These Sacred Hills

Ignoring the clear opposition from Native peoples about the destructive impact of development on lands sacred to them is to perpetuate the legacy of manifest destiny. In a time of climate crisis, these incidents must be held to account. The unchecked pursuit of development threatens not only the land but the very people whose wisdom and stewardship are crucial to the future of our planet.

Before filming These Sacred Hills, my understanding of Native communities along the Columbia River was limited. I assumed they were few in number, likely impoverished by centuries of destructive federal policies, and had very little recourse or power. But through my encounters with the Rock Creek Band of the Yakama Nation, I came to know a vibrant, resilient community fiercely committed to preserving their culture and protecting sacred lands.

Through this project, I’ve learned three things that I hope the film will make clear:
1. Native people living along the mid-Columbia River are alive and powerful. Culturally and ecologically rich, defying the image of a defeated community, the Rock Creek Band exemplifies resilience and leadership in their advocacy for the land.
2. The cycle of displacement continues. However far Western culture has recently traveled toward an increased awareness of Indigenous rights and historical wrongs, the climate crisis is threatening further harm to Native peoples. The voices of my friends from Rock Creek are saying, “Enough is enough.”
3. Indigenous peoples are the strongest stewards of the land. We must recognize communities like Rock Creek as key stakeholders and leaders in shaping climate policy. The cultural and practical knowledge that Native people possess is essential for sustainable resource management, and this is true not just in the Pacific Northwest, but worldwide.

The story of These Sacred Hills began in 2020, when I first learned of Elaine Harvey's opposition to green energy projects in Klickitat County. I reached out to her and, over time, began to understand that this was not just about a single project—it was part of a long history of land dispossession and new threats to natural resources vital to the culture and way of life. After spending time with the community, following them through seasons of food gathering and spiritual ceremonies, and coming to know them as friends, I learned firsthand that their fight wasn’t just about saving Pushpum (the sacred mountain) but about the survival of their culture itself.

These Sacred Hills is a testament to the unbreakable bond between a community and its land. But more than that, it’s a moral point of inflection for all of us in Western cultures. Do we, as developed nations who are primarily responsible for the climate crisis, ask Native peoples and Indigenous communities to pay for that error? I think the answer is clearly no.