assistance of spirits, which can serve as an allegory for the belief that spirits help guide you through life itself. Playing this game can certainly be frustrating at points, as you fail again and again and again. Seconds after successfully escaping one adversity, the next antagonist or obstacle comes crashing in, keeping you on your toes. This draws some comparisons to what Indigenous people faced (and still face): one struggle, one enemy, right after the other. However, like in the game, it is impossible to simply turn around and opt to not face the new danger. This speaks to the persistence that Indigenous people have been forced to exhibit time after time. These various game mechanics subtly communicate Indigenous values and experiences, promoting these rather than the domination and frontier narratives we all too often see.

The design elements of the game illustrate various aspects of Indigenous culture and identity. The narrator speaks in an Indigenous language, the main character wears Alaska Native dress, as seen in Figure 1, and Alaskan Native art styles are used for cut scenes. Never Alone crafts a new form of storytelling, effectively conveying culture and narratives that are important to Alaska Native peoples. One of the objectives of the game is the collection of such stories, where it intersperses gameplay with commentary from modern Indigenous people. Highlighting Indigeneity in this manner allows people to learn about it through the medium of a game, and it adds a voice to an industry that is very homogenous in mainstream representation.

With video gaming being an extremely popular and lucrative industry, it is important that the target audience is not constrained to the negative gamer stereotypes. Telling stories from an Indigenous perspective diversifies the gaming world: it does not attempt to conceal harmful rhetoric and save face, but rather offers new stories that add to the significance of the industry. Whether overt or subconsciously, the choices that Never Alone makes in its design contributes to the decolonization of gaming.

Works Cited

“Apple II: The REAL original Oregon Trail.” YouTube, uploaded by Dale Mahalko’s Antique Computing, 20 March 2017, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PySqTm4Qu2A

Fernández-Vara, Clara. Introduction to Game Analysis. New York: Routledge, 2015.

Parkin, Simon. “Nuna and her Arctic Fox, Characters in the Video Game Never Alone. 17 Nov 2014, The New Yorker, https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/never-alone-video-game-help-preserve-inuit-culture.

Red Dead Redemption 2 – Native Americans Storyline (all missions) [PC, 4K].” YouTube, uploaded by CINEMATIC GAMING, 19 January 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbL6BxsdTKI&t=1s.

Wright, Esther. “Rockstar Games, Red Dead Redemption, and Narratives of ‘Progress.’” European Journal of American Studies, 16, no. 3 (2021), doi: https://doi.org/10.4000/ejas.17300.

Indigenous Social Media, by Anonymous

Awake is a documentary we watched in class that conveyed what it was like at the Dakota Access Pipeline protests in Standing Rock. Thinking back the first time I heard about DAPL activism and how damaging pipelines are to the earth, I think of social media since that’s where I got most of my information from during that time. The Internet has made it easier to be able to connect to others through things such as messaging apps, email, and social media. With that connection, there can be costs and benefits. Social media allows people from all over the world to connect. Indigenous people and allies have created communities where they can share and find other people who share the same interests. In this blog, I will be going over the positives and negatives of Indigenous social media and how important it is.

Kinsale Hueston is an Indigenous artist who runs a very popular social media account on Instagram. She has been highlighted in magazines such as Time, LA Times, and The Navajo Times to name a few. On her account, she highlights not only things she is involved in but also other Native artists. Through this, someone can see so many aspects of Indigenous art like poems and beadwork. Through looking at her page it is evident that social media artists can highlight their work and showcase other Indigenous artists, as well.

Social media has many outlets for activism. One Instagram page that I find particularly important raises awareness of Missing and Murdered Indigenous People in North America. The name of the true-crime podcast is the Red Justice Project. On their page, they show pictures of the people they discuss in their episodes with quotes from people they have interviewed.  From this page, it can be seen that social media is used to promote awareness of these cases.

UNC-Chapel Hill Indigenous student organization accounts are also a vital part of recruitment and helping people find others with similar interests. The Alpha Chapter of Alpha Pi Omega Sorority, Inc. (the first Native American Sorority) has an Instagram account in which their historian posts events among other things. I want to highlight this page because throughout the pandemic we had to go mainly all online. Many of our posts include educating by giving study advice, how to make prayer bundles, teaching about the four sacred herbs, and raising awareness of how COVID-19 has affected Native communities. This is not the only Indigenous Social Media from UNC, there is also the Carolina Indian Circle’s page and Phi Sigma Nu Fraternity, Inc. the Native American interest fraternity. Each group showcases what it means to be Native at a PWI.

Social media has not been around that long, and it became popular especially while I was growing up. I have seen firsthand how social media can elevate our goals of promoting certain things to Indigenous peoples through knowledge and awareness. Indigenous social media matter because Indigenous peoples all over can create a space for themselves. In this space, we can be activists, artists, and so much more. Engagement occurs when people can follow, like, subscribe, etc. to the Indigenous content creator. From this engagement, the Indigenous social media community can spread to all of those who are interested.

I want to show the positives of social media but there are some negatives. One is that since it’s public to everyone, that means anyone can comment back. I have personally seen attacking comments guided towards Indigenous people and their practices. For example, I have seen people saying incorrect information about Indigenous people and then when corrected they would get defensive. I think this is seen as a negative side of the social media world because people can say incorrect information that could spread as true. Being able to spread misinformation is something that can be seen negatively in social media as a whole.

Overall, Indigenous social media is a space that is created by Indigenous people for Indigenous people and allies. I hope that, though there are caveats to having a public space where incorrect statements can occur, Indigenous social media can overpower that. Social media and engagement in Indigenous communities are very important in thriving in the digital age we are in currently. Overcoming misinformation is something that isn’t just a social media occurrence that can happen like settler memory-denying certain parts of history that happened. The people and pages I have highlighted above are examples of Indigenous social media which isn’t just one thing. These pages speak out on justice, emphasize Indigenous art, educate, and it all goes against Indigenous erasure.

Works Cited

Alpha Pi Omega Sorority, Inc.-Alpha Chapter (2012). @alphachapterpis. Instagram

Awake: A Dream from Standing Rock. , 2017. https://awakethefilm.org/.

Bruyneel, K. Settler Memory: The Disavowal of Indigeneity and the Politics of Race in the United States. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2021.

Carolina Indian Circle. (2014). @cic_unc. Instagram

Hueston, K. (2016).  @kinsalehues. Instagram

Phi Sigma Nu Fraternity, Inc. (2016). @phinu_warriors_unc. Instagram

The Red Justice Project. (2020). @redjusticepodcast. Instagram

NMAI: What It Is, How It Has Evolved, by John Zuluaga-Romero

Museums, anthropologists, and archaeologists throughout the United States had, until recently, been focusing on collecting Indigenous artifacts, possessions, and other records as a means of remembering cultures that were “inevitably” bound to go “extinct” due to settler colonial processes of European destruction, incorporation, and replacement. As author David Chrisinger wrote in an article for the University of Chicago, anthropologists didn’t understand that “…by separating tribes from their material history, they were harming the very cultures they sought to preserve, and losing crucial context.” It wasn’t until the establishment of institutions, like the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) in 1989, that efforts of Indigenous preservation shifted from a rash effort to collect symbolic items and objects to a more deliberate, careful approach of dialogue with Indigenous communities that includes understanding the context behind the objects museums have used for exhibition.

The NMAI was established through the NMAI Act of 1989, which additionally required the cataloguing and repatriation of Indigenous remains, artifacts, and excavations to any federally recognized tribes or individuals who requested such items. Digital repatriation efforts, which include films, recordings, and photos of Indigenous communities, have fallen to the efforts of the NMAI Archive Center, who in the past have worked on the preservation of films, such as those of the Zuni Indians of New Mexico. The work of the Archive Center is focused on preserving such films and working with the intention of preserving endangered languages, reviving traditional cultural customs, and, as Jennifer O’Neal put it in an essay appearing in Museum Anthropology Review, the “creation of new knowledge stemming from the return of digitized material culture” (page citation here).

Recently, Cynthia Chavez Lamar was named as the next director of NMAI, making her the first Indigenous woman to lead it. Before her work with the NMAI, she, along with the Indian Arts Research Center at the School for Advanced Research in Santa Fe, New Mexico, helped to develop the “Guidelines for Collaboration.” These guidelines outline  for tribal communities and museums best practices when working in the area of cultural preservation. They foster deeper learning with regard to how museum staff can be more sensitive to the concerns and practices of Indigenous communities. They also show how these best practices provide more opportunities for meaningful partnerships between tribal communities and museums. This work allowed Chavez Lamar to help increase the museum’s record of online Indigenous collections between 2014 and 2020, as well as supplement a technical assistance program that empowered Indigenous communities to reconnect with the records obtained by the museum.

The Indigenization of leadership at NMAI, as well as the establishment of boundaries for how Indigenous peoples and museum curators collaborate on preservation projects, speak to the dismantling of settler colonialism over such collections. Instead of the rugged and brutish preservation efforts of the past, this new system of consideration of Native perspectives, a formal process for communicating grievances between both sides, and knowing what ought and not ought to be shared will help to dramatically improve not only how historians, anthropologists, and others view Indigenous peoples, but also how the American public at-large sees the richness and diversity of Native cultures everywhere.

Bibliography

Chrisinger, David. “Exhibition Upends Traditional Representations of Native American Cultures.” University of Chicago News, 5 Mar. 2020, https://news.uchicago.edu/ story/exhibition-upends-traditional-native-american-representations.

“Cynthia Chavez Lamar Named Director of the National Museum of the American Indian.” Smithsonian Institution, 19 Jan. 2022, https://www.si.edu/newsdesk/releases/cynthia-chavez-lamar-named-director-national-museum-american-indian.

O’Neal, Jennifer. “Going Home: The Digital Return of Films at the National Museum of the American Indian.” Museum Anthropology Review, vol. 7, no. 1-2, 12 Jan. 2014, pp. 166–184.

Imagining Indigeneity, by Mars Quiambao

The anthroplogist Francesca Merlan has proposed that Indigeneity is characterized by the power dynamics between colonizers and Indigenous communities or between Indigenous groups and the state (Merlan). In Settler Memory, the political scientist Kevin Bruyneel uses this relational meaning of Indigeneity to explain the continual erasure, displacement, and extermination of Indigenous people caused by white settler colonialism. More precisely, he explores how these forms of oppression are perpetuated through scholarship, media, politics, and culture in the United States. Due to the persistent disavowal of Indigenous people in both past and contemporary American settler memory, Bruyneel poses the question of how society can refuse settler memory and what approach might be taken to insure that anti-racism and anti-colonialism (or decolonization) are fully realized.

Bruyneel’s argument regarding the present disavowal of Indigeneity is inseparable from confrontations with the past. In chapter one, Bruyneel discusses one of the most significant events of settler memory at work: Bacon’s Rebellion. In scholarship devoted to Bacon’s Rebellion, race is typically contextualized according to a white-black binary. As the binary implies, there is no space for Indigenous identity or presence to be accounted for. Many narratives about this event, then, erase the role that Indigenous people played in the white settlers’ quest for resources and power and do not center the violence and dispossession of their homelands to which they were subjected. The latter grew out of  the perceived threat that Indigenous people would impede white settler “progress,” as well as their ability to practice enslavement on stolen Indigenous land.

Borrowing from the legal scholar Michelle Alexander, the chapter asserts that enslavement of black people and dispossession of Indigenous people are inextricably linked. As the event is known for its alliance between poor whites and enslaved and free black people, historical analyses of Bacon’s Rebellion often fail to focus on the fact that the goal of the collective was to drive out Indigenous peoples (23). Bruyneel later articulates that this “inconvenience” that Indigenous people posed is still an afterthought in the construction of oppression and racial hierarchy in the United States. This idea is emphasized in Bruyneel’s contemplation of America’s original sin, slavery, which could not exist without settler colonialism. Without access to Indigenous land, the extent to which the institution of slavery flourished wouldn’t have been as prominent. That said, if settler colonialism aims to grab Indigenous land for perpetual use and growth in power, the institutions of slavery, white supremacy, and the consequences of racial capitalism would be soon to follow.

Seamlessly, this line of analysis continues into the next chapter, which focuses on political memory in the context of the Reconstruction Era. In aiming to manifest power and prosperity, the political/historical memory here often produces a hypocritical stance on what it means to be free and what constitutes citizenship. While enacting violent dispossession on Indigenous communities, settlers claimed that it was their right to land that provided them safety and security as citizens. This rhetoric failed to address that this would mean depriving others’ freedom in the process. Bruyneel does address, though, that this political memory affects non-white citizens too, however, it is not by volition. Rather, it is a consequence of racial capitalism controlling the political and economic freedoms of black people and impeding the process for an imagined society in which race-class coalitions and sovereignty are respected (50). It cannot be imagined because of the violence enacted by white settler politics (i.e., Homestead Act of 1862 and Peace Policy of 1869) that disrupted Indigenous lives and traditions. Furthermore, the political memory of Indigenous populations has made it so that actions to retaliate must be radical in nature. In my opinion, arguments to rectify political and cultural corruption do not have to be peaceful as white settlers could not fully conceive peace for Indigenous and black populations from the beginning.

Next, Bruyneel further elaborates on the limitations and possibilities for an imagined society of abolishing and decolonizing the settler state. He does so through the perspective of James Baldwin, in addition to addressing the simultaneous presence and erasure of Indigenous people in settler mythology and propaganda. Bruyneel introduces James Baldwin with an unfortunate instance in which the Indigenous presence again is an afterthought. Rather, Indians are used in Baldwin’s critique as a transition from focusing on “the past” to “the present,” and one defined narrowly as revolving around the black freedom struggle. This was evident in his identification with the story of cowboys and Indians, in which the fate of the “dead Indian” is used as a prophetic tool to inform black Americans about what white supremacy and the state are capable of. Using the same American myth, Baldwin’s constant attention to Gary Cooper gives insight to what James Baldwin perceives as a model for whiteness and maintains the notions of white settler masculinity and white settler sexuality that control the sociocultural legitimacy of “Others” (i.e., non-white people). Albeit with good intentions, Baldwin perpetuates that the genocide and conquering of Indigenous people is in the past despite the shared histories of white settlers’ imposing racializing and gendered violence now and then (90-91, 104). If there is one point to be taken from this chapter, it is that you don’t have to be white to sustain settler memory. However, it is incorrect to place the blame on the individual as settler colonialism’s violent legacy is present in every aspect of life.

In chapter four, Bruyneel discusses the modern United States and the many ways that Indigenous people are absent and present in society, especially in the realm of sports teams and mascot names. Upon reading the defense for keeping mascot and team names for the sake of “tradition,” one might question the entitlement of settler privilege in these sport narratives. By focusing on keeping “their traditions,” settlers become complicit in maintaining images that portray Indigenous people as violent, even as they enact violence against Indigenous people. These acts of appropriation also fail to acknowledge the need for Indigenous agency in the realm of public representation. Instead, violence and romanticization become commodified and treated as hegemonic (115). As settler memory continues, then, so does the inability for Indigenous people to engage in self-represention in the public sphere.

The critical theorist Edward Said’s asserts that the Orient cannot name itself due to the imposition of preconceived definitions by Western imperialism (Said 29). The same can be applied to the settler representations of Indigenous communities that are denigrating, vilifying, or romanticized in nature. All the while, the naming or renaming of mascots does not urge settlers to help Indigenous communities affected by these dangerous stereotypes. The reality is that the communities subjected to these appropriated names are still fighting to protect and preserve their populations, land, culture, and their sovereignty from a militant white settler society. Past and contemporary representations of Indigenous people in sports, the military, and contemporary media make the likelihood of Indigenous erasure that much greater.

In his last chapter, Bruyneel outlines Trump’s history of violence toward Indigenous communities across three different time periods: before his presidency, during the 2020 presidential elections, and during his presidency. Before his time as president, Trump’s settler colonial aims to erase Indigenous presence were clear after he sought revenge on Indigenous American casinos, which he blamed for his business losses (148). Mirroring the anti-Indian sentiments found during Bacon’s Rebellion, Trump revealed that he too perceived Indigenous presence as a threat to his settler aims, and specifically his domination of capital. During the 2020 presidential campaign and election, Trump made his anti-Indigenous sentiments known through repeated mockery of Senator Elizabeth Warren as “Pocahontas” and through his idealized political memory of Andrew Jackson, a former president known for “Indian killing” and spearheading the dispossession and forced displacement of the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, and Seminole  (141). That said, violence is an inheritance in the political memory of the United States, executed by the government and imposed onto Indigenous populations. This was apparent in Trump’s presidential approval in continuing construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline and  ending the protected status of the Bear Ears National Monument. Through his assault on Indigenous communities, Bruyneel argues that Trump asserted himself as a model for white settler nationalism and white settler masculinity in his attempt to “Make America Great Again” (141).

In his closing remarks, Bruyneel discusses how society can refuse settler memory through solidarity movements. Given the information Bruyneel provided, however, I feel like the triumph over settler memory seems unlikely to happen. Systems and institutions protect people in power, especially white people, all the time. Under the guise of diversity and inclusion, I feel like solidarity will be difficult to achieve not only because of the persistence of the white-black binary but also because of the immigration of new settlers from Asia, Europe, and so forth. As radical and transformative movements as described by Bruyneel can appear to be, typical conceptions of what it means to transcend settler memory continue to center notions of settler innocence and, more importantly, whitenes. Both of these implicitly work against a fuller imagining of Indigenous futures, sovereignty, and possibilities.

Works Cited

Bruyneel, Kevin. Settler Memory: The Disavowal of Indigeneity and the Politics of Race in the United States. University of North Carolina Press, 2021.

Merlan, Francesca. “Indigeneity: Global and Local.” Current Anthropology, 50, no. 3 (2009): 303-333.

Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Routledge, 2009.

(Counter) Mapping the Ohio Saponi Migration, by Alexandra Sutton

Mapping is a fraught exercise for Indigenous communities. Historically, maps have operated as a tool of colonial oppression — a means of codifying into law state-sanctioned locations, boundaries, rights, and natures of both geographic and human landscapes. However, increasingly, Indigenous communities are seizing upon the opportunities presented by geographic data to create dynamic, robust, and culturally-centered maps that provide a powerful counter-narrative to colonial assumptions and traditions.

In some cases, such mapping seeks to embed personal stories, narratives, images, and impressions within a two-dimensional representation of a geographic space — thereby enriching and elevating it to make texture out of flatness. In other cases, mapping may seek to entirely subvert western concepts of maps — such that poetry, song, or visual art becomes the map itself, representing meaning and experience over time in place. In still other cases, the simple act of mapping is a counter-assertion to paper genocide or other examples of historical erasure; in such cases, the very act of forcing an acknowledgement of presence through mapping serves to affirm the failure of the colonial state to fully erase or fully oppress.

Such is the case with the map presented here, a rough outline of the migration history of the Ohio Saponi — Eastern Siouans who embarked on a Hopeful Migration from the Saponi homelands in North Carolina & Virginia to seek the promise of a safe land for Indians and free people of color in the Midwest.

 

A Brief History of the Ohio Saponi

The Saponi are an Eastern Siouan (Yesàh) people with origins in the Great Lakes Region. Since a time before memory, Yesàh peoples have held and occupied a vast territory along the Appalachian foothills, ranging from the Ohio & Kanawha River Valleys to southernmost bounds of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Piedmont Plateau.

Present within the Mississippi Shatter Zone, the Saponi were deeply impacted by the depopulation events that followed Contact in the 1500s, and became central to the shifting political landscape of the Indigenous East Coast from that time through the 1700s, at which time the effects of the Indian Wars of the Southern British Colonies, including the Tuscarora War (1711-1715), the Yamasee War (1715-1717), and later Pontiac’s War (1763-1766), Lord Dunmore’s War (1774) and eventually the American Revolution (1775-1783) collectively formed another shatter event, scattering Native communities across the Southeast, Mid-Atlantic, and Great Lakes regions.

Although the 1800s began to see the resettling of Saponi communities and their kin-linked tribes, two further migrations of Saponi people took place: first, the Hopeful Migration of 1805 – 1865, when Saponi families from North Carolina and Virginia migrated en masse to the Ohio Country – the region which would become the states of Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan (collectively, these migrants are referred to as “the Ohio Saponi”); and second, the Necessary Migration of post-WWII economic shifts that drove many southeastern Indigenous families to migrate to cities such as Baltimore, Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, and others in pursuit of employment and improved quality of life.

What follows here is not a comprehensive mapping of the history of the Ohio Saponi, but rather an illustrated timeline, intended to provide a temporal and geographic overview of the community’s evolution through the tumultuous period following European Contact.

(Counter) Mapping the Ohio Saponi Migration: https://arcg.is/0W4qby

Time Is An Illusion, by Ali Dunne

“Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.”

-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Time in 2021 isn’t what it used to be. Our meridian rhythms were already interrupted with blue screens and caffeine, and now some of us don’t even leave the house to go to work regularly—capitalism’s enforced schedule is faltering. Many of us have lost our jobs, while others are working overtime, days blurring together in the way they only can when you start each of them at 4am. Meanwhile, the news sounds like 1968, 1935, 1921, 1918… historical resonances overlap and blur. But, perhaps, time has never been what it was, save for in a certain cultural space that has become increasingly less relevant. There is a way in which it is perhaps possible to view this change in perception as a useful re-orientation, rather than as a loss, by attending to (without appropriating) other perspectives.

The Anishinaabe writer Gerald Vizenor has been writing in a different mode of time for forty years, bringing his concept of time to bear on the multiple and conflictual realities that have snagged together in Native history, presents, and futures. His term, “slipstream”, is most familiar from physics—referring to the way in which air or water behind a moving object moves closer to that object’s speed than does the surrounding substance. Vizenor uses it to negotiate the overlap of spaces and times, the accumulation of misery and resistance. In his 1978 short story “Custer On The Slipstream”, a reincarnated Custer dispenses rough injustice from his federal office. He is told an account of a member of the old “arrowstocracy”, someone who calls himself both Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, making a speech at a Saul Alinsky talk. Sent into a memory of his first encounter with “a tribal person”, this Custer figure comes out of his recollection to find Crazy Horse standing in his office. Destabilized by this encounter, he turns to risky behavior that proves his downfall: “…tribal rumors held that his vision crossed coming around a curve at high speed on his motorcycle and he died in the wind space behind a grain truck…. slipping from grace in a slipstream.” (25) Here we see a literal slipstream brought to bear on a figure caught in a historical slipstream, dragged forward in time along with those he and his fellows have murdered, doubly a member of the bureaucracy that came to replace the Army’s work and the original devil himself.

Vizenor’s concept and its bearing on issues of time are taken up in the Indigenous science fiction anthology Walking the Clouds, edited by Grace. L. Dillon.  The anthology recognizes many Native SF writers working with Vizenor’s slipstream concept to great effect–although Bruce Sterling, a non-Native person writing eleven years after Vizenor, is usually credited with its invention. Sterling was using it to describe speculative fiction, work that lies between fantasy and science fiction, if these terms are treated as opposite poles; he did not include any Native writers in his 1989 list, and only one (Louise Erdrich) in his updated list of 2007.  Dillon observes that “readers must find intriguing the exclusion of Native authors [from Sterling’s list of slipstream writers], whose work remains even more other than other despite features that imply its status as an original slipstream literature.” (16) Here, Native writing is displaced all at once from the time of current futurisms, from the time of “originality”, and from the place of inclusion in writers to follow in a list made by an influential member of the field.

Dillon’s anthology works to open up “sf [science fiction] to reveal Native presence” (2), a framing that acts in contrast to reactionary takes on efforts within SF to include and recognize more works by people of color. Dillon defines “Native slipstream” as “a species of speculative fiction within the sf realm, [which] infuses stories with time travel, alternate realities and multiverses, and alternative histories. As its name implies, Native slipstream views time as pasts, presents, and futures that flow together like currents in a navigable stream.” (3) This is not intended as an avant-garde writing technique, but “models a cultural experience of reality”, one that is increasingly validated by quantum mechanics… making the term’s origin in physics infinitely appropriate. (4)

Applications of Vizenor’s slipstream concept are not limited to the realm of science fiction. In her recent book, Imagining the Future of Climate Change, Shelley Streeby sees a relationship between the slipstream and the anti-DAPL struggle. “In insisting on the significance of long histories and connections among different flashpoints in time, the New York City Stands with Standing Rock Collective organized its syllabus in ways that resonate with Native slipstream,” she argues. (51) The syllabus acts to resist efforts to frame #NoDAPL struggle as anomalous or ahistorical, locating it instead within an ongoing stream of struggle that includes many times and places.

We can imagine the slipstream as the experience of moving through a river, with many different currents that overlap or even snarl in places. However carefully one wades through time, one cannot stay in only one element of a fluid environment…and sometimes lateral journeys take place; we cannot always walk up-river. It will be interesting to see what relation the rich and elaborating field of Black-Native studies—which already tend to meet in the ocean—can make between “wake work”, the situating of Black studies in the wake of the slave ship, and Native slipstream. In 2020, one of the stranger eddies of time, such projects cannot remain submerged.

 

Sources

Dillon, Grace L. Walking the Clouds: an Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction. University of Arizona Press, 2012.

NYC Stands for Standing Rock Committee. “#StandingRockSyllabus.” NYC Stands with Standing Rock Syllabus, 1 Dec. 2016, nycstandswithstandingrock.wordpress.com/standingrocksyllabus/.

Streeby, Shelly. Imagining the Future of Climate Change. University of California Press, 2018. Print.

The Long Fight Over Mexico’s Water, by Cody J. Love

Violence has been escalating in the northern Mexican state of Chihuahua. The root of this violence is the distribution of water across the U.S.-Mexico border. On February 7, hundreds of farmers rushed a dam on the Río Conchos, forcing the state to call out the National Guard to repel them (Bravo, “Agricultores”). The Boquilla dam was diverting water away from farmers’ fields and into the United States, as mandated by a 1944 treaty. Over the last thirty years, Mexico has developed a significant water debt to the United States (Miranda, “Por qué México debe pagar agua”). The farmers claim there is not enough water to irrigate their parched fields and that they have a right to receive this necessary resource (Stevenson, “Mexican Farmers”).

In the last few months, the farmers showed their frustration with increasingly open displays of rebellion. They blocked railways, burned government buildings, and took politicians hostage. In October, farmers armed with nothing more than sticks and homemade shields stormed the National Guard position on the dam and forced their surrender without casualties. Mexican President López Obrador commented that he was negotiating with the farmers occupying the dam but has also ramped up the National Guard presence in Chihuahua and frozen bank accounts in Boquilla. So far, the National Guard has shot two protestors, killing one and severely wounding the other (Kitroeff, “This is a War”).

These crises may seem modern, but they have deep roots in history extending back centuries. Much of the country is semi-arid or desert, so equitable management of water to the country’s varied interests has been a constant struggle (Endfield, Climate and Society, 140). Poor Mexican farmers have always struggled against the powerful to retain their water rights and have turned to violence when the government fails to equitably manage access (García, “Contaminación y sobreexplotación”). Indigenous communal farming villages have traditionally been at the forefront of this conflict.

Under Spanish colonial policy in Mexico, settlers could not infringe on the property or resources of Indigenous agrarian communities, which were also entitled to sufficient water access to grow their crops (Taylor, “Land and Water Rights,” 194-5). In 1591, however, the crown began a policy requiring all landholders to provide (or purchase) a written title to their land. This initiated a land grab which resulted in many communities losing their land to settlers with written titles (Ruiz Medrano, Mexico’s Indigenous Communities, 101). These private landholders also began drawing more extensively from communal water sources for large-scale irrigation or to power mills. To combat this encroachment, Indigenous communities turned to the courts. Throughout the 1600s and 1700s, Indigenous farmers sought to prove that their claim to water predated those of their competitors. While many communities successfully defended their water access, many other lawsuits ended in defeat or compromise. This resulted in a gradual shift towards consolidated, private water monopolies that rented water access back to the communities that had originally owned them (Lipsett-Rivera, To Defend Our Water, 77-99).

If they failed in court, some communities took drastic measures to defend their water rights. On February 8, 1700 in Zimatlan, Oaxaca, the Indigenous village Santa Maria Lachicho lost a lawsuit over an irrigated field to a Spanish hacienda owner. When the Spanish tried to forcibly evict them from their land, the community repelled their attackers with sticks and hatchets. They used the extra time to grow more food and appeal the court case in Mexico City. In cases like this, threats of violence remained the only alternative when the government had failed to protect these communities from powerful private interests (Love, “The Indigenous Struggle”).

These issues are still very present today. Often, the private interests threatening public water access are American corporations. In this year alone, protests have raged across Mexico over water consolidation or pollution by the mining firm Gold Resource, the brewing company Constellation Brands, and Coca Cola (Agren, “Mexico City,” Arrellano, “Comunidad indígena,” and Henríquez, “Piden en San Cristóbal”). Indigenous communities are usually on the front lines of these protests, risking violent reprisal, imprisonment, or death for speaking out – not to mention risking infection from COVID-19 (Cancino, “Indígenas piden estudio”).

Mexican citizens are now uniting across the country in grassroots campaigns to bring attention to threats on their water rights. Indigenous communities are leading the charge. Agua para Tod@s (Water for All) represents over 400 organizations, Indigenous communities, and universities with the goal of passing a General Law of Water that would enshrine access to adequate and safe water as a basic human right (Contreras, “Citizen Initiative”). On the same day that the Chihuahuan farmers initially stormed the Boquilla dam, Agua para Tod@s presented a petition with 198,000 signatures before Mexico’s National Commision for Water (Conagua) (Mario, “Pueblos indígenas”). Mexico’s current government, controlled by the left-leaning Morena coalition, has committed to passing the General Law of Water through Congress and enacting its recommendations into public policy (“Respalden diputados del PT y Morena”).

Despite these huge steps forward, the future is far from certain. López Obrador continues to call for limiting the power of private interests but has yet to produce any substantive change. He has also been hesitant to resist Trump’s demands, whether they be over immigration, trade, or the water debt (Kitroeff). It is unclear how Joseph Biden’s election will alter this relationship, but the water debt is unlikely to disappear soon. In addition, many scholars and legal experts warn that private interests have strong influence over Conagua’s policy development (Ramírez, “Académicos”).

This problem is only going to get worse as climate change increases the frequency of droughts and floods and the rising population on the border leads to increased demands for water. Mexicans are now turning to tactics developed over centuries by Indigenous communities to resist resource consolidation by powerful monied interests. It is vital that policymakers recognize the leading role Indigenous communities are taking in this national struggle for natural resource rights, because it is ultimately their land and lives on the line. This is why public water reform must be a rural and Indigenous issue first, and not simply an urban renewal program.

Indigenous communities have centuries of history adapting to and resisting changes in environments, demographics, and governments. Mexico’s history shows that, despite the power imbalance, these communities have proven much more durable than the Mexican nation, which has seen countless successful popular uprisings. Acquiescing to the United States may have short-term benefits, but ignoring the demands of an increasingly desperate population is unsustainable.

Bibliography

Agren, David. “Mexican City rejects plans for giant US-owned brewery amid water shortages.” The Guardian (United States). Mar. 23, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/23/mexico-brewery-mexicali-constellation-brands?CMP=share_btn_tw.

Arrellano, Daniel. “Comunidad indígena contra minera estadounidense.” Regeneración Radio (México). Feb. 13, 2020. https://regeneracionradio.org/archivos/9521.

Bravo, Tomas. “Agricultores ocupan una represa en México para evitar la entrega de agua a EE.UU.” Reuters en Español (México). Feb. 7, 2020. https://actualidad.rt.com/actualidad/342398-agricultores-ocupan-represa-mexico-agua-eeuu.

Cancino, Karina. “Indígenas piden estudio para determinar contaminación del Río Santiago en Nayarit.” Aristegui Noticias (México). Feb. 20, 2020. https://aristeguinoticias.com/2002/mexico/indigenas-piden-estudio-para-determinar-contaminacion-del-rio-santiago-en-nayarit/.

Conteras, Arturo. “Citizen Initiative in Mexico Boosts Water for All.” Havana Times (Cuba). Feb. 9, 2020. https://havanatimes.org/features/citizen-initiative-in-mexico-boosts-water-for-all.

Endfield, Georgina. Climate and Society in Colonial Mexico: A Study in Vulnerability. Malden: Blackwell, 2008.

García, Viridiana. “Contaminación y sobreexplotación: principales problemas del agua en México.” Contralínea (México). Jan. 19, 2020. https://www.contralinea.com.mx/archivo-revista/2020/01/19/contaminacion-y-sobreexplotacion-principales-problemas-del-agua-en-mexico.

Henríquez, Elio. “Piden en San Cristóbal revocar permiso de agua a Coca Cola.” La Jornada (México) Jun. 24, 2020. https://www.jornada.com.mx/ultimas/estados/2020/06/24/piden-en-san-cristobal-revocar-permiso-de-agua-a-coca-cola-617.html.

Kitroeff, Natalie. “‘This is a War’: Cross-Border Fight Over Water Erupts in Mexico.” The New York Times (United States). Oct. 14, 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/14/world/americas/mexico-water-boquilla-dam.html?searchResultPosition=1.

Love, Cody J. “The Indigenous Struggle for Water Rights in Seventeenth Century New Spain.” Master’s thesis, University of North Carolina, 2020. https://doi.org/10.17615/dcmq-pm89.

Mario, Marlo. “Pueblos indígenas presentan ante el congreso de Ley General de Aguas.” Somos El Medio (México). Feb. 10, 2020. https://aguaparatodos.org.mx/pueblos-indigenas-presentan-ante-el-congreso-iniciativa-de-ley-general-de-aguas-somos-el-medio.

Miranda, Fanny. “Por qué México debe pagar agua a Estados Unidos?” Milenio (México). Feb. 8, 2020. https://www.milenio.com/estados/por-que-mexico-debe-pagar-agua-a-estados-unidos.

Lipsett-Rivera, Sonya. To Defend Our Waters with the Blood of Our Veins: The Struggle for Resources in Colonial Puebla. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1999.

Ramírez, Érika. “Académicos, Investigadores, y ONG señalan que viejos grupos de poder manejan la Conagua.” Contralinea (México). Sep. 18, 2020. https://www.contralinea.com.mx/archivo-revista/2020/09/18/academicos-investigadores-y-ong-senalan-que-viejos-grupos-de-poder-manejan-la-conagua/.

“Respalden diputados del PT y Morena iniciativa ciudadana para crear la nueva Ley General de Aguas.” Mi Punto de Vista (México). Mar. 11, 2020. http://www.mipuntodevista.com.mx/respaldan-diputados-del-pt-y-morena-iniciativa-ciudadana-para-crear-la-nueva-ley-general-de-aguas/.

Ruiz-Medrano, Ethelia. Mexico’s Indigenous Communities: Their Lands and Histories, 1500-2010. Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2011.

Stevenson, Mark. “Mexican Farmers take over dams to stop water payments to US.” Associated Press (United States). Feb. 5, 2020. https://apnews.com/7863206c51408b958479179c39035e28.

Taylor, William B. “Land and Water Rights in the Viceroyalty of New Spain.” New Mexico Historical Review 50, no. 3 (July 1, 1975): 189–212.

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