On a Sunday in August, we traveled 60 miles west of Albuquerque to visit Acoma Pueblo, a community reputed to have the longest history of continuous habitation in the United States, dating back to at least 1150 AD. Traveling with family, Heather, our daughter, and three grandchildren, visiting from New York City and Paris, my husband and I were eager to provide our maturing grandchildren with a meaningful experience of contemporary indigenous culture in New Mexico. Acoma Pueblo, perched atop a 360-foot mesa, offered breathtaking views of the surrounding landscape, with the azure sky and billowing white clouds framing this ancient site. 

I wasn’t prepared for the profound impact of our visit. We were privileged to have a private guide, Gail Toribio, for our small group of five. On that hot August day, with record high temperatures, there were few visitors. We ascended the mesa by tour bus, climbing a road built in the 20th century—a stark contrast to the original ascent, which relied on hand- and toe-holds carved into the rock. At the top, we walked among the residences and made our way to the mission church, San Esteban del Rey. Built between 1629 and 1642, the church boasts a 30-foot ceiling supported by around 40 beams hewn from Ponderosa pines, transported 30 miles from the San Mateo Mountains and carried up the cliff by Acoma men, as mandated by the Spanish Franciscan friar, Juan Ramirez, who oversaw the construction. 

Inside the church, Gail began to share the story of her people and culture. She recounted, with dispassionate honesty, the brutal cruelty and injustice of the first encounters with Spanish colonists. 

For those unfamiliar with the history, in 1598, Juan de Oñate led Spanish settlers into what is now New Mexico under the authority of King Philip II of Spain. From his base around San Juan Pueblo (now known by its Tewa name, Ohkay Owingeh), Oñate sent his nephew, Captain Juan de Zaldívar, to Acoma Pueblo to demand food and provisions, further expanding Spanish control in the region. The Acoma people, wary of the Spanish, resisted. A confrontation ensued, resulting in the death of Oñate’s nephew and 12 Spanish soldiers and servants. In retaliation, two months later, Oñate sent another nephew, Vicente de Zaldívar, with muskets, cannons, and 70 soldiers. After three days of battle, the Spanish overtook the pueblo, sacking and burning many of the 2- and 3-story buildings of rock and adobe. Historical records suggest that between 600 to 800 members of the Acoma community, including women and children, lost their lives. In a brutal attempt to set an example for other Pueblo people, Oñate ordered the mutilation of all Acoma men over the age of 25, having the toes of one foot cut off, and condemned them to forced servitude for 20 years.  Additionally, men between the ages of 12 and 25 and women older than 12 years were also subjected to forced servitude for 20 years. The community was nearly destroyed, and the memory of this event remains seared into the collective consciousness of the Acoma people.

There is an intersection between my own history and that of Gail’s. Some of my ancestors entered New Mexico with Juan de Oñate in 1598. (Oñate was later banished from both New Mexico and Mexico City for his cruel treatment of both indigenous people and Spanish settlers.) The Pueblo people, including the Acoma, successfully revolted against Spanish domination in 1680. During the Spanish reconquest of the territory in 1692, my Spanish Sephardic ancestor, Alfonso Rael de Aguilar, served as Secretary of War and Secretary of State for Diego de Vargas’s expedition and subsequent administration in New Mexico. Gail and I share an indigenous past, as Spanish settlers and indigenous people intermarried in what became the state of New Mexico. Like many other New Mexican families with deep roots in the region, my family is a blend of Spanish, Native American, and other European ancestries. 

Gail continued her narrative, describing the presence of the Franciscan Order at Acoma during the 19th century and how Catholic rituals, saints, and symbols became intertwined with their ancient spiritual beliefs and practices. As she moved into the contemporary period, she graciously shared part of her personal story with us. She expressed her happiness that we were there with our mothers (my step-daughter and I) and shared the sorrow of losing her own mother to COVID during the pandemic. Of the approximately 5,000 Acoma people, she recounted that 1,500 died during the pandemic. The loss was particularly devastating among the Acoma people, who suffered disproportionately high mortality rates compared to the general U.S. population. Gail spoke of the impact this loss had on her and her young son. By speaking Keres, the native language of the Acoma people, and passing on other customs and beliefs, she strives to educate and strengthen her son’s character and resilience.