Josué Rivas (Mexica and Otomi) is an Indigenous Futurist, creative director, visual storyteller and educator working at the intersection of art, technology, journalism and decolonisation. Co-created with communities, his work aims to challenge the mainstream narrative about Indigenous peoples and serve as a vehicle for collective healing.
Q > Tell us about moments in your life that helped define or change your identity.
A > In 2016, I travelled to Standing Rock with my family to document the opposition to the Dakota Access Pipeline. I’m still feeling the ripple effects of that time: the effects of the prayers and the intentions from the community that gathered there. People were able to come from all directions, from every part of the world; they were coming now to be with each other. And I think that, for me, is what taught me so much about my practice, the processes that I use, and how I show up to the community. I think it also taught a lot about the resilience, the vision, and perseverance of Indigenous peoples and allies. To not only come together to oppose something and be against something, but also to be for things, for people in the future to hopefully have a better life. I learnt that even if you have differences with people, you can still join a cause and share common ground. There were a lot of people there that were Indigenous, too, coming to this part of the world and showing up as themselves with their dances, their songs, and their offerings.
Q > Tell us about journeys or places that trigger memorable emotions.
A > The US-Mexico border. More and more, as I’m developing my practice and really understanding my purpose as a human being on this earth, I feel that these borders and structures like these that are constantly separating us should be removed. Before colonialism, there was no US-Mexico border: people would roam back and forth throughout the continent — not even just Mexico; people would go all the way from Peru up to Canada and back. There were trading routes and there were relationships between different tribes. Since we put up these structures, it has created a separation and a demonisation of people that rightfully have the permission to roam — just like animals, right, when you think about a bird, or a butterfly, that goes back and forth, from south to north, north to south, it doesn’t need to show their passport to go from one place to another. So, to me, that’s kind of silly, that as human beings we create these constructs that are very colonial, territorial.
Entities that we believe are from there are “aliens”, and if you’re from here you’re not an alien. You see this embedded in the construct of this country’s language: to call someone an “illegal alien”, or to call someone a person who needs to be “naturalised”. Just think about it, why do you need to naturalise me? I’m already natural. So, what does that even mean?
Q > What are your thoughts on language in the process of storytelling?
A > When you use language with the intention of judgement, you automatically create separation. When people talk about the Founding Fathers and the foundation of the United States — liberty, this, and that — they never speak about the fact that it’s not only colonial, but also intended for extraction and judgement. So when someone judges you because you look different — “Where are you really from?” — I want to say: “I’m from here, what do you mean ‘Where am I from?’?”
With storytelling, you start realising the intention of the language we use and the things that we normalise. People say things because that is all they know. When you say, “I’m shooting” or “taking”, “capturing”, or “my subject”, you’re already saying “I’m going to subject this person”, “I’m going to capture this person”. Well, guess what? They were indigenous peoples that were captured. So, I think that in my work, my purpose on this earth is to continue to use language and use the tools, this gift of storytelling, to reprogramme how people are programmed. We are entering a new age, a new place; it is not only required to update our operating system, but also to introduce other applications for our system to read. I think that that’s what storytelling does. I like to embed healing elements in my storytelling and make someone journey through different emotions.
It’s been normalised to say, “let’s send a photographer from the New York Times to Africa, and he’s gonna change the world”. If his images feature on the front page of the New York Times, then it’s real. That approach does not fit anymore here. What fits is to step back and see the genius within the community; they have their own genius that I might not understand, but how can I bring the tools for their genius to blossom?
Q > Tell us about your project ‘Standing Strong’, and tell us which reactions, questions or perception-shifts did you hope to raise in the viewer?
A > For the first chapter of the project, which was the body of work from Standing Rock, I was invited to come and photograph that movement. But in the second chapter, I removed myself as a photographer, and I became a collaborator — we had invited people to photograph themselves, engage with their own image, and see themselves. My intention is to work with the individual, going through their own reflection and empowerment. I’m really focused on the beauty and the power within the individual. I think that the future of my work is going to be gradually more focused around humanity, not just Indigenous peoples. I happen to do it with Indigenous peoples from this part of the world, because that’s what I know. I want people to start their own project, and to do their own thing, I think that’s important.
For the most majority of people, for example, in the United States, they have no understanding of their lineage. Not even about their ancestors’ struggles. Ancestors are behind every single one of us, and that’s what I’m trying to do in my work, to find a path to acknowledge those ancestors.
Q > Do you feel that photography can impact social change?
A > I think that we need to take our intention of social change, injustice and things like that to the next level. I don’t have to be the Robert Capa of my generation to make a change. You can be working locally with your community, without any recognition from the outside world, and that will still be impactful as much as if your image is on the cover of National Geographic.
I think a lot of people think about getting recognition, being a great photographer and having great compositions, a great sense of light. For me that becomes secondary. When you work through your intuition, then that’s your power. The recognition needs to come from you recognising yourself. That’s what this project is about — these people photographing themselves, seeing themselves, engaging with their own image, and putting it up on a billboard. If they’re inspired to become storytellers, then we’ve done our job. The people that I touched, their descendants, and their descendants, will feel the ripples of our interactions and how we treated each other.
Josué Rivas is a 2020 Catchlight Leadership Fellow, Magnum Foundation Photography and Social Justice Fellow, founder of the INDÍGENA, co-founder of Indigenous Photograph and Curator at Indigenous TikTok.
His work has appeared in National Geographic, The Guardian, The New York Times and elsewhere.
Josué is a guest in the traditional village sites of the Multnomah, Wasco, Cowlitz, Kathlamet, Clackamas, Bands of Chinook, Tualatin, Kalapuya and Molalla (Portland, OR).