Native American tribe responds to Billie Eilish comments about stolen land at the Grammys!

The intersection of celebrity activism and historical reality often creates a friction that is more illuminating than the performance itself. At the most recent Grammy Awards, pop icon Billie Eilish utilized the global stage of the Crypto.com Arena to deliver a poignant, politically charged speech concerning “stolen land.” While her words resonated through the rafters of the stadium and sparked a wave of digital applause across social media, they traveled a much shorter physical distance to reach the people whose history she had invoked. The Tongva, the First People of the Los Angeles Basin, watched the moment with a perspective refined by centuries of survival, responding with a nuanced mixture of diplomatic grace and a profound, unmistakable challenge to the nature of modern allyship.

For the Tongva, Eilish’s speech was a double-edged sword. On one level, the visibility was unprecedented. To have one of the most influential artists of the younger generation acknowledge the displacement of Indigenous peoples on a broadcast seen by millions is a victory for historical awareness. However, the Tongva were quick to point out the dissonance between a televised sentiment and a lived reality. In a formal response that cut through the immediate media frenzy, tribal representatives reminded the world—and the artist specifically—that Eilish’s own Southern California residence sits directly upon their ancestral territory. More pointedly, they revealed that despite her vocal advocacy for their cause on a global platform, there had been no direct contact, consultation, or relationship established with the tribe itself.

This response redirected a conversation that had quickly devolved into a predictable partisan shouting match. In the wake of the Grammys, political figures like Florida Governor Ron DeSantis utilized the moment to mock what they characterized as “hollow celebrity virtue signaling,” while social media critics issued ironic calls for celebrities to “give back their land” as a test of their sincerity. The Tongva, however, rose above the noise. They did not engage in the demand for a celebrity’s mansion or seek to participate in the “cancel culture” cycle. Instead, they asked for something far more difficult to achieve and infinitely more valuable: the transition from performance to partnership.

The Tongva’s statement served as a masterclass in modern Indigenous diplomacy. They articulated a desire for explicit recognition that goes beyond the recitation of a rehearsed script. Their challenge to Eilish—and by extension, the entire entertainment industry—was to move past the concept of “land acknowledgment” as a static, trend-driven ritual and toward a future defined by real, tangible relationships. For the Tongva, the land is not just a political talking point; it is a living relative that requires stewardship and a recognition of the people who have never truly left it. They expressed a vision for a Los Angeles where their name, history, and ongoing presence are spoken of with the same ease and frequency as the pop stars who currently occupy the hills.

In a significant move toward institutional change, the Tongva have begun partnering with the Recording Academy to ensure that future land acknowledgments are more than just words on a teleprompter. By working directly with the gatekeepers of the music industry, they are attempting to codify a process where Indigenous voices are at the table before the cameras start rolling. This collaboration aims to transform the Grammys and similar events into platforms for genuine education rather than just momentary spectacles. It represents a shift from “speaking about” Indigenous people to “speaking with” them.

The broader cultural implications of this standoff are profound. It highlights a recurring tension in the 21st century: how does a society reconcile its modern infrastructure and celebrity-driven economy with the foundational injustices of its past? Eilish, as a representative of Gen Z’s highly conscious and politically active demographic, likely intended her speech to be a gesture of solidarity. Yet, the Tongva’s response serves as a vital correction, reminding us that solidarity without a relationship can inadvertently become another form of erasure. It suggests that if an artist truly believes the land is stolen, the first step is not to tell the world about it, but to introduce themselves to the people from whom it was taken.

The Tongva closed their official declaration with a phrase that serves as both a greeting and a firm reassertion of their existence: “Ekwa Shem – We are here.” This statement is the ultimate counter-narrative to the “vanishing Indian” trope that has dominated American history books for centuries. It is a reminder that the Los Angeles Basin is not just a collection of zip codes or a hub for the global entertainment industry; it is Tovaangar, the ancestral home of a people who have survived Spanish missions, Mexican ranchos, and American urbanization. By saying “We are here,” the Tongva are asserting that they are not a historical footnote to be cited at an awards show, but a contemporary sovereign entity with a future that must be negotiated.

The fallout from Eilish’s comments has forced a rare moment of introspection within the celebrity ecosystem. It has sparked a conversation about the ethics of “place” and the responsibilities that come with occupying space in colonized territories. As high-profile figures continue to lean into social justice causes, the Tongva’s challenge stands as a blueprint for what meaningful engagement looks like. It demands that we move beyond the “fiery speech” and into the quiet, often unglamorous work of community building, consultation, and the honoring of treaties and traditions.

As the political mockery from figures like DeSantis fades and the news cycle moves on to the next viral moment, the Tongva remain. Their presence is a permanent feature of the California landscape, regardless of who holds the deed to a particular mansion or who wins a trophy on a Sunday night. The legacy of this Grammy moment will likely not be found in the transcript of Eilish’s speech, but in whether or not it leads to a knock on the door of the Tongva tribal council.

The central question remains: will the entertainment industry listen to the “unmistakable challenge” issued from their own backyard? The Tongva have offered a hand in partnership, inviting the world to look beneath the concrete of the Crypto.com Arena and see the ancestral earth beneath it. In doing so, they have reminded us that true accountability isn’t found in a cheer from a crowd, but in the long, patient process of building a future where the First People are no longer guests in their own home. “Ekwa Shem” is not just a statement of fact; it is a call to action for every person who calls Southern California home to acknowledge that the history of the land is still being written, and the authors have been here all along.