Been caught stealing
Michael F. Brown lectures on the appropriation of Native culture
INthe 1890s, Mennonite missionary H.R. Voth attempted the conversion of Third Mesa Hopi in Oraibi. Though his efforts to spread Christianity were not particularly successful, Voth immersed himself in Hopi culture and became increasingly invested in knowing details of Hopi religion. According to the writing and research of Michael F. Brown, author of Who Owns
Native Culture? (Harvard University Press, 2003), disseminating this knowledge outside of Hopi eventually became Voth’s primary source of income, as he was hired to produce major displays and exhibits for Southwestern tourist sites. His interest in Hopi spirituality put him at odds with his own church — and when the Hopi realized he had been sharing closely held information about and photographs of their religious ceremonies, he fell out of favor with the tribe.
“Voth’s publication of the details of important rituals offended Hopi sensibilities about the proper circulation of knowledge,” Brown writes. “To outsiders, contemporary Hopis seem almost fanatically committed to secrecy. They forbid the use of cameras, audio recorders, and sketchpads by visitors, a policy that annoys Anglo tourists accustomed to photographing whatever they like.”
In the field of anthropology, Voth’s dissemination of private Hopi knowledge and images is defined as “cultural appropriation.” This neutral academic term generally refers to any sort of theft of cultural intellectual property — whether it is a white missionary sharing photographs of indigenous rituals without permission or a Navajo artist carving Hopi kachinas and selling them to tourists. But in popular culture, cultural appropriation — a topic that has hit the zeitgeist in recent years — tends to encompass only the former example, because it is an instance of the dominant white society stealing from a smaller, oppressed culture. The conversation that is taking place online, on college campuses, and in the media often lacks nuance; instances of true cultural or racial insensitivity — such as white people dressing in Indian costumes for Halloween — are not well distinguished from what anthropologists would consider cultural sharing or borrowing of fashion, food, and music in a multicultural society. Social-media callout culture tends to automatically equate cultural appropriation with racial malice, which garners far more attention than the conversation about what is legally possible when a culture wants to protect its intellectual property. Brown, the president of the School for Advanced Research, sheds some light on this important if less viscerally passionate angle of the debate in “Stop Stealing Our Culture!: Protecting Cultural Heritage of Indigenous Peoples,” a Southwest Seminars presentation, on Monday, Sept. 25. His other books include Upriver: The Turbulent Life and Times of an Amazonian People (Harvard University Press, 2014).
“You have to take the whole movie back about 15 years, when the question of appropriation of indigenous intangible cultural expression emerged as a significant issue,” he said. “We’re talking about biological knowledge — or bio-piracy — and the appropriation of indigenous stories or design elements by non-indigenous people. One very powerful story is the appropriation of the Zia sun symbol by the state of New Mexico.”
In the mid-1990s, Zia Pueblo requested $76 million from the state of New Mexico for its unauthorized use since 1925 of the sun symbol on the state flag. Santa Fe archaeologist Harry Mera designed the yellow and red flag for a contest held by the Daughters of the American Revolution in 1920. “It was portrayed as a completely ridiculous thing, but I interviewed the pueblo leader and it turned out there was a lot of truth to what they were saying. Mera appropriated the design with some small changes, and he didn’t ask how anyone would feel about it.” SAR held the original pot on which the sun symbol appeared, which was used to prove the pueblo’s claim; it has since repatriated the item. The lesson was not lost on Southwest Airlines. Before creating New Mexico One in 2000 — a specialty airplane painted to resemble the state flag — the company consulted with Zia Pueblo on the use of its symbol. “I was told that some money was put into the pueblo’s college scholarship fund, and then it was this public relations success where religious leaders came out and blessed the plane when it was unveiled, and everyone felt good about it because it was a transaction of respect,” Brown said.
Conversations to avoid hurt feelings and eventual legal claims can take time, but they may be the best long-term, culturally sensitive solution. “Back in the day, people were [saying] that there should be a cultural copyright. Trademarks, which are the life of the author plus 70 years, are an interesting exception, but patent and copyright are a time-limited monopoly, at the end of which that information goes into the public domain. The problem with that is that Native Americans don’t want their information in the public domain, and the protections are time-limited for a culture they rightfully perceive as eternal. Patents can
Native Americans don’t want their information in the public domain, and the protections are time-limited for a culture they rightfully perceive as eternal. — author Michael F. Brown
only last 20 years.” Though many claims of cultural appropriation may be morally defensible, legal remedies are another matter. The United States has not figured out how to keep intellectual property out of the hands of overseas bootleggers who sell blackmarket versions of American DVDs and CDs. If the United States can’t prevent this theft in the context of world intellectual property agreements, Brown asked, “What are the odds that a small indigenous population is going to be able to protect its information from being abused?”
SAR’s Indian Arts Research Center is working on a creative solution to intellectual-property issues by engaging in a collections review process with Zuni and Acoma Pueblos. Every item in the IARC collection that is associated with a pueblo is examined and discussed by designated members of the community. The information obtained is recorded, transcribed, and translated, if necessary — and then turned back over to the pueblos. “They are free to sequester or remove anything they feel is culturally sensitive. The records belong to them, but we get a reviewed, edited version. And the process can get repeated a decade from now, because people’s understandings change over time,” Brown said.
Biographical information from H.R. Voth indicates he found his relationships with the Hopi to be cordial. But some Hopis recall him barging uninvited into kiva ceremonies and even kicking people when asked to leave. Though recipients of his treatment no doubt saw it as sinister, the dominant society took years to catch up. “By today’s standards, Voth’s behavior was completely unacceptable and abusive. It’s not clear the Hopis were in a position to do much about it, and that’s where colonialism comes in. By the standards of his time, however, it’s fair to say that it was acceptable — which is not to say it was forgivable,” Brown said.
“In our highly politicized, highly racialized atmosphere, it’s hard to get agreement on these things, and we are going to have to have some awkward conversations. Neocons look at a lot of this as political correctness gone berserk — but I do think it’s important to make distinctions between forms of cultural appropriation that are innocuous and those that are potentially destructive and hurtful. One thing I used to tell my undergraduate students at Williams College when they would say something written a century ago wasn’t politically correct is that the person or author they’re talking about was considered progressive in their time. And 50 years from now, people are going to be looking at the things we thought or wrote, asking what was wrong with us. I’ve come to the humbling conclusion that people of goodwill do the best they can in the word in which they live, as they understand it in their lifetime.”