Virginia Brown, a 69-year-old elder, recalls her traumatic experience: 'I was forced into a boarding school when I was six years old. They cut off all our long hair and washed our mouths out with soap if they caught us speaking Navajo.'
"Once the Declaration of Independence is issued by Congress, then it kind of changes the calculus. Then, both sides are putting pressure on Native people to join one side or the other."
Thank you...for being able to fight for my freedom. But what's more important than that is that you continue to fight for your land and to continue to fight for your people and all people.
That number represents roughly 7% of the state's land and waters. It also corresponds with the amount of land the federal government promised it would hold as reservations for Indigenous tribes after California joined the union in 1850. Congress ultimately rejected these treaties in a secret meeting - after pressure from the state - and failed to notify tribes, many of whom upheld their end of the agreement to relocate.
The highlands are the sustenance of life, and all that water comes down from the mountains to the valleys, such as Azapa and Lluta and to the coast. The city of Arica is on the coast. So, we have a very serious problem. We will not have water—not for agriculture, not for livestock, not for tourism.
We don't eat batteries. They take away the water; they take away life. This pronouncement, in Spanish, appears in a photograph that the artist Tomás Saraceno sent via WhatsApp last month from Salinas Grandes, a high-altitude salt flat in northern Argentina. There, in one of the world's largest lithium reserves, the artist is working alongside 11 Indigenous communities to build El Santuario del Agua (The Water Sanctuary), a monumental work about the global energy transition.
This is not a simple administrative issue, but a renewed attempt by the center-right government of Rodrigo Paz to sweep aside the memory of the world's most famous guerrilla fighter, who was assassinated in the Bolivian village of La Higuera in 1967. Since Bolivia's Movement Towards Socialism (MAS) lost power to the new government last year, several attempts have been made to rid the country of Guevara's legacy.
Financial strangulation, as he put it, is the latest weapon in the government's escalating effort to clear the way for expanded mining and oil development in one of the world's most biodiverse countries. Months earlier, officials had temporarily frozen the accounts of several of Ecuador's most prominent environmental defenders, including Tapia, citing investigations into unjust private enrichment and financing terrorism.
The Siekopai Nation, which has historically occupied territories along the northern border between Ecuador and Peru, was separated and displaced during the 1941 border war between the two countries, a conflict with consequences that extended into the 1990s. According to Justino Piaguaje, leader of the Siekopai in Ecuador, the nation's original population was close to 20,000 but diseases brought by colonisers, Jesuit missions, conditions of slavery during the rubber boom, and the impacts of the oil industry led to a drastic decline.
On November 28, with just weeks remaining until the run-off in Chile's presidential election, far-right candidate Jose Antonio Kast issued a warning. "To the irregular immigrants in Chile," he said, "I tell you that 103 days remain for you to leave our country voluntarily." Kast ultimately won the election and is expected to be sworn in on March 11. But so far, in the highlands of Chile's most northerly region, the immigrant exodus that some expected has not occurred.
In the small town of Chipaya, everything is dry. Only a few people walk along the sandy streets, and many houses look abandoned some secured with a padlock. The wind is so strong that it forces you to close your eyes. Chipaya lies on Bolivia's Altiplano, 35 miles from the Chilean border. The vast plateau, nearly 4,000 metres above sea level, feels almost empty of people and animals, its solitude framed by snow-capped volcanoes. It raises the question: can anybody possibly live here?
The U.S.'s political landscape - and our daily lives - are increasingly shaped by repression and violence, amplified by a media cycle designed to keep us fearful in the present, uncertain about the future, and depleted. Exhaustion is not a side effect of this system. It is one of its core tools. Last year, I wrote that Donald Trump's attacks were designed to exhaust us. Over the past year, I've watched communities build movements and adapt their organizing under this reality.
ICE killed another American citizen on Saturday, so here's a list of five anti-ICE songs you can listen to right now. As music journalists we often struggle with how to respond to tragedies like this one. I don't have unreleased facts to share, or some vast network of activists to call upon. What I do have is my anger, alongside decades of practice working through difficult emotions with music.
My father froze. He looked at my mom, then at me. For a few seconds, nobody moved. My mom whispered, "Don't open it." But he did. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Maybe he thought cooperating would make it all OK. The people at the door said it would be quick, just a few questions. They said he'd be back soon. They said a lot of things that didn't turn out to be true.