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Thursday, July 09, 2026

Ecosocialism

Many Fronts, One Struggle: A Report on the 7th International Ecosocialist Encounters


Tuesday 7 July 2026, by William van den Heuvel





In May 2026, more than 250 activists from some forty countries gathered in Brussels Université libre for the 7th International Ecosocialist Encounters. William van den Heuvel reports on the key thematic threads that ran through an ambitious programme: the role of trade unions in the ecological transition; the growing convergence between ecosocialism and degrowth; the centrality of feminist and ecofeminist perspectives; Latin America as the front line of extractivist resistance; anti-campist solidarity with Ukraine and Palestine; and the rise of what speakers termed "fossil fascism." Van den Heuvel argues that the apparent diversity of themes pointed toward a single strategic insight: that these separate struggles share one crisis, and can only be turned around together. [AN]

In the buildings of the Université libre de Bruxelles (Free University of Brussels), more than two hundred and fifty people from some forty countries gathered in mid-May for the seventh International Ecosocialist Encounters. For three days, discussions ranged across trade union struggle and degrowth, care work and the defence of indigenous land, debt, artificial intelligence, Ukraine, and Palestine. A glance at the programme might give the impression of a loosely assembled sequence of disconnected themes. The opposite proved true. It was precisely the breadth that made visible what the organisers were after: demonstrating that all these apparently separate fronts flow from the same crisis, and that this crisis can only be reversed collectively, across borders.

The International Ecosocialist Encounters have been held since 2014 — the initiative arose around a German-language book on an ecosocialist international — and have grown into a recurring gathering of activists, trade unionists, academics, and social movements from several continents. [1] Ecosocialism holds that the ecological crisis cannot be separated from capitalism. An economy driven by profit maximisation and unceasing growth inevitably collides with planetary limits; only a society that produces to meet human needs rather than to generate profit can sustain a good life within those limits. That premise was the common denominator running beneath all the conversations in Brussels.

A sombre backdrop

The gathering took place against a sombre backdrop, and participants made no secret of it. Climate disruption is accelerating, while the European Green Deal — once heralded as the definitive response to warming — is being systematically hollowed out in Berlin, Paris, and Brussels. At the same time, wars, rearmament, and the far-right bloc are all growing. An opening debate on geopolitics drew the connection sharply: the Green Deal had been left largely to capital and had offered working people, and the poorest layers in particular, very little. It is precisely into that gap that the far right thrusts. It frames environmental policy as an assault on ordinary people and wins terrain the left has long vacated.

The labour movement at the centre

That is also the first reason why the labour movement occupied such a central place in Brussels. Trade union engagement has been part of these encounters from the start, and the opening session made clear why. A trade union member from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Hervé Kambiniam of the CDT (Confédération Démocratique du Travail — Democratic Confederation of Labour), [2] described how the war in the east of his country has produced a war economy in which money flows to weapons rather than education or healthcare, while foreign companies and armed groups plunder raw materials and drive the population from its land. From Colombia came the account of trade unionists who, against opposition from part of their own base, have turned against fracking and allied themselves with environmental and rural movements.

From the Basque Country, Ainhara Plazaola of the ELA (Euskal Langileen Alkartasuna — Basque Workers’ Solidarity) confederation showed how things can be done differently: she described how her confederation has brought demands on emissions, energy and water use, and sustainable business plans directly into collective bargaining, and how it secures commitments that workers affected by the closure or downsizing of polluting enterprises can move into other employment or receive a decent income and retraining. [3] The thread running through these discussions was that the opposition between labour and the environment — on which the far right plays so deftly — is not a law of nature but a political choice. Winning the trust of workers requires connecting the ecological transition to the fight for their jobs and income.

Degrowth and ecosocialism

A second thread ran through the debate on degrowth. Ten years ago, that concept would scarcely have been placed alongside socialism; degrowth and socialism were treated as alternatives between which one had to choose. Increasingly, degrowth is now seen as a component of the socialist programme. Daniel Tanuro, one of the driving forces behind the Ecosocialist Manifesto of the Fourth International (IVe Internationale — Fourth International), set out the necessity soberly. [4] Of the nine planetary boundaries identified by science, seven have already been breached. A reduction in energy and raw material consumption is therefore no longer a choice but a given; the only question is whether that reduction happens in a planned and humane way, or as a catastrophic collapse.

In this understanding, degrowth does not mean poverty or austerity, but the abolition of useless production and the restoration of what genuinely matters: time, care, and community. It was telling that a representative of the academic degrowth current and the Marxist ecosocialists explicitly sought each other out in Brussels. There are multiple paths to the same destination, and the willingness to bring those paths together was one of the gains of the conference.

Not without feminism

That degrowth cannot proceed without feminism was a third insight that recurred throughout. Reducing production alone, without redistributing care work, simply shifts the bill on to women, who already perform the largest share of that unpaid labour. Speakers from the ecofeminist tradition argued that care — for people, but also for land, water, and communities — belongs at the heart of an ecosocialist project, not at its margins. In Brazil, as several interventions noted, landless and indigenous women have long put this principle into practice, in their resistance to agribusiness, mining, and dam construction. The idea of radical abundance that emerges from the degrowth movement breaks both with the artificial scarcity of capitalism and with the capitalist image of abundance as endless possession.

Latin America at the front line

Nowhere did the coherence of all these struggles come together as concretely as in Latin America, which commanded a large share of the attention. Michael Löwy, the French-Brazilian Marxist sociologist who was present at all previous encounters and received a personal tribute in Brussels, identified indigenous peoples and peasant movements there as the vanguard of the ecological struggle: they are in the front line of the defence of nature and life, and at the same time the first victims of capitalism. [5] From Ecuador, Leonidas Iza, president of Ecuarunari (Confederación Kichwa del Ecuador — Kichwa Confederation of Ecuador), described how his communities have lived with the land for thousands of years and are now resisting oil extraction in the Amazon region. [6]

From Brazil came a victory from which to draw courage: following a 33-day occupation of the terminals of the US multinational Cargill and a series of actions during the COP30 climate summit, a largely indigenous movement forced the Lula government to reverse the privatisation of three Amazonian rivers — the Madeira, Tocantins, and Tapajós. [7] Mariana Riscalli, a member of the national executive of Brazil’s PSOL (Partido Socialismo e Liberdade — Socialism and Freedom Party), held up that struggle as evidence that social movements must remain independent from the government, even from a progressive government. At the same time, a warning was sounded against what participants called green colonialism: an energy transition that replaces fossil fuels but perpetuates the same plunder of raw materials, the same dispossession and repression, now in the name of clean energy.

Internationalism, not campism

The wars also received their place, and it was precisely here that the political maturity of the gathering asserted itself. Over Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and over European rearmament, a deep dividing line runs through the left, and the Ecosocialist Encounters did not avoid it. Ukrainian ecosocialists from Sotsialnyi Rukh (Соціальний рух — Social Movement), [8] including the trade unionist Artem Tidva and the degrowth specialist Vitaliia Kilinkarova, described the enormous ecological devastation that Putin’s war has wreaked on the country and called for international solidarity from below, on the model of Swedish dock workers who refused to unload Russian ships.

The Syrian researcher Joseph Daher extended the analysis to Gaza and southern Lebanon. What connected the speakers was their rejection of campism — the tendency to stand uncritically behind every adversary of the West, out of opposition to Western imperialism. Solidarity, as the repeated formulation had it, is owed to the attacked peoples and to working people, not to the repressive regimes that oppress their own populations. Rearmament itself was assessed not only as a war threat but as a massive shift of resources away from the ecological transition and social services.

The danger of the far right

What ultimately connects all these fronts is the rise of the far right. Löwy preferred the term neo-fascism: it shares much with classical fascism but is radically neoliberal rather than corporatist, and it uses religion without itself being religious. At the conference the phenomenon was also given a new name: fossil fascism. The far right is less and less openly denying climate change; instead it turns against climate policy, as an ally of the fossil industry, and sometimes even presents immigration as an ecological threat. A workshop on artificial intelligence gave this reaction a further technological face. The power of a handful of tech companies over information, communication, and surveillance, and the quasi-religious visions of the future held by figures such as Elon Musk, constitute a distinct front in the same struggle — one on which resistance, from tech workers to people living near data centres, is only just beginning.

A convergence of movements

Here lies the core of what the encounters sought to convey. The women’s movement, the indigenous struggle, the struggle of working people, the fight against debt and extractivism, resistance to war and to the far right: these are not separate campaigns but expressions of a single crisis of capitalism. Tanuro named this a convergence of movements — of women, indigenous peoples, LGBTQI+ people, peasants, and workers — and Löwy described ecology not as a chapter but as a red thread. Breaking with productivism does not mean abandoning the class struggle; it means broadening it. The gathering itself, with its forty countries and its difficult but real conversations between academics and activists, between North and South, was an exercise in precisely that broadening.

That raises the question of what ultimately matters: how to give that convergence a form capable of compelling concrete change. The answer that was most concretely formulated in Brussels was organisational. Alongside the encounters themselves, the Global Ecosocialist Network presented itself — a worldwide collaboration with a small secretariat, a low threshold for participation, and online debates in which organisations from several continents exchange experiences and strategies. The network and the encounters are complementary and will seek closer collaboration in future.

From the Netherlands, activists from LinksBoven (the ecosocialist member movement within PRO — Progressief Nederland, the recently formed merger of GroenLinks and PvdA) and from the new initiative Democratisch Ecosocialisten (Democratic Ecosocialists) [9] were present. The next edition of the Encounters, the 3rd Latin American and Caribbean Ecosocialist Encounter, will take place next year in Colombia, possibly followed a year later by the 8th International Ecosocialist Encounters in Ecuador — a telling shift towards the continent where the struggle is waged most fiercely and most boldly.

Whether that will be enough, no one knows. An Argentine speaker reminded the gathering that debates must remain rooted in concrete struggle and independent of governments, including supposedly progressive ones. Löwy cited Brecht: those who fight can lose, but those who do not fight have already lost. That is not reassurance, and it was not intended as such. What the 7th Ecosocialist Encounters showed is that the individual movements are each too weak for the task on their own, and that coordination among them — across sectors, movements, and borders — is no longer a luxury but the precondition for achieving anything. The building blocks are there. They only need to be stacked.

3 July 2026

Translated and annotated by Adam Novak for ESSF from Grenzeloos.

Footnotes

[1] The previous (sixth) International Ecosocialist Conference was held in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in May 2024. See: Germán Bernasconi, "Ecosocialism to change everything – the Sixth International Ecosocialist Conference", Europe Solidaire Sans Frontières, 20 May 2024. Available at: https://www.europe-solidaire.org/spip.php?article70858

[2] The CDT (Confédération Démocratique du Travail) is one of the major trade union confederations in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Kambiniam’s affiliation and the confederation’s full name are given in the conference programme; further details were not available at time of publication.

[3] ELA (Euskal Langileen Alkartasuna — Basque Workers’ Solidarity) is the largest trade union confederation in the Basque Country, representing more than 100,000 workers. It defines itself as independent of both employers and the state, and critical of institutionalised social dialogue. See: https://www.ela.eus/en/about-ela

[4] Daniel Tanuro is a Belgian ecosocialist activist and agronomist, author of L’impossible capitalisme vert (2010, translated as The Impossibility of Green Capitalism) and coordinator of the drafting committee for the Manifesto for an Ecosocialist Revolution adopted by the Fourth International at its 18th World Congress in 2025. For his foundational statement of ecosocialist strategy, see: Daniel Tanuro, "Foundations of an ecosocialist strategy", Europe Solidaire Sans Frontières, 4 April 2011. Available at: https://www.europe-solidaire.org/spip.php?article22770

[5] Michael Löwy is Emeritus Research Director at the CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique — National Centre for Scientific Research) in Paris. He is co-author, with Joel Kovel, of An Ecosocialist Manifesto (2001) and author of Ecosocialism: A Radical Alternative to Capitalist Catastrophe (Haymarket, 2015). His concept of "fossil fascism" as a description of the far right’s relationship to climate denial and the fossil industry has been developed in recent years alongside his broader ecosocialist and anti-neofascist analysis.

[6] Leonidas Iza is a Kichwa leader and president of Ecuarunari (Confederación Kichwa del Ecuador), the Andean regional branch of the indigenous movement representing Kichwa peoples of the highlands, and a former president of CONAIE (Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas del Ecuador — Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador). He was the only candidate in Ecuador’s 2025 presidential election to oppose expansion of extractive industries. Iza faces multiple legal proceedings and surveillance by the Noboa government.

[7] The occupation was centred on Cargill’s port terminal in Santarém, in the state of Pará. Several thousand people from fourteen ethnic groups, primarily from the Munduruku, Arapiun, and Apiaká peoples, blocked road access to Santarém airport on 4 February 2026 and occupied Cargill’s terminal on 21 February. The Lula government revoked the privatisation decree on 24 February 2026. COP30 took place in Belém, Brazil, in November 2025. Sources: Green Left, 27 February 2026; Amazon Watch, 27 February 2026.

[8] Sotsialnyi Rukh (Social Movement) is a Ukrainian democratic socialist organisation founded in 2015. It stands for democratic anti-capitalism, feminism, and ecosocialism. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022, it has campaigned internationally for support for Ukrainian resistance, debt cancellation, and reconstruction under citizen control. See: Sotsialnyi Rukh (Social Movement), "Ukraine: Introducing Sotsialnyi Rukh (Social Movement)", Europe Solidaire Sans Frontières, 12 March 2019. Available at: https://www.europe-solidaire.org/spip.php?article61539

[9] Members of SAP–Grenzeloos (Socialist Alternative Politics — Grenzeloos), the Dutch section of the Fourth International, are active in Democratisch Ecosocialisten.

Monday, July 06, 2026

United States at 250: Looking beyond the founding fathers to unsung revolutionaries

The American Revolution is often examined through the lives of towering figures such as George Washington and Benjamin Franklin. But as the United States marks 250 years since the Declaration of Independence, RFI uncovers the stories of an enslaved spy, a woman who fought disguised as a man and an Oneida healer, all of whom helped shape the fight. Their stories begin long before 1776, with European colonisation, the dispossession of indigenous people and the labour of enslaved Africans.


Issued on: 04/07/2026 - 

An 1857 engraving depicts patriot Nancy Hart confronting British soldiers who entered her home. Hart was one of many women whose contributions to the American Revolution have received greater attention from historians in recent decades. © Domaine public

The United States' journey to independence began almost three centuries before the declaration of 1776, as European powers competed for North America's east coast and English settlements grew into the Thirteen Colonies.

For much of the 20th century, the story of the revolution was told mainly through familiar figures such as Washington and Franklin. The civil rights movement and the rise of social history encouraged historians to look anew at who fought and supported the cause – a perspective shift that continues today.

A "more accurate view of the past" is now emerging as a result, Christopher Brown, a historian of the British Empire at New York's Columbia University, told the Associated Press news agency.

From colonies to revolution


European interest in what is now the United States began in 1497, when Genoese explorer Giovanni Caboto – better known in England at the time as John Cabot – reached Newfoundland while sailing for the English crown.

The territory was then home to around 5 million indigenous inhabitants. By 1800, that number had fallen to 600,000.

England established its first colonies at Roanoke, North Carolina, in the 1580s, and Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607.

In 1619, Angolan survivors from a slave ship landed in Virginia as free people, the first Africans to settle in North America, and a year later the pilgrims aboard the Mayflower reached Cape Cod.

By the 18th century Britain controlled the Thirteen Colonies, from New Hampshire to Georgia.

The north prospered through farming and the fur trade, while the south built plantation economies on enslaved labour, with enslaved people making up around a fifth of the population there – compared with less than 10 percent in New England and the Middle Colonies.

Britain emerged victorious but financially weakened from the Seven Years' War – a global conflict between European powers fought from 1756 to 1763 – and new taxes on the colonies split opinion between patriots and loyalists.

In 1776, the colonies declared independence, triggering another seven years of war.

Forgotten fighters

But the familiar story centred on the first US president, George Washington, and statesman Benjamin Franklin leaves out many of the people who helped secure independence.

James Armistead, an enslaved man from Virginia, joined the Continental Army, the colonists' main fighting force, in 1781 with his owner's consent and was assigned to the Marquis de Lafayette, a French general fighting for American independence.

Posing as a runaway slave, he infiltrated the camp of Benedict Arnold, the American general who switched sides to the British, and later that of British commander Lord Cornwallis, gathering intelligence while feeding false information to British forces.

"The danger of that work was beyond the pale," Stephen Seals, a historical interpreter and researcher at Colonial Williamsburg, who studies Armistead's life, told US regional news outlet Cardinal News.
An 1830 engraved copy of the recommendation letter written by the Marquis de Lafayette for James Armistead in 1784. The testimonial helped the formerly enslaved spy secure his freedom three years after the American Revolution. © Domaine public

Armistead's reports on British troop movements were considered decisive in the American victory at Yorktown, the last major battle of the war. He was not granted the freedom given to some black soldiers, because he had been classified as a spy rather than a combatant, and was returned to his owner after the war.

In 1784, Lafayette wrote an official testimonial describing his services as "essential", helping secure his emancipation by the Virginia Assembly in 1787.

Armistead later adopted the name Lafayette in gratitude.

Another unlikely revolutionary was Deborah Sampson, who disguised herself as a man to join the Continental Army in 1782 under the name Robert Shurtliff. The Massachusetts schoolteacher and weaver served for 17 months in an elite light infantry unit.

She was reportedly wounded near Tarrytown by a sword and a musket ball and is said to have removed the bullet herself to avoid discovery. She later fell seriously ill, and the doctor who treated her kept her identity secret until the war ended.

Sampson was honourably discharged at West Point on 25 October, 1783, one of the few documented women to fight directly in the Continental Army.

An engraved portrait of Deborah Sampson from Herman Mann's The Female Review. Disguised as a man, Sampson served for 17 months in the Continental Army during the American Revolution. © Domaine public

Native Americans too fought on the patriot side.


Louis Cook, also known as Akiatonharonkwen, was born to an Abenaki mother and an African father and raised by the Mohawks, one of the indigenous nations of north-eastern North America.

Fluent in Mohawk, French and English, he joined the Continental Army in 1775 and commanded Oneida and Tuscarora fighters, two indigenous nations allied with the revolutionaries, at the pivotal Battle of Saratoga and in the Mohawk Valley.

In 1779, the Continental Congress promoted him to lieutenant colonel, the highest rank held by an officer of both indigenous and African ancestry in the army.
Beyond the battlefield

However, not everyone who shaped the revolution fought on the battlefield. Esther de Berdt Reed, a British-born patriot whose husband Joseph Reed became Pennsylvania's top official in 1778, mobilised women to support the war effort after Britain's capture of Charleston dealt a severe blow to army morale.

In June 1780, Reed published Sentiments of an American Woman, one of the first political texts written by an American woman, and founded the Ladies Association of Philadelphia, which collected the equivalent of more than $300,000 for soldiers.

Reed hoped each soldier would receive a share of the money directly, but George Washington insisted the funds should instead be used to buy linen and make shirts.

Reed died of dysentery that September, but her friend Sarah Franklin Bache, Benjamin Franklin's daughter, completed the project and delivered thousands of shirts to the army.

A new exhibition at the New York Historical, a museum in New York, explores the women who helped shape the country's founding. It "moves past symbolism to centre the real expertise and labour of women", Louise Mirrer, the museum's president and chief executive, told Smithsonian Magazine.

A portrait of Esther de Berdt Reed by Charles Willson Peale. Reed mobilised women to raise money and supplies for George Washington's Continental Army during the American Revolution. © Domaine public

The role of indigenous communities in the battle for independence is also often overlooked.

Oneida healer Polly Cooper travelled hundreds of kilometres through the snow with around 50 Oneida and Seneca warriors, both indigenous nations, to Valley Forge, where George Washington's army spent the harsh winter of 1777-78, carrying corn for his starving troops.

She taught soldiers how to prepare the corn, cared for the sick using Oneida medicinal knowledge, and refused payment. She is honoured by a bronze statue at the National Museum of the American Indian, part of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington.

Although, as Philip Deloria, Harvard University's first tenured professor of Native American history, told Harvard Magazine: "For native people, the violence and conflict of the revolution don't really end."

Lemuel Haynes, born to a black father and a white mother, served with patriot militias at Fort Ticonderoga, a strategic fort seized from the British, an experience that shaped his belief that the revolution's ideals of liberty should also apply to enslaved people.

His essay Liberty Further Extended, written in 1776 but discovered much later, was one of the first anti-slavery pamphlets. It was also the first to cite the Declaration of Independence's idea that all men are born free and equal.

Haynes became one of the first published black American writers and, in 1785, the first black pastor to be ordained in the United States.

Partially adapted from this article in French by Baptiste Condominas.

Sunday, July 05, 2026

Op-Ed 

The Anti-Indigenous Slur in the Declaration of Independence Speaks Volumes

The US Declaration of Independence frames Indigenous resistance as aggression and colonial violence as self-defense.
July 4, 2026

Joe Craig, a park volunteer, holds a copy of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 2025, at the Saratoga National Historical Park in Stillwater, New York.Jim Franco / Albany Times Union via Getty Images

Every Fourth of July, the Declaration of Independence is the cornerstone of the U.S.’s celebrations. It’s read aloud in radio, television, and public celebrations. But it carries a contradiction expressed through a slur that Native people have never been able to ignore — a scathing reference to “merciless Indian Savages.” Even as the framers promised a nation of equality and liberty for all, they also made it clear that Indigenous people are not included in their notion of “all.” So, within Native communities, the yearly invocations of the Declaration Independence are also a reminder of how long we have been struggling to resist, survive, and defeat every effort to silence, erase, and eradicate us.

While most public readings of the Declaration of Independence include the full passage, others read around its anti-Indigenous slur or omit that line entirely. The omission says just as much as the words themselves. The U.S. wants the Declaration’s promises without its confession, its dreams of liberty without regard for the people it dehumanized and oppressed, and its proclamation of independence without any acknowledgment of the crimes against humanity that made it possible for the U.S. to exist.

The commemoration of this country’s founding every July 4 asks the public to celebrate a United States that begins with the myth of a nation born of nothing but courage and liberty, on lands not yet tamed or developed. Native people know another beginning. Our nations were already here, with governments, laws, languages, and infrastructure.

The United States is only the latest nation to exist on these lands. As it celebrates 250 years of “independence,” it still has not rescinded or made an effort to correct the violence and policies that followed from the framing of Native people as “merciless Indian Savages.” Instead, it has expanded the strategy of using dehumanizing language against migrants, trans people, anti-fascists, and other targeted communities in an effort to reframe their resistance as “antithetical to freedom and the American way of life.
“Merciless Indian Savages”

The phrase “merciless Indian Savages” isn’t just an unfortunate remnant of a different time; it was an intentional and strategic political move that set a precedent for anti-Native ideology and policies that persist today.

Related Stor
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500-Year-Old Slave Revolt of 1526 Redefines Freedom as US Turns 250
Before 1776 or 1619, enslaved Africans seized freedom in 1526 on land that would become the United States. By Jesse Hagopian , Truthout May 2, 2026

Historian and member of the Yamasee Nation Donald Grinde Jr. described the phrase as political rhetoric used to justify frontier wars and the taking of Native land. The phrase collapsed hundreds of Native nations into a new enemy and stripped them of their humanity. If Natives were “merciless savages,” their resistance could be framed as aggression, and colonial violence could then be positioned as self-defense, maintaining the optics of innocence and exceptionalism as the newly formed republic looked to build its empire.

“Merciless Indian Savages.” These three words set into motion centuries of brutal anti-Native policy from the Indian Removal Act of 1830 to the Dawes Act to the reservation and boarding school systems — every policy carrying the weight of those three words into every new era.

How the Phrase Impacts Natives Today


The intent and danger of the phrase “merciless Indian Savages” is alive and well. It’s threaded through our contemporary realities every time the federal government treats Native people, land, water, and treaty rights as acceptable casualties of profit and so-called progress.

Donald Trump’s first administration made that painfully clear almost immediately. In January 2017, he issued a memorandum to expedite the controversial Dakota Access Pipeline, despite the massive Native-led protest at Standing Rock, in which Water Protectors were subjected to military-style counterterrorism tactics and compared to terrorists. That same year, he revived theKeystone XL Pipeline that had already met with years of organized resistance from Tribal Nations, environmental organizations, and local ranchers and farmers, who were labeled extremists for efforts ostensibly impeding U.S. jobs and energy independence. By December 2017, his administration had moved against Bears Ears National Monument, cutting it by roughly 85 percent and weakening protections for a landscape that Tribal Nations had spent years fighting to protect.

In a commencement speech to the U.S. Naval Academy’s class of 2018, Trump praised settlers who “tamed a continent” and declared that: “We will not apologize for America.” His words appeared to do the same work as the phrase “merciless Indian Savages.” They dehumanize us, making Native people and lands sound wild and dangerous, while settlers are remembered as courageous. His administration carried that attitude into policy when the Interior Department moved to revoke the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe’s land-in-trust status, pushed oil and gas leasing near Chaco Canyon in New Mexico, and treated treaty rights and federal trust responsibilities as barriers to development. In 2020, border wall construction near the Tohono O’odham Nation and Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument caused lasting environmental and cultural damage. During the COVID-19 crisis, tribes were left fighting each other over access to the $8 billion CARES Act tribal relief fund and then having to sue the government for the funds to be released, while the Native American Health Center reported receiving body bags instead of the personal protective equipment (like masks and gloves) it had ordered.

Trump’s second term has taken it a step further, increasing the danger to Native communities. Federal freezes and proposed cuts have threatened programs tied to treaty and trust obligations, including health care, education, housing, public safety, and social services. Reporting on Trump’s fiscal 2026 budget exposed proposed cuts of more than $700 million from Bureau of Indian Affairs programs and $239 million from tribal housing programs. His administration’s attack on birthright citizenship dragged Native citizenship back into public debate, forcing Native legal advocates to remind the country that Native people born in the United States are U.S. citizens and that tribal citizenship cannot be erased by federal political panic. Immigration raids have also raised alarms in Native communities, where Native citizens have reportedly been questioned, detained, or targeted because agents racially profiled them due to appearance, language, or proximity to the border. The legacy behind the three-word slur in the Declaration of Independence has not changed since 1776, and Trump’s administration has taken them to heart in its glorification of Manifest Destiny.

Ahead of the semiquincentennial, Trump leaned into the revival of national mythmaking and exceptionalism. In May, the White House released a statement celebrating the 222nd anniversary of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, praising it for fulfilling Manifest Destiny and carrying “prosperity” across the continent.

The Lewis and Clark story is personal for me. My people, the Otoe-Missouria, were the first Native people to hold council with Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. On August 3, 1804, near present-day Fort Calhoun, Nebraska, tribal leaders met the expedition at what became known as Council Bluffs. The official story treats that meeting as a diplomatic milestone. Lewis and Clark arrived in full military display, made some speeches and promises, gave some gifts, and showcased the technologies of the time: an air gun, a magnet, a spyglass, a compass, and a watch. But despite the pomp and circumstance, they didn’t really accomplish much beyond establishing a routine for future councils on the expedition.

For my people, the U.S.’s westward story does not begin with wonder nor does it end with conquest, the way the U.S. would like the world to believe. We are not a conquered people. We’re still here and still resisting the narratives and violence that have followed those three words from 1776 to our present day.

Who Have the “Merciless” and “Savage” Ones Been?

The semiquincentennial celebrations urge us to turn westward expansion into a patriotic stage set, but Native people know what gets left outside the frame: truth. Before the celebration moves on from the Declaration of Independence to the fireworks, the U.S. needs to acknowledge the gravity of the words the founding fathers chose for us — “Merciless Indian Savages” — and to recognize the brutality of colonialism.

When we look at history, who have the actual cruel ones been? Who was “merciless” and “savage” when Native communities were massacred? When treaties were signed and broken? When children were taken to residential boarding schools, and when their graves were found on those same school grounds? When sacred sites were destroyed, and pipelines were forced through our lands?

Who is “merciless” and “savage” now, as immigration raids tear through communities and as families live under the threat of detention, disappearance, and deportation? Who is acting with cruelty when federal troops are sent into cities in response to protests against immigration enforcement? When the genocide in Gaza is streamed in real time and the lives of Palestinians are treated as negotiable?

Who is “merciless” and “savage” when disabled people are threatened by policies that force institutionalization and punish people for needing support? When the trans community is targeted by executive orders, health care restrictions, school policies, prison restrictions, and public campaigns built to erase trans people from law and daily life? When women and pregnant people are forced to fight for bodily autonomy while reproductive health care is attacked across the country?

The words “merciless Indian Savages” taught the U.S. how to turn targeted people into threats. The authors of the Declaration of Independence called us “merciless Indian Savages” because they needed a justification for the violence and death upon which the U.S. was founded, for the violence and death that would continue to structure this nation. After 250 years, the phrase still carries the weight of that violence. This country needs to answer one question before asking anyone to celebrate: Is this legacy of violence really what we want to continue building on and celebrating for the next 250 years?


This article is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), and you are free to share and republish under the terms of the license.


Johnnie Jae

Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw) is a writer, speaker, and founder of Red POP! News and the late A Tribe Called Geek. Known for her journalism, mental health advocacy, and digital activism, she is dedicated to amplifying Native voices through storytelling, media, and art. You can find her in the Bluesky and Instagram.