'I needed to do something': How Indigenous people are building solidarity

Meet the activists, artists, and ordinary people who are finding ways to strengthen community bonds during the pandemic.

These indigenous activists, artists, elders, and musicians are building solidarity in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.

ByRachel Hartigan

Photographs byJosué Rivas

May 15, 2020

8 min read

Activist Eryn Wise is living out of a camper van in New Mexico so she can organize the distribution of protective gear to pueblos and the Navajo Nation, where there have been more than 3,500 reported cases of COVID-19.

Lyla June, a performing artist and scholar, has distributed some 500 microgrants through her artists’ collective to indigenous people suffering from the coronavirus-related economic collapse.

Carlesia Tully is making face masks. The stay-at-home mother made them for her sister, who is an EMT on the Navajo reservation, and her aunt, who is a nurse. Then she made masks for their co-workers. Then she went to the local store to buy diapers and realized that none of the workers had protective gear so she made masks for them. Then she made masks for the store’s customers, the post office employees, and the gas station attendants. “I lost count at like 1,700,” she says.

a woman posting for a portrait — Eryn Wise“I have a lot of love for my people” says Eryn Wise, who is Jicarilla Apache and Laguna Pueblo. When the pandemic struck, the community organizer left her home in Arizona for Dulce, New Mexico, on the Jicarilla Apache Reservation. She is providing aid to her people through Seeding Sovereignty, an indigenous women-led organization.

a text message — Eryn Wise“I have a lot of love for my people” says Eryn Wise, who is Jicarilla Apache and Laguna Pueblo. When the pandemic struck, the community organizer left her home in Arizona for Dulce, New Mexico, on the Jicarilla Apache Reservation. She is providing aid to her people through Seeding Sovereignty, an indigenous women-led organization.

a man sitting on his floor — Xiuhtezcatl MartinezMartinez meditates at his home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A hip hop artist of Mexica descent, he uses music as an outlet for self expression and to awaken the masses. “Self care is key for my creativity and I’ve been doing that while sheltering in place” says Martinez, who is currently working on a mixtape to be released this summer.

a woman with her child — Carlesia TullyTully, a member of the Diné Nation, learned to sew as the pandemic started to reach her community. “I needed to do something about it,” she says. She is holding her son at their home in Rock Point, Arizona, on the Navajo reservation.

a man posing for a picture — Taboo“I’m using my platform to bring relief to our people” says Jaime Gomez, who performs as Taboo with the musical group Black-Eyed Peas, from his home in Los Angeles. Gomez, who comes from Shoshone, Hopi and Mexican lineages, is taking part in online panels to bring awareness to the ways COVID-19 is affecting indigenous peoples.

Wise, June, and Tully embody the idea of solidarity, a powerful force in indigenous communities. “It means being there for each other, taking care of one another, treating each other as kin,” says June, who is Diné (Navajo) and Tsétsêhéstâhese (Cheyenne). (Tully is Diné; Wise is Jicarilla Apache and Laguna Pueblo.) “It’s creating that sense of emotional connection and therefore a responsibility to help each other out.”

Photographer Josué Rivas made portraits of these women, among others, because he wanted to convey that sense of solidarity, especially during the pandemic.

Rivas had been having a difficult time at the beginning of the stay-at-home order in Portland, Oregon, where he lives. The news was dire, he didn’t know how he would do his work, and he dreaded what COVID-19 would do to the indigenous community. “I was in a bit of a panic, to be honest,” he says.

So he reached out to his elders for help. “That’s a thing that a lot of native people do,” says Rivas, who is Mexica and Otomi. “When there’s an unstable environment, you try to reach to those people that have taught you about ceremonies or traditional ways.”

One elder, his uncle, encouraged him to check in on indigenous people he knew. “That’s one of your medicines,” Rivas says his uncle told him. “You’re good at that.” Another, his friend Pualani Case, who is Hawaiian, reminded him that indigenous people practice solidarity.

That advice sparked an idea. He could make photographs during video calls with friends and people he respected.

Doug Good Feather"This virus is a teacher” says Doug Good Feather from his home in Louisville, Colorado. Born and raised on the Standing Rock Indian reservation, he is the executive director of the Lakota Way Healing Center. For Good Feather, who contracted COVID-19 and recovered, this pandemic has been a time to take action. “We have to stay healthy," he says, "and keep our mind, hearts, and body clean.”

a woman sitting outside — Pualani CaseDespite the restrictions of sheltering in place, indigenous peoples are still fighting to protect their homelands. “There are those everywhere around the world standing for their mountains, for their waters, for their land bases, their oceans, and their life ways. We are not different from them. We stand,” says Case, a Kanaka Maoli or Hawaiian and protector of the mountain Mauna Kea. She pauses near a sacred site on Waimea Island, Hawai’i, to pray and ask for guidance.

woman holding a guitar in her home — Lyla JuneSheltering in place at her home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, to protect her elders, June and her colleagues at Dream Warriors Management are hosting educational webinars and donating the proceeds to native families struggling during the COVID-19 crisis. “We started something small and quickly grew to something big,” says June.

a man in his home — Santiago X“I’m making portals with my art,” says Santiago X, an indigenous futurist, multidisciplinary artist and architect, and member of the Koasati and Chamoru nations. After recovering from COVID-19, he is making streetwear face masks that read "Protect Our Elders" and "We Are the Medicine."

The process “became almost like a ritual,” Rivas says. He photographed eight people—activists and artists, elders and musicians. He would talk with each person for an hour or so, and they would work together to make a portrait. Rather than photographer and subject, he says, they became collaborators.

After the photo session, the conversation continued by text. “I wanted to really understand or even allow them to think of how they’re building solidarity right now,” says Rivas.

“Even for myself, I asked how am I going to show solidarity right now,” he says. His answer? “By doing what I know how to do best.”

Rachel Hartigan Shea is a staff writer covering history and culture for National Geographic.

Josué Rivas (Mexica/Otomi) is a Portland-based photographer and educator working at the intersection of art, journalism, and social justice. Follow him on Instagram.