Thursday, July 02, 2026

 

Beyond Disney: A 1616 portrait of Pocahontas shows how English colonizers saw Indigenous Americans

(The Conversation) — The English assumed people they colonized would convert to their way of life, including Protestant Christianity – an assumption reflected in Pocahontas’ portrait.
Simon van de Passe's 1616 engraving of Pocahontas is the only known portrait made during her lifetime. (National Portrait Gallery/Wikimedia Commons)

(The Conversation) — Thanks to the Walt Disney Company, Pocahontas may be the most famous Native American who lived in the 17th century. The animated film version of her early life included her speaking with a willow tree, befriending animals, singing about “the colors of the wind,” and being caught up in an ill-fated romance with Captain John Smith.

The 1995 film created an enduring visual image of Pocahontas, and contained some details drawn from the historical record, though plenty is pure fiction. Smith was, in fact, one of the English colonists who arrived in Jamestown, Virginia, soon after its founding in 1607. Pocahontas’ father Wahunsonacock – whom colonists and Disney called Powhatan – was the paramount chief of the Powhatans, who lived in communities along the edges of Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries.

Only one portrait of Pocahontas from her lifetime exists – a sharp contrast with the Disney-drawn image most Americans know. And it speaks volumes about how the English saw colonization.

Powerful family

As I describe in my 2026 book, “Contested Continent: The Struggle for North America, c. 1000 to 1680,” Wahunsonacock was the most consequential political figure in early Virginia, the land Powhatans knew as Tsenacommacah. Through personal alliances and shrewd stratagems, he controlled perhaps 30 communities along the shores of Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries.

A black and white illustration shows a man in a feather headdress sitting on a platform above a seated crowd.

An engraving of Wahunsonacock by William Hole appeared on a map John Smith created of Virginia.
Virtual Jamestown/Wikimedia Commons

Pocahontas, also known as Matoaka and Amonute, was probably about 10 or 11 years old when she encountered Smith in late 1607. At that moment he was a captive of her father, who, Smith later wrote, was about to have him killed. Though scholars believe Wahunsonacock was likely putting Smith through a ritual adoption, the colonist claimed Pocahontas saved his life.

In 1613, the English took Pocahontas captive during a conflict known as the first Anglo-Powhatan War. After obtaining his daughter’s freedom in 1614, Wahunsonacock approved her marriage to John Rolfe, who played a leading role in the colony’s tobacco economy, and she converted to Christianity. Sometime between 1615 and 1617 she gave birth to their son, Thomas.

Pocahontas in England

Two years after the marriage, Pocahontas and Rolfe sailed to England, where she played a leading role in her father’s diplomatic mission.

During her stay in London, which included meeting King James I, Pocahontas sat for a portrait by the artist Simon van de Passe. Her clothing and pose echoed portraits of other elite English women of the era. The image emphasizes her tall stovepipe hat, ample lace collar, a dress with detailed embroidery or brocade, and a pearl earring dangling from her left ear.

A black and white engraving of a woman with a serious expression, wearing an ornately embroidered gown.

Simon van de Passe’s 1616 engraving of Pocahontas is the only known portrait made during her lifetime.
National Portrait Gallery/Wikimedia Commons

In addition to her English clothing, Pocahontas holds either a feather fan, common for an upper-class woman at the time, or a quill pen. Since Europeans considered literacy a crucial marker of civilization, either object would highlight English hopes that Indigenous Americans could rapidly embrace the colonists’ culture.

Power of art

The engraving of Pocahontas was not the first image of Native peoples of the mid-Atlantic coastline circulating in England. Illustrations in one widely reprinted book played a crucial role in convincing the English to establish settlements in North America.

In the late 16th century, advocates of English colonization understood that descriptions of North America could make foreign territory more enticing to potential migrants. They wanted to demonstrate to English men and women that they could create profitable economies and coexist with Native peoples.

An ornate title page looks like a stone monument, with figures with colored clothing positioned around it.

The title page of the 1590 edition of Theodor de Bry’s ‘A Briefe and True Report of the Newfound Land of Virginia.’
Livinncary/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

Some promoters recognized that watercolor images painted in 1585 by the artist John White depicting the Carolina Algonquians of the Outer Banks could perhaps generate interest – and investments. The promoters, who had ties to leading figures in the English court as well as to printers, also saw the benefits of an in-depth study of the region by the young English mathematician and writer Thomas Harriot, “A Briefe and True Report of the Newfound Land of Virginia.” In 1590, the promoters worked with the Flemish printer Theodor de Bry to produce an illustrated version, which contained engravings based on White’s paintings.

The volume described Carolina Algonquians’ practices and enumerated commodities that could be extracted for profit. Some of the Native Americans depicted in these pages are clad with only a deerskin loincloth. Some of the women wear skirts but not tops.

To Europeans bred on the idea that clothing an entire body was a marker of civilization, these Alqonquians’ appearance was significant. People who colonizers considered “savages” were often depicted nude, like the Tainos whom Christopher Columbus encountered a century earlier. English men and women reading the book about the Algonquians, on the other hand, saw them as a people who would, under the right tutelage, adopt English-style culture – including Protestant Christianity.

“Some religion they have alreadie,” Harriot wrote in “A Briefe and True Report,” “which although it be farre from the truth, yet being as it is, there is hope it may been the easier and sooner reformed.”

To make the point that Native Americans could be converted to European culture, the engravers added depictions of ancient Britons, allegedly based on an old chronicle. Three of these images of Picts depicted them as nude, bearing tattoos more extensive than the Algonquians’. These individuals are also portrayed as more violent: A Pict man holds a head still dripping blood, with another head at his feet, while a Pict woman brandishes spears and a broadsword.

Reality check

When Pocahontas sat for Van de Passe, his portrait did more than create a resemblance of the young woman, who would die the following year, soon after leaving London – felled either by disease or, as a Virginia tribe’s oral history suggests, poison.

Like the images popularized by Harriot’s book, her portrait suggested that Native Americans would soon embrace English ways. Pocahontas herself, as the words on the engraving noted, had become Rebecca Rolfe after her marriage. In his writings, her husband celebrated her conversion to the Anglican faith. The proof of the model of cultural conversion seemed to be on plain view in the portrait.

Pocahontas’ father died in 1618. Four years later, the Powhatans launched a rebellion against English colonists. On March 22, 1622, under the direction of a war captain named Opechancanough, they killed approximately one-fourth of the colonists in Virginia. The English labeled the violence a “barbarous massacre” and launched a war of vengeance, which included a mass poisoning of Powhatans in 1623 – an action that the English at the time knew violated the emerging law of war.

Seeing Pocahontas poised on a chair, wearing an elegant hat and holding a quill pen, the English had assumed that Native Americans would embrace the colonizers’ ways. March 1622 proved them wrong.

This article has been updated to correct the description of the object Pocahontas holds in Simon van de Passe’s engraving.

(Peter C. Mancall, Distinguished Professor and Andrew W. Mellon Professor of the Humanities, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)

The Conversation

The Conversation religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The Conversation is solely responsible for this content.
Flunking Sainthood


'Yesteryear,' a tradwife satire, understands Christianity better than most Americans

(RNS) — The new bestseller has been criticized for having a shallow understanding of religion. I disagree. 'Yesteryear' depicts how shallow American religion has actually become.
"Yesteryear" and author Caro Claire Burke. (Photo by AistÄ— SaulytÄ—)


“Yesteryear,” one of the bestselling novels in America right now, combines caustic humor with cultural commentary to ruminate on religion and the tradwife movement. It’s a gripping read, which is particularly impressive since author Caro Claire Burke is a first-time novelist.

In what follows, I’m not going to give you any plot points that aren’t in the jacket copy or the opening pages of the novel. No spoilers here.

As the story opens, Natalie is on top of the world. Her rural Idaho farm, “Yesteryear,” is booming, and her family is about to grow from five children to six. The kids, clad in prairie garb in “a rainbow of neutrals,” help out on the farm, their efforts chronicled endlessly for Natalie’s millions of social media followers. Her husband, Caleb, the son of an ultra-wealthy U.S. Senator who has bankrolled their farm, has embraced the cowboy dream.

So far, the novel’s stage set sounds like a riff on Ballerina Farm, the famous Utah ranch where a former Juilliard-trained ballerina now lives with her husband, who is a son of Jet Blue’s billionaire founder, and their eight kids. (Wait, make that nine: We blinked and the Neelemans welcomed their ninth child a few months ago.) The family’s Mormon faith is a largely unspoken but persistent undercurrent of their social media empire.

I started reading “Yesteryear” while I was in Utah a few weeks ago, visiting both the Ballerina Farm in Kamas and the store/café in Midway. It was hard not to see similarities between the Neelemans’ farm and the novel’s, including outrageous prices for their farm products. (Bone Broth Hot Cocoa mix: $46. A tiny pack of “Willa Sourdough Starter”: $18.)

But if the novel begins with similar threads — a large religious family, bolstered by inherited wealth, becomes internet-famous — Natalie and Caleb’s lives take a darker turn.

What their Instagram followers don’t see is the army of low-paid laborers who keep both farm and family going. Fertilizers and pesticides are sprayed at night all over their “organic” fields of harvest. Natalie is distant from her children, who are being raised by nannies, and she despises Caleb.

Caleb is aimless; Natalie is nothing if not focused. So she focuses on fixing him, steering him away from his natural inclinations (nurturing children, having fun) toward an acceptably rugged form of Christian masculinity: farming. The central tragedy of the novel is how unsuited they both are to their assigned gender roles, and their utter inability to imagine a different, happier life. Natalie is a terrible wife and mother, but she’d be excellent at roles that are closed to her, like dictator of a small country. Caleb has zero leadership ability, but he’d be a stellar kindergarten teacher, a job considered beneath a righteous Christian man.

That’s where things stand when suddenly, the novel morphs into a horror story. Natalie wakes up in the year 1855, having apparently traveled back in time to Yesteryear farm. Unlike the nostalgically “authentic” farm she has curated for online consumption, this one is fully beaten down and ramshackle. Her 21st-century tradwife life, made possible by immigrant labor and high-tech machines, has devolved into a continuous round of washing mud-encrusted laundry until her knuckles bleed.

The people are different, too. Her 1855 husband, also named Caleb, is a hardened, abusive and weirdly capable version. Her children are not her real children though they keep calling her “Mama.” Natalie comes to believe she’s been cast in a hard-core frontier reality show. If she can play her role correctly until she figures out a way to escape, she may survive.