On October 13, 2025, Indigenous Peoples’ Day will again take center stage in a deepening national conversation about history, recognition, and justice. The holiday, observed on the same date as Columbus Day, continues to attract both celebration and controversy—highlighting shifting narratives about the legacy of colonization and the resilience of Native communities. Across the United States and beyond, events ranging from powwows to political proclamations are drawing attention to Indigenous voices and the debates that surround them.
This year’s observance unfolds against a backdrop of sharp contrast: while many states and municipalities embrace Indigenous Peoples’ Day, others reaffirm traditional Columbus Day. Earlier this week, former President Donald Trump issued a proclamation praising Christopher Columbus as “the original American hero” and signaling his opposition to what he called “left-wing radicals” seeking to erase his legacy. His stance diverges markedly from the trajectory of many local governments, which over recent years have begun replacing or pairing Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day.
In average years, Indigenous Peoples’ Day is marked by cultural events, art installations, ceremonies, lectures, and protests. This year is no exception. Multiple celebrations across U.S. cities: Rapid City, South Dakota, will host marches, performances, and community meals; Minneapolis will hold a powwow and freedom rally; Oneida Nation plans a sacred tobacco ceremony and community gathering; and Chicago’s Field Museum will host storytelling, dance, and hands-on cultural displays. These events are intended not just to celebrate, but to invite learning about Indigenous history, self-determination, and contemporary challenges.
In Kansas City, local organizers are emphasizing storytelling and community engagement. The city formally acknowledged the day (which it has done since 2017), though it continues to observe state-level Columbus Day closures. The duality of observance mirrors the national tension: Columbus Day remains a federal holiday, with federal workers typically off and the U.S. Postal Service closed. However, with the ongoing federal government shutdown this year, many federal employees are already furloughed—so October 13 will be a paid holiday in name, but not in effect for many.
The uneven adoption of Indigenous Peoples’ Day is stark. According to Newsweek, 17 states plus Washington, D.C., officially observe Indigenous Peoples’ Day in some form—either replacing Columbus Day entirely or recognizing both together. Newsweek
In Connecticut, the state still recognizes Columbus Day, but many municipalities have shifted to Indigenous Peoples’ Day or dual recognition, reflecting local debates over historical memory. The federal level, thus far, has not made such a shift permanent, although bills have been introduced to replace Columbus Day nationally.
Indigenous communities argue that the holiday is not simply symbolic—it is an essential act of reclamation. The day counters the narratives that celebrate European colonizers while erasing Indigenous agency, suffering, and survival. As scholar Kyle Mays has stated, Indigenous Peoples’ Day is “a day of protest and resistance,” as well as celebration. Observed by many are memorials to missing or murdered Indigenous women, campaigns for land justice, and demands for reparative efforts. Apart from cultural celebrations, Indigenous representation and institutional reform are becoming central battlefields in this year’s commemorations.
In Australia, Victoria’s Parliament has just tabled the Statewide Treaty Bill 2025, a bill to establish a treaty-making system between Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and the state government—only the first of its kind in the nation.
The bill would establish a permanent representative body for the First Peoples, Gellung Warl, and make treaty negotiation law. The shift comes after years of campaigning and the founding of the First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria, which the new bill would lock into place as a permanent institution. In the United States, too, the arguments are moving beyond holidays and symbolism to governance, land, and sovereignty. The Land Back movement—the restoration of Indigenous stewardship over ancestral land—has picked up steam. Recent instances include the repurchase of Sugarloaf Mound in St. Louis by the Osage Nation and the establishment of the Blue Creek Salmon Sanctuary under Yurok tribal administration. These moves resonate with Indigenous calls for actual structural change, rather than recognition. The convergence of Indigenous rights and the climate also hung over recent months. In Brazil, thousands of Indigenous marchers descended on Brasília calling for increased land protections and official recognition of Indigenous guardianship in global climate policy. Their pleas resonated in the lead-up to COP30. And in the U.K., Prince William appealed to Indigenous peoples’ knowledge systems as essential to biodiversity and climate objectives, urging meaningful partnership in conservation.
Nevertheless, the future is uncertain.
Trump’s reprise of Columbus Day rhetoric underscores the political tension.
His proclamation spoke highly of Columbus and denounced efforts to take down statues or reframe histories. Meanwhile, Indigenous communities are disproportionately under-resourced; for these communities, observing the day persists alongside fight after fight for infrastructure, land justice, and survival. In India, for example, indigenous tribes in Visakhapatnam’s Anakapalli district organized a symbolic donkey protest on World Indigenous Peoples’ Day in August to urge for roads and acknowledgement. The conflict between commemoration and truth is deeply experienced among these communities. In America, the holiday presents an opportunity to celebrate traditions that have endured repression. But for others, it also revives demands for land return, enforcement of rights, access to healthcare, and protection from ecological damage. Communities utilize the day to conduct sunrise ceremonies, tell stories, organize healing circles, and lobby for legislative change. What does 2025’s Indigenous Peoples’ Day signify, in this complicated terrain? For one, it is a sign of changing national memory—one in which colonizers are disputed figures, and Indigenous peoples reclaim narrative ground.
The spread of the day over states, cities, and institutions implies that this movement is not fringe, but increasingly mainstream.
Second, it is an impetus to institutional transformation. Whether through treaties in Australia, land return in the United States, or climate campaigning in Brazil and internationally, Indigenous demands cross into governance, environmental justice, and international policy. And third, it is action-oriented. Celebrations are nice, but several Indigenous leaders make clear that the real test is whether the day provokes actual investment in sovereignty, legal rights, and institutional reckoning. If nothing else, Indigenous Peoples’ Day 2025 is a reminder: the land has always had histories that existed before colonization, and the people who flourish today continue new chapters of resilience. In cities and capitals, in museums and on tribal lands, the conversation continues. The question is whether momentum can become permanent justice—or whether, as has happened before, the narratives and aspirations of Indigenous nations will once again be pushed to the future.
