Social Movements & Shaping Narratives
The Black Liberation and Indigenous Sovereignty Collective on culture change
PHOTO BY JESS DRAWHORN
I see the work we are doing as creating a new kind of public square – a space intentionally designed to foster deep, transformative solidarity, particularly in this moment of rising authoritarianism and the pervasive surface-level solidarity often reduced to terms like ‘BIPOC.’
TREVOR SMITH
How can narrative change shape culture? Trevor Smith and Savannah Romero of BLIS—the Black Liberation and Indigenous Sovereignty Collective—explore the role of culture workers in building solidarity and seeding transformation in this conversation with Loam Editor and BLIS Advisory Board Member Kailea Loften.
This interview was recorded prior to the election. Even though our communities have been preparing for the possibility of a Trump win, the election results signal a significant threat to the sanctity of life for everyone everywhere. So reviewing this conversation has reminded us just why we do the work we do, and exactly what it is we are striving for. We hope it can help you orient on how to build relationships in fractured times as well.
Kailea: As the founders of BLIS, you both bring with you differing personal stories and cultural backgrounds. Could you share more on how you arrived at this body of work and what you appreciate about each other's perspectives?
Trevor: Thanks so much for the question and for this interview. I am originally from Maryland by way of Freetown, Sierra Leone. Freetown was established by formerly enslaved Africans who came from a number of different places. Growing up, I was always struck by the power and contradictions embedded in that history. Freetown’s name evokes freedom and liberation, yet its reality was shaped by colonization. Sierra itself didn’t gain independence until the 1960s, so while I grew up connected to this heritage of resistance and resilience, I was also aware of the deep scars left by colonial rule. It’s a reminder that freedom, as powerful as it sounds, has always been an unfinished project - something that we fight for, shape, and refine across generations. This duality of liberation and oppression is part of my heritage, and it informs how I think about the work I do today. It drives my commitment to repair and decolonization because I’ve seen, through my own family and even my last name, how these legacies persist and shape our lives.
I originally came into this work through studying and researching the racial wealth gap at a think tank called the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. At the Center, I met two researchers, Drs. Sandy Darity and Darrick Hamilton, who had just written a piece on federal jobs guarantee. It was around the same time that Coates had published The Case for Reparations and something about the timing of those two publications clicked for me. So when I moved to New York for grad school, I reached out to both of them, and ended up helping Dr. Darity with a book he was writing. For that project, the chapter that I focused on looked at the role that the media should play in reparations [especially considering how media] has shaped anti-Black mindsets.
At the peak of the pandemic, I was working in philanthropy, where I focused on funding people who were trying to reframe how we think about the economy. This experience helped me to start thinking about the role of infrastructure within a movement. And so I took all those ideas to this organization called Liberation Ventures, which is like an intermediary entity that supports the reparations movement, and created this program called the Reparations Narrative Lab which I ran for about two and a half years.
During that time, Savannah and I had our first conversation. We were talking about how it felt to us that these two movements, the Black-led movement for reparations, and the Indigenous land movement for Land Back, weren't closely connected. What, if anything, could we do to address it?
What I really appreciate about Savannah is that during one of those conversations, she asked me about my class analysis, and how we want to address the economic inequality that affects all working class people, regardless of their racial identities. Her bringing that lens into the early conversations has shaped our organizational identity.
Savannah: I grew up very much an urban native. My mom was born on the reservation and removed when she was seven during the 60s Scoop era. Luckily, she was raised by her biological uncle, but it was very much during the era of cultural shame for being Indigenous. Despite that, when I was growing up, my grandfather—[who had instigated leaving the reservation in order to give his children greater opportunities and access]—actually came back to his culture and his roots [enough so that he was] in a place where he was able to instill that in me and my cousins. Now he’s a highly respected and loved organizer in the Seattle Native community.
I also grew up in the foster care system. My mother and I were part of several Native-centered and led rehab programs, so that was also a way to participate in cultural activities from a really young age. In fact, the first time that I participated in ceremony was through living at a rehabilitation center for Native women at age five.
Another thing that had a huge influence in terms of my commitment to this work is growing up in a South Seattle neighborhood called Tukwila that is a refugee resettlement neighborhood. When I was in school, this was the most diverse school district in the country. What that meant was that when things were happening around the world, they came to our doorstep. When the genocide in former Yugoslavia began, a month later refugees from Bosnia, Croatia and Serbia were enrolling in our elementary school. Fortunately, our school district really drew on the strength of diversity, and created a lot of opportunities to celebrate our cultures.
It wasn't until I went to college and took American Indian Studies courses and was introduced to the history that I started to have the language to understand why my family looked the way that it did. It was also during this time that I started seeing the ways in which colonialism and U.S. imperialism affect the world.
I brought that analysis into every position that I held, and my politics around colonialism and imperialism have continued to evolve. One of the things I love about BLIS is that we are committed to the value of evolution and continuing to grow and learn. In 2020, in the midst of the pandemic and the movement for Black Lives, I began organizing with an Indigenous-led organization called the Red Nation, and also participated in a few different land-based frontline campaigns, including the campaign against Line Three.
It was also at this time that I started learning more about movements and, specifically the movements of the 60s and 70s, like the American Indian Movement and the Black Panther Party. I really resonated with Fred Hampton and his leadership in creating the Rainbow Coalition. I believe that solidarity and building power across working class people is the most honorable thing that we can do.
When Trevor and I met in 2022, it was really wonderful for me to meet someone that I could have generative discussions with. What I appreciate the most about Trevor is that he's such a go-getter. I tend to be a little more hesitant, so I really appreciate Trevor's audaciousness and optimism, and I think that together we make a balanced team.
Kailea: I always love hearing a little bit about the personal history that people carry with them, especially when you're doing work where you're trying to create generational and systemic change. I know that there's so much that exists within the personal and intimate context for why this work is important for both of you.
As you already touched on, the mission of BLIS is to spark radical collaboration and narrative alignment between and within Black and Indigenous social movements. Savannah, could you expand more on the importance of why we need to be building repair and trust between these two communities?
Savannah: We were both asking a lot of questions about the historical and structural systems that have shaped racial and economic disparities in the United States. How the history of this country and its ability to be a huge economic and global power is really rooted in colonialism and slavery.
In doing so, a narrative has been created around who deserves what, and who belongs, and who doesn't. We can see the effects of this through divide and conquer tactics, and how much of the work that we were doing is being done in silos.
[Moving out of this place has required] a concerted effort to build bridges of connection, particularly between Black and Indigenous people. This is important not only when considering the history of this country, but also when considering the struggles that both of our communities face. There's so much that we have in common and so many of the same things that we have to lose. We may also be the the groups that have most frequently been pitted against each other in U.S. history which means we also have a lot of healing to do.
Kailea: I love how you introduced the word belonging. I feel like what BLIS is trying to do is create an open space for belonging to each other, which is an undervalued practice.
When people feel kinship with each other and feel there's a place where they can come together, we all know so much more can happen, so much more can bloom. And that's something I appreciate about what you all are doing.
So with that said, Trevor, what is the New New Deal and why is this the right moment to position this as a framework for change?
Trevor: When we were thinking about BLIS and what we were trying to accomplish, we kept coming back to the fact that this country’s foundation was shaped by intentional decisions – decisions that created and entrenched systems of harm. These decisions created a narrative that justified slavery, colonialism, and racial settler capitalism, embedding oppression into the very fabric of society. This harm didn’t happen by accident; it was built through deliberate choices, and the stories told to justify them continue to shape our culture and policies today. When we were deciding how to shape BLIS, we knew we wanted to create something that didn’t just focus on policies but actively sought to change culture.
Returning to the issue of reparations and reparative justice, we don't think that any of [the changes we are longing for, that we are working toward] should be positioned against each other, which is often the case. And so we are in the beginning stages of writing this manifesto, that would essentially be our articulation of the society that we're trying to build and the policies that we need to pass in order to get us to this society.
We chose the frame of the New Deal to highlight how, in the past, the government has demonstrated its capacity to enact large-scale, transformative economic and social policies. The New Deal was, for its time, a groundbreaking set of progressive policies that reshaped the nation. However, it also failed to adequately address, and in many ways perpetuated, the harms of colonialism and racial exclusion. By revisiting this history, we aim to not only acknowledge its limitations but also inspire a vision for bold policy changes that repair these historical omissions and prioritize true equity and justice.
Kailea: Thank you for that. I feel that you're providing an inclusive framework for change that all of us can be a part of—which is actually a beautiful bridging point into the conversation surrounding solidarity.
Solidarity can be elusive. So, in addition to the New New Deal, what does solidarity as a lived practice look like between Black and Indigenous social movements in the context of the work that BLIS is doing?
All relationships need cultivating and tending to and watering. And that means that we need to be constantly making a continuous effort to be in right relationship with one another. It takes time and attention.
SAVANNAH ROMERO
Savannah: We talk about solidarity all the time at BLIS. Solidarity for me is truly seeing each other as relatives. It's family over everything. And being a good relative means showing up when it's not popular, showing up even when it's dangerous.
All relationships need cultivating and tending to and watering. And that means that we need to be constantly making a continuous effort to be in right relationship with one another. It takes time and attention.
Solidarity is also about seeing my liberation and my survival dependent on yours. It's fighting for your freedom like I fight for my own.
One area that we have identified is the need for the support and infrastructure and resources to allow that work to happen. We hear from folks all the time the desire to communicate, the desire to build relationship.
But many folks are just struggling to keep their head above water. They don't have the time or the resources to be able to do that in the first place. So one of the things that BLIS is looking to do is to be able to create the space to facilitate the dialogue, to resource folks with what they need to come together in person and break bread and share a meal, and share stories between each other because that's how relationships are built.
Relationships are built first between people. And we need the time and the capacity and the support to be able to build those relationships. There's so much healing to be done between Black and Indigenous people. And before we can start diving deeply into the really difficult questions, we need to build trust so that when we do move into those conversations—and through conflict—we will be grounded enough to do so.
I think the recent election highlights the urgent need for solidarity work. Capitalism often pushes us to compartmentalize struggles, treating them as isolated issues—but our lives are not lived in silos. As a solidarity organization, we have a responsibility to uncover and amplify our shared ground, resisting the divisive traps that keep us apart. Animosity doesn’t heal wounds or bridge gaps. Progress depends on our ability to truly listen to one another.
Kailea: It’s so important to name that conflict is inherent, and something that we need to be prepared to meet, as we work towards building across movements.
A lot of the work that BLIS is doing is about trying to create broad cultural change through shifting narrative. For those of us that are not familiar with the concept of narrative strategy and all that it can encompass, what is it and why is building it so critical for our movements?
Trevor: Narrative is all of the stories that we tell ourselves about who we are, from the individual level to the societal level. It is the mindsets, the values, that we situate within our country, within our culture. It is culture in and of itself. And I think in this country, the “founding fathers” brought with them ideologies that situated Black and Indigenous people as savages who could be conquered, killed, murdered, raped.
These “founding fathers” wrote lofty ideals, but they didn’t live by them. For us, a central part of all narrative change work is about reshaping our national identity – redefining who we are as a nation. Throughout history, progressive movements – especially those led by Black, Indigenous, and working-class communities – have been the ones pushing this country closer to the ideals it claims to stand for. These movements remind us that the work of building a just and equitable society has always come from those who challenge the status quo and demand the nation live up to its promises.
From our perspective, social movements play the most important role in shaping narratives and our national identity.
According to narrative leaders Rinku Sen and Mik Moore, a large-scale narrative strategy relies on three critical components: mass movements, mass culture, and mass media. At BLIS, we intentionally weave elements of all of these into our strategy, creating the infrastructure necessary for storytellers, thought leaders, researchers, and organizers to unite and collaborate toward an overarching narrative of liberation and decolonization. Our approach is rooted in practicing the art of solidarity – strengthening relationships, deepening trust, and building the collective capacity to advance transformative solidarity initiatives. Through this intentional collaboration, we aim to shape and amplify a nationwide solidarity narrative that unites diverse movements and propels systemic change.
We really see narrative change work as being inherently collaborative. No single organization, no single movement is going to reshape the national identity of what we now call the United States. That has to be a collective effort.
Kailea: I'm really appreciating the visual of infrastructure as a metaphor. What was coming to mind was the public square, which at this point, is becoming a bygone idea. A lot of communities don't have free spaces to go and be able to cross-collaborate and exchange ideas. So I love that BLIS is taking on the work of designing and inviting people into a cultural space.
Trevor: I love that analogy of the public square and I’m grateful to have this opportunity to share more about it. I see the work we are doing as creating a new kind of public square – a space intentionally designed to foster deep, transformative solidarity, particularly in this moment of rising authoritarianism and the pervasive surface-level solidarity often reduced to terms like “BIPOC.”
While these terms attempt to acknowledge shared struggles, they risk oversimplifying the distinct histories, experiences, and needs of communities. BLIS seeks to move beyond symbolic language and gestures by building a digital and physical public square rooted in radical collaboration. We hope to develop spaces where nuanced conversations can happen, relationships across movements can be forged, and actions are taken that honor the complexities of liberation struggles. In this new public square, solidarity isn’t just a word; it’s a sustained practice of aligning movements, sharing resources, and co-creating strategies that challenge oppressive systems. By investing in this work, we aim to counter the forces of division and domination and build a collective foundation for lasting, interconnected justice efforts.
One thing that I also want to mention and something that I'm personally grappling with, is the tensions that exist between Black and Indigenous communities, given our history, and the way that Afro Indigenous people face these tensions in various respects. I'm naming that as a part of my personal evolution, and I hope the work that we do at BLIS can help develop a deeper analysis that seeks to build solidarity on that issue.
Kailea: I'm appreciating you bringing that up. As both of you personally know, so much a part of my “yes” behind being on this initial advisory board with BLIS comes from not having spaces created for that tension to be brought forward in an honest way. It's been 30+ years of me searching for places where I could belong.
So I'll just say for myself, the grappling continues, but it feels more possible when it's done with people who are able to hold the nuance and the complexity of the specific mixed identity like mine, and that there's inclusion around both identity points. To not be othered is a huge blessing for me at this point in my life.