The University of Arizona Press

June 9, 2026

Co-authored by Julie Velásquez Runk and members of the Wounaan National Congress and its Local Congress of the Majé community, Interwoven Rosewood: Collaborative Ecologies, Colonial Entanglements, and Indigenous Resistance is a collaborative exploration of the global rosewood trade and its entanglements with Indigenous lifeways, colonial histories, and environmental crises. This book traces the story of cocobolo rosewood from Wounaan lands in Panama to international markets, revealing how centuries of settler colonialism and extractive capitalism continue to shape landscapes, livelihoods, and relationships. At its heart, the book is a meditation on well-being and belonging—how people live in relation to land, each other, and the more-than-human world.
 
Drawing on more than a decade of community-based research and six collaborative book workshops, the authors weave together first-person narratives, ecological analysis, historical context, and Indigenous knowledge. The result is a richly textured account that challenges dominant narratives of environmental degradation by centering Wounaan experiences of joy, resistance, and conviviality. The book’s structure reflects its method: interwoven chapters authored or spoken by Wounaan colleagues, grounded in consent protocols and shaped by ancestral storytelling traditions. Accessibly written, Interwoven Rosewood is ideal for courses in environmental conservation, Indigenous studies, anthropology, Latin American studies, and political ecology. With its interdisciplinary reach and classroom-ready discussion questions, the book invites readers to reflect on the global forces behind environmental catastrophe—and the enduring power of Indigenous ways of knowing, being, and becoming. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

This story of cocobolo rosewood pillage was one we wanted told, but we wanted it to be more than that. We wanted to show wajaup hʌidʌmW (to be good with others, or to be in good relation) of maach durrW (Wounaan lands/nation). To do that well took some time.

“The logging of cocobolo rosewood trees in the community of Majé happened [in 2014],” Hirwin Ortiz Chamapuro wrote, “because colonists were illegally removing them, while the residents had been preserving this species on their land. The local and national congresses had been fighting against this, filing complaints and lawsuits with the competent local government authorities, ministers, the justice of the peace, the mayor’s office, and the National Environmental Authority, but almost all of these
documents were ignored. Cocobolo fever affected artisans, there was and still is little wood for carvings, and at that time there was a shortage of fish and shrimp in the river. As a result, there was a slight loss of population, and some people began to migrate to the city.”

We began this research together just after Majé’s rosewood logging, just over a decade ago. We are members or national authorities of the Indigenous Wounaan people, the Wounaan Podpa Nʌm Pömaam (WPNP, Wounaan National Congress), members or local authorities of the Wounaan community of Majé, the Wir Haigpai Podpa Nʌm Majé (WHPNM, Wounaan Local Congress of Majé), and Julie Velásquez Runk. We, a changing group depending on elections and expertise, have worked together since 2001 on a series of research projects, often with the Congress’s sibling organization (a non-governmental organization, NGO) the Fundación para el Desarrollo del Pueblo Wounaan (Foundation for the Development of Wounaan People).

We have learned together over years to co-labor, to collaborate, and hãba poso honee nʌmW (to be convivial or joyful in our work together). “The recordings of our final book workshop in June 2025,” Julie said, “reminded me a bit of how ancestral stories were told: one person narrating, others commenting, another narrating, and still carrying the story through the joyous community interaction.” “It [the book and its methods],” Chenier Carpio Opua said, is “familial coexistence; what makes a group, a collective.”

“This book,” Julie wrote, “uses the global illegal rosewood logging boom as a means to reflect on who we are (being) and how we are in relationship with others and place (belonging). It does so by showing the beauty and joy of Wounaan life, the conviviality that persists as resistance to centuries of colonialism and extractive capitalism.”

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Julie Velásquez Runk is director, professor, and Weigl Fellow in Environment and Sustainability Studies at Wake Forest University and a research associate at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute. Trained as an ecologist and an anthropologist and taught by Indigenous Wounaan, she has fostered socioecological research through community-based knowledge co-production for more than thirty years. She mixes social sciences, natural sciences, and the humanities, and authors and co-authors work for academic and nonacademic publics.

May 5, 2026

Excavating narrative memories, Across Canons: Language, Latin American Immigrant Literature, and the Making of Latinx Narratives by Thania Muñoz D. examines literary allusions to a classic Latin American canon that resurface in the work of Latin American writers who live and work in the United States. The immigrant literature of Edmundo Paz Soldán, Alberto Fuguet, and Cristina Rivera Garza from the late 1990s and early 2000s provides an important glimpse into representations of Latin America’s relationship with the United States and how immigration has shaped it. This book highlights the benefits of comparative, interdisciplinary interpretations that allow readers and scholars to grapple with the realities of a multilingual Latin American–origin literary present and future of the United States.

Author Thania Muñoz D. looks at immigrant experiences impacted by a prism of social and political factors, including free trade agreements, drug trafficking, political violence, massive foreign debt, and economic dependency. The author examines why these writers refuse to identify as immigrants and reject stereotypical portrayals. Throughout, Muñoz D. makes the case for a new field within Latinx literature: Latin American immigrant writing in Spanish. She explains why this type of literary work is critical across Latin American, Latinx, and U.S. literature. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

I owe my love for literature to my experience as a public high school student in Southern California. As a recent immigrant from Mexico (Jalisco) in the late 1990s, I was placed in bilingual education for the first months after my arrival—until California’s Proposition 227 (passed in 1998) eliminated bilingual education in public schools. As the school struggled to place all immigrant non-English speakers in “regular” classes, they were quick to put Latin American immigrant students in Advanced Placement (AP) Spanish courses to provide us with a safe place—even though not all of us spoke or wrote “advanced” Spanish. In those courses, I read the Latin American and Hispanic literary canon our teachers assigned. Although most of us were recent immigrants, we did not read any immigrant stories or Latinx narratives. I learned about Jorge Luis Borges’s (Argentina) labyrinths and Miguel de Unamuno’s (Spain) obsession with death, but we read nothing of Cherríe Moraga’s, Gloria Anzaldúa’s, Tomás Rivera’s, or Oscar “Zeta” Acosta’s literature about being an immigrant or being Chicana/e/o in the United States. The Hispanic canon fed my intellectual curiosity but did not help me ease into my new identity as an immigrant, Chicana, and Latina, as the latter authors might have. The present book is a response to the conventional Spanish-language canon in the United States, which is mostly classified as Latin American or Hispanic in school curricula, university courses, and literary anthologies.

In Across Canons: Language, Latin American Immigrant Literature, and the Making of Latinx Narratives (hereafter Across Canons), language is an essential question in bridging the conversation between Latin American and Latinx literary studies in the United States. Latinx studies are often framed in terms of history, generations, and proficiency, as if Spanish-language literature were written in the past and belonged to “others”: immigrants, our parents, nostalgia—those who are not quite Latinx yet. In Latin American literary studies in the United States, Spanish is framed as “our language,” our identity, our nation, although these conversations often leave out our Indigenous languages. Hispanic studies, modern languages programs, and English departments in U.S. institutions, to name a few examples, replicate this division due to the historical racialization of Spanish in the United States. In this context, Across Canons shows why Spanish-language literature has struggled to find a “home” in the United States. By using a comparative approach to Latin American and Latinx literary studies, taking immigrant literature by Edmundo Paz Soldán (Bolivia), Alberto Fuguet (Chile), and Cristina Rivera Garza (México) as examples, I show how the Latin American literary canon fails in some ways to narrate the immigrant experience in the United States. I argue that Latinx literary studies help bridge this gap by considering the role of language and immigration in this field. In Across Canons, I nonetheless underscore how these fields struggle with multilingualism due to our diverse histories of belonging in the United States. I am in dialogue with these struggles via a fundamental question: How to narrate? What does it look like to narrate in Spanish contemporary immigrant experiences? How do past literary canons shape these narratives? How and why should we read these Spanish texts as Latinx and Latin American? And finally, why does this matter for Latinx and Latin American literary studies?

The how is also at the center of my own writing in this book. As I have shared, my interest in narratives of immigration originated in my own experience as an immigrant, student, and reader of literature. As a 1.5-generation Mexican immigrant, I wanted to read immigrant literature in my own language, but canonical discourses about Latin American identity were replicated even in my public Southern California high school classes. After high school, the question of language became part of my own academic research on immigration and Latin American and Latinx literature. I was continuously asked by peers and professors: Is your research on Latin American immigrant literature in Spanish or in English? Are you looking at immigrant literature from the perspective of Latin American or Latinx studies? In Across Canons, I seek to answer these questions using a comparative and interdisciplinary approach. I argue that Spanish-language immigrant literature, although intrinsically hemispheric, examines the perspectives of immigrants living (or once living) in the United States and the role of language in Latin American and Latinx studies.

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Thania Muñoz D. is an immigrant educator, translator, poet, and scholar. Her writing and translations have appeared in Copihue, Acentos Review, Circumference, Fence, Firmament, La Bloga, Catedral Tomada, MARLAS, the Latin American Literary Review, and others. She immigrated in 1998 to Southern California from Jalisco, México, and since 2015 has lived in Maryland. She is an associate professor of Latinx and Latin American literature, director of the MA Program in Intercultural Communication at UMBC, and the managing editor and founder of Latin@ Literatures.

April 30, 2026

In the shadow of Mexico’s ongoing human rights crisis, Digging for Hope offers a powerful feminist ethnography of resistance, care, and collective memory. Drawing on nearly a decade of fieldwork, R. Aída Hernández Castillo documents the courageous work of women-led search collectives who, in the face of extreme violence, search for their disappeared loved ones. Digging for Hope is essential reading for anyone seeking to understand the gendered dimensions of violence and the grassroots movements that rise in response. With clarity and compassion, Hernández Castillo brings readers into the intimate spaces of grief and resistance, offering a model for feminist ethnography that is both rigorous and deeply humane.
 
Through physical and spiritual practices such as exhumation, mourning, and poetic remembrance, these women reclaim dignity for the dead and challenge a society that has normalized disappearance. At the heart of this book is a profound exploration of what Hernández Castillo calls a “pedagogy of love”—a political and ethical framework rooted in care, solidarity, and the refusal to forget. These women are not only searching for bodies; they are building emotional communities, crafting new languages of justice, and offering a reimagining of what it means to resist violence. Their practices, often overlooked by traditional scholarship, restore humanity and dignify the disappeared. Read an excerpt from the book’s Sorographic Overture below.

During almost a decade (since 2016) of walking alongside searching collectives in Mexico, I have often listened to the relatives of the disappeared claim that in order to be in solidarity, one must put one’s body in the search. Anything else is lip service. Churches, government officials, political parties, and the academic community have publicly addressed the phenomenon of enforced disappearances and the need to stop violence and promote a culture of peace. Nevertheless, most of the time, these speeches are performed on the sidelines, by people who have never picked up a shovel, wheatpasted a disappeared person poster, or helped someone submit a police report. When we approach their fights, these collectives invite us to “make a path by walking” (hacer camino al andar. . .), to walk alongside them on the streets, to join them in their searches, to be willing to learn from them. In this shared walk, a sense of community is built. It transcends families and embraces anyone who is willing to “put their body in it.”

Sometimes, this walk also implies witnessing tensions and conflicts, agreements and disagreements. Sharing risks, but also findings; disappointments, but also hope . . . In this text, I use the concept of “sorography,” originally developed by my friend and colleague Lucy Bell to refer to ethnographic writing as a political act that contributes to the construction of sororal communities. She uses this term to describe the political project of the Hermanas en la Sombra (Sisters in the Shadows) editorial collective. This is a form of sorority that does not deny differences but acknowledges the multiple intersections of violence that mark the lives of female searchers, a form of sorority committed to the possibility of
building a community based on diversity. With said commitment, I have “made a path by walking” alongside them, going down ravines and wandering into territories controlled by organized crime, all while taking care of each other.

During the final revision process for this book, my friend Angélica Rodríguez Monroy, with whom I share one of the strongest bonds I have encountered during this social struggle, invited me to walk the streets of Guadalajara along with her, joining the alive-search for her daughter, Viridiana Morales Rodríguez, who disappeared on August 12, 2012. After overcoming many bureaucratic obstacles, Angélica managed to get the State of Mexico Public Prosecutor’s Office (an institution from the state where her daughter disappeared) to promote a coordinated search with the Jalisco Search Commission, an institution from the state where certain evidence suggested her daughter was abducted as a victim of trafficking. While the General Law on Disappearance established the right of relatives to participate in the searches, the logistical and financial support to make this possible depends on the families’ persistence and ability. Angélica’s thirteen-year experience looking for her daughter has transformed her into a professional searcher who has traversed the labyrinths of judicial and forensic bureaucracy multiple times.

This was not the first time that Angélica and members of her collective traveled from Cuernavaca to Jalisco to search for Viridiana. With the support of a sensitive official from the Comisión Nacional de Derechos Humanos (National Human Rights Commission, CNDH), a search caravan was conducted in Jalisco. Persons in prison mentioned they had seen a young woman similar to Viridiana, describing certain details and body marks. A window of hope opened, hope of finding her alive. When plans for a third trip—which I was invited to, alongside other searchers close to Angélica—were just beginning, we could not have imagined that our visit would coincide with the discovery of a forced recruitment and extermination camp in the Teuchitlán municipality, an hour and a half from Guadalajara.

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R. Aída Hernández Castillo is a professor and senior researcher at the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social (CIESAS) in Mexico City. Since her undergraduate days, Hernández Castillo has combined her scholarship with feminist activism and projects in radio, video, and journalism. Her academic work has promoted Indigenous and women’s rights in Latin America. Her research interests cover Indigenous studies, legal and political anthropology, decolonial feminisms, and activist research. She has published twenty-two books, and her scholarship has been translated to English, French, Portuguese, and Japanese.

April 27, 2026

Grounded in decades of collaborative research with Pueblo communities, Transilient Acts and Resilient Villages: Pueblo Community Persistence in the Northern Rio Grande by Michael A. Adler is a vital contribution to southwestern archaeology. It offers a compelling model for how archaeology can respectfully engage with descendant communities and provides essential insights for scholars, students, and community members seeking to understand the complexities of cultural persistence in the face of change.

A powerful rethinking of resilience through the lens of Pueblo history, this work reveals how Tiwa communities in the Northern Rio Grande used culturally intentional strategies to adapt, transform, and endure across a millennium of change. Anthropologist Michael A. Adler introduces the concept of transilience—culturally intentional acts that address existential threats and enable transformation—as a framework for interpreting the long-term persistence of Tiwa communities. Focusing on the Tiwa-speaking communities of Taos, Picuris, and Pot Creek Pueblos, Adler shows how social and ritual organization, architectural change, and sacred geographies were mobilized in response to disruption. He challenges conventional resilience theory, which emphasizes systemic stability, instead centering Indigenous agency, mobility, and sacred practice as key to understanding cultural endurance. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

Like all long-lived communities, the story of Picuris Pueblo is complex, interwoven with their specific locality and interactions with other groups in the region, and massively impacted after European colonization of the northern Southwest beginning in the late sixteenth century. Prior to contact, Picuris was one of the major waystations for peoples, goods, and identities flowing out from the Pueblo world into the Southern Plains, part of the Plains-Pueblo Interaction System (Kelley 1984; Spielmann 1991a, 1991b). Agricultural goods, many likely grown on the landesque agricultural complexes around Picuris, were exchanged for all manner of materials from the plains, including bison meat, hides, and stone tool material from the Alibates quarries near Amarillo, Texas. Remains of all these exchange relationships show up in significant amounts in the archaeological assemblages recovered at Picuris Pueblo in the 1960s and 1970s, largely by Herbert Dick and his students (Adler and Dick 1999). The reference in the oral tradition above to “going east where there wasn’t enough water” likely refers to this period of extensive exchange with groups on the Southern Plains. It also may refer to another significant event in Picuris’ history, their nearly complete move from Picuris to live with Apachean groups in southwestern Kansas, at or near the location known today as Quartelejo (also Cuartelejo). Following the failed Pueblo Revolt of 1696, in which Picuris has a significant role, the Picuris people moved north to avoid the ensuing retribution from the Spanish. According to oral tradition, a few villagers remained at Picuris to watch over the settlement (Richard Mermejo, personal communication, 2021), but all the women and children, accompanied by warriors, headed north to live with their longtime trade and marriage partners, the Apache, in what is now Scott County, Kansas. Along the way, the Spanish soldiery caught up with the last of the migrants, and captured 82 women and children, all of whom were sold into servitude after being taken back to New Mexico. The Picuris returned to their longtime home in 1706, squired back at the insistence of Juan de Ulibarri, who was sent to Quartelejo to “free” the “enslaved” Picuris from their hosts (Schroeder 1974). By the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Picuris numbered around 300 people. During the seventeenth century CE, 80%–90% of the considerable population at Picuris Pueblo was lost. Colonization, loss of land base, disease, enslavement, and religious persecution, all the ingredients of what Levene (1999) has aptly called “creeping genocide,” the slow erosion of population, autonomy, health, and well-being in a populace.

I present this condensed history of Picuris Pueblo to pose a question that guides much of this present work. Specifically, given the durability of the Picuris community throughout their immensely difficult and traumatic history, is this not a perfect case study in cultural resilience? This is an important question that requires consideration of just what we mean by “resilience.” Entire subfields of study in ecology, psychology, and social-environmental research have colonized the concept of resilience. In its classic form, resilience is the capacity for a system to experience a perturbation, shock, or similar challenge to its systemic continuity and integrity, and still be able to return to a similar system state of function (Holling 1973). The ancestral and contemporary Native American peoples of the American Southwest have provided a small cottage industry in resilience studies, for the very simple reason that their cultural, social, ceremonial, linguistic, and technological continuities have been widely documented, dated, measured, and plumbed for insights into the durability of these communities. Objectives of these resilience studies into Pueblo community persistence have been to better understand how, as with cases of great travail and challenge experienced by Picuris Pueblo, resilience has been the outcome of these community journeys. This work will also delve into some of the quandaries surrounding “resilience thinking,” requiring close study and critique. I argue throughout this work that for there to be any responsible and useful assessment of a community’s history as an example of resilience, several things need attention. First, while there has been a long, durable concept of cultural identity in a community such as Picuris, we also need to also attend to what has been lost, stolen, or forgotten during the past millennium. What actually is resilient from the standpoint of systemic integrity and system identity? Second, what strategies, beliefs, understandings, and acts have the Picuris people and other Pueblo communities employed to endure the “perturbations” that have been both internal and external to the communities over these centuries of purported resilience? In other words, resilience is a possible outcome of long histories of loss, transition, and accommodation. Finally, what strategies fostered this endurance, and how can our understanding of this durability benefit the ongoing challenges we contend with in the face of environmental degradation, technological change, and social change?

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Michael A. Adler is an associate professor in the anthropology department at Southern Methodist University. He received his academic training in archaeology at Princeton University and the University of Michigan. He collaborates with Pueblo communities in the American Southwest to understand their complex ancestries, concepts of cultural identity, and how communities create that complicated concept called “the past.”

April 23, 2026

In Indigenous Genres of the Human: Locating the Intersections of Indigeneity and Latinidad, scholar Gabriela Raquel Ríos considers how Latina/o/x communities engage in the ethical reclamation of indigeneity. Through case studies that include testimonios and other Indigenous storytelling practices, Ríos reveals how cultural logics of colonization continue to shape—and often constrain—understandings of indigeneity across Latin America and in the United States. Addressing different genres of human and what contemporary indigeneity and reclaiming indigeneity looks like across Latin American contexts, chapters in this work examine digital bruja poetry, Aymara women’s Lucha Libre in Bolivia, Raramuri dance in Mexico, and Indigenous Khipu in the Andes. The author weaves her own story of being from southern Texas and traveling to Mexico throughout the book.

Bridging Sylvia Wynter’s theory of “genres of the human” with critical Latinx indigeneity studies, Chicana/o/x studies, decolonial theory, and rhetorical new materialisms, this book challenges readers to rethink what it means to be human, Indigenous, and Chicanx in the wake of colonial violence. Rather than reinforcing binaries defined by settler colonialism, Ríos proposes a framework that centers community knowledge and grounded practices. Her work opens space for dialogue, listening, and healing, emphasizing that reclaiming indigeneity requires attention to the stories, movements, and rhetorical practices that emerge from within communities themselves. Read an excerpt from the book’s Preface below.

This book suggests that to address the problem of how we reclaim our Indigeneity we need to listen to what stories emerge as we read and engage with each other across rhetoric and composition studies, Indigenous studies, Chicanx studies, decolonial critiques of racialized humanism, and knowledge created “on the ground” to better account for the breadth of colonial violence that Sylvia Wynter (2003) calls “the coloniality of being.” Why do I include “academia” in this process? Because we cannot deny that much of our Indigenous history and objects have been stolen and then housed or archived in academic institutions. However, I do not privilege academia as the arbiter of this history and knowledge—in
fact, I have had to unlearn a lot of what I have been taught in academia about Indigeneity and my own relationship to it. Still, there is important work being done in academia and by academics in this area. I am especially excited by folks who are coming back for what was stolen and who are taking education into their own hands, struggling as we all do, with how to do that work in the wake of ongoing colonization, shifting racial dynamics, and contending with racial and power dynamics that we have ignored for far too long. That is, I am doing this work in the wake of MeToo, #BlackLivesMatter, #PoderPrieto, issues of “ethnic fraud,” and dehumanizing immigration policy, all of which do not necessarily highlight anything new as much as they shed new light and perspective on issues that we sometimes take for granted.

This book takes you on my journey as I listen across and through these very spaces, hoping to better understand the current ethics of Indigenous reclamation for Chicanx folks in particular. As I moved through these spaces, some of my own preconceived beliefs and ideas about Indigeneity were challenged. At times I cried, at times I was angry, at times I felt defensive, at times I felt erased, and probably most importantly, at times I was truly humbled—basically, I moved through all the feels in typical Pisces moon fashion. But I ultimately tried to be accountable to what I was finding—even
when it challenged my own beliefs—and to come to some opening space for reconciliation across internal differences. “Internal” here takes on two layers of meaning in that I am talking about my personal experiences and my own internal processes, but, following testimonio storytelling practice, I am also speaking to and with the “we”—the internal collective that makes up the Chicanx community (primarily academics), who make up my target audience. But I am also speaking to and with the various Indigenous and Native American communities both in the United States and across the border in Latin America (primarily academics); we have all been separated by these ongoing colonial logics, structures, and practices.

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Gabriela Raquel Ríos is an assistant professor with a joint appointment in the Program for Writing and Rhetoric and the English Department at the University of Colorado. As a Chicana rhetorician, her work focuses on rebuilding and reclaiming Indigenous Chicana/o/x rhetorics. Her work has appeared in Rhetoric Review and Rhetoric Society Quarterly, as well as several book collections.

April 20, 2026

Focusing on the Chavez Cave collections in Las Cruces, New Mexico, Collaboration in Practice: Transforming Community-Based Research in the Southwest by Fumiyasu Arakawa, Octavius Seowtewa, and Dylan Retzinger presents a study of the partnership between New Mexico State University and the Zuni Cultural Resource Advisory Team (ZCRAT). Rather than centering on artifact analysis, the authors emphasize the collaborative process itself—visiting the site, curating an exhibition, and co-authoring this volume—as a model for ethical and respectful research. Ultimately, this work charts a path forward for community-based research that centers Indigenous voices and values. It advocates for an archaeology that is not only more inclusive but also more meaningful to the communities whose histories are being studied. A vital resource for scholars, students, and practitioners, this work seeks to engage in ethical, reciprocal, and culturally grounded research in the Southwest and beyond.
 
The book situates this collaboration within the broader historical and political context of archaeology and museology. It critically explores how museums and academic institutions can shift from extractive practices to ones that prioritize Indigenous sovereignty, knowledge systems, and cultural continuity. Through personal narratives, historical context, and methodological insights, the authors highlight the challenges and transformative potential of working collaboratively. They show how true collaboration requires humility, mutual respect, and a commitment to shared authority in both research and representation. Read an excerpt from the book’s Foreword below.

A buzzard feather. A drum beater. A wind instrument. A fortunate rock. “This is considered a good omen to find something like this. You take this as a good blessing for you and your family,” comments Octavius Seowtewa, a Zuni elder and Native scholar. A paintbrush. A needle. Bee pod pigment paint or what the Zuni call na:he’le. Medicinal soap. A reed cigarette.

Thousands of years ago, the ancestors of Seowtewa left stories for their descendants at Chavez Cave, located in the Organ Mountains–Desert Peaks (OMDP) National Monument (Figure 0.1). It is regarded as an ancestral home. “[W]hat we are doing [entering the cave],” says Seowtewa, “is asking permission from them [our ancestors] to be here. Once we do the offering and do the smoke and everything like that . . . now we can have an opportunity to talk about this place.”

The aforementioned artifacts, catalog numbers 1976.14.106, 1976.14.39, 1976.14.19, 1967.11.42, 1976.14.97, 1976.14.88, 1976.14.20, 1974.14.100, 1974.14.43, and others, were taken from Chavez Cave by collectors and obtained by the New Mexico State University Museum (hereafter NMSU Museum) in 1974 and 1976. They were wrapped in protective plastic by museum personnel and stored in boxes on shelves in a basement, along with adjacent collections of Native American artifacts (Figure 0.2).

In 1990, Congress passed the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA). This law required federally funded museums and institutions like the NMSU Museum to return ancestral remains and belongings to lineal descendant groups. NAGPRA has since evolved to regulate how archaeologists treat and study cultural items by mandating deferential consultation with culturally affiliated tribal groups.

These significant legal victories were part of a larger Indigenous-led movement, later turned academic, to “decolonize” and challenge how the cultural heritage and stories of Native American people have been
displayed and told by non-Indigenous scholars and institutions without consent or consultation. The actualization of NAGPRA regulations and decolonial theory presented a variety of challenges; institutions had to do an inventory and return sensitive artifacts (in some cases tens of thousands of years old) to lineal descendant groups that had since migrated and/or been relocated by the U.S. government; archaeologists had to rethink the theory and practice of studying Native American culture as a collaborative and culturally sensitive practice; and Indigenous nation and scholars had to learn how to work with non-Indigenous institutions and scholars that were historically instruments of colonialism.

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Fumi Arakawa is an associate professor of anthropology and the associate director of research at the Indiana University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Before joining Indiana University Bloomington, he served as director of the University Museum and professor of anthropology at New Mexico State University. In 2022, he published Correlative Archaeology, which introduced a new theoretical framework for interpreting archaeological data from multiple perspectives.

Octavius Seowtewa is the head medicine man for the Newekwe/Galazy medicine society and also a member of the Eagle Down medicine society. He is a supervisor for the Zuni Cultural Resources Advisory Team (ZCRAT). Seowtewa has been involved with numerous museum projects not only in the United States but also in Japan and the Netherlands. He has reviewed an innumerable amount of Zuni cultural remains at museums for more than twenty years.

Dylan Retzinger is an associate professor at New Mexico State University (NMSU). He earned a bachelor of arts in anthropology with a minor in Native American studies from Humboldt State University. He earned an MFA in creative writing with an emphasis in poetry and PhD in rhetoric and professional communication with a minor in anthropology from NMSU.

April 15, 2026

Collaborative Archaeology: How Native American Knowledge Enhances Our Collective Understanding of the Past brings together a diverse group of scholars and tribal cultural resource professionals to showcase how Indigenous knowledge is transforming archaeological practice. Edited by Chris Loendorf, this volume features twelve case studies that highlight the power of partnership between Native American communities and archaeologists. These collaborations not only enrich our understanding of the past but also affirm Indigenous cultural continuity. From the establishment of Tribal Historic Preservation Offices to tribally led research initiatives, the book illustrates how Native voices are reshaping the field.
 
This timely collection bridges disciplinary divides between archaeology, history, and traditional knowledge, challenging outdated narratives that separate “prehistory” from living Indigenous communities. Contributors demonstrate how ethical, community-based research can lead to more accurate and respectful interpretations of the past. Collaborative Archaeology is essential reading for scholars, students, and practitioners committed to scientific understanding and cultural preservation. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

Collaborative archaeology as defined here is a research approach that involves archaeologists working together with Indigenous groups in order to better understand cultural heritage (also see Hill 2019:163; Silliman 2008). In this approach, the importance of traditional knowledge is recognized, and this information is used to foster an improved understanding of both local environments and peoples (Silliman 2008). The twelve chapters in this book provide examples of collaborative archaeology in action, and they are split into two parts. Part I includes this introduction and five additional chapters on a variety of subjects, while Part II focuses on collaborative archaeology research undertaken by the Gila River Indian Community in southern Arizona.

Although this volume is focused on the Southwest, the approaches described here are directly relevant to other regions, and chapter 1, by Jennifer Bess, provides two examples of positive outcomes for collaborative archaeology in the Pacific Northwest. Chapter 2, by Skylar Begay, William Doelle, Shannon Cowell, Stephen E. Nash, and Anastasia Walhovd, describes how Archaeology Southwest, a nonprofit research organization, has shifted toward a focus on collaboration with Tribal communities over the last thirty-five years. Chapter 3, by Karl Hoerig, Anabel Galindo, and Thomas E. Sheridan, summarizes how Tribal staff, community elders, and consultants have worked together to document Hiak (Yaqui) history across the Southwestern US and Northwest Mexico landscape. This and chapter 4, by Aaron M. Wright, have important implications for issues of cultural patrimony across a broad region. In this case, the complicated settlement history of the Piipaash (also spelled Pee Posh) in southern Arizona is described. The final chapter in Part 1 describes the process of collaboration undertaken between museum officials and local Native Americans in renaming an archaeological site that is managed by the City of Phoenix.

Part II begins with a discussion of Tribal heritage management programs by M. Kyle Woodson. Chapter 7 by Teresa Rodrigues and Han-nah Chavez describes the benefits of formally documenting Traditional Cultural Properties, regardless of their eligibility status for the National Register of Historic Places. Chapter 8 by Barnaby V. Lewis, Chris Loendorf, and Glen E. Rice uses Akimel O’Odham knowledge to provide additional insights about the nature of prehistoric vapaki, Classic period (ca. AD 1150–1500) features archaeologists call “platform mounds.” The discussion in chapter 9 was contributed by Linda Morgan, Chris Loendorf, M. Kyle Woodson, and Katrina M. Soke. This chapter describes the analytical process of identifying Protohistoric/Historic period ceramics in the Phoenix Basin, where comparatively little is known about Indigenous cultural remains from this period, in part because they are highly concentrated within the Gila River Indian Community. Chapter 10, by Brian Medchill, Reylynne Williams, Chris Loendorf, and Teresa Rodrigues, shows how the modern perspectives of members of Indigenous communities can be used to better understand prehistoric practices—in this case, sports—that leave little evidence in the archaeological record. Chapter 11 by Chris Loendorf, Robert Ciaccio, and Eloise Pedro outlines a communication design collaboration with members of the O’Odham communities in the American Southwest. The last contribution is by Teresa Rodrigues, Hoski Schaafsma, and Eloise Pedro and it explores the potential health and environment benefits of traditionally cultivated and wild foodstuffs that are available in the Sonoran Desert of southern Arizona and northern Mexico. Finally, I offer some conclusions.

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Chris Loendorf is the senior project manager for Gila River Indian Community—Cultural Resource Management Program (GRIC-CRMP). He has worked on archaeological projects from the Northern Plains to the Southwest since 1981. He is the author of more than a dozen peer-reviewed journal articles. He has also published multiple chapters in edited volumes, as well as technical reports. His research expertise includes projectile point design, rock art analysis, mortuary studies, and x-ray florescence analysis. His most recent book is Vapaki: Ancestral O’Odham Platform Mounds of the Sonoran Desert.

April 14, 2026

Chicane Mental Health, Second Edition by Yvette G. Flores offers an intersectional and developmental framework for understanding and addressing the mental health needs of Chicane communities. Drawing on over four decades of clinical and academic experience, Yvette G. Flores addresses the entire lifespan from children and youth to emerging adults, adults, and elders.

This new edition expands on Flores’s influential work by integrating Indigenous healing practices, decolonial theory, and liberatory models of care. It challenges dominant Western paradigms and calls for culturally affirming, community-engaged approaches to mental health. With a focus on issues such as depression, substance use, intimate partner violence, and intergenerational trauma, the book provides practical tools for scholars, clinicians, and students committed to social justice and healing in Chicane and Latine communities. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

Since the publication of Chicana and Chicano Mental Health in 2013, we have experienced a global pandemic that disproportionately affected minoritized communities in the United States and globally. In the United States, the pandemic visibilized the health disparities affecting Latine and Chicane communities (Flores 2023; McCormack 2021; OMH 2025b). Moreover, the pandemic also elucidated the resilience of Latine individuals, families, and communities and the protective factors that emerge from cultural practices and strengths (Flores 2023). The last presidential election and the resulting slew of executive orders have resulted in an immediate erosion of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) efforts nationwide in colleges, government offices, libraries, and service delivery systems. Likewise, executive orders targeting immigrants of color have resulted in mass deportations without due process, and an increase in fear among those living in mixed-status families and those threatened with the attack on birthright citizenship (Kuang 2025). The impact of Trump’s new policies will be discussed further in chapter 8, “Mental Health in the Twenty-First Century: Improving Access, Policies, and Service Delivery.”

In the last decade, Black, Indigenous, and other people of color (BIPOC) scholars also have argued for the importance of decolonizing psychology and centering the experiences of minoritized populations (see Adames and Chavez-Dueñas 2017; Bryant-Davis and Comas-Díaz 2016). Their writings also began to promote widely the training of psychologists and the practice of mental health, especially among community practitioners. For Chicane and Latine, such decolonizing includes an acknowledgment of our Indigenous and African roots and the inclusion of spirituality and indigeneity in our healing practices. Likewise, it is critical to recognize the potential impact of historical and intergenerational trauma on BIPOC mental health.

Mainstream scholars and practitioners have embraced new theories that center Latine and Chicane experiences and narratives, for example mujerista and liberation psychologies. The importance of recognizing the indigeneity of Chicane also has influenced the practice of psychology, promoting Indigenous ways of healings for detribalized Mexican-origin individuals and others who identify as Chicane, regardless of Latine background (see Escamilla et al. 2023; Institute of Chicana/o/x Psychology, n.d.).

Furthermore, new developments in neuroscience have demonstrated the impact of childhood adversities on the psychological and physical well-being of adults (Fonzo 2018; Perry et al. 1995; Parra et al. 2016; van der Kolk 2005). Likewise, the long-term impact of racism and all forms of oppression on mental health have been documented, including the impact of intergenerational and historical trauma rooted in colonization, racism, and legacies of oppression (Hardy 2013).

The second edition of Chicane Mental Health expands on the earlier publication, foregrounding advances in neuroscience; the impact of the pandemic on the emotional well-being of adults, youth, and children; and the increased integration of Chicane Indigenous spirituality and ways of healing. The book also provides readers with epidemiological information regarding the major mental health challenges facing these groups: depression, anxiety disorders (including post-traumatic stress disorder), substance abuse, and intimate partner violence. Furthermore, utilizing a life-cycle perspective and intersectionality models, the chapters examine the mental health issues affecting children and adolescents, adults, and elderly Chicane. The book also offers suggestions for healing historical traumas and, using case studies, examines the importance of understanding cultural values, socioeconomic status, and the gender and sexual roles and expectations that Chicane negotiate. Likewise, I argue for the importance of considering the legacies of migration, transculturation, multiculturality, and intergenerational and historical trauma.

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Yvette G. Flores is a distinguished emerita professor at University of California, Davis, Department of Chicanx Studies.

April 2, 2026

Within just two generations, communities in the Peruvian Andes experienced conquest by the Indigenous Inka Empire (1450–1532 CE) and the European Spanish (1532–1821 CE), leading to three centuries of colonial subjugation. Reinvention and History Making in Huarochirí: A Local Narrative of Colonialism in the Peruvian Andes by Carla Hernández Garavito is an archaeological and historical rendering of the experience of the people of Huarochirí (Lima, Peru) and their interactions with successive waves of colonialism. This exciting new work moves the field of Andean archaeology into conversations with decolonial and decolonizing methodologies and shows how Indigenous communities captured and made sense of their long history, reframing colonialism as a local experience.
 
Using archaeological and historical datasets and spatial modeling, this book centers on local memory and experience throughout colonized landscapes as the thread that connects the long history of Indigenous engagement with expanding colonial empires and the emergent Peruvian nation. The author builds on Andean epistemological frameworks to argue that in the face of drastic sociopolitical changes, the people of Huarochirí turned to their own history. They created analogies and shared spaces between local and Inka landscapes and materiality and incorporated written representations and ideas of settled lives to validate their claims. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

The investigation of colonialism in archaeology has deep roots, and much has been written about its engagement with world-systems theory and postcolonial approaches (Gosden 2004; Stein 2005) and its more modern engagement with issues of hybridity (Dean and Leibsohn 2003; Silliman 2015), syncretism (Nutini 1976), negotiation (Wernke 2013), and resistance (González-Ruibal 2014; Liebmann and Murphy 2011). Learning about the exciting ways in which anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians engaged with colonialism, however, was a stark contrast to the archaeology I had first learned and in the way in which I had integrated the Spanish invasion of the Americas and my own country in the sixteenth century.

The monumental materiality of the Inka Empire and the detailed descriptions left by the Spanish colonizers that met or heard firsthand of the Inka inspired the early development of the archaeology of Cusco, the Inka capital, and eventually other significant provincial centers throughout the Peruvian Andes. It was through this archaeological work that the empire came to be understood in a more diverse and less paternalistic view, with an emphasis on negotiation with local leaders and detailed analyses of the selective transformations in each different region during the Inka period (Earle 1987; Morris et al. 2011; Murra 1980). This body of research, rich in details and empirical data, still favored an emphasis on investigating the changes brought about by the empire; the history of different Andean communities was tied to what happened when they met the Inka and processes of alliance, incorporation, or coercion.

At the same time, besides some initial explorations—particularly those carried out in Lima by the Seminario de Arqueología de la PUCP (Arrieta Introduction 7 1974; Cárdenas 1970, 1971; Vargas Correa 2016)—the Spanish invasion and colonial era were not a substantial part of archaeological inquiry until the twenty-first century. To that point, as an undergraduate student in the early 2000s, I took a series of classes on Peruvian archaeology (levels 1 to 6, covering six semesters), ending with the Inka Empire. Spanish colonialism remained in the realm of historians. While this has changed, it was only in the past 20 years that the archaeology of the colonial Andes has experienced sustained scholarly focus. This break, however, is not only an imaginary boundary but also a useless one, as these communities’ material culture and written words jointly constitute critical domains of their lives and histories. Moreover, the investigation of colonialism itself was also tied to the Spanish invasion. The Inka period, somewhat hidden under the designation of “empire,” seemed to not fully engage with the same complex issues of identity, resistance, and diversity that were implied in European colonial processes.

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Carla Hernández Garavito is a Peruvian archaeologist and an assistant professor in the anthropology department at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Her research centers on the study of colonialism in the Peruvian Andes. Her work has been published in peer-reviewed journals such as Latin American Antiquity, the Journal of Social Archaeology, and Ethnohistory. The National Science Foundation, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Wenner-Gren Foundation, among others, have funded her research.

March 31, 2026

Border Afterlives: Migrant Deaths, Forensic Investigations, and the Politics of Haunting by Gabriella Soto begins with the undocumented individuals who die crossing the U.S.-Mexico border—deaths that are both preventable and politically produced. Drawing on over a decade of ethnographic, participatory, and community-engaged research, author Gabriella Soto examines the postmortem journeys of these migrants through the fragmented infrastructure of medicolegal death investigation in the U.S. Southwest. She reveals how the state’s deterrence-based border policies not only generate death but also fail to provide adequate care for the dead. Soto argues that these deaths should be understood as structural homicides and that the forensic neglect they face is a form of ongoing violence.
 
Moving between the practical and the philosophical, Soto asks what it means to care for the dead and what society owes to those who die in its name. Through the lens of haunting, she explores how the dead continue to shape the living, not as objects of horror but as moral agents whose presence demands justice. Border Afterlives offers a border-scale comparative account of forensic practices, critiques the limits of “best practices” in under-resourced systems, and calls for a reimagining of forensic humanitarianism grounded in reciprocity and dignity, beyond human rights. This is a book that insists on remembering the dead. Read an excerpt from the book’s Introduction below.

I don’t know them, but sometimes I feel that, because of the intimacy of my knowledge, we verge on a kind of kinship. Their faces are burned into my memory, along with the photos they carried, their belongings, and their hands. I’ve spent so much time thinking about their hands—fingerprints can sometimes be the link that reunites the unnamed dead with their families.

I’ve struggled to tell these stories. But they are not my stories to tell. The official records and interviews I have reviewed associated with death investigations only insinuate intimate knowledge, which is not at all the same as knowing someone—even as I can peer almost voyeuristically into their most vulnerable and private states of final repose. Here, I can only tell you about their afterlives.

I have been studying undocumented migrant border crossing deaths in the U.S. Southwest for over a decade, immersed in research about official and less official processes that determine how their remains are found (often by happenstance), recovered (often without much effort to search the scene for disarticulated bones or belongings), investigated forensically (sometimes haphazardly, often just going through the motions), buried or cremated or returned home. I’ve learned how long so many wait in limbo in between these stages and how often this period of waiting is the result of bureaucratic apathy, constraint, or inefficiency—many times a combination.

I write this book because I want these deaths to haunt you too. I don’t necessarily need you to know the details of what happened in each case. I refuse to draw your attention to bodies as objects of horror. This dehumanizes the dead, and it is the opposite of justice (Goldsmith 2022; Latham et al. 2023; Sontag 2003). In so many ways, the fact that deaths continue to occur along the border is already evidence of injustice, because these deaths are preventable. Instead, I focus on the journeys of deceased migrants through the infrastructure of medicolegal death investigation across the U.S. Southwest. My focus on their postmortem journeys is partially what I mean with the title of this book, “border afterlives.”

The subject of death investigation in the United States takes on particular relevance for the vulnerable population of undocumented people and their families, but it also sheds light on how the United States treats its dead. The notion that we are all equal in death is false (Crossland 2022). The inadequacies of U.S. death investigation and forensic infrastructure mean that racism and social vulnerability experienced in life accompany far too many beyond the grave (cf. Byrne and Sandoval-Cervantes 2022; Rosenblatt 2024).

Following the postmortem itineraries of undocumented people who die in transit in the borderlands reflects what’s going wrong with the treatment of the dead in the United States beyond the border. It is not a border problem that everything seems to be disjointed and dysfunctional, but it is a border-specific issue that deaths of racialized, criminalized, and vulnerable people are concentrated here. It is a border-specific concern that the cases of these particularly vulnerable individuals require special care: It’s harder to identify a person who may lack direct local ties and whose remains have been long exposed to the elements. It’s impossible to identify someone when there is no effort made to do so, as is often the case here.

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Gabriella Soto is an associate teaching professor and honors faculty fellow at Arizona State University’s Barrett, the Honors College. She is affiliated faculty with the Binational Migration Institute at the University of Arizona. Soto studies death investigation for undocumented people on the U.S.-Mexico border and the contemporary archaeology of militarized borders. She earned her PhD in anthropology from the University of Arizona and MA in twentieth-century conflict archaeology from the University of Bristol.