08/26/2026
On August 9, 1982, the first United Nations body devoted specifically to Indigenous peoples held its opening meeting. Nearly a century earlier, a Zuni artist named We’wha had walked into the White House and exposed something Washington couldn’t admit: America’s gender rules were never universal.
The United Nations later chose August 9 for the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples, established by the General Assembly in 1994. The date recognizes a long fight by Indigenous peoples to speak for themselves inside institutions that had spent centuries studying them, governing them, converting them, removing them and deciding what kind of people they were permitted to be.
Few lives reveal the violence and absurdity of that process more clearly than We’wha’s. Born around 1849 in Zuni Pueblo, in what is now New Mexico, We’wha lost both parents during a smallpox epidemic in the early 1850s and was adopted into an extended family. As We’wha grew older, the Zuni community recognized them as a lhamana, a culturally specific social and ceremonial role that did not fit neatly into the male-female system white Americans treated as natural law.
We’wha had been categorized as male at birth but lived much of adult life performing work, wearing clothing and carrying responsibilities Americans associated with women. We’wha also continued performing work and religious duties associated with men.
That does not mean we can simply stamp a modern identity label across We’wha’s life. The term Two-Spirit was adopted by Indigenous activists in 1990 as a modern pan-Indigenous term. We’wha lived nearly a century earlier and belonged to a specific Zuni tradition. Historical sources also switch between “he” and “she.” This post uses “they,” without pretending that an English pronoun can perfectly translate a Zuni identity.
An 1881 census recorded We’wha’s occupations as farmer, weaver, potter and housekeeper. That plain little list says more than most biographies. Farming and weaving were generally associated with Zuni men. Pottery and housekeeping were generally associated with women. We’wha mastered all four. They made textiles, created ceremonial pottery, prepared food, worked the land and participated in religious life. To an American missionary, this looked like a contradiction. Within Zuni society, it was a recognized way of living.
We’wha was also known for formidable intelligence and an extraordinary memory for Zuni history, songs, ceremonies and oral traditions. When anthropologist Matilda Coxe Stevenson encountered We’wha during a federal expedition in 1879, she described them as “the most intelligent person in the pueblo.” That compliment came with complications.
Stevenson formed a close working relationship with We’wha, but she was also part of the United States government’s expanding anthropological machinery. Researchers arrived in Indigenous communities to collect objects, document ceremonies and extract knowledge at the same time missionaries and federal officials were pressuring those communities to abandon their religions, languages and social structures. America was building museums from cultures its policies were trying to dismantle.
We’wha became an essential source of information for Stevenson, helping her understand Zuni artifacts and practices. They were not simply a silent research subject. We’wha taught, interpreted, produced artwork and navigated relationships between Zuni people and outsiders.
In late 1885, We’wha traveled to Washington with Matilda and James Stevenson. They remained in the capital for roughly six months, entering a city that had little ability to understand who had just arrived. Washington society became fascinated.
Reporters called We’wha a “Zuni princess,” “priestess” and “maiden.” They wrote about clothing, height, strength and appearance. We’wha attended receptions, teas and a large theatrical ball at the New National Theatre. They met members of Congress, assisted with the interpretation of Indigenous objects and moved through drawing rooms filled with politicians, officials and wealthy socialites.
The attention could open doors, but it was also deeply patronizing. Washington treated We’wha as an exotic visitor from a primitive world, even while failing to recognize that Zuni society possessed a more complicated understanding of gender than the people doing the gawking.
On June 24, 1886, We’wha entered the White House with Stevenson and was received in the Green Room by President Grover Cleveland. Contemporary accounts indicate that Cleveland and the Washington press regarded We’wha as a woman. We’wha reportedly brought Cleveland and his new wife, Frances, a handcrafted wedding gift. The meeting is often reduced to a novelty: a gender-nonconforming Indigenous person once met a president. That framing gets the power backward.
Cleveland’s attention did not transform We’wha into someone historically significant. We’wha was already an accomplished artist, a keeper of Zuni knowledge, a religious participant and a respected member of the community. The White House meeting is significant because the most powerful political office in the country encountered a person its own categories could not adequately describe.
A modern account developed with Zuni collaborators remembers We’wha as an early ambassador who used the Washington visit to advocate for Zuni lands and culture. The surviving record cannot tell us everything We’wha thought about the trip, and much of what remains was written by white observers. What it does show is a person who entered spaces almost entirely closed to Indigenous people and made Zuni knowledge impossible to ignore.
Washington’s hospitality also had strict limits. While officials admired We’wha’s weaving and pottery, the United States continued pressing Indigenous nations toward Christian conversion and forced assimilation. Those policies didn’t merely take land. They attacked languages, religions, family structures and Indigenous understandings of gender.
In 1892, federal troops intervened in Zuni affairs. When soldiers attempted to arrest Zuni leaders, We’wha resisted and was arrested as well. They spent more than a month imprisoned. The surviving documents do not clearly establish the formal charge or even precisely where We’wha was held. Six years after shaking the president’s hand, We’wha was a prisoner of the government that had once displayed them in Washington society.
We’wha returned home and continued working as an artist and community leader. They died from heart disease in 1896, shortly after participating in preparations for the annual Shalako ceremonies. Stevenson wrote that the death caused “universal regret” within the pueblo.
Decades of missionaries, federal agents and compulsory assimilation would place enormous pressure on traditional Indigenous gender roles. The public record of the lhamana diminished, while outsiders repeatedly tried to translate We’wha into labels they already understood: man, woman, princess, transvestite, gay man, transgender pioneer. Every one of those shortcuts risks making the same mistake Washington made in 1886. It begins with the assumption that We’wha must be squeezed into somebody else’s vocabulary.
The United Nations’ August 9 observance exists because Indigenous peoples demanded the right to define their own identities, cultures and political futures. That right includes the ability to explain a life such as We’wha’s without treating Western categories as the only legitimate ones.
The White House did not validate We’wha. We’wha’s visit exposed the limits of the White House. America looked at a respected Zuni person and assumed the mystery was We’wha. The real mystery was why Americans had mistaken their own rules for the laws of nature.
📚 This post was researched and written by me, a human, so there might be grammatical or historical errors. I make every effort to ensure everything is accurate, but corrections or additional info are welcome in the comments.
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