Decompiling Oppression #147
Sam McVeety
As we gathered at Cathedral Park in Santa Fe, awaiting our decolonial tour of the area, we could already tell that there would be many layers of complex history to dig through. Our meeting point was a statue at the center of the park, which celebrated the Spanish explorers' introduction of European crops (more on that later) and "European culture and technology where it had not previously existed". Listing Juan de Oñate (also known for his genocidal campaigns against Indigenous people) as the singular leader of this endeavor, it was clear that, while some statues have come down, history remains a contested space.
A few minutes later, our tour guide, Dr. Christina Castro (Taos Pueblo/Jemez Pueblo/Xicana), introduced us to the place by its original name, O’ga P’ogeh, meaning White Shell Water Place. A natural spring and sacred site to the Indigenous people of the area, it was chosen by colonists to house a cathedral, mirroring other acts of erasure and disruption to traditional practices. This week, I would like to honor the knowledge that Dr. Castro shared with our group through an exploration of this history.
Walking through the downtown, one quickly notices the carefully arranged galleries of "Indian art". Harder to say, though, is what is authentically made by and actually benefitting Indigenous people, given the soaring rate of counterfeit items. (Many of these are manufactured overseas, though it seems unlikely that "onshoring" Indigenous art will be a priority for the current administration's "Made in the USA" push.) In a darkly ironic turn, the most carefully governed art can be found in the city plaza, where state regulations require Indigenous vendors to display their wares no more than six inches off the ground. The fact that this all falls under the purview of a history museum also speaks volumes.
Above the vendors, coats of arms from the original colonists decorate the square. The city has only recently begun to reckon with the reality of its colonial past, having toned down the celebrations of the allegedly peaceful (it wasn't) return of European settlers after the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 successfully expelled them for 12 years. In contemplating the corresponding reenactments, it is hard to ignore the parallels to the ways some would selectively commemorate the American Civil War. (An accidental coda: wandering later on our own, we happened upon a placard lauding another colonizer, Diego de Vargas, as a "peaceful resettler" of the area.)
Ringed by those coats of arms, a monument stands at the center of the plaza, reduced but still present. Originally built to commemorate a different war on stolen land, one face defiantly issued a slur against Indigenous people until a campaign in 2020 fought for its removal. Despite the promise of a removal plan from the city government, the pedestal has gone through a series of legal maneuvers, with its final fate still undetermined.
As we explored this history of people and place, we also acknowledged some of the voices that were missing. Outside, even, of the system of blood quantum (rooted in eugenics and imposed by the United States government) for tribal enrollment, there are the genizaros, people who can claim no official tribal affiliation or lay claim to the privileges of colonial descendants. These are uncomfortable truths, too.
Reflecting on all this, it's clear that reckoning with history can be a painful, disorienting act. It is also vital. I'm reminded of the current assault on history being waged by the United States government, and the danger it poses to us all. As one example, let's briefly return to those European crops from earlier. While technically (and vacuously) true that European crops didn't exist in the Americas before settlers brought them, this elides entirely the agricultural practices that had already been in place for hundreds of years, pre-contact. Worse, it conveniently omits the fact that the colonists banned the cultivation of amaranth, causing severe damage to existing food systems. Even today, with widespread food insecurity, we are struggling to unravel that legacy.
This is what history offers us: not just the opportunity to say "never again", but also to learn from the wisdom of the past.
Here are this week's invitations:
Personal: Where have you found wisdom in exploring your own history?
Communal: How can we support each other in confronting our past in its entirety, and finding the courage to grow from it?
Solidarity: Support Three Sisters Collective and their work to create safe spaces of engagement for Indigenous people in O’ga P’ogeh.
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