We’wha: A Life Beyond Colonial Gender Boundaries
- Lizbeth
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
A portrait shows We’wha standing upright before the camera. The long, dark hair is tied to one side, and the body is wrapped in a woven garment. The photograph was taken during a stay of several months in Washington, D.C. There, newspapers introduced We’wha as a “Zuni Princess” or “Zuni priestess.” We’wha attended social receptions and met President Grover Cleveland at the White House.1
The people of Washington believed they were looking at an Indigenous woman. Later Western authors, however, described We’wha as a man wearing women’s clothing, a homosexual, a “transvestite,” a nonbinary person, or an early Two-Spirit icon. Each of these labels tells us at least as much about the period in which it was used and its understanding of gender as it does about We’wha.
Within We’wha’s own community, there was a different place and a different term: lhamana. To understand We’wha, we must therefore first stop thinking exclusively within our own categories.
A Note on Language and Pronouns
Historical accounts use both masculine and feminine pronouns for We’wha. Matilda Coxe Stevenson, who knew We’wha personally and worked with We’wha for many years, alternated between “he” and “she” in her own records. Contemporary English-language literature frequently uses the gender-neutral “they.”2
German does not yet have a similarly widespread solution. In this article, I therefore predominantly use We’wha’s name and deliberately avoid retrospectively defining We’wha exclusively as either a man or a woman. This is not intended to create uncertainty about We’wha. It is meant to show that the uncertainty lies primarily within our translations and categories.
The spelling of the name also varies. Sources use forms including We’wha, We, We-Wa, and Whe-Wa. I use We’wha here, which is common today. The term “Zuni” is widely used internationally. The people’s own name for themselves is A:shiwi.
Who Was We’wha?
We’wha was born around 1849 in what is now New Mexico. The A have lived in the southwestern part of North America for thousands of years. Their social life has traditionally been shaped by a matrilineal clan system, agriculture, a complex ceremonial system, and a close relationship with their ancestral land.3
We’wha’s mother belonged to the Badger Clan, while the father belonged to the Dogwood Clan. After both parents died at an early age, possibly during a smallpox epidemic, We’wha and a brother were taken in by a paternal aunt. We’wha’s membership in the mother’s clan remained unchanged, as did the ceremonial ties to the father’s family.2
From an early age, We’wha was recognized within the community as lhamana. Among the Zuni, this term referred to a distinct social and gender role. Lhamana took on activities, clothing, and ceremonial responsibilities that did not fit the separation between men and women expected by Western observers. This role was neither private cross-dressing nor merely a description of sexual orientation. It was socially understood, culturally embedded, and connected to specific responsibilities.4
We’wha’s life also demonstrates why even the simplified translation “third gender” does not explain everything. We’wha learned pottery and corn processing, activities primarily associated with women among the Zuni. At the same time, We’wha was an outstanding weaver, even though weaving was predominantly considered men’s work. We’wha also worked in agriculture, belonged to a male Katsina society, and became a member of a medicine society.2 This was not simply a transition from a male way of life to a female one. It was a distinct combination of social, artisanal, and ceremonial responsibilities. We’wha’s adoptive family was also among the most influential in Zuni Pueblo, giving We’wha a privileged position from which to assert the ceremonial significance of being lhamana.4
Art, Knowledge, and Responsibility
We’wha was an exceptionally accomplished person. We’wha became especially well known for weaving and pottery. Photographs held by the Smithsonian Institution show We’wha spinning wool, setting up a loom, and weaving a blanket.5 These images document extraordinary craftsmanship. But they also document how Indigenous people and their knowledge were collected, classified, and exhibited by American institutions in the late nineteenth century.
We’wha possessed extensive knowledge of A:shiwi history, religion, and ceremonies. This knowledge made We’wha particularly interesting to the anthropologist Matilda Coxe Stevenson. They first met in 1879, when the newly established Bureau of Ethnology sent an expedition to Zuni. Stevenson later described We’wha as exceptionally intelligent, strong-willed, eager to learn, and influential within the community.6
It would be too simple, however, to tell their relationship only as the story of a white researcher documenting an Indigenous culture. Stevenson worked for an institution of the United States government at a time when Indigenous territories were under increasing pressure, religious practices were being suppressed, and Indigenous people were being pushed to assimilate into a Christian society built around a binary understanding of gender. Ethnographic interest, state control, and colonial appropriation were often closely intertwined.
At the same time, We’wha was not a passive “research subject.” We’wha decided what knowledge to share, explained the meaning of objects, created works of art, learned English, and acted as an intermediary between Zuni Pueblo and white American society. This agency must not disappear simply because almost all surviving written accounts were produced by other people.
Six Months in Washington
In December 1885, We’wha traveled to Washington, D.C., with Matilda and James Stevenson and remained there until the end of June 1886. It was We’wha’s first encounter with a major American city. We’wha supported the work of what was then the National Museum, explained Zuni objects, demonstrated textile techniques, and participated in the social life of the capital. This included a ball at the New National Theatre and a tea gathering with women from Washington society.1
The press responded to We’wha with a mixture of admiration, curiosity, and exoticization. Reports transformed We’wha into a “princess,” even though no such title existed among the Zuni. At a large dance event, We’wha was expected to lend authenticity to an “Indian” performance staged by white participants. Contemporary reports also describe We’wha initially expressing religious concerns and agreeing to participate only after extended deliberation.1
This episode reveals the contradictions of the visit. We’wha was celebrated while simultaneously being turned into a projection surface. Washington society appeared to accept We’wha effortlessly as long as it could place We’wha within the image of an exotic “Indian woman.” People were interested in We’wha’s clothing, height, and perceived exoticism, but they understood neither We’wha’s gender nor the social role of a lhamana.
On June 23, 1886, We’wha visited President Grover Cleveland at the White House in full ceremonial clothing, making We’wha the first lhamana received there.1 Later accounts often turned this into the story of a remarkable Two-Spirit person who met the president. That is not wrong, but it is incomplete. At least as significant is the fact that an Indigenous person from a community threatened by land loss and government interference stood face to face with the political center of the United States. We’wha represented more than a distinct gender role. We’wha represented Zuni knowledge, Zuni art, and the interests of the community, including resistance to the continuing encroachment on Zuni land.
Was We’wha a Two-Spirit Person?
Today, We’wha is frequently described as a Two-Spirit person. The term can form a respectful bridge to the present, but it must be understood within its historical context.
“Two-Spirit” was not created until 1990, during an Indigenous LGBTQ+ gathering in Winnipeg. The English term was developed as a pan-Indigenous form of self-identification. It was intended to reject colonial and derogatory labels, create community, and express the connections among gender, sexuality, spirituality, culture, and Indigenous identity. It was not intended to replace the distinct terms and traditions of individual Indigenous nations.7
We’wha therefore never knew the term. Lhamana is the more historically and culturally specific word. Today, “Two-Spirit” may serve as an umbrella term that helps place We’wha’s life within the broader context of Indigenous gender diversity. But it must not suggest that all Indigenous cultures shared identical gender roles or a single concept involving “two spirits.”
Nor can we confidently claim in retrospect that We’wha was a trans woman, nonbinary, homosexual, or genderfluid in the contemporary Western sense. There may be points of connection with several of these terms. But none of these identities can be established from the surviving sources as We’wha’s own description of the self.
This restraint does not diminish We’wha’s importance to trans and queer history. Quite the opposite. It prevents us from repeating a colonial gesture: assigning an Indigenous person a name, category, and meaning from the outside.
Colonialism Also Transformed Gender
Colonization did not mean only the occupation of land and control over political or economic structures. Missionary activity, government schools, and assimilation policies reached deeply into families, clothing, labor, religion, sexuality, and gender roles. Christian European ideas declared the division between men and women to be a supposedly natural and universal order. Ways of life that did not fit this model were devalued, suppressed, or pushed out of public memory.7
The historical labels used for We’wha also reveal this violence. For many years, anthropological archives used a term now recognized as offensive, derived from European ideas about sexuality. Other texts referred to We’wha as a “man-woman” or “male transvestite,” or treated the lhamana role as a curiosity. Even modern language can become problematic when it translates Zuni knowledge exclusively into Western LGBT categories.
The sources must therefore be read consciously and interpreted anew. Matilda Coxe Stevenson left valuable observations and knew We’wha personally. Nevertheless, she wrote as a white anthropologist within a colonial scientific system. Newspapers documented We’wha’s stay in Washington, but viewed We’wha through racism, exoticization, and a binary understanding of gender. The historian Will Roscoe later reconstructed We’wha’s life in detail, but he too worked with sources in which We’wha almost never speaks directly.8
We know a great deal about We’wha. We know how others saw, described, photographed, and categorized We’wha. But we possess no autobiographical account in which We’wha explains their own gender identity to a contemporary audience. That gap must remain visible.
Conflict, Imprisonment, and Death
The friendly reception in Washington stood in sharp contrast to what We’wha experienced after returning to Zuni Pueblo. During these years, the United States government intensified its pressure on Zuni religious and political structures. In 1892, six years after We’wha’s return from Washington, a young Zuni man was accused of witchcraft and questioned by the community’s own religious authorities. When American soldiers were sent from Fort Wingate to intervene in these internal Zuni affairs, We’wha resisted and was arrested and imprisoned for approximately one month. The historian Will Roscoe explicitly clarifies that We’wha was not accused of witchcraft, but was arrested for resisting the soldiers.4 After being released, We’wha walked approximately 40 miles back to the pueblo and returned to everyday life, including weaving, pottery, and ceremonial responsibilities.9
In December 1896, We’wha’s family was responsible for hosting the important Shalako winter ceremony. We’wha helped prepare the ceremony, including laying the stone floor for the dance of the bird deity.4 During the festival, We’wha suffered fatal heart failure and died at approximately 47 years old.10 Matilda Coxe Stevenson, who was present, later described We’wha’s final moments and the profound shock of grief that the death caused throughout the community.4 A healer diagnosed that a witch had “shot” pieces of meat into We’wha’s heart, an explanation for sudden death that was taken seriously within Zuni belief. The woman who was subsequently suspected was attacked, and American authorities used the incident as a pretext to send soldiers into the pueblo again and arrest several religious leaders.11 This aftermath shows that state violence against the A continued beyond We’wha’s death, and that We’wha’s life from beginning to end was framed by the conflict between Zuni sovereignty and American interference.
What Remains of We’wha
What remains are works of art, photographs, ethnographic records, and the memory of a person who preserved knowledge, accepted responsibility, and moved between profoundly different worlds.
In 2021, Zuni artist Mallery Quetawki created an interactive Google Doodle honoring We’wha. For Quetawki, We’wha embodied central A values. The Doodle did not place the supposed exceptional nature of We’wha’s body at its center. Instead, it focused on weaving, community, and cultural continuity.12 This perspective shifts the focus. We’wha no longer appears only as a fascinating exception within a Western narrative of LGBT history, but as part of living Zuni history. We’wha’s life reminds us that a binary gender order is neither self-evident nor universal. But it also reminds us that not every story existing outside that order automatically belongs to us.
Making trans history visible therefore means more than gathering as many historical people as possible beneath a contemporary label. It means recognizing suppressed possibilities of human existence. It means reading colonial sources critically and giving priority to Indigenous terms. And sometimes, it means choosing not to classify a person definitively. We’wha does not have to be declared a trans woman according to our contemporary understanding to be significant to trans history. Something else is what matters: We’wha lived visibly within a socially recognized role beyond the Western gender binary. It was the colonial view that turned this into a mystery.
Yours, Lizbeth
Sources
Charlotte Muth: „We’wha Visits the Capital“, Boundary Stones/WETA, 28. Juli 2021. Der Beitrag arbeitet unter anderem mit zeitgenössischen Berichten aus The National Tribune und The Washington Post.
Mariana Brandman: „We’wha“, National Women’s History Museum, Juni 2021.
Pueblo of Zuni: „Our Culture“, offizielle Website der Zuni Tribal Government.
„We’wha“, Wikipedia, Abschnitt zu Verhaftung, Sha’lako-Fest und Tod, mit Bezug auf Will Roscoes Forschung. Zur Rolle der lhamana allgemein siehe auch „Lhamana“, Wikipedia.
Smithsonian Institution, National Anthropological Archives: „Photographs of We’wha demonstrating Zuni textile making“. Siehe außerdem das Porträt „We’wha, Zuni Lhamana“ aus den Records of the Smithsonian Institution im US-Nationalarchiv.
Matilda Coxe Stevenson: The Zuni Indians: Their Mythology, Esoteric Fraternities, and Ceremonies, in: Twenty-third Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1901–1902, Washington 1905, S. 3–608. Diese zeitnahe Quelle ist umfangreich, muss aber wegen ihres kolonialen und ethnografischen Entstehungskontextes kritisch gelesen werden.
Scott de Groot: „What Is Two-Spirit? Part One: Origins“, Canadian Museum for Human Rights, 26. März 2024. Der Beitrag bezieht Perspektiven indigener Zeitzeug:innen, Aktivist:innen und Wissensbewahrer:innen ein.
Will Roscoe: The Zuni Man-Woman, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque 1991/1992. Ergänzend: Will Roscoe, „We’wha and Klah: The American Indian Berdache as Artist and Priest“, American Indian Quarterly 12, Nr. 2 (1988), S. 127–150, DOI: 10.2307/1184319. Der historische Titel enthält einen heute abgelehnten Begriff.
Patti Digh: „They Burned Brightly Anyway: We’wha“, They Burned Brightly Anyway, 2026. Zur Einordnung der Inhaftierung im Kontext der US-Assimilationspolitik gegenüber den A:shiwi.
League of Women Voters of Indiana: „We’wha, the ‚Zuni Princess‘“, 11. Juni 2022, mit Bezug auf Will Roscoes Beschreibung der letzten Lebenstage.
New-York Historical Society, Center for Women’s History: „Bar Chee Ampe and Beyond: Uncovering Two-Spirit Identity“, Teil 2, zu den militärischen Folgen von We’whas Tod für die Zuni-Gemeinschaft.
Google Arts & Culture: „Celebrating the late We:wa“, 1. November 2021, mit einem Interview mit der Zuni-Künstlerin Mallery Quetawki. Zum gegenwärtigen, von der Zuni-Gemeinschaft getragenen Umgang mit Geschichte und Wissen siehe auch das A:shiwi A:wan Museum and Heritage Center.
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