“Write for Your Communities, Don’t Write for the White Man”: Inside the Sundance Native Lab

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As a writer who has dedicated my career to amplifying diverse voices and stories, I find the journey of these Indigenous artists truly inspiring. Their resilience, creativity, and unwavering commitment to their communities is an embodiment of the Indigenous spirit that refuses to be silenced or erased.

Santa Fe preserves the legacy of its original inhabitants. The capital city of New Mexico is home to renowned contemporary art galleries located within traditional Pueblo-style structures decorated with garlands of chiles, a native American plant. In the downtown area near the Plaza, a long arcade at the Palace of the Governors is dedicated solely for Native artists and craftsmen to sell their items. Meanwhile, in the Railyard Arts District, the Hotel Santa Fe, largely owned by the Picuris Pueblo tribe, frequently hosts the Sundance Institute’s Native Lab – a filmmaking program that has been a stepping stone for many notable Indigenous creatives working in Hollywood since its establishment.

How can Indigenous artists effectively tell their stories while maintaining control over their narratives in an industry that shows a growing interest and opportunities?

Despite the progress, it’s worth noting that many prominent portrayals of Indigenous people in Hollywood are still shaped primarily by non-Indigenous creators and predominantly feature white characters. Examples include Martin Scorsese’s “Killers of the Flower Moon,” Taylor Sheridan’s “Yellowstone” franchise, and Kevin Costner’s “Horizon.” Charine Pilar Gonzales, a fellow at the lab, expresses that one challenge faced by Indigenous communities in Hollywood is being asked to serve as cultural consultants when they could contribute significantly more as creative storytellers.

Adam Piron, the Indigenous Program director, points out that our community’s history with film hasn’t always been stellar, but it’s significantly improved due to more people sharing their unique stories. Recent successes like FX’s ‘Reservation Dogs’, Marvel’s ‘Echo’, Peacock’s ‘Rutherford Falls’, and AMC’s ‘Dark Winds’ all have key creators who are connected to Sundance. In fact, Chris Eyre, executive producer of ‘Dark Winds’, workshopped his groundbreaking 1998 film ‘Smoke Signals’ at Sundance’s filmmaking labs before it won the festival’s Audience Award. Sterlin Harjo and Taika Waititi, creators of ‘Reservation Dogs’, have both been involved with Sundance’s Native Lab – Harjo was the first fellow in the program’s 2003 pilot, while Waititi’s acclaimed short ‘Two Cars, One Night’ was featured in the festival’s Native Forum program a year after. Sydney Freeland, director of ‘Echo’, and Jana Schmieding, writer and actor of ‘Rutherford Falls’, are both alumni of Sundance’s Native Lab.

In recent years, The Lab has shifted its focus towards narrative elements and script development (compared to earlier versions of The Lab that covered a broader range of projects like shorts and documentaries), and I, as a gamer, can really see the benefits this presents for indigenous creators. As Piron explains, it’s not just about reacting to industry trends, but meeting artists where they are, understanding their aspirations, and providing that necessary spark to help them grow.

For Gonzales, the goal is television. The Tewa filmmaker, who grew up in Santa Fe and nearby San Ildefonso Pueblo, is the only 2024 fellow with an episodic project (NDN Time, about a Tewa college student who uses her newly discovered powers to protect her homeland from nuclear threat). “I’d been feeling so lost about it being too commercial or being pushed into that side of things,” she says, “and one thing that’s very different about Sundance is they allow us to be ourselves, which I don’t think is always what we get in commercial spaces. There were pieces of my script that I had denied myself in order to fit in, and now I feel like I’m taking so much power back into my writing and taking control again.”

As a native resident, Gonzales emphasizes that hosting the event on her ancestral lands, which were traditionally opened by her grandmother with a Tewa blessing, held great significance for her. However, it also felt like a heartfelt reunion for distant relative Josephus Raphael Eblahan, who traces his roots back to the Ifugao and Visayan communities in the Philippines. “The labs we participate in perform an exorcism within us writers, allowing us to draw from a deeper source and express it through our characters,” explains the filmmaker, who has completed residencies and intensives at Cannes, Berlin, and Locarno film festivals. “But what makes this unique is being surrounded by other Native artists. The sense of security and shared understanding that comes from being in a collective who can empathize with your cultural, spiritual, and personal experiences, makes this an extraordinary encounter.

Lindsay McIntyre, who is part Inuit, expresses her challenge by saying, “I’ve been in other programs where there’s constructive criticism about structure and more, but I struggle with deciding how much of the Inuit perspective I need to share, or if I should just present it because it might make people uneasy.” The Native Lab makes its position clear: “Write for your own communities, not for white audiences,” Katie Arthurs, the program coordinator, advised the group. “They can understand it – they’ve dealt with enough!

Even the white men among the advisors agree. “Coming here as a non-Indigenous person, I’ve been very sensitive about making sure that the feedback I’m giving isn’t impeding anyone’s voice and is just serving to push it along, but also is acknowledging the realities of our industry and being able to make stuff,” says filmmaker Patrick Brice (director of 2014’s Creep), serving as a Native Lab advisor for the second time. “The work here is personal, but it’s also inherently political, and those two things can’t be divorced from each other.”

Amidst the shrinking show business landscape, as Native artists are finally gaining recognition on and off-screen (as evidenced by the 2024 Emmy nominees), the pressure appears to be immense for budding Indigenous creators. Kishori Rajan, an advisor and Tessa Thompson’s producing partner, shares that they chose to focus on the essence of storytelling rather than the chaotic industry reality. “Adam” (presumably a participant in the Lab) suggested not dwelling on the industry’s turbulence. Instead, Rajan found this week particularly uplifting as they could refocus on crafting good stories and characters. The primary objective of the Lab, according to Rajan, is to inspire persistence. The only way forward, she emphasizes, is to keep creating content.

The group will gather in person at the 2025 Sundance festival, which is currently set to be held in Utah, before concluding their program officially next May. However, as stated by Tai Leclaire, a former 2022 Fellow now serving as a 2024 advisor, who shares similarities with Piron in being Mohawk, “This program has propelled numerous opportunities for my career after it.” The prestige of Sundance was certainly a part of it, but it was more about building a supportive community. As an Indigenous person, we infuse a great deal of our culture into our work, and I believe this particular group recognizes that it’s not just about what my culture can offer me, but what I can offer to my culture.

Just as relationships persist, so does the impact of Indigenous cultures on the industry, according to Piron. He suggests thinking of it not as a wave that eventually crashes, but rather as a tide. This idea implies that this influence is gradually altering the larger environment. It’s an Indigenous philosophy: We are playing the long game. Our communities have been resilient and enduring, having withstood much over time.

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2024-11-20 22:28