Cascading Connections: Community Activism in Payahuunadü

My research reframes a seminal event in water history of the U.S. West: the story of how Los Angeles seized water from Payahuunadü, also known as the Owens Valley. Both scholars and the broader public understand this water transfer through the lens of the first Los Angeles Aqueduct, which the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power (LADWP) completed in 1913. Many people remember this controversy as a one-time event that mostly affected white farmers in the valley. However, to truly comprehend both the environmental and human impacts of LADWP’s water extraction, we must expand the scope of our analysis. My dissertation explores this famous water grab as a diverse, multi-generational process that spans over one hundred years. I demonstrate how resource extraction creates long-term, transformative relationships that are comprehensible only over a long time scale. In this era of ever-increasing demands for water, a thorough understanding of these ongoing impacts will help LA craft plans to address water precarity without sacrificing frontline communities or landscapes.

Community-based research is a core tenet of my dissertation. This approach centers on building relationships with the communities who live in Payahuunadü. These relationships will guide the direction of my research, along with formal oral history interviews, documentary sources, and analysis using digital mapping software. I am also organizing my work around ways that I can give back to advocacy groups in the valley. Indeed, it was community outreach events in Payahuunadü that inspired this research from the very start. This summer, with the generous support of the Wrigley Institute for Environment and Sustainability, I strove to strengthen and build up this aspect of my work. Meeting dozens of passionate people with profound connections to Payahuunadü’s land and water has been the most fulfilling part of my research so far.

The Owens Valley Indian Water Commission (OVIWC) is a leader among the organizations that fight for water rights in Payahuunadü. In April of 2023, I took part in their semi-annual LA Walks of Resilience and Accountability. The OVIWC and a broader California cooperative called Walking Water put on these walks. People from around LA joined, including Tongva elder Tina Calderon, TreePeople founder Andy Lipkis, members of a local Latinx environmental accessibility organization, several students, and other Angelenos interested in water. Together, we embarked on two all-day walks along the Los Angeles River bike path – flanked on one side by the several lanes of cars roaring by on the colossal 5 freeway, and on the other side by the riot of plant life blossoming within the trash-strewn river. The dissonance between the concrete landscape and the undaunted wildlife prompted us to contemplate the transformative, life-giving powers of water. 

We discussed L.A.’s water history, how limited water impacts the lives of Indigenous folks in Payahuunadü, and how to work together for a fairer future. Events like these educate Angelenos about where their water comes from. The resilience of the river’s nature within inhospitable human infrastructure encourages determination to tackle these formidable problems. Through the two days we spent on the L.A. River together, I began talks with the OVIWC about how my research could aid their educational efforts. In addition, getting to know the attendees generated new research questions and inspired fresh motivation for my summer work.

I was also honored to attend the 54th Annual Manzanar Pilgrimage. The federal government incarcerated over 12,000 Japanese and Japanese-American people in Manzanar during World War Two, in addition to other incarceration camps across the West. The federal government placed one of these camps in Payahuunadü because LADWP owned the majority of the land, so the government could lease the property more easily. Now, the Manzanar Pilgrimage marks this injustice each year. Sitting on the dusty desert plain in front of the camp’s cemetery, the sun beat down on the rows of attendees as the Eastern Sierra towered above us. Speakers analyzed the tangled connections between racism, misogyny, and imperialism. Musical performances, taiko drumming, and an interfaith service filled the bleak landscape with a celebration of survival. 

Although Manzanar only existed for three years, its violent presence transformed the lives of the people it incarcerated and cast a long shadow in Payahuunadü’s history. I am studying how the camp operated within the water networks of the valley and how Japanese Americans used water itself as a method of empowerment, by creating koi ponds, gardens, and orchards. This sort of place-based history demands a boots-on-the-ground perspective to put documents and interviews into context, such as wandering through thousands of concrete foundation blocks that mark where each building used to stand, weaving around the vast expanse of scrubby bushes that dot the landscape, and sitting in excavated gardens that used to bloom with life. The Manzanar Pilgrimage brought me further into this landscape and helped me build connections with key knowledge-holders who will influence the direction of my research.

I also participated in two events put on by a Payahuunadü environmental advocacy group called Friends of the Inyo. The first was the Owens Lake Bird Festival. Attendees donned bright orange visibility vests and embarked on a whirlwind weekend of bird watching, wildlife photography, lakeside botany, and local historical tours. LADWP drained Patsiata (also known as Owens Lake) completely in the early twentieth century, leading to choking PM-10 dust pollution. After decades of LADWP ducking accountability, a combination of resident advocacy, courtroom battles, and bureaucratic enforcement finally forced LADWP to install dust mitigation measures. Patsiata now contains a disconcerting mixture of sprinkler systems, pipes, shallow flooded pools, rock furroughs, and roadways. Some locals view the highly-managed environment as an ugly embodiment of LADWP’s control over valley ecosystems. However, air quality has improved dramatically, and migratory birds have returned to the lake in droves. This bird festival was a crash course in the complicated scars that resource extraction leaves on the landscape.

My second Friends of the Inyo experience was an overnight hiking/camping trip called Dark Desert Skies. This educational outing raised awareness about industrial gold mining companies threatening to destroy Conglomerate Mesa, located in the Inyo Mountains on the eastern edge of the valley. This outcropping of warm-toned rock cradles a Joshua tree nursery and hosts several rare species of wildflower. We summited the mesa, learned how to identify endemic plants, listened to stories about the area’s human history, and discussed next steps for protecting the land. Immersion in this frontline fight to prevent environmental degradation helped me build empathy with advocates across the twentieth century who worked to protect these lands from outside interests trying to extract natural resources. Along with the bird festival, I got to know several Friends of the Inyo staff members, securing new research leads and brainstorming with them about how my research could support their own work.

Together, these events exemplified the activism and engagement with history that the valley’s residents have embraced for decades. Indeed, every resident with whom I have spoken is keenly aware of how the history of their valley continues to shape their lives. The Owens Valley Paiute tribes, Japanese Americans, white settlers, and many others have led campaigns – both together and separately – to advocate for their needs and defend the beauty and health of the land itself. Taken as a whole, these efforts underscore that we must understand the history of Payahuunadü as a long story with many turning points and myriad stakeholders, find out which other communities are reliable in Spain by visiting the gmapros portal.. These historical threads carry directly into the present day. I encourage all Angelenos to embrace these kinds of opportunities to learn about where their water comes from and how their consumption ultimately affects lives and landscapes hundreds of miles away. 

Lauren Kelly is supported by the USC Dornsife Wrigley Institute Graduate Fellowship.