In my studies of local indigenous culture, I became keenly aware of the role that the myth of race has played in the European Colonial conquest of the world. To this day, the concept of “race” continues to be an important part of so-called Western (meaning Colonial) culture.
My reference to Caste in the title of this post is meant to be a vigorous nod to Isabel Wilkerson’s 2020 book Caste: the Origins of Our Discontents1.
In her book, Wilkerson reminds us that there is no biological basis for the concept of dividing humankind into artificial races. The mythology of race was invented in the mid-15th century, nearly 600 years ago, and used by the Portuguese (and later by others) to justify their expropriation of lands in Africa (and elsewhere). It also provided a rationale for enslaving people who looked different and acted differently from the European norm.
Wilkerson points out that when we talk about racism in this country, we are really describing a caste system that is based in part on racial identity.
Caste and race are neither synonymous nor mutually exclusive. They can and do coexist in the same culture and serve to reinforce each other. Race, in the United States, is the visible agent of the unseen force of caste. Caste is the bones, race the skin. Race is what we can see, the physical traits that have been given arbitrary meaning and become shorthand for who a person is. Caste is the powerful infrastructure that holds each group in its place. [page 19]
Wilkerson’s book is full of such insights, and my thoughts on her writing deservers its own (future) post.
My purpose in mentioning Caste here is to create a context to discuss an essay2 that appeared in a recent issue of The New Yorker. (In the print edition, its title is “By Blood.”)
Deloria cites two books3 that tell the story of racism within the culture of “the so-called Five Civilized Tribes—Muscogee, Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Seminole.“ He weaves into his essay the story of Johnnie Mae Austin, who had been a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. In 1979, she was booted out of the tribe because of a new rule.
The story is a complex one, and need not be repeated here. The essay ends on a hopeful note, given a recent (2021) ruling by the Cherokee Supreme Court that the phrase “by blood” could no longer be used to define tribal membership. It is hoped that the other tribes will follow suit.
As part of the Berkshire OLLI programming over the past few months focused on the Indigenous Peoples of the Northeast, Kate Kidd led a course on dispossession. This topic is of local interest because of Henry Dawes4, who was a lifelong resident of Berkshire County. He rose through the political ranks of the Commonwealth to become a US Senator. Deloria mentions his role in furthering dispossession (of land, but also, as a result, of culture) in the article.
… the General Allotment Act, of 1887 [often referred to as “the Dawes Act”]. Humanitarians such as its author, Senator Henry Dawes, believed that they could save Indians by making them assimilate into American society as Jeffersonian yeoman farmers working their own patch of ground. In Dawes’s scheme, collectively held reservation lands were divided into parcels ranging from forty to three hundred and twenty acres and distributed to individual Indians and to Indian families; the remainder was sold at cut-rate prices to white settlers5 who would live among them. Dawes meant both to disaggregate Indian land and to desegregate it, bringing in farmers who would model civilized agrarianism for their Indian neighbors.
This kind of thinking (that the Natives did not “properly” use their land) was prevalent from the early days of European colonial occupation. This is well documented in Changes in the Land6, by William Cronin. The same viewpoint was later more fully articulated in the mid-19th century by such thinkers as Lewis Henry Morgan7.
Deloria talks about some of the consequences of all of this:
The net result of Dawes’s allotment campaign was that some ninety million acres passed out of Indian control—not in large-scale treaty concessions but in small increments, as private Native parcels ended up in white [sic] hands, often through fraud or coercion. It’s no coincidence that the campaign arrived during the era of boarding schools, in which Indian children were forcibly removed to be educated away from their cultural roots. Or that it overlapped with the “Civilization Regulations,” imposed on Indian peoples between 1883 and 1934, which criminalized everything distinctively Native—including dancing, ceremonies, and long hair—and punished infractions with starvation and imprisonment.
I prefer to end with a positive and optimistic note, although it is hard for me to imagine how such injustices could ever be compensated. We (the Colonial culture of which I am a part) have made great strides recently in undoing many of the misguided policies of the past.
Interest in the OLLI programming was robust. I sensed that people are eager to learn more. Indigenous people, for perhaps obvious reasons. Colonial people (like me) so as to become better allies.
Two outstanding examples of appointments that would have been unthinkable not that long ago: the Biden Administration has designated two women who identify as indigenous to high-level jobs; one as Secretary of the Interior8 and the other as Treasurer of the United States9.
I am writing this on a holiday weekend — a holiday this is being called Indigenous Peoples Day in more and more locales.
There are many hopeful signs. We are moving in the right direction. We have a long way to go. Enjoy the journey!
Caleb Gayle “We Refuse to Forget: A True Story of Black Creeks, American Identity, and Power” (Riverhead) and Alaina E. Roberts “I’ve Been Here All the While: Black Freedom on Native Land” (University of Pennsylvania)
Notice the racial (one might even say “racist”) label being given to people of European descent. The myth of race is built into our everyday discourse.