Here’s the kicker: in Potlatch, status wasn’t about what you could pile up in your bank account. It was about what you could give away—or better yet, destroy. Picture this: leaders strutting their stuff by handing out piles of goods, then taking it up a notch—torching blankets, smashing canoes, or chucking heirlooms into the sea. Wasteful? To our greedy little minds, sure. But to them? It was a screaming declaration of abundance: “I’ve got so much, I can burn it and still come out on top.” That’s not just bold—it’s a gut punch to our obsession with ownership.

This wasn’t a side gig. Potlatch was the system. It kept wealth flowing, tied communities together, and flexed social order—all in one wild, public spectacle. Everyone there? Family—kinship groups watching their leaders prove their worth not with stinginess, but with jaw-dropping generosity. The bigger the giveaway, the higher you climbed. No shady deals, no corporate ladders—just raw, in-your-face giving.

And oh, did the colonizers hate it. The Canadian government slapped a ban on Potlatch in the late 19th century, sneering at it as “primitive” and “wasteful.” But let’s get real: they were terrified. This wasn’t just a party—it was a rebellion against their precious private property and me-first greed. Potlatch didn’t play by their rules; it laughed at them. A society that prized community over profit? That was a threat they couldn’t stomach.

So here’s the big question: what if we’re the ones who’ve got it twisted? We worship at the altar of accumulation, but Potlatch dares us to rethink everything. Destroying wealth wasn’t crazy—it was clout. It was proof you didn’t need to cling to stuff to matter. In today’s world, would we scoff and call it lunacy—or secretly wish we had the guts to try it?

Potlatch isn’t just history. It’s a provocation. A slap to the face of our “more is better” delusion. Maybe it’s time we stop hoarding and start asking: what’s wealth really worth if you’re too scared to let it go?