Navigating Partnerships with Indigenous People in a Time of Ethnic Fraud Panic
As a non-Indigenous person, it’s never my place to adjudicate anyone’s identity claims. But I do have a responsibility to be thoughtful and aware, to get to know my Indigenous partners and the communities they come from. The process of getting to know Native people can be especially complicated in New England, which has some of the longest colonial histories on the continent. Since most eastern tribal nations historically dealt with the colonies rather than with what eventually became the U.S. federal government, many remain “unrecognized”--meaning, among other things, that they might not have formally delimited reservations, and might not have the kinds of systematic citizenship documentation that other groups use to access things like federal education and health benefits. It’s worth noting that even the northeastern tribal nations that are formally recognized today--say, the Maliseet in Maine, and more famously the Mashpee Wampanoag in Massachusetts--have been through periods in very recent history when they were not recognized by settlers as Native American, either individually or collectively. Additionally, many eastern Native people have been mis-identified (as “mulatto,” “Negro,” “white” or other designations) in census and other records. In the case of Vermont, infamously, Abenaki and other people of color were identified as “Pirates,” “Gypsies,” and other ethnic slurs as they were targeted for eugenic sterilization.
While the United States does have somewhat recent laws that some have misconstrued as prompting “fake” Indian claims (e.g., the 1990 Indian Gaming and Regulatory Act, the 1980 Maine Indian Claims Settlement Act), it is crucial to remember that the Abenaki communities in New Hampshire and Vermont pre-existed such legislation by a very long time.
In the interest of transparency, I should probably consider whether I have a personal stake in this discussion. I spent decades getting to know northeastern Native American writers and working with tribal community editors to publish the book Dawnland Voices, and this companion website, dawnlandvoices.org. Would I be devastated to learn that someone is not who they claim to be? Of course. But I’ve been taught (by Lisa Brooks, Marge Bruchac, and others) that collaborative scholarly work involves years of relationship-building and relationship-tending. So I have listened carefully to these writers, visiting with them and their families. I’ve watched as carefully and respectfully as I could, as they’ve interacted not only with me, but also with their families--with their kin in Quebec, in fact--and with other Indigenous people across New England. Because just as Abenaki people have always known who they are, so too do other Indigenous people know who they are. Their ancestries, their kinship networks, their tribal identities, and their personal stories are not mine to judge; nor should they be judged by any other outside observer--Native or non-Native--who does not fully comprehend this region’s complex history.
If you are a non-Indigenous scholar, or just an interested learner trying to do your due diligence by Indigenous people, please do not rush to judgment and assume that all Abenaki scholars, writers, artists and others in the U.S. are ethnic frauds. In particular, please don’t rush to judgement based on hearsay or vitriolic social media posts. Continue to listen to Abenaki people, read their work carefully, and always vet the reputation and reliability of your sources. You can also reach out to me and other scholars who have worked in this area for a long time. We’re happy to share resources and readings, and will begin doing so in this space shortly.
White Privilege, False Claims of Indigenous Identity and Michelle Latimer
Trickster director Michelle Latimer’s offensive use of unsubstantiated claimed Indigenous ancestry to advance her career should be a cautionary tale to anyone who has discovered a distant Indigenous ancestor in their genealogy research and feels excited about now identifying as an Indigenous person.
The people making them have white privilege fueling their professional craft — all the time in the world to hone their talents, no family emergencies, no PTSD from residential school residuals holding them back. No endless parade of funerals, health issues, lateral violence showdowns, internalized shame, a life of racism both big and small in their lives to contend with every day. Able to show the world how high an Indigenous person can rise if they just demonstrate a strong work ethic — one of the “good ones.”No wonder decision-makers love pretendians. Pretendians provide them with all the dreamy Indigi-benefits without the dismal realities of Indigenous lived experience.
Connecting to one’s Indigenous identity should start with building relationships with your Indigenous family and community. Learning your history, stories, foods, jokes and nuances.But we have people right now who have started their journey as a potential Indigenous person by agreeing to sit on a panel as an Indigenous role model.Becoming Indigenous is not an opportunity to advance one’s career. We see through Latimer’s example how far one can take the possibility of maybe being Indigenous, and also how harmful it can turn.This is not a victimless offence. It is a continuation of white privilege and cultural genocide — quite simply, it’s wrong.
From the completion of the Human Genome Project in 2003 to the rise of private DNA testing companies like 23 and Me, many people increasingly think of themselves in terms of their genes. As Kim TallBear, a Native American studies scholar and enrolled member of the Sisseton-Wahpeton Oyate tribe, explains, this has mixed consequences for Native Americans and other indigenous people.
“Genetically defined, indigenous peoples are seen to be vanishing in an increasingly global world,” she writes.In social and political terms, the number of people in the world who define themselves as indigenous is not shrinking but growing.
DNA testing may seem attractive as a more objective process. But TallBear argues that this method has problems similar to those created by the reliance on “blood.” It risks defining indigenous identities in terms of a biological concept of race, rather than sovereign status and treaties with the U.S. and Canadian governments.
Ultimately, TallBear calls not for rejecting genetic science but for a “coproductionist” approach. This would allow for a possible place for genetics in determining indigenous identity but only by placing it within historical, political, and social context.
