Alameda Native History Project

Tag: ohlone land

  • Corrina Gould: The Myth Of Lisjan, and the Erosion of Tribal Sovereignty

    Author’s Note (Updated November 13, 2025)

    There are a number of things I want to say about this article:

    First, this is a culmination of 5+ years of research and investigation. And it was only because of the Official Statement by the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area [included in full at the end of this article] that I was finally able to put together some missing pieces about Corrina Gould’s relationship to Muwekma–specifically, her descent and her belonging to the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area. During the course of researching this matter, I interviewed Tribal Attorneys, as well as members of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe, and representatives from several local organizations who freely volunteered their reasons for no longer working with Corrina Gould.

    Second, despite several comments by Deja Gould on public posts, neither Deja Gould, nor her mother, Corrina Gould have directly answered any of the questions presented during the course of our investigation. Sogorea Te Land Trust has only provided legally required documentation related with their tax filing and reporting duties and responsibilities as a charitable organization.

    Third, I used ChatGPT to help me write this article. Specifically because I needed help keeping track of the sections, its tone, and to make sure that I created something complete and ready for publication. That said, the facts presented in this article are not AI hallucinations. This article was carefully constructed and painstakingly reviewed, over and over again, to ensure the veracity and completeness of the information presented here. My sources are open and available for anyone who wants to verify them.

    Fourth, I was not paid to write this article. Doing the right thing, reporting the truth, and telling the historical background of Bay Area Native American history is the mission of this project. It’s what we do. And we do it without asking for compensation. This is an independent organization, and we are beholden to no one.

    Fifth, I will not respond to personal attacks. I will not waste my time proving to anyone who I am. I do not care what you think. If your argument does not lie within the context of the material presented here, it is irrelevant to the message of this article. And your desperation to escape the truth and ignore the facts–laid bare here–is your choice.

    Finally, this article was updated in November 2025 to bring it into closer alignment with the Official Statement of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area on Corrina Gould, the Confederated Villages of Lisjan, and Sogorea Te Land Trust. As of this update, neither Corrina Gould, nor Deja Gould, nor Sogorea Te Land Trust has provided any substantive response that corrects, clarifies, or refutes the documented facts presented here or in the Tribal statement.

    1. Introduction

    For years, Corrina Gould has positioned herself as a tribal leader, a rematriation visionary, and a voice for Ohlone land return. She has founded organizations, signed land agreements, created a land tax, received millions in funding, and claimed to speak on behalf of Ohlone people. But her story is built on fiction.

    Corrina Gould is not the Chairwoman of a tribe. She is the head of a nonprofit corporation. The so-called “Confederated Villages of Lisjan” did not exist prior to 2018. It has no documented history, no enrollment records, no government, and no collective identity beyond a name she gave it. The Sogorea Te Land Trust is not an Ohlone organization. It is a nonprofit corporation led by a single unenrolled individual–someone who only discovered her genealogy because the real Ohlone tribe shared it with her.

    That tribe is the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area: the only tribal government with documented continuity, legal standing, and ancestral responsibility for this land. Muwekma are the living successors of the historic, federally recognized Verona Band of Alameda County. They descend from the Indigenous people forced into Misión San José de Guadalupe, Santa Clara de Thámien, and San Francisco de Asís, and today, Muwekma has over 600 enrolled members. They have fought for their sovereignty, defended their sacred sites, and preserved their genealogy and governance through every wave of erasure: missions, courts, colonization, and nonprofits.

    And yet, Muwekma is being erased again; this time, not by settlers, but by activists claiming their identity, collecting land and donations under their name, and silencing them with the language of “solidarity.”

    This isn’t just confusion. This is colonization, rebranded and crowd-funded. It is settler violence in a progressive disguise. It is a lie that has been funded by foundations, platformed by institutions, and repeated by people too afraid–or too lazy–to ask basic questions: Who governs this tribe? Who are its members? Where is the money going? Who was consulted? What elections have been held?

    This is a pattern of identity fraud, land misappropriation, and community displacement, and it has gone on for too long. The time for “raising questions” is over. The answers are here. And this is the record.

    2. The Myth of the Confederated Villages of Lisjan

    The “Confederated Villages of Lisjan” (CVL) did not exist prior to 2018. It has no historical precedent, no documentation in early ethnographic records, no mention in tribal enrollment rosters, no record in legal proceedings, and no lineage-based governance structure. It is not a tribe. It is a name invented by Corrina Gould–retroactively applied to give the appearance of a tribal coalition that never existed.

    The word “Lisjan” itself is poorly understood and inconsistently used. Gould cites a 1920s interview with her ancestor, José Guzmán, who described himself as “Lisjanes”–but this was simply a reference to the place he was from: the Nisenan name for the Pleasanton area. He did not say he was from a “Lisjan Tribe.” He did not describe a confederation of villages. He was a Muwekma ancestor who spoke Spanish—maybe as a third language, after Nisenan and Chochenyo–he did not speak English, and was likely describing location, not identity. And yet, Gould has used this single, mistranslated phrase to build an entire tribal identity.

    Gould publicly presents herself not just as a tribal member, but as a Tribal Chairwoman–a title that holds formal and legal weight in actual tribal governments. But her organization has no tribal enrollment. No constitutional structure. No elections. No council. No ratifying documents. There is no list of what “villages” make up the supposed confederacy. There are no lineages publicly claimed. No other representatives from these villages ever appear at events or claim descent. It is a title without a people. A nonprofit corporation posing as a nation.

    In reality, Gould descends from the very same lineages as enrolled members of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area. On December 13, 2005, she requested her genealogy from then Muwekma Chairwoman Rosemary Cambra, and the Tribe’s ethnohistorian, Alan Leventhal, prepared a detailed report that traced her ancestry back to specific pre conquest Ohlone villages. It was only through Muwekma’s documentation and research that she learned she descends from Muwekma ancestors. Instead of enrolling or standing with the Tribe, she took that information and built her own identity-based platform, weaponizing documentation that was shared with her in good faith.

    Her family is not excluded from Muwekma. In fact, her relatives–including her aunt and uncle, and their extended families–have been enrolled Muwekma members since 1995. Gould made a choice not to enroll. And then, she made another choice: to leverage Muwekma’s genealogy, history, and sacred sites to build her own nonprofit brand.

    She presents herself as a Tribal Chairwoman–but she is the chair of a corporation. And she uses that corporation to appear as if she governs a sovereign tribal nation, when in fact, she governs nothing but a grant-seeking nonprofit made up of herself, her daughter, and a cohort of non-Native allies and unaffiliated supporters.

    In its Official Statement, the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe identifies the so-called Confederated Villages of Lisjan as pure political fiction designed to enrich Gould, and describes the group as a collection of activists, many of them non Native and unrelated to one another, who share no common tribal enrollment or traditional governance.

    The result is a cheap knock-off of a tribal government, built on the illusion of collective identity and the erasure of the very people whose legacy she claims to protect. Her statements and symbolism are packaged for public consumption. But there is no tribal infrastructure behind it. No cultural authority. No community accountability. It is a performance built on selective ancestry, strategic branding, and the quiet theft of another tribe’s history.

    3. Funded Fabrication and Institutional Complicity

    Since its creation, the Confederated Villages of Lisjan and its sister organization, Sogorea Te Land Trust, have received millions of dollars in grants, donations, and land transfers–funding that was intended to support Indigenous land return, cultural revitalization, and tribal sovereignty.

    But that funding is not going to a tribe. It’s going to a nonprofit corporation with no elections, no enrollment, no federal or state recognition, and no documented governance. The public has been led to believe that Sogorea Te Land Trust is an Ohlone-led effort to rematriate ancestral lands. But in reality, the land is not being returned to a tribe… It’s being handed to an individual–who has no interest in helping her real tribe–and her nonprofit corporation.

    The most egregious example is the West Berkeley Shellmound. In 2023, the City of Berkeley announced that it would transfer the historic site to Sogorea Te Land Trust. In the meeting minutes, the city described the action as “returning the land to the Ohlone people.” But this was a lie. Sogorea Te Land Trust is not an Ohlone tribe or tribally governed entity. The land was not returned to Muwekma–the only federally documented tribe connected to that site. Instead, it was handed to a nonprofit that claims Indigenous identity without legal or cultural accountability.

    This supposed “return” was made possible by more than twenty million dollars in grant funding to Sogorea Te Land Trust from Regan Pritzker’s Kataly Foundation–which the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe explicitly identifies in its Official Statement as a taking of Muwekma land rather than a return of land to the rightful tribal government.

    This confusion is not accidental. Gould has intentionally blurred the line between nonprofit and tribe. She invokes language like “rematriation,” “sovereignty,” and “traditional territory,” while never disclosing that her organization has no formal recognition, no election process, no ratified tribal rolls, and no council oversight. Funders and institutions allow it because it’s easier than doing the work of real consultation.

    Organizations that have partnered with CVL or STLT include:

    These institutions have played a role in fabricating legitimacy. They’ve repeated claims without verification. They’ve entered into land agreements and awarded grants without consulting the federally documented tribal government whose sovereignty they’ve bypassed.

    This is not accidental. This is the institutional funding of a fiction.

    And every time a university, foundation, or nonprofit puts Sogorea Te Land Trust on a panel, signs an MOU, or writes a check, they’re not standing with Ohlone people. They’re standing with a narrative built on erasure–one that excludes the very tribe whose homeland they claim to “rematriate.”

    4. Weaponizing Rhetoric to Avoid Accountability

    Corrina Gould frequently accuses her critics–including enrolled Muwekma members–of “perpetuating colonial violence.” She uses the language of decolonization to shield herself from scrutiny and shut down legitimate questions about her identity, governance, and funding. But this is not decolonial work–it is the strategic misuse of anti-colonial rhetoric to avoid accountability.

    This tactic has proven effective, especially among non-Native supporters who are unfamiliar with the difference between actual tribal sovereignty and self-appointed identity. In Gould’s framing, any critique becomes “lateral violence,” and any push for clarity is “divisive.” As a result, even basic questions–Who are your enrolled members? When do you hold elections? What is your governance structure?–are dismissed as hostile.

    The irony is unavoidable: Gould accuses others of colonial harm while collaborating with the very institutions that enforced settler violence–churches, universities, real estate developers, and city governments. She denounces the legacy of the Catholic mission system while operating out of a church. She claims to speak for Ohlone people while silencing Muwekma, the tribe she descends from.

    The harm here is not theoretical. Every time Gould uses progressive language to shut down real tribal voices, she reinforces the structures of colonization. She replaces truth with optics, community with control, and shared identity with personal branding.

    This isn’t what decolonization looks like. It’s what erasure looks like–draped in the language of justice, funded by people too uncomfortable to ask questions, and defended by institutions more interested in performance than accountability.

    5. A Reckoning Rooted in Research

    This project didn’t begin with opposition. It began in good faith.

    In 2020, I supported Corrina Gould. The City of Alameda was considering renaming Jackson Park to Chochenyo Park, a gesture I backed without hesitation. Gould was present at those discussions. At the time, her narrative seemed compelling. Her cause appeared righteous. Like many people, I wanted to help uplift a story that claimed to center Indigenous land and sovereignty.

    So I began researching, intending to support her work. I looked for historical records, linguistic references, maps–anything that could substantiate and elevate her cause. But what I found instead was something Gould never expected anyone to look for: the truth.

    And that truth pointed, again and again, not to a “Confederated Villages of Lisjan,” but to the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area–the living successors of the Verona Band of Alameda County, recognized by the federal government in 1906 and unlawfully removed from recognition in 1927. Every credible source I found–mission records, ethnographic interviews, enrollment documents, BIA files–told the same story: this is Muwekma land, and Muwekma never left.

    It was Muwekma who preserved the genealogy. Muwekma who fought for recognition. Muwekma who kept ceremony alive and language breathing. It was Muwekma who gave Corrina Gould the documents she now uses to claim Indigenous identity–and it is Muwekma she now displaces.

    People are quick to give Corrina Gould credit–for symbolic gestures, shellmound walks, and public speaking. Some even claim she “saved the West Berkeley Shellmound.” She didn’t. The Shellmound was already destroyed. It’s a parking lot. Meanwhile, former Muwekma Chairwoman Rosemary Cambra helped save an actual Ohlone cemetery from destruction during the construction of the 680 freeway in the 1960s. That cemetery was later returned in 1971 to Andrew Galvan via the Ohlone Indian Tribe Inc., through a historic and unprecedented decision by the Catholic Church. “It’s the only piece of Californian mission property returned by the Catholic Church to a group of Indians, that I’m aware of,” said Galvan, curator of Mission Dolores in San Francisco.

    That wasn’t an isolated act. In 1967, Phil Galvan [“Mr. Ohlone”] successfully advocated for the naming of Ohlone College in Fremont–ensuring that a major institution would carry the name of his people and their land. And in 1985, Rosemary Cambra again took direct action–striking an archaeologist with a shovel to stop the desecration of her ancestors’ graves by developers attempting to build a hotel in downtown San José.

    These are real, measurable accomplishments–land protected, history recognized, sovereignty advanced–achieved not through branding or ceremony, but through resistance, strategy, and leadership.

    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area
    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area
    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area
    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area
    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area
    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area

    In 2024, Muwekma embarked on the Trail of Truth, a 90-day cross-country journey from San Francisco to Washington, D.C., to demand federal recognition and justice for unrecognized tribes. Along the way, they were joined by members of over 30 other tribes, fostering national intertribal relations. Upon arrival in D.C., they faced violent responses from law enforcement, including arrests and physical confrontations, as they attempted to bring their message to the nation’s leaders. Despite these challenges, Muwekma’s commitment to sovereignty and recognition remained unwavering.

    Meanwhile, Corrina Gould–while formerly associated with service delivery at the American Indian Child Resource Center–has used her platform through Indigenous People Organized for Change and especially through Sogorea Te Land Trust to build what is, at its core, a personal fundraising machine, not a tribal government. And she built it at the expense of real Muwekma–and in the Chochenyo context, Muwekma means “the people” [“la gente“.] She has rebranded the people as herself, and turned their collective legacy into her private gain.

    Her base of support is not grounded in local tribal governance. It comes largely from non-Native institutions, funders, and Native individuals with no ancestral ties to this land. Meanwhile, the real Ohlone Tribe is pushed aside in favor of symbolic leadership that offers visibility, but not accountability.

    Once faced with the facts, I had to admit that I was wrong. I had been led by a compelling story–but the truth was stronger. So I did what solidarity demands: I apologized, publicly withdrew my support for the Confederated Villages of Lisjan, and committed to telling the truth.

    Because protecting Indigenous sovereignty sometimes means telling hard truths–and refusing to participate in feel-good illusions.

    6. The Harm Is Real (And Measurable)

    This isn’t just a difference in opinion. It isn’t a clash of personalities. And it certainly isn’t a harmless misunderstanding.

    When institutions platform Corrina Gould as a tribal leader, or treat the Confederated Villages of Lisjan as a legitimate tribal government, they are doing more than making a mistake–they are actively undermining the sovereignty of the real Ohlone Tribe. They are diverting resources, land, funding, and political capital away from Muwekma, and into the hands of a private organization with no legal standing, no elections, and no tribal citizenry.

    This harm isn’t abstract. It’s measurable.

    • Millions of dollars in philanthropic and public funding intended for Indigenous land return and cultural revitalization have gone to a nonprofit corporation with no recognized tribal status.
    • Sacred land–like the site of the West Berkeley Shellmound–has been transferred to Sogorea Te Land Trust, a non-tribal organization, under the false pretense that it represents “the Ohlone people.”
    • Shuumi Land Tax–individuals and institutions are encouraged to believe they are contributing directly to “the Ohlone people,” yet the money flows to Sogorea Te Land Trust rather than to the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe, which further entrenches a fictional framework and diverts resources away from the only tribal government tied to this land.
    • Public institutions, including cities and universities, have entered into consultation relationships with Gould and her affiliates, bypassing Muwekma entirely–despite Muwekma’s documented federal recognition and direct ancestral connection to the land in question.
    • Land acknowledgments, educational materials, and grant applications are being written and approved using a fictional framework, misleading the public and distorting the historical record.
    • Nonprofits and state agencies increasingly treat Sogorea Te Land Trust as the default Ohlone contact, creating a monopoly of voice that drowns out the actual tribe’s legal claims and cultural continuity.

    These are not harmless errors. They are a form of structural erasure–the exact kind that has plagued Native nations for generations. When land meant for Indigenous people is given to a nonprofit posing as a tribe, that is not reparation. That is dispossession in progressive packaging.

    This is particularly dangerous because the harm is disguised as justice. The very people who claim to be “decolonizing” are recoding colonization into a new language of rematriation, visibility, and inclusion–but behind the optics, the effect is the same: the real tribe is left out. The real tribe is defunded. The real tribe is made invisible.

    And let’s be clear: the people being erased are not theoretical. Muwekma has over 600 enrolled members. They are the living successors of the Verona Band. They have filed lawsuits, preserved records, won recognition, buried their dead, held their ceremonies, and never left their land.

    But when outsiders accept Gould’s narrative at face value–when they hand over land and money without due diligence–they don’t just cause confusion. They help erase those 600+ people from the public record and from the future of their own homeland.

    This harm is worsened by the fact that many of Gould’s supporters are not Ohlone, not from this territory, and in many cases, not even Native. Her occupation of Sogorea Te (Glen Cove Park in Vallejo) was carried out over the objections of local Wintu and Patwin tribal leaders, who viewed her presence as invasive and inappropriate–and who were already in the middle of negotiations with the city. Once again, her support came not from the tribes whose land she claimed to defend, but from outsiders–many of whom lacked the cultural or historical context to recognize the damage being done.

    This isn’t pan-Indigenous solidarity. This is outsider-enabled erasure masquerading as justice.

    And if you’ve ever promoted Corrina Gould as a tribal leader…
    If you’ve ever funded Sogorea Te Land Trust believing it was an Ohlone-run tribal entity…
    If you’ve ever written a land acknowledgment, curriculum, or policy that names CVL without verifying its legitimacy…

    Then you’ve been part of this harm.

    You didn’t just uplift the wrong narrative.
    You helped erase a federally documented tribe.
    You helped redirect land, funding, and power away from 600 living descendants of the Verona Band–and handed it to a nonprofit that exists because Muwekma gave one woman access to her genealogy.

    This isn’t theoretical. This is real.
    Real people. Real land. Real erasure.

    You didn’t decolonize anything.
    You just changed the branding.

    7. This Is Muwekma Land

    Photo courtesy of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area.

    Let’s be clear: this is the unceded ancestral homeland of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area.

    The East Bay–including the very places where Corrina Gould operates, where cities write “rematriation” into land agreements, and where nonprofit funders congratulate themselves on “land return”–sits squarely within the ethnohistoric territory of the Chochenyo- and Thámien-speaking Ohlone tribal groups and intermarried Muwekma Ohlone and Bay Miwok ancestors. These were not abstract “villages.” They were governed communities with kinship ties, linguistic identity, and ceremonial responsibilities. Their descendants are now enrolled in the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe.

    These people were forced into Misión San José de Guadalupe, Misión Santa Clara de Thámien, and Misión San Francisco de Asís. Their names and records exist in the mission rolls, in the ethnographic interviews, in the early court filings, and in the federal Indian rolls. Their presence on this land was never erased–only ignored.

    Muwekma didn’t vanish. Muwekma was excluded–deliberately and illegally. And they never stopped fighting to be seen.

    They are not a nonprofit. They are not a brand.
    They are not “one of many Ohlone groups.”
    They are the documented, federally acknowledged, and unlawfully derecognized successors of the Verona Band of Alameda County–and the only Ohlone tribal government with a continuous ancestral, cultural, and political presence in this region.

    They are the tribe that:

    • Has maintained ceremonial stewardship of sacred sites and burials.
    • Has documented every ancestral line with forensic-level precision.
    • Has filed for federal restoration and fought institutional exclusion for over a century.
    • Has survived the missions, the ranchos, the Gold Rush, the boarding schools, and the bureaucracies–and is still here.

    To pretend that this land is “returned” by handing it to a nonprofit corporation with no governing authority, no intertribal legitimacy, and no community accountability is not just inaccurate–it is a continuation of colonization.

    It is the institutional funding and support of settler colonial violence–the same erasure, dispossession, and genocide that removed tribes from their land in the first place, now rebranded as “rematriation” for white comfort.

    The land hasn’t been returned until it’s returned to the people it was taken from.

    This is not “Lisjan territory.”
    This is not “rematriated space.”
    This is Muwekma land.

    8. To Stand With Ohlone People Is to Stand With Muwekma

    By now, the facts are clear:

    • The Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area is the only tribal government with documented continuity, legal standing, and ancestral responsibility for this land.
    • Their aboriginal homeland includes what is now known as San Francisco, San Mateo, most of Santa Clara, Alameda, and Contra Costa Counties, as well as portions of Napa, Santa Cruz, Solano, and San Joaquin Counties.
    • The present-day Muwekma Ohlone Tribe consists of the descendants of the Indigenous people who were forced into Misión San José de Guadalupe, Santa Clara de Thámien, and San Francisco de Asís.
    • Cities like Oakland, Berkeley, Emeryville, Albany, El Cerrito, Richmond, Fremont, Hayward, Niles, and Pleasanton sit squarely within this territory.

    Still, some people will ask, “Why are you criticizing other Indigenous-led groups?”

    Here’s the answer:

    “Representation isn’t just about who shows up — it’s about how they show up.
    When groups claim Indigenous identity without tribal recognition, without elections, and without consulting other Native peoples, it’s not real representation.
    Holding people accountable protects Indigenous identity — it doesn’t attack it.”

    Others will say, “Aren’t you worried this undermines solidarity?”

    Not if you understand what real solidarity is:

    “Solidarity built on misinformation is a weak foundation.
    Real solidarity requires honesty — even when it’s uncomfortable.
    Protecting Indigenous sovereignty sometimes means telling hard truths, not participating in feel-good illusions.”

    And if you’re asking, “Well, what should I do instead?”

    Start here:
    “Support federally recognized and state-recognized tribes, or groups with real historic documentation and transparent leadership.
    Always ask: Who benefits? Who was consulted? Where is the money going?
    Good intentions matter — but real relationships and accountability matter more.”

    If you are an educator, funder, or ally who needs structured help doing this work without repeating these harms, I also teach an online series called Nations vs Nonprofits: How Well-Meaning Allies Can Tell the Difference. It walks through due diligence, red flags, and concrete steps for shifting support toward real Tribal Nations instead of corporate nonprofits posing as them. You can RSVP for the next session here.

    Let’s stay focused on the facts.
    It’s not about personal feelings — it’s about who has the rightful voice, and who’s building legitimacy at the expense of Indigenous communities.

    If you’ve platformed Corrina Gould or the Confederated Villages of Lisjan without doing your homework, then yes–you’ve been misled. Now that you know Sogorea Te Land Trust is not an Ohlone tribe or organization, it’s on you to stop giving them money and land. Because at this point, you’re not helping–you’re enabling the lie. You’re disrespecting the real Ohlone Tribe and their 600+ enrolled members, and you’re disrespecting their ancestors’ living legacy.

    Non-Native people created this problem, and then doubled down and made it worse. So it’s on them to fix it–by demanding accountability. Find out where your money is going. Ask who’s being left out. Demand that Sogorea Te Land Trust include the rightful Ohlone tribe of the East Bay: the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area.

    If non-Native people are really about all this land defender and water protector, rematriation, land back rhetoric they love to post about–
    Then they’ll fight just as hard for a real tribe
    As they fight for a fucking parking lot.

    “Indigenous sovereignty isn’t a brand.
    It’s a responsibility to the ancestors and a duty to future generations.
    I’m here to protect that — without apology.”

    Sources

    Primary Sources from Muwekma Ohlone Tribe

    Official Statement

    • Public Statement on Corina Gould, the Confederated Villages of Lisjan, and Sogorea Te Land Trust
      Received directly from the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area (May 1, 2025)

    News & Archival Sources

    Academic Reports & Federal Records

    • Ohlone/Costanoan Indians of the San Francisco Peninsula and Their Neighbors, Yesterday and Today (2009)
      Randall Milliken, Laurence H. Shoup, Beverly R. Ortiz – for the National Park Service
      PDF Link
    • A Time of Little Choice: The Disintegration of Tribal Culture in the San Francisco Bay Area 1769–1810 (1995)
      Randall Milliken – Ballena Press Anthropological Papers No. 43
      Publisher Link
    • J.P. Harrington Chochenyo Field Notes and Vocabulary (1921)
      Smithsonian Institution – National Anthropological Archives, Collection of John Peabody Harrington
    • Ancient and Modern Genomics of the Ohlone Indigenous Population of California (2022)
      Severson, Ramstetter, Kennett, et al. – Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS)
      PDF Link

    Alameda Native History Project Articles

  • Ozone Treated Acorns: Basis for Analytical Testing Before Food Use

    By Gabriel Duncan, Researcher, Alameda Native History Project

    Ozone is increasingly discussed as a way to manage stored acorns intended for food. It is already permitted in the United States as an antimicrobial agent for certain food uses when applied under good manufacturing practice. Because acorns are rich in unsaturated fats, the question is not only whether ozone reduces microbes, but whether it also changes the underlying lipids in ways that matter for quality and compliance.

    When ozone reacts with unsaturated fatty acids, it follows a defined chemical pathway. It can form primary oxidation products (lipid hydroperoxides, measured as peroxide value), secondary oxidation products (aldehydes and ketones), and cyclic peroxides called ozonides. Studies on ozonated vegetable oils and high fat foods show that these reactions can be significant and persistent, and that ozonated lipids are chemically modified compared to the original oils.

    Food science uses objective indices to evaluate oxidative quality. Peroxide value is a marker of primary oxidation. Aldehyde related tests, such as p-anisidine value, indicate secondary oxidation. Many commercial and compendial standards treat materials with values above defined limits, often around 10 to 20 milliequivalents of active oxygen per kilogram for refined oils, as oxidatively deteriorated and out of specification. These tools can be applied to ozone treated acorns to see whether their lipid quality remains within accepted ranges.

    Regulatory principles are also relevant. Ozone is allowed as a processing aid when its use does not result in unsafe residues or unfit food. Food that is decomposed or that contains unsafe added substances can be considered adulterated. Ingredients that do not meet applicable quality criteria are not used as standard raw materials in foods represented as wholesome.

    For these reasons, ozone treated acorns proposed for food use should be evaluated through established analytical tests, rather than assumed equivalent to traditionally processed acorns in the absence of data.

    Read the full paper here.

    This is the kind of careful, evidence based work we do at Alameda Native History Project. We research, we verify, and we translate complex science into clear information our communities can use. This supports the revival of Indigenous foodways and shows a real, measurable contribution to STEM rooted in Native leadership and priorities. If you value this work, please consider supporting it with a donation.

    Support Our Work

  • Growing Up on the The Alameda Shellmound

    An old sunlit room with peeling walls and dusty floorboards, a faint human silhouette visible through a fogged window. Overlaid text reads “Growing Up on the Alameda Shellmound” with the URL nativehistoryproject.org at the bottom.

    Ohlone people buried their loved ones in mounds long before any of us ever came here.

    They’re called shellmounds.

    The “Ancient Indian Burial Mounds” of Ohlone people–ancestors of the present-day Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area.

    They were built long before any of this was here.

    Long before some old dead white dudes squatted on what was then a peninsula. Before it got dredged into an Island and eventually called “Alameda.”

    Long before this place was called la Bolsa de Encinal to Mexicans, land grant parcels on the extension of former Mission Lands that stretched north from San Jose de Guadalupe, to the Carquinez Strait.

    Long before Ohlone were called Costanoan, when Portola came through in who-cares-when. Before the missions were founded in 1776[–which is the same time a meddlesome group of colonists declared their independence from England on the East Coast of this continent.]

    Even longer before: when this area was just a valley with a little river in it…..

    THIS PLACE HAS BEEN OHLONE TERRITORY SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL

    10,000+ years of habitation meant those shellmounds were real, and big.

    There were thousands of shellmounds all over the San Francisco Bay Area. Some of the biggest recorded shellmounds were in Emeryville.

    At least 4 shellmounds were right here, in Alameda.

    And while many may not exist above ground.

    Ohlone Ancestors still lie in wait below.

    To be discovered during foundation upgrades, trenching, and in-ground pool installations.

    The Shellmounds of Alameda

    I grew up in a pre-victorian house on Court Street, about a block away from my grandparent’s house, which was firmly on the edge of the Mound Street Shellmound, around Santa Clara and Mound Street.

    Being an Indian kid, adopted out of his tribe from birth, raised on an island that’s just as well known for its racism as it is the former naval air station, things were tough. And, I’ll be honest, I only ever wanted to go home.

    So, maybe it was my spirit calling that influenced what I saw as a child. Because my white adopted parents’ money paid for all the psychological and physical testing that proved I wasn’t suffering from some psychosis or more serious condition. [Laying down in a dark room with electrodes attached to my head was an interesting experience.]

    I never really got a lot of peace in that house when I was alone. From an early age, I learned not to go too far into the basement by myself. Not necessarily because it was dangerous; but because other things lived there.

    The House on Court Street

    The Bad Dream Light

    Before my sister came to live with us, (she’s adopted, too; and came home in 1989,) I slept in the room which would become hers.

    It was a small, narrow room, with popcorn ceiling, and walls; with access to the attic through a panel in the ceiling of the closet.

    Next to the was an old “ancient” light fixture which had probably been there since the house was electrified. [It was also moved from the corner of Benton & Santa Clara to the place on the 1300 block of Court Street where this all occurs.]

    My dad remembers that I called that the “Bad Dream Light”. He doesn’t remember why specifically. But, he told me, when it came time to pick which room I would sleep in once my sister arrived, I picked the room at the front of the house–not the one with the light.

    This is only a footnote about myself that was told to me. And it shrouds the next story in even more mystery because it makes me wonder if it came from the attic.

    Ruby In the Attic

    My earliest memory of something being a little off seems somewhat inconsequential. It’s more of a passing note.

    But, at some point, I remember finding some jewelry in my mom’s jewelry box and somehow knowing that it was the kind of jewelry that Ruby used to wear.

    I never met someone named Ruby; and I have no idea how I could know that. But I remember telling my dad that Ruby was the woman who lived in the attic.

    Of course, nobody could live in the attic; it was just a crawl space.

    This whole thing was forgotten until many years later, into my adulthood, when I remembered this, and asked my Dad who Ruby was. [In fact, I asked both my parents, and my birth mother.]

    It turns out: Ruby is the name of my father’s great aunt.

    The Procession in the Hallway

    I don’t like talking about this. Because, out of all my experiences, this is the one that legitimately makes me seem crazy. Despite the confidence of having had a total psychological and physical work up, and knowing this wasn’t the product of some kind of illness: it’s still something that bothers me to this day.

    Have you ever had a light shined in your eyes that you could see even after you closed them? Like a silvery, shadowy afterimage burned into your retinas? Some people call them “eidetic images”, mental images with unusual vividness–an exceptional ability that only children between 6 and 12 are able to possess.

    Now, imagine you’re a 6 year old who can’t sleep; so you went into the living room, and are watching late-night/early-morning television on the big recliner in front of the T.V.

    At some point, you become aware of something moving out of the corner of your eye. So you look. And what you see is the outline, a silvery shadowy outline of a person. And it’s walking down the hallway.

    You watch, as it walks down the hallway, behind the living room wall…. And then appears in the other living room entryway, at the same pace, in the same manner. Just minding its own business.

    It can’t be real. Because it looks just like the afterimage of a bright light shined in your face. And you know no one’s there, because it’s too late, it’s night time, and there’s no one there.

    But it is.

    Except, it’s not minding its business. It has noticed you. So it’s stopped, and turned to face you directly, staring back. With no face, no details, just this weird shadowy figure.

    You will the thing to go away, to leave you alone. But it does not disappear when you close your eyes and open them again. It turns back and walks down the hall on its own time.

    In the beginning it was just one figure watching me from the hallway. Then it was two or three.

    If I kept my eyes on the TV and pretended like I didn’t notice them, they would keep going, only occasionally stopping to look at me.

    It terrified me to see them. But my room was also terrifying on its own, too. Sometimes the bed would move, vibrate, or I would … feel like there was something waiting to pour forth from my closet the whole time.

    But it wasn’t as simple as just ignoring them.

    They never came into the living room. Never approached me. Never made a sound.

    But there were so many that the hallway seemed crowded.

    Something changed that made it stop. I can’t remember what.

    But it’s worth noting that from the time I was born and lived in that house, the neighboring block, the former site of Lincoln School, had been razed and was being developed into the south-west inspired houses that sit there now. [From 1986 to 1991 at least.]

    Considering how many burials are still being unearthed in 2025: Who knows how many burials were hiding just below the surface of the former high school grounds.

    Is it possible that I saw Ohlone ancestors wandering through my house, searching for their way back home? Or were they the figment of an overactive imagination?

    The Basement Double

    Because the house had been moved from its original lot at Benton Street and Santa Clara Avenue, it never had a real foundation. At some point, my dad had paid for a foundation to be built underneath the half that held our bedrooms, but the rest of the “foundation” was a collection of 4×4 posts sitting on piles of bricks.

    This meant the “basement”–the ground floor of the house–was mostly dirt, covered by plywood.

    The basement was always spooky. Not because it was dark, or dangerous. But because I could tell something else lived there. And that I was an interloper. It’s a feeling that never left me, no matter how well let, or how cozy it ever became.

    When it was still mostly unfinished, the two most recognizable rooms were the laundry room, and the workshop. Early on, my dad spent a lot of time in both. Mostly doing laundry, and sometimes tinkering in the workshop. If he couldn’t be found upstairs, he was downstairs doing either.

    To get to the “basement”, you would go out a side door in the back of the house, and walk down a staircase that wrapped around to the exterior door–which was padlocked shut when no one was in there.

    Usually, I could be left to my own devices. I would entertain myself or play games, read books. But at this point in the day, I got bored and went looking for my dad.

    I checked the bedrooms, the kitchen, and the bathroom. No one was around. So, I figured he was probably downstairs.

    When I poked my head out of the side door, I saw the back of him turn the corner at the bottom landing.

    I shouted, “Dad!”

    And jumped down the stars a landing at a time. Reaching the bottom and turning just in time to see him disappear into the basement.

    At this point I’m thinking he’s playing a game. So I rushed into the basement calling out for him.

    But the basement was dark. There was no sign my dad was down there. The washing machine wasn’t running. There were no lights on anywhere, not in the workshop. Not in the garage.

    I realized very quickly that I was alone.

    That, maybe, this was a trap.

    And with these realizations, things started to feel like they were closing in on me. I felt exposed. Viscerally. Almost … in danger.

    Even though I knew I should probably run, I felt frozen.

    It wasn’t until I heard the toilet flush upstairs that I was able to gather my wits, and zoom out the door.

    I caught my dad just as he was coming out of the bathroom door.

    Not wanting to let on about the terrifying experience I just escaped, I cried, “Oh, there you are!”

    The Vertebra

    I found a bone in the dirt in this little room in the back of the basement. The room itself was squared off by walls, and it had a large step of poured concrete, much like a bulk-head–but very much unlike every other part of the basement. This looked like the most built up part of the whole house to be honest. Even though it lacked real walls, and a real floor.

    I was messing around in the dirt in the back there, because it was so powdery and light. It was just dust, I liked running my hands through it because of its smooth, silky texture.

    And that’s when I found it.

    A bone, pale, pitted, but whole. With no obvious cuts or missing pieces: I could tell it was a vertebra. [Because reference books were my only friends.]

    When I showed my mom, she told me it was a dog.

    Or a cow, when I pushed back. But I knew.

    I kept that bone for years. The last time I saw it was in my room, on my bookshelf. But I can’t tell you where it is today. It’s probably somewhere in storage, waiting to be re-discovered.

    Living on a Haunted Island

    My house wasn’t the only place where I experienced things. Most of Alameda is haunted by its own past. The Shellmounds of Alameda had long been used as overspread, the bones of Muwekma ancestors used for fertilizing rose bushes … and paving Bay Farm Road.

    But even its more contemporary history echoed in the abandoned halls of buildings long forgotten.

    My personal history of exploring the abandoned buildings on the former Alameda naval air station as a teenager is extensive.

    And some of the most heart-pounding experiences I have ever shared with my friends have taken place in buildings that no longer even stand today.

    This is not to introduce a story so far away from home as it is to introduce the fact that I have had experiences which have been shared and witnessed with other people.

    The Swaying Woman in the Closet

    At some point during my teenage years, I had removed the door from my closet. My childhood fears of what lurked inside had been abandoned.

    In that version of my bedroom layout, my bed was positioned directly across from the closet.

    One night, a friend was sleeping over. The lights were off. We were getting ready to go to sleep. I was just starting to relax when I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye.

    In the doorway of the closet, there was the outline or shadow of a woman with long hair.

    She was standing there. Her feet were planted. But she was swaying side to side–moving left to right unnaturally fast. Ping-ponging in place between the door jambs.

    No human could move that way. And no one else was in the room besides us. This woman wasn’t really there. Even though I could see her, and feel her angry, unsettled energy.

    I saw it. But, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare my friend.

    After a moment, they asked, “Do you see that?”

    Which meant they saw it too.

    I just replied, “Go to sleep,”

    And pulled the blanket over their head.

    Rosa in the Den

    Rosa was a rescue dog from Guatemala. A collie type dog with calico colors and spots.

    At this point, I was in my 20’s. The house had been renovated almost a decade ago, so there was a den in the basement now, with a real locking door to the rest of the still-unfinished basement.

    My sister’s dog had recently passed. He was a miniature Dachshund who succumbed to old age. This happened not long after.

    Rosa and I would sit downstairs on the couch in the den and watch TV together. (She had actually started watching it with me, commenting in her own way on what was happening on the screen. Which was … almost more fun to watch than TV.)

    Tonight was no different.

    Except, Rosa suddenly cued up on something.

    She started, and looked at the recliner across from us. Then she seemed to watch something go from the recliner to the floor. And continued to track something as it went under the coffee table directly in front of us.

    Then she let out a whimper. And covered her eyes with her paws.

    I couldn’t ask her what she saw. But it seemed like it was small, almost like another animal. I still wonder about it to this day.

    The Bureau Shadow

    Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was just imagining things. If something was really there. Or if I were somehow picking up on the echoes of the past.

    Upstairs, on the main floor, the renovations to the house saw an addition of a bathroom in my parents’ room, as well as the removal of the walls separating the living room from the hallway and the dining room. We now had an open floor plan, and stairs leading down into the den from the dining room.

    Other changes had been made. For instance, the front door now had a frosted glass oval window in the center, and another window frame on top. This allowed the porch light to illuminate the whole space with a gentle glow.

    I could basically walk in a diagonal line from my room to the bathroom. I guess that’s not really a big deal now that I think of it. But I wonder why I didn’t just take that route one night when I saw a shadow in the hallway.

    It wasn’t one of the things I used to see walking through the hall when I was younger. This was different.

    In the hallway, along the wall between my sister’s bedroom door–the narrow bedroom between my parents’ and mine … was a bureau of draws, about waist height, with a mirror mounted lengthwise on top.

    It was long, sturdy. And it used to belong to my mom’s parents. My grandmother used it, and it used to have a picture of me and her wedged in the frame. But that was long ago.

    Now it was in the hallway. And it held linen and place settings for the dining room table.

    But there was something else there tonight.

    A shadow of a person. Standing in front of the bureau, its hands flat on the table top, gazing into the mirror.

    I could have walked around it, like I said. I probably should have. But, for some reason, I didn’t. I thought, like all of the other strange things, it would just disappear as soon as I came too close to it.

    I was wrong.

    It only became more solid the closer I got.

    Until I was standing next to it.

    Realizing that it was blocking the light.

    And that I could sense its presence like you can sense someone standing next to you.

    I didn’t walk through it. I didn’t touch it. In fact, I moved around it, and said, “Excuse me”, as I passed.

    Then I went into my room. Locked the door. And didn’t leave for the rest of the night.

    The Grandparents’ House on the Shellmound

    My dad’s parents lived three blocks away from us. At about Santa Clara Avenue, and Mound Street. Well within the bounds of the shellmound on Mound Street.

    I never felt alone in that house. And I never really felt at ease. It always seemed like I was just one corner away from seeing something I was really prepared for. Whatever that thing would be. I felt it lurking in the walls, behind every door, and inside every cabinet.

    The place vibrated with a strong, unsettling feeling. Even outside, I felt like everything inside was watching me through the windows. Was waiting for me behind the trees. Even in the open space of the backyard, the detached shed–which was actually a nice, newer, single room building–had that vibe to it.

    Something not necessarily foreboding, but just not entirely welcoming or at-ease.

    I was the most scared of the dorm room on the third floor my dad and his three brothers (my uncles) shared growing up. But the basement–real basement–with my grandpa’s den and the cellar were a very close second. However, I felt like I could stay there for a little longer without feeling too creeped out.

    Up on the third floor, I became paranoid that things were happening on the floors below me, just out of sight. But down in the den, I didn’t want to turn my back on anything.

    My fear of the house was so strong that I never wanted to stay the night. Ever. And I don’t think I ever stayed more than one night at any time.

    The last time I slept there, I slept in the living room on the couch because I didn’t want to go any deeper into the house.

    My dad’s cousin said he and my uncles used to dig up arrowheads in the cellar. I never ventured onto the dirt over there. Even after both my grandparents had passed, it was my job to pack up the house. My partner at the time was there, working with me.

    Our workflow was to pick up stuff, wrap it in packing paper, then put it in a box, label the box, seal it up, and transfer it to storage.

    One of the first things I did was teach myself how to use the security system, and assign myself and all my family members separate pins for the alarm. It seemed important because I wanted to make sure the house was secure since no one was living inside it anymore. It was a basic system that chimed and announced when a door or window was opened.

    So my partner and I had managed to make really good progress on packing everything up, and had managed to work our way down to the den.

    At some point, we ran out of some packing supplies. My partner stayed working in the den as I locked the door and left to get more.

    When I came back, he was visibly shaken. And he wanted to know if I had come back earlier.

    When I asked him why, he told me that he heard someone come into the house, and walk all the way to the back room, where my grandparents used to sit and watch TV all the time.

    No one else was in the house. The alarm would have announced an open door. But there was no record of any event other than my return.

    Maybe I never saw anything in the house because I never wanted to. Because I was scared enough just being there that I didn’t need to.

    I still dream about both my childhood house, and my grandparents’ house. They’re usually nightmares about growing up on the burial mound.

    It wasn’t until I started doing local research that I learned about the other shellmounds in Alameda.

    I know I’m not the only one who’s had these experiences.

    Hopefully this gives other people the courage to reach out and share theirs.

    Thank you for reading this.

  • Acorn Harvest Training : Reciprocity and the Honorable Harvest

    On Sundays, August 17 and August 31, the Alameda Native History Project will host Acorn Harvest Training, a hands-on, field-based workshop rooted in Indigenous tradition and ecological stewardship.

    Participants will learn to identify local oaks, distinguish between red and white oak by leaf shape, bark, and acorn characteristics, and understand the significance of mast years in acorn production. We will explore how acorns nourish entire ecosystems, not just people, and why respectful harvesting ensures that “all flourishing is mutual.”

    This training is grounded in the Honorable Harvest, a principle passed through generations:

    • Take only what is freely given.
    • Never take more than you need.
    • Give thanks, and give back.

    Our harvesting protocol reflects these values. We use low-impact wooden acorn tenders, tapping branches lightly. No climbing, pruning, or mechanical shakers. Only acorns released by gentle taps or natural fall are gathered, and our collective harvest is capped at less than 15 percent of the seasonal crop, well below ecologically safe limits. Viable acorns we do not keep are buried nearby, replenishing the seed bank and echoing the work of squirrels that help oak forests regenerate.

    These sessions are not about extraction. They are about building a respectful, living relationship with the land. The work is grounded in Traditional Ecological Knowledge and supported by the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe, which recognizes the importance of restoring Indigenous foodways as a living practice of cultural sovereignty and environmental stewardship.

    People who signed up for the Indigenous Land Lab and the Acorn Harvest using our volunteer form received text messages with exclusive offers for free tickets. If you would like to join us on the harvest, and receive exclusive offers and special invitations such as private willow harvests and other events at the Indigenous Land Lab, sign up at https://nativehistoryproject.org/volunteer.

    Space is limited for each session to ensure a meaningful and safe learning environment.

    August 17 Acorn Harvest Training
    August 31 Acorn Harvest Training

  • August 2025: Reopening Indigenous Foodways, Expanding the Work

    Something powerful is happening this August.

    We’re reconnecting with land, deepening relationships, and bringing more people into that process. The Alameda Native History Project is expanding its reach, partnering with libraries and organizations across Alameda, Contra Costa, and Santa Clara counties to support land-based learning and reopen Indigenous foodways that have been silenced, but never lost.

    If you would like to partner with us, please take a minute to read and understand the Working With Us page before reaching out.

    We are excited to be working with all of our new partners around the San Francisco Bay Area. And we look forward to announcing more events as we get further in to the harvest season.

    Library Partnerships That Build More Than Granaries

    This month, we’re collaborating with the Alameda County Library on two public events that center Indigenous knowledge and invite families, elders, and young people into relationship with the land.

    Learn More

    On August 9, we’ll be at Centerville Library for the Acorn Mini Festival, a family-friendly gathering that includes crafts, games, and granary building. Participants will learn about acorns and oak trees while engaging in activities that reflect generations of care and connection. Acorns are the most important food stock for California Indigenous people. They’re a gift from the oaks, and they feed the land, the animals, and us.

    Learn More

    Then on August 27, we’ll be at San Lorenzo Library to lead a hands-on Acorn Granary Workshop, where participants will help construct a traditional storage structure. These granaries are part of a food system that sustained Indigenous people through the winter and protected what the land had given. We’ll also share about harvesting practices, oak identification, and what it means to be part of this cycle today. A follow-up acorn processing workshop will take place in the fall.

    Public institutions have a responsibility to support cultural visibility. These library partnerships are an example of what it looks like when that responsibility is taken seriously.

    Willow Harvests

    This work is grounded in Traditional Ecological Knowledge. Every willow reed we gather, every acorn we collect, comes from a relationship. These aren’t activities designed for show. They’re teachings that carry responsibilities.

    On August 7, we’ll hold an invitation-only Willow Harvest at the Indigenous Land Lab, a protected area with no cell service, no pavement, and no spectators. Everything we bring in, we carry. Everything we take, we give back for. This harvest is about learning through presence and care, not documentation.

    Use the Volunteer Signup Form and check the box for “Indigenous Land Lab” to get early and exclusive invites to events like the Willow Harvest, Pine Bough Gathering, Berry Picking, or More.

    Register

    On August 24, we’ll host a public Willow Harvest for people who are ready to engage with seasonal cycles and learn the protocols that come with them. These reeds will be used to build future granaries.

    Acorn Harvest Training

    Register

    We’re holding an Acorn Harvest Training on August 17 in Alameda. We’ll cover identification of red and white oak species, how to read the land for timing, and how to harvest without harm. We teach what the Honorable Harvest requires: you take only what’s given. You use everything you take. You care for what feeds you. You give back.

    This isn’t a curriculum. It’s how we live.

    Why This Matters

    Food is Medicine

    Traditional Food As Medicine

    This isn’t about reviving lost traditions. It’s about repairing relationships that were interrupted. And healing ourselves.

    Reopening Indigenous foodways means returning to ways of being that are grounded in reciprocity, intention, and care. Returning to wellbeing by turning away from over-processed sugars and engineered fats that our bodies were not intended to eat, and which do not fulfill our most basic nutritional needs.

    The work is Indigenously-led and Tribally-aligned. It’s built to last, shaped by those who hold cultural memory and who live in relationship with the land. It’s not a trend. It’s a commitment.

    And we are inviting you to join us in these once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to take part in traditional California Indigenous activities in a respectful and appropriate way, while providing a tangible tribal benefit to the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area.

    How to Get Involved

    We’ve launched a new sign-up form to help grow our regional network of volunteers and supporters. If you’ve attended a past event or want to be invited to upcoming harvests, teachings, and builds, we invite you to sign up and stay connected.

    Signup

    How to Support Us

    Alameda Native History Project is a fiscally sponsored organization. All donations are tax deductible.

    Your donation will help us reopen Indigenous foodways, and produce culturally relevant, nutritious, traditional food–at scale–for the first time in over 300 years.

    Where your funds go:

    • Safety Equipment & Supplies
      We provide a safe platform to reopen Indigenous foodways
      • Heat Safety
      • First Aid
      • Shade Structures
    • Volunteer Care
      Essentials for Outdoor Work, honestly viewed as another part of “Safety”
      • Hydration (Water + Electrolytes)
      • Protein Bars and Energy Chews
      • Rest area supplies (Folding chairs, Cooling towels)
    • Tools & Equipment
      • Wood acorn tenders
      • Food-safe buckets and containers
      • Cold-leach and drying setup
    Donate Now

    We also accept in-kind donations of goods and materials. Please reach out to us at give@nativehistoryproject.org .

    We look forward to seeing you soon!

  • Help Plan the 2025 Acorn Harvest

    The Second Annual Acorn Harvest begins in August. This year, we will be gathering Acorns outside of the City of Alameda, into Alameda County, and beyond.

    The reason for this is two-fold.

    The first, almost all of the Oak trees in the City of Alameda are exclusively Coast Live Oak. These trees are in the Red Oak family.

    The second, is that we have new partnerships and collaborations sprouting throughout the San Francisco Bay Area.

    Red Oak Family? Why does this even matter?

    Red Oak Trees have a two year acorn cycle. Meaning, the acorns take two years to grow and mature. In the context of the Acorn Harvest, this means no mature acorns will be available in Alameda until 2026–two years from our first harvest in 2024.

    Oh… So which Oak Trees are going to have acorns, then?

    White Oak Acorns mature in one growing year.

    This is actually great as far as the harvest goes. Because we’ll be hunting some of the most tasty acorns available. White Oak Acorns have relatively low tannic content compared to the Coast Live Oak acorns we had in abundance last year.

    If you attended any of our Acorn Processing Workshops, Acorn Flour Production Days, or any of our Acorns! Culinary Series events, then you had the opportunity to taste these acorns in their various states of processing.

    As an aside: One of our long-term goal is to produce blends of acorn flour for both taste and function. So being able to introduce you to these different varieties of Acorns, to harvest, taste, and cook with, is big plus in and of itself.

    How do you find these White Oak trees?

    We’re using a mix of GIS Analysis and In-Person Verification. Using Open Source Data we found through the California Oaks website, we were able to access several raster layers of relevant data, and then convert them into vector form we could overlay onto our own custom made maps to accurately target areas were would could find the oak trees we need.

    Our next step was to find, identify, and surveil these trees in our area of interest; and to keep a running log of acorn ripeness to help time acorn harvest dates that we (hopefully) can communicate to our dedicate harvest volunteers with advance notice.

    That’s all great; but how can I help?

    We’re so glad you asked!

    • We want to find property owners/land managers who have oak trees that currently have ripening acorns.
      • We can describe this to you more in depth, but tl;dr the acorns need to be big, and not tiny little buds.
    • We want to find people who are willing to surveil the acorns in their area.
    • We need to start building teams, and training people to harvest acorns.
    • We’re looking for donations of LARGE BACKPACKS, HUGE RUCKSACKS, BACKPACKING BAGS, etc.
    • We’re also looking to raise the funds to properly hydrate and ensure the safety of our Harvest Teams.
    DONATE BAGS
    DONATE GOODS
    DONATE FUNDS

    Your donations are tax deductible. We can provide donations for any donation.

    Alameda Native History Project is fiscally sponsored by The Hack Foundation (d.b.a. Hack Club), a 501(c)(3) nonprofit (EIN: 81-2908499).

    You can also help plan the 2025 Acorn Harvest!

    Lead a harvest team!

    Introduce us to property owners and land managers!

    Organize a donation drive!

    Co-host a fundraising event with us!

    The possibilities are both exciting and endless! And exciting because they’re endless!

    Join us for the Acorn Harvest Planning Meetings!

    Bi-Weekly Meetings
    Starting January 5th, 2025

    Every 2 weeks on Sunday
    Until October 26, 2025

    From 10am-11:30am

    We’re still holding bi-weekly Acorn Harvest Planning Meetings.
    Check our calendar at https://events.nativehistoryproject.org

    Sign up here!

    Planning Meeting Signup

  • No Kings Speech – Confronting White Progressive Gatekeeping & Kingmakers

    On June 14, 2024, Gabriel Duncan, founder of the Alameda Native History Project, delivered a speech at the Alameda No Kings Rally that challenged white progressives’ role in Gatekeeping, and Kingmaking.

    But if we think “No Kings” only means no Trump, we’re missing something deeper.
    Kings don’t always wear crowns.
    Sometimes they wear progressive credentials.
    Sometimes they come wrapped in good intentions.
    Sometimes they’re lifted up—not because they earned it,
    but because people would rather believe a lie than sit with discomfort.

    In a pointed speech, Gabriel Duncan made the difference between performative allies, and Accomplices clear:

    You say you want to be allies.
    But performative allies want credit.
    Accomplices show up when it’s risky, when no one’s watching.

    If you need to be thanked or centered or safe,
    you’re not in solidarity. You’re just performing.

    He went on to draw the distinction between white allies who have the privilege to join the struggle, and BIPOC people who are forced to live it every day:

    You weren’t born into this fight,
    but you can choose to join it.
    Not to be centered—but to be useful.

    And then he went on to introduce the performance of a song called “Ain’t Nobody Gon’ Turn Us ‘Round”: a 1964 Civil Rights Era, Black Spiritual and Protest Song, written and sung by Black People in jails and churches, while Black People were facing police brutality, high pressure water hoses, police dogs, and police brutality, just for a crumb–for human rights.

    This song was performed by “Paul Andrews [an old white man] and the Democracy Out Loud Band [a group of white singers enlisted days before the event]”, who would be singing this song at an even where no black voices were heard.

    That was incorrect, Nika Kura, who sang in the beginning of the program, identifies as Black. And–after I had called out the organizers and Paul Andrews–a black mother and educator, named Katherine Castro (who you can hear saying “I’m trying!” in the recording), took the stage and spoke, and counted how many black people were even present in the audience.

    We’re proud to have made this space for black voices–because it was the right thing to do. And we hope that this moment becomes a teachable moment for the organizers of this event, and our allies.

    A Note About Paul Andrews, The Old White Man Who Grossly Appropriated A Black Civil Rights Song About Segregation:

    We’re deeply disappointed that Paul Andrews thought it was appropriate to sing a Black Spiritual even though he is not black, and the song is about segregation. We’re even more disappointed that Paul Andrews attempted to defend his choice–and even go so far as to try and claim “Ain’t Nobody Gon’ Turn Us ‘Round” was not a Black Song; even though he himself admitted the song was created by Black People. It’s 2025, and this type of misappropriation of BIPOC identity, culture, and struggle is not not welcome in these spaces anymore.

    We plan to interview the main organizer of this rally, Tina Davis, a volunteer with Indivisible. So stay tuned for that. We’ll also be releasing our interview with Mary Claire, of All Rise Alameda, soon.

    If “No Kings” means anything,
    it has to mean the end of white progressives deciding
    who gets heard and who gets erased.

    For the record: between 3,000 and 4,700 people were in attendance at the Alameda No Kings Rally on June 14, 2025.

    This is the complete speech:

    Text of the speech:

    NO KINGS – 3-Minute Rally Speech (Condensed Version)
    “How the Pressure Is Working”
    Gabriel Duncan

    We came here today because we know what’s wrong.
    Because we see injustice. Because we feel the weight of it.
    No one should have the power to strip rights, silence truth, or rule unchecked.

    That’s why we say: No Kings.

    But if we think “No Kings” only means no Trump, we’re missing something deeper.

    Kings don’t always wear crowns.
    Sometimes they wear progressive credentials.
    Sometimes they come wrapped in good intentions.
    Sometimes they’re lifted up
    not because they earned it,
    but because people would rather believe a lie
    than sit with discomfort.

    That’s not justice. That’s curation.
    That’s not solidarity. That’s theater.

    Real change comes from those who risk something.
    And lately, more people are risking more
    breaking ranks, refusing comfort.
    That’s how we know: the pressure is working.

    For too long, white progressives have been kingmakers.
    Choosing voices that made them feel good.
    Even when those voices weren’t real.
    That wasn’t solidarity. That was projection. That was control.

    Crowning someone because they’re convenient
    is how white supremacy adapts.
    It cloaks itself in “progress,” selects leaders who keep critique shallow and power safe.

    The danger of performative allyship isn’t just that it’s fake
    it’s that it props up lies that do real harm.
    Harm to truth. Harm to movements. Harm to us.

    If “No Kings” means anything,
    it has to mean the end of white progressives deciding
    who gets heard and who gets erased.

    You say you want to be allies.
    But performative allies want credit.
    Accomplices show up when it’s risky, when no one’s watching.

    If you need to be thanked or centered or safe,
    you’re not in solidarity. You’re just performing.
    You can’t say “No Kings” while defending the figureheads you crowned
    just because they made you feel progressive.

    Being an accomplice means you put yourself in the way
    of ICE, of cops, of injustice
    and say:
    “You’ll have to go through me first.”

    That’s what pressure looks like.
    Truth without applause. Risk without reward.

    You weren’t born into this fight,
    but you can choose to join it.
    Not to be centered—but to be useful.

    So when we scream NO KINGS
    don’t just cheer. Don’t just post.
    Live it.

    Say it with your whole chest.
    Say it in every space where your voice still carries more weight than ours.

    No Kings.
    No Gatekeepers.
    No Masters.
    TOTAL LIBERATION.

  • Bay Area MakerFarm: Filth, Unaccountability, and Vibes Over Safety

    Effective June 5, 2025, the Alameda Native History Project has permanently ended its affiliation with Bay Area MakerFarm. This decision follows MakerFarm’s failure to perform in response to an unresolved food safety hazard posed by its walk-in refrigerator unit that remains structurally unsound, unsanitary, and incapable of maintaining safe refrigeration temperatures.

    The Alameda Native History Project initially suspended operations at MakerFarm on May 24, 2025, after repeated warnings were ignored. The organization issued a formal Notice of Suspension of Activities & Intent to Disclose, citing extensive documentation, including:

    • Over 400 pounds of rotting produce removed by ANHP from the walk-in on April 16
    • Temperature readings of 43°F–46°F, well above the USDA safe threshold of 40°F
    • Spoilage of fresh rabbit meat intended for a public event due to inadequate refrigeration
    • Manufacturer correspondence confirming the existing A/C unit was under-powered for the space

    Despite these warnings and a clearly stated remediation deadline, Bay Area MakerFarm took no effective action. Instead of correcting the hazard, Bay Area MakerFarm minimized the danger,

    re-framed documented concerns as interpersonal issues, and failed to uphold even basic standards of care or responsibility.

    On June 5, 2025, ANHP issued a final Notice of Permanent Suspension of Activities and Withdrawal of Free Association. This notice cited failure to perform, breach of duty, disregard for public health, and misalignment with the standards of care required for Indigenous cultural work. MakerFarm was instructed to remove all references to ANHP from its website, signage, publications, and promotional materials.

    This withdrawal is not about conflict. It is about care.

    Food sovereignty requires food safety. Cultural work requires clean, safe environments. Community spaces must be accountable to the people they serve. We cannot, and will not, associate our work with conditions that put our community at risk.

    To be clear: the negligence and unsanitary conditions at Bay Area MakerFarm have had no impact on the success of our programming. The Alameda Native History Project remains fully self-sustaining and independently organized. The ACORNS! Project Arc continues without interruption, and upcoming events will proceed as planned.

    Our work is sacred and community-oriented. It cannot be shaken by a white-led organization that shrouds itself in the language of inclusion but, in practice, cultivates a hostile environment for BIPOC, non-binary individuals, and anyone whose dissent demands accountability.

    Bay Area MakerFarm is structured around process idealism, not functional governance.

    For BIPOC individuals entering these spaces, the dissonance is immediate. You’re told you’re welcome, but the minute you name harm or point out gaps in care, the tone shifts. Suddenly, you’re “too intense,” or you’re “not being collaborative.” Your lived experience is pathologized. Your insistence on accountability is framed as aggression. If you’ve ever felt isolated, second-guessed yourself, or wondered if you were overreacting, you weren’t. You were being gaslit by a structure that protects comfort over truth and feelings over safety.

    What happened at Bay Area MakerFarm is not an anomaly. It is the default operating mode of too many white-led, self-proclaimed progressive collectives.

    These are spaces built on white fragility, trustafarian politics, and a curated aesthetic of care that masks deep resistance to real accountability. They specialize in optics over outcomes, claiming to be inclusive while maintaining structures that ensure power remains concentrated and critique is punished.

    These environments weaponize process to maintain the status quo, and perform emotional labor not to address harm, but to center themselves in it.

    The ‘confusion’ and ‘hurt’ expressed by leadership are not genuine steps toward repair. They are tactics of delay and deflection. The endless talking circles, the forced emotional exposure, the vague invitations to ‘build understanding’—these are not accountability mechanisms. They are containment strategies designed to absorb dissent and protect those in power.

    If you’ve been in these spaces and felt like you were being handled instead of heard, you were.

    If you’ve been encouraged to participate in healing rituals while the root causes of harm were never addressed, you weren’t imagining things. This is the blueprint. And Bay Area MakerFarm followed it exactly, until we walked away.

    When valid safety concerns, grounded in health codes, USDA guidelines, and food safety best practices, were dismissed as a “fancy A/C purchase,” it was an intentional act of gaslighting.

    This re-framing didn’t just diminish the issue. It recast an urgent health risk as a personal whim, discrediting the messenger to avoid responsibility.

    It sent a clear message: evidence doesn’t matter, what matters is preserving comfort and control.

    This is not about collaboration; it’s about conformity to a structure that protects those in power while discrediting those who speak up. Your expertise, your warnings, your truth all become irrelevant the moment they challenge the dominant narrative.

    When someone ripped the locking bracket off the door of a shared space with zero consequence, in spite of the fact we were all given the code to the dial lock, it signaled that even basic safety and boundary-setting could be violated without accountability, if you were the right person.

    And when that same someone ripped carefully cultivated plants out of the soil, offering a hollow apology deflected by ‘I thought you said…,’ it underscored not only a disregard for labor, presence, and contributions, but a deeper refusal to recognize the agency and personhood of BIPOC participants.

    This was not carelessness. It was a pattern: a way of diminishing harm by rewriting intent, shifting blame, and robbing people of the right to define what has happened to them.

    The lack of regard, care, concern, or consequences, reinforced a message many BIPOC folks know too well: you’re only welcome for as long as we allow it. It’s not your consent, it’s ours. The moment you assert boundaries, ask for accountability, or disrupt the illusion of harmony, you become the problem.

    Bay Area MakerFarm’s consent-based model is ideologically rigid and operationally brittle, built to neutralize dissent rather than incorporate accountability.

    Its core principle, that a ‘No’ is an invitation to leave, is framed as a way to prevent obstruction and support momentum. But in practice, it punishes those who raise necessary concerns, especially BIPOC individuals who name harm.

    The message becomes clear: if you cannot quietly consent to a flawed process, you must remove yourself. This doesn’t build consensus, it enforces silence. And it enables those in power to preserve their comfort while pushing out anyone who challenges it.

    The organization’s reliance on free association, siloed committees, and performative inclusivity enables a culture where responsibility is diffused and no one is held accountable.

    Committees operate without real oversight. Urgent concerns are reframed as procedural obstacles. Individuals with lived experience are pushed out when they raise inconvenient truths, especially when those truths reveal deep cultural or structural harm.

    For BIPOC participants, this pattern is not a glitch, it’s a feature. Your concerns become disruptions. Your calls for care are labeled conflict. And your presence becomes untenable the moment it asks too much of a system designed to protect white comfort.

    To white participants and leaders in these spaces: you may believe you are building collective power, but what you’re often building is a structure of exclusion.

    When your systems require emotional neutrality to be heard, and protect the process more than the people, you’re not creating platforms of care, you are reinforcing structures which cause very real and tangible harm.

    When you equate disagreement with obstruction, and disagreement from BIPOC people as hostility, what you’re really doing is preserving a hierarchy where safety and belonging are only available to those who never question the rules.

    The result is a space that not only fails to uphold health and safety, but also betrays the very values it claims to uphold.

    We believe in collaboration without compromise.

    As stated in our Working With Us guidelines: “We do not believe in compromising our values to maintain partnerships. We believe that true collaboration is only possible with honesty, transparency, and accountability.“

    Our partnerships are grounded in mutual respect, transparency, and accountability. We expect spaces that align with our values to center care, uphold safety, and take responsibility, not just in language, but in practice.

    Our approach is rooted in Indigenous principles. We bring our full selves to the work, as Two-Spirit, BIPOC, and community-led organizers committed to food sovereignty, safety, and collective care.

    We do not stay silent when harm is ignored, minimized, or redirected through performative process.

    When we walk away, it is not to create drama. It is because staying would require us to betray the very responsibilities we carry.

    We did not leave Bay Area MakerFarm because of a disagreement. We left because they refused to take accountability. And we will not allow their dysfunction to jeopardize the sacredness of our work.

    The Alameda Native History Project has moved on.

    To every BIPOC person who’s been silenced, gaslit, or pushed out of a space that claimed to value you… this is your reminder: you’re not imagining things.

    You deserve spaces that meet you with integrity, not containment. And you don’t owe your labor to collectives that can’t hold themselves accountable.

    We see you. We believe you. You are not alone.

    Appendix: Documents

  • Remarks at the Alameda Display of Unity Rally Lead to City of Alameda Reaffirming its Sanctuary City Status

    Shalom Bruhn opening remarks at the rally, on a cold windy, Monday afternoon in Alameda.

    People gathered outside of Alameda City Hall on Monday, February 3, 2025, to show their unified resolve for Alameda’s Sanctuary City status.

    I was honored to be among such speakers as Shalom Bruhn, Amos White, Rev. Michael Yoshi, Dr. Cindy Ackert, Kimi Sugioka, Rev. Vathanak Heang, Hiro Guida, and more people spoke during the open mic session.

    Kimi Sugioka (left) holds a sign reading “Alameda Stands United Against Hate”; Amos White (right) speaking at the rally.

    These are the remarks I delivered.

    Remarks at the Alameda Display of Unity Rally

    On February 3, 2025,
    in Alameda, California

    “Hello, my name is Gabriel Duncan.  I’m the founder of the Alameda Native History Project.  I’m a mix of Paiute, and Mexican (Chichimeca).  I’m Gay, Two-Spirit, and Queer.  I’m also disabled; I have AIDS.  I’m a mix of many things that are being targeted for deportation, defunding, and disenfranchisement.

    “That’s why I want to talk about the fear of belonging to a group of people being targeted.  Of the fear I felt when I first came out (just like now.)  And how I did it, even though I was afraid.

    “I came out not just for myself.  But for my LGBTQ and Two-Spirit cousins who could not do it themselves–to stand up and advocate for the other members of my community who were isolated, targeted, and attacked because of who they are–to defend our humanity, and demand to be treated with dignity and respect.  I stand up because my conviction and belief in justice and equality give me strength.

    “Even now, even though I am afraid, I cannot let people I called my friends, my neighbors, even my family–I cannot let them go on terrorizing the innocent people who came here to escape violence and persecution, who came here looking for a better life, for a brighter future.  We cannot allow them to continue demonizing our differences, chasing down our most vulnerable, and subjecting them to more violence, and more persecution.

    “Because, the reality is, our diversity gives us strength.

    “This is why sanctuaries exist.  Sanctuaries exist to give refuge, to provide safety.  To allow people to live, and thrive with liberty, justice and dignity.  The pursuit of happiness, living in freedom.  This is the promise of the American Dream.  America is supposed to be a sanctuary.

    “As we stand here today, to let out our cry for dignity, inclusivity, and respect, we do this as a diverse community of people who still believe that the American Dream is just as much ours as everyone else’s.

    “I stand before you here to re-affirm my commitment to support, advocate, and fight for the inclusion of the people who built this city, this state, and this nation–and who this place was built upon!

    “People who provide us with the food we eat, the care for our children, for our sick, and elderly, who do the jobs no one else will do–I will advocate for them because they belong here more than many of us.

    “If you believe in liberty, equality, and justice; then it is your duty, too.  It is your duty to create and protect a sanctuary as a group, as a collective, that we can share with our friends and neighbors–and even strangers–when they need it most.

    “Let us make sure that Alameda is a Sanctuary City – NOW AND FOREVER!”

    Special thanks to EB-FLOW (East Bay Fierce Loving Organized Women) for organizing this rally.

    Super special thanks to Lis Cox for her awesome cinematography.

    This is EB-FLOW organizer Shalom Bruhn reading her poem at the rally.

    Update: After receiving the signed petition from Monday’s rally, during the Alameda City Council Meeting on Tuesday, the City of Alameda released the following statement on Wednesday.

    “The City remains committed to the values of dignity, inclusivity, and respect for all individuals, regardless of ethnic or national origin, gender, race, religious affiliation, sexual orientation, or immigration status. We are committed to upholding the Constitution and ensuring a safe community for everyone, consistent with the City’s Sanctuary City policy.”

    February 5, 2025 “Statement from the City of Alameda”

    Read the entire statement on the City’s website.

    Thank you to everyone who came out and signed the petition, and supported this crucial effort!!

  • Alternatives to Shuumi 2025

    This was created as a direct response to our community’s need for restorative justice–making things right.

    You likely feel a personal connection to Indigenous People. You want to contribute to the well-being and sustainability of First Peoples locally, and around the world. (Especially Ohlone people who are the first inhabitants of the San Francisco Bay Area.)

    We wanted to help guide you towards contributing to reputable, accountable, and transparent organizations making measurable positive impacts in the local Indigenous and Native American communities.

    This list exists because “Shuumi” doesn’t actually benefit Ohlone people, even though Ohlone language and identity are a thoroughly appropriated facet of a local land trust’s fundraising.

    We wanted to re-frame “decolonization,” “landback,” and “rematriation” (all centered around returning ancestral lands to their original Indigenous caretakers) into locally actionable concepts that celebrate the plurality and diversity of our local community organizations, and the work they do to:

    • Uplift our voices. Empower and Advocate.
    • Cultivate wellness, vitality and expression.
    • Preserve and celebrate our Heritage and Traditions.

    Benefitting the local Native American and Indigenous Communities of the San Francisco Bay Area means looking at the big picture.

    Our diversity is our strength. Understanding the inter-tribal nature of the Bay Area, as well as being able to recognize true Tribal Governments, and Indigenous Organizations is essential for your role in supporting Indigenous Liberation.

    By presenting you with local Indigenous organizations making a positive, measurable impact in the community, we are re-focusing attention on community driven initiatives with a proven track-record of success and accountability.

    We acknowledge that the Bay Area is an Inter-tribal Urban Reservation. That the continued un-recognition of the Muwekma Ohlone Tribe of the San Francisco Bay Area has resulted in political erasure and loss of Muwekma’s hereditary homelands in Alameda, Contra Costa, San Francisco, San Mateo, San Jose, and parts of Napa, Santa Cruz, Solano, and San Joaquin counties.

    We occupy Muwekma Ohlone Land. And we should do what we can to honor the first people of the Bay Area.

    You deserve to know that your contributions are being used to benefit Ohlone People and the greater Native American Community. This is why it’s essential to contribute only to organizations which are transparent, accountable, and provide a measurable positive impact to Ohlone People and local Indigenous Communities.

    Organizations can sign up to be on this list here.

    Alternatives to Shuumi 2025 List

    Our short list of Indigenous Organizations making a positive, local, impact.

    Muwekma Ohlone Preservation Foundation

    Dedicated to preserving Ohlone culture, language, and traditional practices, this foundation supports the direct needs of Ohlone people in the Bay Area. Contributions fund cultural revitalization, education, and ancestral territory preservation efforts, promoting Ohlone self-determination and community well-being.

    CURYJ

    (Pronounced “courage”) seeks to unlock the leadership of young people to “dream beyond bars.” From their website: “We look to young people to lead the way in transforming our communities by investing in their healing, aspirations, and activism.”

    Native American Health Center

    Promotes Community Wellness, Provides direct Medical Care, Celebrates the rich Culture and Heritage of All Nations through diverse programming and events, including the Indigenous Red Market, and Annual NAHC Powwow.

    Friendship House SF

    Provides wellness and rehabilitative services to Native American People from all over the Nation. Many tribes send their members to the SF Friendship house for care. [As of writing, the website is down. Best way to reach them is to call. (415) 865-0964 Ask for Finance, or: Lena Ma ext. 4021, or Pinky Huree ext. 4012]

    Intertribal Friendship House

    Legit Native American community center in Oakland. A small place with a big impact. From their website: “Intertribal Friendship House (IFH), located in Oakland, CA, was founded in 1955 and is one of the first urban American Indian community centers in the nation… For urban Native people, IFH serves as a vital “Urban Reservation” and cultural homeland, providing a crucial space to stay connected to their heritage and traditions.”

    Our community deserves better than empty promises and appropriation.

    By supporting transparent, accountable organizations that truly benefit Ohlone people and local Indigenous communities, we can create meaningful change.

    Let’s reclaim our responsibility to honor the first people of this land and work towards a future where Indigenous voices are amplified, not erased.

    Together, we can make a difference – let this be a starting point for positive action.

    Would you like to join this list?

    Apply to be an Alternative Organization

    Apply Here