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The Land Keeps the Score
I often find myself revisiting the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer:
“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”
As someone who comes from a legacy of forced displacement due to colonial violence, I understand how the wounds inflicted by the separation from our native lands and waters extend across many generations and timescapes.
I carry a deep yearning to return home, to feel the earth my ancestors stewarded, to embody the memories the land has preserved, and to seed the dreams of my future kin.
Presently, I reside on the unceded, ancestral lands of the Anishinaabe peoples. These lands also carry the memory of displacement, genocide, and settler violence. I wonder about the rich lineages of freedom fighters, land defenders, water protectors, and stewards who have tended to these lands in reciprocity and with tenderness.
Under the colonial mandate, land has always been a commodity and target for conquest because separating a people from their land removes their lifeline to sustenance. But many of us know the truth: land as a living archive, a body of profound wisdom, and a witness to those who came before and those who will come after us.
In her book, The Land in Our Bones, Layla Feghali echoes this truth: “By displacing us from the inherent connection we have with the earth as a kindred creative and material source of life and nurturance, we lose leverage with reality itself as it becomes reconstructed around something contrary and rootless—something oppressive and damaging to the earth itself, desecrated as we suffer in unison.”
The land remembers, not just the horrors of plunder at the hands of the colonizer, but the medicine, prayers, and rituals of those who care(d) for her. When we surrender ourselves to the earth, we are actively remembering and opening ourselves up to the gifts she has to offer. We are returning to the ancient, sacred wisdom of our ancestors who knew how to listen to what the land knows.
After all, the land keeps the score. Bearing the wounds of displacement and separation. Carrying the abundant and rich knowledge preserved through generations. Echoing the whispers of the mountains and the trees.
I think of the lands I come from, the ones where my ancestors are buried and returned to the earth, the ones they were forced to leave and separated from. The places that once knew their prayers and yet continue to hold their freedom cries.
We often talk about colonial trauma from a human-centric perspective—living in our bodies, passed down through our lineages, lingering in our cultural practices—but I also wonder how the trees grieve, how the land mourns, how the water moves. What about the forests that have witnessed centuries of extraction? What about the soil that carries the memories of cultivation and the scars of destruction?
As we navigate ecosystem collapse and planetary suffering, it is important to remember our ancestral ways of being, to remember that we cannot heal in isolation, to remember that our well-being is intertwined with the ecosystems we are part of. To heal the land is to heal ourselves and our ancestors.
If we listen closely, what and whose stories is the land telling us?
Western Eurocentric models of trauma and healing often fail to capture our lived realities because they cannot grasp how our livelihoods are deeply rooted in place and space and intertwined with our ancestral histories and relationships.
Across multiple timescapes, colonial violence has sought to sever our connection to ancestral, cultural, and land-based practices of healing. Indigenous wisdom is grounded in the truth that land is an active source of connection, energy, and renewal. Many of the answers we seek at this particular moment already exist within and around us. If the land keeps the score, it also holds the pathways toward repair and remembrance.
So, where do we begin?
Perhaps by listening to and meditating on how the land grieves and continues to tend to her wounds, by slowing down and noticing what requires attention and care, by recognizing that healing is not a destination but a way of being in right relationship with ourselves, each other, and the ecosystems that hold and nurture us.
Some knowledge can only be embodied and felt—in the way the earth responds to our touch, in the way water knows where to return.
Healing is not just about tending to the body. It is in how we move in rhythm with the land and in how we reclaim the connection that colonization tried to erase. It is about remembering who we are. It is about imagining what possibilities emerge when we see land as kin with whom we are in constant dialogue.
{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Land Keeps the Score",
"author" : "Sahibzada Mayed",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/the-land-keeps-the-score",
"date" : "2025-05-12 12:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/milada-vigerova-mDa8FAg782c-unsplash.jpg",
"excerpt" : "I often find myself revisiting the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer:“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”",
"content" : "I often find myself revisiting the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer:“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”As someone who comes from a legacy of forced displacement due to colonial violence, I understand how the wounds inflicted by the separation from our native lands and waters extend across many generations and timescapes.I carry a deep yearning to return home, to feel the earth my ancestors stewarded, to embody the memories the land has preserved, and to seed the dreams of my future kin.Presently, I reside on the unceded, ancestral lands of the Anishinaabe peoples. These lands also carry the memory of displacement, genocide, and settler violence. I wonder about the rich lineages of freedom fighters, land defenders, water protectors, and stewards who have tended to these lands in reciprocity and with tenderness.Under the colonial mandate, land has always been a commodity and target for conquest because separating a people from their land removes their lifeline to sustenance. But many of us know the truth: land as a living archive, a body of profound wisdom, and a witness to those who came before and those who will come after us.In her book, The Land in Our Bones, Layla Feghali echoes this truth: “By displacing us from the inherent connection we have with the earth as a kindred creative and material source of life and nurturance, we lose leverage with reality itself as it becomes reconstructed around something contrary and rootless—something oppressive and damaging to the earth itself, desecrated as we suffer in unison.” The land remembers, not just the horrors of plunder at the hands of the colonizer, but the medicine, prayers, and rituals of those who care(d) for her. When we surrender ourselves to the earth, we are actively remembering and opening ourselves up to the gifts she has to offer. We are returning to the ancient, sacred wisdom of our ancestors who knew how to listen to what the land knows.After all, the land keeps the score. Bearing the wounds of displacement and separation. Carrying the abundant and rich knowledge preserved through generations. Echoing the whispers of the mountains and the trees.I think of the lands I come from, the ones where my ancestors are buried and returned to the earth, the ones they were forced to leave and separated from. The places that once knew their prayers and yet continue to hold their freedom cries.We often talk about colonial trauma from a human-centric perspective—living in our bodies, passed down through our lineages, lingering in our cultural practices—but I also wonder how the trees grieve, how the land mourns, how the water moves. What about the forests that have witnessed centuries of extraction? What about the soil that carries the memories of cultivation and the scars of destruction?As we navigate ecosystem collapse and planetary suffering, it is important to remember our ancestral ways of being, to remember that we cannot heal in isolation, to remember that our well-being is intertwined with the ecosystems we are part of. To heal the land is to heal ourselves and our ancestors.If we listen closely, what and whose stories is the land telling us?Western Eurocentric models of trauma and healing often fail to capture our lived realities because they cannot grasp how our livelihoods are deeply rooted in place and space and intertwined with our ancestral histories and relationships.Across multiple timescapes, colonial violence has sought to sever our connection to ancestral, cultural, and land-based practices of healing. Indigenous wisdom is grounded in the truth that land is an active source of connection, energy, and renewal. Many of the answers we seek at this particular moment already exist within and around us. If the land keeps the score, it also holds the pathways toward repair and remembrance.So, where do we begin?Perhaps by listening to and meditating on how the land grieves and continues to tend to her wounds, by slowing down and noticing what requires attention and care, by recognizing that healing is not a destination but a way of being in right relationship with ourselves, each other, and the ecosystems that hold and nurture us.Some knowledge can only be embodied and felt—in the way the earth responds to our touch, in the way water knows where to return. Healing is not just about tending to the body. It is in how we move in rhythm with the land and in how we reclaim the connection that colonization tried to erase. It is about remembering who we are. It is about imagining what possibilities emerge when we see land as kin with whom we are in constant dialogue."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "100+ Years of Genocidal Intent in Palestine",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
"date" : "2025-10-07 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:",
"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
}
,
{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
,
{
"title" : "A Shutdown Exposes How Fragile U.S. Governance Really Is",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
"date" : "2025-10-01 22:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
]
}