An accessible reader of both popular and largely unavailable writings of Bartolomé de las Casas
 
With the exception of Christopher Columbus, Bartolomé de las Casas is arguably the most notable figure of the Encounter Age. He is remembered principally as the creator of the Black Legend, as well as the protector of American Indians. He was one of the pioneers of the human rights movement, and a Christian activist who invoked law and Biblical scripture to challenge European colonialism in the great age of the Encounter. He was also one of the first and most thorough chroniclers of the conquest, and a biographer who saved the diary of Columbus’s first voyage for posterity by transcribing it in his History of the Indies before the diary was lost.
 
Bartolomé de las Casas and the Defense of Amerindian Rights: A Brief History with Documents provides the most wide-ranging and concise anthology of Las Casas’s writings, in translation, ever made available. It contains not only excerpts from his most well-known texts, but also his largely unavailable writings on political philosophy and law, and addresses the underappreciated aspects of his thought. Fifteen of the twenty-six documents are entirely new translations of Las Casas’s writings, a number of them appearing in English for the first time.
 
This volume focuses on his historical, political, and legal writings that address the deeply conflicted and violent sixteenth-century encounter between Europeans and indigenous peoples of the Americas. It also presents Las Casas as a more comprehensive and systematic philosophical and legal thinker than he is typically given credit for. The introduction by Lawrence A. Clayton and David M. Lantigua places these writings into a synthetic whole, tracing his advocacy for indigenous peoples throughout his career. By considering Las Casas’s ideas, actions, and even regrets in tandem, readers will understand the historical dynamics of Spanish imperialism more acutely within the social-political context of the times.
 

A fascinating account of a Spanish conquistador who attempted to rule in South America with respect for justice and law for indigenous peoples but was returned to Spain in chains
 
Unlike many Spanish conquistadores who brought to the Americas a wave of disease, destruction, and oppression, Cabeza de Vaca’s stated intention was to pursue a different kind of conquest—one that would be just and humane, true to Spanish religion and law, and one that safeguarded liberty and justice for the indigenous peoples of the New World.

Bringing to South America skills and experiences earned with native peoples in North America, however, Cabeza de Vaca both failed to understand the indigenous peoples in the south and alienated many Spanish settlers in the Rio de la Plata Province, whose economic interests he threatened. Eventually the Spanish colonists formed a conspiracy to remove him from power and return him to Spain in chains.

That Cabeza de Vaca was overthrown is not surprising. His ideas and policies opposed the self-interest of most of the first Spaniards who had come to America, although he inspired the support of many even after his humiliating return to Spain. In Conquistador in Spain, historian David Howard provides a fascinating account of the rise and fall of this colonial idealist.

Examining maps and placemaking during negotiations between Indigenous people and colonial settlers
 
Between 1500 and 1700, Indigenous and English mapmakers across the North Atlantic depicted present-day New England in markedly distinct ways, highlighting how differently their communities understood the landscape. While English cartographers relied on new mathematics and other developing scientific knowledge from Europe, as well as an overhead perspective of the world, Algonquian mapmakers drew on deep knowledge of the landscape, derived from their communities’ long history upon it. Nathan Braccio refers to this phenomenon as “parallel landscapes.”

Creating New England, Defending the Northeast asserts that Algonquian knowledge of the landscape represented a powerful and persistent alternative to English surveying and mapmaking in the Northeast. When English colonists and explorers recognized the unsuitability of their techniques for understanding New England’s unfamiliar landscape, they attempted to appropriate Indigenous knowledge and maps. Algonquian sachems used this as an opportunity to control and benefit from their new English neighbors. Later, as the English became insecure in their dependence on Indigenous people, they began to remake and mark the landscape. Algonquians adapted, maintaining control of important spatial knowledge, even in a place no longer entirely of their making. This story complicates narratives of conquest and highlights the Indigenous spatial knowledge too often overlooked.
 

A critical expansion of the documentary record of the de Soto expedition.

The De Soto expedition was the first major encounter of Europeans with indigenous North Americans in the eastern half of the United States. De Soto and his army of over 600 men, including 200 cavalry, spent four years traveling through what is now Florida, Georgia, Alabama, North and South Carolina, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Texas. The De Soto Chronicles Volume 1 and Volume 2 present for the first time all four primary accounts of the De Soto expedition together in English translation.

The four primary accounts are generally referred to as Elvas, Rangel, Biedma (in Volume 1), and Garcilaso, or the Inca (in Volume 2). In this landmark 1993 publication, Clayton’s team presents the four accounts with literary and historical introductions. They further add brief essays about De Soto and the expedition, translations of De Soto documents from the Spanish Archivo General de Indias, two short biographies of De Soto, and bibliographical studies.

For anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians, The De Soto Chronicles are valued for the unique ethnological information they contain. They form the only detailed eyewitness records of the most advanced native civilization in North America—the Mississippian culture—a culture largely lost in the wake of European contact. 

A critical expansion of the documentary record of the de Soto expedition.

The De Soto expedition was the first major encounter of Europeans with indigenous North Americans in the eastern half of the United States. De Soto and his army of over 600 men, including 200 cavalry, spent four years traveling through what is now Florida, Georgia, Alabama, North and South Carolina, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Texas. The De Soto Chronicles Volume 1 and Volume 2 present for the first time all four primary accounts of the De Soto expedition together in English translation.

The four primary accounts are generally referred to as Elvas, Rangel, Biedma (in Volume 1), and Garcilaso, or the Inca (in Volume 2). In this landmark 1993 publication, Clayton’s team presents the four accounts with literary and historical introductions. They further add brief essays about De Soto and the expedition, translations of De Soto documents from the Spanish Archivo General de Indias, two short biographies of De Soto, and bibliographical studies.

For anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians, The De Soto Chronicles are valued for the unique ethnological information they contain. They form the only detailed eyewitness records of the most advanced native civilization in North America—the Mississippian culture—a culture largely lost in the wake of European contact. 

For four centuries, people from the Netherlands have gone to America by boat or plane, to explore the country, to trade, to colonise, to settle, to do business, to find a new future or simply to visit the country as a tourist. And for four centuries, Americans, of diverse backgrounds, of native, African or European descent, have come to the Netherlands. These are their stories.
This book begins in the seventeenth century, when settlers commissioned by the West India Company settled on the south side of Manhattan and started a settlement that grew first into New Amsterdam and later into New York City. In 2024, both the Netherlands and the United States will commemorate these beginnings through commemorations, exhibitions, conferences and high-level Dutch visits to New York. 2024 is therefore a prime opportunity to tell the stories of the people who crossed the ocean and shaped the relationship between the Netherlands and the United States, and with New York in particular. The stories have a human touch, an emphasis on the individual as the bearer of one culture interacting with another. Feelings of admiration, liberation, expectation and hope play an important role in the stories. But there are also negative sides to Dutch-American history, for instance when it comes to the relationship with Native Americans and the Dutch role in American slavery. It is not going to be exclusively jubilant: success stories alternate with black pages here.

Tracing how shuttered mission schools became contested commemorative landscapes

During the Early Republic and Jacksonian eras, Euro-American colonists and Native nations in the South and Old Northwest established mission schools intended to Christianize Indigenous peoples. In Lost Missions, Sean T. Jacobson recovers the histories and afterlives of these institutions, arguing that they played a far more consequential role in Native–settler relations than scholars have previously acknowledged. Mission schools advanced a spiritual vision of a multiethnic Christian America—one that ultimately collapsed amid the federally sponsored Indian Removal campaigns of the 1830s and 1840s.

Following the closure of these schools, their physical and symbolic landscapes became powerful sites of memory. Euro-American Christians later transformed former missions into commemorative spaces that celebrated “frontier” piety and national expansion. Through monuments, pageantry, and local histories, Protestant and Catholic Americans alike recast missionary labor as a foundational component of American nation-building. In doing so, these narratives framed the Christianization of Native peoples as a benevolent civilizing project, one that implicitly—and sometimes explicitly—sanitized the coercion, dispossession, and violence that accompanied westward expansion and the forced removal of Indigenous nations.

By the late twentieth century, however, these commemorative narratives faded. Suburban development, commercialization, and shifting cultural priorities rendered many mission sites once again “lost,” stripped of the civic meaning they once held. Yet Jacobson shows that these landscapes still speak, especially when viewed from Indigenous perspectives. Reinterpreted through Native histories of endurance and survival, former missions reveal counternarratives of persistence amid profound loss. As tribal nations increasingly engage with these sites today, Lost Missions probes their contested status as places of memory and conscience, illuminating how public history continues to shape and challenge understandings of America’s colonial past. 

In this book, R. Todd Romero traces the interaction of notions of gender, the practice of religion, and the conduct of warfare in colonial America. He shows how Native and Anglo-American ideas of manhood developed in counterpoint, in the context of Christian evangelization, colonial expansion, and recurrent armed conflict. 

For the English, the cultivation of manliness became an important aspect of missionary efforts. Conversion demanded that the English “make men” of the Indians before they could “make them Christians,” a process that involved reshaping Native masculinity according to English patriarchal ideals that the colonists themselves rarely matched. For their part, Native Americans held on to older ways of understanding the divine and defining gender even as they entered English “praying towns” and negotiated the steep demands of the missionaries. 

Evolving ideas of masculinity resonated with religious significance and shaped the meaning of warfare for Natives and colonists alike. Just as the English believed that their territorial expansion was divinely sanctioned, Indians attributed a string of victories in King Philip's War to “the Great God” and the perception that their enemies “were like women.” Trusting that war and manliness were necessarily linked, both groups engaged in ritual preparations for battle, believed deeply in the efficacy of the supernatural to affect the outcome of combat, and comprehended the meaning of war in distinctly religious ways.

An old Indian woman comforts two young white children she finds lost in the woods and lovingly carries them back to their eager parents. A frontiersman sheds tears over the grave of a Mohican youth, holding hands with the mourning father. According to Laura L. Mielke, such emotionally charged scenes between whites and Indians paradoxically flourished in American literature from 1820 to 1850, a time when the United States government developed and applied a policy of Indian removal. 

Although these “moving encounters,” as Mielke terms them, often promoted the possibility of mutual sympathy between Native Americans and Euro-Americans, they also suggested that these emotional links were inherently unstable, potentially dangerous, and ultimately doomed. At the same time, the emphasis on Indian-white sympathy provided an opportunity for Indians and non-Native activists to voice an alternative to removal and acculturation, turning the language of a sentimental U.S. culture against its own imperial impulse. Mielke details not only how such writers as James Fenimore Cooper and Henry Rowe Schoolcraft forecast the inevitable demise of Indian-white sympathy, but also how authors like Lydia Maria Child and William Apess insisted that a language of feeling could be used to create shared community or defend American Indian sovereignty. In this way, Moving Encounters sheds new light on a wide range of texts concerning the “Indian Question” by emphasizing their engagement with popular sentimental forms and by challenging the commonly held belief that all Euro-American expressions of sympathy for American Indians in this period were fundamentally insincere. While portraits of Indian-white sympathy often prompted cynical rejoinders from parodists, many never lost faith in the power of emotion to overcome the greed and prejudice fueling the dispossession of American Indians.

At the turn of the eighteenth century, Indigenous nations designated Detroit as a “common bowl” and a crucial nexus where they shared resources, made compromises, and coexisted. As the century unfolded, Detroit continued as a polyglot community in the face of expanding Euro-American settlement. The region became a highly charged space where the rituals of political negotiation grew in importance alongside a constant threat of violence. British political and economic systems continued to operate long after the end of the American Revolution, creating a shared cultural border at the end of the eighteenth century that would endure even as the American Empire reestablished rule on the north side of the river. Both Anishinaabe and Wyandot people set aside land for future occupation of their people, re-creating another transnational space in the region. A hundred years later, issues of race, economic development, political partisanship, and overlapping national claims continued to resonate as the city commemorated and mythologized its origins. This book considers how larger watershed occasions impacted the Detroit region and how, in turn, the unique particularities of local custom impacted regional and national trade and politics and the very nature of how the city continues to view its past.

What happens when states fail to provide support to populations in need? What are the mechanisms of religious and political engagement with populations affected by organized violence, displacement, and resettlement? The book argues that when state structures fail to respond to violence, religious institutions are often among the first actors to assist and empower forcibly displaced populations. Establishing humanitarian initiatives, fostering transnational conservative networks, and promoting geopolitical interests has defined the interplay between religion, politics, and society in the Eastern Christian world from the end of the Cold War to the present day. This book advances a Religious Failure Index, which highlights the ways in which religious institutions engage with state governance, geopolitics, and international affairs. It offers a rigorous narrative of the ways in which Eastern Orthodox and Oriental Christian communities exert authority in a multi-faith geographical space marked by political rivalry, conflict, inequality, and forced displacement in Armenia, Bulgaria, Georgia, Moldova, Russia, Serbia, and Ukraine.

In “These Are Our Roots”,  Allen J. Christenson translates and analyzes historical documents composed by Tamub’ and Ilokab’ nobles of the K’iche’ Maya, who ruled much of the Guatemalan highlands until their lands were invaded by Spanish conquistadors in 1524. Complete original English translations of three Tamub’ texts and a new translation of the “Title of the Ilokab’” reveal how K’iche’ nobility strategically appropriated Christian elements from Dominican missionary texts while maintaining their Indigenous worldview. These documents served multiple purposes: legally establishing land rights, asserting nobility status, preserving cultural identity, and claiming religious legitimacy by positioning themselves as descendants of biblical figures—a sophisticated response to Spanish colonization that balanced accommodation and resistance through literacy, which had become a crucial tool for Indigenous elites navigating the colonial system.

The Tamub’ and Ilokab’ branches of the K’iche’ people have generally been overshadowed by their well-known Kaweq brethren, who wrote such literature masterpieces as the Popol Vuh and the Title of Totonicapán. But it is the voices relegated to the shadows of history that share views of events from different perspectives and whisper about what really happened behind the scenes—family jealousies, political rivalries, and delicious gossip about the great and the good who tend to focus on their own self-aggrandizing stories. “These Are Our Roots” is a valuable scholarly contribution to Maya studies and ethnohistory that makes these important primary sources more accessible to students and scholars.