The First Documentary? Or an Utter Falsehood?: "Nanook of the North"

Cemented as a piece of cultural iconography of the Inuit Peoples, "Nanook of the North" exemplifies how art and exploitation can coexist.

“Nanook” Harpoon Scene, Musee McCord Stewart, CC0.

A series of onscreen intertitles dash and dance across the screen at the start of director Robert Flaherty’s 1922 documentary "Nanook of the North." Viewers are told of the harsh cold in Eastern Canada's Ungava Peninsula and, more specifically, the difficult process of filming under these conditions. Soon, a man with a fur coat and weathered skin occupies the screen, making direct eye contact with the camera as wind ruffles the fur of his coat. His name is Nanook—or so we are told.

"Nanook of the North" is one of the most cited and celebrated films in history; it is a staple in movie buffs’ collections and academic classrooms alike. And, the film was one of the first twenty-five films to be chosen for the Library of Congress’s national film registry. The film centers on a man named Nanook and his family as they hunt and live in the freezing temperatures of Eastern Canada through both summer and winter. Critics and historians alike have deemed Nanook the “original” documentary film for its then-groundbreaking ethnographic preservation and depiction of Inuit life and culture. Perhaps just as importantly, Flaherty himself has gone down in history as a legendary dramatist and pioneer of the documentary genre.

"Nanook of the North" original promotional poster. Wikimedia Commons. CC0.

Years later, however, the film is now shrouded in mystery, infamy and controversy. Although "Nanook" is groundbreaking, it is also misunderstood by many. Careful watchers will spy an explanation in one of the first intertitles that Nanook was a composite character created by Flaherty to typify his perception of Inuit life. For much of the twentieth century, people considered the portrayal to be both real and accurate. But, as the film itself makes clear, Nanook and his entire on-screen family were characters. The character of Nanook is played by a man named Allakariallak, and his “wife” Nyla is actually a woman named Alice.The suspenseful harpoon hunting scenes and costuming of the characters is both dated and staged.

Despite being well-received upon its release and celebrated continuously since, "Nanook of the North" is both fabricated and anachronistic. Some modern theorists question if the film should even be considered a documentary at all. But, at the same time, documentary film is not solely the reflection of reality and preservation of truth; many documentaries today are simply a depiction of the filmmaker’s worldview and are similarly underlined by personal bias. And, consequently, Nanook is a reflection of Flaherty's bias and life experiences. Flaherty’s father was a mining engineer and geologist, and his mother encouraged Flaherty’s flair for the arts. Moreover, while growing up in Iron Mountain, Michigan near the border of Canada, Flaherty interacted with American traders and trappers as well as Indigenous peoples who also lived near or on the United States-Canada border. His childhood perception of these peoples frame the plot and characterization of Nanook’s family as well as the traders they meet, which were inaccurate by the time of the film’s 1922 release. Flaherty frames himself as an explorer and discoverer when, in reality, by 1922 many Inuit people already used rifles and incorporated western clothing into their outfits. In short, Flaherty’s depiction of Nanook and his family is a romanticized depiction of Inuit culture and life. 

Robert J. Flaherty. Arnold Genthe. CC0.

But, in a pre-internet age, the audience had no idea that these images were manipulated and romanticized — they had no way of doing their own research because there were few if any realistic depictions of Inuit life in readily available media. What resulted was “Nanookmania,” a craze among viewers that resulted in the appropriation of Inuit culture. And, although one could make the argument that Flaherty had no idea that this popularity would ensue, he took steps to market the film to profit from the inaccurate portrayal of these people. The fur company Revillon Freres sponsored Flaherty’s film, which featured Nanook and his family in outdated fur coats, as well as a large display of fur pelts at trading post scenes. In many ways, this inaccuracy was an early form of product placement.

“Nyla,” pictured in a fur. Musee McCord Stewart. CC0.

Beyond the marketing and fictional construction of characters in "Nanook of the North", many of the directorial choices both romanticize and exotify the Inuit actors featured in the film. The intertitle cards declare that Nanook and his family are “kindly, brave, and simple,” perpetuating the stereotype that Inuit people are an unintelligent yet loveable people and thereby infantilizing them.

Moreover, in a scene at the trading post, when one of Nanook’s children eats too much biscuit with lard, a white trader feeds the child castor oil and, miraculously, the child is better instantaneously. This scene exalts western medicine and, in turn, harmfully glorifies western ideals and technology. Additionally, while at the trading post Nanook, a grown man, plays with a record player, biting the vinyl and laughing. This scene not only makes a joke out of Nanook’s supposed unfamiliarity with that piece of technology, but also infantilizes him in the same vein as the stereotypical descriptions of the family at the beginning of the film. 

The infamous Gramophone scene. Library of Congress. CC0.

Although "Nanook of the North"will forever be considered one of the first documentaries and a dramatic feat by director Robert Flaherty, it is important to note the inaccuracies and misappropriation that riddles the film. Primarily, the movie is a representation of Flaherty’s limited interactions with Inuit peoples, informed by his childhood memories. As "Nanook" lives on in infamy, it is crucial to acknowledge the drawbacks — intentional and not — in Flaherty’s directorial approach.

Carina Cole is a media studies student with a concentration in creative writing at Vassar College. She is an avid journalist and occasional flash fiction writer. Her passion for writing overlaps with environmentalism, feminism, social justice, and a desire to travel beyond the United States. When she’s not writing, you can find her meticulously curating playlists or picking up a paintbrush. 

Oppenheimer’s Critical Omission: The Relocation of Hispanic and Indigenous Populations

Intricate but incomplete, Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer disregards the true history of Hispanic and Indigenous populations in New Mexico.

Trinity Nuclear Test. U.S. National Archives and Records Administration. CC0.

A picturesque aquamarine sky hangs lazily above a dusty, deserted New Mexico landscape. Through a tangle of brush, a lanky Robert Oppenheimer, played by Irish actor Cillian Murphy, emerges on horseback. His eyes feast on the remote plains and he declares that besides a local boys’ school and “Indian” burial grounds, Los Alamos will be the perfect site to construct the world’s first atomic weapons.

These momentous decisions and moral quandaries are explored in Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer. Grossing $450 million in its first fourteen days at the box office, the 1940s period piece has cemented itself as a somewhat unlikely cultural icon. Gone are the days of Nolan’s slightly fantastical films — notably Inception (2010) and Interstellar (2014). Recently, the Academy Award-nominated director has been dipping his toes in the realism of period pieces, beginning with Dunkirk (2017) and continuing with Oppenheimer.
Nolan’s portrayal of Oppenheimer — based on the biography American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin — is deliberately layered. The audience travels alongside Oppenheimer over the course of his life for three hours. On one hand, Oppenheimer’s humanity is a gut punch: viewers experience his mistress’s death, his tumultuous marriage, and his gradual realization of the death and destruction his scientific creation has wrought. On the other, viewers gaze upon the physicist with disgust: the man was, as he infamously declared himself, a destroyer of worlds.

J. Robert Oppenheimer. U.S. National Archives and Records Administration. CC0.

The use of the first atomic bomb by the United States to defeat Japan and win World War II is one of the signal events of the modern era, arguably helping to prevent a land invasion of Japan that could have killed millions. Despite the magnitude of this technical and geopolitical accomplishment, the legacy of the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki will forever cast a negative light on the United States government and the team of nuclear physicists involved in the development of the atomic bomb. While Nolan acknowledges this complex legacy, his portrayal of key elements of the Manhattan Project and the Los Alamos Laboratory obscures another historical moral quandary. The remote sandy vistas in Nolan’s cinematography smother the true story of Los Alamos and the Trinity nuclear test.

The reality, omitted from Nolan’s film, is that during the Manhattan Project the U.S. Government forcibly relocated Indigenous and Hispanic populations that resided in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Contrary to the movie’s dialogue, there were two dozen homesteaders and a ranch occupying the land that was taken by the government for the project, in addition to the school mentioned by Oppenheimer. The government seized the land and offered the owners compensation based on an appraisal of the land — an amount of compensation that the government itself thought was fit. Some homesteaders, however, objected to the compensation offered by the government, considering it far too little. Many in the Federal Government would eventually come to agree with them; in 2004, decades after the original compensation, Congress established a $10 million fund to pay back the homesteaders. 
Moreover, it was difficult for the homesteaders to object in the first place due to the language barrier. Most homesteaders spoke Spanish, while government officials often only communicated in English. Some families were even held at gunpoint as they were forced to leave with no explanation, due to the project’s secrecy. Livestock and other animals on property were shot or let loose. Livelihoods were destroyed along with these animals.

Los Alamos Colloquium of Physicists. Los Alamos National Laboratory. CC0.

The element of secrecy surrounding the Manhattan Project and the Trinity nuclear test disrupted the lives of families living directly on Los Alamos land. But, for the 13,000 New Mexicans living within a fifty mile radius of the Trinity test (in Jornada del Muerto, New Mexico), the nuclear explosion truly seemed to be the end of the world. Because the mushroom cloud was visible from up to 200 miles away from the test site, and no civilians knew tests were being conducted, fear erupted in concert with the explosion. 

Nolan’s film not only fails to indicate that homesteaders on Los Alamos were forcibly relocated — it also fails to mention that civilians from northern to southern New Mexico were exposed to harmful radiation from the bomb. Radioactive fallout initially contaminated water and livestock, and in turn, civilians. There were no studies or treatment conducted on individuals exposed to radiation, which could have exposed the highly classified program. Those who were in the radius or downwind of the fallout became known as “downwinders,” and began to develop autoimmune diseases, chronic illness and cancer. 

Manhattan Project U.S. Map. Wikimedia Commons. CC by 3.0.

Eventually, the Hispanic American and Indigenous populations who lived in the area returned to Los Alamos to work for the project without knowing its true nature or extent. They returned as maids or as construction workers, often handling radioactive and contaminated materials without knowledge of the harm and risk of exposure. Many became economically dependent on a laboratory that posed environmental and health risks for the greater Los Alamos population. This led to struggles with physical and mental health that have continued to the present time. 

The legacy of the Manhattan Project, the Los Alamos Laboratory and the Trinity nuclear test hangs in a state of limbo. It transcends time — becoming the past, present and future for Hispanic and Indigenous populations in New Mexico. Nolan’s failure to acknowledge these populations’ displacement and unwitting contamination silences their narratives and obscures this unique patrimony. J. Robert Oppenheimer’s depiction as a thumbtack in sandy nothingness is historically inaccurate — Nolan’s cinematic depiction of desolation glosses over a more complex reality. Los Alamos was, and is, living and breathing.

Carina Cole

Carina Cole is a Media Studies student with a Correlate in Creative Writing at Vassar College. She is an avid journalist and occasional flash fiction writer. Her passion for writing overlaps with environmentalism, feminism, social justice, and a desire to travel beyond the United States. When she’s not writing, you can find her meticulously curating playlists or picking up a paintbrush.

10 Indigenous American Historical Sites to Visit

Ten million people lived in what is now the United States before Europeans arrived. These Indigenous Americans lived in complex cultures and completed amazing architectural feats that persevere to this day.

By the time European explorers arrived in the Americas, the Western Hemisphere was already home to more than 50 million people. Ten million of these people lived in what is now the United States. These Indigenous Americans developed intricate communities, religions and lifestyles, and made a lasting impact on American history and culture. Incredible sites built by Indigenous people can be found throughout the U.S. today, including cliff dwellings, multistory stone houses, earth lodges and effigies, and other stunning ruins. The history of Indigenous people is often overlooked or swept under the rug in favor of European colonists when looking at the larger context of American history, but preserved sites teach visitors about the complex cultures that came before Western settlers. These 10 sites showcase some of the impressive architectural triumphs of Indigenous people and pass on their histories. 

1. Knife River Indian Villages National Historic Site, North Dakota

Located near Stanton, North Dakota, the Knife River Indian Villages National Historic Site preserves the history of the Knife River region. The Knife River region, an area in North Dakota centered around a tributary of the Missouri River, has been home to a number of people groups for around 11,000 years. Not much is known about the cultures that have inhabited the Knife River region because very few artifacts from the area remain, but early written records document the lives of the Hidatsa people. Like the Mississippian people, the Hidatsa resided in earth lodges. The Mandan and Arikara were also earth lodge residents who settled in the Knife River region, and all three groups pioneered agriculture in the area while still hunting and gathering. Villages were the center of earth lodge peoples’ lives, and the park features the remains of three large villages constructed by the Hidatsa: Awatixa Xi’e village, Hidatsa village and Awatixa village. 

2. Puu Loa Petroglyphs, Hawaii 

Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, on Hawaii’s Big Island, protects Mauna Loa and Kilauea, two of the world’s most active volcanoes. It is also home to the Puu Loa petroglyphs, stone etchings that document the lives and culture of the Native Hawaiian people. The petroglyphs are located in a lava field that is at least 500 years old, and the site has over 23,000 different petroglyphs. There are a variety of geometric designs, as well as depictions of people and tools, such as canoe sails. A number of the petroglyphs contain cupules, or holes where a portion of the umbilical cord was placed after the birth of a child in order to ensure long life. The first known written account of the petroglyphs is attributed to missionary Rev. William Ellis in 1823, but some petroglyphs likely date to the 1600s or even earlier. In addition to being used to ensure long life, some petroglyphs were used to record the movements of travelers on the island. Visitors to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park can take a 1.4-mile round trip day hike on a boardwalk to admire the petroglyphs up close. 

3. Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado

Probably one of the most well-known Indigenous sites in the United States, Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado preserves almost 5,000 historical sites of the ancestral Pueblo people, including 600 cliff dwellings. The ancestral Pueblo people lived at Mesa Verde for more than 700 years, from 550 to 1300 A.D. The first people settled at Mesa Verde in 550 A.D., turning from hunting and gathering to agriculture and building small villages of pithouses, sometimes sheltered in cliff alcoves. Around 750 A.D., these people began building houses above ground and became known as the Pueblo people, meaning “village dwellers.” The houses evolved from being made of poles and mud to being skillfully constructed from stone. Then, in 1200 A.D., for reasons that are unknown, the ancestral Pueblo began to move back into cliff alcoves and developed the cliff dwellings that make Mesa Verde famous. Mesa Verde’s cliff dwellings are truly incredible examples of Indigenous architecture, ranging from one- to 150-room houses. They are also some of the best-preserved cliff dwellings in North America, and visitors can tour some of the structures, like Balcony House and Cliff Palace. 

4. Effigy Mounds National Monument, Iowa

Ceremonial mounds created by Indigenous Americans can be found across the United States. Effigy Mounds National Monument preserves more than 200 distinct mounds built by people known as the Woodland Indians and gives visitors a glimpse directly into Woodland Indian culture. The mounds, found in northeastern Iowa, are unique because a large number of them are effigies in the shape of animals. Thirty-one of the mounds are bear or bird effigies. The Woodland culture consisted of hunter-gatherers who during the summer lived in large campsites along the Mississippi River, which they relied on for food and water. Archaeologists and researchers do not know precisely why the effigy mounds were built, but they guess that they may have been made for religious rituals or burial ceremonies. Guided tours are available throughout the summer at Effigy Mounds to teach visitors more about the area’s rich history, and there are also hiking trails around the site. 

5. Chumash Painted Cave State Historic Park, California

Just outside of Santa Barbara sits the Chumash Painted Cave, a room-sized sandstone cavern filled with colorful anthropomorphic and geometric figures. The exact age of the cave paintings is unknown, but archaeologists estimate that they date to the 1600s or earlier. The paintings are attributed to the Chumash, a name referring to several groups of Indigenous people who lived along the coast of Southern California and on the nearby Channel Islands. The Chumash groups spoke a variety of what linguists refer to as the Hokan language, and they constructed canoes from pine or redwood planks, which they used to sail up and down the California coast to hunt, gather and trade with other tribes. The Chumash lived in round homes known as “aps,” organized into villages. A number of archaeological sites displaying Chumash rock art have been discovered, and the Chumash Painted Cave is one of the most well preserved. The meaning behind the figures at the painted cave is unknown, but the art may be connected to Chumash astrology and cosmology. 

6. Chaco Culture National Historical Park, New Mexico

A valley in the high desert of northwestern New Mexico houses an ancient, sprawling center of ancestral Pueblo culture. Between 850 and 1250 A.D., the area that is now Chaco Culture National Historical Park was the epicenter of a widespread expansion of Chacoan culture. The Chacoan people used unique masonry techniques to construct stone houses multiple stories high, some containing hundreds of large rooms. The buildings were intricately planned out and often constructed according to solar, lunar and cardinal directions, as well as to maintain clear lines of sight between houses. By 1050, Chaco was the economic and cultural center of the San Juan Basin, with people from all over the area gathering there to share knowledge and traditions and to participate in ceremonies. A number of the great houses have been preserved and can be seen today, along with petroglyphs made by the Chacoan people. Since 2013, Chaco has also been designated an International Dark Sky Park, meaning it is one of the best places in the country to get a view of the night sky untainted by light pollution. Visitors can look at the sky the same way the Chaco people saw it a millennium ago. 

7. Ocmulgee Mounds National Historical Park, Georgia

Minutes outside of downtown Macon, Georgia, lies Ocmulgee Mounds National Historical Park, a site shaped by 17 millennia of habitation, dating back to prehistoric times. The nomadic Paleo-Indian people arrived at the site in around 17,000 B.C., during the last ice age. Around 9,600 B.C. the Paleo-Indian era gave way to the Archaic era. The Early Archaic people were nomadic hunters as well, but evidence suggests that by the Middle Archaic period people began to build more permanent settlements and gather food. It wasn’t until the Mississippian people, who migrated to the area in 900 A.D., that the land was permanently changed, however. The Mississippians constructed impressive villages that literally reshaped the landscape, forming elaborate earthen lodges and temples that are still visible today. The Mississippian culture declined after the 1539 arrival of Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto, who brought with him foreign diseases that devastated the Mississippian people. Descendants of the Mississippian people, the Muscogee Creek Nation, who lived at Ocmulgee from 1600 until their forcible removal by Andrew Jackson in 1836, considered the mounds built by their ancestors to be sacred. Today, visitors to the site can see several of the mounds constructed by the Mississippian people, as well as the location of two Civil War battles. 

8. Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, Montana

Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument memorializes the site of the Battle of Little Bighorn, a fight between the 7th Regiment of the U.S. Cavalry and thousands of Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribe members. It lies within the Crow Indian Reservation in southeastern Montana. On June 25, 1876, the 7th Regiment, led by Lt. Gen. George Custer, attacked a village of free Lakota and Cheyenne people. The battle was part of the U.S. campaign to force Indigenous people to comply with the 1868 Treaty of Fort Laramie, which created a large reservation in South Dakota intended to house the Lakota. Many Lakota did not want to give up their nomadic lifestyle in favor of a life controlled by the U.S. government, resulting in a number of armed conflicts. The Battle of Little Bighorn proved deadly for both sides, but the Lakota and Cheyenne ultimately triumphed, defeating Custer and his troops. Though the Lakota and Cheyenne tribe members won the battle, Custer’s defeat became a rallying cry for U.S. efforts to force Indigenous people onto reservations, and stronger military forces were sent to conquer the tribes. The monument includes the battlefield itself, as well as the Custer National Cemetery and a number of hiking trails. 

 9. Aztec Ruins National Monument, New Mexico

Despite its name, Aztec Ruins National Monument has no association with Mexico’s Aztec empire. These large, multistory stone buildings, located within the city limits of Aztec, New Mexico, were constructed by the ancestral Pueblo. Early Western settlers thought that the site was built by the Aztecs, so they named the area “Aztec,” and the name remained even after the true builders of the ruins were discovered. Aztec Ruins was the largest ancestral Pueblo community in the Animas River valley. The site features a number of “great houses” made of stone, including the West Ruin, which had over 400 interconnected rooms. Each great house had a “great kiva,” a large, underground circular chamber used for ceremonies. Aztec Ruins also has three above-ground kivas, each encircled by three walls forming a triangle. Aztec Ruins was likely influenced by Chacoan culture, and may have even been an outlying community of Chaco. Visitors can wander through the rooms of West Ruin on a self-guided tour, or participate in ranger-led programs. 

10. Hopewell Culture National Historical Park, Ohio

The term “Hopewell culture” refers not to a specific tribe, but to a “distinctive set of artifacts, earthworks and burial practices” common in areas of southern Ohio during the Middle Woodland period, from around 1 to 400 A.D. The Hopewell Mound Group is an 130-acre earthwork complex, which contains 29 burial mounds and was once enclosed by an enormous earthen wall that spanned over 2 miles and was up to 12 feet high. Remnants of the walls are still visible, as are several of the large, uniquely shaped mounds. Hopewell Culture National Historical Park encompasses five additional sites, all with fascinating remnants of the Hopewell culture. Settlements typically consisted of a few families living close together in rectangular houses with a shared garden nearby. In addition to growing domesticated plants, people of the Hopewell culture were hunters, fishers and gatherers. Visitors to the park will discover the commonalities between each distinct site by exploring the incredible Hopewell Mounds and looking at preserved artifacts.

Rachel Lynch

Rachel is a student at Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, NY currently taking a semester off. She plans to study Writing and Child Development. Rachel loves to travel and is inspired by the places she’s been and everywhere she wants to go. She hopes to educate people on social justice issues and the history and culture of travel destinations through her writing.

Exploring the Wonders of Australia’s Wild and Remote Kimberley

The Kimberley region of Western Australia boasts a spectacularly diverse landscape offering both biodiversity and impressive geological formations.

Aerial view of the Kimberley. Drumsara. CC-BY-SA 2.0. 

Although Australia provides plenty of examples of nature’s extraordinary beauty, few compare to the Kimberley region. Situated in Western Australia’s northernmost corner, the Kimberley is a grandiose territory teeming with rich ecosystems. A plethora of microcommunities sprinkle across its sundry landscapes while towering hills spill into vast canyons neighboring pristine swimming holes. 

The region covers over 150,000 square miles, with only about 40,000 residents inhabiting the area. Perhaps the most famous part of the Kimberley is Broome’s Cable Beach, ranked as one of the world’s most gorgeous stretches of sand and sea. The beach displays nearly 14 miles of fine sand meeting glassy waters. The beach itself has an interesting history; the name “Cable Beach” comes from the telegraph cable placed there in 1889. For adventurers more daring, Tunnel Creek National Park houses the oldest cave system in Australia. Again, the history of the stop is fascinating; Aboriginal leader Jandamarra hid in the cave system but was later caught and killed at its opening. 

The swirling sky at Cable Beach in Broome. hmorandell. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0. 

However, the history of the land tells a story drastically different than the extravagant serenity the region now boasts. 

Exploration of the Kimberley by Europeans was initiated in 1879 by government surveyor Alexander Forrest, who explored much of Western Australia. Upon arrival, Forrest made note of the region’s vast landscape which made it ideal for cattle grazing. From this point on, the resources of the land quickly became tied to conflict; diggers struck gold which led to a quickly fleeting gold rush, and conflicts over cattle grazing raged between the Indigenous population and newly arrived Europeans. In the mid-20th century irrigation projects led to the rise of extensive farming, primarily that of sugar cane and rice. Oil drilling and diamond mining are now conducted in the region. 

Today, the Kimberley contains residents as diverse as its wildlife; there are over 100 Aboriginal communities that share the region’s unmatched tranquility as well as its bustling economic opportunities. Due to the region’s iconic landscape, nearly 300,000 travelers visit every year, producing over $300 million annually. 

Tunnel Creek National Park. Nievedee. CC BY-SA 4.0. 

As with most dazzling spectacles of nature, the region boasts pristine weather that complements the untouched wilderness. The wet season extends from November to April and is characterized by heavy rain and humid, sticky air. From May to October is the dry season, which is characterized by sun-drenched days and cloudless, baby blue skies. 

Raft Point. Johnny. CC BY-NC 2.0. 

An exciting history and a dazzling landscape make Australia’s Kimberley region a powerfully adventurous destination. Surely any visitor will find their imagination stretched by the area’s countless wonders.

Ella Nguyen

Ella is an undergraduate student at Vassar College pursuing a degree in Hispanic Studies. She wants to assist in the field of immigration law and hopes to utilize Spanish in her future projects. In her free time she enjoys cooking, writing poetry, and learning about cosmetics.

Indigenous Fashion Hits the Runway

Long overlooked Indigenous artists are revolutionizing the fashion world. Balancing innovation and tradition, these designers envision a sustainable, inclusive way of creating clothes.

Indigenous women sewing. SriHarsha PVSS. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Nothing about this year’s Indigenous Fashion Week Toronto (IFWTO) went according to plan. The pandemic demanded a totally virtual fashion venue without a live audience, forcing the Indigenous communities that comprise it to rethink what a fashion week could be. Then again, reimagining the fashion industry is the forte of many Indigenous designers.

The IFWTO featured 16 designers with their own unique takes on Indigenous fashion, the clothing created by designers from a native background. It included artists from across the world who are united by a shared Indigenous heritage. Combining traditional figures and techniques with mainstream styles yielded some of the week’s most exciting work. Mobilize, for instance, fused Indigenous writing and designs with streetwear hoodies and jackets to innovate style while staying true to its roots. Audiences took well to Mobilize’s style; most of its items sold out. 

Mobilize and other Indigenous brands seek to fundamentally change the fashion industry’s status quo. Jamie Okuma, a California designer of Luiseño and Shoshone-Bannock descent, emphasizes resourcefulness and respect for nature in her garments. “All of my work has tradition at its core ... So I try to utilize everything possible in my work—with my art, supplies, fabric—and not be wasteful.” Crafted with patience, detail and care, her pieces are meant to be worn again and again. “We all have those go-to pieces in our closet that we keep for years and literally wear out before we retire them,” she says. “I'm here to make the go-tos, the keepers.”

Shoes designed by Jamie Okuma. nonelvis. CC By-NC-SA 2.0.

Okuma’s approach is a welcome change to the dominant fad of “fast fashion.” These items, mass produced by large companies, are designed season by season and intended to fall out of fashion and be thrown out within a year. This approach to fashion differs starkly from that of Indigenous creators, who value durability, tradition and craftsmanship, even if it comes with a much higher sticker price. Though fast fashion allows consumers to don the latest runway fashions at an affordable price, it comes at a steep environmental cost. Products often fall apart within weeks or are thrown out having never been worn, earning the style the nickname “landfill fashion.”

A billboard for Grace Lillian Lee’s fashion. Brisbane City Council. CC BY 2.0.

Grace Lillian Lee, designer and co-founder of First Nations Fashion and Design in Australia, seeks a place for Indigeneity in the mainstream. “There’s definitely a lot that non-Indigenous people and designers can learn from Indigenous people,” she says, “especially in terms of sustainability.” Her work relies heavily on the weaving techniques of Torres Strait Islanders. More than a way to promote sustainability, Lee calls her clothing “a soft entry into reconciliation and healing our people.” Such meaningful craftsmanship doesn’t fall out of style by next season; it is passed down through generations.

Lisa Folawiyo. NDaniTV. CC BY 3.0.

Indigenous fashion is just beginning to enjoy its long overdue time in the sun. Dresses by Lisa Folawiyo, a Nigerian and West Indian designer, have been worn proudly by the likes of Solange Knowles and Lupita Nyong’o. Her intricate, flowing dresses explode with color. Boasting hand-embellished designs, Folawiyo’s dresses can take up to 240 hours to complete. Her West African designs have won the plaudits of the international fashion world and effortlessly outshine the mass-produced artifacts of fast fashion.


A dress by Lisa Folawiyo. Museum at FIT. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Indigenous people still generally lack a place at the corporate level. Sage Paul, a member of Canada’s English River First Nation who now lives in Toronto, called for the post-pandemic “new normal” to include the voices of Indigenous people in an article for The Kit. Fashion emerged from a 14th-century European aristocracy, she argues, and colonized Indigenous people to steal resources, goods and fashion trends. “The colonial systems we are operating under no longer serve our society, and the only way we will evolve is by allowing new and interconnected systems to come to the fore.” That means moving Indigenous brands into the mainstream. 

The IFWTO is a good place to start. Its online market links viewers directly to designers’ websites. Live panel discussions provided a glimpse into the questions and concerns of some of Indigenous fashion’s most admired artists. Videos of models strutting the catwalk resembled music videos, showcasing the unbridled possibilities of Indigenous fashion. Most importantly, it put more Indigenous designers on the map. As of now, they show no signs of slowing down.

Michael McCarthy

Michael is an undergraduate student at Haverford College, dodging the pandemic by taking a gap year. He writes in a variety of genres, and his time in high school debate renders political writing an inevitable fascination. Writing at Catalyst and the Bi-Co News, a student-run newspaper, provides an outlet for this passion. In the future, he intends to keep writing in mediums both informative and creative.

The Ainu: One of Japan’s Indigenous Groups

In August 2019, the Japanese government passed a law that officially recognized the Ainu as an Indigenous people group. After nearly two centuries of legalized discrimination, the Ainu are reclaiming their identity and history, and they are just getting started.

An Ainu couple before assimilation; their features are still different from those of their Japanese counterparts. Stuart Rankin. CC BY-NC 2.0.

In July, Japan unveiled the Upopoy National Ainu Museum, the country’s first cultural center dedicated to Indigenous identity. Located on the island of Hokkaido—one of the Ainu’s ancestral lands—the Upopoy Museum showcases the history of the Ainu through performances and historical relics. What is remarkable about the museum’s opening is not its resiliency amid a pandemic, but that the structure opened at all. Much like the power dynamic between American settlers and Native American tribes, the Ainu endured a legacy of forced assimilation by the ethnic Japanese and their ruling government.

Before this, the Ainu were a hunter-gatherer tribe that inhabited the northern islands of Ezo (present-day Hokkaido), the Kuril Islands and the Russian island of Sakhalin. According to archaeological records, the Ainu called these lands home as early as the 14,500 B.C. The Ainu also had strong ties to animism, a belief that manifested itself in the relationship between the Ainu and the bears on the islands. The Ainu even created a ceremony in which bear cubs were taken, raised and then sacrificed in a ritual offering. These symbolic rites guided Ainu tradition and their balanced connection with nature.

Ainu women performing a welcome dance on Hokkaido. Vladimir Tkalcic. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

When the Meiji government annexed Hokkaido in the late 19th century, the Ainu’s pastoral way of life was interrupted. While the Ainu lived in Japan, they physically differed from their Japanese counterparts. The Ainu have a more European look with lighter skin and thick hair. Men sported full beards, and women tattooed their lips once they reached adulthood. Because of this, the Japanese derided the Ainu as backward and foreign. Around this time, Japan also became the first non-European country to have defeated Russia in battle. Flush with victory and newly acquired lands, the Japanese sought to build up a national myth of military might and cultural homogeneity. One of these initiatives included a policy of forced assimilation on the island of Hokkaido.

The Japanese government enlisted the help of American consultants who had reeducated their own North American Indigenous groups. The Ainu were forced into Japanese-speaking schools and were required to change their names. As the land was repurposed for industrial and agricultural uses, the Ainu were pushed into wage labor and became an impoverished and politically disenfranchised minority. Even after World War II, the Ainu were deprived. To participate in the scientific advancements of the mid-20th century, the Japanese government essentially emboldened researchers to rob Ainu graves and remains.  

The Upopoy National Museum is housed in Hokkaido, one of the Ainu’s ancestral homelands. Marek Okon. Unsplash. 

In February 2019, the Japanese government introduced a bill that would officially recognize the ethnic Ainu minority as an Indigenous people for the first time. The bill included measures that would support Ainu communities, fund scholarships and educational opportunities, and allow the Ainu to cut down trees in nationally owned forests for use in traditional practices.

While many lauded the proposal, some felt that the bill missed a crucial element: an apology. In an interview with CNN, musician Oki Kano shared that he was only 20 years old when he found out that he was Ainu. Thanks to rigorous assimilation policies, the Ainu in Japan bear more resemblance to ethnic Japanese than past generations. Because of the ugly legacy of discrimination, however, the true number of Ainu still left in Japan is unknown. Due to fear, many of the Ainu have chosen to hide their background, leaving younger generations with limited if any knowledge about their heritage. The Ainu language is also at risk of extinction.

Although the bill became law in August 2019 and Tokyo University returned some of the robbed remains the following year, the fight for the Ainu people’s rights is just beginning. Despite widespread recognition and gradual acceptance of the Ainu, some feel the Ainu culture is at risk of tokenization. Though the preservation of Ainu culture is commendable, the Ainu’s future should also be considered if they are to have a chance at survival.

Rhiannon Koh

Rhiannon earned her B.A. in Urban Studies & Planning from UC San Diego. Her honors thesis was a speculative fiction piece exploring the aspects of surveillance technology, climate change, and the future of urbanized humanity. She is committed to expanding the stories we tell.

Aotearoa: Reclaiming Maori Language and Identity in New Zealand 

Compared to Indigenous groups around the world, the Maori in New Zealand enjoy more agency because of the Treaty of Waitangi, a founding document that recognizes Maori ownership of land and their subsequent autonomy in the country’s government. However, some feel that more can be done to create a bicultural and celebratory society—one that puts the Maori language at the forefront. 

A performance of the haka, a traditional Maori dance. Matthieu Aubry. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

New Zealand is an island country known for its scenic views, its native kiwi bird and its iconic role as the fictional Middle Earth. The country, named Aotearoa (meaning “long white cloud”) in the Maori language, is also steeped in rich history and culture.

Before European settlement, New Zealand was home to the Maori, one of the region’s many Polynesian ethnic groups. According to their oral histories, the Maori first voyaged from present-day Tahiti. They arrived and began inhabiting Aotearoa as early as 1300 A.D. Once settled, the Maori formed tribal societies. Their culture revolves around respect for the natural environment. The Maori also possess elements of a warrior culture—they craft unique performative arts such as the haka, a war dance turned into a ceremonial celebration.

Although the first Europeans—Dutch navigators—made contact with the Maori in 1642, the Maori way of life was not significantly impacted until the late 1700s. With the arrival of British Capt. James Cook, the scramble for New Zealand ensued. As nearby French voyagers and ungoverned sealers and whalers reaped profits from the islands’ natural resources, the British moved to make New Zealand a colony in 1840.

Reconstruction of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi. Archives New Zealand. CC BY 2.0

In that same year, the Treaty of Waitangi was created. This artifact is not only recognized as a founding document but also as one that acknowledges Maori rights to the land. Despite its contentious nature, the Treaty of Waitangi is still considered a key success for the treatment of Indigenous people in New Zealand. In countries like Canada and Australia, Indigenous groups suffer a lower quality of life and enjoy less autonomy than their counterparts in New Zealand. These disparities can be traced back to the absence of a document acknowledging Indigenous people’s land rights. 

Although the status of the Maori in New Zealand may be considered a model for Indigenous treatment across the globe, there are still discrepancies that prevent them from fully embracing their dual identities. Though Maori is considered one of the national languages and has been celebrated every September since 1975, a national study found that only 148,000 people in New Zealand can hold a conversation in it.

In a piece for The Guardian, Leigh-Marama McLachlan explains her rejection of Maori culture to sustain success in New Zealand. She writes, “Back then, almost no one in my family spoke [Maori]. My grandmother was like so many Maori of that generation who were led to believe that our language would be of no use to their children.” Although McLachlan possesses some rudimentary Maori, she laments the overwhelmingly monolingual sentiment of the country.

The personal rejection of Maori culture can be traced back to the early stages of New Zealand’s modernization. In a 2015 study, Maori education professors Lesley Rameka and Kura Paul-Burke found that education for children dismissed the value of Maori. Textbooks failed to frame Maori history in a positive light, rendering the culture and language as “unintellectual, trivial and strange.”

A Maori carving. Bernard Spragg.

Since the last Maori Language Week in September, some feel that it is time to restore places to their rightful Maori names. Since the protests against racial injustice in the United States, policymakers and stakeholders were forced to reexamine New Zealand’s racist past of colonialism and disenfranchisement. With an overall renewed interest in Maori rights and treatment, several telecommunications firms in the country have already changed their names to include “Aotearoa.”

Rhiannon Koh

Rhiannon earned her B.A. in Urban Studies & Planning from UC San Diego. Her honors thesis was a speculative fiction piece exploring the aspects of surveillance technology, climate change, and the future of urbanized humanity. She is committed to expanding the stories we tell.

As Acai Demand Rises, Amazonian Communities Seek Out their Role

The acai palm is one of the many native plants that has been commodified for Western consumption. This has shifted acai consumption and production practices within Indigenous Amazonian communities. 

Acai bowls are the most common form of Western acai consumption. Ella O, CC BY 2.0

Prior to 2000, Indigenous Amazonian communities utilized the acai palm plant on a local scale. The purple berry then found its way to the U.S., appealing to surfers in Hawaii and Southern California. It has since been in the spotlight, spurring new industries and finding its way into the global marketplace. The acai palm plant is one of many Indigenous plant foods that has been commodified for foreign consumption, shifting acai usage and production practices among Brazil’s Amazonian tribes. Indigenous Amazonian communities, who have utilized acai as a diet staple for centuries, are now exporting it  for profit, hoping not to forfeit their land to multinational corporations. 

Companies that sell acai heavily market its health benefits, calling it a superfood that allows individuals to reach maximum health. Acai specifically offers anti-aging benefits, improved digestive health, increased energy levels and a strengthened immune system. The berry contains high amounts of antioxidants, omega-6 and omega-9 fatty acids, fiber, protein, vitamins and minerals. When globally transported, the acai berry is processed and packaged into various forms. When reduced to powders, capsules and liquids, the acai berry becomes a watered-down entity detached from Amazonian food culture. While many understand acai’s countless health benefits, few consumers know the context from which it comes. 

Grown on tall acai palm trees, the acai berry sprouts in large, clustered bunches. The trees grow to between 50 and 100 feet tall, bearing the fruit from their extended branches. In the village of Acaizal on the Uaca Indigenous reserve, villagers loop a palm leaf tied around their feet and scale the tree, knife gripped firmly between their teeth. Children, some as young as seven, learn this harvesting method. Once collected, acai pulp is served chilled and often mixed with sugar and tapioca. 

Increased demand for acai pushes Indigenous groups to formalize and industrialize this cultivation process. Amazonian tribes subsequently alter their traditional production to accommodate increased consumption. In the state of Amapa, Indigenous communities want to explore potential business arrangements and have identified acai production as a top priority for natural resource management. In a workshop hosted by local government agency Secretary Extraordinary of Indigenous People, Acaizal village chief Jose Damasceno Karipuna learned how to capitalize on acai harvesting processes. The increase in acai demand creates a flourishing job market for large-scale Amazonian farmers; however, it harms farmers who rely on small-scale production. With an ever-increasing demand for acai, protection of natural areas is crucial to preservation. For the villagers in Acaizal, proper environmental management will increase productivity while ensuring sustainability. Acai companies emphasize this business exchange as mutually beneficial, bettering individuals’ health and the Brazilian economy alike. However, the mass consumption and commodification of acai is ultimately a gray area, creating an uncertain future for Indigenous communities.

Anna Wood

Anna is an Anthropology major and Global Health/Spanish double minor at Middlebury College. As an anthropology major with a focus in public health, she studies the intersection of health and sociocultural elements. She is also passionate about food systems and endurance sports.

Amazon Trees Write Autobiographies – Preserving Human History in Their Wood

Tropical forests are one of the world’s largest carbon stores and they help regulate the global climate. But they’re being erased at a terrifying rate. Deforestation claimed an area the size of Belgium in 2018. These habitats are often cleared to make way for palm oil plantations and grazing pasture for livestock. For most forests, destruction on this scale is a fairly modern phenomenon.

Tropical forest ecosystems tend to have very high biodiversity, but often in the places you’d least expect. Research has found that there is often more wildlife in areas where there is an ancient history of human activity.

So how have indigenous people in tropical forests nurtured biodiversity in tropical forests while still domesticating tree species, building cities and growing crops? New research published in Trends in Plant Science suggests that the answer may be written in the trees themselves.

Ancient time capsules

Over 50,000 years ago, people in Borneo managed tropical forest vegetation using fire. They burned the edge of advancing forests, and this targeted disturbance was enough to prevent a large number of tall tree species dominating. It allowed habitats to regenerate that were rich in wild food plants and attractive to the animals that people hunted.

Other traditional methods of forest management included opening the forest canopy by carefully selecting trees to cut down. The light that flooded to the forest floor could then encourage edible species such as wild yams to grow amid the regenerating vegetation. These practices are similar to the modern ideas of edible forests and agroforestry, which maintain relatively high biodiversity and retain soil carbon and nutrient stores. Much of this is lost upon conversion to industrial plantations or ranches.

Traditional forest management encouraged biodiversity, whereas modern methods erode it. Caeteno-Adrade et al. / Trends in Plant Science

In the past, vast areas of the world’s tropical forests were managed by indigenous peoples in this way. Trees keep their own accounts of this history in their wood. It has always been thought that tropical trees have short lifespans, usually less than 400 years. But recent research shows that many tropical trees live for a very long time, and can preserve over 1,000 years of history in their timber.

You’re probably familiar with the idea that you can measure how old a tree is by counting the rings beneath its bark. One ring usually equates to one year, so dendrochronology (the study of tree rings) offers a fairly easy way to understand the life of a tree. Thicker rings tend to denote a year when conditions were good for growth – ample sunshine and water – whereas thinner rings suggest a lean year of drought and competition with other trees.

Many tropical trees don’t lay down annual rings, but in the new study dendrochronologists identified over 200 species that do. Typically wider rings reflect higher rainfall, but many trees put on a growth spurt if light intensity rises. These are called release events and can happen if trees around them are cut down, allowing more light to break through the canopy. Finding these markers helps researchers to recognise and date past episodes of forest clearance. In the Amazon, these records help scientists understand the enormous extent of pre-Columbian agriculture and forest management.

Researchers extract a core of wood to measure the tree’s rings and find out its age. Victor Caetano-Andrade

The rings also preserve evidence of changes in the climate through the different isotopes (types) of oxygen and carbon laid down in the wood. Carbon isotopes tend to reflect light availability and other factors that control photosynthesis, whereas oxygen isotopes help scientists track changes in a nearby water source and annual rainfall. Isotopic studies showed that the abandonment of Angkor Wat in the 14th century coincided with severe drought.

Forest histories can also emerge from new DNA studies. Heavily logged species go through what we call “genetic bottlenecks”, where part of the genetic material of a species is lost as many individuals die or are unable to reproduce and pass on their genes. This leads to restricted gene pools.

Researchers would expect to see the same patterns in species which were strongly affected by logging or fires started by people in the past. Genetics can also identify species that were spread by ancient people, like the Brazil nut.

Living tropical trees record within themselves a history of human activity and the forest’s response to it. The regeneration of forests after disruption by people in the past offers some hope for the future, but only if current rates of deforestation can be halted, allowing the lungs of our planet to regenerate.

Chris Hunt is a Professor of Cultural Palaeoecology, Liverpool John Moores University

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

Pope Affirms Catholic Church’s Duty to Indigenous Amazonians Hurt by Climate Change

The Catholic Church “hears the cry” of the Amazon and its peoples. That’s the message Pope Francis hopes to send at the Synod of the Amazon, a three-week meeting at the Vatican that ends Oct. 27.

Images from Rome show tribal leaders in traditional feather headdresses alongside Vatican officials in their regalia. They are gathered with hundreds of bishops, priests, religious sisters and missionaries to discuss the pastoral, cultural and ecological struggles of the Amazon.

The densely forested region spans nine South American countries, including Brazil, Colombia and Peru. Its more than 23 million inhabitants include 3 million indigenous people.

The Amazon meeting is part of Pope Francis’s efforts to build a “Church which listens.” Since taking office in 2013, Francis has revitalized the Catholic Church’s practice of “synods” – a Greek word meaning “council” – expanding decision-making in the church beyond the Vatican bureaucracy to gather input from the entire church, including from laypeople.

Voting on synod decisions, however, remains restricted to bishops and some male clergy.

The Amazon synod is the first such meeting to be organized for a specific ecological region. Media coverage of this event has emphasized its more controversial debates – such as the possibility of easing celibacy requirements in the rural Amazon, where priests are in extremely short supply.

But its focus is much broader: listening to the suffering of the Amazon – particularly the environmental challenges facing the region – and discerning how to respond as a global church.

Amazon in crisis

After more than a decade of environmental policies that successfully slowed deforestation in the Amazon, logging and agricultural clearing have begun to increase rapidly again. The fires in the Brazilian rainforest that captured headlines in early September are symptoms of much broader destruction.

Up to 17% of the Amazon rainforest has already been eliminated – dangerously close to the 20% to 40% tipping point that experts say would lead the entire ecosystem to collapse.

Deforestation of the Amazon is rapidly approaching the tipping point that, experts say, could lead to total collapse of the rainforest ecosystem. AP Photo/Leo Correa

Stories of deforestation can seem insignificant against the vastness of the Amazon, a region two-thirds the size of the lower 48 United States.

But for the 390 indigenous ethnic groups who inhabit the region, each burned forest grove, polluted stream or flooded dam site may mark the end of a way of life that’s survived for thousands of years.

Deprived of their land, many indigenous Amazonians are forced into an exposed life on the edge of frontier towns, where they are prey to sex trafficking, slave labor and violence. In Brazil alone, at least 1,119 indigenous people have been killed defending their land since 2003.

The Catholic Church recognizes that it still has to address the “open wound” of its own role in the colonial-era violence that first terrorized the indigenous peoples of the Americas, according to the synod’s working document. The church legitimated the colonial confiscation of lands occupied by indigenous peoples and its missionaries often suppressed indigenous cultures and religions.

For this reason, according to the Vatican, organizers of the synod have sought input through 260 listening events held in the region that reached nearly 87,000 people over the past two years. Indigenous leaders have been invited as observer participants in the meeting itself.

Learning from indigenous peoples

As a theologian who studies religious responses to the environmental crisis, I find the pope’s effort to learn from the indigenous people of the Amazon noteworthy.

The Vatican sees that the Amazon’s traditional residents know something much of humanity has long forgotten: how to live in ecological harmony with the environment.

“To the aboriginal communities we owe their thousands of years of care and cultivation of the Amazon,” the 58-page synod working document reads. “In their ancestral wisdom they have nurtured the conviction that all of creation is connected, and this deserves our respect and responsibility.”

Pope Francis has expressed his respect for indigenous peoples before.

At a meeting of indigenous leaders in Peru in January 2018 he said, “Your lives cry out against a style of life that is oblivious to its own real cost. You are a living memory of the mission that God has entrusted to us all: the protection of our common home.”

Global problems, local solutions

Environmental destruction isn’t the synod’s only concern.

Catholicism – long the dominant religion in Latin America – is rapidly losing members to evangelical Protestantism. Evangelicals are projected to eclipse Catholics in Brazil by 2032.

One advantage evangelical churches have in Amazonian countries is that they can appoint local indigenous pastors to minister to their communities. Meanwhile, with less than one priest per 8,000 Catholics in the Amazon, some isolated communities might see a priest only once a year.

Catholic churches are in short supply in rural Brazil, where many people will go a year without seeing a priest. AP Photo/Fernando Vergara

The scarcity of priests in rural Latin America is behind a proposal to the synod to ordain older married men as priests in isolated Amazonian communities.

In the the U.S., the celibacy question is easily mapped onto a familiar divide. Progressive Catholics argue that clerical celibacy should be optional, while conservative Catholics insist this discipline is fundamental to the faith.

The issue is far less politicized in the Amazon, where, in the words of one bishop, the Catholic Church remains a “visiting church” with limited day-to-day presence in indigenous communities.

Some might dismiss this synod as just a meeting. But, in my judgment, it is an attempt to apply Francis’ vision of a “listening Church” to the environmental crisis. The Synod of the Amazon marks a significant shift from high-minded papal exhortations about taking climate action to a global religious community that gives voice to those living on the front lines of ecological destruction.

Vincent J. Miller is a Professor of Religious Studies, University of Dayton

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON THE CONVERSATION

Following the Removal of Evo Morales, Anti-Indigenous Sentiment Explicit in Bolivia

In the aftermath of the ouster of former President of Bolivia, Evo Morales, many suspected a right-wing coup had taken place. Now, a month later, the status of Indigenous peoples in Bolivia hangs in the balance.

“Evo Morales speaking to a man wearing the Lluch’u, the knit cap typical to Andean indigenous peoples.” Sebastian Baryli. CC BY 2.0

In 2005, Evo Morales, of Aymara indigenous descent, was elected to become the first indigeneous President of Bolivia. Bolivia identified itself as a plurinational state following the ratification of a new Constitution in 2009, and is home to more than 36 indigenous peoples. In 2017, an estimated 48% of the population of Bolivia above the age of 15 was of indigeneous origin. Morales’s party, Movimiento al Socialismo (MAS--Movement Towards Socialism), represented a growing progressive force against the backdrop of the historically-conservative nation. Morales saw significant success over his three terms, stabilizing the Bolivian economy, spurring economic growth, reducing poverty significantly and bringing those living in extreme poverty down to half its previous rate, while heightening literacy rates across Bolivia. Under Morales, Bolivia became a more inclusive place: he instituted the Wiphala, which represents the plurinational status of Bolivia, as the nation’s second flag, and promoted a previously unparalleled number of women to his cabinet.

In 2016, Morales held a referendum in order to extend the term limits established within the 2009 Constitution, which was ultimately rejected in a 51% to 49% vote. However, in 2018 Morales appealed to the Bolivian Constitutional Tribunal, which allowed Morales to run for re-election for a fourth term as President of Bolivia. Although Morales was elected for a fourth term in October of 2019, an audit by the Organization of American States determined the election illegitimate, and many had questioned the legality of the Tribunal’s decision in 2018 even before the election came to pass. In the midst of protests that left over 30 dead and 700 injured, and under extreme pressure from the military, Morales stepped down and fled to Mexico.

In the immediate aftermath of the ouster of Morales’s administration, many questioned whether there had been a coup. Calls for Morales’s resignation began in the right, and gained traction; ultimately, Morales resigned following military coercion against him and his party. Although there has been a precedent for right-wing coups in Latin American history, especially aided and abetted by the United States, the case of Morales’s administration is complicated. While the military intervention does constitute an illegal seizure of power, the discontentment for Morales did not arise in a vacuum. Opposition leaders and former supporters alike felt that a fourth term meant a clear violation of the Constitution Morales himself had worked to implement, and many more agreed that Morales had begun to lose touch with the population after 14 years in office. Many of his former indigenous supporters were angered by Morales’s approval of a hydroelectric dam in indigenous territory.

Morales’s resignation triggered many of his top officials and closest political associates to resign as well, leaving the presidential seat to Jeanine Añez, formerly vice president of the Senate of Bolivia. The Constitution stipulates that a new election must be called for within ninety days, and upon taking power Añez openly assured the country that her taking power was purely transitional. Many have doubted Añez’s words, and have called for her resignation given her connection to the right-wing opposition in Bolivia.

Anti-indigenous graffiti has appeared throughout Bolivia, as well as videos depicting police cutting the Whiphala emblem from their uniforms. These actions have been empowered by Añez herself, in the past implicated in anti-indigenous tweets, who has called for police repression of pro-Morales protestors. Notably, Añez’s cabinet, even if temporary, contains no indigenous representatives, and it seems that she has already begun the process of rolling back strides made under Morales towards socialism and inclusion. In this way, growing worries that the rise of a new right-wing government will revive festering anti-indigenous sentiment are well-founded. Ultimately, the political uprising in Bolivia leaves the future of indigenous rights in danger, as outrage towards Morales has opened the floodgates for discrimination against the indigenous population as a whole.

Hallie Griffiths

Hallie Griffiths is an undergraduate at the University of Virginia studying Foreign Affairs and Spanish. After graduation, she hopes to apply her passion for travel and social action toward a career in intelligence and policy analysis. Outside of the classroom, she can be found, quite literally, outside: backpacking, rock climbing, or skiing with her friends.