National Museum Of The American Indian Research Articles

Toward Centering Indigenous Knowledge in Museum Collections Management Systems

Museums still struggle with colonial data legacies within collections management systems, building mechanisms to be “inclusive” but challenged by how to model more expansive post-colonial ways of thinking. Although it anticipated a need to be “inclusive” of Native knowledge in the original design of its CMS, the National Museum of the American Indian is still challenged by the processes for how knowledge is entered into the system and by which information is seemingly “centered” within the system. Following on the release of the Smithsonian’s new Shared Stewardship and Ethical Returns policy, the NMAI is rethinking documentation structures within its CMS based on its dialogue with Native communities, conversations with other Smithsonian museums, and discussions with CMS colleagues. The museum is questioning why certain knowledge seems prioritized over others. Is this a fault of the system classification methods or our own practices? Can we re-envision CMS relationships to center Native knowledge?

Museums and Anthropology in the Age of Engagement By Christina F. Kreps, New York:Routledge, 2020

Museum AnthropologyEarly View BOOK REVIEW Museums and Anthropology in the Age of Engagement By Christina F. Kreps, New York:Routledge, 2020 Scarlett Engle, Corresponding Author Scarlett Engle [email protected] orcid.org/0000-0003-1791-9147 University of Colorado Boulder Email: [email protected]Search for more papers by this author Scarlett Engle, Corresponding Author Scarlett Engle caitrin.eng[email protected] orcid.org/0000-0003-1791-9147 University of Colorado Boulder Email: [email protected]Search for more papers by this author First published: 03 May 2023 https://doi.org/10.1111/muan.12273Read the full textAboutPDF ToolsRequest permissionExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL No abstract is available for this article. REFERENCES Ames, Michael. 1992. Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: the Anthropology of Museums. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Brown, Alison, and Laura Peers. 2013. “ The Blackfoot Shirts Project: ‘Our Ancestors Have Come to Visit.’” In The International Handbooks of Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald and Helen Rees Leahy, 1– 21. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Karp, Ivan, Corinne Kratz, Lynn Szwaja, and Tomas Ybarra-Frausto. 2006. Museum Frictions: Public Cultures/Global Transformations. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kreps, Christina F. 2020. Museums and Anthropology in the Age of Engagement. New York: Routledge, 2020. Krmpotich, Cara, and Laura Peers. 2014. This Is Our Life: Haida Material Heritage and Changing Museum. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Lonetree, Amy. 2013. Decolonizing Museums: Representing Native America in National and Tribal Museums. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Marsh, Diana. 2019. Extinct Monsters to Deep Time: Conflict, Compromise, and the Making of Smithsonian's Fossil Halls. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Morphy, Howard. 2019. Museums, Infinity and the Culture of Protocols: Ethnographic Collections and Source Communities. London: Routledge. Phillips, Ruth B. 2011. Museum Pieces: Toward the Indigenization of Canadian Museums. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press. Shannon, Jennifer A. 2014. Our Lives: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian. Santa Fe, NM: SAR Press. Sleeper-Smith, Susan. 2009. Contesting Knowledge: Museums and Indigenous Perspectives. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Early ViewOnline Version of Record before inclusion in an issue ReferencesRelatedInformation

WINIKO: Life of an Object, First Americans Museum, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Stepping into the new First Americans Museum (FAM), one is immediately struck with a feeling of light, connection to the earth, and community. The glass atrium anchoring the museum invites you to stand in the sun, view the vast expanse of sky and the festival grounds outside, and feel that you’ve entered a gathering place. It’s a memorable and purposeful first impression for the museum, which opened in September 2021 after decades of development and collaboration among tribal nations and the Oklahoma state government to tell the stories of the state’s thirty-nine tribes. Through exhibits on Native history and contemporary issues created by an all-Native curatorial team, FAM offers a powerful perspective on cultural autonomy, silenced voices, and restorative justice while sharing stories of persistence, survival, and joy.1WINIKO: Life of an Object, one of the museum’s inaugural exhibits, is a groundbreaking and emotional examination of the relationship between Native peoples and American collectors and museums over time. Winiko is the Caddo word for “everything on earth, the universe, and beyond. This term reflects the Native belief that our cultural materials hold the spiritual essence of their makers and those who wore or used them.”2 In WINIKO, selections from the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) on a ten-year loan, representing items gathered by collectors and removed from the state in the early 1900s, stand alongside artifacts acquired directly by FAM and contemporary commissions. These artifacts serve as witness to how meaningful Indigenous objects were extracted from their cultures as non-Native museums sought to collect from “vanishing” peoples, and culture became a commodity for outsiders to buy and sell. The artifacts of WINIKO are held, cared for, and interpreted by Native people, whose culturally appropriate treatment of them enables Native voices to reclaim the narrative of their history in America and redefine what museums mean for their communities.The return to Oklahoma of these artifacts is one of the most moving points of the exhibit. An introductory video documents their journey from Washington, DC, to Oklahoma and the emotional object reunions FAM facilitated with descendants of their users/makers and tribes. In the video, descendants examine the artifacts with joy and pride, tearfully welcoming home cultural treasures that embody tradition, craft, and heritage. Items that were collected and displayed in far-off cities as relics of “dying” cultures are embraced as living bearers of tradition and history. The very first moments in the exhibit set the tone for visitors, especially museum professionals, to reevaluate our assumptions about the purpose and utility of museums as colonial institutions: Does preserving the physical forms of objects really “save” them or their cultures? Does our drive to preserve objects come at the cost of destroying their cultural context through removal?Proceeding from the introductory video, visitors enter a dimmed exhibit space of long curved cases interspersed with panels and smaller cases, which allow viewing from all sides. Artifacts are displayed in a single layer with breathing space—both literal and figurative—in between, emphasizing both the importance of each item and their inherent vitality. Collections professionals and exhibit designers will appreciate the palpable care and respect shown in the exquisite custom mounts that hold and protect each piece. Garments, drums, ceremonial items, tools, and artifacts of everyday life are identified and described in labels that name their tribes of origin, users/makers, and circumstances of collection, if known. All object names are in their original Indigenous languages, provided by the tribes through consultation work, rather than the names from NMAI which reflect the superficial language of the non-Native collectors. First-person points of view in each label emphasize the collaboration and contribution of many tribes to share their own stories. Curators bring to the forefront the moment these items left Native communities and contexts and went into the hands of collectors. The choice to highlight these exchanges is both innovative and heartbreaking: some panels include prices paid by white collectors and the conditions that led to the necessity of Native communities having to sell cultural items. The labels also include an interpretive technique of breathtaking effectiveness in pairing photos of contemporary descendants with available photos of original users/makers and their stories. These portraits offer a powerful rebuke to the circumstances of collection of their ancestors’ items: these nations have not vanished, they have not forgotten the pieces of their culture that were lost, and they are reclaiming and telling their own stories at this museum.Another effective and thought-provoking interpretive technique employed in WINIKO is the comparison between the goals and mindsets of white collectors and those of the Native communities of origin. Showing prices paid for items, displaying notes made by collectors, and describing several collecting expeditions gives insight into what was important to these outsiders and cannot help but prompt questions about the history and nature of museum collecting as a whole. The exhibit contrasts Euro-American collecting history with the way Native communities valued these items in terms of deeper cultural significance. For example, a label for a young girl’s dress shares the monetary value a collector placed on it, but also the Native cultural meaning of its design and decoration and the personal significance of a mother making a garment for a beloved child. Artifacts described in oversimplified terms such as “fan” or “game” by collectors are here given their full due by detailing the social significance of religious items and artifacts of social interaction.As the first exhibit visitors encounter at the First Americans Museum, WINIKO provides a vital framework for taking in the rest of the museum, learning about tribes’ journeys to Oklahoma, the ongoing struggle for Indigenous rights and representation, Native Americans in the military, and other topics. This exhibit particularly challenges visitors’ understandings of material culture, how we respect the past and its artifacts, and the value of museums. Museums are colonial institutions and reflect the Western belief that saving history is about preserving the physical forms of artifacts and documents by removing them from public circulation and encasing them in Plexiglass. Native perspectives shared here value tradition bearing and cultural transmission through historic artifacts, adding to their stories through continued use and appreciation, and view collection and encasement as potentially suffocating these living items and artificially cutting short their cultural lives. It’s a powerful counterpoint to contemporary discussions of decolonizing museums: Is such a thing even possible, especially by predominantly white institutions? Can we as non-Native professionals present decolonized collections and interpretation when our basic guidelines of best practices and care may be counter to many Native traditions and goals? Wouldn’t true decolonization be returning all Native artifacts to their people, to use as they see fit and to tell their own stories?WINIKO and the entire First Americans Museum beautifully presents the stories of Oklahoma’s tribes in their own words and on their own terms and is worth visiting for that fact alone. It’s a welcoming, inspiring, and healing space for Native and non-Native visitors alike. But for museum professionals and public historians, it’s also a site that prompts us to acknowledge our role in the oppression and erasure of Native Americans telling their own stories and to question our field’s deeply held and imperfectly formed values: Who has the right to steward Native American material culture? How do different groups define respect and care for artifacts? How is our instinct to save and preserve culture by putting objects in museums based on Eurocentric assumptions and biases? FAM is a space to learn about Native history and resilience and to celebrate cultural survival and vibrancy. It is also a space that prompts soul-searching about the past and future of our field and is thus highly recommended.

Reclaiming the Other: Tribal Museums as Postcolonial Spaces

In this article I locate myself within the scholarly conversation on museum decolonisation through an investigation of existing literature concerning contemporary Native American museums, both mainstream and tribal. Orienting my research within the historiography of museums’ entanglement with colonialism, I examine decolonisation efforts in the United States by analysing the role of the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), a collaborative mainstream museum, together with smaller tribal museums and centres across the country, positing the latter group as complementary yet radical alternatives. Primarily drawing on the works of Susan Sleeper-Smith, Amy Lonetree, Amanda Cobb and Jennifer Shannon, I closely examine the histories, actors and epistemologies of contrasting approaches to Native American museology, and ultimately maintain that tribal museums come the closest to radically postcolonial spaces and are thus imperative to the wider agenda of museum decolonisation.

Review: Curating America’s Painful Past: Memory, Museums, and the National Imagination, by Tim Gruenewald

On a road trip taken during a move from Atlanta to Seattle in 2001, Tim Gruenewald was struck by the brutal differences in the preservation and commemoration of two historic sites—the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre and Mount Rushmore, both in South Dakota and involving the Lakota. In 2015, Gruenewald released the film Sacred Ground, which “explores the contrasting memories and mythologies about the American past” (xi) concerning these two sites. He continues this exploration of memory and mythology in Curating America’s Painful Past: Memory, Museums, and the National Imagination in what he refers to as a “sequel” to the film (xii). In his book, Gruenewald examines four museums located on the National Mall in Washington, DC: the National Museum of American History (NMAH), the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM), the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC), and the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI). His analysis of these museums aims to address how they display and discuss difficult histories and how that serves the ideological rhetoric of the United States. As a filmmaker, he employs film mechanics such as narrative structure and mise-en-scène in his analysis, a fresh and creative perspective that until now has been absent from the literature. He makes this connection because museums and films are both audiovisual spaces. With this framework, Gruenewald discusses how the museums bypass critical interpretation of painful pasts in favor of US military glorification and nationalism, and calls for these museums to sincerely engage with the social justice issues created by the nation’s dark histories.The book is organized into one chapter per museum (of which there are four discussed) and a conclusion chapter. The first chapter details the National Museum of American History, as the NMAH acts as a template for the other three museums and is the only museum about American history overall. This chapter is heavy in description, which is necessary to paint a clear picture for a reader who may have never been to the museum. Additionally, there are a few black and white photos of the exhibitions throughout the chapter. Gruenewald provides some brief historical background to fill in the gaps of the events presented in the exhibits. Although the analysis of the exhibitions felt brief and many of the criticisms made were not particularly unique, Gruenewald clearly draws together his descriptions, observations, and critiques to make his ultimate point that the narrative structure(s) of the NMAH is crucial to their delivery of complicated yet pro-nationalist histories.Focused on the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, the second chapter continues to explore museum narrative structure, although in the context of a museum whose mission is to address a history that did not take place on US soil. This chapter details the author’s compelling concept of narrative spaces versus non-narrative memorial spaces in museums and their effects—a key component of his argument throughout the book. Building on his analysis of museums through a filmic lens, he makes a point about the importance of visualization and imagery at the USHMM, citing Elie Wiesel, who was consulted during the construction of the museum. Gruenewald claims that “visual and textual displays of graphic depictions of violence…must be part of that effort,” meaning, the effort of visitors’ attempts to understand traumatic events (99). This is a common stance, and not necessarily a wrong one, as imagery is a highly effective way to elicit emotion. However, Gruenewald fails to elaborate on his statement about the necessity of graphic imagery. He does not consider the discourse surrounding the harmful effects of those images on survivor and descendant communities, nor does he discuss the objectification of the bodies in those images. This applies not only to the Holocaust and USHMM but also the graphic imagery in the National Museum of African American History and Culture and the National Museum of the American Indian as well.The following two chapters, on NMAAHC and NMAI respectively, discuss their adherence to and deviance from the narrative structure of NMAH and USHMM. While NMAAHC continues to follow a similar narrative structure as the previously addressed museums, NMAI departs from that structure as it attempts to tell Native American history through an Indigenous lens, as opposed to a standard museological one. Gruenewald’s assertion that the narrative structures of these museums is rooted in maintaining the rhetoric of the National Mall celebrating US militarization and nationalism while marginalizing histories such as slavery and genocide is clearly evidenced through his descriptions and observations of exhibitions in these museums. His call to action for both NMAAHC and NMAI is that they should more accurately tell their respective painful histories, especially as the narrative of the National Mall as whole continues to censor them. In chapters 3, 4, and 5, Gruenewald suggests how those museums could improve their presentation of those pasts and better promote social justice.Although his suggestions are valid and warrant consideration, they fail to consider the burden it puts on the communities affected by dark histories. In chapter 5, Gruenewald does acknowledge that “the moral imperative to remember injustice is on the entire nation” (199) and that it would be ideal for the National Mall to add a memorial to the victims of genocide and slavery so as to “lift the burden” from NMAAHC and NMAI. However, he offers no proposals that would lift the burden from BIPOC communities. His argument does not recognize the constraints faced by Black and Indigenous peoples in the museum sector. There is no mention that the curators at these museums may be unable to employ his suggestions due to racial and structural obstacles nor does he suggest how to deal with those obstacles.Overall, Gruenewald offers a new and insightful way to interpret museums and understand how US collective memory is shaped by the National Mall. His argument is thorough, and his writing follows a logical flow. He often reiterates his main arguments and directs the reader to previous lines of evidence and observations so they can easily follow along. This book is a worthwhile read for anyone in the museum field and is accessibly written so that people in other fields and the general public would enjoy it as well. Although his call to action is a bit of an oversimplification, the arguments he makes in the book are thought-provoking, and well-supported. The clarity of his writing style and the relevance of the book topic would make this a beneficial read.

Why We Serve: Native Americans in the United States Armed Forces by Alexandra N. Harris and Mark G. Hirsch

Reviewed by: Why We Serve: Native Americans in the United States Armed Forces by Alexandra N. Harris and Mark G. Hirsch Joseph G. Hiller (bio) Why We Serve: Native Americans in the United States Armed Forces by Alexandra N. Harris and Mark G. Hirsch National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, 2020 THIS COLLECTION-QUALITY BOOK broadly pursues a somewhat familiar question. There is no short or simple answer, however, to such an apparently simple inquiry. This rich book explains why the question is asked and relates in detail the many varied answers. Well-chosen illustrations and photographs, along with an attention-grabbing book cover, help make this book a sought-after collector's item. Since the question cannot be directly answered by our long-gone ancestors, the authors carefully describe the historical involvement of Natives in warfare. Several historical vignettes present captivating stories revealing comprehensive data and narratives that in a circumstantial way begin to answer the "why" question. When the "why" was asked of contemporary veterans and their families, however, a pattern of responses began to emerge. Why We Serve justifies the original reason for the question and continues to provide numerous authentic, thoughtful, and elegant answers laid out by testimony, stories, illustrations, and historical notes. Several themes align along a timeline that organizes this book. The first theme asks the question and establishes context. In view of both the historical and the contemporary relationship between Natives and the United States, how can Natives possibly sign up and support the federal sovereign in times of war? The question is perplexing and cumbersome to many; but the book reveals why it is not such a dichotomy to be Native and to serve in the military. The second theme explores warfare in a Native context—the reasons it occurs and how/why alliances between tribes were beneficial—albeit often temporary—for family and tribal homelands protection. Next comes the relationship with Europeans and the nuances they brought as third parties to existing alliances. In many cases members or clans of the same tribe aligned themselves with opposing European forces. Finally, major conflicts involving the U.S. dating from the early Indian Wars to the current Global War on Terrorism are one-by-one briefly addressed and accompanied by anecdotes, notable quotes, and illustrations addressing the central [End Page 145] "why" question. Stories are carefully told—by veterans, including Native Hawai'ian, Alaska Native, and American Indian—of the Native experience and singular sacrifice of service members, their families, and communities. Today with an all-volunteer military force, we find a mix of contemporary, traditional, and familial reasons to serve, ranging from the practical (the G.I. Bill, salary and benefits, job training, adventure and respect) to the more personal and tribal notions of doing greater good by serving society honorably and being from "a family that served" (157). Whatever the reason, Native military service is made known and honored in this book. Why We Serve is unique; it brings together in one place an authoritative, well-researched text that tells the collective story of Natives in military service to the United States. It presents an impressive collection of artwork and photographs and is footnoted extensively for further reference and reading. The book cover is perfectly eye-catching for this topic. Why We Serve is well worth the read and serves as an excellent reference on the topics of Natives and military service. [End Page 146] Joseph G. Hiller JOSEPH G. HILLER, Ph.D. (Oglala), LTC(R) U.S. Army Special Forces, is professor emeritus at the University of Arizona. Copyright © 2022 Regents of the University of Minnesota

Branding Indigeneity: patrocinio corporativo de las artes

Although corporate giving is an important source of support for initiatives related to indigenous cultures, it is less clear how companies gain advantages from patronage. This paper develops the concept of branding indigeneity to describe how companies benefit from philanthropy and sponsorships related to indigenous cultures. More specifically, I argue that corporate patronage related to indigenous cultures is a practice through which companies shape perceptions that they respect and value indigenous peoples. I draw on the case of corporate patronage at the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) to empirically illustrate branding indigeneity in the United States.

Meaning Well Is Not the Same as Doing Good: The Fraught Circumstances of Allyship With Indigenous Groups

Back to table of contents Previous article ViewpointsFull AccessMeaning Well Is Not the Same as Doing Good: The Fraught Circumstances of Allyship With Indigenous GroupsEva Ihle, M.D., Ph.D.Eva IhleSearch for more papers by this author, M.D., Ph.D.Published Online:29 Nov 2021https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.pn.2021.11.38AbstractThe past several decades have been marked by a nascent cultural reckoning regarding Indigenous societies. In the United States, however, the dominant (mostly Western, mostly European) culture has yet to make amends for hundreds of years of genocide, exploitation, and other trauma suffered by Indigenous groups. Unflinching explorations of the trauma and adversity perpetrated by the dominant culture remain aspirational, at best.I thought that my allyship with Indigenous communities meant that I was further along in the reckoning process than the rest. After all, I had spent one subintern month working in a reservation medical clinic; I’ve spent the good part of two decades involved in Native American cultural events (attending pow-wows, providing medical and other support at yearly sundances, and establishing charter membership in the National Museum of the American Indian); and I have been involved in groups such as the Indigenous Native Child and Adolescent Committee of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center. I even got certified as a diversity/equity/inclusion champion at my home institution, where I work with children from underserved communities, including Indigenous groups, who have been exposed to adverse childhood experiences (ACEs). But I am not affiliated with any tribe. I am the child of immigrants who both happen to be European. What I know about the historical trauma and adversity endured by the Indigenous population as a result of their oppression by the dominant culture I’ve learned indirectly through observation or through secondhand references (that is, primary sources of social science research).In my work with traumatized individuals, I have investigated strategies for promoting well-being through recovery from adversity. Principles from the field of positive psychology have seemed most informative in providing constructs that could support emotional well-being in the aftermath of adversity. Two concepts that have resonated with me are those of resilience and salutogenesis.Figure 1Resilience can be conceptualized as the ability to bounce back (with respect to one’s functionality in mind, body, and spirit) from toxic stress (the maladaptive psychological and physiological consequences of chronic exposure to ACEs). This ability is thought to be built upon numerous factors, illustrated in Figure 1 on facing page. Salutogenesis is defined as the process of achieving wellness “despite the trials and tribulations” of one’s life; this term was coined by Aaron Antonovsky, Ph.D., who concluded from his work with Holocaust survivors that a “sense of coherence” underlies a person’s well-being. A related concept is posttraumatic growth, where individuals can gain strength and wisdom from successfully coping with personal crises. What all of these concepts have in common is the expectation that negative stressors can produce positive change in an individual.These constructs seem well-meaning, especially when the focus remains on individual members of communities who experience transgenerational transmission of trauma. However, these concepts also reflect a Western, or Eurocentric, emphasis on the individual that is not necessarily compatible with Indigenous and other ethnic groups that have a more communal orientation. In fact, it was recently pointed out to me that the concept of resilience can have negative connotations. There is the potential for re-emergence of the antiquated and false narrative that the individual is to blame for lacking the resilience that Western interventions are attempting to reconstitute; furthermore, the emphasis on individual resilience negates the contributions that the individual’s social and cultural systems can make in supporting recovery from trauma. There is strength and wisdom inherent in Indigenous communities that can be harnessed for healing. The community and the larger culture can provide resources that support well-being that Western positive psychology has not necessarily conceptualized. While the Western version of resilience emphasizes self-regulation as one mechanism for achieving individual well-being, a collectivist version broadens the scope of regulation to involve additional societal factors. The protective factors provided by Indigenous societal or cultural resources are wide ranging and emphasize co-regulation “to facilitate the ability to understand, express, and modulate thoughts, feelings, and behavior,” according to M. Tsethlikai, et al., in “Reflections on the Relevance of ‘Self Regulation’ for Native Communities,” published by the Department of Health and Human Services.These include traditional childrearing practices, observing the actions of elders, engaging in traditional spiritual practices, participating in ceremonies, and upholding societal values. Additional approaches to advancing resilience with cultural humility include promoting community cohesion, advocating for decolonializing social narratives, and shoring up Indigenous sovereignty. To overlook these factors is to do yet another disservice to a marginalized and underserved but vital group.I still believe in the power of salutogenesis. This belief is now tempered, however, by my appreciation of the need for a more culturally sensitive conceptualization of this construct. ■I wish to thank Joshua Sparrow, M.D., for the inspiration for, and thoughtful feedback on, this manuscript.“Reflections on the Relevance of ‘Self-Regulation’ for Native Communities” is posted here.Eva Ihle, M.D., Ph.D., is a professor of psychiatry at the UCSF Weill Institute for Neurosciences. She is a member of the Indigenous Native Child and Adolescent Committee of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and a national delegate for the Northern California Regional Organization of Child and Adolescent Psychiatrists. ISSUES NewArchived

Decolonizing Museums, Memorials, and Monuments

I have spent the last twenty-plus years and counting researching and writing on Indigenous public history projects, most notably on the changing relationship between Indigenous people and museums. This research is featured in my book, Decolonizing Museums: Representing Native America in National and Tribal Museums, which focuses on the representation of Native Americans in museum exhibitions at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), and two Anishinabe tribal museums (the Mille Lacs Indian Museum in Minnesota and the Ziibiwing Center of Anishinabe Culture and Lifeways in Michigan).1 Through an analysis of exhibition texts and images, archival records related to exhibition development, and interviews with key staff members, I explore the changing representations of Indigenous history and memory in a diverse group of museums that hold significant Native American cultural resources.In my scholarship, I give considerable attention to the relatively recent museological shift from curator-controlled presentations of the Native American past to a more inclusive or collaborative process with Indigenous people actively involved in determining exhibition content. My work critically examines the complexities of this relationship—both the positive outcomes as well as the challenges that remain. Central to my analysis is exploring how museums can serve as sites of decolonization through honoring Indigenous knowledge and worldview, and by discussing the hard truths of colonization in exhibitions in an effort to move toward healing and understanding.2 This process of examining the hard truths also needs to include critical self-examination on the part of colonial institutions regarding their relationship with Indigenous tribal nations and communities in the past and present.3Over the last nine years since the publication of Decolonizing Museums, I have had the privilege of addressing diverse audiences including students, scholars, museum professionals, and public historians who are seeking to develop new interpretative programs and exhibitions related to Indigenous history that challenge stereotypical representations produced in the past, share authority, and recognize our history in all its complexity. It seems as though these conversations addressing colonialism and its ongoing effects both within and outside of museums are even more urgent now. During this time of significant historical and cultural reckoning in the United States and beyond, we have all witnessed powerful acts of protest as settler colonial interpretations and stereotypical representations of the past are challenged and statues to colonizers removed. In California where I currently reside, Indigenous people are challenging the mythology surrounding the history of the California Mission System including the memorials and monuments that featured a very one-sided representation of this history.4 This activism included the removal of statues celebrating the colonizers including those of Junipero Serra, the architect of the California Mission System.I have followed these developments closely and participated in several events including a July 2020 conference organized by the Critical Mission Studies Research Project, “Toppling Mission Monuments and Mythology,” that addressed the importance of this moment of colonial reckoning. Bearing witness to these powerful events has left me with several questions that can serve to help decolonize public history more broadly that begin with identifying whose narratives we privilege in interpretative spaces and why. Whose histories are celebrated at the time of a memorial or monuments’ creation and which narratives of historical events and historical actors are they seeking to promote? What are the legacies of these representations in the present? Historian Christine DeLucia in her scholarship on “memoryscapes” in the Northeast argues that what makes monuments and historic places important “is the web of relationships that surround them: the historical negotiations and disagreements that give rise to them, the acts of collective memorialization that take place at their installation, the perpetually unfinished aftermath that keeps their material forms and meanings in flux.”5 In her book, Memory Lands: King Phillip’s War and the Place of Violence in the Northeast, DeLucia defines memoryscapes as “constellations of spots on the land that have accrued stories over time, transforming them from seemingly blank or neutral spaces into emotionally infused, politically potent places.”6 The memorials and monuments on the California landscape are significant memoryscapes as well, and Indigenous communities and scholars have called for a more rigorous interpretation of California Mission history that more accurately reflects the Indigenous experience in the missions that centers their stories and honors their survival.What does it mean then for Indigenous people to reassert their presence and celebrate their survivance in these memoryscapes that have previously celebrated a very one-sided version of history? Seeing these monuments and statues to the colonizers throughout our lifetime is an assault to our humanity, as Dakota scholar Waziyatawin has argued, and it is a powerful act of reclamation to assert our presence and resilience in the aftermath of their removal.7Throughout the summer of 2020, we watched statutes of Junipero Serra topple, including one that once stood in downtown Los Angeles. Seeing Indigenous community members standing together, smudging, praying, crying, and cheering as they watched the statue fall was an important moment to bear witness to Indigenous Californians celebrating their survival, histories, counter narratives, and resilience against all odds in the face of settler colonial genocide.8This leads me to another question: What should happen in the unfinished aftermath of these removals? While it is exciting to see these statues and memorials toppled, the logical question is what comes next both in the long and short term. In regard to the short term, I want to briefly comment on an experience that I had the privilege of participating in that informs my thinking on the significance of Indigenous commemorative acts in the wake of removal. In April 2019, I joined with other Indigenous people in San Francisco to have our portraits taken where the statue “Early Days” once stood, a monument near the city’s Civic Center that celebrated Indigenous genocide and settler colonialism. “Early Days” was a deeply offensive statue of a vaquero and a missionary standing above a Native person laying at their feet and looking up at the colonizers. Thanks to the activism of many in the Bay Area Indigenous community, the statue was finally removed in September 2018.9 I did not have an opportunity to witness that event but I did participate in an extraordinary moment of reclamation and celebration in April 2019 organized by the San Francisco Arts Commission led by Barbara Mumby Huerta and others, who came up with the brilliant idea to invite Native people in curated groups to stand together on the statue and reclaim this space. I cannot even begin to describe how empowering it was to stand on top of that empty plinth with my fellow Indigenous professors Beth Piatote, Elizabeth “Betty” Parent, and Andrew Jolivette. The gifted Seminole/Muscogee/Diné photographer Hulleah Tsinhnahjinnie was there to take everyone’s photograph and we all stood proudly on top that empty platform where a monument celebrating the genocide of Indigenous people had stood for over one-hundred years. There is something powerful about reclaiming these memorial spaces, standing tall and proud with my fellow Native American community members, and watching others I love and respect do the same. It was a gift to be part of this event reminding the world that we are resilient, strong, courageous, and proud. Most significantly, I now have embodied knowledge of how truly empowering it can be to stand on an empty plinth in a collective moment of victory, to assert our versions of the past, and celebrate the survivance of Indigenous people against all odds. This is just one commemorative option in the aftermath of removal.In terms of the long-term future of these sites, conversations, led by California Indigenous people, need to continue. In a recently published article, April McGill offers her views on the way forward and how we support Indigenous communities. She stated, “give them a space. Give them a park. Create a dance arena. Give them back their shellmounds…a place to continue to hold their ceremonies, and grow their indigenous food.” Giving Indigenous Californians their land back is “how you honor them—not via a statue.”10 I could not agree more; one of the next important steps should center the return of lands tied to missions that rightfully belong to the Indigenous Nations of California. Further, Indigenous Californians should have primacy in determining the memorials and educational programs that are developed at these sites as it is critical to change the narrative at the twenty-one mission sites as well as to remove the statues. It is also important to preserve and steward the archives at the missions, and make this information available to descendant communities. Archives have the power to assist with contemporary cultural reclamation efforts and to be mobilized to support Indigenous self-determination and sovereignty. Additionally, the historical and family records that are stored in the archives are irreplaceable records of Indigenous family histories and their complex connections to the missions. The fire at the San Gabriel Mission in July 2020 reminds us of the urgency of this work—and state resources need to be devoted to protecting these collections, as they are powerful sources of knowledge production and cultural reclamation for Indigenous Californians.11Scholar James Young reminds us that, “without having acted on memory we allow memory to be incomplete.”12 Through the act of removing these colonial statues and reasserting their own presence, including by literally standing on top of empty plinths where these monuments once stood, Native Californians are acting on memory and by so doing, are not allowing memory of this history of the mission system to remain unchallenged and incomplete. They are asserting their presence and a renewed commitment to challenging the colonial narratives of mission history for current and future generations. This is an act of decolonization, survivance, reclamation, and profound love for the people—past, present, and emerging.As public historians, we need to keep these moments of Indigenous heritage reclamation in mind as we think critically about what it means to decolonize interpretation, museums, and monuments in the twenty-first century.

Whose Museum Is It? Jewish Museums and Indigenous Theory

AbstractAre museums places about a community or for the community? This article addresses this question by bringing into conversation Jewish museums and Indigenous museum theory, with special attention paid to two major institutions: the Jewish Museum Berlin and the National Museum of the American Indian. The JMB’s exhibitions and the controversies surrounding them, I contend, allow us to see the limits of rhetorical sovereignty, namely the ability and right of a community to determine the narrative. The comparison between Indigenous and Jewish museal practices is grounded in the idea of multidirectional memory. Stories of origins in museums, foundational to a community’s self-understanding, are analyzed as expressions of rhetorical sovereignty. The last section expands the discussion to the public sphere by looking at the debates that led to the resignation of Peter Schäfer, the JMB’s former director, following a series of events that were construed as anti-Israeli and hence, so was the argument, anti-Jewish. These claims are based on two narrow conceptions: First, that of the source community that makes a claim for the museum. Second, on the equation of Jewishness with a pro-Israeli stance. Taken together, the presentation of origins and the public debate show the limits of rhetorical sovereignty by exposing the contested dynamics of community claims. Ultimately, I suggest, museums should be seen not only as a site for contestation about communal voice, but as a space for constituting the community.

Casting a Wide Net: The Value of Collaboration and Outreach with Source Communities in the Analysis of Historic Native American Fishing Nets

The Lenape Tribe of Delaware is one of two recognized tribes within the state of Delaware. Having only gained state recognition in 2016, the group is actively working to regain the lifeways of their ancestors that have been lost in the aftermath of colonization and systemic oppression. This paper discusses collaborative research between the author, a student in Art Conservation, and the Lenape Tribe of Delaware on the once-crucial practice of net-tying. It addresses the impetus for the project and its role in object-based decolonization and Indigenous knowledge reclamation. The research was inspired by the last known Lenape netmaker, Clem Carney, whose work was collected by anthropologists in the early 1900s but since forgotten. The project was completed in collaboration with the Tribe from initial proposal onward and included three main stages: examination of fishing nets from Native Mid-Atlantic groups at the National Museum of the American Indian and the American Museum of Natural History; the compilation of an inventory of Native Mid-Atlantic nets and associated tools from institutions throughout North America; and outreach. Outreach efforts included a Tribal Delegation to the National Museum of the American Indian Cultural Resources Center, presentations to both the Native and non-Native community, and net-making workshops held at the Biggs Museum of American Art in Dover, DE. Through these events and a range of media posts and articles, it is estimated that 7,000 people learned about this collaboration. The project has prompted subsequent collaborations and serves as a model for community-driven research.

The Tira of Don Martín

This article follows the history of the Tira of don Martín, also known as the Codex Saville, from its creation to its preservation in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian. A document concerning migration, altepetl (polity) foundation, and rulership, it provided a living record of Nahua chronology from 1402 to 1545, through the arrival of Europeans on horseback, the conquest of Tenochtitlan in 1521, and the foundation of a local Christian church. Little studied since the 1920s when acquired by the Museum of the American Indian/Heye Foundation, it is a completely Nahua document with older pictographic text as well as Nahuatl written in Latin characters. The very form of the tira suggests continuity rather than rupture in the course of European colonization and evangelization. New approaches to Mesoamerican history and materiality at the conquest’s quincentenary mean the time is ripe for a new touchstone analysis of this document that emphasizes specificity, locality, and continuity rather than rupture driven by European invasion. This article integrates diagnostic imaging, scientific and ethnohistorical analyses, and provenance research with a renewed focus on the Nahuatl language and pictographic communication.

A dual beam SEM-based EDS and micro-XRF method for the analysis of large-scale Mesoamerican obsidian tablets

X-ray fluorescence spectrometry (XRF) is commonly used as a non-destructive method to identify the geochemical source of obsidian artifacts. We examine in detail three decimeter-scale, polished obsidian “mirrors” housed in the Smithsonian Institution’s (SI) National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) collections that have previously had minor and trace element components analyzed by portable XRF. Two of the tablets have raw material provenance to the Ucareo source in Michoacán, Mexico, a location within the Los Azufres volcanic complex, while the source for the third tablet, made of mahogany (or meca) obsidian, remained unassigned. We provide a complete analysis of the major, minor, and trace element compositions for each tablet using co-located SEM-based energy dispersive X-ray spectrometry and micro-XRF spectrometry with fundamental parameters quantification. Source assignments for the tablets were made by comparing minor and trace element ratios to obsidian reference samples using canonical discriminant analysis. The reference specimens analyzed expand upon archaeological sources in Central Mexico relevant during Colonial times and include new data for obsidian locations within the Los Azufres complex. Our analyses confirm the previous source assignment for Ucareo for the black tablets and indicate a geochemical match for the mahogany obsidian from a nearby location within the Los Azufres complex that has not previously been associated with archaeological artifacts. Finally, we provide a detailed comparison of the portable and micro-XRF methods and discuss disparities in data and their implications.

Casting a Wide Net: The Value of Collaboration and Outreach with Source Communities in the Analysis of Historic Native American Fishing Nets

The Lenape Tribe of Delaware is one of two recognized tribes within the state of Delaware. Having only gained state recognition in 2016, the group is actively working to regain the lifeways of their ancestors that have been lost in the aftermath of colonization and systemic oppression. This paper discusses collaborative research between the author, a student in Art Conservation, and the Lenape Tribe of Delaware into the once-crucial practice of net-tying. It addresses the impetus for the project and its role in object-based decolonization and Indigenous knowledge reclamation. The research was inspired by the last known Lenape netmaker, Clem Carney, whose work was collected by anthropologists in the early 1900s but since forgotten. The project was completed in collaboration with the Tribe from initial proposal onward and included three main stages: examination of fishing nets from Native Mid-Atlantic groups at the National Museum of the American Indian and the American Museum of Natural History, the compilation of an inventory of Native Mid-Atlantic nets and associated tools from institutions throughout North America, and outreach. Outreach efforts included a Tribal Delegation to the National Museum of the American Indian Cultural Resources Center, presentations to both the Native and non-Native community, and net-making workshops held at the Biggs Museum of American Art in Dover, DE. Through these events and a range of media posts and articles, it is estimated that 7,000 people learned about this collaboration. The project has prompted subsequent collaborations and serves as a model for community-driven research.

Duas leis, um museu

A legislação patrimonial norte-americana possui diversas especificidades. Uma lei de grande importância e relevância no cenário nacional tratou, em 1989, da instalação de um museu voltado para a divulgação e pesquisa da história de comunidades nativo-americanas, o National Museum of the American Indian, que faz parte da Smithsonian Institution. A lei de criação do museu também estabelece os critérios para a repatriação de remanescentes humanos e objetos funerários presentes nas coleções adquiridas para a formação do museu. Com base no NMAIA (National Museum of the American Indian Act), uma segunda lei foi aprovada no ano seguinte, o NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act). De abrangência nacional, o NAGPRA tornou-se uma das legislações patrimoniais mais importantes e conhecidas do mundo.

Native Americans in Popular and Commercial Culture: An Interview with Paul Chaat Smith from the National Museum of the American Indian

Abstract: Paul Chaat Smith talks about his work as a curator at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) in Washington, DC. He also covers how his Comanche heritage has influenced his personal and professional journey as a writer, curator, and critic of art and culture. Smith discusses other important topics: the history and early reception of the NMAI, his work as a curator, what the NMAI collects, the use of various terms of identity (e.g. American Indian, Native American, Indigenous), the diversity of Indian cultures and experiences, the American Indian Movement (AIM), activism today among American Indians, the Americans exhibit featuring images of Native Americans in popular and commercial culture throughout American history, the perpetuation of fantasy images of American Indians, cancel culture, Keep America Beautiful's 1971 "Crying Indian" public service announcement, who can represent and speak for Native Americans, the need to recognize positive elements in Native history, and advice for professors and students.

Virtual Colloquium: Smithsonian Curators Reflect on Documenting the Representations of Race/Ethnicity/Diversity in Advertising

Abstract: Advertising & Society Quarterly held its fourth annual Colloquium on December 3–4, 2020. During this virtual event, three panels took different perspectives on race/ethnicity/diversity in advertising. This article presents the colloquium's first panel featuring Smithsonian curators discussing how they document the story of representing race/ethnicity/diversity in advertising. The National Museum of the American Indian's Paul Chaat Smith explains how fantasized images of American Indians are seen everywhere in American life, but such visibility actually masks Americans' obsession with, and erasure of, a small population in the United States. Fath Davis Ruffins describes how the National Museum of American History acquired significant collections over the years that reflect advertising's treatments of various ethnic and racial groups throughout US history. She also details her work with the Advertising Educational Foundation on the Race & Ethnicity Project. Kathleen Franz explains how she helped build the National Museum of American History's collections which are focused on Latinx and Hispanic advertising.

Identifying VOCs in exhibition cases and efflorescence on museum objects exhibited at Smithsonian\u2019s National Museum of the American Indian-New York

Two mass spectrometry (MS) methods, solid-phase microextraction gas chromatography (SPME–GC–MS) and direct analysis in real time (DART-MS), have been explored to investigate widespread efflorescence observed on exhibited objects at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian in New York (NMAI-NY). Both methods show great potential, in terms of speed of analysis and level of information, for identifying the organic component of the efflorescence as 2,2,6,6-tetramethyl-4-piperidinol (TMP-ol) emitted by the structural adhesive (Terostat MS 937) used for exhibit case construction. The utility of DART-MS was proven by detecting the presence of TMP-ol in construction materials in a fraction of the time and effort required for SPME–GC–MS analysis. In parallel, an unobtrusive SPME sampling strategy was used to detect volatile organic compounds (VOCs) accumulated in the exhibition cases. This sampling technique can be performed by collections and conservation staff at the museum and shipped to an off-site laboratory for analysis. This broadens the accessibility of MS techniques to museums without access to instrumentation or in-house analysis capabilities.

Isotopic composition of lead white pigments on qeros: implications for the chronology and production of Andean ritual drinking vessels during the colonial era

For millennia, qeros have been a primary component of ceremonially and politically important toasting rituals in the Andes and retain their cultural significance to this day. These wooden drinking vessels underwent a stylistic and technical revolution in the colonial period (1532–1821 AD). Among an array of features that distinguish colonial qeros from their Inka predecessors is the presence of lead white, a pigment that was introduced to the Andes by the Spanish. Here, we present lead (Pb) isotope measurements of lead white pigments from 20 colonial qeros from the collections of the National Museum of the American Indian, the American Museum of Natural History, the Brooklyn Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and in a private collection. Although most of the vessels are not known to be associated with one another, their lead white pigments fall into three distinct and internally consistent groupings in Pb isotope space. We interpret the isotopic signatures of two of the groups to indicate that the lead white was imported from Europe. We suggest that the largest grouping (comprising pigments sampled from 12 qeros) is decorated with lead white of Andean origin. These isotopic signatures may have a chronological component, and strongly suggest some form of centralization in pigment acquisition, manufacture, and/or distribution in the colonial period.

Museums in the Pandemic

Throughout human history, the spread of disease has closed borders, restricted civic movement, and fueled fear of the unknown; yet at the same time, it has helped build cultural resilience. On 11 March 2020 the World Health Organization (WHO) classified COVID-19 as a pandemic. The novel zoonotic disease, first reported to the WHO in December 2019, was no longer restricted to Wuhan or to China, as the highly contagious coronavirus had spread to more than 60 countries. The public health message to citizens everywhere was to save lives by staying home; the economic fallout stemming from this sudden rupture of services and the impact on people’s well-being was mindboggling. Around the globe museums, galleries, and popular world heritage sites closed (Associated Press 2020). The Smithsonian Magazine reported that all 19 institutes, including the National Zoo and the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), would be closed to the public on 14 March (Daher 2020). On the same day, New Zealand’s borders closed, and the tourism industry, so reliant on international visitors, choked. Museums previously deemed safe havens of society and culture became petri dishes to avoid; local museums first removed toys from their cafés and children’s spaces, then the museum doors closed and staff worked from home. In some cases, front-of-the-house staff were redeployed to support back-of-the-house staff with cataloguing and digitization projects. You could smell fear everywhere.