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nationalist project such as <strong>the</strong> <strong>United</strong> <strong>States</strong>. We should be more visionary<br />
than that. However, US <strong>Indigenous</strong> peoples should also help think through<br />
<strong>the</strong> antiblackness that exists in <strong>the</strong>ir community and how <strong>the</strong>y might, as<br />
Canadian <strong>Indigenous</strong> (Mississauga Nishnaabeg) writer and musician<br />
Leanne Betasamosake Simpson suggests, make room for <strong>Indigenous</strong> people<br />
on <strong>the</strong>ir land.<br />
When I have traveled <strong>the</strong> country to discuss my research, I <strong>of</strong>ten get two<br />
versions <strong>of</strong> a comment or question about identity. First, a person <strong>of</strong> Black<br />
American ancestry might share that <strong>the</strong>y have Cherokee blood in <strong>the</strong>m,<br />
maybe Blackfeet. Or, someone, usually a young person, will ask me how I<br />
deal with being both Black and <strong>Indigenous</strong>. I tell <strong>the</strong>m that, for me, it<br />
wasn’t a contradiction being Black and <strong>Indigenous</strong>. While o<strong>the</strong>rs questioned<br />
me, my family didn’t question or police my identity.<br />
I did experience an instance <strong>of</strong> being questioned by o<strong>the</strong>rs—or identity<br />
policing—when I was a graduate student, attending an academic<br />
conference. I was at <strong>the</strong> hotel lobby, recognized a peer from my own<br />
graduate institution, and saw that <strong>the</strong>y were with a group <strong>of</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r Native<br />
people. I’m sure I gave everyone some dap (exchanged a fist pound<br />
greeting), and <strong>the</strong>n one <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> people, from a Southwestern US tribal nation,<br />
asked, “Why are you wearing those earrings?” I replied, “’Cause I like<br />
<strong>the</strong>m.” They responded, “Where did you get <strong>the</strong>m?” “From a powwow,” I<br />
snapped back, after quickly concluding that <strong>the</strong>y wondered why a Black<br />
person had adorned <strong>the</strong>mselves with “Native” earrings. This antiblack<br />
exchange made me angry, if not insecure.<br />
Still, I never felt comfortable in my intellectual knowledge <strong>of</strong> Black and<br />
<strong>Indigenous</strong> relations until graduate school, because it was <strong>the</strong>re that I was<br />
able to delve into <strong>the</strong> research and really read. I carved out time to think<br />
about my identity and how I wanted to help change <strong>the</strong> intellectual game <strong>of</strong><br />
how we approach <strong>Afro</strong>-<strong>Indigenous</strong> history. Graduate school <strong>of</strong>fered me five<br />
years to reflect on myself and learn how to be me—my full <strong>Afro</strong>-<br />
<strong>Indigenous</strong> self.<br />
My quest in this book is to recover histories, reorient our understanding<br />
<strong>of</strong> historical events and peoples, and project what a present and future idea<br />
<strong>of</strong> Black and <strong>Indigenous</strong> solidarity might look like. We need a new way <strong>of</strong><br />
talkin’ about <strong>the</strong>se relationships.<br />
In documenting encounters between Black and <strong>Indigenous</strong> peoples, I<br />
have focused <strong>the</strong> majority <strong>of</strong> my examples in this book in unexpected ways