Indigenous displacement, accountabilty, and art
Art helps us process the idea of “place,” especially when governments build borders overnight, and force us to live between them. Indigenous people understand this better than anyone.
The Sculpture Center in Cleveland is exhibiting Federico Cuatlacuatl’s “Xoxal: Baño de Fuego” until November 8. According to the Center’s website:
“Cuatlacuatl’s practice is directly informed and profoundly shaped by his lived experiences as part of a community forced to self-displace since the early 90’s. His practice constantly recalls the many months his father spent living in the streets of Tijuana, attempting to cross the México/United States border. These generational traumas and the violent history in México toward Indigenous communities are constantly shaping his aesthetic oeuvre. His artistic research initially questioned the why of forced self-displace. His ongoing projects are an extension of these inquiries while holding México accountable for the injustices that continue to marginalize indigenous communities.”
Place is important, and Cuatlacuatl’s relationship with Ohio is strong. He graduated from Bowling Green, worked in Toledo, and served as a visiting professor at Ohio State. His brother lived in Ohio until his death. Cuatlacuatl’s father, who inspired so much, contributed to his exhibition at the Sculpture Center installation. Art students and other locals also helped, using flowers from northeast Ohio.
The Center’s Director Grace Chin discussed one piece with Spectrum News. Flags are the recognized national symbols of borders and “in” groups. She said, “You can see he's making his flag out of emergency blankets. I think that's really a commentary on what does one use an emergency blanket for, and ideally, it's like to run away or recover.” Cuatlacuatl’s use of a flag brings to mind Kendrick Lamar’s own statement during the 2025 Super Bowl. Each artist makes a different, yet highly relevant and personal point.
“It's really important to recognize how much grieving and pain undocumented immigrant communities are going through,” Cuatlacuatl told Spectrum. “But [I’m choosing] to see that as a way to solidarity, to build empathy, to build love together love, to resist love, to fight the love, to continue to defy that border.”
Ohio has other indigenous leaders and communities demanding to be seen, recognized, and respected — both for what happened to them in the places they were forced to leave, despite having descended from that land for centuries — and in their new home. Ohio is where they are trying to start over and remain, despite antagonistic immigration laws and policies implemented by a relentlessly cruel administration.
A grandchild of Ixil genocide survivors, working with Comunidad Sol in New Philadelphia and Dover, said:
"Forgiveness is an act of courage, but forgetting is an act of complicity. For there to be true forgiveness and a just peace, we must speak about the genocide, look the perpetrators in the eye, and bring them to the seat of accountability — even if the justice they created resists accepting it. Speaking about genocide is not about staying in the past — it is about defending life, memory, and the truth of our peoples. There can be no peace without justice. There can be no future without memory. There was a genocide. And we, the children, know it — and we will speak it.”
The same is true of Black Mauritanians, who mourn the martyred every November 28 since 1990, when 28 Black soldiers were murdered en masse at the Inal torture camp. This happened during the Mauritanian genocide, in which thousands were killed. No admission, no accountability has ever been given by the White Moors who carried it out.
Every October 28, the City of Columbus now recognizes Mauritania Day to celebrate the contributions Black Mauritanians have made in Ohio, after their forced displacement from the land on which they were born. This June, Ohio Immigrant Alliance teamed up with Houleye Thiam of the Mauritanian Network for Human Rights in US for a Fulani cultural celebration, Pulaagam.
Whether it’s tattoos, clothing, music, dance, painting, poetry, or something else, art is a way for us to explain our world, process it, and pass it on. We showed this at the Columbus Arts Festival when we brought the West African drummers, Tam Tam Magic, and a young U.S.-born boy was moved to come to the stage. He shouted, “I’m about 2% African, and I’m proud!”
Indigenous women from the land called Guatemala — the heads of their households — weave stories into their clothing that members of their community can instantly read. Instead of simply admiring their skill and the beauty of their garments, the rest of us can learn that red is the color of blood shed in massacres.
On Indigenous Peoples Day, let’s accept that art is political. Head over to the Sculpture Center to see Cuatlacuatl’s “Xoxal: Baño de Fuego” while you can.
