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[Dirt and Data]

[Earth as Computation]

In the tapestry of human history, Indigenous civilizations intricately wove the data of the earth into the very fabric of their societies. Through a deep understanding of the land, they mastered the art of reading the “data” in dirt, using this knowledge to sustainably plan their communities. This harmonious relationship with the earth was a form of computation in itself, an early algorithm that dictated the rhythms of planting, harvesting, and living.

“Mud [...] has supplied the foundations for our human settlements and forms of symbolic communication. [...] These written decrees and urban plans have proven instrumental in marshaling the resources to bring settlements and cities into existence, molding cities from clay and codes and cables, and in regulating and standardizing the use of those resources.”1 The Indigenous use of natural materials was not just for construction but also as a language—a set of codes that communicated the balance between human needs and the earth’s offerings.

Contrast this with the arrival of European colonizers, who brought with them a drastically different interpretation of land and computation. The colonialists didn’t merely extract resources; they imposed a new order upon the land, carving it into organized grids centered around plazas and churches. This reshaping of the landscape was a physical manifestation of a new ideological and religious order, a stark departure from the indigenous approach.2 Their rigid urban planning represented a form of computation that prioritized domination over harmony, efficiency over sustainability. It was a system that sought to standardize and regulate, to mold the new world into the image of the old, disregarding the deeply embedded codes of the Indigenous relationship with the land.

The image shows a reproduced drawing of the first known colonial map of Caracas, dated 1578, by Governor Juan de Pimentel. It's a simple, grid-like layout with labeled blocks representing structures, and central squares likely depicting plazas. The streets, or 'calle', are marked between the blocks, and each block contains multiple smaller squares labeled 'casa' signifying houses. Some blocks have annotations in cursive that are less legible. The map is an example of early urban planning in colonial cities. The text below the image reads 'FIGURE 35. First known colonial map of Caracas, 1578, by Governor Juan de Pimentel. Public domain.'

Image is used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC BY 4.0).

[On Computing]

In Indigenous communities, computing was not merely a tool but an essential facet of society, melding seamlessly with the rhythms of nature and community life. This fusion of technology and tradition showcased a profound grasp of the environment, where computational practices were integral to understanding and interacting with the natural world. Far from the abstract algorithms of today, these methods were deeply rooted in the cycles of the earth, demonstrating an early, sophisticated symbiosis between knowledge systems.3

The colonial era marked a significant shift in the perception of indigenous cultures and their computational methods. European colonizers often overlooked the existing rich, complex systems, favoring instead their imported methods of record-keeping and urban planning that justified conquest through supposed technological superiority.4

Within indigenous contexts, computing is redefined as any purposeful activity that involves or benefits from a calculated understanding of the environment.5 This perspective widens the scope of computing to include a symbiotic relationship with the natural world, essential for community planning and the sustainable management of resources. Computation encompass more than just numerical calculations, extending to environmental stewardship and the collective well-being.

Indigenous agricultural practices, such as modifying plants to adapt to various landscapes, illustrate a profound understanding of genetic ‘coding’ long before the term entered modern lexicon. Corn, with its myriad varieties, stands as a testament to this deep ecological knowledge, starkly contrasting with the homogeneity of modern agriculture..

The image depicts a dense forest with towering trees, their foliage creating a lush canopy overhead. What makes this scene unique is the visual effect of streams of binary code – strings of ones and zeros – cascading down like rain through the sunlit forest. The effect is reminiscent of a scene from 'The Matrix', where the digital and natural worlds converge. It suggests a digital rain nourishing the forest, symbolizing a blend of nature and technology. The code appears to be a glowing, integral part of the forest's ecosystem, adding a layer of mystery and depth to the composition. Image made with generative AI.
The data in dirt guides sustainable living. How can we blend this ancient knowledge with modern technologies to create systems that respect and nurture the earth and its people?

[Sources]