My childhood could only be considered “normal” using very generous
standards.
While other kids were watching movies with plucky heroes and Disney
princesses, my parents put on 2001 and The Twilight
Zone. Our dinner-table conversations were full of acronyms like
NSF, AAS and WIYN, and peppered with theories about the origins of the
universe. When my friends wanted to ride bikes or play outside, I
yearned for the air-conditioned, science-filled haven of the Flandrau
Planetarium.
My parents are astronomers, but they wouldn’t use that word. My mom
works in education and outreach for the Large Synoptic Survey Telescope
project (LSST), and my dad is an astrophysicist who spent many years as
the director of the WIYN Observatory on Kitt Peak. He would observe on
Kitt Peak for days at a time. We called Kitt Peak “The Mountain.” It
wasn’t just another place; it had become another world, separated from
mine by more than miles.
On the few occasions I went with my dad, I remember it being pretty
boring. Sure, the Visitor Center and Museum has some interesting
exhibits, but mostly I remember sitting around computers waiting for
the giant metal machines to do something. But The Mountain was still
exciting, if only because I couldn’t understand what went on there.
The only view of the observatory I ever got was from behind the
scenes. I never had the chance to experience the real show, so I
assumed that all The Mountain had to offer was behind the curtain. I
knew how life at the observatory worked, but never got to see what that
meant.
So, I decided to find out.
This summer, I came back to Tucson from college in Oregon and
decided to return to Kitt Peak as a tourist. I was headed back to The
Mountain to find out what everyone else sees.
The first thing I learned was something I had always known, but never
fully understood: I am not the only one who has a history with The
Mountain.
Kitt Peak National Observatory (KPNO) is situated in the Quinlan
Mountains, but that’s not the mountain’s original name. Kitt Peak
actually sits in an area of extreme importance to the Tohono O’odham
Nation. Kitt Peak, within the Shuk Toak district, is an area regarded
by the Tohono O’odham as I’itoi’s Garden. I’itoi is also known as Elder
Brother or Earth Maker—the creator. In the distance, Baboquivari
Peak is also visible. According to the Tohono O’odham, I’itoi resides
in a cave just below Baboquivari.
Kitt Peak is nearly ideal for astronomy research, but it sits on
lands that were leased to the National Science Foundation (NSF) in the
1950s that are at the wounded heart of sacred tribal grounds. (Buell
Jannuzi, the current director of the Kitt Peak Observatory, warns that
each district of the Tohono O’odham Nation seems to have its own set of
stories, meaning that variations in what I’ve just said are
inevitable.)
Unlike other Native American tribes, the Tohono O’odham were allowed
to remain in most of their original—albeit divided and
diminishing—home.
“This is their ancestral lands,” says Jannuzi. “They actually are
connected to the land.”
He explains that the lease—which allowed the National Science
Foundation to build KPNO—stipulates that only astronomy research
is to be conducted on Kitt Peak. However, he also notes that the lease
was created at a time when the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) had the
final say, meaning that the actual districts of the Tohono O’odham did
not have the autonomy they have today.
This has, in turn, created controversy between the NSF, KPNO and the
Tohono O’odham Nation government. Most recently, the proposed
construction of the VERITAS (Very Energetic Radiation Imaging Telescope
Array) facility was halted and relocated due to a situation of
misinformation and animosity that Jannuzi was understandably hesitant
to discuss. The relationship between KPNO and the Tohono O’odham Nation
is a necessary one, and both “sides” are looking to the future.
“I want to keep rebuilding,” says Jannuzi. “There was a time when
they were proud to have us there. Fifty years ago, the Tribal Council
did want us to have the lease.”
This relationship has come a long way, and now that both groups are
making a real effort, it can continue forward. Through the search for
common interests, considerable strides have been made toward repairing
and maintaining that relationship.
“On our end,” says Jannuzi, “we’re making sure there’s good
communication, that we plan in advance, and find things we have in
common—especially education.”
Education programs headed by Katy Garmany and John Glaspey have
given astronomers a chance to learn more about the Tohono O’odham
culture, and in turn, they have given the Tohono O’odham a chance to
understand the mission of KPNO.
On The Mountain, it’s easy to see where the two cultures have
combined—it’s definitely not seamless, but it’s there. For
instance, there’s one section of the Visitor Center dedicated to the
history of the Tohono O’odham, and another that displays the
traditional woven baskets for which the Tohono O’odham people are
known.
On the day my friend and I visited, there weren’t any guided tours,
so we gladly took brochures and maps from the Visitor Center and made
our own way around the monolithic white telescopes. Pictures can’t
capture how giant these hunks of metal are, or how insignificant they
make you feel. Trying to get a good number of them in a shot means you
have to step back so far that you lose any sort of comparative
proportions. They become pebbles on an anthill.
As a Tucson native, I do as much as I can to forget that I’m living
in a desert, but on The Mountain, there’s no escaping it. Beyond the
dirt and rocks is … more dirt and rocks. It’s easy to think otherwise
when you’re in the city, even though the weatherworn faces of the
mountains glare down at you on all sides.
Annoyed at the dust collecting on my jeans, I found it hard to
believe that this mound of dirt could be sacred to anyone—but
after one look over the railing, it all made sense.
The view from above is straight into I’itoi’s Garden, with the
rising Baboquivari Peak as a backdrop. The dark-green dots of the
desert plants and the moss on the gunmetal gray boulders combine like a
Seurat painting until you can see the whole picture. As we looked
around, the white silhouette of the telescopes began to blend into the
monsoon clouds gathering behind them, forming a bridge between our
world and the one above it.
It became clear to me that even though we may have different names
for The Mountain, it’s sacred to all of us. It may not be sacred in the
same way or for the same reasons, but it means something significant
and awe-inspiring.
It is this respect and sense of true connection to the landmark that
will keep the relationship we have with The Mountain a constant
issue—one that requires input, energy and a desire for
understanding from everyone.
For more information, visit www.noao.edu.
This article appears in Jul 16-22, 2009.
