Translating an Indigenous Worldview for the Colonial Mind with Taiaiake Alfred
Strengthening identity, reclaiming land, and restoring sovereignty.
Taiaiake Alfred is a Kahnawà:ke Mohawk scholar, author, and advocate whose work centers on decolonization, Indigenous sovereignty, and the restoration of traditional governance systems. Over decades of writing and teaching, he has challenged settler institutions while offering powerful frameworks for political resurgence and cultural renewal.
His books—Heeding the Voices of Our Ancestors: Kahnawà:ke Mohawk Politics and the Rise of Native Nationalism, Peace, Power, Righteousness: An Indigenous Manifesto, and Wasáse: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom have sparked essential conversations about resistance, transformation, and the deep work of healing and grounding Indigenous communities within their own knowledge systems. His latest, It’s All About the Land: Collected Talks and Interviews on Indigenous Resurgence, deepens this legacy by drawing from years of insight and offering a powerful vision for reclaiming Indigenous life ways, governance, and relationships to land.
For generations, Indigenous peoples have resisted the imposition of colonial systems—systems designed to control, assimilate, and exploit both populations and land. These structures, embedded in policies, legal frameworks, and institutions, sought to dismantle Indigenous governance and ways of life. Though some of these mechanisms have evolved or dissolved, the logic behind them endures, continuing to subjugate Indigenous communities and displace their knowledge systems.
At the same time, the broader world is facing ecological collapse, cultural fragmentation, and political instability. In this context, the legacy of colonialism is not just a historical injustice—it’s an ongoing force shaping our disconnection from land, spirit, and each other. Indigenous knowledge offers more than resistance; it offers a way forward.
This conversation turns toward that path—not to romanticize tradition, but to understand what true resurgence means when rooted in land, law, and living memory. We explore how Indigenous worldviews challenge the capitalist values underpinning today’s global crises, and how they call all of us—especially non-Indigenous people—into new forms of responsibility and relationship. Through this dialogue, we step into a deeper inquiry around sovereignty, accountability, and what it takes to truly restore balance with the Earth and one another.
This interview has been transcribed from audio, with some revised sections.
INL: The paths we walk are the threads that weave our being. Could you share how your journey brought you to the powerful intersection of Indigenous rights, culture, and activism?
Taiaiake: Well, my journey, I believe, has been shaped by the culture, the family, and the time and place that I was born into. When I reflect on my journey, I don't necessarily see it from my perspective as choices that I've made or things that I've done. It's more like the journey happening to me, and me being aware of signs, opportunities, and things that present themselves—and, most importantly, people that present themselves—and me being open or aware of those opportunities to advance and move forward.
That's the way I look at it. And that explains both the positive and the negative, in the sense that sometimes there are bad people or bad situations, and you are not experienced enough, self-aware enough, old enough, or mature enough to recognize them for what they are. And then you get caught up in that until you learn that lesson, and then you start making other choices. Or it just may be that you don't recognize pathways opening up that you could or should be taking. So, you continue on, going along that journey with that experience—those things happening to you.
It’s shaped in large part in my culture as a Kahnawà:ke1, or Mohawk2, by awareness and commitment to our culture in terms of the responsibilities that come from your name. And so, in our culture and community, most people determine their purpose in their own mind, or the direction they should be heading, generally based on their clan—because everybody is born into a clan. That clan has a general set of traits or responsibilities, and it shapes the experience of life by paying attention to those things and taking up those responsibilities. That's how it is for most people.
For me, because of my own family background, I don't have a set of clan responsibilities. My grandmother was a war bride from England, and we're a matrilineal society. So, while I am Mohawk—my father has a clan, and my mother is half Mohawk, so we're part of the community—but within that spiritual meaning of the clan, I don’t carry one. I've never looked at that as a negative. And I guess this tells you a lot about me—I look at it as an opportunity. Since I wasn’t born into a set of responsibilities, I can make my own choices about what I want to pursue. What do I want to do? What am I paying attention to? What kind of signs am I looking for that will help me determine my purpose?
With that in mind, I refer to my name. I was given a name Taiaiake in Mohawk that means “crossing over” or “crossing over from the other side.” Throughout my whole life, I've always kept that in mind. So, I'm kind of preconditioned in my understanding of who I am to look for those opportunities—to be in a place, to serve a role, to take up challenges involving communication, mediation, and, even in my younger days, travel and experiencing other things. Whether in physical places, social situations, or relationships, that spirit of being has always defined me. My journey has been about that.
I've experienced different ways of living, different places, different jobs, and different situations. For me, the journey I’ve been on—leading to the work that I'm most known for and have spent the most time doing—has been about respecting where I am in relation to the responsibilities that my name gives me. At one point, I thought it meant one thing, and at another point, I thought it meant something else. But as I grew into adulthood, I realized that my talent, what I was good at, what I enjoyed, and my responsibilities within my culture all aligned. I was someone who went into the other sphere and communicated, and brought the lessons and knowledge back and forth—between the different spheres. The main one defined by the time and place that I lived was between the First Nations and the colonial society.
So, my whole purpose in life was shaped by this constant self-referent thought process: What is my role and responsibility, and how can I best fulfill that in this time and place? Up until I was 25, I was still experimenting. I didn't quite know what my contribution should be or what I should dedicate myself to. I had been in the military—I joined when I was 17 and left when I was 18, in the United States. Then I came back, went to university, studied different subjects, traveled, and tried different things. When I was 25, I had been in the military, gone to university, and was in graduate school. I thought I had figured out what I wanted to do—I thought I would be fulfilling my responsibility in the context of the government, in the military. I really enjoyed being in the military. I thought I would continue pursuing that and embodying the Mohawk Warrior spirit—honoring my ancestors and my community by being the best Marine I could be and serving in that way.
But my first year in graduate school completely changed my direction. I realized that wasn’t my purpose. I was helped along by a man named Ron LaFrance3, who has since passed away. He was one of our older chiefs and, at the time, ran the American Indian Program at Cornell, where I was in graduate school. We had long talks, and he was very firm in reminding me that I wasn't born to be an American diplomat or in the CIA—I was born to help our people. My role was to contribute directly to our struggle, to build our nation, and to defend our rights and our land.
He was pretty convincing. I was also helped along by the fact that I failed the Japanese language requirement in my first semester. That soured me on the idea of being an international diplomat. A lot of things happened all at once. And that’s exactly what I mean—sometimes your intelligence tells you what you need to do, but your younger mind is caught up in adventure. But when people come into your path, and things happen, if you process them only through your mentality, you might reach a different conclusion than if you process them through self-awareness—as a Mohawk person, carrying a certain name with a set of responsibilities.
Then it just clicked. I had one of those moments where I thought, “What was I thinking? Of course, I should be doing this.” And then I dedicated myself from that moment on. That would have been September 1989.
INL: When you look at the world today, what forces do you see as most vital in guiding us toward renewal—both within Indigenous communities and in the broader struggle to restore balance, sovereignty, and connection to the land?
Taiaiake: The forces that I find most vital and necessary are those that are concerned with the resurgence. I use that term a lot—of traditional knowledge, and of ways of being, and of models of existence on the personal level, on the community level, and on the structural level—that are not drawn from and rooted in the capitalist values and models and systems that have developed and are now causing the destruction of the planet. So for me, it’s remembering, but beyond that, because it means actually taking that knowledge. I want to use the word “abstracting,” but not in a negative sense. Taking those values, those principles, those ways, and using them today to reconstruct ways of being that are not going to replicate and reproduce the patterns of power, exploitation, and everything else that are generated from the past 500 years of our existence on a societal level.
That’s a difficult thing though, because even Indigenous peoples—who have been one of the groups most targeted and who have suffered the most because of the colonial, imperial, and capitalistic states—500 years is a long time. A lot has been lost, and there’s been a lot of damage and harm. There’s been a lot of loss in terms of what we have to offer, but I think that there’s enough there, at the fundamental level, to be able to offer people at least a vision about an alternative way of living.
I think that’s where it transcends from. It transcends that line between Indigenous and non-Indigenous, because people in the larger society, for the most part, are not even capable of imagining a different way of being. There’s no model. There’s no way for them to even take themselves out of the systems that we’re in. And it’s so oppressive, so ingrained intentionally in people’s minds and spirits, and it’s so forcefully maintained through education, media, and other forms of socialization that people are just incapable of imagining an alternative.
That’s probably the most vital contribution, at this point, that Indigenous peoples can offer: a living example of an alternative existence. I mean, one that truly has been battered, has been constrained, and is now reflecting the harms of that, in terms of the way they have been compromised. But the essence and the core of that existence—outside of capitalism and outside of empire—is there.
There are very few Indigenous peoples that can offer a model of management or governance and so forth, because those things have been forcefully suppressed and taken away from us. But if we’re talking about building an alternative future collectively, we cannot take from the capitalist and imperial system and create a new alternative. We have to look elsewhere. And why should we have to reimagine out of thin air or go through the work that took thousands of years for Indigenous peoples to come to a sense of how humans can coexist sustainably with the natural environment and each other? Why should we have to relearn that as human societies over 6,000 years when it’s still there, and people can learn from it? We can be teachers in that respect.
That’s my sense of what the vital forces are: the power to imagine a different future, to give people the motivation. I’m not a big fan of the word hope. I don’t know; it always struck me as passive. It’s like a motivation. Okay, we can revive this thing. Let’s put the work into it. Let’s figure out how to do it. It’s not going to look exactly like it was 500 years ago before all this started happening, but it’s going to be a different reality than the one that is leading us on this path to collective extermination—self-extermination.
That’s my sense of what the vital forces are: the power to imagine a different future, to give people the motivation.
I always hold back a little bit when I hear people talking about sustainability, solutions to climate change, and all this kind of stuff because, for the most part, people are trying to come up with solutions from within that sphere. To me, they’re not succeeding because they’re not willing to step outside of that ideational sphere. The values that drive our society are still progress, enrichment, and exploitation, and they’re just trying to find a better way to do it—one that will prolong the system but eventually lead to the same conclusion. There’s still no real, sincere commitment to true sustainability of our species in harmony with other species on the planet.
That’s where the fundamental wisdom of Indigenous peoples comes in. And that, to me, is the most vital thing today. That’s what we need the most.
INL: You’ve been a key voice in exploring and shaping the concept of resurgence within Indigenous political thought, emphasizing the reclamation of Indigenous ways of being and thinking beyond colonial frameworks of struggle and resistance. What does true Indigenous resurgence look like to you?
Taiaiake: Well, the concept of resurgence I put forward as a kind of—I don't want to use the word compromise, as that makes it seem like it's a lesser thing than what I originally envisioned—but it's kind of a middle way between two alternatives that I experienced in my own career. So the development of this idea of resurgence kind of came out in a real-world context.
One, if I can use the way that I've explained it before when I was teaching and talked about it in some public forums, is that there are two extremes: one is resistance in its full militant, armed way, and then there is reformism. To me, neither are acceptable for different reasons. One, because reformism is just a different form of integration and is going to lead to the dissolution of our nationhood and our indigeneity. The resistance, at least in the post-9/11 era till today, is not viable because of strategic considerations.
So it's a strategic calculation, not that it's not justifiable. We're entirely justified to take back our land by any means necessary, as has been said, but it's not possible. The forces of the state and capitalism are so immense and so oriented towards disciplining anybody who steps out of line—and certainly those who challenge the state—that for our small-numbered, very poorly armed people, it's just not anything that could be seriously considered. So those two ends are ruled out.
And so, I looked at both and said, well, let me start on the far end in terms of resistance. Given what we're justified in doing, how far do I have to scale back before I can actually do something meaningful? That's where resurgence came in. I learned from my own interactions with the state and its police apparatus that there's a certain line you can cross where you will be drawn into the disciplinary process in proposing a political agenda. The advocation of violence and using violent means to make change is a red line for them.
I mean, we found that out by experience. So, stepping back from that—or stepping right up to that and not crossing it—I felt we could have a movement that had power to shape change, not in the way that directly attacking the state would if we had the means to do it, but one that could still be a force for change. If not in an immediate way, then in a way that would not take decades or not rely on generational processes of education or re-socialization.
Basically, a political movement—a movement that sought to create the conditions where the state would have to recalculate its policies and its posture in relation to First Nations people, but without using violent means. Using political conflict, social protest, and so forth—using all the tools available right up to the use of violence.
So, disavowing violence except as a defensive mechanism, how do we organize politically and socially to confront the state—to disrupt the flow of power and the forces arrayed against us that maintain the status quo? That was the whole motivation and framing behind trying to come up with this concept of resurgence.
With that, I worked through the whole set of requirements, looking at it from an organizational perspective. I put it in a political and social context, and it became very clear that the foundation of such a movement was very weak because of the impacts of colonialism—the harms, the traumas, and the losses that had been put upon our people.
In order to engage in a political struggle where we were going to have to face backlash, suppression, conflict, and make sacrifices in that sphere to force the state to reconsider its position towards us, we needed to be strong, cohesive, healthy, and unified. Looking at our communities without rose-colored or politically correct glasses, we see we don’t have any of that right now. So we have to start there.
For me—and if you look at the book I wrote Wasáse in 2005, which was really the culmination of a lot of discussions, meetings, and collaborations between people in various Indigenous movements to articulate this vision of resurgence—we had a conception of rebuilding the cultural foundation and healing the people in order to engage in political struggle, to recover our land, and to expand the recognition and respect for our political status as independent nations in relationship to the settler state.
That formulation—that’s resurgence.
There are still a lot of people who think about it that way. But the state, along with many people more embedded—socially, kinship-wise, and so forth—who had an affiliation to either whiteness or who were embedded in the state or in white society, modified resurgence to be just a cultural component.
So now, I find myself disagreeing with some people who advocate the theory that I developed. I'm like Marx arguing with the Marxists—how can you just talk about cultural resurgence? Read the page so and so; it says, 'Cultural resurgence: healing, decolonization of the self, the family, and the community—to be strong enough to engage in political struggle to get our land back.' That’s the whole resurgence right there.
Cultural resurgence: healing, decolonization of the self, the family, and the community—to be strong enough to engage in political struggle to get our land back.
So, I am very opposed to people who try to chop off the political struggle aspect of resurgence because the whole point is to be strong enough to assert our nationhood. That’s what resurgence means to me. The formulation—but also, now, it has meaning to me because people are trying to moderate the original formulation so that it doesn’t present such a threat to the state. They get to maintain themselves in the positions they’ve gained within white society or the colonial state without risk.
The meaning of resurgence is, yes, the formulation—but also, experientially, it’s the intellectual and political struggle I have to engage in to maintain that radical nature, and not let it get modified and moderated to become just another theory in the liberal state that merely supports cultural expressions of indigeneity within the liberal state.
INL: Why is it crucial for Indigenous peoples to retain a political and strategic presence?
Taiaiake: Because Indigenous peoples are a very small minority, we are always subject to the vagaries and shifting political winds. As we're seeing now in the North American context, people who imagined that all the rights and entitlements gained during a progressive era of rights recognition etc—those things can be taken away very easily. We're always the first to lose out. We're expendable because we don't have any political weight.
That's the central problem, I'd say, with the assimilationist or integrationist approach—it always relies on the goodwill and adherence of the larger society to the highest principles of their society. When those principles start to crumble, when bad people get elected, or when the country starts to go broke, the Indigenous peoples are always the first to suffer and lose out.
The answer is not only that we’re a small number, but that we have collectively given up any political or strategic value in maintaining that society in a stable position. We are basically not a credible threat to anything—not to the stability of the economy, not to social cohesion, not to the political aspirations of any party or group. We’re not even a credible threat in physical terms when it comes to our own territory, safety, and security. Native leaders have given all of that away by integrating into the state, becoming subjects of others' authority, and trusting in the goodwill of the larger society to treat them fairly.
From a Mohawk perspective, resurgence is essentially our political philosophy translated into a more general vernacular or theoretical framing. We need to maintain the capacity to defend ourselves—physically, legally, and politically—because we know from hundreds of years of experience that the winds shift. The only guarantee of our safety, security, and continued existence is ensuring that the more powerful organizations in this territory must factor us into their strategic calculations.
We have been between empires for hundreds of years now. As soon as settlement occurred in North America, we had the French. Very soon after, the Dutch arrived. Then came the English and the French, followed by the British and the Americans, and eventually Canada and the U.S. We've right in the middle—positioned between these tectonic plates. So, we know how to survive in that context.
We have to stay relevant—politically and in terms of your strategic positioning as well, both territorially and militarily. You have to have that. I've been railing against First Nations giving that up for many years now. That’s the answer to a lot of people’s questions, in First Nations communities across the country when they ask, What should we do? or What can we do? the answer is very basic: maintain yourself and your capacity to act collectively to defend your territory and your status as an independent people in relation to those around you.
Not everyone in our community sees it this way. But it is built into our political culture and our institutions. It’s there.
The work that I’m doing in Kahnawà:ke—my home community—is basically reactivating that capacity on our part: to act in a unified way to defend our interests in various facets of our nationhood. To me, that’s why we’re still here, in our territory. The first contact we had: Jacques Cartier, 15344, and in 1609, sustained contact5. That’s a long time. That’s a long time to be a nation of people maintaining themselves independently, in the face of colonization.
So, what I tell people when I’m travelling around is, “We’re not perfect. And, of course, we’ve made mistakes. We have problems just like everyone else, but one thing we do know how to do is to survive—in the face of empire. So pay attention to what our lessons are—that we’ve learned.
INL: At the Institute of Natural Law, we are working to bring Indigenous-led concepts of responsibility and kinship into broader global movements for justice and ecological restoration. Your work has been instrumental in expanding this conversation—what do you see as the next step in integrating these profound teachings into the transformation we so urgently need?
Taiaiake: What I found is that we still have, present and central to our cultures, our languages, our ceremonies, and very common in terms of their currency and the way people speak and understand the world and move through the world—these ancient concepts, these ancient teachings.
For us, say for example, they're reflected in the Mohawk tradition. I can name them off: there's the Goswanta, Tekani Teioha:te6, the Ohèn:ton Karihwatéhkwen (the Thanksgiving Address)—the words that come before all else, there's the Kaia'nereh:kowa7—the great good way of being. These things—the four sacred ceremonies—actually shape anyone who is culturally fluent and who is cultured as a Mohawk today. This shapes their whole everyday conversation, their whole life. They view the world through these things.
To me, that's what we can offer. When I talk about it in more abstract terms, we have a vision to offer. We have ways of being to offer as an alternative. Whether it’s on a personal level, an institutional level, or a societal level—those values, those ways of being, and that knowledge are universal. They're meant for human beings—to guide human beings. It's not like, 'Oh, this is a sacred teaching given to you, Mohawks. You Mohawks are going to live this way.' It’s not that way at all. It’s not religious or anything like that. It’s meant to be natural law, and we have our way of conceptualizing it, communicating it, and remembering it.
We have Wampum belts8, we have certain recitations, certain ceremonies—and these things transfer through time: ancient wisdom about how to live in the proper way as a human being in relation to other beings and the natural world. That’s what we can bring, and that’s what people can learn from us. McGill University [Canada] can learn from us about how to be in that space, in a better way than it learned from the British imperial system about how to be. And it’s in the process of... and the city of Montreal is in the process of reshaping itself.
There is a new prime minister in Canada, as of March 2025. In his first speech he said Canada is a place that was founded by Indigenous peoples, French people, and English people. He acknowledged that Indigenous peoples are the first inhabitants, and that Canada respects and learns from them in the way that it's developing society. Okay, well, we’re getting somewhere now. What does that mean in reality?
“The ceremony we just witnessed reflects the wonder of a country built on the bedrock of three peoples: Indigenous, French and British. The opening and closing prayers evoke the original stewards of this land to remind us of the deep roots from which we grow and underscore the values to which we aspire.”
— Mark Carney, Canada’s 24th prime minister.
The reality is that sitting down or entering into a relationship—a meaningful relationship with knowledge holders and people who embody and can carry the teachings—through those mechanisms or through their words, to reshape your understanding of the world and how to be in it. And then you take that and you embody it. You use your symbols, you use your language, you reshape your physical world in order to reflect that. Then, we have a complementarity, and we have a real reorientation of society.
That could have happened 300 years ago, but it didn’t. But it’s not too late, in the scope of human societies and such—300 years isn’t that long. A lot of damage has been done, and we’re on the precipice of doing maybe irreparable harm, but it’s not too late to actually sit down and, in a respectful way, learn. To the extent that you actually take those teachings and let them reshape who you are as a society, starting with individuals, then collectivities, then communities, and finally the society as a whole.
A lot of damage has been done, and we’re on the precipice of doing maybe irreparable harm, but it’s not too late to actually sit down and, in a respectful way, learn. To the extent that you actually take those teachings and let them reshape who you are as a society, starting with individuals, then collectivities, then communities, and finally the society as a whole.
To me, that’s the promise of maintaining our traditions and engaging with the larger society on those teachings and traditions. So, constantly reminding outside governments—Canadian governments and outside governments—about the Two Row Wampum treaty9 and what that means: its concept of independence and interdependence in the atmosphere of respect, peace, and friendship. The Ohèn:ton Karihwatéhkwen about gratitude, thanksgiving, and humility as part of a set of reciprocal relationships in the natural environment of which human beings are one.
All these kinds of things—and you could go on and on. People give lip service to those now, since the seventies and the environmental movement and stuff, but now people are really starting to say, “Okay, what does that really mean? And how can I use those things to reshape my existence, and then to turn around and make it an element, or to reshape the collective existence of the community that I live in?”
That’s why we do what we do in engaging with the larger society and trying to offer these teachings. Because we have a fundamental belief in their… “wisdom” is too light a word... their profound wisdom. The world has a lot to learn from Indigenous peoples on these issues of coexistence, peace, sustainability, respect—all of these concepts which people have tried to reform, people have tried to rethink. But it’s kind of like they run up against the wall, or all the space in the capitalist, liberal, western philosophical sphere is used up. It’s like there are no more ideas. And now we have to come to the other spheres that are out there, and we’re one.
INL: What are some of the positive manifestations of change based on these ideas that are taking place?
Taiaiake: Yeah, there are positive manifestations of change happening. I've, for a long time, had the benefit of being in a position as a university-based scholar to be able to travel around the world, meeting people, contributing to community's work, studying different phenomena in the political and social sphere where people were actually trying to take some of these ideas and put them into practice. And it was really motivating, I would say, and really contributed to the optimism that I have, that I carry with me in knowing that all over the world, there are people who recognize the need to put into practice these values and principles that we've been talking about.
There's probably thousands of collectives and community-based initiatives, and certainly hundreds of thousands of individuals, who are committed to this. From in my community, the ones that I work in, people trying to re-envision unity and reenact the unity of our people based on our traditional teachings and under our ancient law, the Kaianere’kó:wa (also known as Gayanashagowa)—the great law of peace to breathe life back into our nationhood, to restore treaty relationships in a true sense with communities that surround us and the governments that we relate to.
There are people putting real work into this and dedicating their lives to it. There are language revitalization movements where people have recognized the peril of allowing our indigenous languages to die, not just in the sense of it being a tragic loss to a particular set of people, but a loss to the world in terms of the knowledge and the particular knowledge of particular territories that those languages embody and carry forward, and taking up the responsibility to dedicate themselves to the preservation of that language and the revitalization of it.
I see people all over Indigenous North America committing to teach their kids their language and raise them in language nests like the Maori have done and Hawaiians have done. That movement has really spread to North America in a big way. And there's people, even in a non-Indigenous context, I can point to who kind of recognize and are influenced by these teachings.
It always motivates the hell out of me to see and to hear from people who are not Indigenous, who say, "Oh yeah, I listened. I heard this speaker, or I heard you speak and I read your book, and it really changed my whole view of what I do. And now look at what I'm doing and I want to tell you about what I'm doing." And that, to me, is so amazing to know and to feel like, "Oh, our teachings are actually impacting, for the good, the transformation that's happening in the world. We're contributing to it." It seems to me—I'm prejudiced, of course—but all the ones of real meaning and real value that are actually accomplishing good are based on understandings that are drawn from Indigenous philosophies and Indigenous teachings.
It's a creation of networks of humans who are committed to those things, whether or not they're from Indigenous communities or the settler society. It's the rewiring of relationships that I think is important.
I have a friend who has a coffee company and travels all over Central America, using all the profits to support Indigenous local coffee producers and their communities and families, and has a whole model of cooperative development with them and brings their product to the North American market. He sells it, channels all the profits directly back into those communities. So it's a business, it's coffee, but it's also resurgence, and it's also being a good human being and rewiring the relationship between the North and South.
It's those kinds of things that really motivate me when I think about it. And I say, "Wow, my book or the teachings that I just transferred from our culture into that sphere have connected in a way that that person can use them in order to guide the work that they're doing." That's what keeps me going in terms of doing that work.
The reach is pretty far on these teachings. The important thing, though, now to consider, is that we have all of these things happening, and they're like small nodes. So they're small nodes, and they're isolated to a certain extent. And the challenge that I think we need to really take up is connecting those and forming them into a movement. Meaning, we have mutual support, we generate enough of a movement where it can actually present an example to people who maybe haven't read our book, who just see it operating and want to be part of it.
So, the challenge is to link all of these struggles—not just on the internet—because I think that social media and the work that we do to share the vision and communicate is important. But we have to find a way to really link them in a real way on a human level, in terms of making those connections, and not just relying on amplifying voices on the internet and things like that.
I can't even think of a way right now because of the disciplinary instinct of states to suppress anything that challenges the political and the business model that the elites benefit from. But I know that this has to happen. We have to figure out a way to do it. So, it has to be a resurgence movement that is going to transcend individual lives and small collectivities to become a large-scale societal movement for change. The how we do it? Haven't figured that out yet.
You can learn more about Taiaiake Alfred here, explore the Kahnawà:ke Governance Project here, and find his books here.
Kahnawà:ke, a Mohawk territory located just south of Montreal, Quebec, is a vibrant community with a strong cultural and spiritual connection to its ancestral land. Known for its resilience and self-governance, Kahnawà:ke is home to the Mohawk people, who continue to uphold their traditions while navigating the complexities of contemporary life. The community plays a crucial role in preserving the language, customs, and values of the Mohawk Nation, while also actively engaging in political and social matters related to Indigenous rights and sovereignty.
Mohawk, a member of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, is one of the Indigenous nations of the northeastern woodlands, with a rich cultural history rooted in principles of peace, unity, and respect for nature. The Mohawk people, traditionally known as the "Keepers of the Eastern Door," have long been stewards of their ancestral lands, shaping their identity around a deep connection to the earth and a collective sense of responsibility to one another and future generations.
Ron LaFrance was a Mohawk leader from Akwesasne, known for his advocacy in preserving Indigenous culture, sovereignty, and environmental stewardship. He worked to strengthen traditional governance and build connections between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities.
In 1534, Jacques Cartier, a French navigator, arrived in what is now known as Canada, initiating the first European contact with the region. His voyages led to the French claim over the land, which had been inhabited by Indigenous peoples for millennia. Cartier's interactions with the St. Lawrence Iroquoians marked the beginning of a long history of colonization, exploitation, and displacement of Indigenous communities, laying the groundwork for French settlement in North America.
Sustained contact means that these interactions were no longer just isolated events or short visits but became ongoing relationships that affected both European settlers and Indigenous peoples. These interactions shaped the history and development of the region, both in terms of colonization and the long-term impacts on Indigenous communities.
Tekani Teioha:te means “Two Paths” or “Two Roads”, and refers to what in English is called the Two Row Wampum.
Kaianerekowa, the Great Law of Peace, is the guiding law of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, promoting peace, unity, and collective responsibility. Based on the medicine Kanon'kwa:tsera, its goal is to spread peace and end war, serving as a model for global harmony.
Wampum belts are central to Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) cultures, including the Mohawk, serving as living records of treaties, agreements, and historical events. They hold significant value in Mohawk and Haudenosaunee governance, symbolizing leadership, truth, and responsibility. These belts are used in council meetings and ceremonies to ensure the accurate transmission of messages and uphold the integrity of agreements.
The Two Row Wampum Treaty, signed in 1613 between the Haudenosaunee Confederacy and the Dutch, symbolizes a foundational agreement based on mutual respect and peaceful coexistence. The treaty is represented by a wampum belt featuring two parallel rows—one for the Haudenosaunee and one for the European settlers—each traveling down their own path without interference. The Two Row Wampum emphasizes the principles of non-interference, equality, and peaceful coexistence, reflecting a vision of sovereignty and autonomy that continues to guide Indigenous-settler relations today.