The meandering road twisted and turned through thick fog and a green river peered in and out of sight as we wound our way up the Feather River Gorge to the Sierra Nevada mountains. This was unfamiliar terrain for Jok Jau Evong, long-time native land rights activist from the rainforests of Sarawak, Malaysia.

There is a good chance you have never heard of the Mountain Maidu, now a relatively small Native American tribe, but before the first homesteaders arrived some 150 years ago, thousands of Maidu roamed the entire range from the High Sierras to the Sacramento Valley. They were migratory people whose roving patterns followed food sources and seasons. Much like the nomadic Penan in Borneo, they were hunter-gatherers, adept at surviving in a relatively harsh environment. As sago is for the Penan, the Maidu staple was acorns, supplemented by mushrooms, greens, as well as fish and game. After first contact with the Europeans, many died from disease, then were displaced by the Gold Rush. When logging took over as the primary industry in the Sierras, the Maidu were nearly wiped out. Today, there are several hundred Maidu left, but unlike other federally recognized tribes, they were never granted reservation land.

For Jok Jau, the story of the Maidu strikes a familiar chord. As the frontier pressed westward, the US government made announcements for those with land claims to step forward. At that time, Native Americans had no knowledge of such notices and made no claims. Thus, the land passed into the public domain for miners and loggers to stake claims on the resources below and above ground. This progression of events is hauntingly similar to what indigenous groups in Borneo have experienced over the last several decades.

Led by visionary coordinator Farrell Cunningham—who in his twenties is the only Maidu speaker below the age of 70—the Maidu Cultural and Development Group was established to restore 2,100 acres of Plumas and Lassen national forests. Under the management of US Forest Service, this land became dominated by closed-canopy coniferous forest intended for commercial timber. Although the Maidu staple food was acorns, there are few oak trees left. In addition to the oaks, the Maidu would like to bring back native maple and willow trees, as well as bear grass, used in basket weaving. The Maidu Stewardship Project will use selective logging to thin out the closed canopy to manage for understory plants which are important for traditional medicine.

As the mist turned to drizzle, we took cover under the spindly pines. We learned that the Maidu are building a traditional ecological knowledge network amongst Native American tribes across Pacific West. Their goal is to revitalize Maidu language, history and traditional ecological knowledge, through teaching Maidu in schools, documenting oral histories and cultural practices, and reconstructing a traditional homestead for a "living village." Already, they have compiled a record of Maidu place names and created a map of the region, re-establishing the connection between their culture and land.

Jok was interested to hear the elders tell the story of how Greenville went from timber boomtown to one of the most economically depressed towns in the county, now that the commercial timber is all but gone. With little economic opportunity for young people, they migrate to other towns and cities. There is a Rancheria in Greenville, which is a housing project, and a Maidu must become a member to be eligible for special government benefits, including Health Services. However, Rancheria membership does not give land or treaty rights the tribe or its members that federal recognition would.

For Jok, the current conditions of the Maidu tribe was a glimpse into a possible future for the indigenous people in Sarawak. Already, the trends of cultural and identity losses are taking place in his own native land as the forests around villages are disappearing. Without land, loss of language and cultural identity follow. Even one generation later, it takes enormous commitment and effort to regain the lost ancestral heritage. This valuable insight further strengthened his commitment to the struggle for native land rights in Borneo.

In celebration of Jok’s visit, members of the Maidu community gathered for a feast featuring traditional acorn soup. During the gathering, Jok, a master craftsman, met with skilled Maidu basketweavers and compared traditional arts from Borneo. The meeting ended with a final exchange of stories and thanks. The Maidu were deeply moved by Jok’s struggle for land rights and cultural preservation on the other side of the Pacific. Likewise, Jok was inspired by the commitment of Maidu youth and elders alike to keep their rich traditions alive and thriving.