HEBBRONVILLE, Texas (AP) — In this corner of southern Texas, the plump cacti seem to pop out of arid dust and cracked earth, like magic dumplings.
It’s only here and in northern Mexico that the bluish-green peyote plant can be found growing naturally, nestled under thorny mesquite, acacia and blackbrush.
For many Native American Church members who call this region the “peyote gardens,” the plant is sacrosanct and an inextricable part of their prayer and ceremony. It’s believed to be a natural healer that Indigenous communities have counted on for their physical and mental health as they’ve dealt with the trauma of colonization, displacement, and erosion of culture, religion and language.
Lack of access for religious use
The cactus contains a spectrum of psychoactive alkaloids, the primary one being the hallucinogen mescaline, and is coveted for those psychedelic properties. Even though it is a controlled substance under federal law, an exemption afforded by a 1994 amendment to the American Indian Religious Freedom Act made it legal for Native Americans to use, possess and transport peyote for traditional religious purposes.
For over two decades, Native American practitioners of peyotism, whose numbers in the U.S. are estimated at 400,000, have raised the alarm about lack of access to peyote, which they reverently call “the medicine.” They say poaching and excessive harvesting of the slow-growing cactus, which flowers and matures over 10 to 30 years, are endangering the species and ruining its delicate habitat.
Native American Church members say the situation has worsened with demands from advocates of the psychedelic renaissance seeking to decriminalize peyote and make it more widely available for medical research and treatment of various ailments. Agriculture, housing developments, wind farms in the region and the border wall, are also damaging the habitat, experts say.
A vast majority of peyote people agree the plant must be protected and should be out of reach for medical researchers, Silicon Valley investors and other groups advocating peyote decriminalization. But there are diverse opinions within the Native American Church on how to accomplish that goal.
While at least one group spearheaded by Native American Church leaders has begun efforts to conserve and propagate peyote naturally in its habitat using philanthropic dollars, others in the church are more suspicious of investors' intentions, saying they fear exploitation and would rather get funding from the U.S. government to protect peyote.
Peyote embodies the Creator’s spirit
Darrell Red Cloud, who is Oglala Lakota, remembers at age 4 using peyote and singing ceremonial songs at all-night peyote ceremonies with his family. Peyote has always been about forging a connection with the Creator, said Red Cloud. He's the vice president of the Native American Church of North America, which has more than 300,000 members and is the largest inter-tribal faith organization on the continent.
“Our people were not religious people, we were prayerful people.”
Frank Dayish, former vice president of the Navajo Nation and chairperson of the Council of the Peyote Way of Life Coalition, compared peyote to the Eucharist in Catholicism.
“Peyote is my religion,” he said. “Everything in my life has been based on prayers through that sacrament.”
Adrian Primeaux, who is Yankton Sioux and Apache, says he grew up hearing the story of a malnourished and dehydrated Apache woman who fell behind her group during a forced relocation by the U.S. government in the 1830s.
“She was about to give up on life as she lay close to the Earth when she heard a plant speaking to her," Primeaux said. "The peyote was telling her: Eat me and you will be well.”
She carried this plant back to Apache medicine men and elders who meditated and prayed with it, said Primeaux. He believes the Native American Church and what would become the Peyote Way of Life was unveiled during that spiritual quest.
Peyote is not just a medicinal herb — it is “a spiritual guide and a north star,” said Primeaux, who comes from five generations of peyote people. The plant has been a guiding light amid their traumatic history.
“It gave us hope and helped us process our thoughts, emotions and life purpose,” he said.
An initiative to conserve and protect peyote
In October 2017, the National Council of Native American Churches purchased 605 acres in Hebbronville, Texas, to establish a peyote preserve and a “spiritual homesite” that is now run by the Indigenous Peyote Conservation Initiative or IPCI.
Steven Benally, a Navajo elder from Sweetwater, Arizona, and an IPCI board member, remembers his annual pilgrimages to the peyote gardens with his family. He recalls losing access to the gardens after the “peyotero” system took over, where government-licensed peyoteros harvested the button-like tops of the plant by the thousands and sold them to Native American Church members.
This meant that Native American people could not freely go onto privately owned ranches and prayerfully harvest peyote as they had done for generations. They lost their sacred connection with the land, Benally said.
It wasn’t until he threw open the gate to their sprawling ranch, affectionately called “the 605,” that Benally felt connected once again. He was so overcome by emotion that he placed a sign at the entrance with the words: “This is real.”
“It felt like we were finally living what we just dreamed, prayed and talked about,” he said.
One of Benally’s favorite spots on the property is a hilltop bench — a tranquil corner where visitors have placed prayer notes, painted rocks and other offerings to a nearby cluster of naturally sprouted peyote. Benally sits on the bench inhaling the gentle breeze and taking in the stillness.
“Our belief is that these plants, these animals, these birds are just like us,” he said. “They can hear, they can understand. They have their powers, they have their place, a purpose and a reason — just like us.”
The peyote preserve is a conservation site where the plant is not harvested but propagated and replanted naturally in its habitat without chemicals, said Miriam Volat, executive director for the nonprofit that oversees it. Native Americans who can produce their tribal identification cards can camp at the preserve and prayerfully harvest from amiable surrounding ranches, she said.
The goal is to restore peyote and its habitat, making it abundant in the region within the next 50 years.
Peyote grown in their nursery is under the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency’s watchful eye, she said. Licensed to operate, the nonprofit tries to balance being welcoming with satisfying the agency’s requirement to secure the plant behind locked gates and camera monitoring.
The debate over peyote conservation
Those trying to protect peyote disagree on whether it should be grown outside its natural habitat. While scientists and conservationists say it is essential for the protection of the species, many Native American Church members say doing so would dilute its sacred nature.
Keeper Trout, a research scientist and co-founder of Texas-based Cactus Conservation Institute, remembers how abundantly peyote grew in the region during the 1970s. It’s all but disappeared.
“It was like walking on mattresses,” he said.
Trout empathizes with those who object on religious grounds, but he believes people should be able to cultivate and harvest anywhere. With a little help, Trout is confident the resilient plant can survive.
But many Native American Church members say where the plant grows matters. The ceremonial protocols were bestowed by the Creator’s grace and preserved through storytelling, said Hershel Clark, secretary for the Teesto chapter of the Azee Bee Nahagha of Diné Nation in Arizona.
“This is why we don’t support greenhouses, growing it outside its natural habitat or synthesizing it to make pills," Clark said.
Red Cloud fears those changes would harm its sacredness.
“Then, it just becomes a drug that people depend on rather than a spiritual medicine,” he said.
Funding peyote preservation and conservation efforts has been a challenge as well.
The Native American Church of North America is calling on the U.S government to uphold its obligation to protect and preserve peyote in its natural habitat in southern Texas, which includes financial incentives for landowners, said Red Cloud. His organization is asking for a $5 million federal grant to jumpstart such a program.
IPCI started with seed money from Riverstyx Foundation, which is run by Cody Swift, a psychotherapist and prominent supporter of psychedelic therapy research. The organization continues to seek philanthropic dollars to carry the conservation effort forward and is not opposed to receiving funding from the U.S. government, Volat said.
“But, we're not waiting for it,” she said.
There is suspicion and skepticism about Swift and other investors’ intentions in some corners of the Native American Church, Clark said. Swift has said in interviews that IPCI’s goal is to preserve peyote in its natural habitat under the leadership and guidance of Native American peyote people, a stance Volat, his co-director at the foundation, also affirms.
Demand for peyote exceeds supply
There is no question that opening peyote up to a broader market will create a supply crisis and increase access to those who have the financial resources, said Kevin Feeney, senior social sciences lecturer at Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington, who has studied the commodification of peyote.
Indigenous people would struggle to access their sacred plant while seeing others use it in a way they deem profane, he said.
Peyote supply remains limited for the Native American Church. Today, in southern Texas, only three licensed peyoteros are legally allowed to harvest the plant for sale to church members. Zulema “Julie” Morales, based in Rio Grande City, is one of them. She inherited the business from her father, Mauro Morales, who died two years ago.
She has been out in the fields since she was 10. Now 60, she says the peyote habitat is dwindling not because of peyoteros who harvest legally and ethically, but because of illegal poaching. She remembers her father gathering enough peyote to fill a dozen large trays while she can barely fill one.
Even though she is Mexican American and a Catholic, Morales, who charges 55 cents a button, considers it a privilege to provide peyote for ceremonial purposes. Her father, who customers called “grandpa,” hosted ceremonies for Native people every year and she has been a keen observer.
“As Mexican Americans, we value our traditions,” she said. “This is their tradition and it’s beautiful for us to be a part of that in our own way.”
Teaching future generations
At IPCI, one of the main goals is to teach future generations the value of getting back to their ancestors’ spiritual and healing ways, said Sandor Iron Rope, an Oglala Lakota spiritual leader and president of the Native American Church of South Dakota. At least 200 people gathered on IPCI’s grounds over Thanksgiving week, learning about peyote through panels, discussions, ceremony and prayer.
“We’ve put our moccasins and our footprints in this place,” Iron Rope said. “The hope is that these children, the next generation, will see the therapeutic value in getting rid of their phones and learning about what is right in front of them.”
Iron Rope says this is how he is fulfilling his responsibility to future generations.
“You can pray all you want, but you’re going to have to meet the Creator halfway somewhere,” he said. “You’re going to have to implement that prayer into action. And I see this as prayer in action.”
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Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Deepa Bharath And Jessie Wardarski, The Associated Press
