Land Theft and Military Toxicity as a Barrier in Chamoru Healing
Alaina Aflague Arroyo
University of San Francisco Pacific Islander Collective
Håfa adai members of the United Nations 4th Committee. Guåhu si Alaina Aflague Arroyo. I am a Indigenous Chamoru, Puerto Rican and Mexican woman and I am here on behalf of the University of San Francisco’s Pacific Islander Collective, a grassroots organization focusing on the voices and representation of the Indigenous Peoples of Oceania. I am also here representing the voices of my ancestors and future generations of Guåhan who continue to fight for independence, self-determination and Chamoru sovereignty. Si yu’os ma’åse’ for allowing me to share my testimony today.
I come here to honor the survival of my people and to not only recognize, but demand the right to self-determination and true liberation from the United States of America. Healing is essential in moving forward. But, how can we heal when the administering power continues to steal all that we have left? How can our spirits heal when the administering power has introduced toxic ways to cope with our pain and our loss? How can we heal when sacred sites that hold ancestral wisdom and native ways of connection are being destroyed by United States military construction? How can we heal when resources dedicated to land restoration for the indigenous people are being threatened by the administering power? How can we fully heal our spirits in addition to those who came before us, when remaining a non-self governing territory of the United States of America? The United States military has decided to move forward with a live firing training range complex at Northwest Field which overlooks the sacred village of Litekyan, where the Chamoru people have been thriving for thousands of years. Litekyan is one of the most ancient and pristine villages within the entire Marianas archipelago, where latte stone villages are still standing, where our stories are indebted in the caves and where our medicinal plants have been living for thousands of years. This is our healing space. This is where we go to learn who we are and who we come from. The United States military has already begun the construction of the live firing range on Litekyan, where latte stones have already been removed from their ancestral locations, and where more than 79 historical sites on land and in the water will be bulldozed or impacted at or near Litekyan. Almost 7 million rounds of ammunition is being planned to be fired each year, disturbing the homes of our endangered and threatened wildlife who seek Litekyan as a habitat to recover and survive. Traditional healers visit our ancestors and the gifts that they left for us to receive åmot (medicinal plants) to continue the knowledge that has been passed down for generations. This firing range not only prevents access to receiving that medicine, but it also prevents all Chamorus from visiting our ancestors and re-connecting with all that makes up who we are as a Chamoru people. When we see fences that surround Litekyan, when we see hourly restrictions, when we read the plans that the United States military has for this firing range, our spirit continues to break. It becomes fractured. The medicine does not only live within the åmot that grows from the soil of a resilient land, our medicine IS our land. Our medicine is our ocean. The firing range is perpetuating and continuing the legacy of colonialism, by creating that barrier in accessibility to understanding identity, our past, and the possibilities for our future Land relations is a crucial element in understanding indigeneity and understanding an obligation to not only take care of our land but to protect the land from harm. Our soil, all that derives from it, ocean, and air are essential to understanding our creation and our purpose as an indigenous population. After WWII, the United States began its colonial tradition in stealing land from the Native Chamorus for the purpose of military construction and hyper-development. The Chamorro Land Trust Act was established to prioritize Native Chamorus the opportunity to lease land from the commission at $1 per year for 99 years. However, the definition of who is considered native is defined by those who became a United States citizen by virtue of the authority and enactment of the Organic Act of Guam, in addition to the descendants of those who received this benefit. This act of reclaiming land for and by the Native people is an act of restoring what has been lost, however, the definition of who is considered native is still not directly prioritizing the indigenous people of Guåhan. The United States Department of Justice has expressed concerns on whether the Chamorro Land Trust discriminates on the basis of race or national origin, in violation of the Fair Housing Act. This threat to us having access to the land that is rightfully ours is yet another barrier in establishing a healing connection with our creators and reclaiming the land that was stolen from us. A land that is rightfully for Chamorus, was stolen from the Chamorus, should thus be returned to the Chamorus, the indigenous people of Guåhan.
When the United States is poisoning our land and resources directly, they are also poisoning us and building an additional fence in our journey to healing. The Chamoru people have the highest rates of suicide or thoughts of suicide and what the western world would define as depression and anxiety. When you take a land away from a people you continue a legacy of colonial death and displacement. When we know our land is suffering we feel that directly. That is indigeneity. We have a connection to everything, especially where we come from. It is in our core. It is in our blood and that pain will continue to be passed down if we do not take the necessary steps in Chamoru self-determination, independence, and critical decolonization. As a Chamoru woman reading all of the proposed if not already practiced military projects, history of colonialism and trauma passed down from generation to generation, not only does it remind me of all that we have lost and all that we have to continue to battle with but it leaves me with no answers for how our spirits can heal as an indigenous people. I want my people to be able to not look at our land and the fences that surround her with sadness in their hearts and pain in their spirit. My people are survivors and we have endured so much, but we do not need to see another generation go through this again. As long as we are colonized and occupied, we will never be truly healed. We will survive like we have been doing for over 500 years, but we will not be our healthiest healed selves.