Stories of Resistance: Indigenous Peoples’ Day

It was once called Columbus Day, and it still is in many parts. A day to celebrate the Italian explorer Christopher Columbus, who supposedly “discovered” America.

But America was there long before Columbus came. And so were millions of people up and down the continent. Experts estimate that there was anywhere from 60-90 million people in the Americas at the time—Possibly even more people in the Americas than in Europe.

But disease and successive wars by waves of invading Europeans decimated the local Indigenous populations. The Europeans brought smallpox, measles, influenza and the bubonic plague. Over the next century, roughly 90% of Indigenous peoples in the Western Hemisphere had been wiped out.

But they have constantly resisted to this day.

In the United States and across Latin America, many celebrate not Columbus Day, but Indigenous Peoples’ Day. Not the celebration of the man whose trip across the Atlantic would lead to the largest human event of death in the history of the globe, but of the people who have stood up, spoken out, and held on to their Indigenous cultures. 

If you’re a fan of this podcast you know that I’ve covered many stories of Indigenous resistance throughout the year. In honor of Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I’m bringing four of them back for you, today, covering Indigenous resistance in four different South American countries. 

They are stories of peoples standing up for their communities, their traditions, and cultures in unique and powerful ways. I’ll play these stories back to back. Thanks for listening.

Ep. 48: PROTECTING Q’ESWACHAKA, THE LAST INCAN ROPE BRIDGE

A torrent of water rushes underneath, gray and angry. Wind whips. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Clouds threaten rain. And before you is a bridge.

But it is not just any bridge. It spans from one rocky cliff to the other, and it is strung together by rope and twine, bound and rebound for generations. Eternity. 

This is Q’eswachaka. The last Incan Bridge. It stands over 12,000 feet above sea level and spans 30 meters over the Apurimac River down in a majestic canyon never found by the Spanish.

It was once an important passage along the Qhapaq Ñan, a network of roads stretching more than 2,000 kilometers across the Incan empire, from present day Colombia all the way down to Chile and Argentina.

The bridge has lasted here for more than six centuries. But that is only possible because it is rebuilt every year. 

In early June, the residents of four Quechua communities hold a three-day-long festival, where they rebuild the bridge from scratch. First, they cut down the old one and let it drop into the water below. Then the women beat and work the straw they have brought from the highlands. They begin to weave it. Transform it into the fibers and the rope for the new bridge. The men build the rope flooring and the railings. Slowly, the bridge is built anew.

This is not just a task to be done, but an ancestral ceremony with song and dance, ritual. An ancient art passed down from generation to generation. Their own offering to Pachamama, Madre Tierra—Mother Earth.

The communal building of bridges like this was once cherished and embraced, and carried out by communities across the Incan Empire. But this, they say, is the last. And these communities are holding on, like the very bridge itself.

More than a river crossing, and a connection between two roads, this is a symbol of the community’s connection to their past, to their ancestors, to their culture, their traditions, to the next generations, to the land… and to Mother Earth.

Ep. 50: INTI RAYMI RETURNS AS AN ACT OF RESISTANCE

In the Northern Hemisphere, it falls near the Summer Solstice—June 21. The longest day of the year. The time when the sun reaches its apex in the sky. And begins to walk slowly back toward fall and winter.

But in the countries of the Andes Mountains of South America, and in particular Ecuador and Peru, this date is even more important. It is the Andean New Year, Inti Raymi, the festival of the sun.

The celebration stretches back to the 1400s. It was the largest and most important festival of the Incan empire. It would last for more than two weeks. But it was banned by the Spanish amid their bloodthirsty reign that destroyed and banished all things Incan and Indigenous. And it remained like that for more than 400 years, until the middle of the 20th century. 

Today, Inti Raymi is back. A revival of the ancestral Indigenous history that was silenced and stolen. And it’s not just a celebration. It is an act of resistance, grasping, and holding on to the rich cultural past of the region, and rooting the connection to the present. A prayer for Madre Tierra, Pachamama, Mother Earth, and to Inti, the sun. 

Today, communities, cities, towns, and even universities hold Inti Raymi celebrations, like this one, packed with university students in Quito, Ecuador. They light fires and incense. They say prayers to Pachamama. And they sing and dance. Singing and dancing, slowly rotating in a circle in one direction and then the other, a rotation that symbolizes the spiraling of the sun. The stars around the heavens. The seasons. The time for planting. The time for harvest. And to “despertar la tierra”… to wake up the Earth. 

See, Inti Raymi is also a harvest festival. Dancing in thanks to Inti and Pachamama for the bounty of crops they have collected and the beginning of a new agricultural season. Inti Raymi celebrations are often held over many days.

In some places, like Cusco, Peru, they reenact the ancient Incan ceremonies in the archeological site Sacsayhuaman. In Quito, Ecuador, the main Inti Raymi celebrations are held in what they say used to be the Coricancha of the city, the city’s most sacred location. Today, the plaza sits in front of the centuries-old San Francisco Catholic Church. A church built over the ruins of the palace of the Incan ruler Huayna Cápac.

The name of the celebration this year in Quito Is Inti Raymi – Territories of Memory and Resistance.

Inti Raymi. Standing up, despite the injustices of the past. Singing and dancing to give thanks to the Sun and Mother Earth. Singing and dancing to celebrate, reviving the traditions and refusing to let go. 

Ep. 54: HOW INDIGENOUS FIELD HOCKEY IS REVIVING MAPUCHE CULTURE

On a field in a working-class neighborhood of Santiago, Chile, a group of people is playing field hockey. 

But this is no average game. It is a sacred act that has been played by the ancestors of these people for generations. See, this community is Mapuche, the Indigenous people from Southern Chile, and this game is reinvigorating their connection to the past.

Today, there are roughly 2 million Mapuche Indigenous people in Chile and Argentina. Many have moved from their ancestral lands to the city. But they have not forgotten their history. And they are rekindling it again. Using their ancestral sport to breathe life into their culture and traditions. Using their sport as a type of resistance. 

“It feels so good to play,” says 55-year-old Oriana Castro, who is on the field. “Because we are living our ancestral game. We, Mapuches, are ambassadors of our own culture.”

The game they’re playing is called palín. It’s like field hockey, but with some key differences. The guiños, or sticks, are made from bent tree branches that they or others find and carve until they are smooth.

Players still try to score on the other team by knocking the palí, or ball, over the goal line on the other side. But the teams don’t line up on each end of the field; instead, they line up longways. 

Each player is matched up with someone on the opposing side to be their contrincante, or con. It’s kind of like man-on-man defense, but with an important twist. You’re not just playing against your con, you’re connected to him or her. 

“It means that if you’re playing and your con is tired or weak, you have to help wake them up,” says Coach Javier Soto Antihual. “If they get hurt and can’t play, you have to leave the field, too. So, it creates this rivalry, but also friendship.”

They say this duality of two opposing sides finding equilibrium is an important facet of Mapuche cosmovision. That spiritual connection to the past was something that the Mapuche people say they were losing in recent years and which they have rekindled. Palín is helping.

“Today, palín has become a way of revitalizing our culture,” says Ivone Gonzalez, a member of the Mapuche radio station Werken Kurruf. “And the older players want to help motivate the next generations. Their children and their grandchildren.”

Gonzalez says that palín is at the heart of Mapuche identity. In the past, it was a means of resolving disputes peacefully—an integral part of their most-important ceremonies. Today, she says, it’s played before community meetings. Mapuche candidates running for local office often kick off their campaigns with palín.

But it is not just a sport.

“This is the way that we are able to continue our culture,” says Guillermina Rojas, 55. “We practice it and it’s not just about sport, it’s about our spirituality. That fills us and gives us the strength to continue.”

She says she’s only been playing for two years, but that it has changed her life. 

“It’s like magic,” she says as tears run down her face. “It’s hard for me to run. I’m heavyset. But I feel like when I’m on the field, it’s not me who’s running. It’s my ancestors. My Mapuche ancestors,” she says.

Palín was actually banned by the Catholic Church for hundreds of years. Yet, the Mapuche people continued to play their ancestral game. Resistance in the past. Resistance in the present. Resistance through this sacred sport.

Ep. 56: KARIPUNA RESISTANCE: DEFENDING THE AMAZON

This is the sound of the Amazon. The lush thick jungle just behind the main village on Karipuna Indigenous Territory, in Western Brazil.

And this is just a short drive away… Former Amazon rainforest. Cut. Slashed. Burned. And converted into fields for cattle. This is what the Karipuna people are up against. Their resistance is life or death.

There are less than a hundred members of the Karipuna tribe. They live on their land in the Brazilian state of Rondonia. Their territory is demarcated, which means that it’s legally theirs. But many outsiders don’t care. Land invaders have been pushing in, hauling off hardwood and big trees. Sometimes, the residents of the Karipuna village can hear the tractors and the machines working at night. 

But that is just the tip of the iceberg. Land grabbers are cutting into their territory. Carving out pieces of their jungle, pieces of their land, and dividing them up to sell.

The Karipuna are resisting. But they do not have the resources or the numbers to constantly police the borders of their territory. And the people who are invading their land are not doing so peacefully. The Karipuna community leaders have faced death threats. Warnings.

A few years ago, they decided to set up an outpost alongside the Formoso River, on the southern end of their land. They built a small home. Planted seeds. They planned to have some community members move there, to help protect against invasions of their territory. But warning messages were left on the building. And just behind it, a square stretch of lush forest was felled and burned, the fallen trees still smoldering from the fire.

But they will not give up. They say they will not give in. They will not leave. They are what is left of the Karipuna people. And they will stand their ground. In defense of their village. In defense of their land. In defense of the Amazon rainforest. In defense of their people, their future, and the generations to come. 

Hi folks, thanks for listening. I’m your host Michael Fox.

Today’s episode was a little different. I modeled it on the bonus episode I produced last month for the anniversary of the September 11, 1973, coup in Chile. I hope you enjoyed it. I’ve added links to these individual episodes in the show notes. 

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This is the latest episode of Stories of Resistance, a podcast series produced by The Real News. Each week, I bring you stories of resistance and hope like this. Inspiration for dark times. If you like what you hear, please subscribe, like, share, comment, or leave a review.

Thanks for listening. See you next time.