Hi Friend,
The first American revolt against a European colonial power did not occur in Boston Harbor. Nor was it in the late 1700s. Nor was it against the English.
The year was 1620, and the Pueblo Peoples in the Rio Grande Valley, amongst others, had been suffering under Spanish colonial rule for over 80 years. Their homes had been destroyed; their women, children, and men had been forced into various forms of slavery and servitude; their sacred kivas burned, and their capacity to uphold their own ceremonies and sacred responsibilities to their ancestors and their bio-region had been violently ruptured. Of the many cruelties of the Spanish, it was their strong resolve to abolish the traditional forms of worship, including traditional dances, that was most despised. One of the many leaders was Popé or Popay (known in his Tewa language as Ohkay Owingeh). He knew that the current tyranny they were experiencing was not inevitable and believed that a return to the traditional way of life would yield prosperity and a return of health and well-being.
To drive out the colonizer took planning, cunning, and cohesion. The Peoples were scattered and scared. Popay had to find a way to reach them and to devise a plan for a unified attack. He spent over five years based north of Santa Fe, in the Taos Pueblo, preparing and building agreement and cohesion between 47 Pueblo towns, across multiple languages. He knew they had to act, not just in one place, but in many places, all across their homeland, in what the colonists called Nuevo México.
On August 10 (a day earlier than planned because the Spanish got wind of their plans), they attacked the Spanish in settlements and churches all across a region much larger than the modern state of New Mexico. Then they stopped the water from flowing into the colonial stronghold of Santa Fe. Cutting off water in the desert is dangerous, especially in August, during a drought year. The town could not last long. The Governor rallied his men and pushed out, effectively fleeing the region, across the dry desert into Texas, where he founded El Paso.
They won. The Pueblo Peoples were free.
Later, the Spanish did return, and a gruesome, prolonged series of battles and struggles ensued over four years, leading to the reconquering of Santa Fe and Nuevo Mexico. All of this was before 1776.It would be before the territory became the 47th state, and the Anglo culture re-named the land New Mexico.
I was just in Santa Fe, and several people reminded me of this revolt, this first revolution, that is still remembered with such clarity and pride. One of my old teachers, who has been living in Santa Fe for some time now, reminded me about how the state has increasingly been acknowledging the damage of colonization. Since 2018, they have no longer celebrated 'La Entrada', a procession that honored the reconquest of the region after the Pueblo Revolt, replaced with a multidenominational prayer gathering. It's been confronting its own history and increasingly honoring Indigenous resistance. Commiserations, not celebrations, are increasingly common. After engaging honestly with their own history for nearly twenty years, the first Indigenous woman is the Democratic candidate running for Governor, Deb Haaland, and I hear she has a good chance of winning.
How are people here responding to the 250th anniversary of the United States? I asked him. He chuckled. They remember the Pueblo Revolt, he said. They remember that the Indigenous peoples won that revolt. Many still call for continued commiseration, not celebration.
I nodded. Yes, it makes sense, I thought to myself. Of course, we both know that there are many, many things happening in New Mexico - just like everywhere. Patriotism is often complex.
At one point during our stay, a Pueblo elder said, "Our instructions are to keep giving offerings to Mother Earth. Now is the time when we all must return to those practices. We must remember Mother Earth."
A friend, a former ReMembering student who is a photographer of birds, kindly drove me to the airport, and as she did so, she told me about the Rio Grande: the river is now dry. I startled; I know how unusual this is; what a critical life flow this river is, especially here, where, as it is, life teeters. She, who knew the river far better than I, was distraught, waving her hands, talking about the birds whose lives depend upon the river, the birds who fly for miles and miles, the birds who know no such thing as national boundaries or any reason for dams and pipelines and spacecraft and all the many, many things that are drying up their river.
