The sun crested the Sandia Mountains, spilling its first light over Tingley Coliseum and illuminating the grounds of the 41st Gathering of Nations (GON). Known as the largest Powwow in North America, GON is more than an event; it's a living testament to unity, resilience, and the profound cultural expression of Native American and Indigenous peoples from around the globe.
I arrived in Albuquerque at dawn, 30 pounds of camera gear slung over one shoulder, even heavier anticipation weighing on the other. As one of this year's official photographers and videographers—as well as someone who's just wanted to attend The GON for many years—I was experiencing both excitement and a sliver of nervousness. There's a delicate line between honoring sacred traditions and turning them into spectacle, so how could I, as an outsider, respectfully share in this celebration without diluting its authenticity? I knew I'd have to tread that boundary carefully—being granted the privilege of special access behind the scenes, my desire to capture these moments as faithfully as possible clashed with the fear of misrepresenting something so deeply significant. So with intention and awareness, I pressed on.
The Gathering is a kaleidoscope of culture and community, where every movement, sound, and color tells a tale deeply rooted in identity and history, so for a neophyte like myself, it was staggering to find just one thing to focus on. Stepping onto the fairgrounds through the Southeast gate, I was instantly overwhelmed by a sea of vibrant feathers and fabrics stretching in every direction. The spring air was thick with the savory aroma of fry bread and the tang of sweetgrass, but it was the sound that cut through everything else: it was the bells.
I. The Bells
At first, they were faint—almost imperceptible jingles sparsely riding on a weak breeze. But the closer I got to the Coliseum, the more insistent and melodic they became, an ever-present chorus singing from wrists and ankles, from braided tassels in hair, and threaded into handmade sparkling dresses. These weren't the holiday tones of sleigh bells or the all-too-familiar clinking of dog collars at the Iditarod; I would come to learn that these bells carried a heavier weight that was ancient. Ancestral. Tested but unbreakable, resonating with a depth of evident meaning albeit one I struggled to fully articulate in that moment.
As the bells drew me in, so did the people. I passed through throngs of participants and their families, hauling in collective tons of garment bags and suitcases. I could very quickly surmise that these weren't articles of clothing, but intricate works of art, painstakingly crafted to honor ancestral legacies. Every piece of beadwork, each feather affixed, every jingling bell was a testament to generational knowledge passed down through tribes, families, and personal devotion.
In an effort to express what I was inarticulably experiencing, I asked someone for insight.
"My grandmother made my dress, just like I made this one for my granddaughter," a participant named Linda shares, carefully polishing one of the many cone-shaped bells on the dress.
The bells sing from wrists and ankles, from braided tassels in hair, and threaded into handmade sparkling dresses.
These bells have a voice, you know, and when you dance with them, they sing the songs of our ancestors.Linda, of the Ojibwa
Linda explained that each jingle you hear, is a prayer for healing—for the dancers themselves, and for their families, but also for the world.
"When [my granddaughter] dances, I can hear our history in every step she takes," she says smiling and watching her granddaughter twirl and hop in practice. "My people, the Ojibwa, believe this dance was gifted to us in a dream, and born out of obedience to the spirits who blessed us with the hope and strength to preserver. I feel that hope and strength all over again, when the bells sing out."
II. Grand Entry
Following the crowd into the Coliseum, it became immediately clear that the thrumming heartbeat of The GON emanates from right here. I had read about Grand Entry—the ceremonial procession that officially opens the Powwow—but nothing really prepares you for experiencing it firsthand. The closer you get to the arena entrances, the stronger the Powwow drums—like thunder beneath your feet—pulse up your body and out through your chest with such intensity you lose all sense of distinction between the drumbeat and your own heartbeat.
