This land is your land,
This land is my land,
From California to the New York island,
From the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters,
This land was made for you and me.
For many, these lyrics evoke a sense of unity and national pride. However, for Indigenous people, Woody Guthrie’s iconic anthem, “This Land Is Your Land,” can strike a dissonant chord. As a Native American activist, folk musician, and songwriter, Mali Obomsawin of the Abenaki First Nation offers a critical perspective on this beloved song, arguing that it inadvertently perpetuates a harmful erasure of Indigenous history and ongoing struggles for sovereignty. While Guthrie is often revered as a protest icon, Obomsawin challenges listeners to consider the song’s impact from a Native viewpoint, urging a deeper understanding of whose land America truly is.
Obomsawin’s perspective is deeply rooted in her family history of activism. Her parents met amidst the courtroom battles of the late 1980s, during a pivotal time for the Missisquoi Band of Abenaki. The tribe was engaged in sovereignty disputes, asserting their “unextinguished aboriginal title” – the inherent right to their traditional territories. This concept, often undermined by America’s founders, became the crux of legal battles as the Abenaki fought to protect their ancestral lands in Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and southern Quebec.
The landmark case of State v. Saint Francis (1989) initially recognized the Missisquoi Abenaki as a tribe with aboriginal rights to hunt and fish for sustenance. This victory offered a pathway towards federal recognition and land claims, vital for the tribe’s cultural survival and community organization. For land-based cultures like the Abenaki, preserving access to traditional territory is paramount for safeguarding language, ceremonies, ancestral knowledge, and oral histories for future generations.
The central question at the time was stark: “Whose land is this land?” The courtroom acknowledged the land’s Abenaki origins, yet the precise moment of sovereignty extinguishment remained contested. The only documented evidence was an eighteenth-century land lease – the “James Robertson Lease” – a ninety-one-year agreement between the Missisquoi and Vermont settlers, which had long since expired.
Mali Obomsawin demonstrates on Indigenous Peoples’ Day at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. Photo by Cecilia Torres
Despite the historical context, State v. Elliot (1991) delivered a devastating blow, ruling that Abenaki sovereignty had been “extinguished by the increasing weight of history.” This unprecedented legal reasoning suggested that the mere passage of time could erode a Native nation’s inherent rights, undermining the very laws designed to protect Indigenous communities. This ruling raised profound questions about the value of legal protections for Native rights if they could be dismissed by the abstract notion of historical weight.
The Abenaki faced insurmountable legal costs, forcing them to abandon their appeal. Internal community divisions deepened, and Obomsawin’s parents shifted their focus from legal battles to raising their family within Wôbanaki territory, instilling in their six children a deep understanding of their Abenaki heritage and political consciousness. This personal history firmly grounds Obomsawin’s critique of “This Land Is Your Land.”
In the context of America’s settler-colonial foundation, Guthrie’s anthem exposes a prevalent American blind spot regarding Native Americans. Even well-intentioned patriotic expressions, like leftist protest songs, can inadvertently erase Indigenous presence. The issue, Obomsawin argues, lies in the lyric “this land was our land.” Through violence, broken treaties, and a legal system inherently biased towards colonial interests, Indigenous lands were transformed into “American land.” Challenging this narrative of American land control is often deemed radical, even within progressive circles. Because Indigenous critiques strike at the core of American identity, these voices are frequently marginalized and rendered invisible.
This critique is not about condemning Guthrie, but about fostering genuine allyship. Dismantling this national blind spot requires confronting the pervasive ignorance and anti-Nativism embedded within American society. This ignorance transcends socioeconomic and political lines, impacting all levels of education and societal spheres. For those unfamiliar with concepts like Native sovereignty, aboriginal title, and federal recognition, this analysis serves as a crucial entry point.
Since its 1951 release on Folkways Records, “This Land Is Your Land” has been a powerful force, inspiring activists and peace advocates during times of social upheaval. It has been extensively analyzed as a cultural artifact, tracing its evolution from protest song to national sing-along, even hailed as an “alternative national anthem.” However, the song’s more critical verses, addressing capitalism and exclusion, have largely faded from popular renditions. While message distortion is common over time, Guthrie’s original self-aware critique risks becoming mere patriotism without acknowledging these radical verses. For social justice movements to genuinely include Native peoples, they must critically examine patriotic rhetoric.
Original 78 rpm disc of Woody Guthrie’s original recording of “This Land is Your Land,” now in the Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives. Photo by Michael Barnes, Smithsonian
As activists of color often emphasize, white nationalism is a direct consequence of America’s founding principles. The US was built on a foundation of racial hierarchy: enslaved Black people, a white ruling class, and the intended extermination of Indigenous populations – “the vanishing race.” The nation’s mission was envisioned as a white Christian dominion, fueled by a belief in divine entitlement to hemispheric expansion. The 1493 Doctrine of Discovery, sanctioned by Pope Alexander VI, provided legal justification, later incorporated into U.S. law in 1823 through Johnson v. M’Intosh, a foundational case in Federal Indian Law, and even cited in State v. Elliot (1991). The separation of church and state, notably, does not fully extend to Indian law (Establishment Clause). Manifest Destiny and the Doctrine of Discovery spurred European efforts to convert Indigenous peoples to Christianity. Indigenous resistance to this cultural and physical conquest was met with subjugation and genocide, legally and morally justified by these doctrines.
Critiquing “This Land Is Your Land” is not about accusing Guthrie of endorsing conquest. Instead, it highlights how the song, in its contemporary usage, reflects a broader pattern of Native invisibility within American leftist thought. The popular lyrics, “this land was made for you and me,” echo expansionist ideologies. When sung in political gatherings without critical awareness, the song can inadvertently reinforce anti-Nativism and perpetuate historical blind spots. Obomsawin’s critique targets the nation-state itself, where deeply ingrained historical inaccuracies obscure the complex realities of Native American experiences. The common phrase “nation of immigrants” similarly erases Indigenous existence from collective consciousness. Genuine allyship requires confronting and dismantling this ingrained anti-Nativism, beginning with self-reflection and acknowledging historical ignorance.
Several thousand demonstrators march in Minneapolis to protest the Washington, D.C., football team in November 2014. Photo by Fibonacci Blue, Creative Commons
As Indigenous author Ward Churchill observed, American perceptions of Native people oscillate between “demonization or romanticization.” From childhood, Americans are bombarded with distorted portrayals – from stereotypical “savages” in Disney films to offensive sports mascots and Halloween costumes. Media and entertainment perpetuate stereotypes and lack of representation. Thanksgiving narratives romanticize pilgrims and obscure the reality of colonization, while Columbus Day celebrates conquest. Even the Declaration of Independence refers to “merciless Indian savages.” Curricula rarely address racism against Native people. At best, students emerge with a superficial understanding of historical massacres and a sanitized narrative of a nation founded on equitable justice rising from colonial conflict.
The truth is, American history is often incompletely taught. Students lack a realistic grasp of the nation’s historical legacy and the intricate relationship between the U.S. government and tribal nations today. Few Americans know that tribes possess a unique legal status as sovereign governments, engaging in nation-to-nation relations with the federal government. The U.S. Constitution itself acknowledges this distinct status, granting Congress the power to regulate commerce with “foreign Nations, and among the several States, and with the Indian Tribes,” positioning tribes as entities somewhere between foreign and domestic governments.
This widespread ignorance about Indian Country is not accidental. It is perpetuated because the government continues to contest Native land rights. A complete and honest portrayal of American history would undermine patriotic narratives. Accountability for historical omissions is lacking, allowing Native people to be conveniently written out of national consciousness. The very foundation of American legitimacy is fragile, and erasing Native presence sidesteps the uncomfortable question of “whose land is whose land,” and the unjust means by which land was acquired.
Ignorance serves as a readily available tool of oppression. It requires no active participation, no acknowledgment of the targeted group, no stepping outside comfort zones, and no personal risk. Ignorance is a cheap, deniable, and elusive weapon, passively consumed and reproduced, reinforcing Native invisibility.
Rally against the Dakota Access Pipeline in St. Paul, Minnesota, September 2016. Photo by Fibonacci Blue, Creative Commons
Ignorance is not the only weapon. When Native nations assert treaty rights, as seen in the 2016 Dakota Access Pipeline protests, they are often met with militarized suppression and counterterrorism tactics. The geographic isolation of reservations further contributes to invisibility and emboldens racial violence.
This profound lack of understanding renders Indigenous sovereignty claims seemingly “outlandish” to many Americans, simply because the very existence of Indigenous Peoples remains bewildering to them. Organized resistance to systemic anti-Nativism is weak, allowing public ignorance to be weaponized against Native communities by entities ranging from oil companies to state supreme courts.
Without a critical reckoning with America’s foundational injustices, continued oppression of Native peoples appears inevitable. Policies and institutions designed to undermine tribal sovereignty and eradicate Native populations continue to exert their harmful influence. Examples of these enduring tactics include:
Indian Removal and Reservations (1776–Present)
For the first century post-independence, the U.S. engaged in “Treaty Federalism,” recognizing tribal nations as distinct political entities. Simultaneously, tribes were forcibly relocated to reservations, often described as concentration camps, through coercive treaties throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. Today, the government displays contempt and duplicity towards previously recognized reservations and sovereign territories. Alarmingly, Native people living on or near reservations are disproportionately likely to be killed by law enforcement.
Indian Boarding Schools (1870s–2000s)
In the 1870s, Richard Pratt initiated the Indian Boarding School system, aiming for forced assimilation. His infamous motto was: “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” Both the U.S. and Canadian governments funded these schools to forcibly assimilate Indigenous children, separating them from families and cultures. Native languages and religions were forbidden, traditional clothing and hair were forcibly removed, and escape attempts were punished. Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) found that fifty percent of students died in or shortly after attending due to horrific conditions, malnutrition, and disease – a reality the US has yet to fully acknowledge through a TRC. Reports suggest intentional disease spread in some schools, marked by high admittance rates of sick children (cultural genocide). Survivors endured severe trauma, cultural estrangement, and loss of language, impacting intergenerational family communication. These schools persisted in America well into the 21st century, and in Canada until the 1990s.
The Allotment Act (1887–1934) and Blood Quantum
The General Allotment (Dawes) Act aimed to dismantle Native communities by undermining land autonomy. Communal tribal lands were divided and allocated to individual members, with “surplus land” opened to settlers. “Blood quantum” policies were institutionalized, requiring proof of “one-fourth Indian blood” for land inheritance, designed to diminish Native populations through intermarriage and eventually negate treaty obligations. While the Dawes Act was replaced by the Indian Reorganization Act in 1934, blood quantum remains a divisive factor in tribal citizenship, varying across tribes. It continues to shrink enrollment, complicate Native identity, and reduce Indigenous identity to mere blood measurements, as poignantly highlighted in “in the company of dogs and horses”.
Eugenics (1900s–Present)
Eugenics, promoted by “public health” professionals in the 20th century, was widespread in the US and Canada. Vermont’s Vermont Commission on Country Life (1913-1957) sought to eliminate “undesirables” – including Abenaki people resisting assimilation, African Americans, immigrants, and the poor – to ensure a “superior stock.” The term “mental defectives” was broadly applied to target groups. In the 1970s, forced sterilization of Native women in the Southwest by physicians and Indian Health Service workers came to light. Eugenics has played a long-standing role in American “public health,” and forced sterilization of Native women in North America persists today.
Foster Care and Adoption (1800s–Present)
For three centuries, government agents have forcibly removed Native children from their families for foster care and adoption. Native children enter the Child Welfare System at nineteen times the rate of non-Native children. The Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) of 1978, designed to protect Native families and children, is currently under Supreme Court challenge.
These are just a few examples of state-sanctioned ethnic cleansing tactics employed to address the “Indian Problem” – the unexpected survival of Indigenous populations during American nation-building. Adolf Hitler even drew inspiration from these U.S. policies during the Third Reich (additional source). This difficult history remains неотделим from contemporary America.
True allyship, and dismantling systemic ignorance, begins with “passing the mic” to marginalized voices. Native people possess unique insights into their communities’ experiences, needs, and struggles. However, this requires creating space for Native narratives, including less patriotic accounts of American history rooted in centuries of broken treaties and genocidal policies. Bridging the experiential gap between Native and non-Native Americans demands dedicated self-education, active listening, settler humility, and transformative changes within educational institutions.
Effective activism is urgently needed. Real change requires allyship grounded in the recognition that ignorance is a form of privilege. Those committed to justice must critically examine their own education, actively seek out and listen to marginalized voices, and embrace every opportunity to amplify these perspectives. Ultimately, it necessitates relinquishing aspects of American culture that silence and erase marginalized communities, even those that are deeply cherished.
If protest songs like “This Land Is Your Land” continue to inadvertently reinforce Native oppression, they signal that social justice movements are not truly inclusive of Indigenous Peoples. True social justice demands fundamental justice for all. And to be unequivocally clear: this land is not “your land.”
Suggested Reading
- A Conversation with Native Americans on Race
- Beyond Buckskin: Top Articles on Appropriation
- The Intergenerational Effects of Relocation Policies on Indigenous Families*
- Announcing the first comprehensive study on child removal in Native communities
- These Haunting Red Dresses Memorialize Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women
- 100 Ways to Support—Not Appropriate From—Native People
Suggested Listening
Mali Obomsawin is a Smithsonian Folkways Recordings artist with the band Lula Wiles. She is a full-time touring musician and a freelance writer on Indigenous issues. She has also taught workshops on Indigenous issues in the United States and Quebec. Mali grew up in Farmington, Maine, and is a citizen of the Abenaki First Nation at Odanak.
