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I had been to Zuni as a child in the 1960s. My folks loved to travel in the desert. They loved the Southwest, and Native American cultures, the pottery and jewelry. We had previously visited the Hopi people on their mesas, and at a time when they still permitted outsiders to see their most sacred dances. We actually saw the Snake Dance, which I've never forgotten, especially that moment when the first Snake Priest emerged from the underground kiva and began to slowly dance with a snake in his mouth. Our family also visited Acoma Pueblo, Santa Clara, Taos and several other pueblos, all of them very friendly. And then we went to Zuni. I don't remember exactly what happened—I think my folks went to one shop—but I remember my dad saying, "We're not welcome here, we should leave." And that was my impression of Zuni. It was not the same experience we'd had at the other pueblos.
So you just left?
Yes, and all I remember about Zuni was driving down the main highway that goes through the center of the reservation. I have a vague memory of some small adobe houses, nothing really remarkable.
When you returned to write about the Zuni, did you find that the atmosphere had changed?
Yes, this time it was completely the opposite. It seems to depend on the elected leaders in the tribal council, and how strictly they choose to adhere to the tribe's religious traditions. But people were very welcoming in general, and often invited me to their homes. One of the things that struck me is the Zuni sense of humor; they love to rib each other and tease. That made me feel especially welcome, since they felt relaxed enough around me to show that part of themselves.
Did Zuni still seem different from other pueblos?
I was impressed at how intact the tribe is. I've been to Hopi since my childhood visit, and found it heartbreaking to see the difference between then and now, the way that drugs and alcoholism—and tourism, to some extent—have ravaged it, particularly the First Mesa. When I was a kid, we were allowed to walk freely around the First Mesa pueblo, and we went from home to home and met many people. One woman, Laura Tomosi, was particularly friendly, and showed us all the steps in making her pottery. She was just opening her kiln, right on the edge of the mesa. It wasn't fancy, simply a pile of old pot shards and earth, but she bent down and lifted out beautiful painted pots, gold and red from the fire. Today at the First Mesa, there are signs saying visitors must first register and get a guide. I think they've been inundated by tourists, which must be tiring since the pueblo is small.
Have the Zuni kept intact as a people just because they've deliberately kept out outsiders, or is there more to it?
I think part of it is the remoteness of the reservation—they're not close to Santa Fe or Albuquerque. It's a trek to get there, and you really have to want to go to Zuni because there's not really another major attraction nearby.
Do they have the same problems with alcohol abuse that other tribes have?
Oh yes, unfortunately, they have problems. They talked about that with me; there was a terrible car crash involving alcohol while I was there, and a little girl died. They were hesitant to discuss the details, and I didn't press them because it is a sensitive issue, and it wasn't the focus of my story.
You were an outsider writing about the Zuni for other outsiders. Did you feel guilty, knowing how important their cultural privacy is to them?
Not guilty, but it puts a writer in a very difficult position. I had to be invited by the tribe through the tribal council. I met with them once, and they asked me to send a letter listing the topics I thought I might write about. Once the council agreed to my visit, they assigned Edward Wemytewa, who was then a council member, to be my liaison.
Were there things you weren't allowed to write about?
I wouldn't say that there were questions that they refused to answer. They made it very clear that they didn't want me to write about their religion, but I had to include some simple references to their religious beliefs in the story, since these are central to understanding the Zuni as a people. Without causing the Zuni grief or worry, I felt I had to give my readers some understanding of the basis of their religion—for example, that corn is sacred to them—without spelling out all the details. What they worry about, and it's a very difficult thing for us to understand, is that when people write about these things, the Zuni don't know what other people will do with this knowledge. They regard their religious beliefs as powerful, and they don't know if people will use the knowledge in a good way or a bad way. They have no control over how these beliefs will be used—or abused—once they are printed.
