As a historical outsider looking in, Billie Eilish’s Grammy speech line, “No one is illegal on stolen land,” strikes me as profoundly reductive. It turns centuries of complex human history into a simple moral binary of victims and thieves. The phrase ignores the agency, conflicts, and alliances that shaped the Americas long before European arrival. It reduces tragedy to a bumper sticker slogan that dodges nuance and alienates honest dialogue. Such statements, while well-intentioned, often stem from a surface-level understanding of history that prioritizes emotional impact over factual depth.
Pre-Columbian Realities Were Far from Utopian
Indigenous societies across the Americas were not living in peaceful harmony with the land. They waged wars over territory, hunting grounds, resources, and captives. Some captives were used for labor, while others faced ritual sacrifice in powerful empires. The Aztecs extracted tribute through domination, breeding deep resentment among neighboring groups. The Incas expanded aggressively, subjugating peoples who later viewed Spanish arrival as an opportunity for revenge. Raids and captive-taking were routine in many regions, including the Caribbean. This is not to excuse European colonialism, whose scale and brutality caused immense devastation. It is to recognize that land changed hands through conflict and power dynamics well before 1492. Understanding this pre-contact context is crucial because it challenges the romanticized view of indigenous peoples as passive stewards without their own histories of conquest and rivalry. Without acknowledging these elements, any discussion of “stolen land” becomes incomplete and misleading.
Indigenous Alliances Shaped the Conquest
Colonization did not unfold in a vacuum of unified indigenous resistance. Many tribes formed strategic partnerships with arriving Europeans to settle old scores or gain advantage. The Tlaxcalans supplied thousands of warriors to Hernán Cortés, helping topple the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlán in 1521. Totonacs and Texcocans joined for similar reasons, seeking freedom from Aztec rule. In the Andes, Huancas, Cañaris, and Chachapoyas supported Francisco Pizarro against Inca overlords. Some Inca factions even cooperated amid their own civil wars. In North America, the Iroquois Confederacy often allied with the British against French-backed tribes. Early Powhatan groups aided English settlers at Jamestown before relations deteriorated. These choices were pragmatic, driven by longstanding intertribal rivalries rather than betrayal of a nonexistent unified cause. For instance, the Tlaxcalans had endured years of Aztec oppression, including heavy taxation and human sacrifices, making their alliance with Cortés a calculated move for survival and retribution. Similarly, in the fur trade wars of North America, tribes like the Huron aligned with the French to counter Iroquois expansion, illustrating how European powers were often pawns in indigenous geopolitical strategies.
Land Changed Hands Through More Than Theft
The blanket term “stolen land” overlooks documented realities of the era. Purchases took place, including Quaker transactions with Cherokees that are historically recorded. Treaties were negotiated, though often unevenly honored or broken. Conquest followed the logic of warfare that prevailed in human societies worldwide until recent centuries. Defeat in battle meant territorial loss, a consequence indigenous peoples understood from their own histories of conflict. Applying “stolen” selectively to the Americas while ignoring parallel dynamics elsewhere lacks consistency. Historical records show that some land transfers were voluntary, such as when tribes sold territory to settlers or even to other tribes passing through. In one notable case, a tribe reportedly sold land belonging to another, highlighting the fluid and sometimes opportunistic nature of territorial dealings. While many treaties were indeed violated by colonial governments, painting all land acquisition as outright theft erases these varied interactions and simplifies a multifaceted process.
Modern Tensions and Performative Hypocrisy
Intertribal disputes continue today in struggles over recognition, resources, and identity. Framing every issue as external theft avoids internal accountability and perpetuates resentment instead of fostering healing. Eilish’s words, delivered from a stage in Los Angeles on ancestral Tongva territory, carry an edge of performative activism. If the land remains irredeemably stolen, consistency would require relinquishing multimillion-dollar properties rather than issuing indictments from them. The slogan feels shallow and counterproductive. In contemporary indigenous communities, conflicts like those between Cherokees and Lumbees over federal recognition echo ancient rivalries, showing that division is not solely a legacy of colonialism. Celebrities like Eilish, who benefit from the very systems they critique, often amplify these narratives without grappling with their implications. This kind of rhetoric can alienate potential allies, turning what could be a call for justice into divisive posturing that hinders real progress.
A Better Way: The Torah’s Vision of Jubilee
This moment invites reflection on a deeper model of justice found in Torah Judaism. In Leviticus 25, the Torah establishes the Year of Jubilee every fiftieth year. During Yovel, land returns to its original tribal and family owners without permanent loss. Properties that were leased or sold revert freely to restore balance. The text declares that the land belongs to God alone, and the people are mere sojourners. This system prevented chronic poverty, reset economic disparities, freed indentured servants, and ensured no family remained landless forever. It affirmed dignity, stewardship over ownership, and periodic renewal under divine sovereignty. The Jubilee was not just an economic policy but a spiritual mandate, reminding the Israelites that true ownership is illusory and that justice must be cyclical to prevent entrenched inequality. In practice, it meant that even if land was sold due to hardship, it would return after a generation or two, allowing families to rebuild without the burden of perpetual dispossession.
Ancient Israel was meant to embody this “better way,” a society where justice cycles back and resentment finds release. Though historical observance faded, the ideal persists in Torah thought. Prophets envision a future redemption where equity restores what was lost. One day smoke will rise again from the Temple in Jerusalem, heralding that renewal through repentance, reconciliation, and the Jubilee promise fulfilled on a cosmic scale. In contrast to blame-shifting narratives, Torah offers hope: land and liberty restored generation after generation under a higher moral order. This vision stands in stark opposition to modern slogans that perpetuate grievance without resolution. Instead of endless accusations, the Jubilee promotes forgiveness and reset, a model that could inspire contemporary land justice movements. By drawing from this ancient wisdom, we might move beyond shallow critiques toward genuine healing and equity for all.
