In a First, California Tribe May Freely Burn Its Ancestral Lands
In California, a state increasingly beset by devastating wildfires, the Karuk Tribe will be able to freely set controlled burns, helping to clear the dense underbrush that fuels larger and more destructive fires.
Before Europeans arrived to the region, the Karuk would undertake some 7,000 burns each year on their lands along the Klamath River in northern California. Burns could be applied to a single tree or spread across many acres, and were administered ceremonially and to shape the landscape.
The need for such burns is clear, tribal official Bill Tripp told The Los Angeles Times: 'One: You don't have major wildfire threats because everything around you is burned regularly. Two: Most of the plants and animals that we depend on in the ecosystem are actually fire-dependent species.'
Until recently, tribes would need to secure permits for cultural burns, but a law passed last year allows federally recognized tribes to forge agreements with the state that allow them to administer burns without prior approval. This week the Karuk became the first tribe to reach such an agreement.
Controlled burns are 'a real big part of our cultural identity and who we are,' tribal official Aja Conrad recently told Boise State Public Radio. 'It's about how to steward this place. It's about actively, physically tending to this place and rebuilding these sacred relationships.'
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Boston Globe
21-06-2025
- Boston Globe
First time in 100 years: young kayakers on a ride for the ages
If all goes as planned, the kayakers will pass the rehabilitated sites of the largest dam-removal project in U.S. history. They will pass salmon swimming upstream in places that the fish had not been able to reach since the early 1900s. They will pass through the ancient territory of their tribes -- the Klamath, Shasta, Karuk, Hoopa Valley and Yurok among them. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up And when they reach the wide mouth of the river at the Pacific Ocean near Klamath, California, they will be celebrated as the first to descend the full length of the Klamath, source to sea, since the dams went up and pinched life from the water. Advertisement 'I'm really excited to be on the river with friends, celebrating this huge accomplishment that our people have been fighting for forever,' said Ruby Rain Williams, 18, of the Karuk tribe. Advertisement The sky was blue. The mood was, at turns, celebratory and solemn. The colorful kayaks glided across a pool of crystal water, headed downstream. To'nehwan Jayden Dauz, a 15-year-old from the Hoopa Valley tribe, bounced through a Class IV rapid that didn't exist a year ago, in a narrow canyon where one of the dams fell. Ruby followed, emerging from a stretch of steep white water with a wide grin. The expedition was soon. Scouting the difficult section of rapids from a raft, Keeya Wiki, a 17-year-old Yurok, whooped at her new friends. All three grew up along the water, in different tribes, hearing stories of ancestors who could walk across the Klamath on the backs of so many salmon. Today, everyone was more likely to get dinner from a local convenience store than from the river. The arrival of white settlers, starting with a group of beaver trappers in 1826, interrupted the rhythms of life here for the next 200 years. Gold miners and timber companies came. Farmers and ranchers arrived, sucking and diverting water from the river and draining the fish-rich wetlands near the headwaters. The first hydroelectric dam, Copco 1 (named for the California Oregon Power Co.), was built in 1918. Others followed: Copco 2 (1925), J.C. Boyle (1958) and Iron Gate (1964). They were 400 vertical feet of water stoppers and lake makers within a 45-mile stretch straddling the Oregon-California border. Salmon had no way to get through. For decades, tribes and environmentalists, seeing and feeling an ecological and cultural disaster unfold, demanded the removal of dams and the restoration of the river. Voices went largely unheard until 2002, when tens of thousands of dead salmon and steelhead trout washed up on the lower banks of the river. Advertisement The dam-removal movement gained momentum, and politicians and other power brokers slowly acknowledged that the relatively low amounts of power generated by the dams in such a rural region was not enough reason to continue suffocating the river and its tributaries. In small creeks that feed into the Upper Klamath, hundreds of miles from the ocean, salmon were spotted 11 days after the last dam fell last fall. By then, a small group of river runners, having recruited and extensively trained about three dozen Indigenous teens growing up along the Klamath, had grand plans to be the first group to paddle the length of the freed river. Two smaller dams remain, upriver from the dismantled ones and not far from the headwaters. The paddlers will have to portage around the dams. The tribes would like them gone, too. Then 'all of our relatives can be connected again,' said William Ray, Jr., the chair of the Klamath Tribes, a consortium of the Klamath, Modoc and Yahooskin people. Recently, some of those teens, preparing for the expedition and practicing their skills, paddled through a section that had been the floor of Copco Lake for more than a century. They could see the fading shoreline of the old lake, as the river found its old course. Water has memory, tribal elders say. On riffling current, the paddlers passed houses that had stood lakeside for decades, now sitting far from the river's edge, their old docks leading nowhere. They passed a graveyard of bald trees, still standing, that had been submerged for years. A boat anchor hung, tangled, on one of the naked gray limbs. Advertisement Entering Kikacéki Canyon, they passed the site of Copco 1. Almost all signs of the massive structure have been removed. This year's river runners might not realize it had been there just last summer. Rush Sturges, 40, is a professional kayaker and filmmaker who grew up on California's Salmon River, a tributary of the Klamath. His parents ran a kayak school for 40 years. Sturges knew all about the fight to remove the dams. 'But I didn't know a single Indigenous kayaker before this,' he said. In 2021, he met Weston Boyles, 38, founder and executive director of Ríos to Rivers, a global organization advocating Indigenous youth and rivers around the world through education and exchange programs. They discussed life after the dams. Shouldn't Native children be the first to paddle the full stretch of the re-flowing river? Paddle Tribal Waters was born. It soon recruited Danielle Frank, a 21-year-old Hoopa Valley tribe member known as Ducky and a dynamo of activism and advocacy work in the Klamath Basin. She helped connect the organizers to the tribes. The long-term plan for Paddle Tribal Waters is to connect children to the rejuvenated river. Some students, like Jayden -- 'one of the most talented kayakers I've ever seen learn the sport,' Sturges said -- have organized kayak clubs in their tribes. The short-term plan was less philosophical. 'We wanted to train these kids to lead this first descent,' Sturges said. With stretches that include technical and dangerous Class IV rapids (Class VI is not navigable), the Klamath is not for novices. So Paddle Tribal Waters ran multiweek summer programs in 2022, 2023 and 2024, teaching 45 teens how to paddle white water. At night, they took tribe-led classes on activism, ecosystems and cultural knowledge. Some then took part in semester-long school-and-paddle programs around the world. Advertisement About 14 youth and seven staff members plan to paddle the entire stretch of river. Another 30 or so teens will join the party midway. They will camp on the river's banks. There will be planned ceremonial meetings and meals with tribal members and families. Food and gear will be shuttled in at various access points, part of a coordinated and complex logistical challenge. Along the way, the young kayakers will be encouraged to help name rapids, maybe in native languages, so that the many commercial outfits that run the river in rafts and kayaks might adopt them. The group is scheduled to arrive at the Pacific Ocean ahead of a large-scale celebration July 12 and a symposium the next day. But that was still 300 miles and several days away. Scarlett Schroeder, 13, and Coley Miller, 14, who belong to tribes on the Upper Klamath, daydreamed about reaching the ocean about a month from now. 'We're definitely going to go down in history,' Scarlett said. 'Our grandkids will know,' Coley said. 'Our great-, great-, great-grandkids will know,' Scarlett said. At the headwaters near Chiloquin, Oregon, not far from Crater Lake National Park, the kayakers and supporters gathered in a circle near the water's edge. Leaders from the Klamath tribes took turns explaining the significance of the 'sacred journey.' The kayakers gathered in a circle in the water. They let out a collective shout, then began to paddle away. Soon they disappeared around the bend, headed for history. Advertisement This article originally appeared in
Hamilton Spectator
18-06-2025
- Hamilton Spectator
Recognizing the importance of Indigenous history on National Indigenous Peoples' Day
Although not a statutory holiday in Nunavut, as it is in Yukon or the NWT, National Indigenous Peoples' Day is recognized on June 21 each year - a day that deserves widespread recognition across Canada, says Pam Langan, the head librarian and business administrator at the Pitquhirnikkut Ilihautiniq Kitikmeot Heritage Society in Cambridge Bay. 'We should be celebrated,' Langan said. 'We were here first. We helped the white people get settled. We welcomed them onto the land. You know, we taught them our ways.' Langan said the history of what happened to the Inuit and native population should be taught. 'And put money towards helping the people from what people did,' she said of the residential school system. 'And teach the exact history. Down in Alberta for example, a young fellow, he got sick, so he was put in the hospital. His family went on the trapline and Fish and Wildlife tainted their food supply on the trapline and he lost his whole family. 'That information is in the University of Alberta in Calgary archives,' she said. 'That is the kind of history they should be teaching, so that the people understand what the Inuit and the natives, what happened to them and what happened to their lifestyle,' she said. Langan went on to say alcohol introduced by the Europeans to the Indigenous people became, and still is, a problem. 'The Europeans, they had alcohol in their system for many years, for thousands of years. So that enzyme has been in their system, in their body, whereas the Inuit and natives never had that enzyme to be able to fight that. So it's like a disease almost,' she said. 'So, if they want to celebrate, they need to, they need to give the history - of why we are like that and why we struggle.' Family history Langan recounted a story from her own family history pertaining to her grandparents. 'They were both in residential school. They (later) lived on the reserve when they came to take my mom and her siblings, but my grandfather met them at the door with a shotgun and said, 'You're not taking my kids.' 'And then he enfranchised, he sold his rights as a native in order for them to get an education off the reserve. 'So as soon as he enfranchised, he got kicked off the reserve because he was no longer a native,' Langan said. 'He had cattle on the reserve, but he had to go to the Indian agent to ask to kill one of his cattle in order to feed his family. Indian agents said no, so him and his cousin, they shot and killed a cow in the middle of the night so they wouldn't get caught. 'And if they had been caught, they would have been hung for his own cattle,' Langan said. 'So this is the kind of thing that should be taught.' 'The government did exactly what they wanted. They wanted the Inuit, they wanted the Indians, to be dependent on them,' she added. 'But that is the history that should be taught, not the war of 1812,' she said. Another part of history for the Inuit and Indigenous peoples was when many were taken off the land they knew and relocated close to the North Pole to establish sovereignty, she said. 'You take a group of people who were at one of their gatherings, and you just grab a whole pile of them and put them somewhere and expect them to survive? No. And then you kill all their dogs in the 60s because they can't go anywhere?' she said of the history of many Indigenous people. In terms of revitalizing and learning the Inuit languages, Langan said there are now several apps available online to help with pronunciation of various words and syllables, which is very helpful, and another way to recognize and honour the Indigenous population. 'The Heritage Center has been doing lots with the language,' she noted. Langan reiterated that it is important to recognize Indigenous Peoples' Day in Nunavut and across Canada. 'I think the Indigenous People should be celebrated, you know, because of all the hardships they've gone through and still are here today.' Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Yahoo
Hidden roots of queer culture in Acadiana's history
LAFAYETTE, La (KLFY) — The acceptance of LGBTQIA+ members has a deeper rooted history than most people realize, even here in Acadiana, and now has evolved into celebration and awareness. According to , historian and tribal councilmember of the Atakapa-Ishak Nation, he said that what is defined as queerness of today was a norm amongst indigenous people of the Americas before European colonization. He said colonial French military, other European settlers and religious officials would record openly gay and trans people amongst indigenous nations such as Atakapa-Ishak, Natchez, Houma and Choctaw who lived across Louisiana. 'Queer people have always lived in the area.' Darensbourg said. 'Our tribe's first contact with Europeans was in 1528, when we rescued Cabeza de Vaca and his companions who were shipwrecked in the Gulf of Mexico. The Spaniard noticed among us what he called a 'devilish thing,' namely, same-sex marriage and what we would now call openly trans people.' Caddo Parish back LGBTQ+ Pride Month with support from community Close Thanks for signing up! Watch for us in your inbox. Subscribe Now Darensbourg shared how indigenous culture had a different perspective on gender and sexuality that were outside heteronormativity and European ideals. In his research, he noted how some indigenous people recognized the existence of more than two genders, engaged in homosexuality, identified as transgendered and held leadership roles outside gender norms. For instance, there was a young woman chief in Lafayette in the early colonial period by the name of Quitachoulabenacky. 'The indigenous people have been here for many thousands of years.' Darensbourg said. 'And those were also the first queer, trans people, the first openly queer, openly trans people, first people to have same-sex marriage here. And it was a perfectly normal part of our societies. That only ended when the Europeans arrived.' Following European colonization, openly gay and trans people amongst the indigenous peoples and other groups were silenced and marginalized. Since then, the LGBTQIA+ acceptance and visibility in Acadiana has evolved over time, according to Brandi Ortiz Comeaux, of the . 'This deep, pre-colonial history of acceptance and visibility reminds us that queerness is not new or foreign to this land.' Comeaux said. 'It is a testament to resilience, hidden strength, and enduring community that queer individuals have continued to find ways to connect, support each other, and express their identities, even through periods of forced conversion and societal pressures. Today, we are seeing a beautiful blossoming of that history, with more visible community building and a growing sense of collective pride and belonging.' As a generation of gay and lesbian people ages, memories of worse — and better — times swirl Founded in 2021, the Acadiana Queer Collective is an organization dedicated to creating safe, inclusive spaces for LGBTQIA+ members and allies here in the south. Comeaux said there are many examples of queerness in Acadiana culture that calls back to the roots of southern identity and community. 'It's in the resilience and adaptability that mirror the spirit of Acadiana's history,' Comeaux said. 'It's found in the deep family bonds and chosen families that are so central to both queer and Southern life. It's seen in the music, art and food where individuals express their authentic selves, contributing to the rich tapestry of our region. The very nature of 'making a way out of no way' in Acadiana resonates deeply with the queer experience of forging identity and community.' Comeaux said the goal of AQC and members of the LGBTQIA+ community is not to take up space but provide space for those who need it and that these people hope for a future where their existence is not questioned and their rights are not debated. 'The one message we want Acadiana to know about the queer community is this: We are your neighbors, your friends, your family, and your fellow Louisianians,' Comeaux said. 'We contribute to the unique culture, economy, and spirit of Acadiana. We seek the same things as everyone else: love, belonging, safety, and the opportunity to live full, joyful lives. Our presence enriches Acadiana, and our celebration is an invitation to greater understanding and unity for all.' Pride Month started; here's what to expect Darensbourg said that if we take the time to educate on the history of Acadiana and those who live in it we can create voices of the past into the future. 'One of things I would suggest if you're talking about the gay–trans history of an area or indigenous history of an area try to find people talking about it within those communities,' Darensbourg said. 'Try to find historians and writers talking about it from within those communities. Because you'll find the knowledge that people have are not new things, we have found out they are things people have been wanting to tell the world for a long time and listen to those voices.' Axelrod on RFK Jr.'s vaccine moves: 'Genuine catastrophe in the making' Day two of Rocco's Jello Shot Challenge: LSU stays in top spot Hidden roots of queer culture in Acadiana's history Bodies hanged from highway overpass in Juarez House passes DOGE cuts Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
