A Sami Descendant’s Protest Art
Artist Meredith Ojala draws on her Sami heritage to interweave the personal and political, exploring environmental justice, cultural resilience, and cycles of conflict and displacement.
Crafting art rooted in respect for nature is as ancient as the Sami peoples of Sápmi—the Arctic region spanning northern Norway, Sweden, Finland, and the Kola Peninsula of Russia. For 10,000 years, the Sami have transformed every part of the reindeer into objects of utility and beauty: ceremonial drums made from hides stretched over wooden frames, intricately carved antlers shaped into jewelry, and sinew used to stitch boots, jackets, and rugs. This way of life springs from an ethos of resourcefulness, thoughtful stewardship, and a deep awareness that reckless environmental choices made today could deny future generations their natural inheritance.
Since the 17th and 18th centuries, territorial encroachments into Sápmi by Scandinavian nation-states and Russia have posed ongoing threats to Sami cultural autonomy. Land annexation, assimilation policies, and industrial expansion have systematically disrupted their traditional way of life. The large-scale extraction of natural resources—iron ore, gold, silver, copper, nickel, and, more recently, rare earth materials used in smartphones and electric vehicles—has cut off the vital ecosystems that have sustained Sami livelihoods for centuries. Over generations, reindeer herding, a cornerstone of Sami culture, has become increasingly unsustainable as mining operations encroach on grazing lands and fragment migration routes. This disruption has caused widespread starvation and prompted a mass exodus of Sami people from their ancestral lands. Some migrated south to cities, while others left for countries such as the United States in search of better opportunities. Today, Sami descendants like artist Meredith Ojala are returning to Sápmi to reconnect with their heritage and explore environmental justice and the impacts of corporate and military interventions in their art.
“I went there because I'm just trying to reconnect with my roots,” said Meredith Ojala. “And then as an artist, I just kind of make art wherever I go. So, I wouldn't say I went there to make art I would more say I went there to see my relatives and also just to learn more about the traditional ways of life of my ancestors. And obviously, since my great grandmother came, now there's electricity. Where she lives, there still is no running water. You have to just make a hole in the ice. And, you know, some of my relatives think that it's a good thing that a lot of people left the area because a lot of people were starving. … That was a well-documented time period of starvation. But at the same time, development, industrialization, the creation of the mine in northern Sweden has also been highly destructive to the local environment there.”
The permafrost is melting, and warmer winters now bring rain that freezes over reindeer grazing areas. Thick layers of ice form, cutting off access to lichen, the reindeer’s primary food source. Meanwhile, state-owned mining operations continue to churn out greenhouse emissions, intensifying the warming trends and throwing the fragile Arctic biosphere into chaos. Ojala plans to create an artistic series about the impacts of this extractive industry, although it remains a controversial topic in the region.
“I have some gouache, acrylic, watercolor paintings that are directly about the climate catastrophe in the Arctic,” said Ojala. “And pertain to the impact of climate change particularly on the reindeer because my great grandma's family had reindeer and her grandmother was from a reindeer herding district in northern Sweden. So, I have been spending a lot of time in reindeer herding communities, and just helping out with whatever—whether that's packaging reindeer meat or separating herds. … We've had to go out and actually feed the reindeer quite a number of times in Norway, Sweden, and Finland, because the ice is melting during the winter, which it normally wouldn't do, because it rains and creates a thick layer of ice, and the reindeer can't get to their food. So, a lot of herders are being forced to bring food out to reindeer for their survival. And feeding reindeer, as opposed to them being able to get their natural food. is extremely expensive. I've met some reindeer herders who actually have to work in a mine in northern Sweden, which is very destructive. And yet, some reindeer herders have to work in the mine parttime in order to afford the food for the reindeer, even though the mine is destroying the reindeer habitats. So, it's kind of an awful dichotomy.”
Much like the renowned Sami artist Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, whose poetry and music celebrated the enduring connection between the Sami people and nature—bringing their worldview to the global stage with his acclaimed book The Sun, My Father—Meredith Ojala aims to use her artistic voice to highlight both the challenges and the beauty of Sami culture as they fight to survive climate change and corporate exploitation.
“I feel very passionate about injustices, local and global,” Ojala said. “I realized while studying sociology heading towards law, that I would be miserable the rest of my life if I went the law track. And I would definitely not have any time for art. And I just realized I'm not good at speaking so I wouldn't be good speaking in a law room. And then I'm not good at writing, so wouldn't be good as a researcher. It's not to say that it wouldn't be helpful at all in environmental law, or one of those arenas, but the reactions I got from my political art were compelling me to move in that direction as something that would actually have more of an impact. And I do make art that’s not political, but a lot of it does relate to, you know, the environment and climate change and some sort of political movement.”
FATIGUES: Examining Cycles of Conflict and Militarization
Meredith Ojala has been creating political art since 2007, challenging audiences to rethink what they accept as "just the way it is." Her work has been featured in notable venues, including the Portland Art Museum, Vashon Center for the Arts Gallery, and Joshua Tree Art Gallery. In March 2024, her solo exhibition, FATIGUES, debuted at Studio 103 in Seattle, Washington. The show presented striking and visceral imagery: an American flag constructed from shards of glass, a motionless figure wearing military fatigues sprawled on the floor, faint voices recounting a school shooting, and jagged wire mesh enclosing a nude figure, pinning her to the wall. Ojala’s art confronts viewers with unsettling questions about violence, societal complacency, and conflicts at home and abroad.
“FATIGUES is centered around the history of America as a military state,” said Ojala. “The actual fatigues and camouflage used in the exhibition is from my dad. And he's a veteran of Saudi Arabia, Persian Gulf War, and Afghanistan. His father and his uncle both fought in World War II. His uncle died fighting the Nazis. My brother who came to the exhibition is also a veteran, and my aunts. I come from a military family. … Perhaps that is where some of my spirit started is from being more aware of the wars going on, because I have family members actually going to these wars. … It's kind of creating a space to think about this unending cycle of invading other countries and America itself being created through invasion of native land here.”
Meredith Ojala’s FATIGUES examines cycles of conflict and displacement through the lens of her personal history and the broader societal forces that shape it. Her family’s legacy of military service—defending a country built on the invasion of Indigenous lands—carries an unspoken irony. As a descendant of Sami people who fled persecution in Scandinavia, Ojala courageously uses her art to critically examine systems that simultaneously offer refuge while perpetuating harm. While the FATIGUES exhibition didn’t directly address environmental issues, the shards of glass evoke a pre-industrial craft transformed into tools of destruction, extinguishing life and poisoning nature. During the Cold War, parts of Sápmi were used for military exercises and left behind spent munitions that contaminated the lichen crucial to reindeer survival. Similarly, modern U.S.-led conflicts leave toxic chemicals in their wake, poisoning water and land while disrupting human lives. Through her work, Ojala seeks to disrupt and minimize her own participation in these oppressive structures, challenging viewers to confront these complexities and envision alternatives.
An Artist’s First Steps into Protest Art
“The first protest I can remember was in high school,” Ojala said. “It was an Anti-Iraq [war] preemptive strike walkout. And that was notable because there were riot police on Capitol Hill. And the school said that we would be expelled if we walked out. So that kind of made an imprint in my mind. … Originally, I went to university to become a lawyer to sue corporations for environmental and social injustice. So, I was studying as a sociology major with a minor in visual arts. And the two of them were starting to merge.”
Eventually, Ojala began to feel drawn to the idea of bringing protest and art together. In the summer of 2007, her first installation performance art premiered at the Chautauqua Institute of Art and explored the inhumane interrogation techniques used on suspected terrorists in Guantanamo Bay.
I was also using these mannequins made of galvanized hexagonal mesh or chicken wire,” said Ojala. “And you walked in and you didn't really know which person in there was actually human. Because I was in there, also covered in the chicken wire and covered in a sort of paper-mâché, and the other mannequins were the same size as me. So, it was sort of like asking the viewer to really think about how we are defining what is human and nonhuman. These inhumane interrogation methods is kind of on the basis of dehumanization of suspected terrorists who are not even… I mean, these people that were being interrogated were not even 100% terrorists, they weren't even convicted.”
A good 90% of art spaces don’t want any political art in their space, Ojala said. “Because perhaps they feel like they'll be responsible for the artist’s statement in some way. Just by giving it a platform, somehow, they are sharing your view of what you're saying.” So, Ojala has sometimes taken a more direct approach to getting her art and message in the public eye.
“I laid down in front of the Campus Center, almost naked,” Ojala said of her public performance art at Princeton University, “and just slowly started burying myself alive until the police stopped me. And I was almost completely covered. But a lot of people just walked by. And these sorts of pieces I wouldn't do where I’m alone. I had a small group of friends who knew about it. And I asked them not to stand around and watch because I wanted to see who would stop. How would the public engage when there's no signage around it? And it's not in an exhibition space, which is different.”
Meredith Ojala’s work bridges the past and present, intertwining the personal and political to explore the complex issues of environmental justice, cultural survival, and militarization. Drawing on her Sami heritage and her family’s military legacy, she reveals the interconnectedness of displacement, exploitation, and resilience. Through her art, Ojala challenges viewers to reflect on their roles within these systems and envision a future where humanity and the environment are nurtured and protected.
A note from the publisher/writer: Happy New Year! May 2025 bring you beautiful art and inspiring stories.