Trees and Indians.

Years ago, I lived on Oak Street. Living there always brought to mind the old joke that when real estate developers start a project, they cut down all the trees and then name the streets after them.

Something similar, only infinitely more tragic, has taken place since the first Europeans set foot on land that was to become the United States of America: our forefathers—government, military, business interests, and ordinary citizens—all but exterminated the Indian tribes that already lived here, then named things after them. States, counties, cities, towns, rivers, lakes, mountains, canyons, valleys, and more carry names derived from Native American languages.

Of our United States, 27 of them—27!—carry names that come from the languages of the tribes that occupied the land before being forced off by one nefarious means or another.

Here in my home state of Utah (named for the Ute Indians) there are five counties with Indian names, along with three cities and towns, at least one mountain and two mountain ranges, and a whole lot of other stuff. And Utah is not unusual—in fact, there are many, many states whose maps are marked with many, many more names borrowed from Indian words.

I suppose in some sense it is a sign of respect. But it is impossible to believe that whatever smidgen of honor is involved in any way scratches the surface of the damage we have done—and still do—to the people who lived here when our ancestors arrived.

(ABOVE: The Indian riding through the trees is a work of art by Bev Dolittle)

 

History gone wrong: Forgetting Dominguez.

    The name “Escalante” graces many places on the map of Utah. There’s a town, a basin, a canyon, a desert, a mountain, a natural bridge, a river, a state park, and—in partnership with Grand Staircase—a national monument. Maybe more.
    If you’re unfamiliar with the history of my home state you may wonder why this is. And there are some of us familiar with that history who also wonder why.
    Our story begins in 1776, when folks Back East were quibbling with Great Britain. Out here in New Spain, later to be part of Mexico, and later still becoming much of the western United States, the Spaniards had already established missions and settlements, and were exploring trade routes and sites for other missions.
    Enter Fray Francisco Silvestre Vélez de Escalante. Or, as we in Utah’s schools call him, Father Escalante. The good Father was with an expedition seeking a route from Santa Fe to Monterey. Their path brought them into what is now Utah—through the Unita Basin and the Wasatch Mountains and Utah Valley, then deep into the southern part of our state.
    The way Escalante’s name got plastered all over the place, you’d think he was in charge of the whole thing. But that’s where history (the popular notion of history, that is) gets it wrong.
    In truth, Escalante, who kept the diary of the expedition, and Bernardo de Miera y Pacheco, the mapmaker (see his handiwork above), and the handful of other men in the party were under the command of Fray Francisco Atanasio Domínguez.
    Domínguez organized the journey. Domínguez led the way. Domínguez determined the route. Domínguez gave the orders. Domínguez made the tough decisions.
    His name does not appear on any prominent place or landmark on the maps of Utah.