NOTE: I will be using the words "indigenous" or "native" interchangeably to refer to people who are among the original dwellers of North America. I do not know if these terms are the most PC these days, but I'm choosing them over the inaccurate "Indian" and the lengthier "Native American".
* * *
Recently, I traveled to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Santa Fe is known for its arts scene, with dozens of big-name historical artists having traveled to New Mexico to find inspiration for their work. Santa Fe is also one of the oldest cities in the United States, with narrow streets and short blocks centered around a main plaza. Daily, local creators of arts and crafts lay out blankets or carts in the main plaza with their wares on display for sale. I'm not sure if this phenomenon is actually related to Santa Fe as a congregation point for artists, since most items for sale can be bought with the bills in your wallet and thus are not "high" art that requires a sacrifice of a semester of college tuition for your kid. Plus, most cities with high tourist traffic have similar gatherings of probably unpermitted vendors selling handicrafts.
I browsed the spread blankets lining the sidewalk across from the main plaza. Most of these blankets featured jewelry--necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings--with some featuring other crafts such as pottery. Many of the products were made using local materials--stones, clay, metals, etc. A few vendors had products made with bright blue turquoise stones, which stood out to me. I began to seek out pairs of turquoise earrings for purchase.
I approached a native woman whose sprawled blanket had dozens of pairs of turquoise earrings ranging in size from the small to the very small. I squatted down and began to examine the pairs for one that I liked. I was looking for a pair with nearly identically-sized stones that were a bright blue with few speckles. As I picked up the jewelry, she and I started conversing. She told me that her mother made many of these, and she made some herself using the techniques she had learned from her mother. She talked about how her daughter did not seem too interested in learning the craft for herself, possibly sparking fear about the loss of this art form within her family.
The prices were listed on the backsides of the earring cards. As I turned them over, I hoped my eyebrows did not obviously raise. The smallest earrings were $25 per pair; as the pairs got larger, the price increased. I finally found a pair that seemed to best match my search criteria, but it did not have a price on the back. The vendor examined the pair and did a visual comparison with the other pairs for sale. Based on the pairs I had looked at, I had guessed she would quote $30 or $35; she priced the unmarked pair at $40.
For a split second, I considered haggling. I considered pointing out to her that there were larger pairs that were priced at $35, and besides, aren't you supposed to haggle with street vendors? I also considered that I might tell her I'd come back and I'd wander into some nearby tourist shops to see if they carried turquoise earrings at a lower price.
But what would that save me? Another $5 or $10?
The race and power dynamic also ran through my head. How would I, as a white man, feel about haggling with an indigenous woman over $5 or $10?
Not comfortable enough, is the answer. I pulled out two $20 bills and handed them to her. She placed the earrings in a bag along with a business card which had the name of some organization on it above her name. So she appeared to be part of some kind of co-op or business venture.
I walked away wondering about the implications of the economic transaction I had just conducted. There had been a transfer of money from a person belonging to a historically privileged people group to a person belonging to a historically oppressed people group. The amount transferred may have been too much--though an economist would argue that the price was correct since I paid it. But, given the history of white-native relations, my sacrifice of $5 to $10 is a negligible amount to pay (nor does it absolve anyone of past or present crimes). The transaction put money--without any deductions for credit card service fees--directly into the hands of a native woman rather than a tourist shop. It reminded me of the call to support black-owned businesses following the George Floyd protests.
Then again, this one woman is not a stand-in for the entire native population. Just as I am not a stand-in for the entire white population.
I suppose some incredibly progressive folks could chastise me for this transaction. Maybe I didn't buy from the "right" native woman. She appeared to be part of some kind of co-op; plus, she had the means to travel to downtown Santa Fe and sell her wares. Shouldn't my money have gone to another native person with less privilege?
Probably, but how am I supposed to find that person? I could delay my transaction indefinitely trying to do so. And, were I to find that person, where is the line between an honest purchase of something that I want versus a patronizing, colonialist white-savior-complex charity consumption?
The politics of this simple transaction were much more complicated than I anticipated dealing with during my first full day in New Mexico.
* * *
Later that day, I visited the New Mexico Museum of Art. This museum appeared to be partially funded by taxpayer money, because New Mexico residents get a $10 discount on the entry fee.
The museum was also a good size. My beef with art museums is that there is usually too much content. To fully connect with art, I believe you have to spend time with each piece observing, pondering, considering the statement the artist is making. There is a lot of synthesis your brain has to conduct to properly engage. Due to a museum's typical operating hours, that's a near impossibility in a large, multi-floor gallery like the SF MOMA or the Guggenheim (not to mention the associated emotional drain). I suppose this is why people become members of art museums--to meter the consumption of art and experience it in bite-sized chunks.
But I digress. The New Mexico Museum of Art was slightly larger than my optimal size, but it was certainly an improvement over other art museums I have visited.
Owing to the sizable historical and continued presence of indigenous populations in New Mexico, the museum featured dozens of pieces by indigenous artists or of indigenous subjects. What struck me was the thought of how native art probably changed following a trauma such as colonization. Entire cultures were smashed, not just by the literal extinction of people groups, but because the trajectory of art produced by indigenous cultures was permanently altered. The content of the art pivots from the joy and celebration of life to deep anguish and agony as the trauma is processed. The culture's art never returns to the way that it was. What art pieces have we lost because they were never created?
Below is a selection of some of the pieces of art on display at the museum that led me down this thought path.
* * *
Also, this is not an indigenous work, but it is related to the oppression and subjugation of minorities. This was a reproduction of part of Judith Baca's Great Wall of Los Angeles mural on display at the museum. It was one of my favorite pieces because its message was accessible and its focus is on urban design.
It tells a very clear story of the relationship between the Latino population and the freeway system dividing communities and families while destroying homes and entire ways of life. Meanwhile, those who attempt to fight are criminalized.
