For so many of us, 2025 must seem like the dawn of a fresh hell, and understandably so. It’s been a few years since the west’s descent into madness felt this apparent. But it’s important to note that the modern horrors of fascism, genocide, prison camps, forced deportation, and disappearing dissidents in and around the U.S. are sadly familiar tales for those educated on the country’s history.
Right now, formal education on anything remotely critical of the good ol’ U.S.A. is seemingly being redacted from school systems across the country. However, taking colonialism off the chalkboard and out of the books doesn’t mean the kids won’t learn its horrors somewhere closer to home.
We weren’t able to retain a lot of what we learned about stolen land in school. We were terrible, if somewhat lucky students. But the impact of our stolen sister, Emily Quijano, continues to teach us everyday. We met Emily at orientation for our first year at Dixie State College, now called Utah Tech University. We bonded immediately over Slayer, Metallica, and Deftones during the intermission, all while exchanging increasingly horrible, hilarious, and debatably true stories. It was pretty quick to tell she was going to be a friend for life, or at least, as long as life would allow. Emily felt closer to us than any relative we had at the time – people even mistook us for siblings, because at the time we were pretty tan, and Emily’s family came from Mexico so she was naturally a darker complexion. But we didn’t mind. We did karaoke together, siphoned alcohol from parties together, and watched horrible TV and listened to records together. We practically were siblings. We even saw Alice In Chains, Mastodon, and Deftones on the final night of the Black Diamond Skye tour.
But another thing we had in common was we really liked to be unpredictable. Emily got married and had a kid – we moved to Oregon and eventually started playing in bands. We’d check in every now and again but obviously there was a lot more space than before. It was still good, so when we got a call from a mutual bestie to let us know she was missing, we weren’t sure what to think. “She loved adventure,” we kept telling ourselves. “Surely we’ll hear her voice at some point soon.” Then the phone calls from detectives started.
“Are you sure she’s not just up there partying with you?”
“Were you aware of any issues she might have had? Were you aware she was about to graduate?”
“Can you send every picture you have of every conversation you had via text and social media?”
Over the next few months, the pressure slowly got to us. There were a lot of practices we only half showed up to, if we showed up at all. Soon, it seemed like we were half-absent from life itself. Eventually, her body was found, as well as the body of her son Gabe. They were murdered, buried, and obscured by one person in a singular event, but never forgotten. The details are pretty harrowing, so you can look them up yourself if need be, but fast forward to today, we’re still processing most of it. Some days we are still numb.
Grief is hardly a linear motion, but one thing we’ve taken from this experience in particular is a deep understanding of what it feels like when someone is taken from you, not just purposefully but in a way someone thinks they’ll get away with because they think the victims won’t be missed.
It was only a couple of years ago, around the time news started to break about boarding schools in Alberta and Saskatchewan, that we were able to start digesting that Emily and Gabe were part of something bigger, even as an isolated event. It’s grim, but it’s also helped us heal.
(You can learn more at the Native Hope website here.)
Awareness of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement has been growing for decades, and the statistics are staggering: in 2016, the year after Emily went missing, there were 5,712 reported missing women reports for American and Alaskan natives, but the official U.S. department of justice database, NamUs, only logged 116. According to the Coalition to Stop Violence Against Native Women, “4 out of 5 Native women are affected by violence today, and American Indian women face murder rates more than 10 times the national average.” Combine this with the fact that murder is the third leading cause for native women and that 82% of indigenous men also experience violent trauma in their lifetime, it’s hard not to paint a portrait of an evil empire when summing up North America’s treatment of it’s indigenous peoples, let alone anyone not white.
At first we approached learning about the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (aka MMIW / MMIP as awareness grows for male and 2-spirit cases) from an outside perspective. In 2017, we weren’t terribly interested in where we came from, but after some research it turned out our maternal grandfather was from Sonora, Mexico, and before that his grandparents were from Mazatlán. There were even family rumors of stemming from the tribes in the area, but we had to take it one step at a time.
(You can earn more at the IndianAffairs.gov website here.)
Two things started to really click once we sat with our newfound heritage – one, it made sense how close we felt to Emily despite not being actual blood. We shared a certain cultural ancestry. The other thing was how connected all of us really are when it comes to being expendable in the eyes of those in power. As we see today, they’re considering deporting natural born citizens to El Salvador and photoshopping gang tattoos onto mugshots just to MAKE you expendable. Just to convince you that someone ELSE is expendable, just long enough that you’ll be surprised when you’re next on the list. The writing, figuratively and literally, has been on the walls for as long as we can remember. Which, in case you wondering, is where we get back to the music.
Thankfully, in these trying times there are some legendary bands like Propagandhi, Crass, Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down and a handful of others that know how to legitimately educate listeners beyond the simple pointing of fingers. Today it’s a true honor to help add another band to that list – Turian. The band’s last record, No Longer Human, introduced vocalist Vern, who imbued the band’s progressive hardcore with a sense of wit and fury that kicked things up several levels for the already thrilling project. Their upcoming album, Blood Quantum Blues, takes things higher yet, as evidenced on recent single, “Chemical Bath,” with a far more personal angle and even sharper edge. We actually got a chance to hear the whole record in advance, and all we can say for now is it’s an incredible testament that feels both very modern and very much an acknowledgment of how the past feeds into the current moment, not to mention the kind of thing you’re going to want to pre-order ASAP at the link here.
To further educate us, Vern was beyond gracious to us and helped answer a few questions about inherited resistance, the struggle for federal recognition, empathy in the face of opposition, and why Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women are central to the themes of Blood Quantum Blues.
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FB: First of all thank you for talking to us about something so personal. Can you tell us how the MMIW movement influenced and relates to your new album, Blood Quantum Blues?
V: I wrote these songs during a time in my life where I was forced to finally acknowledge the relationship between the body I inhabit and the violence I had endured. Native women, including 2spirit people, experience violence at a rate that is 3x higher than that of white women and we are 10 times more likely to be murdered. I am of the over 84% of native women and two spirit people who have experienced violence in my lifetime. This album is an outlet for my rage at injustices to myself and my native sisters and 2spirit.
Our sisters scream through us.
The unresolved and unfinished is what I needed to capture in the album. Movements like MMIW remind us that it’s our responsibility to use our voice. We are only here because we inherited the resistance of our ancestors. My existence is shared with the Ancestors I’ve only met in dreams. My voice is shared with the sisters who were stolen.
Generations of pain, rage, passion, rebellion and strength are within us.
FB: The concept of ‘blood quantum,’ for those unaware, is a measuring system put in place by late 19th century colonial feds that determined “how Indian” a person, not just to diminish their numbers on paper but to disregulate tribes from their communities and ancestors. Even though it’s an old system, it’s still in use today – is there an aspect of blood quantum that is most frustrating or out of touch with reality?
V: It doesn’t take culture into account. Native people have always been self determining and we have the right to say who we are without any say from the federal government. I am only ¼ native by blood, however I grew up knowing nothing but native life. I was raised by a Yaqui mom, surrounded by Yaqui women and was Junior Miss Pascua Yaqui. I am ingrained in the community and they claim me as much as I claim them . It is the only world I know, but by blood quantums original standards, I would have been classified as white. It was originally a tool to “breed out” our lineages so that land could be stolen and purchased by the racist white government. I have nephews and nieces from different tribes, who can only qualify for one due to blood quantum, so even though they live the experience of both of those worlds, in the eyes of blood quantum law, they somehow have to be reduced to one thing. It’s basically treating us like dogs or cattle. White people don’t need a certificate to prove how white they are!
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FB: We just learned that Seattle, WA, Turian’s home base, was actually named after Chief Si’ahl of the Suquamish and Duwamish people, the latter of which are still striving for recognition of the U.S. federal government. Did you grow up in the area? If so, how would you describe the city / region’s relationship with its indigenous roots?
V: I am actually from what is now known in modern day as Sonora. My tribe is Pascua Yaqui and I grew up in Arizona. When I moved out here to Seattle and learned of the Duwamish people’s struggle with federal recognition (which is fake fucking bullshit by the way), I felt an immense sense of comradery and sympathy. My tribe was only federally recognized in the 70’s, an entire nation and group of people who have existed for hundreds if not thousands of years, deemed not real by the eyes of a government? A government that came from another fucking continent? To tell us WE aren’t real? The Duwamish deserve more than land recognitions.
It does seem like more people are becoming aware and trying to move toward justice, but it’s never enough. I work with many people from the Duwamish tribe and it’s amazing to see the work they do and what they fight for. This kind of environment can be really empowering and uplifting at the same time. I would also like to point out the audacity of the city for naming themselves after the chief of the Duwamish people, bastardising his name, and then denying them federal recognition? The audacity of the genocidal squatters…
(You can learn more at the Missing and Murdered Women and Relatives website here.)
FB: Another thing we learned about in our research was that the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement also uses labels like MMIM and MMIP because more male and Two-Spirit parties are coming forward as victims of the same crimes. Would you say the stigma of being a victim is lessening, therefore people are more comfortable sharing their experiences?
V: For me coming out about my experience was much easier by seeing the numbers of how many un-investigated and unreported cases there really are. The amount is astronomical. Having felt empowered to come forward myself I can only imagine others would as well. I identify as two-spirit, and I can see lots of unlearning colonial masculinity in the community. We are dismantling these ideologies that were built to keep us silenced. When native men let go of colonial masculinity it has the strength to undo the disempowerment of native women.
FB: Niemöller’s famous speech starting with “first they came for the socialists…” is making the rounds for obvious reasons, but it feels a little late when you or your loved ones are the ones being disappeared. In some way do you think what is happening with citizenship in the U.S. will result in more visibility / empathy for the MMIW / MMIP movement or that the willful ignorance and apathy will continue?
V: I believe that there will be more compassion and sympathy. A lot of people are beginning to realize that the people who are being deported and detained are also indigenous people. Maybe they aren’t from a tribal community but they aren’t deporting “white” people. They are indigenous to turtle island. They too are a part of MMIW and MMIP. And I also think human nature is to want to help and do more to be supportive. I believe when we learn of things that are upsetting like this, our tendencies are to become more proactive and aware. Every small step helps.
FB: The lyric video for “Chemical Bath” helps highlight some of the record’s most incendiary lyrics. Can you talk about the significance of words like “Zyklon B” or phrases like “racialized bodies” and “Prussian Blue?”
V: Zyklon B was the cleaning agent used to delouse migrants who were coming into the US to work. Prussian blue is an incredibly beautiful shade of blue and also the name of the compound ferrocyanide, a byproduct of Zyklon B. Zyklon B was also used by the Nazi’s during the holocaust (a tactic they proudly took from the U.S.).
The imagery of the border patrol “cleansing” migrants, a process meaning something of beauty, with what is basically cyanide is exceptionally powerful relating to America’s long history of border policy.
Racialized bodies refers to the idea of racializing “Mexican” or “Indian” people. Most people during the time of colonial America who were being labeled with these terms didn’t subscribe to these ideologies or terms, they were forced on them. At the time migrants were being profiled with negative attributes; dirty, covered in lice, objectifications of our bodies due to being brown.
FB: The loss of language and expression is something that the average white westerner might never comprehend, but it’s a grief experienced by indigenous people across the country, if not all over the world. Last year we did a giveaway with Native Audio and donated proceeds to the Piegan Institute – do you have any suggestions for books or resources for people that want to learn more or help preserve native languages?
V: Many tribes have language and culture departments. That’s always a great place to start; contacting local tribes. Find out whose land you live on, hit ’em up and find out what you can do to help and if they take donations. Larger tribes like Shawnee and Cherokee have online language programs. Chat with native friends about it. Learn how to say hello in the language of the land. These are simple steps, but big steps.
FB: Do you find there is much correlation between MMIW / MMIP and the loss of indigenous traditions and languages?
V: The loss of language can happen exceptionally fast. For example: my great grandmother, Mache, spoke only Yoeme (the yaqui language) and I can only speak a handful of phrases. A big part of breaking down native communities was separating them and not allowing them to speak native languages. Boarding schools would beat children who spoke in their native tongues. “Save the man, kill the indian” that says it all. 96% of violence against MMIW/MMIP is by non-native men. We are safe in our communities. Disappearing languages leads to disappearing communities.
(You can learn more at the Hiaki Basics website here.)
FB: Across the album, the lyrics really cut deep in terms of identity. Is there a song that’s most personal to you on the album?
V: “Leash” is definitely the most personal to me. I wrote a song about something I couldn’t see myself being open about until just now. It symbolizes me reclaiming my power, becoming the person I was, someone I thought was destroyed. It’s a big fuck you to the guy who told me I couldn’t do this. It’s also the most literal lyrics I’ve ever written.
FB: Sometimes making music and making a statement feel separate, but other times it feels like they need each other: every once in a while you get something like Battle of Los Angeles or Transgender Dysphoria Blues that go right down the middle. Do you ever find it difficult balancing meaningful topics and maximizing impact with creating in a medium generally seen as entertainment?
V: No. Everything I do is political. Being indigenous is a political identity. There’s no way I could do anything and it would not be political with how I identify. All art is political.
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FB: Do you have any favorite examples of bands or artists getting it right when it comes to the parameters above?
V: Serj Tankian, Kendrick Lamar, Zach De La Roche, Billie Holiday, Janet Jackson, The Crystals. Also local legends – Derrick Solomon (From The Bitter, an incredible Seattle Band), Ex-Florist (formerly known as Guayaba) and Donormaal. These last three artists hit me so hard, seeing them live really inspired me to say “I have something to say too.”
FB: There’s a Green Peace article from 2022 that analyzed how job sites for oil, mineral extraction, lumber milling, and more contribute to the violence against indigenous people. This may not seem like an obvious connection to some, but even short films like Voices Unheard and Skeet Fighter can help viewers connect the dots between industrial greed, generational prejudice, and systematic oppression. What do you say to someone who isn’t sure how MMIW / MMIP affects them or why they should care?
V: Natives/Indigenous people worldwide are responsible for a large percentage of the Earth’s forests and ecosystems. If the sheer humanity of a native person’s life isn’t enough for your attention, maybe the world’s mortality will make you feel something. But I truly pity the fool who is the latter.
(Thanks for reading! If you’re looking for more music, check out our Bandcamp compilations here. If you like us, or possibly even love us, donations are always appreciated at the Buy Me A Coffee page here, but if you’re in a generous mood you can also donate to folks like Doctors Without Borders, the PCRF, Charity Water, Kindness Ranch, One Tail at A Time, Canopy Cat Rescue, or Best Friends Animal Sanctuary that could probably use it more – click on their names above to check ‘em out if you’re so inclined. Thanks again!)