Telling Stories to Change the World

Global Voices on the Power of Narrative to Build Community and Make Social Justice Claims

Rickie Solinger, Madeline Fox, Kayhan Irani

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2010
• eBook ISBN: 9781135901264
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

Telling Stories to Change the World is a powerful collection of essays about community-based and interest-based projects where storytelling is used as a strategy for speaking out for justice. Contributors from locations across the globe—including Uganda, Darfur, China, Afghanistan, South Africa, New Orleans, and Chicago—describe grassroots projects in which communities use narrative as a way of exploring what a more just society might look like and what civic engagement means. These compelling accounts of resistance, hope, and vision showcase the power of the storytelling form to generate critique and collective action. Together, these projects demonstrate the contemporary power of stories to stimulate engagement, active citizenship, the pride of identity, and the humility of human connectedness.

I “The Language of the People Was Born”

Stories in the Service of Healing, Tradition, Cultural Vitality, History

1 Zuni River—Shiwinan K’yawinanne

Cultural Confluence

EDWARD WEMYTEWA AND TIA OROS PETERS

Edward Wemytewa; courtesy of A:shiwi A:wan Museum and Heritage Center

E:lah:kwa ho’n a:wan a:łashshina:we, dem don lił dek’ohan’an a:dey’ona. Ho’n a:wan don bena: ihdohk’yana:we. Hon yam anikwa:w akkya, dem le:w a:na’ hon yam Shiw’an bena:w dap haydoshna:w akkya, hon oneyał k’okshi’kona’ i:yona: ya:k’yana:we. Ishałde’ma Shiw’an bena:w dap haydoshna:w ya:nish a:deya’dun’ona.

This began to be made in a long ago time, when the ancient A:shiwi ancestors emerged from a damp underworld womb within Mother Earth and entered this world. The Ancestors traveled great distances of space and consciousness, and their relationships with the water, land, and collective spirit, evolved with them as they journeyed across the body of Mother Earth. Expressing primal responses in rhythm with the land and waters, Shiwi’ma bena:we, the language of the people, was born. During that era the ancient ones were guided through the land and instructed by K’yan Asdebi, the Water Strider, to live in the Middle Place, Idiwana, near A:shiwi K’yawinanne, the Zuni River. From this confluence of culture and story, land and shimmering water, the A:shiwi, the Zuni, were nurtured and today remain bonded to this place, knowing ourselves as the Dowa Shiwan an chawe, the Children of the Corn Priest.

A:shiwi ulohnan dewuso’ya a:deyaye. For a thousand centuries the Zuni River and the landscape sustained the A:shiwi. Life blossomed. Animals, plants and the people flourished along a rich riparian region. The health of the Earth was reflected in the vibrancy of the many Zuni villages that dotted the riverbanks and high mesa areas. Relationships were defined and strengthened through a multitude of clanships like eagle and macaw, tobacco and turkey, sun and corn. Sometimes these long ago days were also very difficult. But mostly, these are remembered as harmonious and dynamic times for the A:shiwi who articulated a unique identity and worldview through complex rituals and spiritual engagement that resonated with the seasons of sun, wind, and rain. A:shiwi existence unfolded with great beauty, as vivid and promising as a butterfly freshly emerged from a chrysalis.

Cornmeal was offered in the glow of early morning light and sweet water percolated to the surface from deep underground springs, providing spiritual and physical sustenance. Ko’n yado: ho’n a:wan Yadokkya Datchu dewankwin yela:nakwayle:’a. An intricate webbed path of dreams and songs, storytelling and ceremonies laced together the spiritual and mundane worlds as grandfathers and grandmothers taught the younger generations about the confluence of life with the River. Women and children carried water in painted clay pots from the Zuni River, tending waffle gardens that grew cilantro, chili, onions, beans, and melons sustaining the people in the arid high desert. The people traded turquoise, salt, and stories with neighboring communities and far away tribes. Men hunted in the wooded mountains for elk and deer. They planted corn and squash, praying for the blessings of peace and rain. Offerings were given to the ancient ones, which the Zuni River conveyed as it flowed to Kołuwala:wa, the final, everlasting place downriver. Nurtured by the Zuni River—Shiwinan K’yawinanne, the world was in balance.

The A:shiwi roamed and occupied 15.2 million acres from the wooded mountain range in the east, now known as the Zuni Mountains, to the flatland areas in the west, now known as the state of Arizona. All of this is what we still know and recognize as our aboriginal homeland. And it was a beautiful place rich with thriving gardens and fields, not just what some anthropologists would claim were little patches of onions or cilantro in dusty backyards where the people could barely scrape a meager living. At one time, when the Spanish conquistadors first eyed the wealth of A:shiwi lands, the Zuni watershed was intact and the River flowed freely through our territories. It fed streams and springs that nurtured more than 12,000 acres of agricultural land rich with corn, wheat, and alfalfa fields, that were cultivated and sustained the people. Not to mention that the River supported an abundance of wildlife which nourished Zuni cultural sustenance and a rich ceremonial life.

Peace was severed when the conquistadors Coronado and Oñate invaded Pueblo territories, cutting into our homelands, and dismembering the Ancestors with swords, greed, and God. Taking slaves, burning crops, all in search of gold when the real wealth was in corn, the power of the River, and in harmony found with the Natural World. Christian missionaries and settlers closely followed the invaders, ravenous for Native spirits and desperate to seize non-existent Zuni gold. Upon seeing the thousands of well-irrigated, thriving acres with the complex system of canals and ditches, their hunger for gold turned to a thirst for the most precious commodity in a desert ecosystem, water. Harsh change came to the land and to the A:shiwi as the people saw the first glint of steel blades in the hot sun and heard the anguished sound of children crying.

Incursions into vulnerable tribal homelands continued. The Zuni River was dammed and diverted by the Ramah Cattle Company empowering Mormon missionary settlements upriver in the late 1890s, impounding thousands of acres of water and altering the natural life and flow of the watershed. Meanwhile, other Anglo settlers and ranchers began clearcutting the forests, causing a dramatic increase in the amount of runoff in the drainage of the Zuni watershed, resulting in topsoil erosion and near total decimation of the ecosystem. The sun no longer shimmered on the Zuni River.

The Zuni River is a sacred waterway. It is an umbilical cord for Zuni people, a nurturing conduit linking the A:shiwi with a spiritual destiny, carrying prayers and offerings to Kołuwala:wa, our final, everlasting home. Only certain Zuni tribal leaders visit this special place during the summer solstice as part of the homecoming dance, a ceremony involving the Rain Dancers and their escorts from the village. The people await their return and anticipate hearing vivid descriptions of the blessed pilgrimage. As they return, the pilgrims share stories of what they saw and experienced during the journey to Zuni Heaven. It is these stories that echo in the dreams and memories of the people, linking together past and present, a mirror for the future.

With the ebb and flow of the pilgrimages, the image of the numinous Zuni Heaven landscape is renewed within us. We decipher meaning from words and word patterns to redefine and create “the place.” It is a necessary cultural process in building collective vision and tribal cohesion because the particular sacred landscape we talk about is off limits and not to be visited by just anyone in the village. In actuality, the majority of Zuni people will never see the treasured Kołuwala:wa in their lifetime with their own eyes, because of the associated religious taboos. Most Zunis will only know of this special place through the reflections of the spiritual leaders who are entrusted to be the link between worlds.

From such stories we know the landscape as a wetlands having two distinct mountains, a valley and a lake—a place serene and distant, as distant as a time when the Kokko (Kachinas) roamed the land, a time that could be equated to the world of dinosaurs. Zuni people recount dreams of this particular landscape, with such familiarity and respect that reinforce tribal identity with something intimately connecting and awesome. For the A:shiwi, it is not necessary to see Kołuwala:wa but rather to trust the words shared by the leaders who see and walk gently upon the land, the land where we had lived in ancient time, where we witnessed a daunting event. The waterway was menacingly alive at one time, a place where lives of children were lost to the River, and so marks a special resting place. Perhaps that is why the A:shiwi cry with mixed emotions of joy and sorrow when we see someone return from a four-day foot pilgrimage, someone who had actually walked upon the very sand and river rock of Kołuwala:wa.

There is a piece of an early Zuni story, of a brave little boy and his loving grandmother who lived in an ancient village Kyadi:kya, near the Zuni River and were transformed into swans by a white bear, a spirit visiting Zuni from the Place of Forever Snow. The bear-spirit told them, “During the summer, you will go north, to my land—the Place of Forever Snow. We will be all there together. When winter comes, you will return back here to Kyadi:kya. There is a river below your house, and there in the water, you two will land … Your feathers will be so white like snow, and when the villagers are drawn in by your beauty, they will come to see their own feelings … You will make the people understand … This is how you will protect your Mother, by traveling from place to place.”

As the story goes, the two beautiful white swans traveled from place to place, watching over the land. In the summertime they traveled north to the Place of Forever Snow, and in the winter they flew to Zuni lands and warmer weather, bringing other birds and their incredible beauty so the land wouldn’t be lonely. Occupying the world that links the Earth and sky, birds are an indicator species, telling us what our lives have become and sometimes, of our destiny. We know them as our relatives through clanships of eagle and turkey, crow and macaw, and through traditional stories like this one, that link the A:shiwi with collective memories and a history of place, being, and purpose. But today, there is only a dry riverbed after decades of impact from the Ramah Dam and other incursions by non-indigenous settlers and ranches. Swans no longer travel from the Place of Forever Snow, to grace the lake near the Zuni village of Blackrock, or to dip their bills for food in the Zuni River.

In the early 1900s, the seeps and springs around Kołuwala:wa, the convergence of the Zuni River and Little Colorado River, were drying up, and Zuni leaders raised serious concerns. The sacred place of dream and memory that was once lush with thick grass and flowers, that provided for the gathering of birds, wetland and fur-bearing animals and fish, and formed a foundation of Zuni spiritual life, began to die. Signs of this tragedy could be seen everywhere by experienced and knowing eyes. In subsequent religious pilgrimages, the leaders talked about the lake (Hadink’yaya) being void of turtles. Fewer animals and migratory birds came to nourish themselves there anymore.

The dam was expanded and fortified. It took decades to drain what was once a vibrant, moving waterway that sustained thousands of people and animals, to emptiness. 1982 was the last time the Zuni River flowed freely and flooded the village since the Ramah Dam was built. The precious waterway on which the community has relied for centuries died in its sleep as some vulnerable children do, a Sudden Infant Death. Only an empty riverbed remains where the river once flowed. Now our land is always thirsty. What was once a rich landscape awake with gardens, wheat and cornfields, animals and birds, is a parched land that only tears can soften today. K’yawe denkya. Hish kwa’ k’oksh’amme.

Sadness lays hard on the land. Commodification and diversion of a most sacrosanct element, Water, the Zuni River, is not only an assault on the ecosystem and the people, but on the ability of our distinct culture to continue to grow and flourish, and of the Earth to regenerate and sustain us. Our lands are being plundered and our resources exploited for profit, with impunity. Precious watersheds that give birth to our lakes, springs, and streams and enable life in our communities are under attack. Polluted by toxins, dammed and diverted, the vital waters that nurture us and have assured our survival since ancient time are being killed by unquenchable greed, forcing us into poverty and pushing us further to the edge of existence. Ma’che’k’wat dem k’yawina’kyadap, k’yawe yalolo’ankya, yadokkya k’yawina’kowa yadopba.

To survive on our lands, the tribe wants wet water and not just water on paper. Reduction in development upstream will provide potential for instream flows through the Zuni reservation and on to Kołuwala:wa, and bring ecological balance. Water is necessary to reinvigorate farming where it will be economically viable for the farmers and families relying on livestock.

The Zuni Tribe is using much of its resources to re-establish the wetlands, reaffirming the fact that springs are held in the greatest reverence for their life-giving properties and that many of the most important plants and animals in Zuni culture are wetland obligated species. Through asserting Federal rights and pursuing land claims settlements as well as through tribal memory and stories, the A:shiwi are fighting for our land, water, and cultural rights. Yet a frontiersman hostility meets Zuni community members who attempt to advance aboriginal water rights, hearing threats from those who siphon from the watershed like, “someone’s going to get killed around here.” Without place, the very structure of the people will erode away, and without the people’s collective memory, the place will erode away unnoticed.

In earlier days, storytelling by elders was as common as the flowing Zuni River. Halona, close to the River, was the gathering place for Zuni elders who exchanged stories of daily accounts, historical events, or fables, just created. Like the River, this too has stopped. Only every once in a while do stories still trickle through the Zuni village.

It is unfortunate that what was enjoyed by so many in childhood, the shimmering flow of the River, the vitality of gardens and countless cornfields, and the cherished sight and sound of the storytellers, is no longer as available to Zuni children. This is where the Idiwanan An Chawe Theater Project comes in, to demonstrate the use of the shiwi’ma bena:we, the Zuni language. Fortified with the songs, stories, and place names, recalling ancestors who walked along the River, planted corn in the flood plains, and molded adobe bricks along the eastern shores of the Zuni River, the project works at the grassroots level to bring Zuni language acquisition skills and fluency to its community of 10,000 citizens.

Through this project, the entire community can still hear Zuni stories in the Zuni language, reinforcing the context of traditional culture and collective memory. Contemporary theater and artistic expression merge with traditional Zuni stories and knowledge, forming a unique language and cultural revitalization tool, aimed at social justice for Zuni people, history, and homelands. It is in this way that the people can still experience the tradition of storytelling and remember the flow of the River. These two precious resources, critical to A:shiwi existence, can be salvaged. It is not too late.

The Zuni are among many hundreds of other tribal communities on the frontlines of this struggle to recover the richness of land, community, and culture. Today, sacred areas of prayer, healing, burial, and history that resonate with the memories and consciousness of our peoples, places marked by the ancestors, are threatened with imminent destruction. Native homelands, waterways, and prayer sites are under assault. What was once a rich, diverse landscape is being stripped of its life-giving purpose, made barren, and struggling to survive. At this very moment, Indigenous peoples across the Americas are engaged in a mismatched battle for environmental justice and cultural recovery. The intimate connection and respect for such places has been challenged with brute force throughout Native America.

Seventh Generation Fund (SGF) is an Indigenous peoples’ non-profit organization that has been involved in sacred sites protection and cultural revitalization for nearly thirty years. Emerging out of the political power and social justice movements of the 1960s and 1970s, the SGF has worked side by side with grassroots Indigenous communities in supporting community-based initiatives to design and implement culturally relevant strategies for cultural renewal and environmental justice. Through the SGF Affiliate Program, emerging grassroots community projects such as the Idiwanan An Chawe Theater Project receive integrated program and technical assistance, and financial support to grow and develop innovative Indigenous projects that directly serve community needs and express traditional Native vision and values.

We share this essay with you during an urgent time. Thousands of Indigenous languages of the world are quickly slipping into oblivion, and with that loss comes the death of distinct cultural knowledge and tribal worldviews, as well as possible claims to secure ancient places and waterways defined in the language and described in story. Tribes and community-based Indigenous organizations working to protect sacred places, retain aboriginal water rights, and sustain sovereignty are not only found in treaties and agency documents, but such knowledge survives in the memories, oral traditions, songs, and place names that live in the tribal languages. The Zuni language is under threat of extinction, just like the Zuni River, in the next generation, even though it is in far better shape than many Native languages in North America that are seeing a sunset of conversational fluency and adaptive capacity at the community level during this generation. The increasing loss of traditional, esoteric understanding and the rich concepts of Indigenous ecological knowledge not only impacts Native people but also indicates the potential devastation for all societies of life.

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Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Series Editor’s Introduction
• Introduction
• Part I “The Language of the People Was Born:” Stories in the Service of Healing, Tradition, Cultural Vitality, History
• Part II “This Needs Urgent Attention:” Stories in the Service of Protecting, Defending, Building Audience and Allies
• Part III “Weaving Freedom into New Tongues:” Stories in the Service of Challenging and Transforming Beliefs
• Part IV The Power and the Limits of Stories