Outlaw Drums: The Suppression of Shamanism

There's a quiet pattern that runs through human history. It doesn't always show up in textbooks, and when it does, it's often softened or reframed. But if you follow the trail closely enough, you start to notice something consistent: the deliberate suppression of shamanic traditions. Not just discouraged. Not just dismissed. Suppressed.

At the center of this suppression sits a simple object with profound meaning: the drum. Across cultures, continents, and time, the drum has been more than an instrument. It's a tool for entering altered states, for connecting with unseen layers of reality, for healing, storytelling, and guidance. In many traditions, the drum is not symbolic. It is functional. It is a doorway. That's precisely why it became a target.

Shamanism, in its broadest sense, is not tied to a single religion or region. It's a way of seeing the world. A worldview where everything is alive, interconnected, and responsive. Where humans are not separate from nature but part of it. Where knowledge comes not only from logic or authority, but from direct experience with the spiritual dimensions of life.

This worldview appears again and again in the archaeological and anthropological record. From the tundra to the rainforest, from deserts to mountains, early human societies developed practices that look strikingly similar. Rhythmic drumming, trance states, spirit journeys, healing rituals. The details vary, but the core is shared. This suggests something important. Shamanism isn't a fringe belief system that popped up in isolation. It's part of our shared human inheritance.

So what happened?

The turning point begins in Western Europe, during the late medieval period and intensifies into the early modern era. This was a time of consolidation of power. Religious institutions and emerging centralized states were working to standardize belief systems and control populations more tightly.

Independent spiritual authority was a problem. Shamans, by their nature, don't rely on centralized doctrine. They don't need permission to access knowledge or healing. Their authority comes from experience, not hierarchy. That makes them unpredictable. Hard to regulate. Hard to control. From the perspective of institutions trying to unify power, that's a threat.

The response was systematic. Practices associated with shamanism were reframed as dangerous, heretical, or even demonic. Healing practices became "sorcery." Communication with spirits became "devil worship." Ritual specialists became "witches."

This wasn't just a shift in language. It justified action. Persecution followed. Trials, punishments, executions. But alongside these visible acts, there was a quieter, more practical strategy: remove the tools.

The drum, in particular, became a focal point. In many shamanic traditions, the drum is essential. Its rhythm helps induce trance states, guiding the practitioner into non-ordinary reality. Without it, the practice becomes harder to access, less consistent, and easier to disrupt.

So authorities targeted the drum directly. Historical records from different regions show similar patterns. Drums were confiscated. Burned. Banned. In some cases, simply owning one was enough to invite punishment. 

The Case of Sami Shaman, Anders Paulsen

The Sami peoples of northern Scandinavia were renowned for their drum divination skills. They used divination to determine the future, luck or misfortune, location of game, diagnosis, and remedies. The Sami practiced an indigenous form of shamanism until the religious repression of shamanic practices in the mid-seventeenth century.

Anders Paulsen (1600–1692), a Sami shaman, was brought to court in Norway in 1692, accused of using a rune drum (or runebomme) for witchcraft. Paulsen was the last to be indicted and convicted during the witch trials in Norway. He was killed while in custody after the trial and before the verdict fell. An estimated 92 shamans were killed in Norway in the 17th century. Paulsen's story is an important source of knowledge of Sami shamanism and about the ritual use of the rune boom; because his rune boom is preserved (see above image), and because he himself explained the meaning of the symbols during his trial.

Sami drumheads are decorated with cosmological rune symbols and drawings of heavenly bodies, plants, animals, humans, and human habitations, sometimes divided into separate regions by horizontal or vertical lines representing the different layers of the spirit world. The motifs on a drum reflect the worldview of the owner and his family, both in terms of religious beliefs and in their modes of subsistence. For the Sami, the drum was a tool to enter ecstatic trance as well as a 'map' into the spirit realm.

Why Outlaw Drums

The logic was straightforward. If you remove the tool, you weaken the practice. If you weaken the practice, you erode the worldview behind it.

This approach didn't stay confined to Europe. As European powers expanded through colonization, they carried these attitudes with them. Indigenous cultures across the Americas, Africa, and parts of Asia faced similar suppression. Traditional ceremonies were outlawed. Spiritual leaders were persecuted. Drums and other ritual objects were seized or destroyed.

The pattern repeated because the underlying concern was the same. Shamanic systems empower individuals and communities in ways that don't depend on external authority. They offer direct access to meaning, healing, and guidance. That kind of autonomy challenges systems built on control.

It's important to be clear here. Not every instance of cultural change or religious conversion was forced. History is complex. But the consistent targeting of shamanic practices, and especially the drum, points to something more intentional than gradual evolution. It points to suppression.

And yet, the story doesn't end there. Despite centuries of pressure, shamanic traditions didn't disappear. They adapted. Went underground. Blended with other systems. Survived in fragments, stories, and practices passed quietly from one generation to the next. In some places, the drum never fully went silent.

The Reawakening of Shamanism

Today, there's a renewed interest in these traditions. People are seeking out older ways of understanding the world, often because modern systems feel incomplete. There's a sense that something essential was lost, or taken, and needs to be recovered. But this recovery isn't simple. When traditions are suppressed for long periods, knowledge can be fragmented. Context gets lost. Practices can be misunderstood or appropriated without depth. Rebuilding requires care, respect, and a willingness to learn rather than extract.

It also requires honesty about history. Acknowledging the suppression of shamanism isn't about blaming a single group or rewriting the past in simplistic terms. It's about recognizing patterns of power and control that shaped the world we live in today. The outlawing of drums wasn't random. It wasn't incidental. It was part of a broader effort to limit access to certain kinds of experience and knowledge.

And that raises a deeper question. What happens to a culture, or a species, when a core part of its worldview is systematically removed? We live in a time of disconnection. From nature. From each other. From meaning. It's worth asking whether the suppression of shamanic ways of knowing played a role in that. Not as the only factor, but as a significant one.

The drum, in this context, becomes more than an artifact. It's a symbol of something larger. A reminder of a way of relating to the world that values connection over control, experience over abstraction, and participation over dominance. When drums were outlawed, it wasn't just sound that was silenced. It was a rhythm of life that had guided human communities for thousands of years. That rhythm hasn't disappeared. But in many places, it's faint. The question now is whether we're willing to listen for it again.

Sami Drum Photo by Sandivas

The Man Who Saves the World?

When Gabe Polsky--known for compelling documentaries such as Red Army and In Search of Greatness--turned his lens toward what looks like one of the stranger, more audacious documentary ventures of the year, he delivered The Man Who Saves the World?. The title itself ends with a question mark, inviting us to ask: a savior, a madman, a legend? Or all three?

Here's a look at how the film works, why it matters, and what it says about belief, activism, and the collision of western and Indigenous worldviews.

Strange premise, real stakes

At its core, the documentary follows Patrick McCollum--a spiritual leader, peace-activist, chaplain, and self-described "global connector"--who finds himself drawn into an ancient Indigenous prophecy: one that suggests a man will unite Amazonian tribes and help "save the planet." 

Polsky, as filmmaker, takes us on a journey across continents--from boardrooms to the rainforest--as he investigates McCollum's life, his mission, and his claim. The trailer describes this voyage: "resurrection, Indigenous prophecies, and adventures around the globe." 

This is not a standard "hero biography"; instead it rides the line between skepticism and wonder. Polsky does not simply present McCollum as factually the prophesied one--he grapples with doubt, curiosity and the limits of what such a mission might actually mean. 

Structure and tone: how the film unfolds

Polsky builds the film somewhat like a detective story or expedition: you meet McCollum, you track his claims, you go to the Amazon, you meet Indigenous communities, you see McCollum's work with tribes, governments, and the environment. Throughout, the filmmaker remains part of the narrative--at moments skeptical, at moments awed. Polsky includes his quest as much as McCollum's. 

The tone sways between the absurd and the profound. On one hand, you have a man who claims to "talk to plants" and travels in the Amazon with machete in hand. On the other, the stakes are serious: Indigenous rights, environmental collapse, global diplomacy. 

By mixing humor, adventure, and deep questions of belief, the film tries to keep us engaged. The documentary makes for both fun and thoughtful viewing.

Themes and what sticks

1. Belief versus proof: One of the major undercurrents is: how much do we believe in someone's story when it's so grand? McCollum claims a near-death experience at 15, a prophetic calling, and a role with Indigenous peoples. Polsky investigates but doesn't insist on full verification. The film leaves space for the viewer's interpretation. 

2. Indigenous wisdom and western frameworks: A recurring tension: McCollum (a white American) steps into Indigenous prophecy narratives and Amazon forest activism. The film raises the question: who is telling the story, who benefits, and how does Western and Indigenous knowledge clash or converge? Polsky touches on this directly. 

3. Activism, identity, and "savior" narratives: By naming the film The Man Who Saves the World?, Polsky invites us to critique the "savior" myth. Is McCollum the savior? Or is the proposition itself problematic? The documentary doesn't answer easily--it instead holds up McCollum's work (and the speculation) as a mirror for what we expect from activism and leadership.

4. Spirituality, environment, and global mission: The Amazon rainforest, Indigenous treaties, global peace diplomacy: all act as a backdrop to McCollum's mission. The documentary links ecology to spirituality to politics, suggesting that believing we can save the world may involve all these domains.

What's compelling--and what to watch out for

What works:

• The character of McCollum is genuinely unusual, which makes for strong narrative momentum.
• Polsky's willingness to show his own doubts lends honesty to the film; it isn't blindly admiring.
• Visuals and setting: the Amazon, tribal gatherings, high-stakes diplomacy make this more than a talking-head doc.
• The underlying questions (belief, identity, activism) elevate the story beyond simple biography.

What may trip up some viewers:

• Because the subject is so grand and the evidence somewhat speculative, those wanting hard facts may leave unsatisfied.
• The mix of humor, surreal scenes (machetes in jungle, prophecy talks) and serious issues sometimes creates tonal shifts that feel uneven.
• The potential critique of the "white savior" dynamic is raised but not always deeply interrogated to its fullest extent.

Why it matters now

In a moment when environmental collapse, Indigenous rights, and global connectivity dominate headlines, this film arrives at a revealing time. It asks: can one person make a difference? What stories do we need to tell about leadership and responsibility?

Moreover, it confronts the uneasy paradox: the people most directly affected by climate change and exploitation are Indigenous communities, yet their stories often get filtered through outsiders. By placing McCollum at the center, the film opens a door for that conversation.

It's also a deeply cinematic way to engage with big, intangible ideas like prophecy, spiritual calling, and planetary mission. Because we are so used to activism as something pragmatic, grounded in policy and action, the spiritual dimension here challenges our usual frames.

Final reflections

The Man Who Saves the World? doesn't provide a neat answer. It doesn't wrap McCollum's mission in a bow and say: "Here you go, world-saver confirmed." Instead, it invites us to sit with the question: what if one person believed they could? And what happens when we follow that belief across jungles, tribes, governments, and into ourselves?

As a viewer, you'll likely come away with a variety of feelings: admiration for McCollum's devotion, skepticism about the epic claims, and a renewed sense of how stories--Indigenous prophecy, spiritual calling, environmental urgency--shape how we view the world and our place in it.

In short: this is a film that entertains, provokes, and lingers. It's about a man, yes; but ultimately, it's about what it means to try to save the world--and the price of doing so, whether you succeed or not.

If you're game for a documentary that blends adventure, spirituality, Indigenous activism and a larger-than-life premise, The Man Who Saves the World? is well worth your time. And even if you walk away unconvinced by the prophecy, you'll probably still find yourself wondering: what could belief do--for one person, or for many? Watch the official trailer now.

Music as a Political Act

Cree singer Sandy Scofield sees her music as a pathway for raising awareness and celebrating culture.
 

It's a long way from playing Cajun party music to acapella vocal arrangements of First Nations songs to composing music and sound design for theatre, including Vancouver Opera's "Missing" about the ongoing tragedy of Canada's missing and murdered Indigenous women. Sandy Scofield is a multi-award winning composer, musician, musical director, singer, songwriter and performer. She has studied classical, jazz, African, Indonesian gamelan and electro-acoustic music. She hails from four generations of fiddlers, singers and musicians. Among her five recordings to date, she has won five Canadian Aboriginal Music Awards, a Canadian Folk Music Award, an Indian Summer Music Award (U.S.A.), a Western Canadian Music Award and received three consecutive Juno nominations.

Leader of the all female Cree band of singers, Iskwew, Sandy started making music before she can even remember and has played and sung in many bands over the years. From Cajun to rock, classical and folk, the foundation she had before coming into Cree Aboriginal music incorporated a wide variety of sounds and instruments. She plays piano and guitar in addition to being a singer.

Scofield came to Aboriginal music later in life, embracing her heritage through song. She says, "I went to the Banff Centre for the Arts in 1995 and did a ten-week intensive with Sadie Buck from Six Nations in Canada -- she had this residency for urban women who grew up without oral tradition and she brought in women elders from all around Turtle Island (North America) to teach them their traditions, songs, and song traditions."
 

When asked whether she feels that what Iskwew does is political, Sandy said, "We have many educated people holding their PhDs and working as doctors and this and that who are changing how society views First Nations people, but largely people still think of them as the drunks down on Skid Road, and that's all part of… So, in answer to your question -- Yeah."
 

What we're doing is politically showing people the pride in our culture. The fact that we come out and wear regalia, just to show very basic cultural teachings, we're trying to present through the songs. I have a floating group of women based on who's available that comes with me, but some of the other women who've gigged with me are just as vocal as I am onstage. It isn't like I'm leading every song and I'm talking all the time. Some of the other women get in there and talk and talk about teachings and talk about what we're wearing and talk about our role as women in our culture and how we're esteemed.
 

So that's what we do, and when we get to go play international festivals it's really important because, you know, one of the girls that sings with me, she went to Italy and some guy said to her, 'Where are you from?' and she said, 'Well, I'm Cree Indian from Canada,' and he was just aghast, he was saying, 'No. They were all extinct. They don't exist,' and she's going 'You're crazy!' You know?
 

But there's crazy ideas out there, so especially if we're on the international stage, we're trying to show the very best of who we are. And in Canada, half of our work is in what we call Indian Country, which is all of the country except dominant society doesn't see us. So we perform for other native people or we perform for dominant society, and so when we perform for dominant society, it's the same thing again. We're trying to show the really fantastic things about our cultures, our collective culture which really concerns community, egalitarianism to a certain extent, just pride, culture, the interconnectedness of all life and that we're interconnected with one another -- things like that."

The Rights of Nature Movement

In recent decades, the Rights of Nature movement has gained momentum as an innovative and radical approach to environmental conservation. It challenges the conventional legal frameworks that treat nature as mere property and instead asserts that ecosystems, rivers, forests, and even entire bioregions have inherent rights similar to those of human beings. This shift represents not only a legal and political transformation but also a profound philosophical reevaluation of humanity's relationship with the natural world.
 

Understanding the Rights of Nature
 

Traditionally, Western legal systems operate under the assumption that nature is a resource to be owned, exploited, and regulated for human benefit. Under this model, environmental protection relies on regulatory measures that attempt to manage pollution, deforestation, and habitat destruction within predefined limits. However, these approaches have often proven inadequate in preventing ecological collapse.
 

The Rights of Nature framework, by contrast, proposes that natural entities possess intrinsic rights that must be legally recognized and enforced. This means that rivers, forests, and other ecosystems should have the right to exist, regenerate, and evolve free from excessive human interference. Just as human rights laws protect individuals from harm, Rights of Nature laws seek to protect nature from unsustainable exploitation.
 

Historical and Legal Foundations
 

The concept of granting legal rights to non-human entities is not new. In 1972, legal scholar Christopher D. Stone published his groundbreaking essay, "Should Trees Have Standing?" in which he argued that natural objects should be granted legal standing to sue in court. This idea gained further attention when Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas supported a similar perspective in a dissenting opinion, advocating for environmental entities to have legal representation.
 

The first major legal recognition of the Rights of Nature occurred in 2008 when Ecuador became the first country to enshrine such rights in its constitution. Article 71 of Ecuador's constitution explicitly recognizes that nature, referred to as Pachamama (Mother Earth), has the right to "exist, persist, maintain, and regenerate its vital cycles." This groundbreaking legal precedent allowed individuals and communities to sue on behalf of nature to prevent environmental harm.
 

Following Ecuador's lead, Bolivia passed the Law of the Rights of Mother Earth in 2010, which similarly recognizes nature as a living system with legal rights. Since then, various local and national governments around the world have enacted similar provisions. In the United States, communities in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Florida have passed local ordinances recognizing the Rights of Nature to combat environmental degradation. New Zealand took an innovative step in 2017 by granting legal personhood to the Whanganui River, recognizing it as an indivisible and living entity.
 

Philosophical and Indigenous Perspectives
 

The Rights of Nature movement draws significant inspiration from Indigenous worldviews, which have long recognized the interconnectedness of all living beings. Many Indigenous cultures see rivers, mountains, and forests as sacred entities with intrinsic value, rather than commodities to be owned or exploited. The Western legal tradition is beginning to acknowledge these perspectives, integrating 

 

Indigenous knowledge systems into modern environmental law.
 

For example, the Maori people of New Zealand view the Whanganui River as an ancestor, not merely a body of water. The legal recognition of the river's personhood was a culmination of years of activism and treaty negotiations that affirmed Maori beliefs. Similarly, Indigenous communities in the Amazon have been at the forefront of advocating for the Rights of Nature, arguing that the destruction of ecosystems constitutes a violation of fundamental rights.
 

Legal and Practical Implications
 

Recognizing the Rights of Nature has far-reaching legal and practical implications. One of the most significant is the ability for nature to be represented in court. In legal battles where environmental destruction is at stake, natural entities can be assigned legal guardians--often environmental groups, Indigenous leaders, or government representatives--who advocate on their behalf.
 

For instance, in Ecuador, the Vilcabamba River case marked the first time a court ruled in favor of nature's rights. The court ordered an end to construction activities that were harming the river's ecosystem, setting a precedent for future litigation. Similar cases have emerged worldwide, illustrating how legal recognition of nature's rights can serve as a powerful tool in environmental justice.
 

However, implementing the Rights of Nature poses challenges. Critics argue that assigning rights to non-human entities complicates legal systems and could hinder economic development. Some worry about the potential for excessive litigation, as corporations and governments may face lawsuits from environmental organizations representing ecosystems. Additionally, enforcement mechanisms must be strengthened to ensure that these legal protections translate into tangible environmental benefits.
 

The Future of the Movement
 

The Rights of Nature movement continues to grow, with increasing recognition at both local and international levels. In 2021, the United Nations recognized the importance of nature's legal rights in achieving sustainable development, indicating a shift in global environmental policy. More countries and municipalities are exploring ways to integrate Rights of Nature principles into their legal frameworks, from granting legal standing to specific ecosystems to adopting constitutional amendments.
 

Despite the challenges, the movement represents a necessary and urgent response to the ongoing environmental crisis. Climate change, biodiversity loss, and pollution threaten the planet at an unprecedented scale, and traditional environmental laws have often failed to prevent large-scale ecological destruction. The Rights of Nature offers a bold alternative--one that reimagines humanity's role as stewards rather than exploiters of the Earth.
 

As public awareness grows, the movement has the potential to reshape not only environmental law but also societal values. By acknowledging that nature has inherent rights, we move toward a more just and sustainable relationship with the planet--one that ensures the well-being of both human and non-human life for generations to come.
 

Conclusion
 

The Rights of Nature movement represents a transformative shift in legal and ethical thinking about the environment. By recognizing ecosystems as legal entities with rights, we challenge the anthropocentric paradigm that has driven ecological destruction for centuries. While implementation challenges remain, the growing legal recognition of nature's rights offers hope for a future where humans live in harmony with the natural world. As the movement continues to gain traction, it may well become one of the most powerful tools for addressing the global environmental crisis and ensuring the long-term health of our planet.

Indigenous Activist Leonard Peltier Granted Clemency

On January 20, 2025, in one of his final acts as President, Joe Biden commuted the life sentence of Indigenous activist Leonard Peltier, who is now 80 and of declining health, allowing him to serve the remainder of his term under home confinement. This decision concludes nearly five decades of imprisonment for Peltier, who was convicted in 1977 for the 1975 murders of two FBI agents during a confrontation on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. 

 

The action is an extraordinary move that ends a decades-long push by Indigenous activists, international religious leaders, human rights organizations and Hollywood insiders who argued that the Native American activist was wrongly convicted. The National Congress of American Indians celebrated the "historic" decision in a statement saying the case "has long symbolized the systemic injustices faced by Indigenous Peoples."
 

Background on Leonard Peltier
 

Leonard Peltier, born on September 12, 1944, in Belcourt, North Dakota, is a member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa tribe. He became an active member of the American Indian Movement (AIM), an organization established in the late 1960s to advocate for the rights of Native Americans and address systemic issues such as poverty, discrimination, and police brutality. The mid-1970s were a tumultuous period for Indigenous activists, particularly on the Pine Ridge Reservation, which was marked by violent confrontations between AIM members and federal authorities.
 

The 1975 Incident and Conviction
 

On June 26, 1975, a shootout occurred on the Pine Ridge Reservation, resulting in the deaths of FBI agents Jack Coler and Ronald Williams. Peltier was implicated in their deaths and subsequently fled to Canada. He was extradited to the United States in 1976 and convicted in 1977 on two counts of first-degree murder, receiving two consecutive life sentences. Peltier has consistently maintained his innocence, asserting that he did not kill the agents. Over the years, questions have arisen regarding the fairness of his trial, including allegations of withheld evidence and coerced testimonies.
 

Advocacy for Clemency
 

Throughout Peltier's incarceration, a diverse coalition of supporters--including Indigenous groups, human rights organizations, and notable figures such as Nelson Mandela, Pope Francis, and the Dalai Lama--advocated for his release. They highlighted concerns about the integrity of his trial and his declining health, which includes diabetes and heart issues. Despite multiple clemency petitions, previous administrations, including those of Presidents Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, denied his requests.
 

President Biden's Decision
 

President Biden's commutation permits Peltier to transition to home confinement, a move celebrated by many as a step toward justice and reconciliation. Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland and Cherokee Principal Chief Chuck Hoskin Jr. lauded the decision, viewing it as an acknowledgment of historical injustices faced by Indigenous communities. Peltier expressed profound gratitude, stating, "This is as good as freedom."
 

Opposition and Controversy
 

Despite widespread support for Peltier's release, the commutation faced criticism from law enforcement agencies. FBI Director Christopher Wray and the FBI Agents Association condemned the decision, describing it as a "cowardly act" and a "cruel betrayal" to the families of the slain agents. They maintain that Peltier's conviction was just and that he should serve his full sentence.
 

Implications for Indigenous Rights and Justice
 

Peltier's release is seen by many as a significant victory for Indigenous rights and a testament to the enduring efforts of activists who have long championed his cause. It underscores the broader issues of systemic injustice and the need for reconciliation between the U.S. government and Native American communities. As Peltier returns home, his story serves as a poignant reminder of the ongoing struggles faced by Indigenous peoples and the importance of addressing historical grievances to foster healing and understanding. 

 

In the words of Leonard Peltier himself: "No human being should ever have to fear for his own life because of political or religious beliefs. We are all in this together my friends: the rich, the poor, the red, white, black, brown and yellow. We share responsibility for Mother Earth and those who live and breathe upon her...never forget that."

World Wilderness Congress Focuses on Indigenous Knowledge

"Humanity stands at a crossroads and must come together to realize dramatically different and supportive relationships with one another, the Earth, and all life on the planet, if we are to surmount cascading ecological and social crises now underway."

That was the message of Chief Arvol Looking Horse, the spiritual leader of the Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota peoples, who on Sunday welcomed hundreds of attendees to the 12th World Wilderness Congress convening this week in the Black Hills, or He Sapa in the Lakota language. Though these gatherings, dedicated to assessing and often resetting global conservation work, date back to the 1970s, this is the first such congress being convened by a tribal authority. The agenda is dedicated heavily to centering Indigenous perspectives in the global struggle to protect wild lands and waters.

Indigenous peoples articulate alternative environmental perspectives and relationships to the natural world. Indigenous mythologies and oral traditions express a non-anthropocentric environmental ethic. Indigenous groups offer ancient tried-and-tested knowledge and wisdom based on their own locally developed practices of resource use. And, as Native peoples themselves have insisted for centuries, they often understand and exhibit a holistic, interconnected and interdependent relationship to particular landscapes and all of the life forms found there. Despite making up a tiny fraction of the world's population, Indigenous peoples hold ancestral rights to some 65 percent of the planet. This poignant fact conveys the enormous role that Native peoples play not only as environmental stewards, but as political actors on the global stage.

All over the world, Native peoples are engaged in battles with hostile corporations and governments that claim the right to set aside small reserves for Native people, and then to seize the rest of their traditional territory. They are confronting the destructive practices of industry and leading the charge against climate change while defending the rivers, forests and food systems that we all depend on. At the same time, they are blocking governments from eroding basic rights and freedoms and turning to the courts of the world to remedy 500 years of historical wrongs. Native peoples are putting their lives on the line and fighting back for political autonomy and land rights. And all the while, they are breathing new life into the biocultural heritage that has the potential to sustain the entire human race.

Looking Horse, the 19th Keeper of the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Pipe and Bundle, is as revered among the original people of this land as the Dalai Lama is by the people of Tibet or the Pope for Catholics around the world.

"We warned that some day you would not be able to control what you had created. And that day is here. Mother Earth is sick and has a fever," Looking Horse told the group assembled from nations, tribes, and communities across the world.

The chills of that "fever"--the accelerating shocks of climate destabilization caused by centuries of colonial extraction, fossil fuel combustion, and ecological destruction--rocked communities around the world in 2023, with 2024 continuing to break heat records. A "State of the Climate" report that drew on the work of nearly 600 scientists pointed to unprecedented levels of greenhouse gasses in the atmosphere as the cause of Earth's overheating. Records were similarly broken for ocean heat, sea-ice loss, and sea-level rise. In all, industrially-driven global warming exposed nearly 80 percent of the people on the planet to at least 31 days of extreme heat, another study found. This level of heat was virtually impossible if not for the burning of fossil fuels and development-driven deforestation, Climate Central researchers have reminded us.

But organizers and attendees at WILD12 aren't there to haggle over carbon credits or debate the benefits and risks of carbon capture technologies and blue hydrogen, the substance of so many climate gatherings and debates. Instead, The WILD Foundation, through decades of international gatherings, aims to interrupt one driver of climate crisis that gets far less air time than carbon emissions: the global loss of the planet's wild spaces, which for millions of years have served as the planet's lungs and carbon sinks.

Yet even conservation spaces and agendas have offered a shallow understanding of problems and solutions, overlooking the deeper cultural--and thus colonial--roots of ecological collapse. What makes this year's congress so significant is its aim to reformulate the global conservation agenda not only by placing Indigenous leadership at the forefront of conservation action, but more foundationally, by centering Indigenous knowledge and worldviews in understandings of what Western cultures call wilderness.

In other words, the cultural roots of the collapse of our shared biosphere lies not in the make, model, or brand of the tools we use to clearcut forests or fuel plastics production. Rather, it lies in a fundamental misunderstanding that goes all the way to the bottom of Western thought: the hierarchical dualism that imagines the "human" as both separate from and superior to "nature".

Perhaps the most important aspect of Indigenous cosmology is the conception of creation as a living process resulting in a living universe in which a kinship exists between all things. Thus the Mother Earth is a living being, as are the Sun, Stars and the Moon. Hence the Creators are our family, our Grandparents or Parents, and all of their creations are children who are also our relations.

What needs to be understood and challenged, then, is the very basic conceptual groundings of Western culture itself, which gave birth to capitalism as a global economic system for extracting profit both from the bodies of people racialized and gendered as "others" and from land, treated as a dead thing or "resource" to extract from. For it is these philosophical and economic assumptions that--especially from an Indigenous perspective--facilitated colonization and enabled the genocides, slavery, and racial capitalism that followed.

The industrialized West is largely unaware of how Indigenous societies have functioned and the strengths they possess that industrial cultures have lacked. Our notions of progress are based on the idea that high tech means better, and that industrial cultures are somehow more advanced socially. The current state of our threatened environment demands that communication channels be opened for dialogue and engagement with Native environmental ethics. Native people are not only trying to protect water sources, clean up uranium tailings and mount opposition to fossil fuel extraction, they are also continuing their spiritual ways of seeking to celebrate and support all life by means of ceremonies and prayers.

Ancient Forest Gardens Support Native Land Claims

A study by Simon Fraser University in British Columbia found that Indigenous-managed forests -- cared for as "forest gardens" -- contain more biologically and functionally diverse species than surrounding conifer-dominated forests and create important habitat for wildlife and pollinators. According to researchers, ancient forests were once tended by Indigenous peoples living along the coast of British Columbia. These forest gardens continue to grow at remote archaeological villages on Canada's northwest coast and are composed of native fruit and nut trees and shrubs such as crabapple, hazelnut, cranberry, wild plum, and wild cherries. Important medicinal plants and root foods like wild ginger and wild rice root grow in the understory layers. These plants never grow together in the wild, so people obviously put them there to grow all in one spot -- like a garden.
 

Forest gardens were a method of agriculture in which practitioners cleared the land around or near villages, planted crops, and managed with agricultural methods like controlled burns and fertilization to increase the productivity of the plants. The gardens frequently showed a carefully overlapped structure, with a canopy of fruit and nut trees, a mid-layer of berries, and roots and herbs in the undergrowth. Rather than engaging in annual planting cycles, the Indigenous people collected, transplanted, and carefully tended these plants over many years. Traces of species like Pacific crabapple, beaked hazelnut, wild cherry, and others have been found in recent years -- in some cases, still growing even more than a century after they were tended. Even now these abandoned forest gardens are still productive and biodiversity hotspots that seem to be able to naturally hold back the encroaching surrounding conifer forests.
 

For anthropologists, ethnologists, and other scientists, the existence of these gardens contradicts the long-held hunter-gatherer theory that maintained that the region's Indigenous peoples didn't improve and nurture their lands. Instead, experts now believe this method of agriculture and land manipulation helped First Nations communities (the collective name given to most of Canada's Indigenous peoples) thrive. While there is not a definitive catalog of the forest gardens, there are remains of them up and down the coast of British Columbia -- some known, some still used by communities, some being rediscovered.
 

Chelsey Geralda Armstrong, a historical ecologist, researcher, and assistant professor at Simon Fraser University in Burnaby, British Columbia, has been working with First Nations communities to rediscover, confirm, and document the gardens, complementing traditional knowledge cultivated over time, sometimes for thousands of years. Armstrong's work supports the idea that some forest environments in British Columbia that were once considered wild are, in fact, often the result of careful shepherding and agricultural practices. There is similar evidence of forest gardens in Indigenous communities around the world, especially in tropical regions.
 

Nonetheless, Armstrong added, "Despite decades of research on the topic, this idea of Indigenous peoples' homelands as being culturally mediated and highly influenced spaces is still so utterly contested in courts, in public policy, in environmental regulations."
 

The legal justification for taking First Nation lands is directly linked to the colonial view that Indigenous peoples weren't using all of their lands and so they were essentially in the colonial eyes ripe for the taking. It's a concept that continues to be used against Indigenous peoples and the work that Armstrong does with the communities is just picking away at that argument.
 

So far, efforts to cite the remnants of cultivated gardens to support First Nations' land reclamation claims have failed to gain much legal traction. The current test for land title in British Columbia is evidence of regular and exclusive use of land before 1846. Proving regular use has been a challenge for the First Nations, in part because of the rugged coastal terrain. 

 

But the priority of First Nations communities is to restore their forest gardens in some form. "At the end of the day, this is the goal: Bring these places back to life," said Armstrong. These communities are using Armstrong's work to refurbish their forest gardens. Clearing competing plants has already helped, with particular attention being given to the crabapples, which are flourishing.
 

Kelsey Charlie Sr. of the Sts'ailes (also known as Chehalis) Nation says ecosystems that have thrived for thousands of years with balance and harmony have been knocked off-kilter. At the same time, he added, more and more people are returning to these places to gather the plants that their elders used.
 

"It's a very, very simple thing," said Charlie Sr. "The way our elders said it was that we had agreements and arrangements with all living things."
 

Charlie said that part of the community's snoweyelh, or law of everything, is their responsibility to take care of the land. "Our elders always told us that we never owned the land, but we were a part of the land. And if we look after it, then it will look after us."

Peyote and Tribal Sovereignty

by Darren Thompson
Director of Media Relations
Lakota People's Law Project
 

On Friday, April 12, the Native American Church of North America (NACNA) hosted a summit in Farmington, New Mexico focused on protecting peyote, a cactus medicine sacred to Native Peoples across Turtle Island. The one-day summit brought leaders from Arizona, New Mexico, and Oklahoma together with church delegates to discuss next steps for the largest American Indian religious organization in the country.
 

Leaders say development near peyote's natural habitat, which in the U.S. only grows naturally on private lands in four counties in southern Texas, has decreased the supply of the plant. A growing community comprised mainly of non-Natives wants to bring psychedelic drugs into mainstream society and tout research that psychedelics aid in improving mental health.
 

Under the 1994 Amendment, only enrolled members of federally recognized tribes are permitted under federal law to possess, transport and ingest peyote in bonafide traditional ceremonies. However, the plant, and ceremonies that are centered around its traditional use are threatened by non-Native interests, including Big Pharma.
 

Official efforts to decriminalize mescaline, the active ingredient in peyote, have succeeded in places like Oakland and San Francisco, and others want to follow their lead. In February, California State Senator Scott Wiener introduced California Senate Bill 1012 — The Regulated Psychedelic-assisted Therapy Act and the Regulated Psychedelic Substances Control Act — which aims to decriminalize mescaline and other psychedelics.
 

If passed, the bill would authorize the establishment of a regulatory system that would control regulated psychedelic substances for use with regulated psychedelic-assisted therapy. While the bill mentions the respect for Indigenous cultures and their use of "psychedelic substances," it would also legalize mescaline, which the federal government classifies as the active hallucinogenic ingredient in peyote.
 

"Mescaline is mescaline, whether it is peyote or other cacti," says Justin Jones, Diné and General Counsel for the Native American Church of North America. "California cannot decriminalize mescaline in other cacti and say that peyote is exempt, because mescaline is mescaline, no matter what cactus you have."
 

Protecting peyote use and habitat, church leaders point out, is an issue of tribal sovereignty. Only enrolled members of federally recognized tribes have rights protected under AIRFA, and in this way, the federal government has acknowledged the inherent sovereignty that tribes possess. Leaders of the Native American Church have traveled across Indian Country and even to Capitol Hill with the message that opening an avenue for legalized mescaline threatens one of the legal cornerstones of tribal sovereignty. They're asking for strengthened enforcement of AIRFA, which was drafted to protect intrusions on traditional American Indian cultures and religions.
 

Over the past several years, non-Native individuals promoting the benefits of peyote have encouraged direct violations of the law. Mainstream interests want to extract the core of one of the last protected plants for American Indian people and profit off it. Over the next several months, the Lakota People's Law Project will document and support leaders advocating for enforcement of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act's 1994 amendment. While the possession, transportation, and use of peyote is protected, its natural environment is not. If Big Pharma achieves its goal of decriminalizing mescaline, peyote and its natural environment will surely be put at risk.
 

It's also notable that efforts to incorporate psychedelics into organized religions are gaining steam, also challenging the American Indian Religious Freedom Act. While it is not our responsibility to challenge people and their prayers, it is our duty to fight for tribal sovereignty and protect sacred spaces of American Indian culture for our next generations.

Climate-Endangered Tribe Sues Louisiana

By now, you're likely well aware of the climate crisis and its significant dangers to Indigenous communities the world over. The problem is especially magnified on islands and in coastal regions, where sea level rise can wipe away traditional homelands and make climate refugees of those who have been displaced. That's true even right here in the United States, where hundreds of Native communities -- in South Dakota, Alaska, Florida, Hawai'i, Washington, and Louisiana -- face existential threats.
 

And now, the first community to supposedly be moved from harm's way -- the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation -- is facing a new set of problems. Just before the new year, the tribe filed a landmark civil rights complaint with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) against the state of Louisiana. In 2016, HUD granted Louisiana $48 million in aid to resettle the tribe. But, its complaint asserts, Louisiana failed to properly implement the grant and has ethnically and racially discriminated, violated tribal sovereignty, excluded cultural components central to a proper relocation program, and provided poor replacement housing.
 

The Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has resided on the Isle de Jean Charles for five generations, since the ancestors of its citizens escaped the Trail of Tears in the early 1830s amid President Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act. Its homelands and burial grounds are located in a region facing perpetual devastation and erosion by storms and sea level rise. Since 1955, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has lost over 98 percent of its lands to the encroaching ocean.
 

It's also worth noting that the tribe is located in Terrebonne Parish, a region notorious for oil extraction, high pollution rates, and environmental justice violations. The Parish and over 90 percent of its property are largely controlled by non-local fossil fuel and chemical companies. The infamous "Cancer Alley" is just upstream.
 

By filing its complaint with HUD, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation is looking to the federal agency to investigate the grant-funded resettlement program, currently run by Louisiana's Office of Community Development (OCD). The tribe hopes HUD will order OCD to respect tribal needs and authority as the program's implementation proceeds. The lawsuit is also significant in that, while the tribe has state recognition from Louisiana, it does not have federal recognition, which would extend access to more grants, disaster assistance, and various legal powers -- including constitutional protections and self-governance recognized by the United States.

Environmental Victory for Alaska Natives

On January 8th, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the State of Alaska's bid to fast-track the legal process, overrule the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), and gain approval for the Pebble Mine -- slated to extract enormous amounts of copper, gold, and molybdenum from the pristine and sensitive ecosystem known as Bristol Bay. Located in a remote, wild, and generally uninhabited part of Southwest Alaska, Pebble is the largest known undeveloped copper ore body in the world.
 

The populations in the area rely heavily on wild resources for subsistence, harvesting moose, caribou and salmon. Wild resources play an important part in the region's cultural heritage. There are more than 30 Alaskan native tribes in the region that depend on salmon to support their traditional subsistence ways of life, in addition to other inhabitants and tourists in the area. A diverse coalition led by Alaska Natives has consistently fought against the proposed mine for more than two decades. It eventually gained support from the EPA, which ultimately blocked the mine proposal in January 2023 over concerns it would threaten an aquatic ecosystem supporting the world's most prolific sockeye salmon fishery.
 

This decision is significant, particularly considering the current High Court's tendency to support states' rights, limits on regulation -- especially of the environmental variety -- and corporate concerns. Alaska's request, filed in June, was unusual in that it sought to skip lower appeals courts to challenge the EPA's decision on the basis that it violated Alaska's state sovereignty.
 

Under the law, alleged violations of state sovereignty are one of the few categories of cases that grant the Supreme Court original jurisdiction -- meaning a state can bypass the usual state/federal court appeals process and file straight with the High Court. The justices could easily have decided to hear the case and decide in favor of the mining company, which has shown no qualms about engaging in some shady business practices over the years.
 

As the single most productive sockeye salmon fishery in the world, Bristol Bay contains biodiversity and abundant wild fish populations which present a stark contrast to many other fisheries in the Pacific Northwest (and worldwide). All five Eastern Pacific salmon species spawn in Bristol Bay's freshwater tributaries. Most have experienced severe depletion over the last few decades. Sockeye salmon, like all Pacific Salmon, are a keystone species, vital to the health of an entire ecosystem. Of course, salmon also provide a sacred food source for Indigenous communities up and down the West Coast.
 

Kudos to the United Tribes of Bristol Bay, a consortium of Alaska Native tribes fighting to preserve the traditional Yup'ik, Dena'ina, and Alutiiq ways of life in Southwest Alaska, for leading the charge. The Supreme Court's decision confirms all the hard work put in by tribes and allies, including the Save Bristol Bay Coalition. It remains to be seen whether Alaska's conservative leadership will continue with legal challenges at a lower court level -- but, for now, Indigenous People have won a big battle in this decades-long fight to protect their homelands.

Native Actor Lily Gladstone Makes History

Today, I share with you some great news! On January 7, in case you missed it, Blackfeet and Nez Perce actor Lily Gladstone made history as the Golden Globes' first Indigenous winner in the category of Best Actress in a Motion Picture Drama. Gladstone, who goes by both she/they pronouns, brought an understated power to their portrayal of Mollie Burkhardt, an Osage woman struggling amid the murders of her family and community by greedy settlers, in Martin Scorcese's "Killers of the Flower Moon."
 

After beginning their acceptance speech with a traditional Blackfeet introduction and a round of thank-yous, Gladstone said something important and inspiring: "This is a historic win, but it doesn't belong to just me. I'm holding it with all of my beautiful sisters. And this is for every rez kid, every little urban kid, every little Native kid out there who has a dream, who is seeing themselves represented and our stories, told by ourselves in our own words, with tremendous allies and tremendous trust from with and from each other."
 

That last statement is filled with both truth and nuance. It's a beautiful sentiment, but Gladstone may also be acknowledging that Hollywood remains a place with rich and powerful gatekeepers. Even in 2024, non-Native filmmakers (allies or not) like James Cameron (the "Avatar" franchise) and Scorcese are most often still the ones helming stories featuring Indigenous People and perspectives.
 

This needs to change. Allies are important, and representation is wonderful. Still, even the most positive representation on-screen is not the same thing as agency -- the ability to tell their own stories, centering their own narratives. And agency, particularly for the Native women without whom this story does not exist and the movie could not function, is largely missing for much of "Killers of the Flower Moon." When Native actors occupy the screen, the movie seems to vibrate at a different frequency. I'm left wondering what could have been had their characters' arcs been less peripheral.
 

Much has been written about the movie by Indigenous People across the nation. From a glowing review by Vincent Schilling, founder and editor of NativeViewpoint.com, to a scathing indictment from "Reservation Dogs" star Devery Jacobs, opinions on the movie vary widely -- and understandably so. The three-hour-plus epic, based on true events, is ambitious, messy, and devastating. Critics praise the movie's effort to highlight Osage history with Indigenous actors in prominent roles but express reservations about its graphic violence and lack of historical context, foregrounding of white characters and lack of an Indigenous screenwriter or director. One thing everyone seems to agree upon, though, is the powerful performances given by Gladstone and other Native People in supporting roles. I, for one, look forward to seeing more from all of them, especially in movies and shows written and directed by Indigenous storytellers.

Let's Stand Again With Standing Rock

It's time to take action and stop the Dakota Access pipeline (DAPL)! It's been over six years since DAPL began carrying oil and nearly a year and a half since the U.S. Supreme Court rejected the pipeline operator Energy Transfer's attempt to avoid producing a required Environmental Impact Statement (EIS). Today, in violation of a separate court order, DAPL continues to operate illegally, without a federal easement. Finally, after interminable delay, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has finally released an extremely problematic draft EIS for public input.
 

That's where you come in. You now have just a few weeks to submit your public comment demanding the Corps shut this pipeline down and require a new, valid EIS. Please stand with Standing Rock in this critical moment and write to the Army Corps right now.
 

Now that the EIS has been released, we can confirm what we already suspected. Prepared by a member of the American Petroleum Institute -- clear conflict of interest -- the EIS addresses none of Standing Rock's many grave concerns about DAPL. Those include DAPL's imminent threat to the Missouri River, big problems with Energy Transfer's emergency response plans, Energy Transfer's horrendous safety track record, continued lack of transparency with Standing Rock throughout the environmental review process, inaccurate characterizations of tribal consultation, and sensitive habitat and sacred burial sites along the riverbank.
 

Earlier this year, four U.S. senators including Bernie Sanders submitted a letter to the Corps seeking an explanation. The reply from Assistant Secretary of the Army for Civil Works Michael Connor did not adequately or honestly address the tribe's complaints. Standing Rock replied, pointing out the flaws in approach and demanding redress.
 

For now, it's up to us to lend a hand. We must flood the Army Corps with a single, unified message: This illegal pipeline's operations must be terminated and the Army Corps must start over with a legitimate environmental review. In the midst of a climate emergency, let's defend sacred ground and safeguard Unci Maka (our Grandmother Earth). This may be our last, best chance to end DAPL once and for all. Please take action now.

An Indigenous Perspective on Climate Change

Greenland, also known as Kallaalit Nunaat by the local Inuit peoples, is the "Ground Zero" of climate change. Its geographic location and expansive ice sheets make it extremely vulnerable to climate change, resulting in disproportionate impacts for those who live there. Greenland's population is extremely dispersed, with a majority being Inuit, who live in communities organized around subsistence hunting. Using dog sleds and boats resembling kayaks, the Inuit hunt seals, walrus, narwhal, polar bears and other Arctic animals.
 

In general, the lifestyle of the Inuit communities paired with the environmental conditions of Greenland create a multi-layered vulnerability to climate change. Rising sea levels increase coastal erosion, while melting ice inhibits travel, hunting and other subsistence activities. The mixture of snow and thinner ice makes traditional travel paths extremely unreliable for dog sleds and snowmobiles, increasing isolation and immobility. Increasingly, Inuit are being forced to seek modernized work opportunities, driven out of generational hunting traditions due to climate change and the resulting economic insecurity. This has had devastating impacts on Inuit communities, particularly young men who can no longer partake in traditional hunting.
 

The spiritual significance of climate change

Inuit shaman Angaangaq Angakkorsuaq speaks about the spiritual significance of climate change at international conferences around the world. Angaangaq is a traditional healer, storyteller and carrier of the Qilaut (wind drum), whose  family belongs to the traditional healers of the Far North from Greenland. His name means 'The Man Who Looks Like His Uncle'. Since he was a child he was trained by his family--especially by his Grandmother Aanakasaa--for becoming a shaman. The spiritual task given by his mother is: "Melting the Ice in the Heart of Man."

 

Angaangaq bridges the boundaries of cultures and faiths in people young and old. His work has taken him to over 70 countries around the world. He conducts circles, seminars and Aalaartiviit--traditional sweat lodges. His teachings are deeply rooted in the wisdom of the oral healing traditions of his people, which enabled people over thousands of years to survive in one of the harshest places on Earth.
 

In an interview with LifeGate, Angaangaq shared an Indigenous perspective on climate change. Everyone talks about climate change but nobody talks about its spiritual significance. "According to the old people, a third of the population on Earth will vanish," says Angaangaq, "they say many people will die, some will barely survive, and few will have a life." His message is very powerful as it is not just about Mother Earth, who is ever-changing, it is about human lives--and we have never been so many.
 

"The ice is a living thing, you can see it in my grandmother's village. In the summer it breaks and explodes and when water gushes out you can't hear anything but that. Sometimes when there's a storm the waves are so strong that they can spew chunks of ice several kilometres away. Ice that weighs a ton," he says. The difference now is not only in our numbers but in what we have done to the Earth: "We've raped Mother Earth, taken all her resources and we're still doing it without considering the impact it can have on our personal life."
 

Angaangaq also believes that while we often talk about animals as inferior creatures we don't realize that they have a much greater capacity of adaption than us. For example, we can only live in a temperature range of 100 degrees Celsius, whereas that range is as high as 200 degrees for polar bears. "We can't adapt to hot weather, they can. Isn't that so interesting?" Angaangaq ponders.
 

Becoming the hope
 

"The changes are so bad that we can no longer save the world, we can no longer stop the melting of the big ice," confides Angaangaq. "The only thing I can think of now is to somehow find the strength and capacity within myself to become the hope. Not because I'm better than anyone else but because as a grandfather I hope that my grandchildren will have a life worth enjoying, with beauty everywhere, where you kill animals without forgetting to say thank you, where you grow what you eat, and I want to find other people willing to change their lives to be that hope."
 

"Right now the government doesn't talk about this, nor do the activists. You're just one name out of several billion but, really, you have a beautiful spirit and you're worth knowing and doing something for! The land will sink, this is a fact, what will they do with you when the ocean comes? As my father used to say, we know so much but comprehend so little."
 

The melting of the Arctic ice sheets is a call for us to reflect on the spiritual significance of climate change and our way of living. It's time to look with eyes of faith into our future and believe we can make a difference. If we have hope, there is potential for extraordinary change--things will survive. The Indigenous elders teach us if we return to harmony in our lives, melting the ice in our hearts, reconnecting with one another, we will survive. It is time to use this knowledge to help mankind.

The World is Running Out of Water

The world is "running out of water," Makasa Looking Horse says, and if we don't take action soon, it will be too late. Looking Horse, from Six Nations of the Grand River in Ontario, is one of the hosts of the Ohneganos Ohnegahdę:gyo -- Let's Talk about Water podcast, which won a 2021 David Suzuki Foundation Future Ground Prize. The prize recognizes youth-led movements. It's a podcast created, the Suzuki Foundation says, to "engage Indigenous communities and disseminate research findings by facilitating meaningful discussion about water issues and climate change."
 

Looking Horse points to Aberfoyle, Ontario, where BlueTriton Brands, Inc., an American beverage company based in Connecticut, has permits to take 3.6 million litres of water a day out of an aquifer there. BlueTriton is the new name of the giant corporation better known as Nestlé Waters North America. The name was changed to BlueTriton Brands in 2021.
 

She says "they're making millions off our water and selling it. And the thing about aquifer waters that it takes 6,000 to 10,000 years for that water to filter through the ground. We'll never see that water within our lifetime again and that's why it's so important that we stop water extraction."
 

BlueTriton says, in a report from November 2021, that it has conducted "extensive testing and studies over the years to ensure that their operations do not diminish the availability of water for other users or the environment." The company says "permit conditions require BlueTriton to monitor the natural and pumping-related variations in groundwater and surface water levels." The permit was renewed by the Ontario government in 2021 and runs until November 2026.
 

Looking Horse's commitment to protecting water was passed down from her parents. Her mother is Dawn Martin-Hill, one of the founders of the Indigenous studies program at McMaster University and the winner of the University of Oklahoma's International Water Prize, for her commitment to improving water security for the people of the Six Nations of the Grand River. 

 

Her father is Chief Arvol Looking Horse, 19th Keeper of the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Pipe. He was given the responsibility at age 12, the youngest keeper in history. Looking Horse  says her path into activism and water sovereignty didn't happen overnight. It was a long and encompassing journey full of passion for earth, prayer for water and everything on earth.
 

Similar to Looking Horse, the United Nations (UN) also has concerns about how much water humans can access. According to a UN report, by 2025 1.8 billion people will be living in countries or regions with absolute water scarcity, and two thirds of the world's population could be living under "water stressed conditions."
 

In June of 2019, Looking Horse hand delivered a cease and desist letter from the Haudenosaunee Confederacy Chiefs Council to Nestlé Waters in Aberfoyle. In 2021, the council sent another letter to BlueTriton, after the company changed its name, saying "the majority of our people at Six Nations do not have access to clean drinking water... we declare your activities to remove [aquifer] waters under our territories unpermitted and demand that you cease your activity immediately."
 

The fight for water sovereignty and for clean drinking water continues for Looking Horse. "The urgency worldwide is huge because the world is running out of water. This is only one example of exploitative extraction by a big corporation. This doesn't include all of the pollution and micro plastics that are living in waterways and systems across the globe," she said.
 

"I've been praying for water and working with water for a very long time, and that's where it started," she said. "You start to learn how valuable water is on a spiritual level, but also on a statistic level. The world is really in a water crisis. So, it's in our culture to protect the water and have a responsibility."

Court Case Threatens Native Sovereignty

A serious threat to Native American tribes across the United states looms large. A decision on the Supreme Court case Brackeen v. Haaland -- a direct assault on the constitutionality of the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA), and by extension, the very right of tribes to be classified as sovereign nations -- is expected later this year.
 

Enacted in 1978, ICWA was part of the federal government's efforts to rectify the incomprehensible harm it caused to Native families through the forcible removal of Native children from their communities into boarding schools or non-Native foster and adoptive homes. Between 1819 and 1969, hundreds of thousands of children were taken from their families and homes. 

 

ICWA establishes minimum standards for a Native child to be removed from their home and empowers tribes to be more involved in adoption and custody procedures for kids enrolled or eligible to enroll in tribal nations. The law gives tribal courts exclusive jurisdiction over members who live on tribal land, in the hopes of keeping families together, and creates a process whereby they're noticed and involved in cases outside of these boundaries.
 

For years, people and organizations hostile to ICWA have tried to erode the legislation through the court system. Should ICWA fall, it's not only adoption and foster cases that will be gravely impacted; the basic foundations of tribal sovereignty could be unwound. Observers in Indian Country have long believed that attacks on the legislation have broader aims in mind than the wellbeing of children, and many anti-ICWA proponents are also perceived as gunning for access to natural resources, mineral rights and more.
 

Calling into question the authority of Congress to deal with tribal nations as distinct sovereigns would have ​major reverberations throughout the field of Indian law. These attacks on sovereignty can be traced back to the Trail of Tears, the deadly westward displacement of five tribes between 1830 and 1850 initiated by then-President Andrew Jackson. The argument made at the time was that the tribes were being overwhelmed by European settlers, and they would be annihilated if the government didn't take them into custody and move them. ​In truth, those tribes controlled the waterways, and Andrew Jackson said, "​We want it, and we are going to take it."
 

Tribal sovereignty predates the coming of the colonial powers. From 1778 to 1871, the United States federal government signed 370 treaties with tribal nations. Many were used as tools to forcibly remove Indigenous people from their native lands and relocate them to reservations. In exchange for the land they had lived on for generations, tribes were offered many now-broken promises from the government: of peace, the provision of health and education, hunting and fishing rights and protection against enemies.
 

According to the Constitution, treaties can only be enacted between two sovereign nations. That status and the right of tribes to self-govern was affirmed in the 1832 Worcester v. Georgia Supreme Court case. It's also grounded in the Constitution through not one, but two clauses, and was reiterated yet again in the 1990s by a Department of Justice memorandum that tribal nations have the unique status of ​"domestic dependent nations." You can help protect tribal sovereignty by supporting the Native American Rights Fund.

FNX - First Nations Experience

First Nations Experience (FNX) is the first and only national broadcast television network in the United States exclusively devoted to Native American and World Indigenous content. Through Native-produced and themed documentaries, dramatic series, nature, cooking, gardening, children's and arts programming, FNX strives to accurately illustrate the lives and cultures of Native people around the world.
 

Created as a shared vision between Founding Partners, the San Manuel Band of Mission Indians and the San Bernardino Community College District, FNX is owned by and originates from the studios of KVCR-PBS San Bernardino. FNX began terrestrial broadcast in the Los Angeles area on September 25, 2011 and went national on November 1, 2014 via the Public Television Interconnect System (PBS satellite AMC - 21 Channel SD08), making the non-profit channel available to PBS affiliates, community and tribal stations, and cable television service providers across the country. 

At the ceremonial unity launch of FNX in February 2011, Cherokee actor Wes Studi confessed he didn't see this coming. "Thank you for proving me wrong," Studi said, speaking at the KVCR/FNX studios in San Bernardino, California. "I once said that I didn't think in my lifetime I'd see a TV channel dedicated to Indian people like you and me, people who are rarely seen on screen in authentic ways. We're making history with this powerful new media tool. This is something I can tell my grandchildren about -- I'll tell them I was there when it launched."

San Manuel Tribal Chairman James Ramos said FNX is "fulfilling a dream our ancestors had ... using the resources we have built through gaming. It's important that people know what our ancestors had to go through so we could be here today. It's time for us to change negative perceptions about indigenous peoples in mainstream audiences. We need to stand together as one voice and make things better for our people."

Ramos added context from his own tribe's past. "There was a time in California's history when there was an effort to get rid of Indian people; we were shot and killed here in the San Bernardino Mountains," Ramos said. "Many people never heard that story, and today some people don't want to talk about that history. But it's important that we do so that we can learn from the past and move forward working together for a better future."

FNX is working diligently to obtain channel carriage in as many communities as possible across the United States. Currently, FNX is carried by 22 affiliate stations broadcasting into 25 states from Alaska to New York and has a potential viewing audience of more than 74.5 million households across the United States! Several additional stations have also begun streaming FNX digitally throughout their communities and states. More new stations are always coming on board, so stay tuned -- FNX may be available in your city very soon! If you'd like to get FNX carried in your community, please reach out to your local stations, cable and satellite service providers. I can't recommend FNX enough and best of all it is totally free!

Remembering Indigenous Rights Advocate James Abourezk

A few days ago, we lost a tireless champion of the rights of the Indigenous Peoples of North America. Retired South Dakota United States Senator James Abourezk, the architect of the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA), passed away at his home in Sioux Falls on Friday, Feb. 24 on his 92nd birthday. James George Abourezk was born in 1931 in Wood, South Dakota, the son of Lebanese immigrants. Growing up on the Rosebud Indian Reservation, he spoke only Arabic at home and did not learn English until he went to elementary school.
 

After high school graduation in 1948, Abourezk served in the US Navy during the Korean War. Following military service, he earned a degree in civil engineering from the South Dakota School of Mines in Rapid City in 1961, and worked as a civil engineer in California, before returning to South Dakota to work on the Minutemen missile silos. At the age of 32, he decided to pursue law, and earned a J.D. degree from University of South Dakota School of Law in Vermillion in 1966.
 

Abourezk began a legal practice in Rapid City, South Dakota, and joined the Democratic Party. He ran in 1968 for Attorney General of South Dakota but was defeated by Gordon Mydland. In 1972, Abourezk was elected to the U.S. Senate, where he served from 1973 to 1979, after which he chose not to seek a second term. He was the first chair of the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs. His legislative successes in the Senate included the 1975 Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act, as well as the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978. The American Indian Religious Freedom Act gives federal protection to the traditional religions of the American Indian, Eskimo, Aleut, and Native Hawaiians.
 

Abourezk's signature legislation was the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA, 1978), designed to protect Native American children and families from being torn apart. Native American children have been removed by state social agencies from their families and placed in foster care or adoption at a disproportionately high rate, and usually placed with non Native American families. This both deprived the children of their culture and threatened the very survival of the tribes. This legislation was intended to provide a federal standard that emphasized the needs of Native American children to be raised in their own cultures, and gave precedence to tribal courts for decisions about children domiciled on the reservation, as well as concurrent but presumptive jurisdiction with state courts for Native American children off the reservation.
 

In 1973, Senators Abourezk and George McGovern attempted to end the occupation of Wounded Knee by negotiating with American Indian Movement (AIM) leaders, who were in a standoff with federal law enforcement after demanding that the federal government honor its historical treaties with the Oglala Sioux nation. The Wounded Knee Occupation began on February 27, 1973 when about 200 Oglala Lakota and followers of AIM seized and occupied the town of Wounded Knee, South Dakota. The occupation lasted for a total of 71 days, during which time two Lakota men were shot to death by federal agents and several more were wounded. It was a key moment in the struggle for Native American rights.
 

The summer after the occupation of Wounded Knee, Abourezk introduced the American Indian Policy Review Commission Act, which created the eleven-member commission to study legislation with the goal of addressing key issues in Indian Country. He served as its chairman until its landmark report was published in 1977. He took the gavel as chairman of the Select Committee on Indian Affairs from its creation in 1977 to 1979, when he left the Senate.
 

In 1980, Abourezk founded the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, a grassroots civil rights organization. In 1989, he published his Advise and Dissent: Memoirs of South Dakota and the U.S. Senate. He was the co-author, along with Hyman Bookbinder, of Through Different Eyes: Two Leading Americans -- a Jew and an Arab -- Debate U. S. Policy in the Middle East (1987).
 

After his retirement from the Senate, Abourezk worked as a lawyer and writer in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He continued to be active in supporting tribal sovereignty and culture. Since 2005, he chaired the Lakota People's Law Project Advisory Committee. The Lakota People's Law Project is committed to defending the rights of South Dakota's Native American families, exposing the epidemic of illegal seizures of Lakota children by the state of South Dakota, working towards the structural solution to end this injustice. Just last year, Sen. Abourezk assisted their legal team in filing an amicus brief supporting ICWA with the United States Supreme Court. Later this year, the High Court could overturn the senator's landmark piece of federal legislation -- and that poses an imminent threat to Native families and sovereignty.