Blogging On Assignment: The Lost Mariner

 Reading Elizabeth Kolbert’s account of Christopher Columbus completely shifted the way I’ve always thought about him. Growing up, I heard the traditional story that Columbus was a brave explorer who proved the world was round and “discovered” America. But Kolbert’s article reveals that almost none of that narrative is true. Not only did most educated people of his time already know the Earth was round, but Columbus’s calculations were wildly inaccurate. He believed the world was smaller than it really was and that Asia could be reached quickly by sailing west. What’s most striking, though, is how his overconfidence, his belief that he was divinely chosen, became both his driving force and his downfall. His “faith” in himself allowed him to cross the ocean, but also blinded him to the destruction he caused.

One of the most powerful parts of the article was Kolbert’s description of the Taíno people, the first Indigenous group Columbus encountered when he landed in the Caribbean. The Taíno were part of the larger Arawak language family and were native to what is now the Bahamas, Cuba, Hispaniola (Haiti and the Dominican Republic), and Puerto Rico. Columbus described them as generous and gentle, yet he quickly turned to enslaving and exploiting them. Kolbert writes that within just a few years, disease, violence, and forced labor had wiped out most of the Taíno population. The article forced me to see that “exploration” often meant colonization and suffering for the people who already lived on those lands.

I was also surprised to learn that many words we use today come from the Arawak language spoken by the Taíno. Words like hammock, canoe, and hurricane all have Arawak origins. I had never thought about how deeply Indigenous languages shape how we talk about nature and daily life. These words are small reminders of cultures that European colonization tried to erase but never fully succeeded in erasing. In a way, language becomes a form of resistance and remembrance, carrying pieces of the Taíno and Arawak world into our modern vocabulary.

Another question the article made me think about is whether Bad Bunny’s ancestors could have encountered Columbus. The answer is yes, very likely. Bad Bunny is Puerto Rican, and the Taíno were the Indigenous people of Puerto Rico before Spanish colonization. Columbus landed on the neighboring islands of Hispaniola and Cuba during his early voyages, and later Spanish expeditions reached Puerto Rico soon after. That means Bad Bunny’s ancestry may include Taíno roots mixed with Spanish and African heritage, a blend that still defines much of Caribbean identity today. Thinking about that connection shows how the consequences of Columbus’s arrival still shape culture, identity, and history more than 500 years later.

Finally, reflecting on Indigenous land today made me think about where I live and where I come from. I currently live in Los Angeles, which is the ancestral home of the Tongva people, also known as the Gabrielino-Tongva Nation. Many place names around L.A. come from their language, including Topanga, Cahuenga, and Tujunga. My home is on land that was once part of a thriving Indigenous network of villages, trade routes, and sacred spaces. Reading Kolbert’s piece reminded me that history doesn’t just live in the past; it’s beneath our feet and in the words we speak. Understanding that helps me see how stories like Columbus’s must be retold, not to celebrate conquest, but to recognize the resilience and voices of the people who were here long before him.