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The Doctrine of Discovery was the embodiment of the European ruling class’ insatiable desire for expansion and control over the New World. These powers, backed by papal authority, deployed the notion of terra nullius, meaning “nobody’s land,” to justify their claims over Indigenous territories across Turtle Island.¹

This era of so-called discovery was first set in motion with Christopher Columbus landing on what is today known as the Americas in 1492.² Four years later, this period of discovery was further highlighted by John Cabot’s arrival on the shores of what we now call Newfoundland on June 24, 1497.³

In the following century, French explorer Jacques Cartier took three journeys to the New World funded by King Francis I of France. These 16th-century explorations marked the peak of the Age of Discovery, spanning from 1534 to 1541.⁴

On July 24, 1534, Cartier landed on the Gaspé Peninsula, claiming the territory for France under the authority of the Doctrine of Discovery, though it had long been inhabited by the Mohawk and Mi’kmaq Indigenous peoples.⁵

Two years later, Cartier journeyed up what became known as the St. Lawrence River to an Indigenous village in today’s Quebec in 1536, and on his final expedition in 1541, Cartier explored the St. Lawrence up to the mouth of the Great Lakes, opening up the New World to further European exploration and settlement.⁶

The journey to Turtle Island for these so-called explorers was intertwined with the concurrent birth of the Discovery Doctrine, and both historical currents profoundly reshaped the trajectory of human history.

The inception of the Discovery Doctrine is attributed to a series of Papal Bulls, including Romanus Pontifex (1455) and Inter Caetera (1493).⁷ These religious edicts empowered European Christian monarchs with the authority to discover, claim, and convert all non-Christian Indigenous peoples and their territories.

Later, the doctrine’s judicial legitimacy was further affirmed by the landmark 1823 U.S. Supreme Court case Johnson v. McIntosh, which upheld the exclusive right of European nations to acquire American lands from its Indigenous inhabitants.⁸

Upon codification into the U.S. Constitution and Canadian Confederation, the Doctrine of Discovery was used to facilitate state-sanctioned land theft, child slavery, and genocidal attempts at ethnic cleansing against the Indigenous population of Turtle Island.⁹

The Discovery Doctrine set in motion a relentless wave of colonization and exploitation of the Indigenous peoples of the so-called New World. For this reason, in recent years, there have been escalating calls to reassess and discard the doctrine due to its detrimental effects on Indigenous rights and sovereignty.¹⁰

Vatican’s Role: Doctrine of Discovery & Indigenous Impact

On March 30, 2023, the Catholic Church issued a statement distancing itself from the contentious “Doctrine of Discovery.”¹¹ The Church declared that the doctrine does not reflect the teachings of the Catholic faith and that the historical papal documents used to justify it do not accurately represent the Church’s beliefs.¹²

The Church officially repudiated any concept that fails to acknowledge the rights of Indigenous peoples, stating that they “seek to foster reconciliation and healing.”¹³

The Catholic Church’s actions have instigated a reevaluation of the significant role that the Vatican has played in shaping the colonial policies of countries like Canada.¹⁴

In very simple terms, at the beginning of this historical period known as the Age of Discovery, the Vatican stood alone as a religious institution that could wield the state power and authority of divine right, which was used as an ideological foundation for colonial expansion—contributing directly to the dispossession and colonial subjugation of Indigenous populations in the name of civility and Christendom.¹⁵

In response to the Catholic Church’s recent statement, a thorough examination of Canada’s past and present is required to understand the complex relationship that the Vatican’s religious influence had on colonization, and how it is connected directly to the ongoing struggles of Indigenous peoples here on Turtle Island today.¹⁶

Doctrine of Discovery: Indigenous Struggles in Canada

As we examine the conquest of Turtle Island and the infamous Doctrine of Discovery that facilitated it, we must do so while remaining committed to promoting restitution, healing, and justice for all Indigenous peoples, and the protection of their territories.

Firstly, I’d like to acknowledge that this podcast has been recorded on unceded Indigenous territory. Tiohtià:ke, otherwise known as Montréal, is celebrated historically as a convergence point for several Indigenous nations, including the Haudenosaunee and Anishinaabeg peoples. Today, this area remains inhabited by a diverse mix of Indigenous communities and Canadian settlers from a variety of ethnic backgrounds.¹⁷

The history of these lands that we now call Canada provides context to our collective existence, offering solace and understanding in its reflection, and gives space, not to place blame, but to better understand ourselves, how we have historically treated each other, and the natural world around us.

Those of us privileged enough to live on Turtle Island today must never forget the struggles faced by the Indigenous peoples who inhabited these lands long before the colonial creation of Canada ever existed.¹⁸

As settlers, it is our duty to reconcile with the realities of our colonial past, and to assist in the struggle for true restitution, restoration of Indigenous land title, self-determination, and sovereignty.¹⁹

In these efforts, it is hoped we can acknowledge the profound impacts that these historical atrocities have had on the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, and the intrinsic connection that was once held between the inhabitants of these lands, and the land itself.²⁰

Throughout this series, we aim to cohesively portray the chilling legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery and the catastrophic effects it had on the Indigenous civilizations of Turtle Island. This, a sobering reminder of the veiled colonial underpinning that makes up the identity of so-called Canada, hidden beneath our feet in these vast picturesque landscapes and multicultural cities.²¹

Like any introspective journey, we will begin with an acknowledgement of the past, recognizing the systemic oppression practiced, and historical erasure implemented to cover up the genocidal acts of these colonial institutions.²²

Colonial Legacy: Indigenous Struggles & Resource Exploitation in Canada

As European powers sought to expand their influence, they engaged in practices that disrupted traditional ways of life, undermined Indigenous sovereignty, and threatened the survival of entire Indigenous civilizations.²³

The territorial acquisition of so-called Canada was achieved through a complex and tumultuous history marked by the displacement of Indigenous communities, driven by jingo imperialism, fraudulent treaties, and brutal—often deadly—colonial enforcement carried out by both the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Canadian Armed Forces.²⁴

As a colonial state, Canada’s reliance on resource extraction has perpetuated ongoing colonization and exploitation of the land it was founded on. The vast natural resources across what is now called Turtle Island have played a significant role in the development of Canada as a colonial entity. With abundant deposits of oil, gas, and minerals such as zinc, nickel, and gold, Canada has become one of the world’s largest suppliers of precious metals and fossil fuels.²⁵

But this exploitation has come with unimaginable costs for Indigenous peoples, who have been systematically displaced, dispossessed, and historically oppressed by colonial resource extraction projects and their environmental practices.²⁵ The mining industry has shaped Canada’s economy for over a century, particularly in northern regions where agriculture was unviable, creating towns sustained only by nearby mines—often at the expense of the land and the health of Indigenous communities.²⁴

As covered in our last episode, the Canadian Prairies—now major global producers of wheat and canola—have a deep history of Indigenous land dispossession, with acts of resistance like those led by Louis Riel ending in colonial violence and fatal state-sanctioned consequences.²³

European colonization also unleashed an unexpected deluge of disease across Turtle Island, causing devastation unlike anything seen before. Settlers carried pathogens that Indigenous populations had never encountered, with no natural immunity to protect them.²³ Illnesses like smallpox, influenza, measles, and chickenpox spread swiftly across trade and travel routes, decimating communities from coast to coast.

Modern historical narratives often excuse this devastation as an unfortunate byproduct of human migration and progress. But such framing conveniently dodges the moral responsibility that colonial powers bore in introducing and even weaponizing disease.²⁶ Colonization wasn’t just an environmental or territorial invasion—it was biological warfare, whether by negligence or intent.

One infamous example occurred at the 1763 Siege of Fort Pitt, where British officers allegedly gave smallpox-infected blankets to Indigenous delegates.²³ Nearly a century later, the 1862 smallpox epidemic in British Columbia saw upwards of 70% of the Tsilhqot’in Nation perish in a single wave.²⁶ Colonists took this catastrophe as an opportunity to seize depopulated land. Joseph Trutch, then Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works, canceled all treaties and ended negotiations, establishing British Columbia as a no-treaty zone before it joined Confederation.²⁷

When the Tsilhqot’in learned of a planned wagon road through their territory in 1864, they resisted, believing the epidemic had been deliberately spread to clear their lands. This resistance, which culminated in the Chilcotin War, was followed by the hanging of six Tsilhqot’in chiefs and further disease outbreaks.²⁷

The wagon road was never completed, but its proposed path later served as inspiration for the Canadian Pacific Railway’s western terminus in what is now Vancouver. In the aftermath, abandoned Tsilhqot’in villages were consolidated by colonial administrators, accelerating cultural erasure and land loss.²⁷

In 2014, British Columbia Premier Christy Clark issued a formal apology, acknowledging that “there is an indication that smallpox had been spread intentionally”—an official recognition of biological warfare committed against Indigenous communities.²⁶

The enduring legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery is still felt in First Nations communities across so-called Canada today. Indigenous peoples—roughly 5% of the population—continue to experience higher rates of poverty, incarceration, and health disparities compared to settler populations.²⁵

These disparities stem from Canada’s colonial foundations and ongoing cultural genocide. Yet Indigenous peoples have never relinquished their lands or their resistance. The same spirit that resisted invasion during the age of discovery continues today.

As settlers on Turtle Island, it is our responsibility to name this history clearly. The colonial period didn’t end; it was rebranded. And our duty is not only to acknowledge that truth but to actively dismantle the myths and revisionism that continue to justify it.²⁵

Our Mission

The main objective with this content is to build towards a profound understanding of the disastrous human catastrophe that accompanied the Europeans, and their so-called discovery and colonization of the New World. We hope to contribute to what is an ongoing conversation surrounding the history of the Canadian state, born from the conquest of Turtle Island, and raised to deny its colonial roots.²⁸

In this episode, we will begin a journey that will take us into the shadows of our own history, unearthing complex roots that will point us towards a significant confrontation with our collective past and all of the genocidal, colonial implications.²⁹

As for the word “Canada,” it is said to originate from the St. Lawrence Mohawk word kanata, meaning “village” or “settlement.”³⁰ But the story of the land that makes up present-day Canada goes back much further than the word itself.

Long before Canada was even a glimmer in a European settler’s eye, this land was home to many vibrant civilizations of Indigenous peoples—resilient communities that have been woven into the fabric of this land for thousands upon thousands of years.³¹ And while it may not seem that way, the true essence of this land that is now recognized as Canada is still very much rooted in the traditions, customs, and histories of the Indigenous peoples who have inhabited these lands long before European settlers ever arrived.³¹

This is where we will begin our examination of the Doctrine of Discovery’s colonial impacts. First, by understanding what life was like for Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island in the era before the grips of European colonialism took hold.²⁹

Confronting Colonial Mythology

New research is rewriting the narrative about the history of Turtle Island and the Indigenous peoples that first inhabited these lands. Modern scholars are beginning to challenge many deeply ingrained misconceptions that have unjustly branded the lives of these pre-Colonial Indigenous peoples as overly simplistic, unenlightened, or abandoned by the progress of civilization.³²

However, evidence suggests that pre-Colonial Indigenous societies on Turtle Island were highly sophisticated and socially advanced, thriving across the Western Hemisphere long before Europeans began to even etch images on cave walls.³²

In fact, by the time Christopher Columbus embarked on his first voyage in 1492, the population of the Meso and Southern regions of the so-called New World is believed to have exceeded that of the European Old World.³² The cultural richness among these pre-Colonial Indigenous societies also outpaced their European counterparts in many ways, a fact that is often overlooked due to entrenched cultural bias.³³

This misrepresentation of Indigenous history isn’t confined to Turtle Island. Western ethnocentrism has not only affected how we perceive geography—causing the distortion of Africa’s actual size in world maps like the Mercator projection—but it has also skewed the interpretation of Indigenous history in the so-called New World.³⁴ These distortions often lead to the marginalization of Indigenous civilizations beyond the well-documented Aztec or Inca empires.³⁴

The common narrative tends to depict the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island as passive inhabitants of a pristine wilderness. This viewpoint has even been echoed by prominent historians of the 20th century, who described these Indigenous territories as “empty space,” “wilderness,” and “virgin land.”³⁶

This contemptuous attitude towards the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island has seeped so deeply into societal consciousness that it is often accepted as a truism, requiring no proof of concept, and is merely passed down by anecdotal repetition from one generation to the next. This strategic devaluation of the demographic, cultural, and moral significance of Indigenous peoples is part of a politically driven narrative often referred to as “colonial mythology.”³⁵

Like the colonial myths that underpinned South Africa’s apartheid system, these narratives distort population estimates and exaggerate notions of Indigenous barbarism to rationalize colonial conquests.³⁵ These fabricated histories serve to justify the decimation of Indigenous cultures and alleviate any moral discomfort associated with colonization.³⁵

This trend of colonial mythology isn’t exclusive to Turtle Island—it can also be seen in South Africa, Israel, Australia, New Zealand, Central and South America, and in many other societies worldwide that have experienced colonial and post-colonial rule.³⁷ These narratives, following imperialistic logic, begin by erasing Indigenous knowledge and traditions.

Once the Indigenous peoples have been expunged from collective memory, the colonizers assert their moral and intellectual right to conquer lands for the purpose of what is often said to be human progress and civility.³⁷

To maintain a self-congratulatory national narrative, dispossessed Indigenous territories are seldom recognized as sovereign or separate nations, but are included within the colonial state’s borders and national identity. Meanwhile, demands to establish an honest narrative about the truth of these historical land seizures and acts of ethnic genocide remain largely unanswered or ignored.³⁶

Thankfully, as mentioned, a growing number of mainstream scholars now challenge these colonial narratives and strive to correct the problematic portrayal of Indigenous societies before European contact. However, some counterarguments to this viewpoint—particularly from those unfamiliar with these histories—risk idolizing pre-Colonial Indigenous civilization.³³

Hence, it’s extremely important to maintain a balanced viewpoint that acknowledges both the intricate sophistication and the mundane normalities of these Indigenous societies, while also resisting the romanticization of them as paradisiacal or utopian.³³

With that said, what we know is that despite facing many material hardships, Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island in the pre-Colonial era led lives marked by a harmonious relationship with nature—and by the bonds that relationship forged between themselves, the natural world, their collective social behavior, and their evolving political structures.³²

Early Human Arrival in the Americas: Chronology and Migration Theories

The story of the first human habitation of Turtle Island is a complex narrative rife with contentious scholarly debates and speculations, shaped by an array of disciplines including archaeology, genetics, anthropology, and paleoclimatology.³⁹

The prevailing theory long proposed that the initial human migration onto Turtle Island occurred via Beringia, a land bridge that connected what is now Alaska and eastern Siberia during the Last Glacial Maximum (approximately 26,000 to 19,000 years ago).³⁹ The harsh climatic conditions during this time period compelled these early inhabitants—most likely hunter-gatherers—to hunker down in Beringia’s refuge zones, a period of time termed the “Beringian standstill.”⁴⁰

This period’s termination marked many significant environmental shifts. The retreat of colossal glaciers, synonymous with the end of the Wisconsin glaciation period, allowed these early humans to embark toward newly accessible territory southwards. As the climate warmed, glaciers receded, the ice-free corridor between the Laurentide and Cordilleran ice sheets opened, and a route into the heart of the Americas became navigable.³⁹

This notable journey involved overcoming myriad environmental obstacles, including rugged landscapes, diverse climates, and an array of fauna. However, the early settlers proved to be incredibly resilient and adaptive, not just surviving but thriving in these novel ecosystems.⁴¹

Moreover, their descendants embarked on an extensive southward migration that led to the occupation of nearly every habitable corner of the continent, ranging from the upper Midwestern United States to the southernmost tip of South America, Tierra del Fuego.⁴¹

But the Beringian migration route isn’t the only hypothesis. More recently, scholars proposed an early coastal migration pathway, where early migrants might have traveled south along the Pacific coastline, either by sea or through a narrow, glaciated continental shelf exposed due to low sea levels.⁴² This theory is buoyed by archaeological evidence from other parts of the globe showing successful sea migrations to places like New Guinea and Australia around 50,000 years ago.⁴²

Key archaeological sites, such as the Monteverde site in Chile, have produced evidence of early human habitation dating back at least 13,000 years, with artifacts ranging from wooden structures and animal bones to grinding stones and plant remains.⁴⁰ This evidence, along with other archaeological findings, supports the existence of sophisticated human societies in both the northern and southern parts of the continent thousands of years ago.⁴⁰

Despite such compelling evidence, doubts and skepticism persist, especially given the lack of early human presence in eastern Siberia and the absence of non-modern human skeletal remains in the Americas.⁴³ However, these doubts have been scrutinized with the advent of more sophisticated dating techniques and archaeological discoveries in the late 20th century, making the debate over the exact timeline of the first human settlement of the Americas far from conclusive.⁴⁴

Kennewick Man and Early Human Migration

In 1996, along the banks of the Columbia River in Washington State, a significant archaeological finding occurred. A remarkably well-preserved Paleoamerican skeleton surfaced along the river bank, estimated to be around 9,000 years old. This relic of ancient times became popularly known as the “Kennewick Man,” or simply the “Ancient One.”⁴⁵

The discovery’s relevance increased greatly almost two decades later, in 2013, with new advancements in DNA analysis. The Kennewick Man’s physical characteristics sparked theories of varied migration sources in prehistoric times. Yet, linking him genetically to initial Beringian or Asian populations has been complex due to difficulties in categorizing ancient DNA.⁴⁶

Although Siberia is often cited as an early migration source, concrete archaeological evidence is lacking. Some speculate these ancient migrants preferred coastal climates, with traces of their journey possibly erased by subsequent marine activity.⁴⁷ It’s also possible that Beringia, extending far south during glacial peaks, may have harbored migrants from different regions, challenging the assumption of Siberia being the sole source of migration.⁴⁸

In the northeastern regions of Turtle Island, archaeological evidence of early human presence that is more than 42,000 years old is limited. However, archaeology as a discipline has continually reinforced the understanding that a lack of evidence doesn’t equate to evidence of absence. Site degradation and loss are common phenomena in severe environments, and there is always room for new discoveries.⁴⁹

This is especially relevant considering the vast time discrepancy between evidence of modern humans in the northeast regions of Turtle Island and elsewhere, possibly up to over 100,000 years. Even the belief that modern humans emerged around 42,000 to 52,000 years ago is now being debated, with new estimates indicating modern humans appeared significantly earlier, perhaps close to 200,000 years ago.⁴⁹

Advancements in linguistics and genetics have contributed to understanding the timeline and routes of the initial human migration to Turtle Island. Evidence points to multiple major population movements over the last 50,000 years.⁵⁰

The tremendous diversity of languages and cultures along the western coast of so-called Canada, especially near Vancouver, suggests it may have been an early human dispersal route.⁵¹ Despite many disruptions, Indigenous cultures of this region have persisted for over thousands of years, with over 100 tribes and First Nations dispersed across regions from B.C. to Idaho today.

Linguistic Diversity and Pre-European Settlements

Before the arrival of Europeans in 1492, Turtle Island was known for its impressive mix of diverse languages. It is estimated that there were between 1500 and 2000 different languages, which came from more than 150 unique language families. In the years prior to European contact, no other place in the world had such a wide range of language diversity.⁵²

The roots of these languages have long been a subject of academic contention. Some scholars argue that these languages evolved from a single ancestral language spoken by an early migratory group to North America around 50,000 years ago. More recent studies have countered this theory, showing that the linguistic diversity is too advanced to have been derived from less than the known 150 language families.⁵³

Historian David Stannard’s influential book, American Holocaust, provides a deep dive into the geographical and linguistic diversity in North America during the last ice age, a period that stretched from approximately 14,000 to 1,000 years ago. His research underscores the vibrant cultural diversity that marked this era, hinting at numerous unique language groups scattered across various regions of the continent.⁵⁴

One of the pivotal insights from Stannard’s work is the likelihood that distinct populations resided in isolation for extended periods. This isolation could have fostered the development of unique languages and cultural practices, each mirroring the distinctive environmental conditions and resources of the region they inhabited.⁵⁴

The timeline and population size of this expansive southward migration remain subjects of substantial academic discussion and interpretation. Understanding the migration patterns of these Indigenous groups is key to unraveling the story of the early histories of Turtle Island.⁵⁵

What we know now is that by around 17,000 years ago, Indigenous societies had taken root across various regions of Turtle Island. These included areas like the Pacific Coast, the Northern Plains, and the eastern woodlands beyond the Rocky Mountains. Their survival strategies largely revolved around hunting and gathering a diverse array of fauna and plant species.⁵⁶

These groups generally moved from the north to the south and from the west to the east, tracking the availability of resources. Interestingly, some groups traced a different trajectory, advancing northwards in alignment with the retreat of the ice age glaciers. This evolution of migration patterns reflects the high capacity for adaptability in these early Indigenous societies.⁵⁶

Similar to the debate on migration, we see an even more contentious debate about the pre-Colonial population levels of Turtle Island, which continues to attract considerable academic interest today.⁵⁷

Recent research indicates that the pre-Colonial population could have ranged from 75 to 145 million, a drastic departure from the initially estimated 8 million. This dramatic shift in population figures, resulting from a reevaluation of historical evidence, presents a counter to many traditional colonial narratives.⁵⁷

It uncovers a pre-European Turtle Island that was not only far more populous but also imbued with a level of cultural diversity far exceeding previous assumptions. This new revised perspective offers a deeper, more nuanced understanding of the history of these lands and the early Indigenous peoples that inhabited them before the era of colonization.⁵⁷

Reassessing Columbus and Early Colonial Narratives

Current historical understandings recognize Christopher Columbus not as the inaugural discoverer of so-called America, but instead as one of many European colonizers to venture there during the age of discovery.⁵⁸

This viewpoint aligns with German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller’s 1507 world map, which labeled the newfound territory as “America”, in honor of the Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci.⁵⁹

Vespucci discerned that the landmass of Turtle Island was a distinct entity, rather than an offshoot of the Asian continent.⁶⁰ Ironically, this recognition of a separate landmass is a discovery often misattributed to Columbus, rather than the namesake, Vespucci.

This initial wave of European colonizers on Turtle Island and the Caribbean Islands triggered a series of colonization efforts, with various Spanish figures leading the charge. Among them were Juan Ponce de León and Lucas Vázquez de Ayllón, who each left an enduring imprint on the colonial history of Turtle Island.⁶¹

Ponce de León, initially part of Columbus’s second voyage, later initiated his own colonial pursuits in the Southeast United States. Meanwhile, Ayllón strove to create a colony in modern-day Georgia, establishing the transient settlement of San Miguel de Gualdape in 1526.

Though, Spanish colonization efforts of this era were far from an uninterrupted success story. Pánfilo de Narváez’s ill-fated expedition to Florida in 1528 serves as an example, as it resulted in widespread death among his crew.

Notwithstanding the disastrous expedition, survivor Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca lived among several Indigenous tribes in areas of present-day Texas and northern Mexico, unwittingly facilitating a cultural cross-pollination with the Indigenous inhabitants of Turtle Island and Old World Europeans.⁶²

A host of other individuals, including the notorious Hernán Cortés, Francisco Pizarro, Hernando de Soto, and Vasco Núñez de Balboa, have left their stamp on the historical record due to the profound colonial influence they exerted during the formation of the so-called “New World.”

Reports from these explorers suggested high Indigenous populations in the colonized regions. Bartolomé de Las Casas projected that Hispaniola housed between 3 and 4 million inhabitants, while Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo estimated Panama and southern Central America hosted approximately 2 million Indigenous people. These figures, however, have recently been subject to strict re-evaluation as Indigenous populations are known to have suffered steep declines during the period of these observations, following the onset of colonization.⁶³

Insights from the Vancouver School’s Research

By the 1920s, scholarly consensus suggested the 1492 Americas’ population was no more than 40 to 50 million, later reduced to less than 14 million. Anthropologist Alfred L. Kroeber proposed 8.4 million for the Western Hemisphere, including under 1 million in Canada, and called for region-specific analysis.⁶⁴

A team from the University of British Columbia, featuring Carl Sauer, Sherburne F. Cook, and Woodrow Borah, undertook this task.⁶⁵ They examined extensive data, including church and government archives, leading to innovative demographic techniques known as the ‘Vancouver School’.⁶⁶

Their analysis estimated 25 million people in central Mexico and 8 million in Hispaniola.⁶⁷ By the 1960s, based on numerous studies, Borah suggested a pre-Columbian population exceeding 100 million.⁶⁸ Anthropologist Henry F. Dobbins later concluded that the Americas hosted 90 to 112 million people pre-Spanish arrival, a radical departure from previous estimates.⁶⁹

Due to Vancouver School’s rigorous analysis, pre-Columbian population estimates have significantly increased, providing insights into early human history and pre-European Americas, despite uncertainties.

Indigenous Diversity: Revealing Turtle Island’s Culture

Pre-colonial Indigenous societies of Turtle Island showcased a vibrant diversity in their social and political structures, suited to their specific locales and historical contexts, spanning from the furthest reaches of the Arctic down to the Peruvian Andes.

The Northwestern region of Turtle Island, stretching from Alaska to present-day Washington State, was a melting pot of diverse cultures, which included the Haida, Tlingit, Modocs, Chinooks, Makah, and many others. These societies, renowned for their warrior strength, extended their influence as far south as present-day California.⁷⁰

A significant aspect of these cultures was the way they visually represented their societal structures and hierarchies through the creation of totem poles. These intricate wood works of art, made from tree logs, served as cultural signposts, conveying narratives of family lineages, historical events, and spiritual beliefs, further reinforcing their societal dynamics.⁷¹

The social structure of these Northwestern Turtle Island societies incorporated a class of servants, largely comprised of war captives, who made up around a quarter of the population.⁷² While this system was compared to a form of chattel slavery by early European observers, it more closely resembled, for lack of a better comparison, the role of draft animals in Medieval Europe. These servants were not subjected to undue cruelty or violence, but were in fact assigned lifetime labor tasks or caregiving roles.⁷³

Yet, despite the seemingly dominating class-based structure, these societies did operate within a form of egalitarianism subtly interwoven into their social fabric. This egalitarian approach was prominently showcased in their practice of the potlatch ceremony.⁷⁴ These gatherings, characterized by extravagant feasts and competitive gift-giving, were a means to redistribute—and at times even intentionally destroy—surplus wealth rather than hoarding it.⁷⁵

Heading further south to the Pacific coastal lands that make up present-day California, the Chumash, Cahuilla, and Gabrielino or Tongva tribes exhibited unique cultural facets. Through their comprehensive mutual aid and trade networks, and multicultural feasts, they displayed remarkable adaptability to their natural and social environments.⁷⁶

The concept of a servant class, prevalent in the north, was not entirely foreign to these tribes due to occasional incursions by northern raiding tribes. Such interactions, however, led to a significant cultural schismogenesis within the Indigenous societies of this region.⁷⁷ Instead of adopting similar social structures, they resisted forming a servant class, fostering a more balanced societal system. This difference became a defining feature of their social identity.

As the Northwestern communities increasingly channeled their cultural and ceremonial expressions toward the motif of masculine-dominated aggression, the lower Pacific societies responded in kind, pivoting their focus toward matriarchal knowledge and feminine symbolism, and vice versa.⁷⁸

This is far from a rarity, but the relationship between the lower Pacific villagers and their Northwestern counterparts offers a striking case in point when it comes to an example of how these kinds of schismogenetic contrasts between neighboring societies are formed.

The social, cultural, and spiritual practices of the lower Pacific villagers would have appeared completely alien and unfamiliar to those inhabiting the Northwest, just as the practices of the Northwest inhabitants would have seemed utterly foreign and strange to the villagers of the lower Pacific.⁷⁹

It’s important to note, however, that the distinction in these societal structures were not born merely out of whimsical choice or tradition, but rational responses to their respective environmental, ecological and social circumstances.

In the case of the Indigenous societies of the northwest, where terrestrial food was scarce but marine life was bountiful, a system had to be developed to swiftly handle and mass harvest fresh fish, nearly instantly.⁸⁰

This task demanded a sizable labor force. Yet, satisfying such labor needs posed a quandary within the existing social fabric. Tribal chiefs found themselves at odds with having to implore their own tribe members into such rigorous labor, as such a move would potentially erode their authority and unsettle their position of power. Acknowledging this delicate balance, they forged a new path, by sourcing a servant class from other tribes, thereby ensuring an adequate supply of manpower.⁸¹

On the other hand, the tribes in the lower Pacific region had access to a wealth of terrestrial resources. Because of this, they didn’t depend heavily on marine life as a main food source. As a result, there was no demand for a large labor force as seen to their north, which allowed them to develop a more balanced and equal society.⁸²

The differences between the two not only reflect adaptive responses to their distinct environmental conditions, but also indicate their comparative adaptation to one another, which offers profound insights into societal evolution under these compounding circumstances.⁸³

However, it’s also important to recognize that this is a generalized comparison and not an absolute rule in any way. Obviously, first of all, I’m in no way an expert, this is an amateur endeavor, and due to time constraints, the goal here is not to detail an all-encompassing truth, but just to outline these broad cultural differences observed between these two regions.

Indigenous Agricultural and Architectural Acumen

Further southwest, communities like the Papago, Pima, and Mojave displayed remarkable cultural diversity. Notable societies like the Anasazi, Hohokam, and Moga Yan also profoundly influenced the social, cultural, and architectural landscapes of this region.⁸⁴

In fact, the southwestern region of Turtle Island showcases one of the most ideal examples of Indigenous agricultural acumen in pre-colonial times, with some methods still being employed today.⁸⁵

The Hohokam, an ancient Indigenous civilization tracing its roots back nearly seventeen hundred years, innovated comprehensive irrigation networks enabling their existence in the harsh desert.⁸⁶

With their homeland stretching across the dry terrain of the Salt and Gila River Valleys, where rainfall was a rare occurrence, the Hohokam engineered a novel irrigation methodology. This creation is hailed as one of the most advanced irrigation systems on the globe during the peak of its use.⁸⁷

Canals that could reach up to eight feet in depth and thirty feet in width, spanning miles, transformed inhospitable terrains into lush agricultural spaces. These waterways were not confined to a single use, but were prudently conserved to cultivate riparian vegetation. The design of this canal system ingeniously maximized each ounce of water, ensuring not a single drop was wasted.⁸⁸

These remarkable achievements signified the cooperative and collective nature of these societies, which strikingly contrasted with both their neighbors in the mid-Pacific and Northwestern regions of Turtle Island.⁸⁹

Contrary to their Northwestern neighbors, who relied on a well-structured workforce frequently resulting in a servant class due to their fishing economy, this society flourished through an alternate collectivist model. For the Hohokam peoples, sustaining life was a shared responsibility, not divided by class, but borne by every community member.⁹⁰

In this society, the task of managing the intricate infrastructures was collectively handled. All members contributed their labor based on the community’s needs. For example, planters were not only confined to agricultural duties but also served as guardians, protecting their crops from potential threats like pests and wildlife.

Key agricultural phases such as planting and harvesting witnessed a large group effort and participation from the entire community. This shared responsibility negated the need for a specific servant class or workforce, leading to minimal class differences, unlike their Northwestern counterparts.⁹¹

In comparison to their immediate mid-Pacific neighbors, the distinction emerges from the variance in resource availability. While the tribes in the mid-Pacific region enjoyed an abundance of terrestrial resources, negating the need for a clear servant class, the Hohokam were driven to establish a unique labor and resource management system. This necessity wasn’t done by choice or as a socio-economic experiment but rather as a survival imperative born out of their harsh desert environment.⁹²

Faced with such conditions, they were forced to adopt a collectivist agricultural approach. However, this collaborative agricultural project wasn’t just about optimizing resources. It was a requirement imposed by their unforgiving desert environment, which binded individual survival to collective agricultural success.

Had the environmental conditions been different, more extreme, or had the population been unable to uphold such efforts, it’s likely these people would have been forced to relocate to more hospitable regions.

This collectivist practice of advanced agriculture and the evasion of strict social hierarchies only worked because the desert environment necessitated such collective efforts for individual survival. It was not a preferred choice, as much as it was a survival strategy, demanding the entire community’s dedication and commitment for effective functioning.⁹³

The unprecedented canal system, unrivaled in its magnitude in its time, provided water, and consequently food, for a significant rural population. In fact, portions of the Hohokam canal system remain operative today, catering fresh water access to the metropolitan region of so-called Phoenix, Arizona.⁹⁴

The intellectual prowess of these ancient Indigenous civilizations in the southwest of Turtle Island were not limited to agriculture but extended to architectural supremacy, as well. The Anasazi civilization, especially, made a profound impact with their architectural ingenuity in the San Juan Basin, located in the area presently known as the Four Corners region of the United States.⁹⁵

Pueblo Bonito, an immense, multi-tiered residential complex believed to have been constructed over 1100 years ago and capable of housing more than 1200 inhabitants in its heyday, validates their superior construction capabilities.⁹⁶ Their architectural accomplishments were unmatched on Turtle Island until the inception of the apartment complex in Manhattan in the 19th century.

However, despite a multitude of these structures and settlements spread across the Grand Canyon, only a small fraction have been thoroughly researched, as extensive colonial incursions by looters and frontier-era artifact thieves have deprived these sites of any meaningful archaeological exploration.⁹⁷

Southeastern Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island

Turning the lens towards the Southeastern region of Turtle Island—home to today’s American colonial states such as so-called North Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, and more. This region was once a rich land filled with diverse Indigenous cultures.⁹⁸

North Carolina was home to tribes like the Cape Fear, Chickanee, Catawba (kah·taa·buh), and Cheraw (chuh-RAW) Indigenous peoples. Further south, the Chickasaw and Chakchiuma (Cha-key-uma) tribes found their homes in Alabama and Mississippi, though their descendants now live in present-day Oklahoma.⁹⁹

Florida, a cultural epicenter for the Chine, Calusa, Chatot (cha·taat), and the Seminole tribes, continues to have a vibrant Indigenous presence in this region. The Seminoles, also having communities in Oklahoma and present-day Mexico, exemplify the extensive diaspora of these cultures.¹⁰⁰

Along the coast of South Carolina, the Chicora peoples made their homes, while the Chawasha tribes lived in the present-day occupied regions of so-called Louisiana. The Choctaw (chaak·taa) peoples originally ranged across Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana, though a significant portion of their population now also resides in Oklahoma.¹⁰¹

In the sprawling territories from western North Carolina to eastern Tennessee and further, the Cherokee tribes thrived, with their descendants now mainly living in North Carolina and Oklahoma.¹⁰²

These cultures, each unique in their own right, had certain common social characteristics. The concept of chiefdoms was a pervasive trait, where social and political hierarchies were determined by birthright. The chiefs, as a result of their birth status, were given the power of authority over their peoples.¹⁰³

These tribes also exhibited a distinct class system, with a hereditary nature of inherent social status and privilege. A higher birth class meant more privileges and resources at one’s disposal.¹⁰⁴

Kinship and clan systems, central to these societies, dictated social relationships and responsibilities within their communities. These intricate systems were pivotal to the daily functioning of their societies.¹⁰⁵

Community cooperation, a significant aspect of these cultures, was manifested through reciprocal sharing of resources and Indigenous knowledge. This ethos extended to the settlers, who often benefited from the Indigenous people’s knowledge about local food sources and medicinal practices.¹⁰⁶

It’s essential, however, to remember that these societies were far from static. Each tribe had its unique social organization and cultural practices, continually evolving over time. The onslaught of colonization and enforced assimilation policies by European settlers profoundly disrupted these traditional systems, resulting in a permanent shift in the lifestyle of these Indigenous cultures.¹⁰⁷

Complexity of Pre-Columbian Indigenous Societies

Ancient civilizations of Turtle Island showcased a magnificent diversity of distinct socio-political structures, architectural designs, and lifestyle adaptations.¹⁰⁸

Indigenous societies in the continent’s northwest region were sustained by fishing and foraging, which underpinned their settled lifestyles. These societies were characterized by a rigid social hierarchy and vibrant social traditions that bolstered community cohesion, even amidst class division.¹⁰⁹

On the other hand, the Indigenous communities in the sun-kissed lands of what is known as California led a contrasting lifestyle. Their societies upheld an egalitarian division of labor and lacked rigid social structures, thanks to the region’s bountiful resources. This abundance also facilitated the establishment of their sophisticated mutual aid and trade networks, showcasing their deep comprehension of value and exchange.¹¹⁰

In the Southwest, distinct Indigenous communities literally carved their unique cultural legacies into the landscape. Renowned for their advanced agricultural acumen, these communities displayed an intimate relationship with the land. Their prowess extended to architecture, creating structures that continue to enchant modern scholars. Such feats were made possible due to their collectivist labor division and deep-seated expertise in engineering and design.¹¹¹

Geographical attributes and the richness of resources available played a pivotal role in molding these societies. Fertile lands often led to the emergence of settled communities with elaborate labor systems and societal frameworks. In contrast, areas favoring hunting or foraging nurtured more fluid egalitarian societies with less demand for a division of labor. The intricate link between their habitats and societal structures underscores the significant impact of environmental conditions on the cultural and societal evolution of Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island before colonialism began.¹¹²

Regrettably, contemporary historians have often misrepresented these pre-Columbian Indigenous societies, erroneously labeling them as primitive or crude.¹¹³ Even when acknowledging the more advanced civilizations that we will soon explore, such as the Inca, Aztec, or Mississippian, these societies are often considered anomalies rather than representative of the sophistication inherent to these Indigenous cultures.¹¹⁴

This limited perspective perpetuates the misconception that these Indigenous societies devolved into less egalitarian systems as they expanded. Moreover, the undue focus on practices such as the capturing of servants, or human sacrifice, simplifies and exoticizes the understanding of these intricate cultures, especially when compared to the depravity taking place in the Old World during this same era.¹¹⁵

Fortunately, there is a progressive shift in this narrative. Historical and anthropological studies are evolving, challenging and reassessing traditional political narratives. Perspectives once deemed radical or unorthodox are finding their way into mainstream thought.¹¹⁶

An increasing number of scholars are dedicated to revisiting and revising outdated interpretations of pre-Columbian Indigenous societies on Turtle Island. This effort is helping lead us to a deeper understanding of life on these lands before European colonization began.¹¹⁷

With this, a more comprehensive and less biased view of these Indigenous cultures’ complexity and sophistication is emerging, along with many notable contributions made to our understanding of human history as a whole.¹¹⁸

Since The Dawn Of Everything

The late anthropologist David Graeber and archaeologist David Wengrow co-authored the influential book, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity in 2021.¹¹⁹ The book showcases the remarkable diversity and intricacy of ancient human societies.

Contrary to typical historical narratives proposing a linear progression from primitive to complex societies, the book proposes a different perspective, suggesting that early human societies were vast, intricate, and largely decentralized for millennia.¹²⁰

The Dawn of Everything quickly received global recognition as a bestseller, and was translated into over thirty languages.¹²¹ It drew attention from mainstream media, academic publications, and independent scholars.

Graeber and Wengrow question the widely held view of early human societies as small bands of so-called hunter-gatherers, and reject the idea that the rise of agriculture inevitably led to strict social hierarchies.¹²² They also dispute the notion of a single dominant societal structure, particularly not until thousands of years after agriculture’s onset.¹²³

Inuk Peoples

One of the examples presented in The Dawn of Everything is a popular study by French sociologist and anthropologist Marcel Mauss entitled Seasonal Variations of the “Eskimo”, which—despite the use of the archaic term—stands out as a formidable work in early anthropology, blending a sociological lens with insights from human geography.¹²⁴

In it, Mauss makes a compelling case: to truly understand a society, one must consider its geographical influences within the intricate web of its social fabric.¹²⁵

This symbiotic relationship is shown to continuously adapt to human and environmental changes, with societal structures reflecting their environments, even under the most severe conditions.

The example given is in the Arctic, where Indigenous communities like the Inuit embraced sustainable living, adopting a holistic approach to their use of what were sometimes scarce resources.¹²⁶

Inuit communities displayed seasonal social adaptations: forming larger, multi-familial groups for collective whale hunting in winter, and dispersing into smaller units with a far less hierarchical structure in the summer.¹²⁷

These shifting hunting patterns were strategic choices, consciously adopted to prevent hierarchical tendencies and maintain egalitarian social structures, which is a testament to the Inuit peoples’ profound understanding of societal formation.

In fact, the adaptability of Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island often exceeded the societal customs handed down through their ethnic lineage, as societal practices often reflect their environmental adaptations more than their inherited cultural traditions.¹²⁸

The relationship between the environment and social structure is even more clear when we look at Indigenous groups with similar ethnic backgrounds, who have contrasting societal frameworks based on their differing locations and natural living conditions.

Mississippian Civilization: Cahokia and Spiro

From the 9th to the 16th century, a distinct civilization through the central region of Turtle Island, known as the Mississippian culture, flourished extensively. Primarily centered around the fertile expanses of the Mississippi River and its tributaries, this vibrant society made significant contributions to the cultural and architectural development of the region.¹²⁹

The heart of this impressive civilization was Cahokia, now situated in modern-day southern Illinois. Covering a substantial area of six square miles, Cahokia was a clear representation of the architectural acumen and social organization of Mississippian culture.¹³⁰

Its cityscape was adorned with sophisticated earthwork structures, including pyramid-like platform mounds. These structures were multi-functional and served as temples, royal residences, and elite burial sites, showcasing the complexity of their societal hierarchy.¹³¹

Despite its core being in Cahokia, the cultural influence of the Mississippian society wasn’t geographically confined to that region, as it extended over 400 miles southwest to Spiro, in what is now known as Oklahoma. Spiro played a crucial role within the expansive trading network of the Mississippians, reaching across the central and midwest regions of Turtle Island and even into the southwest.¹³²

Encompassing 150 acres, the Spiro town site boasted twelve distinctive earthen mounds and several elaborate earthworks, underlining its cultural importance within the Mississippian domain.¹³³

The bustling settlement, active from the 9th century till about the year 1450, served as a prominent center of cultural activity for hundreds of years. Even amid a dwindling population beginning in the mid 13th century, Spiro remained relevant as a ceremonial site, maintaining its spiritual significance throughout the region.¹³⁴

While both part of the Mississippian culture, Cahokia and Spiro showcased contrasting social structures. Spiro, primarily inhabited by the Caddoans, had a more fluid, less hierarchical society compared to Cahokia.¹³⁵

In contrast, Cahokia, distinguished by its intricate city layout and architectural wonders, epitomized the grandeur of Mississippian culture, marking its significance as a beacon of influence throughout this region of Turtle Island.

The majesty of this city, however, also came with a demand for a far more organized division of labor, and in turn, led to a much more defined social hierarchy than what was typical in Spiro.¹³⁶

The contrasting characters of these two civilizations are visibly reflected in their physical remnants today. In Eastern Oklahoma, a massive spiral mound stands as a silent witness to a bygone society that once thrived. Sadly, its cultural treasures have been pilfered, with the site being left vulnerable over time to both natural degradation and colonial looters.¹³⁷

In comparison, Cahokia presents a far different picture. There, a sprawling urban expanse with a huge earthen mound remains intact, bearing witness to the complexity and stability of this society.¹³⁸

Its survival perhaps indicates a more structured and advanced societal framework in Cahokia, which was comparable in sophistication to the advanced Maya city-states, or even the Ancient Roman Empire.¹³⁹

Enigmatic Connections: Turtle Island and the Roman Empire

Many of these Indigenous societies who inhabited the common areas of the so-called Americas were not transient peoples, as often portrayed, but were long-established and well-organized communities.¹⁴⁰

They were highly skilled cultivators of the land, creating sustainable agricultural systems that adapted rapidly to their environment. Their cultivation methods were incredibly efficient, maximizing crop output in ways that European settlers neither fully understood at the time nor do we completely grasp today.¹⁴¹

In comparison to this, the indomitable aura of the ancient Romans is often presented through grand narratives of intricate political systems, architectural marvels, and sophisticated societal structures. But what is not often discussed is the parallels that can be drawn between the two—these Indigenous societies on Turtle Island and that of the Roman Empire of Old Europe.¹⁴²

Just as the Romans were renowned for their advanced infrastructure and governance systems, Indigenous societies on Turtle Island also achieved comparable accomplishments. However, due to ethnocentric bias, these achievements are often overlooked in the historical record.¹⁴³

Adena and Hopewell

In an era when the Roman Empire exerted its immense influence over Ancient Greece, molding the chronicles of Western civilization, a parallel narrative emerged thousands of miles away across the Atlantic on Turtle Island.¹⁴⁴

Indigenous societies like the Adena, Hopewell, Hohokam, Mississippian, and countless others mirrored their European equivalents, manifesting intricate cultures steeped in tradition, sophisticated urban designs, and broad-reaching trade networks.¹⁴⁵

The reverberations of these once-thriving societies are still palpable today. Through the tenacious efforts of archaeologists, layers of history have been unveiled, spotlighting civilizations such as the Adena across modern-day regions of Turtle Island from so-called Ohio to present day West Virginia.¹⁴⁶

The city planning and architectural mastery of these Indigenous societies on Turtle Island stood toe-to-toe with that of ancient Rome and Greece. Settlements, from humble homes to vast urban communal spaces, were precisely organized in concentric order, surrounding significant religious monuments, sometimes known as “sacred circles.”¹⁴⁷

A profound veneration for the dead was a defining characteristic of the Adena culture. Grand tombs, some challenging the magnificence of the Egyptian Pyramids or Roman mausoleums, proudly commemorated their cultural and hereditary lineage.¹⁴⁸

Skillfully harnessing their natural resources, these Indigenous societies became experts in many forms of hunting and fishing, as well as the cultivation of various crops, which showcase an agricultural expertise far more advanced than many European cultures of the same time period.¹⁴⁹

Expansive trade routes reaching to distant locales like from the so-called Carolinas all the way up to Lake Superior, sourced treasures such as mica and copper.¹⁵⁰

In tandem with the Adena, the Hopewell culture, another bedrock society of Turtle Island, marked its presence from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, and from Kansas to so-called Western New York.¹⁵¹ Their distinct earthen landmarks served not only as architectural wonders but also as vessels of profound spiritual and celestial insights. These structures echoed the majestic amphitheaters and temples of many observed in the ancient Old World.¹⁵²

Just as the Greeks and Romans extensively traded across the Mediterranean, the Hopewell utilized Turtle Island’s rivers for their commerce, dealing in furs, tools, and fashioning lavish artifacts from copper, silver, and gold.¹⁵³

The aforementioned Mississippian culture was another radiant beacon illuminating Turtle Island’s vast central expanse. Their monumental undertakings, spiritual endeavors, and extensive trade and mutual aid networks further cemented the notion that advanced civilization’s heart rhythm was not confined solely to that of the Old World.¹⁵⁴

These Indigenous cultures symbolized the rich, diverse continuum of human advancement on Turtle Island, and like the much more talked about European empires that ascended and left their eternal legacy on world history, these Indigenous cultures also engraved their distinct signatures onto the land of pre-colonial Turtle Island.

When comparing these impressive Indigenous civilizations with ancient European realms we are faced with this overarching realization: across diverse lands, time periods, and eras of various empires, human beings, fueled by similar goals, apprehensions, and visions, have consistently sculpted history, crafted beauty, and pursued cosmic and spiritual comprehension—intertwining our existence into a deep understanding and conscious expression of our collective human nature, and species being.

Great Plains Tribes

Moving towards the mid-western stretches of Turtle Island, we encounter the expansive Great Plains, which served as a cradle for various Indigenous tribes and nations, including the Blackfoot, Crow, Cheyenne, Omaha, Dakota, and Sioux.¹⁵⁵

Although many originated in different ecological zones, groups such as some bands of the Cree frequently traversed this region. While the Cree are primarily associated with woodland and subarctic environments, a portion of their population adapted to Plains life, adopting lifestyles similar to those of neighboring nations.¹⁵⁶

Contrary to the stereotype of Plains peoples as purely nomadic horse riders, many were established hunters and agriculturalists living in semi-permanent settlements near fertile river valleys. Horses, re-domesticated after escaping from Spanish settlements, only became central to Plains cultures after European contact.¹⁵⁷

Before colonization, these societies exhibited a remarkable seasonal fluidity in their political organization, shifting between egalitarian and authoritarian structures depending on the time of year.¹⁵⁸

During late summer and early fall, tribes such as the Cheyenne and Lakota would gather in large groups to plan and conduct communal buffalo hunts. At this time, they appointed temporary enforcers — what has been described as a “play police force” — who held total authority to fine, punish, or even execute those who endangered the hunt.¹⁵⁹ This power, however, was short-lived and strictly rotational, usually limited to a three-month period and drawn from an unlikely source: ritual clowns and jesters.¹⁶⁰

This ironic arrangement — where theatrical figures assumed the most serious role of enforcement — has drawn comparisons to modern-day performances of state authority. And yet, it also revealed a profound cultural commitment: authority existed for specific communal purposes, and once those aims were met, it was dismantled.¹⁶¹

This deliberate cycling between governance models challenges Western assumptions about political evolution. Rather than progressing linearly from tribal to state formations, these Plains societies consciously chose temporary hierarchies to preserve long-term harmony.¹⁶²

Anthropologist Robert Lowie’s seminal work demonstrated that Great Plains peoples were not unaware of state structures. On the contrary, they were well-acquainted with power and its dangers, and took deliberate steps to avoid its permanent entrenchment.¹⁶³ Each year, power structures were dissolved after the hunt, and authority rotated among clans — not as tradition, but as political strategy.¹⁶⁴

This directly contests the idea that the state is defined by a monopoly on force. In the Plains, societies transitioned between stateless and state-like forms in rhythm with the seasons.¹⁶⁵

Recent anthropological attempts to categorize hunter-gatherer societies as either “simple” or “complex” have faltered in the face of this seasonal dualism. Concepts such as hierarchy, territory, and wealth become contingent — shifting with the weather, the hunt, and the needs of the moment.¹⁶⁶

In the Great Plains, society’s rhythm was not just seasonal but cosmological. Social transformations aligned with spiritual cycles and natural patterns, reflecting a worldview in which governance, ecology, and the divine were intertwined.¹⁶⁷

While other neighboring nations may have retained more rigid hierarchical systems year-round, the Plains peoples intentionally maintained flexibility. This diversity extended across Turtle Island, from the nomadic bands of the open plains to the agricultural city-states like Cahokia.¹⁶⁸

Moreover, Plains societies did not exist in isolation. Their identities were often shaped in relation to their neighbors — defined as much by opposition and cooperation as by geography.¹⁶⁹

Although intertribal conflicts occurred, they were not endemic, and often gave way to cultural exchange and peaceful coexistence. These interactions forged complex networks of diplomacy, trade, and mutual learning that shaped regional identity far more than warfare did.¹⁷⁰

Over time, many of these societies embraced shared egalitarian principles, even while retaining distinct languages, traditions, and governance styles. A commitment to redistributive social structures ensured that resources were shared equitably within communities.¹⁷¹

Adaptability wasn’t just a cultural trait — it was the organizing principle of life on the Plains. The cyclical reorganization of social systems reflected a deep understanding of the land and an unshakable belief in the interdependence of all life.¹⁷²

This ethos — blending the practical with the spiritual — gave Plains societies a unique resilience. They thrived in an environment both harsh and generous, in part because their culture flowed with its cycles.¹⁷³

Looking southward, we encounter a different rhythm altogether. In more arid and mountainous regions, Indigenous societies often developed more centralized, stratified systems — reflected in their architecture, political control, and ceremonial institutions.¹⁷⁴

Indigenous Societies: Turtle Island vs. Abya Yala

On the continent of so-called South America, Indigenous communities typically exhibited far more advanced hierarchical social structures than many of their Northern counterparts, often ruled by a hereditary class of authority figures¹⁷⁵. These Southern societies adapted to their diverse landscapes through impressive developments in architecture, agriculture, and civic planning. In contrast, many Northern Indigenous societies remained more decentralized, shaped by the continent’s ecological diversity and the absence of restrictive geographical barriers¹⁷⁶.

When comparing Indigenous communities across the Americas, broad generalizations—such as South as hierarchical and North as fluid—risk flattening the nuance. The Inca Empire, for example, was tightly centralized under dynastic rule, yet not all Andean or Amazonian societies followed such structures¹⁷⁷. Meanwhile, in the North, cultures like the Mississippian or the Haida maintained complex hierarchical systems rivaling those in the South¹⁷⁸.

Geography, climate, and intersocietal proximity deeply shaped these variations. Southern societies, particularly in the Andes and Amazon, developed within denser ecological zones that compelled frequent interaction, trade, and conflict—dynamics that often catalyzed centralized power structures¹⁷⁹. In contrast, the vast openness of many Northern regions allowed for more dispersed and seasonal lifeways, supporting egalitarian modes of governance for longer periods¹⁸⁰.

This contrast was first framed by colonial observers, whose narratives were filtered through imperial interests. They often cast Northern peoples as more “primitive” and Southern civilizations as closer to the European standard—hierarchical, sedentary, and technologically “advanced”—which reinforced a Eurocentric value hierarchy¹⁸¹.

Historians like Charles C. Mann have emphasized how these diverging developmental paths were products of environmental conditions rather than any intrinsic difference in cultural capacity. In 1491, Mann contrasts the monumental achievements of the Inca and Aztec with the decentralized brilliance of Northern societies like the Iroquois Confederacy and Cahokia¹⁸². Jared Diamond, in Guns, Germs, and Steel, similarly explores how geography shaped technological development, such as the prevalence of stone tools in the South due to specific ecological constraints¹⁸³.

Northern societies, when pressed by harsh or unique environmental conditions, demonstrated similar levels of social organization and innovation. While differences in hierarchy persisted, they were not fixed outcomes of culture but flexible responses to place, resources, and history¹⁸⁴.

Inca, Aztec, and Mississippians: A Comparison

The Inca and Aztec Empires of so-called South America exhibited highly intricate societal frameworks, marked by technological innovation, expansive infrastructure, and complex religious systems rooted in polytheism¹⁸⁵. Both empires developed robust state structures: the Aztecs centered around Tenochtitlan with a tributary-based model, and the Incas ruled from Cusco, relying on a road network and centralized bureaucracy to manage their vast territory¹⁸⁶.

A particularly notable feature of the Inca civilization was their use of the quipu—a sophisticated system of knotted strings used for recordkeeping, communication, and administration, especially in the absence of a written language¹⁸⁷.

Across the so-called North American continent, particularly within the central and southeastern regions of Turtle Island, the Mississippian cultural tradition gave rise to multiple complex societies. Among them, Cahokia stood out as a major urban center. Spanning six square miles and home to Monks Mound, Cahokia functioned as a ceremonial, political, and trade hub for a broad network extending across Turtle Island¹⁸⁸.

Though often viewed as less centralized than the empires of the Andes and Mesoamerica, Mississippian societies also constructed hierarchical systems with priestly elites, organized labor, and regional influence. Cahokia’s layout and scale suggest centralized planning and intensive social coordination comparable to urban centers in the South¹⁸⁹.

Importantly, the term “Mississippian” encompasses a wide range of cultures and practices, rather than a single, uniform civilization. Much like “Inca” or “Aztec,” the label itself can obscure the diversity within these broader regional systems. Early European chroniclers frequently distorted these distinctions, viewing them through colonial lenses shaped by strategic motives and ethnocentric assumptions¹⁹⁰.

Despite some similarities, each of these Indigenous societies—North and South—developed distinct identities, technologies, and belief systems, always in response to the unique spiritual, environmental, and social conditions that defined their respective regions¹⁹¹.

Reclaiming Abya Yala

While “Turtle Island” is widely recognized as an Indigenous term for so-called North America, the lesser-known but increasingly embraced term for so-called South America is “Abya Yala,” a phrase from the Kuna (or Guna) language that translates to “land in its full maturity” or “land of vital blood”¹⁹². The Kuna people, originally from northern Colombia and now primarily living in Panama, have long used this term to refer to their broader ancestral territory¹⁹³.

“Abya Yala” is now used by many Indigenous activists, scholars, and decolonial thinkers as an affirmation of identity that challenges the colonial imposition of terms like “Latin America”¹⁹⁴. Prominent voices such as Brazilian scholar Janssen Felipe da Silva emphasize that “Abya Yala” empowers both Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities by honoring their autonomy and historic memory, decentering colonial frameworks¹⁹⁵.

Other Indigenous names for the region exist as well, including “Pindorama,” which comes from the Tupi language family and was used by Indigenous Brazilians to describe their land before Portuguese colonization¹⁹⁶.

The broader adoption of “Abya Yala” signals a cultural and political shift toward Indigenous-centered epistemologies. In the face of centuries of colonization and cultural suppression, the reclamation of these names forms part of a broader movement for sovereignty and the revitalization of traditional knowledge systems¹⁹⁷.

While “Turtle Island” is primarily associated with the northern continent, many oral traditions and teachings extend the turtle cosmology across both continents—or even globally. The symbol of the turtle, present in numerous Indigenous cosmologies, often represents endurance, balance, and the sacred interconnection of land and water¹⁹⁸.

This symbolic universality was echoed during a pivotal 2018 gathering of Traditional Elders, where Turtle Lodge, a spiritual and cultural gathering place in what is now Manitoba, was formally named a Central House of Knowledge by Elders representing multiple Indigenous nations from across Turtle Island¹⁹⁹.

While some teachings suggest that all of the Western Hemisphere—or even the Earth itself—rests upon the back of the great turtle, “Abya Yala” retains its own distinct resonance. Its continued use today reaffirms the deep cultural roots, spiritual significance, and self-determining perspectives of South American Indigenous peoples²⁰⁰.

Indigenous Cultures of Panama

The Guna peoples, originally from what is now northern Colombia, migrated to the San Blas Islands of present-day Panama in the 16th century to evade Spanish colonial expansion²⁰¹. Settling along the Caribbean coast, particularly in the autonomous region now known as Guna Yala, the Guna developed a rich cultural identity that remains vibrant today. Though written records about the peak of Guna civilization are limited, their preservation and promotion of the term Abya Yala serves as an enduring testament to their cultural resilience²⁰².

Panama’s unique geographic location—bridging the continents of Turtle Island and Abya Yala—has long made it a critical biotic and cultural corridor²⁰³. Well before the European invasion, this narrow land bridge served as a vibrant artery of Indigenous trade, migration, and ecological exchange.

Its fertile lands, bountiful coasts, and biodiverse ecosystems sustained various Indigenous societies and enabled robust trade routes. Archaeological evidence suggests that Panama facilitated the circulation of goods such as precious metals, ceramics, textiles, and marine products over thousands of miles, from Mesoamerica to the Andes²⁰⁴.

This position as a cultural and commercial hub reinforced Panama’s role in connecting the Indigenous peoples of Central and South America. The region’s geographic diversity—from coastal lowlands to mountainous interiors—supported a range of civilizations who adapted to their specific environments while remaining deeply interlinked²⁰⁵.

Alongside the Guna, groups such as the Ngäbe, Buglé, Naso, Bri Bri, and Emberá contributed to the cultural mosaic of the region²⁰⁶. These peoples each maintained distinct languages, cosmologies, and societal structures while often interacting through alliances, trade, and ceremonial practices.

By the 1400s, these communities were thriving in Panama, with flourishing sociopolitical systems and spiritual traditions. Yet, to fully understand the historical influence of the region, it’s necessary to look further back in time and across the continent, to societies that exerted even broader influences many centuries prior²⁰⁷.

The Maya: Foundations and Flourishing

The term Mesoamerica is derived from the Greek prefix meso-, meaning “middle,” and America, yielding the translation “Middle America.” This region spans a significant cultural and historical zone in the so-called Americas, primarily within modern-day Mexico and parts of Central America²⁰⁸.

The name “Mexico” originates from the Classical Nahuatl term Mēxihco. While scholars debate its exact etymology, one common interpretation suggests it combines metztli (moon), xictli (navel), and the locative suffix -co, thus meaning “place at the center of the moon”²⁰⁹. Others suggest “place of Mexi” or “center of the world,” with ancient codices portraying Mexico as a cosmic hub²¹⁰.

Assigning a single Indigenous name to the entire “Central America” region is difficult due to its linguistic and cultural diversity. However, certain Indigenous place names remain, such as Chichicastenango and Quetzaltenango in Guatemala, and Cuscatlán in El Salvador²¹¹.

This region was home to numerous pre-Columbian civilizations—Olmec, Maya, Teotihuacano, Zapotec, Mixtec, and Aztec—flourishing long before European conquest²¹². Over 3,000 years before the Guna migrated to Panama, these civilizations laid cultural foundations that would influence societies across both so-called Americas²¹³.

The Olmecs, often dubbed the “mother culture,” constructed massive stone heads and ceremonial centers of architectural complexity²¹⁴. The Maya followed, developing intricate calendrical systems, city-states with temples and ball courts, and far-reaching trade routes²¹⁵. Their belief systems encompassed elaborate rituals and astronomical knowledge used for agriculture and ceremony²¹⁶.

Colonial portrayals exaggerated Maya human sacrifice and slavery, often to justify conquest. In truth, sacrifices were rare and deeply symbolic, primarily involving high-status war captives. Others were assimilated into society as laborers²¹⁷. These rituals peaked around 1100 years ago and diminished after European arrival²¹⁸.

Europe had similar practices: the Greeks’ pharmakos involved ritual sacrifice of scapegoats, while Romans, including Nero, executed Christians in brutal public spectacles²¹⁹. The Celts, according to Roman accounts, practiced ritual killing, some involving bog bodies and potential cannibalism²²⁰. Anthropological studies suggest roughly 43% of early societies globally practiced human sacrifice in some form²²¹.

In Maya society, enslaved persons were often prisoners, orphans, or criminals, with some ability to own property²²². This contrasts sharply with European systems, which increasingly racialized slavery. By the 15th century, Portugal had established trade networks trafficking African slaves to Europe—centuries before Columbus²²³.

Modern carceral systems are direct descendants of these logics. In the U.S. and so-called Canada, Indigenous and Black people are disproportionately incarcerated and compelled into forced labor under the guise of rehabilitation²²⁴. Today’s penal practices preserve exploitation, albeit without the spiritual context that once accompanied ritual punishment²²⁵.

In contrast, Maya rituals were cosmological and reverent. Their societal decline was not sudden: it unfolded between the 8th and 10th centuries due to political instability, environmental degradation, and resource strain²²⁶. The last independent Maya polity, Nojpetén, endured until 1697, and today, around 8 million Maya continue their traditions across the Yucatán, Guatemala, Belize, and Honduras²²⁷.

European empires like Rome and Byzantium are often remembered romantically even in collapse, while the decline of the Maya is painted as abrupt and total. This asymmetry reflects colonial bias in the historical narrative²²⁸.

Only by embracing nuance and resisting oversimplified accounts can we truly appreciate the intellectual, architectural, and spiritual sophistication of the Maya and other Indigenous cultures of Mesoamerica²²⁹.

From Toltecs to the Mighty Aztecs

Following the decline of the Maya civilization, the Toltecs rose to prominence, establishing a militarized and theocratic culture that deeply influenced the political and religious systems of later Mesoamerican civilizations. The Toltec capital, Tollan (also known as Tula), became a symbolic and literal model for Aztec rulers, who traced their ideological lineage to Toltec ancestry²³⁰.

This ideological inheritance set the stage for the formidable Aztec Empire that followed. At its height, the Aztec Empire commanded a vast tributary network stretching from the Gulf Coast to the Pacific Ocean. Its capital, Tenochtitlan—built on a lakebed—was a marvel of urban planning, complete with canals, aqueducts, raised causeways, and towering temples. Spanish chroniclers such as Bernal Díaz del Castillo remarked that the city rivaled or surpassed anything in Europe at the time²³¹.

Tenochtitlan’s influence radiated far beyond the Valley of Mexico. Through military conquests and strategic alliances—such as the formation of the Triple Alliance with Texcoco and Tlacopan—the Aztecs expanded their reach into regions now known as Veracruz, Oaxaca, and even parts of modern-day Guatemala²³².

It is important to note, however, that the Aztecs were not the sole cultural or political force in Mesoamerica. Numerous other Indigenous groups coexisted within this dynamic region. The Lenca people inhabited areas of present-day Honduras and El Salvador, maintaining distinct linguistic and spiritual traditions. The Mayangna and Miskito, primarily based in what is now Nicaragua and eastern Honduras, developed complex fishing and trading economies centered along river systems. Farther south, the Chorotega established settled agricultural societies across parts of present-day Costa Rica and Nicaragua²³³.

Despite the geographic and cultural proximity of these societies, few rivaled the Aztecs in scale or centralized authority during this period. Still, their presence complicates any narrative that frames the region as monolithically Aztec. While these other groups may not have matched the territorial reach or militaristic dominance of the Mexica, they contributed to the cultural and political mosaic of late pre-Columbian Central America.

Indigenous Mosaic of the Southern Continent

Drawing inspiration from such monumental predecessors, the lush landscapes nestled between the Andean mountains and the Pacific coastline evolved as crucial cradles for the rise and nurturing of diverse Indigenous cultures.

The verdant landscapes of Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru have been historically significant, witnessing the ebb and flow of diverse Indigenous cultures. These regions, integral to the cultural diversity present on Abya Yala, have observed the rise and fall of multiple civilizations, each imparting their unique narrative into the annals of history.

The Aztecs and Incas are often heralded as the zeniths of pre-Columbian America, with the former establishing vast dominions in today’s central Mexico and the latter forging an empire amidst the rugged Andean mountains. Iconic structures like Machu Picchu stand testament to the Incan architectural prowess.²³⁴

However, long before the Incas’ ascendancy, areas in modern-day Peru thrived with advanced civilizations like Norte Chico, Chavín, Nazca, and Moche.²³⁵ These civilizations set the stage for Incan dominance and substantially influenced the arts, architecture, and societal paradigms, which the Incas later embraced or modified.²³⁶

Ecuador and Colombia had more direct interactions with the Incas. As the Inca Empire extended northward, they engaged with native tribes and kingdoms, either through conflict or cooperation. Nevertheless, many of these Indigenous groups maintained their unique identity, even within the Incan sphere.²³⁷

While the Aztecs and Incas are often in the global spotlight, the diverse array of Indigenous cultures in Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru is essential to highlight here as well. These civilizations, both preceding and coexisting with these larger empires, were instrumental in molding the region’s history, arts, and traditions, weaving a deep mosaic of cultural influence that extended over millennia.²³⁸

Inca Empire

From the 1400s to 1532, the Inca Empire prospered throughout Peru. Known for its infrastructural marvels like Machu Picchu and advanced masonry techniques, it spread across the Andean highlands, showcasing the Incas’ keen planning, engineering, and worldview that emphasized harmony with nature and ancestral connections. This Inca perspective stood in sharp contrast to the ideologies introduced by the Spanish colonizers.²³⁹

Beyond the Inca heartlands, the broader continent of Abya Yala was home to numerous early civilizations characterized by towns, terraces, monuments, and highways. Some of these infrastructures extended from the Peruvian highlands all the way to the Caribbean.²⁴⁰

16th-century European colonizers wrote of dense settlements along South America’s river floodplains, in what was initially thought to be exaggeration. However, recent archaeological findings, accelerated in part by industrial deforestation, are confirming the existence of these ancient civilizations in regions like in the Amazon Basin.²⁴¹

Marvels of Amazon, Tierra del Fuego and the Arawak peoples

While the Inca Empire’s territories did touch upon the edges of the Amazon jungles, the broader Amazon basin housed a mosaic of Indigenous tribes, each with their own distinct cultures and histories²⁴².

This vast region, dominated by the planet’s most extensive river system and rainforest, was home to countless tribes renowned for their crafts, including pottery dating back 8,000 years²⁴³.

The traditional view of the Amazon was that of a pristine rainforest with isolated Indigenous tribes, a perception that persisted until the late 20th century. Recently, however, new research has revealed a far more complex picture of settlements, with estimates of the pre-Columbian population of the Amazon Basin ranging between 5 to 7 million people, although these figures remain a subject of rigorous debate²⁴⁴.

These Amazonian communities, while culturally rich, were distinct from the Andean civilizations like the Incas. They showcased a societal structure that wasn’t strictly hierarchical, which challenged conventional historical narratives²⁴⁵.

Further south, in Tierra del Fuego, Indigenous tribes such as the Selk’nam and the Haush peoples led a nomadic lifestyle, adapting to the region’s severe southern climate. These Indigenous peoples thrived for over 10,000 years, primarily with the Selk’nam adeptly hunting on land, while the Qawasqar peoples navigated the seas, sourcing food from shellfish and occasionally stranded whales²⁴⁶.

The Indigenous peoples of Tierra del Fuego exemplified the enduring resilience of many communities of Abya Yala. Even amidst daunting conditions, instead of establishing permanent dwellings, they often sought temporary shelter, fostering cohesive and tight-knit communities when doing so. Furthermore, some Indigenous groups followed a cycle of seasonal movement, moving in and out of the region during their traditional migration period²⁴⁷.

Originating from the Orinoco River delta region of present-day Venezuela, the Arawak peoples, specifically the Taíno subgroup, migrated to the Caribbean Islands. They developed thriving societies, relying heavily on cultivating crops such as cassava and sweet potatoes. In addition to horticulture, sustainable fishing played a key role in the Arawak peoples’ daily lives²⁴⁸.

By the time Columbus set foot in the region in 1492, these proficient maritime navigators and agriculturalists had established widespread settlements across the Greater Antilles and other Caribbean territories²⁴⁹.

These Indigenous historical narratives exhibit multifaceted and complex intertwining societies, demonstrating fluid transitions and migration patterns, coexisting across numerous geospatial boundaries. Ranging from the Arawak populations in the Caribbean to expansive Indigenous territories spanning both Abya Yala and Turtle Island, each ethnographic group showcases distinct adaptive mechanisms and strategies, ensuring their ecological and sociocultural success, all within their own respective or shared biomes²⁵⁰.

As mentioned, the Maya civilization flourished around the 6th century, mastering advanced water management systems and cultivating crops like maize and beans. By the 15th century, further south, the Incas adeptly utilized the Andean terrain for terrace agriculture, while on Turtle Island, the Pueblo peoples, with a history that extends beyond a millennium, conquered the challenging desert environment of the Southwest through detailed irrigation and crop rotation techniques²⁵¹.

To the furthest reaches of the north, Arctic groups like the Inuit and the Netsilik peoples showcased an unparalleled understanding of their harsh environment, utilizing everything from seals to caribou to ensure their survival²⁵².

These Indigenous cultures influenced continental histories with their distinctive contributions, underscoring the diverse methods through which humans can coexist sustainably within the natural world.

Remarkable Achievements of Pre-Columbian Indigenous Cultures

Spread across the so-called Americas, Pre-Columbian societies exhibited an astonishing adaptability, resilience, and cultural diversity. From the earliest widely accepted evidence of Homo sapiens on Turtle Island, which dates back 15,000 years ago²⁵³ to the peak of Mesoamerican urban centers in the 15th century²⁵⁴, these indigenous communities developed diverse societies over thousands of years.

Their legacy, which reflects a profound connection with their environments, stands as a testament to the multifaceted chronicle of human evolution and experience in the region.

The intricacies of these Indigenous civilizations captivated early Old World scholars from various fields. Networks of trade routes, shared spiritual beliefs, and strategic political alliances were evident, all of which were reflected in countless artifacts and clear evidence of cultural interchange dating back thousands of years²⁵⁵.

Astonishingly, without access to innovations like the wheel, metal tools, or robust draft animals — which many other cultures around the world depended upon — these Indigenous societies of Turtle Island and Abya Yala erected advanced civilizations showcasing the sheer determination, and creativity of human advancement²⁵⁶.

The ripples of these ancient Indigenous cultures continue to shape the identities and worldviews of their descendants from Turtle Island and Abya Yala. Their legacy, from the architectural wonders of city-states like the Maya’s to their guiding principles of sustainability and a profound partnership with nature, which was especially evident in the fluid, seasonally-responsive Indigenous communities of both the Great Plains and Great Lakes region²⁵⁷.

Archaeological evidence suggests that our distant ancestors, residing in highly seasonal environments of the last Ice Age, likely had social structures that operated similarly to the Great Plains or Great Lakes Indigenous peoples²⁵⁸.

They too oscillated between different social arrangements and allowed for periodic rises and falls in authoritarian structures, recognizing that no social order was permanent.

This lends further weight to the idea that humans have historically exhibited flexibility in societal organization, oscillating between band-like structures, tribal configurations, and occasionally exhibiting traits of advanced authoritarian states²⁵⁹.

In this context, it becomes extremely difficult for the average person with a typical Western liberal mindset to imagine the potential paths that these Indigenous societies might have taken, had they not been interrupted by European colonial incursions.

For many in so-called North America, understanding how these societies might have developed without European influence is a daunting challenge. However, contrary to the dominant narrative that European civilizations brought advancement to Indigenous societies on Turtle Island, it’s essential to recognize that the inverse of this concept is likely more historically accurate²⁶⁰.

The truth is, that European rise to global dominance was in fact significantly influenced by the Indigenous societies in which they encountered on both Turtle Island, Abya Yala, and throughout the globe²⁶¹. These native societies, with their intricate governance structures and enduring cultural customs, gifted Europeans with innovative horticultural techniques and invaluable resource procurement practices.

Moreover, the knowledge imparted by these Indigenous communities was crucial for European navigation and adaptation in the landscapes of what were previously to them uncharted regions²⁶². Such integral insights from these Indigenous societies played a pivotal role in shaping European global dominance.

Initially observed in the Southern and Central regions of the so-called New World, these Indigenous societies exemplified by the Aztecs, or the Incas, were not only deeply admired but for the Spanish conquistadors, while conscious of it or not, they likely also saw these grand empires as a threat to their aspirations of unchallenged territorial dominance.

These expansive Indigenous civilizations, boasting vast urban centers, agriculture prowess, extensive trade networks, organized labor forces, and advanced mineral extraction methods were not just systems of economic interest, but potential pillars of parallel power.

While the colonizers recognized the potential for trade and a mutual benefit that could arise by integrating with these Indigenous societies, they quickly became aware of the vast capabilities of these civilizations, which showcased their inherent capability for the building of empire, and advanced hierarchical systems that could potentially become uniform throughout the entire continent.

As Indigenous cultures thrived, European aspirations surged, fueled by desires for wealth, dominion of land, and cultural supremacy; and when confronted with these European motivations, Indigenous civilizations were grappling with more than just mere cultural convergence; but were faced with aggressive intrusions and suppressions of their cultural traditions and social structures. This confluence of religious righteousness and material aspiration catalyzed a tumultuous era of change, conflict, and adaptation across the so-called New World.

The Vatican

The Vatican’s Doctrine of Discovery in the 15th century legitimized European colonial endeavors, suggesting divine entitlement to territories and control over indigenous communities. Such decrees painted a narrative of European divine right to not only claim but also transform foreign lands.²⁶³

In the relentless first wave of colonization, the Vatican’s endorsement of these colonial endeavors played a pivotal role in the European powers’ aggressive appropriation of the New World. These powers, especially the Spanish, driven by Papal decrees, spearheaded both overt and covert operations to displace and dominate indigenous societies of Turtle Island and Abya Yala.²⁶⁴

The Spanish’s insatiable quest for gold, backed by the Catholic Church’s pursuit for the salvation of souls, saw them strategically undermine great civilizations like the Aztecs. Hernán Cortés’ treacherous overthrow of Aztec Emperor Moctezuma, while carrying the Vatican’s mandate to spread Christendom, epitomized this concealed power grab.²⁶⁵

Furthermore, imperial structures like the encomienda were introduced, rooted in Catholic traditions. This system can be equated to a brutal form of assimilation by way of forced labor, designed to dismantle Indigenous societal norms and reorient power toward the extraction of resources in exchange for supposed protection and Catholic education.²⁶⁶

While the Spanish primarily pursued the Vatican’s endorsements, the French Colonial Empire’s undertakings on Turtle Island, specifically in the Great Lakes region, bore similar hallmarks—though often less violent—of strategic and covert maneuvers seen in other colonial overthrows.²⁶⁷

French colonizers used the fur trade as a means of establishing multifaceted relationships with Indigenous populations, blending economic interests with social integration through intermarriage and religious missions.²⁶⁸ In the Pays d’en Haut (Upper Country), these trade alliances expanded French influence across the Great Lakes, often subtly asserting dominance over Indigenous governance.²⁶⁹

As the British supplanted the French, colonial policies shifted drastically. British administrators favored assimilation and relocation, fracturing the hybrid societies that had taken root under French rule.²⁷⁰

In British Columbia, Joseph Trutch applied the concept of Terra Nullius to justify Indigenous land dispossession. He claimed First Nations never held land ownership, which is the legal basis for why much of British Columbia remains unceded today.²⁷¹

Trutch and other colonial figures implemented policies—backed by doctrines of discovery and disease deployment—that aimed at full assimilation or erasure of Indigenous societies.²⁷²

The Royal Proclamation of 1763, while recognizing Indigenous land rights and requiring Crown treaty-making, was frequently violated to advance settler expansion.²⁷³ Over 80 treaties followed, often broken or manipulated to legitimize the Canadian state’s territorial claims.²⁷⁴

The Indian Act of 1876 codified this assimilationist framework. Spearheaded by Prime Minister John A. Macdonald, the Act imposed band council systems to replace traditional hereditary governance, thereby disempowering Indigenous nations.²⁷⁵

These policies were not mere bureaucratic measures but were perceived by Indigenous leaders as a political “coup” aimed at severing communities from their governance, culture, and land.²⁷⁶

The long-term consequences of these actions remain deeply felt today, shaping Indigenous resistance and the ongoing fight for sovereignty across so-called Canada.²⁷⁷

The Pope’s Apology

Throughout this chapter of colonization, the Catholic Church played a foundational role, with its doctrines and focus on conversion providing the blueprint for European expansion. By framing colonization as a divine mission, the Church systematically displaced and transformed Indigenous cultures, embedding colonial dominance into every aspect of Indigenous life. Its involvement extended beyond spiritual guidance, actively facilitating land dispossession, suppressing traditional governance systems, and enabling cultural erasure. Through its endorsement and participation, the Church legitimized the colonial project, justifying systemic violence and marginalization as moral and necessary. This intertwined nexus of faith and imperial ambition left a profound legacy of harm that continues to affect Indigenous communities today.²⁷⁸

In July of 2022, the Pope’s visit to Canada and his apology for the Church’s role in residential schools were framed as steps toward reconciliation but fell far short of addressing key demands.²⁷⁹ The apology avoided critical issues, including rescinding the Doctrine of Discovery, returning stolen artifacts, and releasing residential school records. Instead, it served as a performative gesture that deflected accountability while maintaining the colonial status quo. The Canadian government capitalized on the visit to present itself as a willing partner in reconciliation, yet its actions largely reinforced symbolic narratives rather than addressing systemic injustices. Issues such as land disputes, educational inequities, and healthcare disparities remained unresolved, exposing the disconnect between the rhetoric of reconciliation and the ongoing colonial realities faced by Indigenous communities.²⁸⁰

The Pope’s acceptance of a sacred headdress during the visit symbolized a renewed colonial tactic of dividing Indigenous communities. While some saw the gesture as reconciliation, others viewed it as an affront to Indigenous sovereignty, creating fractures within Indigenous groups.²⁸¹ This division diluted collective resistance and allowed the Church and state to deflect attention from demands for systemic change. By coopting Indigenous symbols and aligning with “acceptable” representatives, the Church marginalized dissenting voices and perpetuated colonial frameworks.

These colonial acts and policies, spanning different regions and times, overseen by varying nations and institutions, all had a common theme: they sought to suppress, marginalize, and even outright remove Indigenous peoples from their ancestral lands and ways of life.²⁸²

This can be seen even in the earliest days of colonization of the New World, where there was a widespread characterization of Indigenous peoples as so-called “savages” or “heathens,” which was part of a mytho-colonial narrative strategically perpetuated in a way which devalued Indigenous authority.²⁸³

Though, as already extensively discussed, these so-called “savages” had, in fact, established vast empires, intricate societal structures, and impressive agricultural and architectural wonders long before the arrival of European colonizers.²⁸⁴

Again, the Aztec, Inca, and Maya civilizations, just to name a few, had cities that rivaled, and in some aspects surpassed, those of Europe in terms of sophistication and grandeur.²⁸⁵

When colonizers first laid eyes on cities like Tenochtitlán, with its shimmering temples and meticulously planned causeways, they were left dumbfounded by the sheer majesty and sophistication they encountered.²⁸⁶

Yet, this realization posed a significant threat to their colonial agenda. Acknowledging these advanced civilizations that already existed would then undermine the colonizers’ purported reasons for their incursions, which were often framed around the so-called “civilizing” or “saving” of what was said to be monstrous or archaic Indigenous tribes and communities.²⁸⁷

As a result, it became imperative for European colonizers to dismantle and erase the evidence of these great civilizations, with hopes of entrenching the narrative of the so-called “primitive” and “savage” Indigenous peoples of the New World, who yearned to be civilized by colonizers.²⁸⁸

And while, despite appearing cooperative on the surface, these European colonial powers harbored malicious intentions, seeking to suppress any potential opposition by first weakening primary social structures in the region with competing ones, only to then destroy them both over time with the spread of diseases, enforced intermarriage, exploitation of resources, and a swift altering of the natural landscape; the colonizers systematically looked to undermine Indigenous traditions, cultures, and social hierarchies at all costs.²⁸⁹

Through these multi-pronged imperial tactics, European powers secured their colonial dominance, with hopes of obtaining an unyielding and all-encompassing dominion throughout the entire New World and soon the globe.²⁹⁰

Resisting Colonial Myths and Degradation

While a plethora of the historical record vividly depicts the sophisticated and harmonious ways of life of Indigenous societies throughout the expanse of Turtle Island and Abya Yala, an unsettling and contrasting narrative remains prevalent. Colonial myths, stemming primarily from imperialist perspectives, have become deeply entrenched in today’s cultural and historical dialogues, overshadowing the genuine greatness and innovations of these varied ancient Indigenous civilizations.

These myths, far from being benign, are tinged with colonial prejudices that obscure our understanding of Indigenous cultures. By perpetuating these misconceptions, we fail to recognize the sheer brilliance, adaptability, and rich legacy of Indigenous societies, and instead, get mired in a haze of misrepresentations.²⁹¹

Centuries before the concept of environmental sustainability became a buzzword in progressive Western discourse, these ancient Indigenous civilizations were pioneers in sustainability. Their way of life encapsulated principles of social cohesion, environmental stewardship, and ecological innovation.²⁹² This respect for and symbiotic relationship with nature starkly contrasts with modern developments that often exploit natural resources under the guise of progress.

A key example is the push to develop Ontario’s Ring of Fire, a remote region of Indigenous territory in the north, rich in minerals that are critical to battery manufacturing.²⁹³ Ford’s framing of this development as beneficial for northern communities and First Nations highlights the modern iteration of ecological imperialism. The language of progress masks the ongoing extractive practices that risk not only the ecological integrity of the region but also the rights and sovereignty of the Indigenous peoples whose lands and livelihoods are most directly affected.

And after a thorough exploration of these pre-Columbian Indigenous societies, it becomes clear that a deep respect for and symbiotic relationship with the natural world was central to life across Turtle Island and Abya Yala—an enduring reverence for nature that transcended tribal distinctions, because it was ultimately the land that helped define both their individual and collective identity, across all of Turtle Island.²⁹⁴

This intrinsic bond with the living world stands in stark contrast to the colonial myths of so-called primitive societies, narratives perpetuated by European settlers to diminish and obscure the true legacy of these civilizations. These nationalistic ideologies have manipulated and concealed the true significance and accomplishments of Indigenous societies on Turtle Island. With the colonizers strategically downplaying Indigenous peoples’ intrinsic desire and proven practice to live in harmony with their natural surroundings.

Central to this distortion and disconnect from the natural world was the rise of what is known as ecological imperialism. This term not only refers to the deliberate introduction of foreign species into unexploited ecosystems—a move that frequently had dire consequences on local biodiversity—but it also points toward the strategic colonization of these newly altered environments.²⁹⁵

Non-native plants and animals, when introduced, sometimes outcompeted their native counterparts, causing irreversible impact on the landscape. Furthermore, the introduction of foreign bacteria and disease wreaked havoc on Indigenous communities, who were unprepared for such illnesses.²⁹⁶ With the emphasis shifted to European agrarian practices, traditional Indigenous cultivation methods were pushed to the background, which deeply transformed the region’s ecological dynamics.

Beyond the visible alterations, the very soul of Indigenous cultures, rooted deeply within their connection to the environment, faced seismic disruptions. The intricate web of Indigenous knowledge, which spanned millennia and was anchored in ecological harmony, frequently found itself overshadowed or wholly disregarded. The persistent reverberations of changes sparked by European colonizers, manifesting prominently through this ecological imperialism, have deeply penetrated our societal, environmental, and biological spheres. These impacts, extending beyond mere territorial claims, highlight the profound and lasting legacies of colonization which are still deeply evident today.

Wildfires Across Turtle Island

The 2023 wildfire season on Turtle Island, characterized by its unparalleled intensity, illuminates the complex interplay between the long-standing effects of resource extraction on Indigenous lands and the suppression of Indigenous traditional fire practices.²⁹⁷

The repercussions of colonization—particularly mining and logging—are evident, as certain regions, notably in the northeast and northwest, experience a surge in wildfire occurrences, with predictions indicating that this heightened wildfire activity will persist into the late summer and fall and will become even more frequent during this period over the coming years.²⁹⁸

As these fires consume vast expanses of land, the unique vulnerabilities of Indigenous communities come to the forefront. Located primarily in remote, heavily forested areas, and with a rich history of effective fire management techniques and traditions now overshadowed by provincial and state policies, these communities confront both the immediate perils of the intense blazes and the longer-term, accelerating cultural and socio-economic ramifications.²⁹⁹

This crisis underscores a legacy deeply embedded in colonization, overexploitation of natural resources, and the enduring impact of denying Indigenous peoples their traditional means of land stewardship. By suppressing practices like controlled burns—which have historically kept the land and its ecosystems in balance—modern policies have subsequently heightened the risk of these catastrophic forest fires. This is a stark example of the repercussions faced when ancestral wisdom is sidelined by short-sighted resource extraction strategies, themselves influenced by a long-standing imperialist perspective held by the authorities of the colonial Canadian state.³⁰⁰

The concept of “ecological imperialism,” in many respects, can be related to these very issues, and should be understood as a multi-elemental hostile takeover. At its core is somewhat of a “biological imperium,” representing the strategies employed by colonizers, notably the deliberate introduction of foreign species into unfamiliar landscapes, leading to the dwindling or displacement of native species and throwing the shared ecological equilibrium into chaos.³⁰¹

But beyond this biological takeover, there’s also the imposition of a new “natural imperium,” wherein the physical landscapes, water sources, and climate patterns are exploited and potentially forever altered in consequence.³⁰²

In the backdrop of the late 19th-century westward expansion of the colonial United States and so-called Canada, the mass slaughter of what is commonly known as the buffalo stands as a stark historical example of a “natural takeover.”³⁰³

These majestic creatures once roamed the plains in numbers estimated to be in the tens of millions and were integral to the way of life of many Native tribes, particularly the Indigenous peoples of the Great Plains.³⁰⁴

However, as settlers moved westward and railroads dissected the landscape, the deliberate decimation of buffalo herds emerged not merely as an act of ecological dominance but also as a calculated strategy to undermine the Indigenous communities.³⁰⁵

By deliberately targeting the buffalo—a central resource that the tribes depended upon for food, clothing, shelter, and other essentials—colonizers sought to dismantle the Indigenous way of life.³⁰⁶

This devastating act aimed to push these communities into increased dependency on European goods and services, thereby rendering them more malleable and easier to control and manipulate.³⁰⁷

Hierarchy and Colonial State Capture

The deliberate decimation of the buffalo herds as a tactic during the westward expansion of the United States can also be seen as a form of state capture.³⁰⁸ These groups had fluid state structures, which were often incoherent to European colonizers who came from far more hierarchical and centralized social systems.³⁰⁹

This fluidity and adaptability in their governance made it challenging for colonizers to pinpoint and dismantle a singular power structure. As a result, many of these Tribes and First Nations were among the last to be subdued, as they continuously resisted the expansionist ambitions of both the U.S. and Canadian colonial powers.³¹⁰

Contrastingly, empires like the Inca and Aztec had more rigid and hierarchical structures that closely mirrored the feudal systems familiar to European colonizers.³¹¹ These empires had established capitals, centralized leadership in the form of a king or emperor, as well as distinct class stratification. Such a clear-cut hierarchical class structure made these Indigenous societies far more susceptible to state capture.

Within the context of European colonization, particularly the Spanish strategies directed at the Indigenous empires of the Inca and Aztecs, there was a distinct recognition of the advantages inherent in subduing or usurping centralized governance.³¹² This understanding was prominently displayed in their interactions with the hierarchical structures of the Inca and Aztec empires.

In 1519, Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés, accompanied by a coalition of Tlaxcalans and other Indigenous allies, entered the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlán.³¹³ Cortés adeptly formed alliances with rival tribes and, combined with strategic military displays, managed to capture the Aztec capital, along with the Aztec Emperor Montezuma II.

This capture essentially paralyzed the Aztec leadership, granting the Spanish and their local allies greater sway. The subsequent, so-called mysterious death of Montezuma while in Spanish custody further destabilized the Aztec empire, setting the stage for its rapid decline.³¹⁴

Thirteen years later, in 1532, Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro captured Inca Emperor Atahualpa during the Battle of Cajamarca.³¹⁵ Despite the Incas’ significant numerical strength, they were unprepared for the Spanish advanced weaponry and willingness to inflict extreme brutality.

After Pizarro secured a massive ransom for Atahualpa’s release, he treacherously executed the emperor. This act overthrew Inca leadership and allowed the Spanish to consolidate power across the empire.³¹⁶

Central to the effectiveness of this strategy was the hierarchical nature of the Inca and Aztec empires. Both civilizations vested significant power in a central ruler. Hence, capturing figures like Montezuma and Atahualpa proved devastatingly effective.

In contrast, in areas with decentralized or nomadic Indigenous social arrangements, European colonization was far more challenging.³¹⁷ Controlling a single group or leader in these fluid societies did not guarantee dominance over the region’s full population.

Moreover, the capture and subjugation of these revered emperors had profound psychological and symbolic impacts. Seeing such powerful figures fall to the Europeans eroded belief in their divine status and morale among their followers.³¹⁸

For European colonizers, especially the Spanish, controlling or overthrowing Indigenous rulers was both a tactical move and a symbolic display of supremacy. This strategy furthered their goals of conquest, colonization, and resource control in the so-called New World.

Which brings us to the essence of this series: the coup. Taken from the French term coup d’état, it refers to a covert act, often by elites or the military, to unseat the existing leader, typically involving factions, politicians, or dictators seizing governmental power.³¹⁹

This swift, decisive maneuver often results in a minority faction assuming extraordinary powers, dissolving existing governance, and unleashing societal disruption.

Drawing a parallel, the colonization of Turtle Island and Abya Yala by European invaders mirrors the dynamics of a coup. With clear intent to dominate, European colonizers imposed rule over Indigenous territories. Much like modern coup factions, their goals included long-term control and the eradication of Indigenous governance structures.

This imperialist-led takeover caused immense social destabilization and cultural fragmentation across Indigenous communities. Recrafted colonial narratives not only reshaped land and society but delegitimized and erased the richness of Indigenous histories across Turtle Island and Abya Yala.³²⁰

These narratives of colonial manipulation often weaponize vague, progressive-sounding language to veil their true, extractive intentions.³²¹

The Language of Empire

Settler colonies in the New World skillfully co-opted words like civility, progress, education and peace — terms with vast implications, ripe for self-serving interpretations.³²²

One example of this is demonstrated during the Canadian state’s treaty negotiations with Indigenous peoples, where the colonizers often utilized a lexicon that was intentionally nebulous or seemingly favorable to mask the actual intentions behind their words.³²³

Terms like civility were wielded to insinuate that European lifestyles were superior, suggesting that Indigenous groups stood to gain from their adoption. The notion of trust in land rights was often just a facade for greater government control over Indigenous territories. While sovereignty was dangled as a promise, it was frequently a misleading term, implying a continuity of self-governance for Indigenous communities when in fact their autonomy was routinely curtailed.

Expressions like peace and friendship were used to cloak colonial intentions of extracting Indigenous rights and territories, and terms such as gift or trade were used misleadingly to describe one-sided land acquisitions. The promise of annuities typically did not account for the true worth of the lands ceded.³²⁴

The designated areas for Indigenous peoples, labeled reservations or reserves, were often marked to be of far lesser quality than their original territories. The spread of Christianity, often referred to as Christianization, was framed in a positive light, just as education has been championed historically despite the deep trauma generations of Indigenous children endured at the hands of institutionalized residential schools.³²⁵

The assurance of protection stood in stark contrast to the ongoing infringements on Indigenous land rights, where the Canadian state itself was the imposing threat.

Historically, during the era of treaty-making from the mid-19th to the early 20th century, the Canadian government presented itself as a guardian, promising to shield First Nations from external threats, including American expansionism and European settlers. Ironically, it was the Canadian state’s policies, driven by a hunger for land and resources, that often posed the most significant threats to Indigenous sovereignty.³²⁶

This duality of protection — simultaneously offering safety while also perpetrating the most potential harm possible — underscores the profound hypocrisies and contradictions of Canada’s colonial legacy.

The colonial narrative of progress was also carefully constructed to present European practices as superior to Indigenous traditions. These misleading terminologies served to camouflage the disparities and exploitative nature of numerous agreements. In light of this, many Indigenous groups today still struggle in their fight for the acknowledgement of land rights, and the rectification of their violated treaties.³²⁷

The colonial use of these terms, from protection to progress, can be aptly described as mytho-hypocritical. While these words were projected as truths, lauding the moral and civil superiority of European settlers, the ground realities painted a starkly different picture. These terms not only perpetuated myths of European benevolence but were also deeply hypocritical, given the exploitation and suppression that often accompanied them. As Greg Grandin points out in The End of the Myth, the language of expansion and moral purpose has long served settler states as a tool to obscure conquest and dispossession behind euphemisms of destiny, civility, and peace.³²⁸

Cloaked in layers of deceit and ambiguity, the choice of words by the colonizers is anything but innocent, spreading falsehoods about Indigenous histories; they give colonial powers a devious escape from honoring their treaty obligations.

These twisted, often condescending tales, parading as undeniable truths, don’t just dim the multifaceted histories of the injustices and atrocities committed against these Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island and Abya Yala, but they also weave a narrative that’s both half-hearted in its remorse and in some cases, utterly belittling.

It is a continuation, no less, of the age-old colonial act of silencing and erasing the genuine truth and tales of these Indigenous cultures, which lives on till this very day.

These distorted perceptions are not just artifacts of history; they continue to resonate loudly within the cultural stories of the colonized lands known today as the Americas, revealing the enduring legacy of colonial erasure across both Turtle Island and Abya Yala.

And as we’ll explore further in the next part of this series, this colonial mythos is particularly found deeply woven into the cultural fabric of this, the settler colonial state of so-called Canada.

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65. Carl O. Sauer, The Early Spanish Main (University of California Press, 1966).
    
66. William M. Denevan (ed.), The Native Population of the Americas in 1492, 2nd ed. (University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), Introduction.
    
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68. Woodrow Borah, “New Spain’s Century of Depression,” Ibero-Americana, no. 42 (1951).
    
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71. Aldona Jonaitis, Art of the Northwest Coast (University of Washington Press, 2006).
    
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73. Ibid.
    
74. Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. W. D. Halls (Routledge, 1990).
    
75. Bruce G. Trigger, Natives and Newcomers: Canada’s “Heroic Age” Reconsidered (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1985).
    
76. Lowell John Bean, California Indian Shamanism (Ballena Press, 1992).
    
77. Gregory Bateson, Steps to an Ecology of Mind (University of Chicago Press, 2000).
    
78. Ibid.
    
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80. Kenneth Ames and Herbert Maschner, Peoples of the Northwest Coast: Their Archaeology and Prehistory (Thames & Hudson, 1999).
    
81. Donald, Aboriginal Slavery, 1997.
    
82. Bean, California Indian Shamanism, 1992.
    
83. Bateson, Steps to an Ecology of Mind, 2000.
    
84. Brian Fagan, Ancient North America: The Archaeology of a Continent (Thames & Hudson, 2005).
    
85. Ibid.
    
86. Emil W. Haury, The Hohokam: Desert Farmers and Craftsmen (University of Arizona Press, 1976).
    
87. Ibid.
    
88. Jeffrey H. Altschul, “The Development of the Hohokam Canal System,” Journal of Field Archaeology 13, no. 3 (1986): 275–294.
    
89. Fagan, Ancient North America
    
90. Haury, The Hohokam
    
91. Ibid.
    
92. Altschul, “The Development of the Hohokam Canal System”
    
93. Paul E. Minnis, People and Plants in Ancient Western North America (Smithsonian Institution Press, 2004)
    
94. Ibid.
    
95. Stephen H. Lekson, The Chaco Meridian: Centers of Political Power in the Ancient Southwest (Rowman & Littlefield, 2015)
    
96. Ibid.
    
97. David Roberts, In Search of the Old Ones: Exploring the Anasazi World of the Southwest (Simon & Schuster, 1996)
    
98. Charles Hudson, The Southeastern Indians (University of Tennessee Press, 1976)
    
99. Ibid.
    
100. Brent Richards Weisman, Unconquered People: Florida’s Seminole and Miccosukee Indians (University Press of Florida, 1999)
     
101. Raymond D. Fogelson (ed.), Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 14: Southeast (Smithsonian Institution, 2004)
     
102. Theda Perdue and Michael D. Green, The Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears (Penguin, 2007)
     
103. Hudson, The Southeastern Indians
     
104. Ibid.
     
105. Fogelson, Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 14
     
106. Weisman, Unconquered People
     
107. Perdue and Green, The Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears
     
108. Alfred L. Kroeber, Cultural and Natural Areas of Native North America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1939)
     
109. Wayne Suttles (ed.), Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 7: Northwest Coast (Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 1990)
     
110. Lowell John Bean (ed.), Handbook of North American Indians, Vol. 8: California (Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 1978)
     
111. Stephen H. Lekson, A History of the Ancient Southwest (School for Advanced Research Press, 2009)
     
112. William M. Denevan (ed.), The Native Population of the Americas in 1492, 2nd ed. (University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), Introduction
     
113. David E. Stannard, American Holocaust: The Conquest of the New World (Oxford University Press, 1992)
     
114. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (Vintage, 2006)
     
115. Ronald Wright, Stolen Continents: The “New World” Through Indian Eyes Since 1492 (Houghton Mifflin, 1992)
     
116. Jack Weatherford, Indian Givers: How Native Americans Transformed the World (Crown, 1988)
     
117. Bruce G. Trigger, Natives and Newcomers: Canada’s “Heroic Age” Reconsidered (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1985)
     
118. Vine Deloria Jr., Red Earth, White Lies: Native Americans and the Myth of Scientific Fact (Fulcrum Publishing, 1995)
     
119. David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021)
     
120. Ibid., Introduction
     
121. Ibid., Acknowledgments
     
122. Ibid., Chapter 2
     
123. Ibid., Chapter 3
     
124. Marcel Mauss, Seasonal Variations of the Eskimo: A Study in Social Morphology, trans. James J. Fox (Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979)
     
125. David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 49–52
     
126. Ibid.
     
127. Ibid., 50
     
128. Ibid., 51–52
     
129. Timothy R. Pauketat, Cahokia: Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi (Viking, 2009)
     
130. Ibid., 12–17
     
131. Ibid., 22–29
     
132. George E. Stuart, Ancient Pioneers: The First Americans (National Geographic Society, 2000), 90–93
     
133. Timothy K. Perttula, The Caddo Nation: Archaeological and Ethnohistoric Perspectives (University of Texas Press, 1992), 64–66
     
134. Ibid., 70
     
135. Ibid., 73
     
136. Pauketat, Cahokia, 54–56
     
137. Stuart, Ancient Pioneers, 91
     
138. Pauketat, Cahokia, 91–94
     
139. Ibid., 96
     
140. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (Vintage Books, 2006), 104–109
     
141. Jane Mt. Pleasant, “The Paradox of Plows and Productivity: An Agronomic Comparison of Cereal Grain Production in New York State Indigenous and Euro-American Fields,” Agricultural History 85, no. 4 (2011): 460–492
     
142. David Wengrow and David Graeber, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 283–289
     
143. Mann, 1491, 110–115
     
144. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus
145. Timothy R. Pauketat, Ancient Cahokia and the Mississippians (Cambridge University Press, 2004), 16–20.
     
146. William M. Denevan (ed.), The Native Population of the Americas in 1492, 2nd ed. (University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), Introduction.
      
147. Joseph A. Morrow, “Sacred Circles and Urban Planning: The Legacy of Adena and Hopewell Societies,” American Antiquity 72, no. 3 (2007): 389–403.
      
148. Bradley T. Lepper, Ohio Archaeology: An Illustrated Chronicle of Ohio’s Ancient American Indian Cultures (Orange Frazer Press, 2005), 45–51.
      
149. Jane Mt. Pleasant, “The Science Behind the Three Sisters: Native Agriculture in the Americas,” Agricultural History 85, no. 4 (2011): 386–406.
      
150. Lepper, Ohio Archaeology, 52–56.
      
151. Timothy R. Pauketat and Diana DiPaolo Loren (eds.), North American Archaeology (Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 183–190.
      
152. William F. Romain, Mysteries of the Hopewell: Astronomers, Geometers, and Magicians of the Eastern Woodlands (University of Akron Press, 2000), 75–91.
      
153. Romain, Mysteries of the Hopewell, 142–150.
      
154. Pauketat, Ancient Cahokia and the Mississippians, 77–83.
     
155. Colin G. Calloway, First Peoples: A Documentary Survey of American Indian History, 6th ed. (Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2018), 221–230.
     
156. David J. Wishart, ed., Encyclopedia of the Great Plains Indians (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 68–70.
     
157. Pekka Hämäläinen, The Comanche Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 47–51.
     
158. Robert H. Lowie, Primitive Society (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1920), 186–188.
     
159. Richard White, The Roots of Dependency: Subsistence, Environment, and Social Change among the Choctaws, Pawnees, and Navajos (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983), 145.
     
160. Paul Radin, The Trickster: A Study in American Indian Mythology (New York: Schocken Books, 1972), x–xi.
     
161. Graeber, David, and David Wengrow. The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 282–284.
     
162. James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 233–237.
     
163. Lowie, Primitive Society, 216–219.
     
164. Marshall Sahlins, Stone Age Economics (Chicago: Aldine-Atherton, 1972), 94–96.
     
165. Elman R. Service, Origins of the State and Civilization: The Process of Cultural Evolution (New York: Norton, 1975), 17–18.
     
166. Graeber and Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything, 288–290.
     
167. Joseph Epes Brown, The Spiritual Legacy of the American Indian (Bloomington: World Wisdom, 2007), 55–57.
     
168. Timothy R. Pauketat, Cahokia: Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi (New York: Viking, 2009), 102–105.
     
169. Richard W. Slatta, The Mythical West: An Encyclopedia of Legend, Lore, and Popular Culture (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2001), 97.
     
170. Daniel K. Richter, Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), 69–71.
     
171. Colin G. Calloway, One Vast Winter Count: The Native American West before Lewis and Clark (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2003), 167–170.
     
172. Alfred W. Crosby, Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 171.
     
173. Viola Cordova, How It Is: The Native American Philosophy of V. F. Cordova, ed. Kathleen Dean Moore, Kurt Peters, and Ted Jojola (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007), 122–125.
     
174. Michael E. Smith, The Aztecs, 3rd ed. (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 89–91.
     
175. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (Vintage Books, 2005), 230–245.
     
176. Ibid., 109–114.
     
177. Karen Olsen Bruhns and Karen E. Stothert, Women in Ancient America (University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), 98–101.
     
178. Brian Hayden, The Power of Feasts: From Prehistory to the Present (Cambridge University Press, 2014), 150–158.
     
179. Jared Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies (W. W. Norton & Company, 1997), 82–85.
     
180. David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 225–228.
     
181. Walter D. Mignolo, The Darker Side of Western Modernity: Global Futures, Decolonial Options (Duke University Press, 2011), 77–79.
     
182. Mann, 1491, 254–258.
     
183. Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel, 103–106.
     
184. Graeber and Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything, 195–198.
     
185. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (Vintage Books, 2005), 93–101.
     
186. Karen Olsen Bruhns and Karen E. Stothert, Women in Ancient America (University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), 66–70.
     
187. Gary Urton, Signs of the Inka Khipu: Binary Coding in the Andean Knotted-String Records (University of Texas Press, 2003), 3–10.
     
188. Timothy R. Pauketat, Cahokia: Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi (Viking, 2009), 22–29.
     
189. David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 297–303.
     
190. Walter D. Mignolo, The Idea of Latin America (Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 59–63.
191. Mann, 1491, 219–224.
     
192. José Barreiro, “Abya Yala: Indigenous Naming and the Decolonization of Knowledge,” in Red Ink: International Journal of Indigenous Literature, Art, & Humanities 17, no. 2 (2015): 9–13.
     
193. Richard Price, First-Time: The Historical Vision of an Afro-American People (University of Chicago Press, 1983), 25.
     
194. Walter D. Mignolo, The Idea of Latin America (Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 64–70.
     
195. Janssen Felipe da Silva, “From Latin America to Abya Yala: Decolonizing Nomenclature and Thought,” Revista de Estudos de Cultura 6, no. 1 (2019): 45–56.
     
196. John Hemming, Tree of Rivers: The Story of the Amazon (Thames & Hudson, 2008), 12.
     
197. Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (Zed Books, 1999), 142–148.
     
198. Gregory Cajete, Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence (Clear Light Publishers, 2000), 38–40.
     
199. Turtle Lodge, “Elders Name Turtle Lodge as a Central House of Knowledge,” TurtleLodge.org, 2018.
     
200. Barreiro, “Abya Yala,” 11.
     
201. James Howe, A People Who Would Not Kneel: Panama, the United States, and the San Blas Kuna (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998), 18–22.
     
202. José Barreiro, “Abya Yala: Indigenous Naming and the Decolonization of Knowledge,” Red Ink: International Journal of Indigenous Literature, Art, & Humanities 17, no. 2 (2015): 9–13.
     
203. Anthony G. Coates and Robert E. Stallard, “How Central America Became an Isthmus: A Review of Paleogeographic, Paleoclimatic, and Paleobiogeographic Evidence,” Earth-Science Reviews 69, no. 3–4 (2005): 125–176.
     
204. Richard Cooke, “Pre-Columbian Panama: A View from the Tropics,” in Handbook of South American Archaeology, eds. Helaine Silverman and William H. Isbell (Springer, 2008), 755–778.
     
205. Mary W. Helms, Access to Origins: Affines, Ancestors, and Aristocrats (University of Texas Press, 1998), 58–70.
     
206. Lynn Ethridge, “Indigenous Cultures of Panama,” The Latin Americanist 49, no. 2 (2005): 55–72.
     
207. Howe, A People Who Would Not Kneel, 25–30.
     
208. Richard E.W. Adams, Prehistoric Mesoamerica, 3rd ed. (University of Oklahoma Press, 2005).
     
209. Frances Karttunen, An Analytical Dictionary of Nahuatl (University of Oklahoma Press, 1992).
     
210. Alfredo López Austin and Leonardo López Luján, Mexico’s Indigenous Past (University of Oklahoma Press, 2005).
      
211. Victor Montejo, Voices from Exile: Violence and Survival in Modern Maya History (University of Oklahoma Press, 1999).
      
212. Michael D. Coe and Rex Koontz, Mexico: From the Olmecs to the Aztecs, 6th ed. (Thames & Hudson, 2008).
      
213. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (Vintage Books, 2005).
      
214. Jill Leslie Furst, The Natural History of the Soul in Ancient Mexico (Yale University Press, 1995).
      
215. Linda Schele and David Freidel, A Forest of Kings: The Untold Story of the Ancient Maya (William Morrow, 1990).
      
216. Anthony F. Aveni, Skywatchers (University of Texas Press, 2001).
     
217. David E. Stannard, American Holocaust: The Conquest of the New World (Oxford University Press, 1992).
      
218. Karl Taube, The Major Gods of Ancient Yucatan (Dumbarton Oaks, 1992).
      
219. Tacitus, Annals, trans. Alfred John Church and William Jackson Brodribb (Penguin Classics, 1956).
     
220. Barry Cunliffe, The Ancient Celts (Oxford University Press, 1997).
      
221. Joseph Watts et al., “Ritual Human Sacrifice Promoted and Sustained the Evolution of Stratified Societies,” Nature 532, no. 7598 (2016): 228–231.
     
222. William R. Coe, Excavations in the Great Plaza, North Terrace, and North Acropolis of Tikal (University of Pennsylvania Museum, 1990).
      
223. Hugh Thomas, The Slave Trade: The Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1440–1870 (Simon & Schuster, 1997).
     
224. Angela Y. Davis, Are Prisons Obsolete? (Seven Stories Press, 2003).
      
225. Ruth Wilson Gilmore, Golden Gulag: Prisons, Surplus, Crisis, and Opposition in Globalizing California (University of California Press, 2007).
      
226. Douglas Preston, The Lost City of the Monkey God (Grand Central Publishing, 2017).
     
227. Robert M. Carmack, The Maya: History and Religion (University of Oklahoma Press, 1995).
      
228. Matthew Restall, Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest (Oxford University Press, 2003).
      
229. David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021).
     
230. Ross Hassig, Aztec Warfare: Imperial Expansion and Political Control (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1988).
     
231. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, The Conquest of New Spain, trans. J.M. Cohen (London: Penguin Books, 1963).
     
232. Michael E. Smith, The Aztecs, 3rd ed. (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012).
     
233. James Howe, “The Kuna,” in Handbook of South American Indians, ed. Julian H. Steward (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1946); Carolyn E. Tate, Yaxchilan: The Design of a Maya Ceremonial City (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1992).
     
234. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (New York: Vintage Books, 2005), 243–247.
     
235. Ruth Shady Solís, Jonathan Haas, and Winifred Creamer, “Dating Caral, a Preceramic Site in the Supe Valley on the Central Coast of Peru,” Science 292, no. 5517 (2001): 723–726.
     
236. Michael E. Moseley, The Incas and Their Ancestors: The Archaeology of Peru (London: Thames & Hudson, 2001), 45–89.
     
237. Terence N. D’Altroy, The Incas (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2002), 112–118.
     
238. Rebecca Stone, Art of the Andes: From Chavín to Inca (London: Thames & Hudson, 2012), 9–15.
     
239. Terence N. D’Altroy, The Incas (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2002), 53–90.
     
240. Michael E. Moseley, The Incas and Their Ancestors: The Archaeology of Peru (London: Thames & Hudson, 2001), 132–145.
     
241. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (New York: Vintage Books, 2005), 304–312.
     
242. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (New York: Vintage Books, 2006), 308–309.
     
243. Anna C. Roosevelt, “The Amazon and the Anthropocene: 8,000 Years of Human Influence in a Tropical Rainforest,” Anthropology Today 33, no. 3 (2017): 10–13.
     
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274. Michael Asch, On Being Here to Stay: Treaties and Aboriginal Rights in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014).
     
275. John S. Milloy, A National Crime: The Canadian Government and the Residential School System, 1879 to 1986 (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1999).
     
276. Harold Cardinal, The Unjust Society: The Tragedy of Canada’s Indians (Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1969).
     
277. Taiaiake Alfred, Wasáse: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2005).
     
278. Steven Newcomb, Pagans in the Promised Land: Decoding the Doctrine of Christian Discovery (Golden, CO: Fulcrum Publishing, 2008).
     
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280. Cindy Blackstock, “Reconciliation Means Not Having to Say Sorry Twice,” Toronto Star, August 2022.
     
281. Niigaan Sinclair, “Headdress Was a Political Gift, Not a Cultural One,” Winnipeg Free Press, July 28, 2022.
     
282. Patrick Wolfe, “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native,” Journal of Genocide Research 8, no. 4 (2006): 387–409.
     
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286. Matthew Restall, Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).
     
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290. Tzvetan Todorov, The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Harper & Row, 1984).
     
291. Jack D. Forbes, Columbus and Other Cannibals: The Wetiko Disease of Exploitation, Imperialism, and Terrorism (New York: Seven Stories Press, 2008).
     
292. Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants (Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2013).
     
293. Jolene Banning and Shawn Bell, Land Back: A Yellowhead Institute Red Paper (Toronto: Yellowhead Institute, 2021), 34–38.
     
294. Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom through Radical Resistance (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017).
     
295. Alfred W. Crosby, Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986).
     
296. David E. Stannard, American Holocaust: The Conquest of the New World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 97–115.
     
297. Lenard Monkman, “Wildfires in Canada Are Hitting First Nations Communities Harder,” CBC News, July 14, 2023.
     
298. Bob Weber, “Canada’s Wildfire Season One of the Worst on Record, and It’s Not Over,” Canadian Press, August 2023.
     
299. Amy Cardinal Christianson and Adrienne L. Hall, “Fire Stewardship in the Anthropocene: Renewing Indigenous Fire Knowledge and Practice in Canada,” Current Opinion in Environmental Sustainability 43 (2020): 52–58.
     
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302. Deborah McGregor, “Traditional Ecological Knowledge: An Anishinaabe Woman’s Perspective,” Atlantis: Critical Studies in Gender, Culture & Social Justice 29, no. 2 (2005): 103–109.
     
303. Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States (Boston: Beacon Press, 2014), 143–145.
     
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306. Pekka Hämäläinen, Lakota America: A New History of Indigenous Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019), 290–295.
     
307. Ned Blackhawk, Violence over the Land: Indians and Empires in the Early American West (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 229–232.
     
308. David D. Smits, “The Frontier Army and the Destruction of the Buffalo: 1865–1883,” Western Historical Quarterly 25, no. 3 (1994): 312–338.
     
309. Robert H. Lowie, Primitive Society (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1920), 434–436.
     
310. Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States (Boston: Beacon Press, 2014), 139–146.
     
311. Charles C. Mann, 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus (New York: Vintage Books, 2005), 91–103.
     
312. Matthew Restall, Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 27–31.
     
313. Camilla Townsend, Fifth Sun: A New History of the Aztecs (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 118–122.
     
314. Ross Hassig, Mexico and the Spanish Conquest (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1994), 98–101.
     
315. John Hemming, The Conquest of the Incas (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1970), 50–63.
     
316. Felipe Fernández-Armesto, Pathfinders: A Global History of Exploration (New York: W.W. Norton, 2006), 210–213.
     
317. Robert H. Lowie, Primitive Society, 441–443.
     
318. Tzvetan Todorov, The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other (New York: Harper & Row, 1984), 63–71.
     
319. Naunihal Singh, Seizing Power: The Strategic Logic of Military Coups (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 3–7.
     
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322. Jean Barman, The West Beyond the West: A History of British Columbia (University of Toronto Press, 2007), 145.
     
323. J.R. Miller, Compact, Contract, Covenant: Aboriginal Treaty-Making in Canada (University of Toronto Press, 2009), 92.
     
324. Arthur J. Ray, Aboriginal Rights Claims and the Making and Remaking of History (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2016), 104.
     
325. Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future (TRC, 2015), 123–126.
     
326. John S. Milloy, A National Crime: The Canadian Government and the Residential School System, 1879 to 1986 (University of Manitoba Press, 1999), 48–49.
     
327. Glen Coulthard, Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition (University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 107.
     
328. Greg Grandin, The End of the Myth: From the Frontier to the Border Wall in the Mind of America (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2019), 17–21.

Video Clips Used in Episode

Catholic Church repudiates Doctrine of Discovery that justified Indigenous oppression – CBC News

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau apologizes to the Tsilhqot’in Nation | APTN News

Russ Diabo: Our people are demanding fundamental change | APTN Face To Face

Russell Diabo: a Chronology of Canada-First Nations Relationship

Video rewind: July 28, 1996 — It’s the Kennewick Man!

The Kennewick Man (CBC 1996)

Learning and Teaching The Truth of the Last 500 Years of Colonialism

The Sopranos about Columbus

Graeber and Wengrow on the Myth of the Stupid Savage

David Graeber – Delivers a talk on ‘Indigenous’ peoples.

“The Dawn of Everything”: David Wengrow & the Late David Graeber On a New History of Humanity

Episode Track List

John Tavener – The Protecting Veil for Cello and Orchestra

Tio’tiake – Montreal

National Indigenous Peoples Day Concerts at Cabot Square, Montréal, Tuesday, June 21, 2022

Miserere Mei (Drill Remix) Free Track Helium Choir

Miserere Mei but It’s Drill Beat

I Never Knew, from Savage, by Doug Brandt

Tsilhqot’in – The River Song

The Rebel Spell – The Tsilhqot’in War

#Mashups Return to Burn Your Village to the Ground

The Halluci Nation – Burn Your Village to the Ground

Native Flute Type Beat – Spirit Dance Prod. OvenBakedBeatz & Yung Wunda

Karkwa – Coup

Lee Reed – No Kanada (Instrumental)

Native American Type Beat – Calm Hard Trap Freestyle Type Beat Type Beat Dynamit3

Nadav Cohen – Tales from Babylon [Middle Eastern Lofi Hip Hop/Relaxing Beats]

Ice Age Ancestors – Snow Fall, Windy Winter – Tribal Ambient Music – Shamanic Pulse

Listening to Lofi Music with Man in the Stone Age Chill Lo-fi Hip-Hop (44100 Hz)

Ancient Aztec and Mayan Traditional Music by Ricardo Lozano featuring Jorge Ramos

Columbus Day Lyric Video – The Kiboomers Preschool Songs & Nursery Rhymes for Holidays

Juan de Triana – Dinos Madre del Donçel – Hespèrion XX

Cortez the Killer (2016 Remaster) (Instrumental)

DaniSogen – Forgotten Rite

L 18 Haida Song

Haida Gwaii August 20th, 2022 Potlatch

Tongva Song #LACMA

Haida – Cousin Tyler Crosby Singing My Drum

Binaural Hand Drumming for Sleep, Study, and Meditation Tonal ASMR Frisson Binaural Hand Drumming ASMR, Tapping Tingly Satisfying Drum Music for Work/Sleep/Study TonalASMR

Native American Lofi Hip Hop & Chillstep Music Relaxing Vibes

Cherokee Drums

Native American Drums Only, Shamanic Drumming, Rhythmic Drumming Meditation, Tribal Drums

Brian Eno – By This River (Lofi Reimagined, BGM)

Brian Eno – Just Another Day HD Stream

Snow Chant Hypnotic Shamanic Drum Journey w/ Throat Singing Forest Ambience De Tantoc a Cahokia

06 – Entering the City with a Future Foretold – James Horner – Apocalypto

Arkandji’s Doomonica II – FatBoySlim – Right Here, Right Now [Slow Version]

All music and audio sources for this episode are being used under the Fair Use Act and under the Creative Commons International Public Use License.

Thank you for reading!