Quannah’s joyful resistance embodies the beauty of being the revolution. She embodies strength, beauty, power and we are here for it. Quannah ChasingHorse (she/her) is a Han Gwich’in and Sicangu/Oglala Lakota land protector, climate justice activist, and fashion model from Eagle Village, Alaska, and South Dakota tribes. Born on the Navajo Nation, she grew up in various locations and raised in a subsistence lifestyle with her family, Quannah’s connection to her homelands and people guides her activism. Quannah is a model who uses her platform to promote Indigenous representation and sustainability. She has worked with top fashion houses and appeared on the covers of Vogue Mexico, Vogue China, and has received numerous accolades, including Teen Vogue’s Top 21 under 21, Forbes 30 under 30, and USA Today’s Women of the Year. In June 2022, she premiered “Walking Two Worlds” at the TriBeCa Film Festival, a documentary about her family’s fight to protect their sacred lands and Indigenous representation.
Quannah was in conversation with her Auntie, Princess Daazhraii Johnson, an Emmy-nominated writer/producer of Gwich’in and Ashkenazi descent, who lives on the traditional territory of lower Tanana Dene lands in Alaska. A co-founder of Deenaadàį’ Productions, Princess is dedicated to narrative sovereignty for Alaska Native filmmakers. She serves on the boards of Native Movement and NDN Collective, is a 2023 Grist 50 Climate Leader, and has been deeply involved in protecting Native Ways of Life. With a background as a Sundance Film Alum, SAG-AFTRA and Television Academy member, and credits including the Peabody Award-winning PBS Kids series “Molly of Denali” and HBO’s “True Detective: Night Country”, she is currently developing her first feature film, an adaptation of “Two Old Women,” which she will direct.
Quannah
I really appreciate this platform because it gives us an opportunity to reach out to people, especially within the Native community. Just yesterday, a Native guy got upset with me and Dallas Goldtooth for speaking out about Palestine, the Congo, Sudan, and other places where people need voices right now. He told us we should focus on our own people, saying those others don’t do anything for us. This is what it looks like—connecting, building bridges, and recognizing the similarities in our struggles.
Princess
You’re diving right into the question of what collective liberation really is. I think you’re highlighting a crucial aspect: creating a shared understanding. Given how our histories have been so intentionally suppressed, introducing people to the true histories is essential for reaching that shared understanding and for us to see ourselves in each other. So, I’m curious, what else does collective liberation look like to you?
Quannah
To me, collective liberation looks like what many of us are already doing—looking beyond our immediate experiences and making connections with what’s happening elsewhere. We recognize that if the same events were unfolding in our communities, as they have throughout history, we have a responsibility not just to uplift those voices but to show the world that we stand in solidarity.
Collective liberation means not just standing together but also utilizing tools like social media to access and share information. It’s alarming to see not only uninformed individuals but also political figures spreading misinformation and perpetuating harm, often through internalized racism. Collective liberation is about showing up and doing your part, whatever that looks like. It’s important for people to understand that there’s no one way to show up.
Princess
As you were talking, I was reflecting on a recent trip I took to Arctic Village and Circle, where I had an incredible interview with our elder, First Traditional Chief Trimble Gilbert. We were at a Gwich’in gathering, and I interviewed him about our traditional dances, like the fiddle dances and the rope dance, where everyone ends up holding hands. He talked about how we’ve made these dances our own—how the way we play the fiddle is uniquely Gwich’in, and those dances are uniquely ours. It’s a metaphor for how, in our community, coming from a background of survival, we had to work together and unify.
As someone who is both Gwich’in and Ashkenazi Jewish, and born in the West Bank, I think a lot about borders—physical fences and walls, and how people and animals around the world have been displaced.
Collective liberation is also about our animal relatives, our waterways. If we could take away nationalism, weapons, bombs, and all the things that cause destruction, I think we’d see more clearly that we are in a climate crisis.
Quannah
Exactly. Growing up, I learned not just through words, but by example, that we see ourselves as part of nature—not above or below it, but as nature itself. When we protect nature, we’re protecting ourselves, our bloodlines, and our animal relatives. That teaching is deeply ingrained in me, and it’s hard to comprehend that others don’t see the world that way.
As you mentioned, we need to rematriate society—how we move and show up in this world. The world could truly benefit from our teachings, which are rooted in love. But that’s what’s missing today—humanity and love.
You don’t have to post every five minutes or put your life on the line, but many have, and that’s the strength of our people—we’ll put our lives on the line for what we believe in, for our community’s right to clean water, clean air, and control over our lands.
Being raised in a matriarchy, I was taught to amplify women’s voices and to stand behind strong, knowledgeable women who represent us well. Everything we do is fueled by love. I see that love in you, in my mom, my aunties, and that’s how I navigate the world—with love for my people, my community, our animals, our waters, and other Indigenous communities that need to be heard.
Princess
Yes, everything truly does happen for a reason, and it’s essential to acknowledge that we’re riding the wave of thousands of years of Indigenous knowledge and wisdom. I see our lands, our animals, our mountains—everything we hold sacred. You carry all of this with such care and power, and that’s absolutely vital.
Listening is something we both value deeply, and in a world full of noise, we’ve been blessed to find quiet moments on the land, on the Yukon River, listening to the river’s song, receiving messages from the Creator. These moments ground us and remind us of our responsibility to educate others, to help them see that our liberation is interconnected with the liberation of all beings.
I agree that our Gwich’in worldview brings a unique blend of emotional and spiritual intelligence. This is where our humanity comes in. Each of us has a role, and sometimes it’s not about finding the perfect words but about making connections through storytelling, poetry, or images that resonate with others.
Collective liberation means having the freedom to love as we choose, to love who we want in the way we want. This is especially significant for Indigenous women, given our history—forced sterilization, the removal of our children. To be comfortable and aligned with our power as Indigenous women, to make choices for ourselves, is a profound political statement. Your words are powerful, and they articulate the deep connections we have to each other, our lands, and our responsibilities.
Quannah
Absolutely. The ongoing crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and People (MMIW/P) starkly illustrates how our very existence as Indigenous people is deeply political. The fact that thousands of Native women have gone missing or been murdered, with so many cases unresolved, highlights a systemic disregard for our lives.
This is why you see Native people advocating so fiercely for our communities. We are the ones who carry the weight of these issues, not just because they affect us, but because we have a responsibility to our ancestors, our communities, and future generations. We’ve all witnessed the effects of the climate crisis and that we are truly dependent upon one another. We’ve seen how politics has infiltrated every aspect of our lives, where even the fight for clean air and water, which should be a fundamental right, has become a political battleground. When we feel liberated, when we reclaim our power, we challenge the very foundations of that system.We are still here, and we are more than our struggles.
We are a people of strength, wisdom, and love, and that’s something no system can take away from us.
Princess
It’s mind-blowing to witness the devastation in Palestine, especially in Gaza, where the destruction has created an environmental and climate disaster affecting all living beings in the region.
You mentioned MMIW, and it struck me because violence against the land is intertwined with violence against women—it’s all connected. I think about the extractive resource industry and how deeply it ties into the dehumanization we’ve faced in the media, going back to dime novels and cartoons that depicted Indigenous and Muslim people as less than human.
I want to draw a parallel for our Indigenous brothers and sisters: what has been happening to the Palestinian people for generations mirrors what’s happened to us on Turtle Island. It’s maddening, especially knowing our tax dollars fund this genocide.
In these moments, we have to channel our rage and frustration, stay committed to our love, and hold onto the vision of collective liberation. Even if progress seems incremental, we must keep pushing in that direction.
Quannah
Mic drop.
I think about environmental racism a lot—how it’s playing out in every Indigenous community through extreme forms of extraction. It’s heartbreaking to see the direct impact on our communities and to realize how it’s spreading across the world. You start by thinking about how it affects your people, but then you realize, if we don’t stop this, it will spread like wildfire, and that’s exactly what’s been happening everywhere.
People are missing this crucial point, like with what’s happening in Gaza. Do you really think they’ll stop? They’ve destroyed everything, and yet they continue. “
Princess
I heard a quote from an older man who said, “It’s just a matter of time before we’re all Palestinians.” We have the opportunity to say no, to refuse to allow genocide to happen. The United States could have intervened by not arming Israel, but they didn’t. Now, it’s up to us, the people, to keep pressuring political leaders. Mother Earth can’t sustain much more of this destruction and bombing.
Quannah
Mother Earth can’t sustain much more. Just the other day, on the second of this month, we officially over-consumed to the point where Earth can’t regenerate. It’s terrifying to think about how we keep taking without giving back or fulfilling our responsibilities as a community of humans. Yes, Indigenous people are doing the work—80% of the world’s biodiversity is protected by Indigenous communities. The teaching of considering the next seven generations guides everything I do. Our identities and how we walk in this world are political.”
Princess
There’s also the element of threat—how simply existing can be seen as a threat, especially when you remind others of the deep ties we have to our lands. This is particularly true when standing against big oil or, as I often compare, the Palestinian people. Their very existence is a reminder of the ongoing Nakba, a symbol of resistance against the occupation and extraction of their lands.
I want to uplift the voices of those on the ground working toward peace, even though it’s hard. Peace cannot come without justice. I follow both Palestinian and Israeli individuals who are striving to have these difficult conversations, despite not being popular. It’s essential to try and reach a place where we see each other as full human beings because right now, that’s what’s missing—recognizing each other’s humanity.
Quannah
Social media is a powerful tool, but it can also expose you to hate, especially when you have influence.
It’s vital to support one another, especially when facing such hatred. When we heal ourselves, we contribute to healing our communities. I try to communicate this to our Native men, who may struggle with seeking help. Getting help doesn’t just benefit the individual—it strengthens the community because, as we heal, we naturally give back.
Often, those who express hate are themselves deeply hurt, raised in environments that foster hatred and ignorance. While it’s not our responsibility to help them unlearn their racism, I believe it’s important to approach them with love. I’ve had conversations with people raised in very right-wing, racist households, and by giving them grace and educating them, I’ve seen them change.
Princess
Exactly. What you’re saying is crucial. It’s disturbing how many people, even within our circles, have remained silent on what’s happening in Palestine and Gaza. When we reflect on historical atrocities like the Holocaust, people often say, “How could that have happened? I wouldn’t have acted that way.” But the truth is, many of us are complicit through our silence. We need to examine our relationship with capitalism, money, and the ways in which fear governs us.
Fear is powerful—whether it’s fear of not being able to feed our families, fear of being doxxed, or fear of the consequences of speaking out. But it takes a deep, spiritual perspective to push past that fear and say, “Despite my fear, I need to speak up.”
Quannah
As you’ve highlighted, Indigenous teachings and values are crucial in understanding the broader context of our struggles. Speaking as a Two Spirit, Indigenous person inherently intertwines with these issues, and it’s a powerful testament to our resilience and dedication.
Reconnecting with the land and our ancestors is indeed a profound way to ground oneself and find clarity in advocating for what’s right. Your strength and commitment are evident, and it’s this dedication that drives meaningful change.
Princess
That’s so beautiful, Quannah. I hope that one day we can all come together to help the Palestinian people rebuild and heal. We’ve discussed many intense issues and brought our ancestors into the conversation. Let’s take 20 seconds of silence to honor all those lives that are transitioning.
Moment of silence…
