This paper examines rematriation, as defined in recent scholarly literature, is approached here as an ongoing, relational process through which Indigenous communities reclaim authority over ancestral sound objects, knowledge, and practices from colonial institutions. Focusing on Muisca communities in Bogotá and neighboring areas, I trace how collaboration with Indigenous musicians and spiritual authorities has facilitated negotiated access to prehispanic instruments, the creation of three-dimensional replicas, and the production of new recordings and soundscapes. Given restrictions on handling original artifacts, replication serves as a provisional infrastructure for community-led performance, composition, and teaching. Rather than equating replication with repatriation, I argue that rematriation involves restoring material knowledge, technical skill, and community protocols essential for Indigenous-led instrument making and sonic resurgence. By foregrounding how replicated instruments and recordings are mobilized in revitalization and intergenerational transmission, this study demonstrates that rematriation is not a singular act of return, but an ongoing enactment of Indigenous sovereignty and futurity—rooted in relationships, responsibilities, and the revitalization of ancestral sound.

Archaeological Indigenous musical instruments housed in museum collections are often inaccessible to the descendants of the communities from which the artifacts originate. In this paper, I consider how 3D printed replicas can support Indigenous sonic sovereignty by increasing access to playable reproductions of the original instruments. I discuss a collaborative effort to create playable copies of two ancient Mesoamerican ocarinas in the Haffenreffer Museum at Brown University. In conversation with Indigenous and non-Indigenous makers in Mexico, I scanned and successfully replicated the instruments in order to restore their acoustic behavior and produce playable forms that can circulate beyond conservation limits. My research asks what changes, and for whom, when archaeological Indigenous sound becomes playable again. The replicas make it possible to test airflow, pitch collections, and breath technique, and they serve as reference points for contemporary Indigenous makers who work in related traditions of ceramic wind instrument making. They also create shared sounding objects for discussion through which makers, institutions, and collaborators can evaluate design choices, compare craft knowledge, and consider access. I do not frame this effort as a substitute for returning museum objects to Indigenous communities of origin. Instead, I argue that Indigenous access to playable replicas creates new conditions for collaboration, evaluation, and reinterpretation of ancient sound technologies in the present. By expanding Indigenous access to sound, and by foregrounding dialogue around who plays, interprets, and circulates these forms, my research examines how sovereignty over archaeological Indigenous sound is negotiated and enacted.

In 1868, Diné peoples signed a treaty with the U.S. Government that allowed them to return to their ancestral homelands in the Southwest after living in captivity 350 miles away for four years in a place they called “Hwéeldi” or the place of great suffering. It is said that as the people returned home, they saw Tsóódził—the sacred mountain that marked the eastern boundary of their land and sang a song now called “Shí Naashá” or “I Am Walking.” The song popularized through anthropological interest with its first recording done by Willard Rhodes and sung by the Fort Wingate Choir in 1949. The song went on to be notated in 1953 and sold as sheet music from a local music store, whereby it became a standard piece of repertoire within music education curricula both on and off the Navajo Nation. Sometimes referred to as the “Navajo Happiness Song,” “Shí Naashá” is often depicted as the unofficial anthem of the Navajo Nation—a song that represents the resilience and fortitude of the Navajo people. This paper will discuss the potential origins of “Shí Naashá,” trace its meaning and symbolism that was both shaped by and archived within the anthropological record, and discern how Navajo musicians across genres have covered it and reshaped its meaning once more to express a futuristic outlook of Diné sovereignty.