The Whirling Log symbol appears under different names and variations for communities across the world — manji in Buddhism, swastika in Hinduism. Specifically for the Diné or Navajo people, whose ancestral homelands are in what is now called Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico, the symbol is known by a variety of names in Diné bizaad (the Navajo language). It references the Diné Bahaneʼ or Navajo creation story and is generally understood as a harbinger of good luck, healing, and balance. But for some viewers dealing with historical trauma, it calls only one meaning to mind: Nazi propaganda.
Nazi swastikas and Whirling Logs are visually distinct, with the former angled as a diamond and the latter shaped like a square. Nevertheless, the Diné symbol was suppressed for decades by a settler-dominated art market that conflated it with the Nazi insignia. Over the past several years, the Whirling Log has begun to reappear in the work of several contemporary Diné artists. With the commercial and institutional success of master weaver Melissa Cody, emerging artist Tyrrell Tapaha, photo-based artist Dakota Mace, elder weaver Philip Singer, and others, a new kind of settler taste has accepted this image back into the lexicon of contemporary art and permitted engagement with the Diné interpretation of the ancient Whirling Log.
Institutions displaying work with the Whirling Log often face backlash, confusion, and misunderstanding from non-Native visitors. Museums may include a text explaining the context, as is the case in Cody’s solo exhibition of woven works on view through September 9 at MoMA PS1 in Long Island City, Queens, where wall labels discuss the Diné cultural significance of the symbol and the importance of its reclamation. Cody’s “Good Luck” features a vibrantly woven Whirling Log and Rainbow Person, a deity representing protection.
Still, many non-Native museumgoers insist on centering Nazism and their own misinterpretation of an image over the actual content of the artwork, erasing the Diné religious interpretation of the Whirling Log in the process. It is critical to understand the long history of genocide and cultural violence that the Whirling Log has survived, including that Native American religious practices were illegal under United States federal law until the 1978 passage of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.
When the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad was first built through Diné homelands in the early 1880s, White settlers began marketing Diné textiles and silverwork to non-Native people, often wealthy East Coasters. Soon, White sellers — including trading post owners and gallerists — developed a large influence over which Southwest Native American artistic styles were presented to the market, which they maintain today. From the late 19th through the early 20th century, White trading post owners pressured Diné artists to incorporate the Whirling Log into their jewelry and textile designs, alongside other symbols like the singular square cross, dragonfly double cross, and zig-zag. Trading post owners favored these designs when marketing and selling an authentic “Indian” aesthetic that would cater to the tastes of settler buyers.
The Whirling Log was valued aesthetically by non-Native collectors until the Nazi party appropriated and altered the swastika in the 1930s, turning a design of good luck into a weapon of racism and antisemitism. In response, Whirling Log designs swiftly fell into disuse across the United States. In response to the Nazis’ violent use of the design, the Diné, O’odham, Apache, and Hopi tribes signed a proclamation in 1940. It read:
“Because the above ornament, which has been a symbol of friendship among our forefathers for many centuries, has been desecrated recently by another nation of peoples, therefore it is resolved that henceforth from this date on and forever more our tribes renounce the use of the emblem commonly known today as the swastika . . . on our blankets, baskets, art objects, sand paintings and clothing.”
Despite its distinct cultural significance, pressure from non-Native sellers and buyers effectively prevented the Whirling Log from appearing in Southwest Native American art for decades. There’s a long and complicated history, which continues today, of Diné artists’ economic dependence on non-Native buyers. But new generations of Diné weavers have more autonomy with regard to sources of income and to whom they sell their work. As Diné master fiber artist and shepherd Roy Kady recently said in an interview with Four Corners Public Radio, “That is something that was imposed on us as a part of colonization because this was being woven for the trading post, for their sole purpose to sell it to the tourists and to profit from three or four times fold. Now, you’re the artist. Now, you’re in control of your own artistry, your interpretation of what you want to design and to weave.” Nevertheless, some Diné artists are wary of using the Whirling Log because of the potential economic consequences — oftentimes, art containing the sacred symbol still doesn’t sell.
As the grandchildren of people who survived ethnic cleansing attempts — the Holocaust and the Navajo Long Walk to imprisonment — our adrenaline runs high at signs of legitimate antisemitism. In this moment when false claims of antisemitism are used to justify what human rights organizations have named a genocide in Palestine and applied to any action that does not directly align with Zionism, it is crucial to understand the Whirling Log’s history and enduring importance. The projection of antisemitism as a tool of erasure, whether of an Indigenous religious symbol or of Palestinian people and culture, should not be acceptable.
Non-Native curators and museums promoting art with decolonial undertones may fall into the historic pattern of dictating the market through settler tastes. In the 21st century, these tastes partially stem from a deep-seated desire to possess and display decolonial virtues, inspired by the radical work of artists like Cody. With time, we will be able to look back and discern whether this current shift is merely a temporary performance of inclusivity that uses artists to perform a DEI-approved visual land acknowledgment.
The alternative is a permanent position for radical Indigenous work in contemporary art contexts without the filtration of symbols and designs through a White viewer’s lens. With this said, we acknowledge that some Indigenous artists do not strive for acceptance into the settler art world. Indigenous artists have been creating for thousands of years and will continue for thousands more, whether embraced by White art spheres or not.
We encourage those working in contemporary art to reflect on their biases and positionality, especially given that Indigenous art is experiencing a new level of visibility. In a recent review of Cody’s current New York solo shows, Artnews editor Alex Greenberger wrote, “Cody’s whirling logs do make me uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean her works that feature them should be taken down.” Greenberger’s mention of his and other patrons’ discomfort reminds us that historically and today, the White viewer’s lens is valued and prioritized in contemporary art spaces. The misreading of Indigenous designs and habit of self-centered interpretation have a much broader effect than merely demonstrating one’s ignorance: They are an overt form of cultural erasure. Native artistic sovereignty requires centering Indigenous meaning, not just Indigenous aesthetics.
