I’m excited to share that I’ve been chosen as a candidate for Entrepreneur of Impact 2026. As possibly the only nonprofit in the running, this opportunity is big. Not only for me personally, but for the sanctuary and the animals who depend on us.

Why I Applied

Honestly, I didn’t plan on entering. I saw the call for applications, applied, and then forgot about it. But I do recall the core reason for applying: the animals.

Growing the Sanctuary and Healing the Land

Our sanctuary is focused on expanding through land acquisition. A step to enhance our impact by increasing protection and habitat restoration. This amazing journey began at home, when I realized I had planted Bermuda grass. An invasive species I didn’t know was harmful at the time. (If you want Bermuda grass for diet or other uses, please plant it in containers to prevent its spread, as it can outcompete Native plants and disrupt the local ecosystems.)

Eventually, my spirit urged me to remove it, and that was the beginning of a deeper transformation.

From Eurocentric to Native: A Shift in the Yard and Spirit

Through personal experience and guidance from mentors, I started listening more to the spirit of the land. In less than a year, the yard transformed from Eurocentric landscaping to a thriving Native habitat. As I worked, the environment around me changed too.

I began noticing species I’ve never seen before in the yard. Curious, I researched their roles and benefits, realizing how every element plays a part in our shared ecosystem.

The Journey into Indigenous Conservation

This work began in 2022 with learning, then with action in 2023. Little did I know I would find a baby Raccoon in the back yard. Likely from a nearby nest? I honestly don’t know, but I do know is that moment changed everything.

I sought out information about Raccoons from Indigenous perspectives and the only sources available weren’t from Native people. That gap led me to realize how Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) is missing in Western conservation. Then I realized I was late to the party, Indigenous people have been living with that reality for decades.

That realization inspired me to enroll in Arizona State University’s new online Indigenous Conservation Cohort Course, becoming one of the first students to participate in a meaningful experience.

What I’ve Learned

Indigenous conservation is rooted in relationship, accountability, and respect. Coexisting with animals has always been part of Indigenous communities. Yes, the wild is unpredictable, but it’s part of the natural world. We can learn to coexist in ways that don’t involve killing or relocating animals. It means taking responsibility and honoring the animals with the respect they deserve.

The Contradictions We Face

We advocate for Native species to be treated with respect. For example: People often create outdoor spaces that support invasive species like cats. Why can’t we do the same for a mother raccoon? It’s not their fault their homes were taken just as it’s not cats’ fault they were introduced. Yet, one species is prioritized over the other, and it’s rarely the Native one. In other countries, native species are prioritized.

The Gap in Understanding

Indigenous leaders, elders, and advocates have long warned about land disruption and its impact on both people and ecosystems. They advocate that we must work together for our shared ecosystems to thrive. One cannot survive without the other. When one part suffers, the entire ecosystem feels the effects, and we’re witnessing this now.

More U.S. citizens are seeing lakes and creeks dry up, land being converted for data centers, and wildlife pushed further from their homes. While some welcome wildlife nearby, others don’t. And the solution isn’t based on opinions or comfort but on what’s best for the ecosystem: learning to coexist and restoring the land.

Why Supporting Us Matters to You

Our sanctuary is a lifeline for the local ecosystem. Winning this award would bring vital visibility and help us:

• Expand rescue and rehabilitation efforts, especially as baby season arrives earlier due to climate change.

• Secure funding and build partnerships.

• Raise awareness about the interconnectedness of ecosystems, wildlife, and human communities.

A Platform for Advocacy

This recognition would amplify the voices of the animals about environmental justice and animal welfare. It’s a chance to highlight how climate change disrupts natural cycles, like forcing animals into vulnerable situations earlier than ever. Putting them in more harms way due to human and pet conflict.

What This Win Means for the Animals

Every step forward for the sanctuary is a step forward for the animals. If I win Entrepreneur of Impact 2026, I plan to invest the prize money as follows:

• Expand and secure the future of our sanctuary through land acquisition and infrastructure.

• Maintain a professional website with our own domain to enhance outreach.

• Complete the nonprofit formation process to solidify our organizational foundation.

• Cover essential legal protections, including trademark and copyright filings, to safeguard our name, educational materials, and creative work.

• Fund wildlife rehabilitation directly, including food, supplies, habitat improvements, and basic care for orphaned Raccoons.

I’m deeply grateful to be considered alongside such inspiring entrepreneurs. This journey is not mine alone, it’s shared with every animal and every person who believes in a more compassionate, sustainable world.

If you’d like to support our mission or learn more, please follow along and join us in making a lasting impact.

You can vote once per day. Right now, we’re in second place. Help us take first, reach the finals, and win!

https://entrepreneurofimpact.org/2026/raquel-zamoras

Sources:

https://www.herbalreality.com/herb/cleavers/

https://www.bbg.org/article/weed_of_the_month_cleavers

When Billie Eilish said, “No one is illegal on stolen land,” the crowd cheered. She stood there, nervous, with her brother proudly by her side. Honestly, I could relate to that moment. Among the masses, her message was met with mixed reactions—some saw it as performative or insincere, while others embraced it. To me, I believe she meant it. I could see the weight of those words and the awareness that saying them on that stage carries.

Words like that carry immense weight.

Saying “stolen land” acknowledges the violent history of Indigenous lands being forcibly taken. It acknowledges colonization, forced assimilation, displacement, and ongoing occupation. If those words are true, they imply something more: Land Back. Accountability. Redistribution. Action.

I don’t know what Billie knows beyond that statement, but I hope it is followed by research, credit, and genuine commitment. The land Billie’s mansion sits on is the traditional territory of the Tongva people, who have called her out for not reaching out or acknowledging them directly after her speech. The tribe expressed their disappointment, saying Billie never consulted or connected with them despite living on their ancestral land. Let’s not forget to mention why many Native people were upset, and their anger is valid. They have been saying these truths for a long time, yet often see little real action or change. You can imagine how frustrating it is to be gaslit, and seeing performative activism repeatedly. I chose to wait before posting anything so I could sit with these feelings, as this topic naturally brings up strong emotions. For me, I want to see action. Land Back, real allyship. This topic does deserve it’s own article.

The other line I really want to talk about from that night:

Bad Bunny said, “We’re not animals.”

People immediately understood the pain behind it… the refusal to be dehumanized, hunted, targeted, and stripped of dignity.

But that phrase reveals something deeper about how power operates.

Settler colonial systems rely on rigid hierarchies. Wildlife is labeled a “nuisance,” displaced, killed, or erased simply for being inconvenient to humans. Certain humans are labeled “illegal,” “invasive,” or “undesirable” because they don’t “look” like the colonizers. The same logic repeats—othering, devaluing, and removing anything that doesn’t fit the imposed order.

When people say, “They’re being treated less than animals,” or “We’re not animals,” what they usually mean is:

“They’re being treated without dignity.”

But the phrase itself unintentionally reinforces a hierarchy:
human > animal

Link to original image source.

This reflects fascistic tendencies: control instead of relationship, domination instead of care. This is not Bad Bunny’s fault at all—I understand the powerful message he was trying to convey. I’ve followed Billie Eilish’s work for years, but I hadn’t really paid attention to Benito until recently because new generation reggaeton isn’t my usual vibe. After exploring more about him these past few days, I can see why so many people connect with him.

As someone who has been on a path of decolonization in recent years, this process has helped me connect dots and uncover how colonization shapes our subconscious beliefs and language. I’m simply pointing out how the phrase “We’re not animals” has been used to reveal and resist horrible treatment. Yet, within that resistance lies a sad and heartbreaking divide created by fascistic systems.

When people are hunted or treated as disposable, the language used echoes the same dehumanizing rhetoric historically applied to wildlife—labeling them as problems to be removed, bodies stripped of dignity, lives deemed without consequence.

But here’s what we rarely say:

Animals did not ask to be treated as less than either.

Indigenous wildlife and people are the original stewards of these lands, but colonization disrupted that sacred relationship. Consider the painting American Progress (1872) by John Gast, a visual representation of Manifest Destiny.

Link to image source.

Gast, a German-American artist, depicted settlers pushing westward, displacing Indigenous peoples and wildlife while bringing livestock and industrial progress. Manifest Destiny was a myth crafted to justify the violent expansion and colonization of Indigenous territories.

Violence toward Native wildlife and Indigenous peoples has long been normalized. This normalization has made human violence easier to justify. Cruelty has been accepted in the name of “conservation” or “Manifest Destiny,” masking systemic oppression with false narratives of progress and management.

Indigenous ecological knowledge disrupts this entirely. It teaches that animals are relatives, not obstacles. That land is responsibility, not property. That dignity is unconditional.

The refusal we need is not “We are better than animals.”

It is this:

No life is disposable. NO LIFE IS DISPOSABLE.

That refusal challenges settler colonial control at its root. And that’s why that phrase matters.

We’re now in a new era, still fighting against fascism in all its forms. I believe it’s time to bridge the gap between these struggles because both forms of violence—against humans and animals—are equally inhumane and unjustifiable. Raise your voice at ICE protests with signs that say, “Stop treating humans and animals like garbage!” or “Stop the Erasure of Land, Life, and Culture” to highlight how the same systems destroy. Under the Trump administration, wildlife and habitats faced unprecedented attacks—from the Arctic’s fragile ecosystems being opened to oil drilling, to the Amazon rainforest targeted by illegal miners and loggers, accelerating destruction on a massive scale.

I deeply appreciate the strength of both artists in speaking truth. My perspective comes from love for the animals I fight for. As a Native apprentice wildlife rehabilitator—and this is true for all rehabbers—the daily pain animals endure is heartbreaking. Unlike humans, they can’t just go to the nearest hospital. Many drivers speed past injured animals on the road without a second thought, thinking they “should have known better.” See where the label “nuisance” comes from?

Animals didn’t ask for any of this suffering, yet they have borne the consequences of colonization for centuries. Wildlife rehab has always existed, but the need has grown as colonization caused deforestation, displacement, and laws that criminalize Native wildlife and stewardship—allowing the killing of wildlife without accountability. Which sounds all too familiar.

In my tribe, I was taught that men are protectors—not just of their families and communities, but of Mother Earth and all sentient beings. This role calls for honoring the sacred relationships that sustain life, resisting violence, and restoring balance.

As Russell Means, Oglala Lakota activist, powerfully said:
“America is the new reservation.”
He reminded us that while reservations physically confined Indigenous peoples, the systems of control, surveillance, and oppression now extend across the entire country. Indigenous struggles are not isolated—they are woven into the fabric of this nation’s history and present. Recognizing this helps us see how the violence against land, animals, and people is interconnected.

Link to original source.

Bridging these issues—Indigenous sovereignty, immigrant justice, and animal dignity—is essential. The fight for Land Back, humane treatment for all beings, and ecological restoration are parts of the same movement toward healing and justice.

No life is disposable. No land is expendable. And no community should be erased.

Next article, we’ll dive into the nuance of Spanish being a “native” language in the Americas, and how Native Americans have adapted from forced assimilation.

I didn’t know what to expect on my first day as a volunteer wildlife hotline operator. What I expected was how clearly the calls would expose the fault lines between two worldviews: one rooted in relationship, the other in control.

Within the first shift, most calls were about an injured animal—one was about proximity. Something the hotline is use to getting. Raccoons in attics. Squirrels in walls. Birds nesting where humans didn’t plan for them. Wildlife doing exactly what wildlife has always done, here on their homelands that have rapidly changed around them.

Here’s a reality few people are told:
Over 80% of Texans now live in urban or suburban areas, and Texas loses hundreds of thousands of acres of habitat every year to development. Nationwide, urban sprawl is one of the leading drivers of wildlife displacement—more than hunting, more than natural predation. When animals show up “unexpectedly,” it’s often because their food sources, shelter, or migration corridors no longer exist.

Yet the burden of that loss is placed on the animals.

Conservation Wasn’t Always About Control

I was taught by Native elders, leaders, and activists that conservation is not about domination or extraction. It’s about relationship. About protecting the land because she sustains us—not because she belongs to us.

That understanding was deliberately erased.

Indigenous land stewardship systems were criminalized through colonization. Tribal land was seized. Traditional ecological practices—controlled burns, seasonal harvesting, coexistence with predators—were outlawed or dismissed as “unscientific.” By the early 20th century, Western colonial conservation frameworks had replaced Indigenous systems that had sustained ecosystems for thousands of years.

What replaced them was a system of extraction.

Land became property. Wildlife became “resources” or “nuisances.” And laws were written that still reflect that mindset today—laws that allow Native animals to be killed simply for existing too close to human structures.

Shifting Perspectives

If you shift perspective just slightly, what you see isn’t a “problem animal.” You see families being pushed out of their territories. You see animals adapting to survive in fragmented landscapes. You see wildlife doing what humans have always done too—seeking shelter, safety, and food.

In many Native cultures, animals are not lesser beings. They are relatives. Teachers. Elders. The original caretakers of the land. Their presence is not accidental—it’s instructional.

Western colonial conservation often asks: How do we manage wildlife?
Indigenous stewardship asks: How do we live in right relationship with them?

That difference is everything.

We Are Not Separate—and That’s the Point

Ecological science now confirms what Indigenous peoples have always known: healthy ecosystems mean healthy communities. When predators are removed, rodent populations spike. When habitats are fragmented, disease transmission increases. When wildlife is displaced, conflicts don’t decrease—they escalate.

We are not separate from the land.
We are not separate from wildlife.
And pretending we are has consequences.

I felt called to volunteer because I wanted to learn where I could help—and where I could listen. Hands-on, community-based work is where real change begins. Every call answered with compassion instead of violence is a small interruption in a harmful system.

And those interruptions add up.

I’m grateful to be part of that shift—and excited to carry these lessons forward into the sanctuary, into community education, and into a future where coexistence isn’t radical. It’s remembered.

*These reflections are my own and do not represent the views of the hotline or its partners.

When the land was taken – the wildlife was forced to move too. Wildlife Displacement is a Legacy of Colonization, a short storytelling presentation.

Wildlife Displacement

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Returning Home

Hi. I’m Native, and this story begins back in November of 2019 when I decided to reconnect with my Native roots. I started learning the other side of the coin, and you’ll—we have a lot of work to do.

I want to specifically talk about animals. I knew animals were treated badly, but honestly I didn’t understand the full extent of it. As I’ve been decolonizing, I’ve reached another layer of decolonizing: wildlife conservation.

It sparked my soul, and now I’m dedicated to building a Native-led wildlife sanctuary—and we need your help.

The Sanctuary

The sanctuary will be a protected place where wildlife can heal.
Where habitat can recover.
Where Indigenous stewardship leads.

This sanctuary will be home to:

• Habitat restoration efforts

• Wildlife rehabilitation and release

• Native plant gardens and pollinator spaces

• Indigenous ceremonies, gatherings, youth, and cultural programs

• Eco-lodging — experience our way of life

A place where we envision a future rooted in respect, collaboration, and reciprocity.

Naming the Root Cause

Wildlife have been treated like pests since settler colonialism. I know this isn’t an easy topic for some people to hear, but outside of Native communities, I rarely hear anyone talk about the root causes of animal cruelty, habitat lost, and unfair laws against Native wildlife.

BUT, let me pause here—because this all needs to be broken down.

Habitat destruction.
Roads and fences.
Settler expansion, cutting off lands Indigenous people and animals once roamed freely.
The work of healing settler and Indigenous relations—just to name a few.

All of this is connected, and reasons why we feel so strongly about the sanctuary.

This is about healing the past.
It’s about wildlife returning home.
It’s about us returning home.

We believe in this, and we hope you do too.

Follow Along & Support the Work

If this resonates with you, follow along to learn from Indigenous conservation practices, receive updates on the sanctuary, and help make Yo’oriwa Ania a permanent home for the next seven generations and beyond.

Think this is a cool project? Something the community needs? Let us know what you think in the comments, and thanks for checking us out. We hope you stick around and help us make a positive impact.