Eugene sits on the ancestral homeland of the Kalapuya people. I know that because I’ve heard the land acknowledgment dozens of times: before lectures, in campus emails and at university events. But I still find myself asking: Do we truly understand what these statements mean?
Land acknowledgments are meant to recognize Indigenous people and the history of the land now occupied by government institutions, such as the university. But when they’re read out of obligation before an event or tucked in the bottom of an administrator’s email, they start to feel more like a requirement than a sign of respect. If no one really hears them or even reads them, how meaningful can they be?
On the OregonNews website, The University of Oregon lists different programs meant to support Indigenous students and build relationships with Oregon’s nine federally recognized tribes (Burns Paiute, Coquille, Cow Creek Band of Umpqua, the Confederated Tribes of Coos, Lower Umpqua and Siuslaw, Grand Ronde, Siletz, Umatilla, Warm Spring and the Klamath). From building the Many Nations Longhouse on campus to signing a memorandum of understanding, the university counts these achievements as proof that it’s supporting Indigenous communities and honoring its commitments.
While these partnerships do point towards a deeper engagement and acknowledgment of Indigenous land, the recognition is louder than the tangible support that is given.
This isn’t just a problem with UO; Sophia Takahashi-Rosales, a student attending Oregon State University, shared similar concerns — that land acknowledgments often feel performative and tend to lack context or follow-through.
“I feel neutral toward land acknowledgments. I think they can bring awareness, but the execution is often half-baked and feels performative. It’s great that the past is acknowledged, but at the same time, nothing is being done to counteract it,” Takahashi said.
So what could tangible support look like? It might be redirecting a portion of university endowments or grants to Indigenous student programs and tribal organizations. It could mean hiring more Indigenous faculty or consulting tribal leaders when shaping university land-use policies; there are lots of things the university could do.
While the University of Oregon does showcase the Many Nations Longhouse building as a symbol of commitment and support to Indigenous communities, progress requires more than symbolic gestures. Although the Many Nations Longhouse building was constructed in 2004 with state funds, university donations and private donations, today the Longhouse building relies on fundraising, such as the Native Duck Fund’s $10,000 goal, to provide essential support for Indigenous students.
The Many Nations Longhouse Building holds cultural importance; it’s a place for students to find community and support. But when a university’s most visible investment in Indigenous students depends on outside donors instead of getting more funding, I find myself asking: Are we really honoring Indigenous communities or just appearing to?
These productive actions to acknowledge Indigenous communities don’t erase history, but they do show an effort to build equitable futures for Indigenous students, shifting from performative gestures to more tangible change.
Land acknowledgments aren’t at their core empty, but when they’re used as the only gesture of support for Indigenous communities, they tend to reduce the deep history into a half-baked mandated speech. If we’re going to do land acknowledgments, we should also be asking: What else can we do?
Because for an acknowledgment to matter, it shouldn’t be the last thing copied and pasted in an email.
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