Why are Punkers and Metal Musicians so into the government?

An opinion from a Navajo metalhead who is tired of watching rebellion become conformity.

Lately I’ve noticed something strange in the metal and punk scenes. The same people who claim to be anti-establishment often seem deeply in love with government institutions, corporate-approved narratives, and whatever political tribe they’ve chosen to follow. At the same time, many of them are aggressively anti-American.

I don’t get it.

I love America.

I’ve served overseas and seen places that most Americans will never see. I’ve walked through regions that make people appreciate things they once took for granted. When I came home to the Navajo Nation, I naturally compared where I grew up to where I’d been. There were similarities in some places. There were hardships. There were failures.

But I could never convince myself that America was uniquely evil.

I’m Native American. My father was Spaniard and my mother is Navajo. I grew up entirely within the reservation system. Like many Native kids, I heard the same stories over and over: the white man stole our land, the white man oppressed our people, the white man is the source of all our problems.

Then I joined the military.

What I found wasn’t what I expected.

The people I met were good people. They were kind, generous, and willing to help. Most of them understood that Native Americans had been treated unfairly throughout history. Many even felt guilty about it. For a while, that made me feel righteous. It reinforced everything I’d been taught.

But as I got older, I started reading more and repeating less. I leaned less on institutional education, less on Hollywood, less on slogans, and more on history.

What I came to realize is that power doesn’t discriminate nearly as much as we’re taught. Systems of power don’t exist to help one race forever. They exist to help whoever controls them at a particular moment in time.

Eventually, the machine eats everyone.

That’s why I understand why people are angry. I understand resentment toward government. I understand distrust. What I don’t understand is why so many educated people seem incapable of recognizing that exploitation isn’t limited to one race, one gender, or one group of victims.

The idea that history can be reduced to “white people are evil” is not only intellectually lazy—it’s historically illiterate.

History is far more complicated than that.

Every civilization has conquered. Every civilization has lost wars. Every civilization has committed atrocities. Every civilization has produced heroes and villains.

At some point, we have to stop pretending otherwise.

As Native people, we need to be honest with ourselves.

We lost.

That isn’t surrender.

It’s reality.

The question isn’t what happened 150 years ago.

The question is what we’re going to do tomorrow.

Look at Japan. They remember their history. They honor their past. But they also build. They innovate. They move forward. Nobody accuses them of “trying to be white” when they run corporations, build industries, or compete on the world stage.

They’re respected because they succeeded.

Native people could be a powerhouse if we’d stop romanticizing defeat and start investing in victory.

And before somebody accuses me of being anti-Native for saying that, let’s talk about sovereignty.

People throw around the phrase “sovereign nation” as if it settles the argument.

I’ve never been convinced.

Russell Means spent years criticizing what he viewed as Bureau of Indian Affairs-controlled tribal governments. His question was simple: how sovereign can a nation really be when another government controls the boundaries of its authority?

That’s an uncomfortable question.

But uncomfortable questions are usually the important ones.

And if you think I’m exaggerating about the relationship between government and corporations, go read about John Sterling Boyden.

Most Americans have never heard of him. Most Navajos barely know his name. Yet few individuals had more influence over modern Navajo history.

Beginning in the 1950s, Boyden represented the Hopi Tribal Council while simultaneously serving as counsel for Peabody Coal. Critics argued that he stood at the intersection of tribal politics, federal power, and corporate interests at precisely the moment Black Mesa’s resources became valuable to outside interests.

His fingerprints can be found throughout some of the most controversial chapters in modern Navajo history: the Navajo-Hopi land disputes, the partitioning of shared lands, the relocation of thousands of Navajo people from Big Mountain, and the coal agreements that many critics believe benefited outside interests more than the people living on the land.

Whether you view Boyden as a lawyer, a negotiator, or a corporate operative isn’t really the point.

The lesson is.

Government power and corporate power rarely move in opposite directions.

More often than not, they move together.

And sometimes I wonder if America is experiencing a larger version of the same thing.

Not literally.

Not legally.

But philosophically.

Sometimes I wonder if the tech giants and Israel have become the Bureau of Indian Affairs of the United States.

Sometimes I wonder if Americans are being told they are in control while decisions are increasingly made somewhere else.

Sometimes I wonder if politicians are becoming tribal chairmen—allowed to manage the reservation while someone else decides where the resources go.

That’s my opinion.

But it’s a question worth asking.

Maybe that’s why the Army’s Detachment 201 program bothered me so much.

I spent years earning my place.

I went through basic training.

I wore the uniform.

I served my time.

Then I watched Andrew Bosworth, Chief Technology Officer of Meta; Shyam Sankar, Chief Technology Officer of Palantir; Kevin Weil of OpenAI; and Bob McGrew, formerly of OpenAI, receive direct commissions as lieutenant colonels in the United States Army Reserve.

Maybe they’re brilliant.

Maybe they’re patriots.

Maybe they’ll help the country.

That’s not my point.

My point is that ordinary Americans spend years proving themselves while powerful people seem to walk through doors the rest of us don’t even know exist.

When I was in uniform, rank meant something.

It represented experience.

Sacrifice.

Responsibility.

Trust earned over time.

So when I see executives from billion-dollar technology companies handed lieutenant colonel commissions, I can’t help but wonder what happened to the old rules.

And that brings me back to metalheads and punks.

Being rebellious doesn’t mean hating America.

It doesn’t mean worshipping politicians.

It doesn’t mean blindly supporting one side because you hate the other.

Despite what smooth-brained people think: I am not a bootlicker because I voted for Trump. They assume that meant I worshipped the man.

It didn’t.

I voted for someone because I believed he might get things done.

I was wrong.

I was disappointed.

When Trump gave away American liberty to Israel and the technocrats on day one of his second term, that told me everything I needed to know.

The moment politicians start handing away liberty, expanding centralized power, or serving interests that aren’t America’s, I stop caring what letter is next to their name.

Because there is corruption on both sides.

There are opportunists on both sides.

There are liars on both sides.

Your guy.

My guy.

Their guy.

They’re all drinking at the same bar.

That’s why I’ve never understood people who devote their entire identities to defending politicians.

Politicians aren’t your friends.

Governments aren’t your friends.

Corporations aren’t your friends.

They’re institutions.

And institutions should always be questioned.

There are some truths that don’t stop being true because they’re unpopular.

Men are men.

Women are women.

And no matter what anyone says, there are only two genders, there is one America, and only metal can save the United States.

That’s what punk used to mean.

That’s what metal used to mean.

Question authority.

Challenge power.

Think for yourself.

So stop worshipping government.

Stop worshipping tech companies.

Stop worshipping political parties.

Stop acting like your favorite billionaire is going to save you.

Start being rebels again.

Start being metalheads again.

And for the love of all things heavy—

be American.