A new paper looks back to the 19th-century Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company to elucidate the harms of cultural appropriation and link them to more modern “New Age” practices.

Sarah Dees pulls several yellow-tinged booklets out of plastic bags. Flipping through one titled “Life Among the Indians,” she points out sections on ceremonies and customs. Toward the back are ads for so-called “Indian remedies,” products like “Kickapoo Indian Sagwa” and “Kickapoo Indian Worm Killer.”

Dees, an assistant professor of American religions at Iowa State University, explains the booklets were part of a larger marketing campaign by the Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company. It was founded in 1881 by two Euro-American men, one of whom claimed a Kickapoo healer had saved his life with “Sagwa” and divulged its secret ingredients.

“While the Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company no longer exists, there are many examples today of companies that appropriate Indigenous cultures to turn a profit,” says Dees. “By examining these historical instances of cultural appropriation, we can better understand more recent forms that have spread over the course of the 19th and 21st centuries and grapple with tough questions about appropriation vs. appreciation.”

In her paper in the journal American Religion, Dees emphasizes it’s common for people to draw from other cultures. But misrepresenting cultures or “hijacking narratives” for economic gain can cause harm, especially when unequal power dynamics are at play. Dees shows how the Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company pushed stereotypes and claimed authority on Indigenous cultures to sell products to non-Native consumers.

She also highlights several ironies. As “Indian remedies” became mainstream, the United States government rolled out policies to restrict Indigenous healing and spiritual practices, which Dees explains are often intertwined.

In the late 1800s, Dees says there was growing interest in “medicines purported to draw on Native American medicinal knowledge.” Part of this was a backlash to the Industrial Revolution and Western medicine’s harsh, sometimes deadly treatments, like bloodletting and mercury compounds.

The Kickapoo Indian Medicine Company advertised its remedies as harmless (because they were all natural) but also powerful in their ability to help people “achieve total well-being.” The company frequently did this by exploiting the image of the “noble savage,” a trope of an Indigenous person uncorrupted by civilization, morally pure and living in harmony with nature.

Dees says one of the reasons this stereotype is problematic is because it suggests Indigenous people must stay in the past to be authentic.

The number of Indian medicine companies declined with the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906. But interest in Native American healing practices by non-Native people resurfaced again during the latter half of the 20th century. Dees explains an eclectic set of practices emerged with the New Age movement, which drew from earlier spiritualist ideas (e.g., seances, hypnotism, etc.) eastern religions, old European pagan traditions, and Indigenous ceremonies.

“One of the big critiques of New Age practices is that they’re very individualistic. It’s this idea that you can buy a blessing or pay $1,000 for a sweat lodge for your own personal betterment when Indigenous religious practices are communal and specific to a nation or a subgroup within that nation,” says Dees.

This extraction of spiritual practices makes it harder for Indigenous communities to control narratives about the history and purpose of their traditions. Some also worry that sharing certain ceremonies and sacred sites with outsiders reduces their potency.

In her paper, Dees points to the 1993 Lakota Summit in which 500 members passed the “Declaration of War against Exploiters of Lakota Spirituality.” It denounced the long process of “having [their] most precious Lakota ceremonies and spiritual practices desecrated, mocked, and abused by non-Indian ‘wannabes,’ hucksters, cultists, commercial profiteers, and self-styled ‘New Age shamans’ and their followers.”

Whether it’s Victoria’s Secret models wearing headdresses or sage smudge sticks sold on Amazon, companies continue to profit from Indigenous cultures and healing practices. But Dees says there’s also been more interest in finding the line between cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation.

“If someone’s curious or unsure, I really encourage going to the source and finding multiple perspectives. You can learn a lot from Indigenous artists, writers, and musicians because they’re going to share stories from their lives and communities that they feel comfortable sharing,” says Dees. “But also, I think it’s good to remember that sometimes there are multiple perspectives. People’s outlooks within one nation may differ greatly.”

She also recommends that people who are interested in Native designs support Indigenous artists rather than buy “Native-inspired” knockoffs.

Currently, Dees is writing a book about a research agency within the Smithsonian Institution that studied Indigenous traditions in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries.

She’s also developing a new class, “Religion, Health, and Medicine,” for the fall semester. Geared toward pre-med and pre-health students, the class will focus on connections between religious and healing practices around the world.

“One of my goals is to show how knowledge about history and culture is valuable for the sciences, including health sciences. Providers can better serve their patients when they understand how their religious and cultural backgrounds factor into their approaches to medicine and health,” says Dees.

Many hospitals in the US, including those without religious affiliations, have chaplains and small chapels or prayer rooms. But Dees points out some have also begun to make space for shamans and other religious and spiritual leaders to meet the needs of their patients.

“Many health care practitioners today are emphasizing the need to tend to the whole person, rather than just fixing their broken arm or healing their sickness,” says Dees. “There is a growing recognition of connections between someone’s greater social context, their body, and the mind, and—for practitioners of many religions—their spirit or soul.”

Source: Iowa State University

As the opening guitar riffs rang out at the Levitt Pavilion just outside Denver on Friday night, eager heavy metal fans lined the barrier, cheering on the Arizona band Merciless Indian Savages as they kicked off a new Indigenous comic and arts festival.

The bands performing at the Rez Metal concert were among the many artists participating in áyA Con, an event designed to celebrate indigeneity and showcase Indigenous creators, similar to the Indigenous Pop Culture Expo, or IndigiPop X.

The word “áyA” is from the Lakota language, meaning “to change, to become.” The goal is to expand the notion of what art from Indigenous communities looks like, according to Kristina Maldonado Bad Hand, the director and co-founder of the three-day event.

“We have powwow dancing and we have a lot of our culture presenting, but we have toys up there,” Maldonado-Bad Hand said, motioning to the McNichols Civic Center, which hosted the event. “We’ve got comic books, there’s anime stuff, there’s horror stuff. It’s really broadened.”

Performances ranged from stand-up comedy to poetry to heavy metal.

“People think it’s nonsense, but we’re spitting some knowledge that people are unaware of,” said Corey Ashley, the vocalist for Merciless Indian Savages. “Metal’s the perfect canvas to do that…Natives love metal and we’re no exception to that.”

Along with lyrics about addiction and death, their songs often reference cultural genocide and traumas inflicted upon Indigenous people. One of the songs is titled “Kill Man, Save The Indian,” which references the “White man came across the sea” lyric from Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills,” a song about killing Natives.

“So originally everybody knows, obviously, ‘Kill the Indian, save the man,’” Ashley said, referring to the quote by Captain Richard H. Pratt, a soldier in the U.S. Army who wanted Natives to assimilate. “But we’re like, you know, f— that. We want to empower our people and we want to denounce this way of saying it.”

Other bands that played Friday night explored similar themes. The all-female group Suspended, from Albuquerque, N.M., played an instrumental track titled “Murdered and Missing,” after the thousands of unsolved cases of missing and murdered Indigenous people.

“I had tried to write lyrics several times, but I think it ended up just being an instrumental because I think the music just really speaks for itself,” said Amanda Castillo, a guitarist and vocalist with Suspended.

Ruben Dawahoya, Merciless Indian Savages’s bass player, said he wants to show that Indigenous people belong in the heavy metal space, too.

“We’re just turning the tides, basically, on everybody else, saying that we can evolve and we can do the things that everybody else can,” he said.

That message reached audience members like Chelsea Kaiah, who was head-banging in the front row.

“I think Denver and Colorado in general have a very romanticized version of what Indigenous people look like and how we are and what alternative cultures we participate in,” Kaiah said. “Supporting organizations like this is super important because they’re seeing us for us and what we love and what we support, and the amazing people that create the bands that we listen to.”

After Friday’s concert, the áyA Con event continued into the weekend with several panels and vendors spanning two buildings, with vendors selling things ranging from body care products to theater masks.

Some of the performers new to more traditional Native American art, including dancer Rhyia JoyHeart who is Northern Arapaho and Eastern Shoshone and part of the group United Indigenous Dancers. She performed the Jingle Dress Dance. It’s based on a story where an Indigenous girl fell ill and her relative had a dream about four women that gave instructions on how to make a healing dress.

“[The relative] brought it to their people in a drum ceremony, and they expressed how the dance was, how the dress was to be made, and how it was supposed to be danced,” she said. “Once [the four women] were dancing, the young girl went from laying to sitting to standing to then joining the circle with the women.”

JoyHeart said she’s proud to express her Native traditions and identity through dance.

“There’s so much – so much – beauty in our people,” she said. “We might not be rich in money and wealth, but we’re definitely rich in culture and love. So to be able to have these platforms is truly an honor.”

The festival also featured creatives like Shaun Beyale, a Diné multimedia artist who contributed to Marvel’s Heritage Voices comic book.

“I grew up on Marvel Comics,” he said. “For them to come and reach out to me, you know, that made that little rez boy in me happy because I never thought that would be something possible.”

He also helped design the Marvel character Spider Weaver, based on a protector in Navajo culture called Na’ashjeii Asdzáá. She wears a turquoise necklace and other pieces of cultural attire along with the famous spider logo. Beyale believes it is possible for Indigenous artists to embrace the contemporary without forgetting their ancestral roots.

“We do live in modern society, but at the same time, you know, we do hold onto our culture and we do appreciate that,” he said. “I was just a rez kid that didn’t have electricity. And I had to draw at night with kerosene lamps. And now here I am, getting to work on video games, comic books, and get to promote my culture.

“I think by harnessing the power of technology, we can still move forward without forgetting who we are.”

Danielle Boyer, a 22-year-old Ojibwe engineer, also presented at the festival. She made a talking and singing robot, called a SkoBot, that looks like a tiny, colorful minion with cat ears. It helps preserve four endangered Native languages: Ojibwemowin, Diné Bizaad, Taíno and Apache.

“They are wearable language revitalization robots,” she said. “Basically, they sit on your shoulder, sense motion and help protect endangered Indigenous languages.”

For example, she said, it’d say a phrase like “Boozhoo. Hello,” and ask the child to repeat it back.

She also created the STEAM Connection when she was 18 to help teach Indigenous youth about robotics and provide some building kits for free. It’s served over 800,000 youth so far.

Her idea came out of the discrimination she faced when she tried to join robotics clubs in high school and college. She hopes Indigenous youth will still pursue what they want to pursue, even when these spaces are predominantly white.

“We’ve always been scientists, we’ve always been inventors, we’ve always been creating really awesome things,” she said. “I want to show our students that opportunities are available and that we can create things for our communities basically built by us, for us. And we can be innovators now and forever.”

That’s the main reason Maldonado-Bad Hand wanted to create the convention – to show that Native art and culture is much more than the stereotypes of feathers and ancestors. She shared how when she invited some of her friends to present their anime work at áyA Con, they questioned if anyone would like it.

“I was like…’Why would you question whether you belonged somewhere because you had something that was likable for the rest of the general public and assumed that it wouldn’t be likable for Native people?’” she said.

She hopes it allows participants to bond through their shared connections and expand perspectives of what Native people engage in and enjoy.

“We really wanted to encourage that connection while also sharing our culture,” she said. “You can celebrate over fandoms and everybody can be nerds together and kind of celebrate that way.”

This story was produced by the Mountain West News Bureau, a collaboration between Wyoming Public Media, Nevada Public Radio, Boise State Public Radio in Idaho, KUNR in Nevada, the O’Connor Center for the Rocky Mountain West in Montana, KUNC in Colorado, KUNM in New Mexico, with support from affiliate stations across the region. Funding for the Mountain West News Bureau is provided in part by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.