It’s sunny, but the sky is gray. A heavy, cloying film of smoke hangs over us here, blown in on Wednesday’s winds. The fires aren’t here. They’re up in Washington State.
That’s right. The wildfires in the Pacific Northwest are affecting us here in Northern New Mexico, at a local elevation of 7,500 feet.
This are the wages of anthropogenic climate change.
Wednesday dawned bright and clear and autumnal, the snap in the air more reminiscent of late September than the dog days of summer. By early afternoon, the winds had risen, the aspen leave silvering as they turned their backs to its force. After the oppressive midday heat of recent weeks, it was a welcome development.
Until later in the day, when what the winds brought began to shows itself.
Smoke.
Yesterday, the sun rose around a low and blanketing layer of clouds and haze, a product of the temperature inversions that mark fall and winter mornings in this place at the foot of the great peaks. Before the sun was fully clear of the ridgeline, however, the smoke and smog had already overtaken the day, and it only worsened as the hours ticked past. This morning was heralded by an encore performance.
Yesterday morning, we were wondering aloud where the fire was; we assumed that it would not be a controlled burn, because it’s been far too unseasonally dry here to do it safely. Then, yesterday afternoon, we learned that the fires were more than a thousand miles distant, and the August winds that should be bearers of rain were instead carrying the smoke down to us, a journey of some 1,400 miles, to rest above this desert valley. The smoke rode vanguard, but the scent of burned wood was delayed, arriving only a little before evening yesterday.
We have been fortunate here this year with regard to the effects of climate change, at least in this one specific regard. We are suffering now, with no rain in what should be our wettest season, but an unusually late winter and what now appears to have been a remarkably early monsoon season, from May to early July, nullified this year’s wildfire season virtually completely. There have been years (among them, two short years ago) when the fires have been so bad that every day is gray and it’s dangerous to go outside without covering one’s nose and mouth, when the smoke is heavy you can almost see the ash in the air and feel the particulates on your skin, when dusk turns sun into a blood-red orb and night makes moon its crimson counterpart.
Still, we know that the very phenomenon that gave us the early moisture is the same one that has plunged us into drought and the smoke of distant fires now. This is not a good thing, although we can strive to find silver linings; what is sure and certain is that we have no choice but to adapt.
It’s a process Natives know well; it’s what we have always done, albeit with greater speed and urgency in the last half-millennium. In that time, it has been one of the hallmarks of the teachings of our leaders, our elders, those to whom the dreams and visions are given: Keep to the old ways, preserve the traditions, walk the road . . . but adapt, because what is to come will destroy you if you don’t.
Too often outsiders, those who sees authenticity only in the stereotypical Hollywood Native, the “noble savage” of the white world’s “literature” and myth, want to force what they regard as a “return” to some mystical, mythical past. Absent wholesale apocalypse, it can’t be done, and even then, it’s not likely.
Apocalypse itself, on the other hand, is looking all too close for comfort, as the visions, the words of elders long since walked on echo on the same winds now carrying the smoke.
Today’s featured work embodies all of this and more: It renders our world in apocalyptic themes and transcendent imagery. From its description in the Other Artists: Wall Art gallery:
Chief Jo’s Vision
This framed collage by Preston Bellringer (Yakama/Assiniboine) melds ancient prophecies with modern media in a piece that harks back to a ’60s ethos and feel. The iconic central photograph of Chief Joseph in the upper half of the collage is surrounded by a complex synthesis of images in multiple media: photography, paint, pen and ink, even children’s stick-on decals, all telling a layered intertribal story of warriors protecting the people in their quest for a better time, a better place, one of peace. The studded wood frame is 25.25″ high by 8.5″ wide; the visible image (no glass cover) is 22.75″ high by 6″ wide (all dimensions approximate).
Mixed media; wood
$125 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply
When I first wrote about this work here, more than a year ago, I focused on what it meant for sovereignty, for Native autonomy and existence. Of course, it’s impossible to separate those themes from today’s discussion, too. As I said then:
Hinmuuttu-yalatlat survived another quarter-century. Recognizing the futility of challenging the U.S. Army’s massive numbers and firepower, he nevertheless continued to fight in his own way, challenging their words. He spoke, plainly and proudly, to anyone and everyone who would listen. He insisted on the Native right to self-determination, to autonomy, to sovereignty, to existence — as men, as women, as human beings.
He did not, in his lifetime, create the world that he so devoutly wished to see. But his words have outlived his body, unto the seventh generation and beyond, and they are sound guides for our peoples today in the same ongoing fight for the same existential rights.
Warrior, leader, elder, teacher, he remains, well over a century later, a hero to our peoples and a role model for our own work. It is why Wings has his image tattooed on his upper arm: a reminder of the need for courage and conviction, of the need to adapt but continue the fight, of the need to stand on our principles and keep our traditions alive.
For our people.
I used, of course, the real name of the man we have come to call Chief Joseph.” It’s a small enough courtesy, but one that is necessary — to recognize the man as who he was, not who outsiders preferred him to be.
I also noted, even back then, the need to adapt. Yes, we must continue the fight: for our existence, for sovereignty, for saving this world and transforming it into a better one for our children’s children’s children. But we cannot do that by ignoring what has come to pass, nor by longing for some fictional imagining of a past long gone. We have to deal with what is, face it head-on and work to correct the damage done while striving to ensure a better future.
It will not be a pretty process; talk of “love and light” and other New Age notions are sorely misplaced in this discussion. What’s to come will be often be harsh and brutal, manifestations of peace and love on any kind of macro scale (and micro as well) few and far between. But the work must be done, if we are to rescue our Mother Earth from the jeopardy in which we humans, collectively, have placed her, if we are to leave a world, much less a better world, for future generations.
It’s time to adapt, and get down to work. It’s the road, the journey, and the destination.
That’s a vision our elders foretold, too.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
