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(4) Domestic The term “domestic” when applied to a corporation or partnership means created or organized in the United States or under the law of the United States or of any State unless, in the case of a partnership, the Secretary provides otherwise by regulations.

“Domestic Laws” shall mean the laws, rules or regulations of the United States or any State thereof or the District of Columbia.

The term "United States" means the United States and all areas under the jurisdiction or authority thereof.

**We do not endorse any of the decisions made by the Supreme Court referenced in this article.

In the first of these cases, Johnson v. McIntosh (21 U.S. (8 Wheat.) 543 (1823)), Chief Justice Marshall ruled for the Court that Indian tribes could not convey land to private parties without the consent of the federal government. The Court reasoned that, after conquest by the Europeans and the establishment of the United States, the rights of the tribes to complete sovereignty were diminished, and the tribes' power to dispose of their land was denied. In Cherokee Nation v. Georgia (30 U.S. (5 Pet.) 1 (1831)), the Court addressed the question of whether the Cherokee Nation was a "foreign state" and, therefore, could sue the State of Georgia in federal court under diversity jurisdiction. Chief Justice Marshall ruled that federal courts had no jurisdiction over such a case because Indian tribes were merely "domestic dependent nations" existing "in a state of pupilage. Their relation to the United States resembles that of a ward to his guardian." The statements by the Court in Cherokee Nation established the premise that Indian nations do not possess all of the attributes of sovereignty that the word "nation" normally implies. Indian nations are not "foreign," but rather exist within the geographical boundaries of the United States, which necessarily limits their sovereignty. It would be unacceptable for an Indian nation located within the United States to enter into treaties with other countries, or to cede Indian land to foreign countries (to have a French or German enclave in the middle of Montana, for example.)

Indeed, with respect to the word "includes," the definition of "foreign country" largely mirrors the rule's definition of "United States" in its usage of "includes." See 26 C.F.R. § 1.911-2(g). The rule defines the "United States" as:

United States. The term "United States" when used in a geographical sense includes any territory under the sovereignty of the United States. It includes the states, the District of Columbia, the possessions and territories of the United States, the territorial waters of the United States, the air space over the United States, and the seabed and subsoil of those submarine areas which are adjacent to the territorial waters of the United States and over which the United States has exclusive rights, in accordance with international law, with respect to the exploration and exploitation of natural resources.

The Administrator begins by arguing that the language of the CSA itself is evidence of congressional intent favoring his construction of the statute. His argument is based on the definitions of terms chosen by Congress in drafting the relevant provisions of the CSA. He first cites the definition of the term “United States” as used in “accepted medical use in treatment in the United States.” 21 U.S.C. § 812(b)(1)(B). This term is the only portion of the Schedule I criteria that Congress has expressly defined in the CSA, providing that “[t]he term ‘United States,’ when used in a geographic sense, means all places ... subject *886 to the jurisdiction of the United States.” 21 U.S.C. § 802(28) (emphasis supplied). Coupling this statutory definition of “United States” with the dictionary definition of “accepted”—which means “generally approved” or “generally agreed upon”—the Administrator argues that the phrase “accepted medical use in treatment in the United States, ” 21 U.S.C. § 812(b)(1)(B), must contemplate an administrative determination that the substance has been “generally approved” for use in treatment in “all places” subject to United States jurisdiction. In other words, FDA interstate marketing approval is necessary to satisfy this criterion because, otherwise, the substance could not be deemed to be “generally approved” everywhere in the United States.7 We find this argument to be strained and unpersuasive. The CSA's definition of “United States” plainly does not require the conclusion asserted by the Administrator simply because section 802(28) defines “United States” as “all places subject to the jurisdiction of the United States.” 21 U.S.C. § 802(28) (emphasis supplied). Congress surely intended the reference to “all places” in section 802(28) to delineate the broad jurisdictional scope of the CSA and to clarify that the CSA regulates conduct occurring any place, as opposed to every place, within the United States. As petitioner aptly notes, a defendant charged with violating the CSA by selling controlled substances in only two states would not have a defense based on section 802(28) if he contended that his activity had not occurred in “all places” subject to United States jurisdiction. We add, moreover, that the Administrator's clever argument conveniently omits any reference to the fact that the pertinent phrase in section 812(b)(1)(B) reads “in the United States,” (emphasis supplied). We find this language to be further evidence that the Congress did not intend “accepted medical use in treatment in the United States” to require a finding of recognized medical use in every state or, as the Administrator contends, approval for interstate marketing of the substance.

Although the claims recite only one positional relationship between the gas equilibration reservoir and the conduit, namely that the former is positioned in the latter, the '824 written description (including both text and drawings) teaches three, separate positional embodiments.56 Turning first to the text of the specification, taught is one embodiment in which the gas equilibrium reservoir is "within" the conduit (col. 9, line 42) or "in" the conduit (col. 3, lines 18, 42).57

[BEGIN FOOTNOTE 57] Webster's defines "in," at 557, as "Within the bounds or area of" and "within," at 1268, as "In or into the inner part: INSIDE." Note that the definition of "within" incorporates "in." The word "in" does not require that something be completely and continuously inside of something else. A component may be "in" another component if it is located, at least in relevant part, in the defined space. See Foster v. Hallco Mfg. Co., 119 F.3d 16, 1997 WL 419391 at *8 (Fed. Cir. 1997) (non-precedential). See also Gemstar-TV Guide Int'l, Inc. v. Int'l Trade Comm'n, 383 F.3d 1352, 1372 (Fed. Cir. 2004) ("General use dictionaries define 'in' as 'used as a functional word to indicate location or position in space or in some materially bounded object.' Webster's Third New International Dictionary 1139 (1993). From these definitions, the ordinary meaning of 'storage means in a data processor' is a device capable of retaining data located within a data processing device or system."); TI Group Automotive Sys. (N. Am.), Inc. v. VDO N. Am., L.L.C., 375 F.3d 1126, 1136 (Fed. Cir. 2004) ("we affirm the district court's construction of the term 'within' as meaning 'inside'," stating "what is not outside is on the inside"). [END FOOTNOTE 57]

“Domestic Laws” shall mean the laws, rules or regulations of the United States or any State thereof or the District of Columbia.

Indeed, with respect to the word "includes," the definition of "foreign country" largely mirrors the rule's definition of "United States" in its usage of "includes." See 26 C.F.R. § 1.911-2(g). The rule defines the "United States" as:

United States. The term "United States" when used in a geographical sense includes any territory under the sovereignty of the United States. It includes the states, the District of Columbia, the possessions and territories of the United States, the territorial waters of the United States, the air space over the United States, and the seabed and subsoil of those submarine areas which are adjacent to the territorial waters of the United States and over which the United States has exclusive rights, in accordance with international law, with respect to the exploration and exploitation of natural resources.

The term "United States" means the United States and all areas under the jurisdiction or authority thereof.

**We do not endorse any of the decisions made by the Supreme Court referenced in this article.

In the first of these cases, Johnson v. McIntosh (21 U.S. (8 Wheat.) 543 (1823)), Chief Justice Marshall ruled for the Court that Indian tribes could not convey land to private parties without the consent of the federal government. The Court reasoned that, after conquest by the Europeans and the establishment of the United States, the rights of the tribes to complete sovereignty were diminished, and the tribes' power to dispose of their land was denied. In Cherokee Nation v. Georgia (30 U.S. (5 Pet.) 1 (1831)), the Court addressed the question of whether the Cherokee Nation was a "foreign state" and, therefore, could sue the State of Georgia in federal court under diversity jurisdiction. Chief Justice Marshall ruled that federal courts had no jurisdiction over such a case because Indian tribes were merely "domestic dependent nations" existing "in a state of pupilage. Their relation to the United States resembles that of a ward to his guardian." The statements by the Court in Cherokee Nation established the premise that Indian nations do not possess all of the attributes of sovereignty that the word "nation" normally implies. Indian nations are not "foreign," but rather exist within the geographical boundaries of the United States, which necessarily limits their sovereignty. It would be unacceptable for an Indian nation located within the United States to enter into treaties with other countries, or to cede Indian land to foreign countries (to have a French or German enclave in the middle of Montana, for example.)

(4) Domestic The term “domestic” when applied to a corporation or partnership means created or organized in the United States or under the law of the United States or of any State unless, in the case of a partnership, the Secretary provides otherwise by regulations.

Indigenous Peoples around the world continue to resist and reinvent ways of maintaining their lifeways in the face of the onslaught of a civilization increasingly in decline, based on the ideas of ​​anthropocentrism, a free market, and destroying nature to quench their thirst of accumulation. Indigenous communities face attacks on multiple levels, including extractivism in their territories, and appropriation of their cultural creations and knowledge. In recent decades, the struggles of Indigenous Peoples to protect their ancestral knowledge and intellectual property has increased leaving lessons in organization, lobbying, and alerts from Peoples who have experienced cultural appropriation. Cultural appropriation includes forms of extractivism in Indigenous territories, where transnational mining, oil, gas, pharmaceutical, seed, and fashion industry companies, to name a few, exploit a natural resource, impacting the lives of the communities they have protected or rely on said resource for their livelihoods. Cultural appropriation is an asymmetric relationship between cultures and societies, where the dominant culture/society deals with and justifies its relations with minorities, in this case the Indigenous Peoples, to use their knowledge, ways of life, art, their relationships with plants and animals, spirituality, worldviews and other aspects of Indigenous identity for capitalist consumption. In the 21st century, Indigenous Peoples are not free from being constantly "discovered" by some businesspeople. The cultural appropriation that we address in this article is based on how Indigenous Peoples and communities are suffering extractivism or appropriation without their Free, Prior and Informed Consent and where they are not respected as the collective creators of said tangible and intangible culture, use, or traditional knowledge. Appropriation, in general, implies the separation of the creation from the original authors, the modification of the original meaning or the use of the creation to be marketed as a new product that can be massively consumed. This new product is shown as a new creation or reinvented by the appropriator. The benefit of social recognition or economic benefit remains with those who appropriated the tangible or intangible culture, while the community that has created and protected it for hundreds of years continues to suffer systematic racism for maintaining it. Indigenous Peoples demand the recognition and protection of their artistic and cultural creations, uses, and relationships with plants because they have been their protectors and many have given their lives to defend their lifeways, cultures, and relationships with the environment. Cultural extractivism leaves communities more vulnerable than they already are. In addition, with free market laws and the legal norms of private patents that privilege corporations, companies, and individual creations, the demands or complaints of collective intellectual property of Indigenous Peoples remain only anecdotes. These forms of economic subsistence of traditional knowledge or use are harmed because Indigenous communities cannot continue to produce something that is now produced massively. Such is the example of the dream catchers of the Ojibwe-Chippewa Peoples, which are now mass-produced in China and sold in dollar stores, totally alien to their creators and to their original meaning, and replaced with profits benefiting a company instead of its creators. The case of the “xaam nëxuy” blouse from Santa María Tlahuitoltepec, Mexico, by the designer Isabel Marant, is a flagrant case of plagiarism of Ayuujk designs and collective clothing that is used ancestrally and represents the cosmoexistence and wisdom of the community passed down from generation to generation. This blouse, as well as the Indigenous clothing of many communities in the world, is collective and not individual property. Individual adaptations and modifications to the blouse that are created as fashion are also considered collective creations. The blouse was sold by Marant as her own creation and the sale price was 300 percent more expensive than those made by the women and men of Santa María Tlahuitoltepec. As in this case, there are many communities that are not even aware that their designs are marketed by international companies, and if they do, they do not go beyond public denunciation, because international laws do not recognize collective rights. The struggle carried out by the Union of Yageceros Healers of the Colombian Amazon (UMIYAC), made up of the Cofán, Inga, Siona, Coreguaje, and Kämsa Biya Peoples in southern Colombia is another example of cultural and biodiversity extractivism. Traditional healers have denounced many outsiders coming to Indigenous communities to be in yagé ceremonies. These ceremonies are now also being done by young people from the community who do not have the experience or ancestral knowledge and do it because there is a high demand and a short-term economic benefit. The sacred plant of the Yagé or Ayahuasca is being offered commercially through spiritual retreats, Ayahuascaqueras ceremonies, and schools of shamanism. UMIYAC denounces this exploitation, “It is a mercantile phenomenon of use, consumption, manipulation, and appropriation of our medicinal traditions, our knowledge, and our image. These practices violate the sacredness of our worldviews, offend our authorities, and go against ratified international conventions and treaties to protect the intangible, medicinal, spiritual and cultural heritages of Indigenous Peoples (ie: Colombian Constitution of 1991, Convention 169 / ILO , 1989 and the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples of 2007, among others)." The Yagé plant and the ceremony are the collective, ancestral, and an intangible heritage of the Amazonian Peoples and its superior purpose is to heal, not to be commercialized. Commercialization causes the use of the plant to become decontextualized. Unfortunately, the calls and denunciations of Indigenous Peoples have had little impact on the looters of Indigenous cultures. We need more support from national governments and more corporate responsibility towards the Peoples.

As shown by the Shingle Springs Band case, federal trademark law leaves much to be desired when it comes to allowing tribes to protect their names from non-members. Moreover, many tribes "suffer significant economic loss from unauthorized copying of their traditional designs."86 The lack of action to protect intellectual property among tribes is jarring. Tribes and individual Native artists are, as previously mentioned, not well-off economically, and are unlikely to successfully defend an action for copyright or trademark infringement. Although the IACA is a fine start, it cannot be Congress's last action on the intellectual property rights of Native American tribes and their members.

Congress has taken steps to protect tangible aspects of tribal property.87 Passing legislation to protect historically important artifacts "established a fundamental principle of Native American ownership of their cultural property."88 Even so, there remains no recourse for the appropriation of cultural aspects of tribes that are intangible. This has led some tribes to protect its intangible [*12] cultural property of significance from outsiders.89 As both tangible and intangible elements of tribal culture are "essential to the survival of Indian Nations as distinctive cultural and political groups," Congress must act by altering the current intellectual property schemes within the United States.90

In a letter to online shop Patowl, the Ministry identified printed t-shirts that carried designs mimicking the labor-intensive hazme si puedes (“do me if you can”) embroidery of the Zapotec Indigenous people of the community of San Antonino Castillo Velasco, Oaxaca.

Further, Culture Minister Alejandra Frausto demanded a “public explanation on what basis it could privatize collective property.”13 However, Mexican Indigenous communities have few channels to seek legal remedy from Zara, Anthropologie, and Patowl or any legal deterrence from subsequent acts of appropriation. They must instead turn to public pressure as a source of accountability.

The conflict over cultural appropriation, like the conflict over the Black Hills, centers around Native peoples' sovereignty. But unlike land disputes, the conflict over cultural appropriation clearly emphasizes the nature of Native peoples' sovereignty as both political and cultural. 45 Many Native people today speak of the fact that cultural and intellectual sovereignty undergird their continuing efforts to maintain political sovereignty. Robert Allan Warrior argues, for example, that Indian people need to develop an "intellectual sovereignty" that allows them to work both within traditional systems and outside of them to evaluate the multiple experiences they have had as distinct nations and cultures within a colonial structure.46 Similarly, Elizabeth Cook-Lynn's argument for tribal "jurisdiction" over the "storytelling of Indian America" is premised upon the need for American Indian people to have an "intellectual voice with which to enter into America's important dialogues.,,47 Professor Cook-Lynn observes that "[m]uch as the title to Indian land is still held by the white American government, the major Indian story is held in non-Indian enclaves.48 As Cook-Lynn asserts, nobody really cares what Indians think about any particular current national or global issue.49 The "place" of Indians is in a mythical past, painted in cartoons like Pocahontas, John Wayne westerns, or the plethora of western and romance novels that capitalize on stereotypes about Indians as either "noble" or "bloodthirsty" savages.

In reality, however, "[t]he intersection of modern and historic identity is a critical issue for contemporary Native American people."so After a series of federal policies designed to dismantle tribal cultures and force the assimilation of Native people, there is a pervasive idea among Native people that cultural restoration is essential to the task of building strong Nations in the future.51 For example, in the context of repatriation, Native Hawaiian leader, Edward Halealoha Ayau remarks that "[r]estoring the ancestral foundation through repatriation ... will spiritually clear the path to restoration of Ka Lahui Hawai'i (the Hawaiian Nation).,,52 As Ayau asserts, for Native people, culture is an inseparable aspect of their daily existence, and the survival of Native nations depends upon cultural maintenance.

Although its ‘‘roots’’ in an organic metaphor for culture may be unfortunate given my discussion of Clifford (1988), the concept of hybridity is useful in clarifying dynamics of appropriation under transculturation, understood here as a historically specific condition. Kraidy (2002) discusses hybridity in the context of cultural globalization, focusing on its potential for international and intercultural communication studies. Despite problems with prior uses of the concept, Kraidy sees no ‘‘credible substitute to characterize the dual forces of globalization and localization, cohesion and dispersal, disjuncture and mixture, that capture transnational and transcultural dialectics’’ (p. 332). Kraidy warns against the importation of hybridity into communication studies as a merely ‘‘descriptive device, i.e. describing the local reception of global media texts as a site of cultural mixture’’ (p. 317). Instead of understanding hybridity as the product of local–global interactions, ‘‘hybridity needs to be understood as a communicative practice constitutive of, and constituted by, sociopolitical and economic arrangements’’ (p. 317). Kraidy’s approach highlights ‘‘the mutually constitutive interplay and overlap of cultural, economic and political forces in international communication processes’’ while positing ‘‘the relationship between structure and agency as a dialectical articulation whose results are not preordained’’ (p. 333). Following Kraidy (2002), transculturation is not only distinct from cultural exchange in that multiple cultures and multiple acts of appropriation are involved but it also retains the implications of unequal power of cultural dominance and exploitation while acknowledging the radically different nature of appropriation in the global–local contexts of transnational capitalism. Transculturation highlights, in ways that cultural dominance and exploitation do not, the hybridity of cultural forms and, following Clifford (1988), the lack of ‘‘authenticity,’’ ‘‘purity,’’ and ‘‘essence’’ in the elements being appropriated and in the appropriations themselves. The point, however, is not to return to a pluralist conception of power, or to pretend that the implications discussed under cultural dominance and exploitation no longer apply. Transculturation and hybridity are as inescapable as cultural appropriation itself—an ‘‘always already’’ condition of contemporary culture. Although specific acts of transcultural appropriation vary in the degree of choice involved, for most individuals and cultures today, the condition of transculturation is an involuntary one. The case of Hopi kachina dolls produced for consumption by tourists and collectors of indigenous arts from the southwestern United States (mentioned earlier under cultural exploitation) demonstrates the international and transcultural contexts in which even seemingly ‘‘domestic’’ appropriations occur. These products are shaped by the domestic and international market in Native arts, including commodification of Western fantasies about Native Americans; by the efforts of Hopi and other Native groups to establish economic viability in the U.S. economy; and by the dialectic of cultural assimilation and cultural survival. Some kachina dolls (and numerous other Native art forms) are not only made by non-Natives but also produced outside the United States, adding an international component of both cultural and labor exploitation to the kachina doll trade. ‘‘Imitation’’ kachina dolls abound, leading to a heavy emphasis on authenticity by dealers in Native arts. However, the creation of ‘‘hybrid’’ kachina dolls (as well as potentially hybrid forms of traditional katsina figures), such as those incorporating nontraditional materials, even by‘‘traditional Native artists,’’ complicates notions of purity and authenticity. In a context in which hybridity is inescapable and in which colonized peoples necessarily appropriate aspects of other, often dominating, cultures, ‘‘cultural or artistic ‘authenticity’ has as much to do with an inventive present as with a past, its objectification, preservation, or revival’’ (Clifford, 1988, p. 222). This ‘‘inventive present’’ includes the (involuntary) condition of transculturation as well as the appropriative tactics used by subordinated cultures, few of which could be considered pure. Even if their presence originates from cultural dominance, pickup trucks, country music, rap, and rodeo are a part of tribal life in the southwestern United States along with katsinas, corn pollen, and eagle feathers—not only as cultural impositions or evidence of assimilation but also as part of the ongoing dynamics of culture, identity, survival, and resistance. Even a seemingly random teepee at a roadside Native American arts outlet—oddly placed, an object more appropriate for the Great Plains and its tribes than the Southwest, serving to cue the Western image of ‘‘the Indian’’ more than to represent any particular tribal identity or heritage—cannot be dismissed a priori as alien, inauthentic, and nothing more than a ploy to lure in ignorant tourists (though it is). Its (in)authenticity is more complex than an organic or primitivist view of culture can accommodate, and its dismissal as inauthentic obscures the cultural dynamics of a living people as much as its alien presence. Stereotypes perpetuated about Native Americans via Hollywood (including teepees as a Native American universal) are complicit in the subordination and exploitation of Native peoples, but they also constitute part of the lived experiences of those peoples, experiences that are never determined in advance by the political economy of their representation by the dominant culture and that can serve to provide forms of agency (e.g., possibilities for reappropriation) not otherwise available. Appropriations in such transcultural contexts—involving multiple Southwestern tribes with varying degrees of traditional and assimilated practices as well as the descendants of Spanish, Anglo, and Mormon colonizers, using a means of habitation employed by tribes of the Great Plains to attract tourists off a highway paved with rock taken from a Hopi sacred site, buzzing with cars (some with indigenous names such as Cherokee, Pontiac, and Touareg) carrying tourists not only from Phoenix and Los Angeles but also from Sao Paolo, Berlin, and Tokyo, who are reading guidebooks to the region distributed by transnational media conglomerates and who just might purchase a Kokopelli t-shirt or kachina doll—articulates not only a dizzying array of factors, none determinant, but also possibilities for a variety of potentially effective agencies. These appropriations and agencies are inauthentic but perhaps thrive precisely because of such inauthenticity. This is not a world of autonomy, equality, and genuine pluralism but of domination, struggle, survival, and resistance; one which can be better understood via hybridity and indigenization and in which concepts such as purity, authenticity, and continuity can do as much to perpetuate (neo)- colonial relations as to overcome them (Clifford, 1988). At the same time, however, concepts like transculturation and hybridity can be deployed to delegitimize (legitimate) claims of cultural ownership by subordinated groups, potentially perpetuating (illegitimate) acts of cultural exploitation and thereby questioning whether transculturation should supplant cultural domination and exploitation as valid types of cultural appropriation. The bind here is that although cultural essence and its attendant traits (singular, bounded, static, and proprietary) perpetuate primitivist, organic, and static conceptions of culture (especially with regards to indigenous cultures) and enable exploitative commodifications, many of the same assumptions inhere in arguments for the rights of colonized cultures to oppose exploitation and to practice, perpetuate, and (re)claim control over their culture (e.g., Whitt, 1995). Hence, as mentioned above, many cultural critics draw parallels between the theft of indigenous lands and the theft of indigenous culture—a rhetorically useful but nevertheless conceptually problematic analog. Transculturation as an ‘‘always already’’ of cultural existence Whereas many of the conceptualizations of transculturation and related concepts (hybridity, indigenization) are grounded in the particular conditions of transnational capitalism, the critique of the very concepts of culture and appropriation that undergird the first three types of appropriation can be extended beyond the contemporary condition to previous eras. That is, transculturation questions whether the conception of culture as singular, bounded essence has ever had empirical validity or conceptual coherence. Transculturation, as conceived here, calls not only for an updating of the understanding of contemporary cultural dynamics but also for a radical reconceptualization of culture itself: as conjunctural, relational, or dialogic; as constituted by, not merely engaged in, appropriative relations; and as an ongoing process of absorption and transformation rather than static configurations of practices. Transculturation is not, however, a neoliberal licensing of cultural imperialism or an embracing of the radical indeterminacy and antimaterialism of some postmodern theories of culture. Transculturation questions many of the assumptions undergirding cultural dominance and exploitation, but it remains oriented toward the material dimensions and implications of cultural practices and sensitive to the complex dynamics of disproportionate power. Transculturation identifies forces of cultural homogenization and highlights the influential role of economic, political, military, and other forms of power while also recognizing how cultural appropriation can be constitutive of cultural particularity and agency. The ongoing imposition of the essentialist view of culture embedded in the first three types of appropriation onto various others (marginalized and/or colonized peoples) may constitute the kind of ‘‘epistemic violence’’ critiqued by Spivak (1988). The history of Navajo weaving demonstrates the validity of transculturation’s conception of culture and appropriation in situations prior to the current globalized era. Weaving has long been a central part of Navajo (Dine´) culture, and this continues today as Navajo weavers prepare rugs for display and sale in museums, Native arts outlets, and trading posts on or near the Navajo Nation, and other uses. However, although a particular idea of ‘‘authentic’’ Navajo weaving (in terms of materials, techniques, and patterns) affects the value attached to such weavings, the past 150 years of Navajo weaving have included a wide range of materials and patterns, born of both the conditions under which the Navajo have survived and Navajo inventiveness. A brief review of the recent Eyedazzlers Project (n.d.) and related research by Sheri Burnham (2005) concerning the Germantown period in Navajo weaving and its recent revival illustrates the complex cultural intersections, conditions, and agencies involved in acts of appropriation and the limitations of an essentialist view of culture. In 1863, the U.S. Army forced the defeated Navajo on the Long Walk to Bosque Redondo in eastern New Mexico. Bereft of their sheep and unable to grow crops or otherwise support themselves, Navajo women began unraveling Army-issue blankets and reweaving the materials (Burnham, 2005). Eventually, Germantown yarn from Philadelphia was provided to the Navajo via the railroad. This finely spun and brightly colored yarn was very different from their traditional handspun and naturally dyed yarn, contributing to the development of a distinct style of weavings referred to as Germantowns or Eyedazzlers. The use of Germantown yarn and related styles of weaving continued for approximately 40 years before a return to more traditional patterns and materials. For some, Germantowns represented a loss of authenticity and tradition; a return to earlier styles was driven in part by efforts to market more traditional or authentic weavings to collectors and tourists of the exotic Indians of the Southwest. In the 1990s, some Navajo weavers and the trading posts through which many of their weavings were sold began a revival of the Germantown style. This revival, among other things, called attention to the inventiveness of Navajo weavers and to the ability of cultures to patch themselves together and survive—by literally unweaving and reweaving the text(ile)s of the colonizing culture, then using that culture’s materials to create a new but nevertheless ‘‘Navajo’’ style. Of course, resistance, like culture, is never pure. Navajo weaving is intimately linked to the marketing efforts of non-Indians and the commodification of the dominant culture’s fantasized image of Native Americans and the Southwest. Both the Germantowns and the subsequent weaving styles are not pure expressions of traditional Navajo culture but are shaped by the dynamics of (neo)colonialism. These weavings are not only ‘‘simply’’ (essentially) expressions of Navajo culture and history but are also products of European and Euro-American markets, of the railroads, of tourism, and of the trading posts (themselves cultural hybrids of Native and Western, Anglo and Navajo, Mormon and Spanish), which mediated between the weavers and those who eventually purchased their weavings. Even the pre-Bosque Redondo Navajo weaving styles were involved in interactions with other Native American tribes (the Navajo likely learned weaving from the Puebloan cultures that inhabited the region before their arrival) and a system of trade relationships (Burnham, 2005). Indeed, the sheep from which they obtained their wool were a result of Spanish colonization; hence, the pre-Germantown woolen weavings were themselves hybrid even if the yarn was handspun and naturally dyed. If the history of a cultural practices is traced far enough, its hybridity (impurity) will almost inevitably be demonstrated (cf. Rogers, 1998). A dismissal of the Germantown weavings as inauthentic is not only driven by the essentialist, organic view of culture outlined by Clifford (1988), it overlooks the important role of cross-cultural appropriations in both ongoing cultural development and cultural survival. Such dismissals perpetuate the view of indigenous cultures in particular as static and without agency, and overlooks the important role of appropriation and hybridity in the ongoing constitution of identity as well as resistance—even prior to European contact and colonization. Power dynamics are an intrinsic part of these hybrid forms, but not as simple, one-sided formulas of powerful–powerless. The concerns here are whether the categories of cultural dominance and exploitation can effectively capture these dynamics and whether they do ‘‘epistemic violence’’ to the Navajo. As this case illustrates, transculturation is not always or only degradation or homogenization; it can also be constitutive of cultural particularity, agency, identity, inventiveness, and resistance—not only for those at Bosque Redondo and those who eventually resettled Navajo lands but also for the weavers, traders, and others involved in the contemporary revival of Germantown weaving. These contemporary Germantowns are, of course, also not ‘‘pure’’ but incorporate digital designs and colors of significance to the Native American Church (another hybrid cultural entity) and call forth parallels between the history of the Long Walk and Bosque Redondo with today’s struggles for cultural survival (Eyedazzlers Project, n.d.).

This week, the news hit that Aviator Nation — a California-based, “boho” clothing brand — was profiting by appropriating and selling Native culture without attribution or regard to the impact on Turtle Island’s original Peoples. Native Instagram rallied together to demand they stop, and Native People led a protest outside one of their stores. Before you read on, we ask that you join the call demanding Aviator Nation stop appropriating Native cultures and take solid measures toward fixing what they have broken. Some Real History In the present day, these so-called United States house 574 recognized tribes (along with numerous unrecognized tribes), yet many settlers continue to view Native Americans as nonexistent or extinct. This viewpoint is no accident. Currently, thanks largely to a refusal to teach real history, Indigenous People of Turtle Island are viewed by the dominant U.S. culture as some kind of historical footnote. According to Tara Houska, 83% of references in U.S. K-12 curriculum uses past tense when referencing Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island. That’s a huge problem. When Native Peoples are purposefully written out of K-12 materials in any present sense, Native children will naturally feel invisible, invalid, and detached from their culture — and non-Native children inevitably grow up without an understanding of present-day Native culture. This strategic academic choice also props up so-called America's own propagandized narrative that this continent was a wild, empty, and undiscovered land when colonists arrived. Kids grow up with the impression — and grow into adults who still believe — that the People already here didn’t count then, and we shouldn’t count now. Notions to the contrary would, of course, force America to look closely at its brutal, genocidal history. The next logical step in that scenario is grappling with how colonization poisons the well, which, in turn, begs examination of how colonization ultimately affects everyone, whether or not they are empowered by structural racism. Brittany Woods-Orrison (Koyukon Denè, of Rampart Village) elaborates, “We are all Indigenous to somewhere; we all come from an ancestry that had a relationship with the land. While Indigenous people, for generations, have fought to hold onto their identity and community, white people continue to steal from us violently. Whiteness has exploited Indigenous cultures for generations to make up for their own lack [of cultural identity] and to try to make financial gains.” With that premise, we can start to understand how non-BIPOC folks can act in ways incredibly destructive to BIPOC existence, as recently embodied by the appropriation of Native culture by Aviator Nation. To be clear, this is not an article offering an out for racist behavior. It’s an explanation of how we got here, how we continue on this rotary of racism, and why we are always exhausted by the lack of growth from non-BIPOC folks. More on the Aviator Nation Problem To catch you up, Aviator Nation is a California-esque 1970s-inspired clothing company that uses tipis, traditional moccasins, and mascot faces in their marketing material. The owner, Paige Mycoskie, actually seeks to embody white saviorism, asking for gratitude and recognition for her “creating jobs for POC, Paying POC thru [sic] the entire COVID19 crisis, refusing to lay-off POC (even if that means money out of my pocket).” She also expects recognition and gratitude for her painting of “african american murals” on her store walls (she’s white). The list of her transgressions doesn’t end there. It goes on and on. As Mycoskie herself says, “we build tipis for a living” and “I worked with authentic Native Americans on this design” when referring to her “tipi” covered in neon colors and live-laugh-love chevrons. Such statements are reflective of her privilege. As the sister of Blake Mycoskie, founder of TOMS Shoes, her business and life are propped up by the millions of dollars her brother makes from marketing his products as good for poor, brown children. On TOMS’ site, only one of every seven models is BIPOC … until you get to their impact report. There, they demonstrate the good they do for communities; suddenly everyone is Brown, Black or Native. Given the Mycoskies' origin story, it's no surprise they can't tell the difference between appropriation and appreciation. When the baseline for typical behavior includes using tipis and wearing sombreros and feathered headdresses (that's Blake, above, looking like Jake Angeli and his wife with her friends in the sombrero picture below), it's no wonder they’re surprised when asked to stop their racist behaviors. The Harm of Appropriation and Misrepresentation Let’s talk a little more about why appropriation and misrepresentation are so harmful. Lydia Poncé (Mayo/ Quechua) of the American Indian Movement says, “Cultural appropriation is not honoring Indigenous People; it is an injury causing harm to future Indigenous generations. Aviator Nation is attempting to brand their innocence with more words of racism, commodification, and white saviorism. We, the Indigenous community, are still here, and it is their obligation to correct this.” Sepia-toned photographs are the most common way the dominant American culture views Indigenous Peoples. And, in current culture, one of the most common ways Native Peoples see ourselves represented is in mascotry. On June 8, the Race, Ethnicity and Education Journal published a study highlighting the outcomes from these issues: “Low self-esteem, low community worth, and increased negative feelings of stress and depression are just some of the negative psychological effects Native American mascots wreak on the well-being of Native Americans, especially youth,” This dynamic becomes particularly significant when understood in the larger context. Suicide is one of the leading causes of death among Native Peoples, and is the second highest cause of death for Natives 10-24, according to The National Indian Council on Aging. “Historical disenfranchisement through genocide and institutional racism has resulted in American Indians and Alaska Natives experiencing poorer health and socioeconomic outcomes. These social determinants of health intersect to create a situation that is detrimental to the physical and mental health of Indian communities. Cultural disconnection, alienation and pressure to assimilate all contribute to higher rates of suicide among American Indians and Alaska Natives.” A chorus of voices is singing out about how Aviator Nation’s behavior exacerbates the larger problem. Courtney Little Axe (Natsista/NiSiWiNwi/Semvnole) says, “Our cultural practices were illegal until the American Indian Religious Freedom Act was passed in 1978. Many of our ancestors were killed trying to preserve those very cultural practices and lifestyles that are being exploited. Cultural appropriation has been a problem that we have faced for far too long. Aviator Nation’s unethical treatment is not unique and happens way too often.” Indigenous Peoples Movement, a global coalition that unites all Indigenous peoples of the world, highlighted that, as Native People, we have many frontlines, including the dismantling of harmful stereotypes and cultural appropriations. “It’s bad enough we are fighting for our lands, our dignity, our waters, our women and men, and our future generations against this colonial system — but to continue to educate over and over again that our culture isn’t for sale is getting exhausting,” they told us. That exhaustion was echoed by others hoping that through education, we could find new understanding that could limit open racism. “[Paige Mycoskie’s] behavior indicates that she’s never headed to face this. America suffers from amnesia or it has selective memories, and that’s the issue behind this whole Critical Race Theory. When we aren’t teaching what has actually happened we have no idea how to fix the harm,” says NSRGNTS Collective.

Countless groups of indigenous people across the globe have a similar history of violence, loss, and oppression. This historical trauma creates a legacy that resonates across generations and is passed on to current generations. This well-documented phenomenon in recent years has been called historic trauma (Brave Heart, 2004; Cobb, 2006; Day, 2014; Wasserman, 2005; Weaver & Yellow Horse Brave Heart, 1999). It is estimated that during the 1930s–1940s, half of all American Indians in the United States were forced to attend boarding schools (Brave Heart, 2004; Cobb, 2006; Ziibiwing Center of Anishinaabe Culture and Lifeways, 2011). These numbers were perhaps even greater in Canada, New Zealand, and Australia. Results from researchers who have attempted to measure the impact of historic trauma seem to indicate that American Indians have high levels of emotional distress including “anger, avoidance, anxiety, and depression” (Whitbeck, Adams, Hoyt, & Chen, 2004, p. 127). Researchers have only recently begun to fully understand the long-term impact on the children, families, and communities. Those peoples who have experienced genocide through war, torture, and removal experience even deeper and longer-lasting trauma (Brave Heart, 2004; Cobb, 2006). It is hard to hold on to one’s cultural practices in the face of such profound loss. When elders are killed or removed from the community, who is left to teach the traditional ways, and what effects does this loss have on health and well-being (Brave Heart, 2004; Ziibiwing Center of Anishinaabe Culture and Lifeways, 2011)? Recent research has concluded that early childhood trauma can have lasting impacts and may affect developmental growth (Wasserman, 2005). These impacts are seen in the dismal health, mental health, child welfare, and other poor outcomes present in indigenous communities. “Collective trauma unfolds as an omnipresent, community wide phenomenon, while individual trauma unfolds as a personal psychological phenomenon unrelated to a collective common experience” (Red Horse et al., 2000, p. 14). Indigenous groups who have experienced disruption of traditional ways of life—loss of land, disruption of government and family systems through war and trauma—now experience food and water insecurity and have become impoverished as a result. This is directly related to the loss of traditional lifeways. For example, in India, Tiplut Nongbri writes, “it is significant that tribal poverty is highest in states where the people have lost control over land” (International Workgroup for Indigenous Affairs, n.d. Retrieved from http://www.iwgia.org/). One writer links this economic instability to the loss of “access to forests and non-timber produce, and to recent decisions taken by the Indian Supreme Court empowering the government to bring all forests under working plans and evict encroachers” (International Workgroup for Indigenous Affairs, n.d. Retrieved from http://www.iwgia.org/). Across the world, loss of indigenous land leads to disastrous changes to ways of life for the people who are misplaced. This includes loss of agriculture, traditional food sources on land and in the water, and forest resources. Cultural survival means being able to sustain the beliefs and worldview of one’s ancestors in order to pass them on to those that come after us. Across the world, colonizing government policies and practices were designed to alter and destroy indigenous culture and ways. In spite of all of these efforts, many indigenous peoples throughout the world have managed to retain their values and practices (Day, 2014; Rheault, 1999; Simard & Blight, 2011). These worldviews are deeply embedded in language and culture. Two Canadian indigenous researchers describe their unique worldview: It is important to understand that through an Aboriginal lens, all things are related on a spiritual level. A primary difference between Aboriginal worldview—Aki naanaagadawaabiwi and Non-Aboriginal theories of development is that everything in Aboriginal worldview—Aki naanaagadawaabiwi is based on the spirit whereas the concept of spirituality or the spirit is often overlooked in Non-Aboriginal theories of development. As stated earlier, cultural identity is deeply tied to how people sees themselves as part of the larger group with whom they share common cultural distinctiveness. This way of viewing oneself and the world around you is shaped by everyday cultural experiences and is reinforced throughout one’s life. This learning is developmental in nature, with children learning from families, their environment, and their cultural group. This sense of one’s cultural self comes from learning the social cultural norms that exist within one’s specific group (Day, 2014; Rheault, 1999; Simard & Blight, 2011). These constructs embrace cultural values, tribal language, traditional teachings passed down through centuries, ceremonies, connection to a land base, shared history, and accumulated wisdom (Cobb, 2006; Rheault, 1999; Weaver, 2001). For many indigenous cultures, worldview is relational as opposed to linear, in other words, cultural meaning is framed by experiences with family and cultural community, the surrounding ecosystem, and spiritual experiences. If one views the world through a relational manner, events are shaped by other events and relationships that are not necessarily linear. Most Native people raised within a cultural setting view the world through a relational lens (Day, 2014; Cross, 2010; Rheault, 1999). If one sees the world in a linear fashion, things seems to fall into line in a one-dimensional, logical progression. Those who see the world as linear also have a tendency to believe that individual effort can shape your course. A relational worldview takes into account unseen forces and is more accepting of “fate.” This is an important concept for social workers to understand when working with indigenous people. Cross (2010) says that for indigenous people “balance and harmony in relationships between multiple variables, including spiritual forces, make up the core of the thought system. Every event is understood in relation to all other events regardless of time, space, or physical existence. Health exists only when things are in balance and harmony” (p. 2). Children raised using a relational worldview have different experiences and perspectives on health, well-being, family, and spiritual connections. Most indigenous peoples understand the connection between health and well-being and maintaining balance within the mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical aspects of one’s life. This is important within the individual self, one’s family and extended family, and within one’s tribal community (Day, 2014; Simard & Blight, 2011). This embedded identity is how cultures maintain and thrive. Living life within one’s culture requires that children have meaningful interaction with extended family, community, and culture. “In tribal practice, family (and cultural) preservation involves bringing families in balance with community, spiritual, and other natural relationships” (Red Horse et al., 2000, p. 22). Having a cultural “home base” upon which to rely helps individuals and groups to be resilient. This cultural touchstone helps to ensure cultural survival in times of duress. Developing this cultural touchstone starts before birth, often with ceremonies and teachings about pregnancy: how to eat, how to prepare for birth, and instructions about childrearing (Lowell, Kildea, Liddle, Cox, & Paterson, 2015; Rheault, 1999). This cultural base grows throughout ones life span and is transmitted intergenerationally. For culture to survive, this must be done not only in the context of family but also in the context of a larger indigenous group. One such culture in the United States and Canada are the Anishinaabe people, who reside in southern Canada and the northern Midwest of the United States. Like many indigenous people, they have teachings about their core values called “grandfather teachings.” These are used to teach children about important ways of being in relationship with one another and the world. It takes a long time to fully understand these teachings as they are embedded in the language and culture of the Anishinaabe. But even providing a short description of them provides a glimpse into the central beliefs of the people. These teachings are (Day, 2014): wisdom— to value knowledge and learning throughout your life and from many sources love—to embrace peace and have unconditional regard for others respect—to treat others in a caring manner bravery—to act with integrity even in the face of fear honesty—to keep one’s word and behave in an honorable way humility—to know your place in the larger picture and not put yourself above the Great Spirit, animals, plants, or other life truth—to be honest with yourself and others These Anishinaabe values provide an underpinning for tribal members in shaping policy and practice. The teachers of these values are most often the elders who have learned these lessons many times over and can provide important context. As one Anishinaabe researcher stated: Without these teachers, how else can a person know how to be good? They are oral reference libraries that account for stories, legends, prophecies, ceremonies, songs, dances, language and the philosophy of the people. Elders are often held in the highest esteem in indigenous communities for the lifetime of wisdom they have acquired. Learning about ones cultural ways takes a lifetime and requires a strong community with knowledgeable elders to help the children learn their traditional ways and beliefs. This is the essence of cultural survival.

Although its ‘‘roots’’ in an organic metaphor for culture may be unfortunate given my discussion of Clifford (1988), the concept of hybridity is useful in clarifying dynamics of appropriation under transculturation, understood here as a historically specific condition. Kraidy (2002) discusses hybridity in the context of cultural globalization, focusing on its potential for international and intercultural communication studies. Despite problems with prior uses of the concept, Kraidy sees no ‘‘credible substitute to characterize the dual forces of globalization and localization, cohesion and dispersal, disjuncture and mixture, that capture transnational and transcultural dialectics’’ (p. 332). Kraidy warns against the importation of hybridity into communication studies as a merely ‘‘descriptive device, i.e. describing the local reception of global media texts as a site of cultural mixture’’ (p. 317). Instead of understanding hybridity as the product of local–global interactions, ‘‘hybridity needs to be understood as a communicative practice constitutive of, and constituted by, sociopolitical and economic arrangements’’ (p. 317). Kraidy’s approach highlights ‘‘the mutually constitutive interplay and overlap of cultural, economic and political forces in international communication processes’’ while positing ‘‘the relationship between structure and agency as a dialectical articulation whose results are not preordained’’ (p. 333). Following Kraidy (2002), transculturation is not only distinct from cultural exchange in that multiple cultures and multiple acts of appropriation are involved but it also retains the implications of unequal power of cultural dominance and exploitation while acknowledging the radically different nature of appropriation in the global–local contexts of transnational capitalism. Transculturation highlights, in ways that cultural dominance and exploitation do not, the hybridity of cultural forms and, following Clifford (1988), the lack of ‘‘authenticity,’’ ‘‘purity,’’ and ‘‘essence’’ in the elements being appropriated and in the appropriations themselves. The point, however, is not to return to a pluralist conception of power, or to pretend that the implications discussed under cultural dominance and exploitation no longer apply. Transculturation and hybridity are as inescapable as cultural appropriation itself—an ‘‘always already’’ condition of contemporary culture. Although specific acts of transcultural appropriation vary in the degree of choice involved, for most individuals and cultures today, the condition of transculturation is an involuntary one. The case of Hopi kachina dolls produced for consumption by tourists and collectors of indigenous arts from the southwestern United States (mentioned earlier under cultural exploitation) demonstrates the international and transcultural contexts in which even seemingly ‘‘domestic’’ appropriations occur. These products are shaped by the domestic and international market in Native arts, including commodification of Western fantasies about Native Americans; by the efforts of Hopi and other Native groups to establish economic viability in the U.S. economy; and by the dialectic of cultural assimilation and cultural survival. Some kachina dolls (and numerous other Native art forms) are not only made by non-Natives but also produced outside the United States, adding an international component of both cultural and labor exploitation to the kachina doll trade. ‘‘Imitation’’ kachina dolls abound, leading to a heavy emphasis on authenticity by dealers in Native arts. However, the creation of ‘‘hybrid’’ kachina dolls (as well as potentially hybrid forms of traditional katsina figures), such as those incorporating nontraditional materials, even by‘‘traditional Native artists,’’ complicates notions of purity and authenticity. In a context in which hybridity is inescapable and in which colonized peoples necessarily appropriate aspects of other, often dominating, cultures, ‘‘cultural or artistic ‘authenticity’ has as much to do with an inventive present as with a past, its objectification, preservation, or revival’’ (Clifford, 1988, p. 222). This ‘‘inventive present’’ includes the (involuntary) condition of transculturation as well as the appropriative tactics used by subordinated cultures, few of which could be considered pure. Even if their presence originates from cultural dominance, pickup trucks, country music, rap, and rodeo are a part of tribal life in the southwestern United States along with katsinas, corn pollen, and eagle feathers—not only as cultural impositions or evidence of assimilation but also as part of the ongoing dynamics of culture, identity, survival, and resistance. Even a seemingly random teepee at a roadside Native American arts outlet—oddly placed, an object more appropriate for the Great Plains and its tribes than the Southwest, serving to cue the Western image of ‘‘the Indian’’ more than to represent any particular tribal identity or heritage—cannot be dismissed a priori as alien, inauthentic, and nothing more than a ploy to lure in ignorant tourists (though it is). Its (in)authenticity is more complex than an organic or primitivist view of culture can accommodate, and its dismissal as inauthentic obscures the cultural dynamics of a living people as much as its alien presence. Stereotypes perpetuated about Native Americans via Hollywood (including teepees as a Native American universal) are complicit in the subordination and exploitation of Native peoples, but they also constitute part of the lived experiences of those peoples, experiences that are never determined in advance by the political economy of their representation by the dominant culture and that can serve to provide forms of agency (e.g., possibilities for reappropriation) not otherwise available. Appropriations in such transcultural contexts—involving multiple Southwestern tribes with varying degrees of traditional and assimilated practices as well as the descendants of Spanish, Anglo, and Mormon colonizers, using a means of habitation employed by tribes of the Great Plains to attract tourists off a highway paved with rock taken from a Hopi sacred site, buzzing with cars (some with indigenous names such as Cherokee, Pontiac, and Touareg) carrying tourists not only from Phoenix and Los Angeles but also from Sao Paolo, Berlin, and Tokyo, who are reading guidebooks to the region distributed by transnational media conglomerates and who just might purchase a Kokopelli t-shirt or kachina doll—articulates not only a dizzying array of factors, none determinant, but also possibilities for a variety of potentially effective agencies. These appropriations and agencies are inauthentic but perhaps thrive precisely because of such inauthenticity. This is not a world of autonomy, equality, and genuine pluralism but of domination, struggle, survival, and resistance; one which can be better understood via hybridity and indigenization and in which concepts such as purity, authenticity, and continuity can do as much to perpetuate (neo)- colonial relations as to overcome them (Clifford, 1988). At the same time, however, concepts like transculturation and hybridity can be deployed to delegitimize (legitimate) claims of cultural ownership by subordinated groups, potentially perpetuating (illegitimate) acts of cultural exploitation and thereby questioning whether transculturation should supplant cultural domination and exploitation as valid types of cultural appropriation. The bind here is that although cultural essence and its attendant traits (singular, bounded, static, and proprietary) perpetuate primitivist, organic, and static conceptions of culture (especially with regards to indigenous cultures) and enable exploitative commodifications, many of the same assumptions inhere in arguments for the rights of colonized cultures to oppose exploitation and to practice, perpetuate, and (re)claim control over their culture (e.g., Whitt, 1995). Hence, as mentioned above, many cultural critics draw parallels between the theft of indigenous lands and the theft of indigenous culture—a rhetorically useful but nevertheless conceptually problematic analog. Transculturation as an ‘‘always already’’ of cultural existence Whereas many of the conceptualizations of transculturation and related concepts (hybridity, indigenization) are grounded in the particular conditions of transnational capitalism, the critique of the very concepts of culture and appropriation that undergird the first three types of appropriation can be extended beyond the contemporary condition to previous eras. That is, transculturation questions whether the conception of culture as singular, bounded essence has ever had empirical validity or conceptual coherence. Transculturation, as conceived here, calls not only for an updating of the understanding of contemporary cultural dynamics but also for a radical reconceptualization of culture itself: as conjunctural, relational, or dialogic; as constituted by, not merely engaged in, appropriative relations; and as an ongoing process of absorption and transformation rather than static configurations of practices. Transculturation is not, however, a neoliberal licensing of cultural imperialism or an embracing of the radical indeterminacy and antimaterialism of some postmodern theories of culture. Transculturation questions many of the assumptions undergirding cultural dominance and exploitation, but it remains oriented toward the material dimensions and implications of cultural practices and sensitive to the complex dynamics of disproportionate power. Transculturation identifies forces of cultural homogenization and highlights the influential role of economic, political, military, and other forms of power while also recognizing how cultural appropriation can be constitutive of cultural particularity and agency. The ongoing imposition of the essentialist view of culture embedded in the first three types of appropriation onto various others (marginalized and/or colonized peoples) may constitute the kind of ‘‘epistemic violence’’ critiqued by Spivak (1988). The history of Navajo weaving demonstrates the validity of transculturation’s conception of culture and appropriation in situations prior to the current globalized era. Weaving has long been a central part of Navajo (Dine´) culture, and this continues today as Navajo weavers prepare rugs for display and sale in museums, Native arts outlets, and trading posts on or near the Navajo Nation, and other uses. However, although a particular idea of ‘‘authentic’’ Navajo weaving (in terms of materials, techniques, and patterns) affects the value attached to such weavings, the past 150 years of Navajo weaving have included a wide range of materials and patterns, born of both the conditions under which the Navajo have survived and Navajo inventiveness. A brief review of the recent Eyedazzlers Project (n.d.) and related research by Sheri Burnham (2005) concerning the Germantown period in Navajo weaving and its recent revival illustrates the complex cultural intersections, conditions, and agencies involved in acts of appropriation and the limitations of an essentialist view of culture. In 1863, the U.S. Army forced the defeated Navajo on the Long Walk to Bosque Redondo in eastern New Mexico. Bereft of their sheep and unable to grow crops or otherwise support themselves, Navajo women began unraveling Army-issue blankets and reweaving the materials (Burnham, 2005). Eventually, Germantown yarn from Philadelphia was provided to the Navajo via the railroad. This finely spun and brightly colored yarn was very different from their traditional handspun and naturally dyed yarn, contributing to the development of a distinct style of weavings referred to as Germantowns or Eyedazzlers. The use of Germantown yarn and related styles of weaving continued for approximately 40 years before a return to more traditional patterns and materials. For some, Germantowns represented a loss of authenticity and tradition; a return to earlier styles was driven in part by efforts to market more traditional or authentic weavings to collectors and tourists of the exotic Indians of the Southwest. In the 1990s, some Navajo weavers and the trading posts through which many of their weavings were sold began a revival of the Germantown style. This revival, among other things, called attention to the inventiveness of Navajo weavers and to the ability of cultures to patch themselves together and survive—by literally unweaving and reweaving the text(ile)s of the colonizing culture, then using that culture’s materials to create a new but nevertheless ‘‘Navajo’’ style. Of course, resistance, like culture, is never pure. Navajo weaving is intimately linked to the marketing efforts of non-Indians and the commodification of the dominant culture’s fantasized image of Native Americans and the Southwest. Both the Germantowns and the subsequent weaving styles are not pure expressions of traditional Navajo culture but are shaped by the dynamics of (neo)colonialism. These weavings are not only ‘‘simply’’ (essentially) expressions of Navajo culture and history but are also products of European and Euro-American markets, of the railroads, of tourism, and of the trading posts (themselves cultural hybrids of Native and Western, Anglo and Navajo, Mormon and Spanish), which mediated between the weavers and those who eventually purchased their weavings. Even the pre-Bosque Redondo Navajo weaving styles were involved in interactions with other Native American tribes (the Navajo likely learned weaving from the Puebloan cultures that inhabited the region before their arrival) and a system of trade relationships (Burnham, 2005). Indeed, the sheep from which they obtained their wool were a result of Spanish colonization; hence, the pre-Germantown woolen weavings were themselves hybrid even if the yarn was handspun and naturally dyed. If the history of a cultural practices is traced far enough, its hybridity (impurity) will almost inevitably be demonstrated (cf. Rogers, 1998). A dismissal of the Germantown weavings as inauthentic is not only driven by the essentialist, organic view of culture outlined by Clifford (1988), it overlooks the important role of cross-cultural appropriations in both ongoing cultural development and cultural survival. Such dismissals perpetuate the view of indigenous cultures in particular as static and without agency, and overlooks the important role of appropriation and hybridity in the ongoing constitution of identity as well as resistance—even prior to European contact and colonization. Power dynamics are an intrinsic part of these hybrid forms, but not as simple, one-sided formulas of powerful–powerless. The concerns here are whether the categories of cultural dominance and exploitation can effectively capture these dynamics and whether they do ‘‘epistemic violence’’ to the Navajo. As this case illustrates, transculturation is not always or only degradation or homogenization; it can also be constitutive of cultural particularity, agency, identity, inventiveness, and resistance—not only for those at Bosque Redondo and those who eventually resettled Navajo lands but also for the weavers, traders, and others involved in the contemporary revival of Germantown weaving. These contemporary Germantowns are, of course, also not ‘‘pure’’ but incorporate digital designs and colors of significance to the Native American Church (another hybrid cultural entity) and call forth parallels between the history of the Long Walk and Bosque Redondo with today’s struggles for cultural survival (Eyedazzlers Project, n.d.).