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Travels in Navajo Nation
I just spent my Spring Break traveling around the South Western U.S., or as some locals refer to it, Navajo Nation. At the end of an 11 hour drive from our central California home, a friend and I found ourselves amid a land of red rocks, long dusty roads, and tumble weeds galore. We explored a space that makes up an essential part of American geography and identity, and for two West Coasters, we felt it ironic that the region had been so far off our radar. For many Californians, the Southwest is too far for a long weekend, and too close to legitimize spending sacred vacation time just a state away. While prepping for our journey, few friends could offer any advice about journeying to or near the Grand Canyon. "I've never been. We figured it's not going anywhere, so why rush down there?" Without the word of mouth advice we had hoped for, we hit the road none the less. We slept under the stars at Zion National Park, hiked side by side with hordes of Japanese tourists down into the Grand Canyon, and visited the mysterious energy vortexes in Sedona Arizona, mecca to everything New-Agey.
Arizona LandscapeOther than having my own quick travel narrative to compare to the texts we read this semester, there was another theme that I encountered that gave me an interesting perspective on the Travel Classics course. The way that the cultures of Native Americans, or Indians as they are commonly referred to in the region interact with tourists shows the modern outcome of the initial cross-cultural exchange we read about in Cabeza de Vaca. While a persuasive motivation for Europeans to come to the New World was the extraction of wealth from territories inhabited by Native Americans, it seems as if the roles have reversed in modern permutations of Native American-White interactions. The sale of Indian crafts (jewelry, rugs, pottery etc.) is prevalent in the region, especially in touristy areas, as (theoretically) Native Americans are the ones to profit off of the influx of Anglo people into their territory. These products, a commodification of the Native American identity and mystique, is the main point of interaction between visitors and natives. Many visitors that are drawn to the area because of its rich indigenous history leave with souvenirs to remember their time in Navajo Nation. But the demand for 'traditional' or anticipated Native American crafts (dream catchers, arrows etc.) creates a market full of goods that primarily satisfy outsider expectations or preconceived fantasies of the place. Artisans provide the supply, but for the primary purpose of exploiting Navajo Trail tourist desires rather than continuing and expanding an ancient tradition. And with many Anglo middle men sneaking into the distribution and sale of Native American goods, the impact of the sale of these goods on Native American communities is far from black and white. The souvenir aspect of travel is an interesting one, and is an element that we didn't discuss much this semester. Souvenirs satisfy different desires of the common traveler. Souvenir shopping provides an activity for travelers, and engaging in marketplace barter offers travelers the chance to interact with local people. Upon arriving home, a souvenir acts as a reminder of good times passed, a time marker of a bygone voyage. Souvenirs also serve as status symbols, showing off to friends the traveler's ability to afford trips and trinkets, along with their worldly view and depth of life experience. When I was traveling through Arizona and Utah, I was intrigued by the Native American artisan souvenir trade. Their were a few different categories that I began to notice, representing different modes of production, and the multifaceted ways that travelers interact with a place via their local economic transactions. Some products were sold with a tag that had a photograph and a number of the Indian that made it. This tag guaranteed that the rug or dream catcher was made by an authentic Native American. In this case, the connection with the actual producer is a value-added experience for tourists- it is important to them that they can tell their friends this new rug was wove be a true Indian on an ancient loom. Yet there are a few unknowns that question how important this awareness about the producer really is. A number identified each artisan along with their first name, which seemed a bit dehumanizing. The was nothing noted about the working conditions of the artisans, or how they relate to the business. And while tourists are "buying into" an aspect of Native American identity, we know nothing about how these people relate to the symbols and customs of their ancestors, and how the commercialization of these practices has changed their understanding of them. Yet despite these possible problematic areas, this category of souvenir did seem to employ Native Americans, offered economic viability for those who desired to preserve ancient traditions, and allowed tourists to indirectly support and interact with authentic and practicing Native Americans.
Native American Road Side Jewelry StandAnother category of souvenir I noticed throughout the journey were other types of Native American paraphernalia, that were seemingly also on sale to allow tourists to participate in the Native experience, yet were clearly made overseas. Displays full of seed bead jewelry that looked hand-made from reservations, or t-shirts and magnets that touted Native American sayings, were subtly tagged with "Made in China" labels. I immediately thought how bizarre it must be for factory workers in southern China to be making dream catchers to sell to tourists in Arizona who buy them in hopes of taking part in a bit of Native American culture. This example shows that souvenir buying and toting is more about the status symbol aspect, and ironically, is less conscientious about the products origins. I ended up buying a necklace from a road side stand in Arizona. The man who sold it to me told me he was a Navajo, and to tell people who asked about it that "this necklace wasn't just something from Wal-Mart." The tension between hand and machine made goods, the arguments about local production versus outsourcing are not news, nor will they end any time soon. But when these economic exchanges occur in the footsteps of past eras of cultural exploitation, such as we read about in Cabeza de Vaca, and when we as travelers legitimize buying sovenirs in order to connect with a place, yet buy something made in a factory worlds away, we need to think critically about our role as travelers, and the historical and social context of our appearance in different, including domestic, lands.


