![]() Settlers are people whose ancestors who came to acquire recently dispossessed Indian lands, such as recipients of the homesteads of the nineteenth century and earlier land speculators. People with ambiguous “Native ancestry,” like Elizabeth Warren, are so disconnected from whatever Native roots they may have had that they can no longer be considered Native. People who do not have ancestral connections to Native communities are all either settlers or immigrants. This is the core of a system we call settler colonialism. The single, irreducible element of the racism American Indians have been subject to is the acquisition of our lands, and this is what makes racism against American Indians different than all other forms of racism and discrimination. Racism is certainly not limited to African Americans American Indian people have for centuries been targeted in countless ways that are fundamentally genocidal in nature. ![]() White privilege centers the concept of race, describing racism as systemic and hierarchical, often in binary terms of black and white, which has its limitations for other people of color. ![]() Not that it was necessarily easy for white people to accept that they are in fact “more equal” than others, but the essay opened up a conversation that has gained serious traction in our social discourse, especially now when racism is on full, unobstructed display in this Trumpian moment. Peggy McIntosh first popularized the concept of white privilege in her now-classic 1989 essay “ White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.” The impact of her essay was due at least in part to its clarity and readability it broke down into a list of easy to understand ideas why white people have unearned advantages in society based on their skin color. What you have undoubtedly heard of, however, is white privilege. So, I’d like to take my turn at the virtual mic to talk about settler privilege, something you likely have never thought of, or have never even heard of. November is Native American Heritage Month, when we as American Indian people get to have the mic for a little while. Girl Scout training may have prepared her to pitch our mosquito tent and neatly roll our sleeping bag each night but it is my Mom's genuine heart and openness to others that made our time together here so special and truly a trip to remember.Samoset comes "boldly" into Plymouth settlement. Throughout our trip Mom sleeps on roof tops, squats to use the bathroom, squeezes into cars well beyond their expiration date with 8-20 other people - all without complaint. While she sings 'With a knapsack on my back', and 'Valderee, Valderah!' humming the verses she can't remember, I keep a close but comfortable distance between us and find myself in awe of this woman in front of me with her little white Keds and striped sun-hat. With a breakfast of bread and jam in our bellies and our guide Samba leading the way we trek between Indeli and our final destination, Dourou, and Mom finally remembers the Girl Scout songs she has been trying to recall the entire trip. As we say goodbye to Annie, baby Christine runs to Mom with her arms outstretched asking for a hug which you can only imagine helped to turn on the water works that much faster.Īfter a good night's sleep and a sunrise that lights up the rocks around us a terra cotta red we are reassured of our sanity and glad to be where we are. In between greetings and cat naps we gorge ourselves on Malian dishes Annie prepares including tigadega na (peanut butter sauce and rice), zame, koo (sort of like sweet potatoes that are not sweet), bean cakes and the numerous papayas various visitors offer as gifts. We spend 4 nights and 5 days 'en brusse' greeting those with whom I have grown closest in village and even those I do not know at all. Mom brushes off their concern and assures me she will be fine, reminding me that she was a Girl Scout after all. This is a recurring exclamation throughout the duration of the trip from both Malians and Americans alike as Mom experiences my life here and how I navigate Mali from transportation to food to sleeping accommodations. All the Malians around us, once we say we are biking the entire 15 miles, tell me I am crazy for making my bamuso (mother) bike the whole way. ![]() We strap baskets to the backs of our bikes and stop at Kadia's road side rice cake stand before heading out to village. After packing and unpacking our bags in San, Mom and I are ready for village.
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