The Supreme Court will be hearing arguments about #ICWA tomorrow. This is a thread about trans-racial adoption, Indigenous futures, and the intergenerational effects of US assimilation policies. 1/
My father was adopted by a white family as a newborn in 1952. We knew nothing about his biological kin. He never wanted to know about them. He never asked. He never wanted to open that wound. 2/
I am the biological son of my father. And even though I was not the one adopted out, every time someone asked me, where are you from? What is your ethnicity? What are you? I had no answers. I had no way of knowing how to approach those questions. 3/
I remember people asking my white mother, "who is this boy?" As if there were no way we could be related. Such encounters have an impact on a young person. I had so many questions. So many unresolved "issues". 4/
Adoption is not just about the person who was adopted. It creates intergenerational ripples, wounds that grow and fester. Adoption is a technique of settler colonial dispossession, like the theft of land and the theft of knowledge. Adoption is the theft of Indigenous futures. 5/
In 2005 we went through the process of opening my father's sealed adoption records. We had to convince him. He did not want to do it. He had to see a judge. He had to complete a psychological evaluation. He had to open those wounds. We all did. 6/
And when the records finally came back, we realized that his mother, my grandmother, was Native American. What does one do with that knowledge, that change in identity? How does one deal with that? 7/
And then we managed to find out that she was still alive, my grandmother, Ada. We found her. And we called. And she answered. And we all cried. 8/
We found her and we were able to meet in person in 2006. And my father, brother, and I were able to enroll in the Cherokee Nation (Ada was Cherokee). What does one do with this knowledge? This feeling of evisceration that is at the same time, hope? 9/
I remember feeling like an impostor, for years. For a decade. I still do. I remember feeling like adoption was meant to destroy my father, to destroy me, to take him from himself. To take us from our own futures. 10/
So, the next time you hear someone say that adoption is about love, is about the best interests of the child. Especially in the case of Indigenous children. Tell them it is bullshit. Tell them to read the Senate testimony calling for the passage of ICWA in the 1970s. 11/
Tell them that in some states in the 60s and 70s up to a third of all Indigenous children were removed from their families. Tell them the United States did this intentionally, specifically, so that Indigenous children would not grow up to be Indigenous adults. 12/
Tell them that if ICWA is overturned, white Americans will hoard Indigenous children like dolls. Like bread. Tell them white Americans want to feel good about stealing our land, so they steal our children. Tell them settler love is not enough. 13/
Tell them that Indigenous people are a political class, not a racial one. And that we have rights that are based on our sovereignty as Peoples. Not on what the United States classifies as "race". And that those fundamental rights depend on our being able to keep our children. 14/
Tell them, if you want, that they can reach out to me, and I'll tell them, too. Tell them the United States wants to eliminate Indigenous people and that ICWA is one of the few ways we have of preventing the theft of our own children, our futures, our communities. 15/
Tell them that it is not about the welfare of Indigenous children, but about white millionaires who want to dismantle Indian law. And that ICWA is just the vehicle. Tell them all this. Tell them. Tell them again. /end
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It’s the year 2078. I am a spirit ancestor. The sidewalks crack with wild tobacco and the wind rushes prayers to silent stars. Colonialism is over. The dark earth sighs with relief. And beauty is no longer a dream.
But the dreaming has only begun. Dreams sprout, hyacinths emerging, casting their purple light. Dreams that had only been dreamt in secret begin to take shape, amass. These silent dreams deferred, these wonderings, it-can't-possiblies, these futures, shudder and stretch to life.
The dreams join in council. There is much to discuss now that the world is healing. They look at each other, the past-dreams, the future-dreams, and they decide on a representative to take their suggestions to the People: Memory. Memory stands, nods in gratitude, ready, fierce.
With ICWA being debated in SCOTUS this November, I think it is important to understand three things about Indigenous people and adoption.
1. The United States has systematically and insistently sought to dismantle Indigenous kinship networks since the very beginning. Indigenous children represent Indigenous futures, and thus have been the prime targets for both assimilation in boarding schools, and adoption.
2. Adoption is often framed as "benefitting" Indigenous children, but that framing depends on a settler understanding of kinship and well-being, which often sees Indigenous women, specifically, as always already unfit mothers.
I've posted a couple thoughts on land acknowledgments recently, but the point is this: an acknowledgment is not the same as a relationship. Land does not require that you confirm it exists or that it has been stolen, rather that you reciprocate the care that it has given you.
Elaboration: The land and water and air, the territory, exists regardless of the acknowledgment, which is only ever a first step. Next steps involve treating territory as kin, building relationships with that land itself, as if it were your kin. Because it is.
Elaboration 2: to acknowledge the land on the terms laid out by liberal or multicultural inclusion is only to repeat the hubris of anthropocentrism. To acknowledge the land on the land’s terms is to act in reciprocity.
I want to take a sec to talk about universities and COVID. (These are my thoughts, not my employer's or my union's). OK, so, when many public universities set out to recruit students, they make claims like "you'll get a job" or "we provide upward mobility" and the like.
Add to this, the neoliberalization of the public university, and we get other claims, like "you'll be able to climb on a rock wall between classes" or "our dorms are state of the art". What they don't claim, however, is to care for the wellbeing of the workers at the University.
Rather, that care--caring for the health of workers--has to necessarily be removed from the equation (by admins), because to treat the workers like rights-bearing community members, would undermine the "brand" of the university as a "marketplace of ideas".
Here is a little Cherokee / queer / asegi / 2 spirit related thread for pride month. I want to say something about the liminal spaces that we occupy, in which we thrive, as Indigiqueer people. (I'm a literary scholar by training, and this is my own interpretation.)
In the Cherokee creation story all the animals are on an island surrounded by water. The are running out of room, so the animals hold a council and decide that some will try to dive to the bottom of the water to find land.
Many do this, but they all fail to find the land at the bottom of the ocean. They are getting scared. But then one of the smallest, unassuming creatures, Dayunisi, the Water Beetle, volunteers.
On the utility of queer studies and related critical approaches, an if/then thread. 1) If humans have bodies (as a precondition), then humanity is predicated on what makes a body human, and what makes humans bodied.
2) If queer studies is concerned with how bodies become bodies, under what structural, ontological, epistemological conditions--and not just what 'sexuality' means, then QS is a method for understanding bodies in their ongoing transformations, undoings/becomings, aliveness.
3) If the aliveness of the body--what makes it a body--is one, if not the primary, concern of QS, then QS should be much more involved in deconstructing the anthrocentrism of western epistemologies than it is right now.