Abstract
Genetic ancestry testing (GAT) provides a specific type of knowledge about ancestry not previously available to the general public, prompting questions about the conditions whereby genetic articulations of ancestry present opportunities to forge new identities and social ties but also new challenges to the maintenance of existing social structures and cultural identities. The opportunities and challenges posed by GAT are particularly significant for many indigenous communities—whose histories are shaped by traumatic interactions with colonial powers and Western science—and for whom new applications of GAT may undermine or usurp long-standing community values, systems of governance, and forms of relationality. We conducted 13 focus groups with 128 participants and six in-depth, semistructured interviews with a variety of community leaders examining the perceptions of GAT within indigenous communities across Oklahoma. Our interviews and focus groups suggest that participants—through the articulation of indigeneity as experiential and relational in nature and inherently distinct from genetic notions of ancestry—resist much of the challenge presented by GAT in usurping traditional forms of identity while at the same time recognizing the utility of the technology for tracing unknown ancestry and identifying health risks in the community.
Genetic ancestry testing (GAT) is an increasingly popular form of biotechnology offering consumers the opportunity to learn more about their biogeographical ancestry or population affiliations. Growing interest in the technology has been facilitated by the popularity of television programs highlighting personalized ancestral histories, websites sharing ancestral information through public records and shared family histories, and social media platforms connecting individuals with shared genetic markers. While much of this interest appears benign, of considerable concern to academic observers is whether GAT might come to undermine long-standing notions of social and cultural identities. The potential for consumers to infer and even appropriate specific social and cultural identities on the basis of genetic ancestry information suggests that these tests may have profound impacts for many individuals and communities. In particular, traditional notions of identity stand to be disrupted or even usurped if GAT comes to be seen as more important or reliable than nongenetic expressions of identity and community membership.
Current research indicates that there is considerable variation in perspectives regarding the significance of GAT for issues of identity. Many European Americans, for example, might view GAT results as a form of self-education about the past with little social capital at stake (Scully, Brown, and King 2016). Even receiving unexpected results—such as genetic traces of African, Asian, Native American, or other ancestries—might well be viewed as just an interesting conversation piece (Lee 2013; Scully, Brown, and King 2016). Scully, Brown, and King (2016) highlight how for many people GAT can be consumed for personal interest and even just for fun. However, even within this context of relatively “low-stakes” (Scully, Brown, and King 2016) and casual interest, GAT has the potential to generate new discursive spaces for consumers to actively re-create ancestral, social, and cultural identities (Bolnick et al. 2007; Lee 2013; Nelson 2016; Royal et al. 2010). Unexpected results might lead to considerable personal reflection (Lee 2013) or distortion of self-identity (Nordgren and Juengst 2009). In fact, we know very little about how people perceive GAT in general and the impact of GAT specifically on persons who have taken such tests (for early indications of such perceptions, see Wagner and Weiss 2012; see also Nelson 2008). Moreover, we do not know whether GAT results attract the sort of reverence that creates deterministic thinking about identity or the sort of skepticism that rejects such thinking or even rejects the potential benefits of genetic science altogether (Bolnick et al. 2007).
Histories of forcible removal, genocide, eugenics campaigns, and assimilationist policies—combined with the “tumultuous history of interactions between scientists and the indigenous peoples of the Americas” (Malhi and Bader 2015)—have left indigenous peoples in complex relationships with the science of genetics. Many indigenous peoples today maintain an apprehensive relationship with the biomedical sciences. Historically, indigenous peoples have been subject to genocide through purposeful small pox transmission, forced sterilizations, eugenics campaigns, forced isolation in leprosy villages, and eradication of traditional foodways and healing practices (Christopher et. al. 1997; Lawrence 2000; Riedel 2004; Wiedman 2012). Biomedical exploitation, unethical research practices, and genetic exploration, in particular, have negatively impacted Native American, First Nations, Alaska Native, Native Hawaiian, and other indigenous communities well into the twentieth century (Dalton 2004; Di Chiro 2007; Drabiak-Syed 2010; Harry 2009; Harry and Dukepoo 1998). Bolstered by the authority of Western science, which often contradicts or works to delegitimize indigenous knowledge systems, genetic research and the introduction of new biotechnologies are warily received by many indigenous communities (Bussey-Jones et. al 2010; Harry and Kaneche 2006; Pacheco et. al. 2013; Tsosie 2007). Given the history of using biotechnologies and genomic sciences to marginalize, delegitimize, and even exterminate indigenous peoples over time, genetic ancestry testing (along with other forms of genetic testing) stands to be perceived in substantially different ways within indigenous communities. More specifically, the historical construction of racial identity in the United States and the contemporary ramifications of this construction mean that GAT may have highly significant implications for certain individuals and populations whose link between personal and collective identities and ancestral knowledge has been severed by forced relocation, enslavement, or genocide (Wailoo, Nelson, and Lee 2012).
For Native American populations, GAT has implications with respect to its potential to reinforce elements of legal, sociopolitical, and cultural identities for some indigenous communities, as well as the potential to reconfigure indigeneity in ways that “undermine tribal and First Nations’ self- determination” (TallBear 2013a). GAT companies that claim a link between genetic markers and specific tribal affiliations promote a type of gene reification and by doing so “promote understandings of ancestry DNA in which it obfuscates and stands in for legal and social practices and political histories that have constituted Native American identity in its tribal and racial forms” (TallBear 2013b:88). The linking of DNA with tribal affiliation is a product of genetic essentialism, or the “view that our genomes do intrinsically define our personal identities” (Nordgren and Juengst 2009), but it also illustrates the ease with which the sovereign authority of tribes to determine their own mechanisms for establishing lineage, affiliation, and citizenship stand to be undermined by the science of genetics. The possibility that a genetic test might serve as a platform to restructure familial, community, and sociopolitical relationships—particularly those that have been severed as a result of historically traumatic circumstances—makes genetic ancestry testing a “high-stakes” endeavor for some.
The high-stakes nature of conversations about GAT were evident from the start of this project. The earliest phases of community engagement underscored that many individuals in the communities we visited expressed interest in sharing their personal perspectives on GAT—both positive and critical perspectives—but official tribal mechanisms for approving research in select communities (e.g., institutional review boards [IRBs] or tribal advisory committees) were less receptive and, ultimately, did not grant formal support for the project. These developments early in the project were not wholly unexpected given the politically and culturally sensitive subject of genetic research in many indigenous communities and the tendency for the topic of GAT to prompt dynamic and even sensitive discussions about race. This latter point was especially relevant at the time, as there were some notable legal cases shaping the public conversation about race, citizenship, and blood politics in nearby tribal communities, including the “Baby Veronica” case (Adoptive Couple v. Baby Girl, 570 U.S. 637, 133 S. Ct. 2552 (2013)) and a number of ongoing cases involving Freedmen, including Cherokee Nation v. Nash (990 F.Supp.2d 1148 (2013)). These high-profile cases seemed to serve as proxies at that time “for reifying problematic notions about blood quantum, race, and tribal self-determination, and they reinforced the potential for genetic ancestry testing to have significant political impact for tribal citizens and noncitizens alike” (Blanchard et al. 2017). Final approval for the project was granted by the University IRB but not from any specific tribal review board; as such, we do not identify specific tribal nations or communities throughout the research process, nor did we recruit participants on the basis of their citizenship in any one tribal nation or utilize the services, facilities, employees, or programs of a specific tribal nation for the purposes of this research.
The inability to secure formal support from some of the tribes first approached during the community engagement phase, in spite of community-level enthusiasm, required a significant methodological reworking of our original approach to recruit from specific tribal communities; namely, recruitment broadened from a tribally specific approach to instead include participants on the basis of self-identification as “Native American” without regard for membership in any one tribe as a requisite for participation. This approach had some benefits in that it allowed individuals with multiple tribal affiliations to participate without regard to citizenship; however, self-identification is not an ideal requisite for recruitment in tribal communities, and the limitations of this approach are worth articulating here.
At the very least, self-identification allows for the overly broad use of the term “Native American” as an identifier. Self-identification also favors individual consent over collective decision-making processes; conflates issues of ancestry, citizenship, and heritage in ways that cannot be systematically validated; and facilitates the misappropriation of cultural identities by those who may otherwise not be subject to policies and lived experiences that impact many Native peoples. Certainly, the misappropriation of Native identity and cultural ties without also having connections to actual tribal communities and experiences is problematic. As such, the phenomena of “playing Indian” and “racial shifting” by non-Natives who selectively choose to appropriate Native identities (Deloria 1998; Sturm 2011) become even more complex as ancestral connections to indigenous populations are not just selectively claimed and performed but are also inferred on the basis of genetic information. Self-proclaimed Native identity, especially when bolstered by genetic ancestry approximations, produces powerful genomic articulations of indigeneity (TallBear 2013a) that stand to challenge the legal, political, social, cultural, and familial ways that indigenous peoples understand and perform relatedness. Privileging self-identification over federal tribal enrollment status also challenges the inherent sovereignty of tribal nations to determine for themselves who is and is not a tribal citizen (for a complete discussion of methodological issues related to recruitment, IRB, and self-identification, see Blanchard et al. 2017).
Given the overly broad and problematic nature of self-identification as a criterion for inclusion, researchers also relied on an ethnographically informed approach, supplemented with informed and snowball sampling, to limit recruitment activities to public locations and community events with a high concentration of Native American populations. This approach allowed us to work directly with intertribal church groups, existing organizations serving indigenous populations, intertribal civic groups and artist networks, tribal educational groups, and local community boards in high-density tribal communities throughout eastern and central Oklahoma. Oklahoma is home to 39 federally recognized tribes; while each tribal nation maintains its own politically and culturally distinct communities, there is also a strong tribally heterogeneous composition of Oklahoma reflected in intertribal social spaces and religious settings, urban communities, and shared cultural gatherings.
The problems inherent in using self-identification persist in spite of an ethnographically informed approach, and yet we are confident that our efforts to recruit participants in tribally heterogeneous spaces was always grounded in a commitment to working within long-standing and respected tribal organizations, social spaces, and familial networks recognized as part of the larger Native community life in Oklahoma. Ultimately, our commitment to working within existing community networks and organizations shaped the composition of the focus groups so that the dynamics, demographics, and cultural identities of participants was reflective of surrounding tribal communities. Participants’ tribal enrollment information was not solicited, and yet the majority of participants readily discussed their own tribal enrollment status, the exact nature of their connection to a specific tribal community, and the ways that meaningful relationships to those communities are maintained in their daily lives.
This article explores the processes whereby indigenous individuals from diverse tribal communities in Oklahoma articulate the value of GAT relative to their own lived experiences. To the best of our knowledge, this is one of the first journal publications from qualitative research with members of indigenous communities in the United States specifically concerning GAT. Our discussion is based on conversations about GAT, but it is amply clear that concerns about the use of genetic technology for ancestry purposes are strongly related to additional concerns about genetics and genomic advances more broadly within indigenous communities. The findings of this research point to the importance of understanding the spectrum of indigenous perspectives about genetics in the era of new genetic and genomic technologies.
Methods
Context and Objectives of the Research
The following study is part of a wider project examining the US public’s understandings of GAT, as well as issues concerning race, genetics, and identity. The specific portion of the larger project that explored questions about GAT in indigenous communities involved 3 years of ongoing engagement across diverse tribal communities in eastern and central Oklahoma as a precursor to qualitative data collection. The community engagement and data collection phases were led by a team of both indigenous and nonindigenous researchers at the University of Oklahoma, both having prior knowledge and experience working with tribal communities across Oklahoma, and a team of graduate student researchers assisting with focus group facilitation. This period of community engagement and participant recruitment produced a total of 13 focus groups with 128 adult participants and six in-depth, semistructured interviews with a variety of community leaders. The impetus behind the individual interviews was to initiate discussions about GAT with individuals in social, cultural, or political leadership positions in their communities and to consult with them about subsequent stages of community engagement. Our selection of individual community leaders was informed by previous ethnographic experience and community interactions across Oklahoma, as well as on the basis of their reputations as community leaders. These individuals also served as initial points of contact for beginning the focus group recruitment, at which point researchers would follow appropriate local protocols for community engagement. In some cases, this meant giving presentations to large community forums, more intimate presentations at tribal board meetings, or visiting with local cooks at the tribal community center to determine the best approach.
The recruitment dynamic for each focus group was different, based in part on the physical location of the group, the relationship of the researcher to that community, and local histories of working with researchers over time. In settings where most residents shared a tribal affiliation or “home community,” recruitment relied on intracommunity and culturally specific mechanisms, such as locally recognized leaders, community councils, church elders, or other acceptable avenues as determined by ethnographic engagement (Blanchard et al. 2017). It was more often the case, however, that focus group participants resided, affiliated, and participated in multiple and diverse tribal and nontribal contexts. A detailed description of two particular focus groups illustrates the process whereby researchers came to recruit participants in these kinds of tribally heterogeneous settings.
Every summer, thousands of indigenous attendees travel from their home communities to worship and fellowship with other Native American Christians in the recesses of the Arbuckle Mountains in southern Oklahoma. It is a unique weeklong gathering that appeals specifically to Native American Christians, belonging mostly to Indian Baptist congregations, and connects individuals from diverse tribal backgrounds and experiences. The intertribal nature of the gathering and the fact that it was geographically detached from any one tribal community setting were among the reasons we planned to attend. Having attended this gathering many times before, one of our researchers was able to establish a lengthy conversation with the leadership behind this gathering, and it was agreed that a space would be reserved for purposes of holding focus group discussions with gathering attendees. The decision to allot time for focus group discussions about genetic ancestry testing could be a perilous one, in that the topic alone stood to incite politically and religiously sensitive opinions. Still, our research project had been incorporated into the official program of activities for the gathering, so that attendees had the option to participate in a number of breakout activities including our focus groups. The first focus group filled quickly. Attendees were turned away in the rain only to return to our second scheduled focus group later in the day. These two focus groups were distinct from others we had conducted up to that point, in that there was far greater diversity in both the age and tribal backgrounds of the participants than those focus groups held in smaller tribal communities or interest groups. These particular groups were also uniquely different from the other focus groups in that these individuals had come to the gathering for purposes other than speaking about GAT. Nevertheless, as with other focus groups, they produced discussions that were grounded in deliberate and thoughtful exchanges that, at times, highlighted the complex issues involved with indigenous communities and GAT.
Participants in these and in all other focus groups expressed a range of opinions about GAT. It became clear over the course of the project that the processes of community engagement and data collection themselves contributed to the range of opinions about GAT expressed by participants and nonparticipants alike. Focus group settings, in particular, seemed to elicit sentiments of disapproval, mistrust, or indifference toward genetic research broadly, and yet it was often the case in more private, casual conversations that individuals would express at least minimal curiosity about the potential of genetic research and even hopefulness that it could contribute positively to their families and communities. The articulation of privately held versus publicly communicated views about genetic research suggests that the focus groups themselves become discursive spaces for individuals to manage social spaces, relationships and their own attitudes about GAT vis-à-vis community values.
Interview and Focus Group Discussion Topics
A list of suggested topics and discussion points were used in all interviews and focus groups. Not all of the questions were asked in the same order or even at all with each participant. Rather, topical areas of discussion were addressed (i) according to the flow of the individual/group discussion and (ii) in sequential order of the data collection instrument, in cases where natural conversation did not occur. All topics were asked in an open-ended manner, so as to encourage respondents to create narrative responses that were both self-directed and responsive to group dynamics.
Interviews and group discussions were guided by the following questions:
Can you talk about your familiarity with genetic ancestry testing?
Do you have any direct knowledge through having taken a genetic ancestry test?
How do you identify yourself presently?
How do you think you would react to expected DNA results?
How do you think you would react to unexpected DNA results?
Do you think there are any benefits from such testing?
Are there any risks associated with such testing?
What might such tests be used for?
Would you want to take such a test?
Under what conditions?
What would be the wider community reaction to such tests?
This list of questions served as a topical guide for facilitators. Even in cases where questions could elicit “yes” or “no” responses, facilitators encouraged participants to elaborate on their experiences or responses. Also, in an effort to promote conversational flow and more naturally occurring dialogue among participants and facilitators, the formalized list of questions above would be worked into the conversation using more informal and accessible language. As an example, it would be common for facilitators to rephrase the question “Can you talk about your familiarity with genetic ancestry testing?” or “Do you have any direct knowledge through having taken a genetic ancestry test?” so that instead it might be simply asked, “Has anyone ever heard of genetic ancestry testing?” or “Have you ever taken a genetic ancestry test?”
All participants knew ahead of the meeting that we would be discussing the topic of genetic ancestry testing, and it was common for participants to come prepared with thoughts, stories, online research, and family experiences that they intended to share with the group. It was often the case that participants would propose their own ideas about how GAT worked, the validity of the information produced by GAT, and the various utilities of GAT as they perceived them. These conversations often included statements about GAT that did not accurately articulate the scientific or genomic principles on which these tests operate, and yet we feel that even these kinds of contradictory interpretations are important for understanding public perceptions of these biotechnologies.
Our goal for this project was to understand community members’ perceptions and concerns about GAT, not to provide educational sessions on genomics and ancestry or to correct individual’s understandings of the topics. As such, all experiences and perspectives were welcomed and participants’ beliefs about genetic ancestry testing were not viewed by researchers as misinformed or incorrect. It is to this end that we include the exact wording and language used by participants in order to represent their perspectives exactly as they were articulated to us. Ongoing work with these communities, including planned follow-up community forums, will include the provision of information on the current knowledge about genetic ancestry testing and genetic testing in general, as well as genetics and genomics.
Analysis of Interviews and Focus Groups
Analysis was undertaken using the methodology described by Boyatzis (1998) and Braun and Clarke (2006) as thematic analysis. Given the absence of a prior hypothesis, a data-driven approach was taken within which our initial interests and questions guided analysis, but themes emerged through the process of the transcript analysis. These themes were further developed using NVivo 10 (NVivo qualitative data analysis software; QSR International, ver. 10, 2012) and were revised through discussion between the authors. Not all data were used for this report; dissemination of findings to the community is still underway, and other papers are being developed. Most importantly, excerpts from interviews and focus groups were analyzed within the context of long-standing community engagement and knowledge of community concerns, interests, and resilience.
Results
The results are divided into three major sections: “Genetic Ancestry Testing and the Localized Production of Knowledge,” “Continuity in the Face of Genetic Ancestry Testing,” and “Concerns and Critiques of Genetic Ancestry Testing.”
Genetic Ancestry Testing and the Localized Production of Knowledge
So, Indians know, Native people know where you come from—that’s what being Indian is about, not taking this test.
(Focus group 1, participant)
GAT Provides Knowledge about Health (Not Identity)
Conversations with focus group and interview participants made it clear that the foundation of an indigenous identity is having established attachments to shared histories, community networks, and an indigenous lineage that finds expression in long-held cultural practices and political autonomy. Indigeneity, as participants explained, is founded on lived experiences, not on the discovery of shared genetic markers.
However, while participants challenged the utility of testing for producing meaningful knowledge about indigenous identity, they acknowledged the prospect that GAT may produce other types of knowledge. In response to questions pertaining to the potential uses and benefits of GAT, for example, many participants referred specifically to the possibility that GAT might identify health risks among their populations or even provide information about health issues impacting families or the community as a whole. Participants expressed hopefulness and interest in GAT as a diagnostic tool, particularly with regard to diabetes and other chronic conditions that participants report as disproportionately affecting their communities. This is how one man explained about his own willingness to take a genetic ancestry test if presented with the opportunity:
If it would help my children … um, I’d be glad to do it. Right now, I don’t see any particular—any negative things unless some fuzzy-headed guy out there decides he wants to do something funny with that blood. But if they are sincerely looking for something that would help us health wise, then I’d be all for it.
(Interview participant 1)
The hopefulness with which many respondents saw genetic ancestry tests as producing useful medical information is interesting given the legacy of genetic exploitation in indigenous and other minority communities. Indeed, the above participant’s suggestion that someone may decide to “do something funny” with the blood specimen points to the lingering suspicion that some Native people maintain with regard to genetic testing. The utility of using GAT for finding out about health issues was often contrasted with the lack of importance placed on the utility of using GAT for tracing lineage:
If it was for some medical need then maybe. But just to find a lineage? No, no.
(Focus group 10, participant)
I think at this point it’s just kind of entertainment and curiosity unless you know, like … I don’t know … they do things that they can tell if you have certain breast cancer cell.
(Focus group 10, participant)
I really don’t see having a benefit other than for health reasons. Like, I would be curious, you know, for that … just to see what disease, like … but I can kind of see that from, like, right now my mom and dad and my ancestors, you know, my grandparents and stuff, but yeah … what else? Oh, paternity, yeah.
(Focus group 2, participant)
Participants reported the predictive and diagnostic potential of GAT as its single most important benefit and the most likely motivator for taking a genetic ancestry test. Notably, individuals’ willingness to take a GAT for diagnostic purposes appears to be compelled not by an interest in addressing one’s own health concerns but in anticipation that they might contribute toward the collective benefit of future generations in their own families and communities. Thus, even in cases where GAT might reveal useful diagnostic information, participants determine the value of that medical knowledge according to how it impacts one’s larger family and community relationships.
GAT Provides Knowledge about Previous Generations
For some, GAT was seen as useful in confirming parentage, especially as it relates to tribal membership. One focus group participant had the following to say about testing:
It’s more like a paternity test, you know, Do you actually belong to these people? Again, like you said, from these people who are enrolled today who are on the tribal rolls, you know, if you are a child of them, OK, if you need to prove that, like I said … Florida Seminoles have requested it. I don’t know that they’re actually doing it, but the Pequot are also saying that any newborn who has a tribal association with them will be DNA tested.
(Focus group 1, participant)
As suggested by the above quote, the significance of using GAT as a means to check paternity is meaningful not only for information about individual paternity but also because it has the potential to link specific types of genetic information to larger community relationships (i.e., enrollment in a specific tribe on the basis of genetic proof of parentage).
An extension of this form of checking paternity—albeit more generalizable—was to utilize GAT to trace unknown ancestry because of disruption to biological family structures, such as adoption of Native children by non-Native households; adoption by extended community members; or dissolution of family and tribal ties due to social, economic, or other factors. Several participants reiterated that the previous generation had lost their connection to the past due to the federal boarding school program of enforced cultural assimilation as well as the disruptions to communities as a result of the Indian Relocation Act of 1956. “There’s so many Indian kids that were removed from families … and raised in white families,” said one participant. Examples of this important topic of conversation follow:
Yeah, I want to know where I came from because, as far as I know, my mom put me up for adoption, and I was raised by black people, and I just need to know where I really came from.
(Focus group 3, participant)
It’s kind of a tricky thing. If you’re, say, adopted and you know that you’re of Native decent, you have … maybe you don’t have grandmother, maybe you don’t have great aunts, maybe you don’t have an ancestor or a family member or anybody around, and you’re just grasping for anything.
(Focus group 1, participant)
I know back then a lot of parents that couldn’t raise their kids, you know, asked families, other families, to do things to raise the kids. I mean, smaller areas—you know, somebody else got bigger land, and they got all of this stuff going on, and these people don’t have very much—just say, “Well if you can raise my kid for me because we are at a hardship right now. We can’t raise them.” And then to live with other families—or they will go live with family friends and we pull away—and then they grow up with that side so long they lost track of this side of the family.
(Focus group 9, participant)
While such stories do not suggest that GAT can or should authenticate revisions or changes in tribal and/or Native American identity, they do identify a function for GAT that may renew previously disrupted personal and tribal connections. Key here is the disruption to one’s lineage through adoption or some other means of social and familial disruption, because it indicates a specific point at which one possessed legitimate social ties that could potentially be reinstated upon the discovery of one’s genetic ancestry. Indeed it was recognized that, for some, GAT might provide the knowledge they need to reconnect to a tribal community from which their family had been removed or excluded. Although somewhat ambiguous as to whether this is a positive or negative feature of GAT, the following participant alluded to this point about reforging or creating a sense of connection from a position of being lost:
I … I think the majority who take them … in Indian country’s context … the majority of people who don’t really have a … a strong knowledge of Indian Country but have a family story of an Indian ancestry. And so I think they think that by taking this, this somehow connects them culturally.
(Interview participant 6)
Beyond the affirmation of Native ancestry, participants also considered the possibility that GAT might identify non-Native ancestral linkages. The search for—or unexpected revelation of—non-Native ancestral ties proved to be an interesting possibility or humorous prospect for some Native American participants. Consider the following statements:
I am always, like, curious ‘cause, like, when I was little, like, when my hair was a little long, I always had, like, a red tint in my hair, and everybody thought I dyed my hair, but most of my cousins thought it was crazy: like solid black hair, and I had a red tint to it. So I was just wondering if it is, you know, like, Why is my hair is red? And not only that, I felt like … I can’t even describe it, I feel like I am less Native in me than them. It is, like, you know, just want to figure out who I am.
(Focus group 7, participant)
It’s not for the Indian part, I am … I do have white blood. I would be doing it to find out what kind of white blood … not even for the Indian part, sorry. But definitely not for the Indian part of it. I know about that part. … Who knows? Maybe I’m part Jewish or something.
(Focus group 1, participant)
Indeed, the humorous response to this kind of search for non-Native ancestry seems closer to the “low-stakes” rationales for taking genetic ancestry tests for entertainment purposes, as described in our introduction.
GAT Produces (False) Knowledge for Others
Genetic reports of Native ancestry facilitate the renewal of community ties, but only when such tests are referenced in combination with existing family histories, tribal connections, and transferable community relationships. Participants also spoke about the limited value of finding Native American genetic markers for persons not already connected to any Native American community. Participants relayed personal anecdotes that call into question the motivations behind those who make Native DNA claims that otherwise have no connections to Native communities:
I worked with a girl that did it, and I don’t know … apparently she had been doing some modeling and she was dark-headed, and so she would start getting people wanted her to model for, like, Native. And so she started, like, I guess she did one of those test and found out that somewhere down the line she actually was. So she really started dying her hair really dark and, like, and now she identifies herself as Native. It is—I don’t know—it is interesting.
(Focus group 2, participant)
They want to find … out if he could get a card and get money to pay for his education or go to the clinic for that reason, because I saw people at my clinic that I went to school with. This girl, she was in my class, and I saw her at the clinic, and I almost—and she was with her mother, and her mother was, you know, I just thought in high school they would never say they were Indian.
(Focus group 2, participant)
More widely, the commodification of Native American DNA—as promoted through television shows, product commercials, and newspaper advertisements—was the subject of considerable discussion. Coupled with speculation and implied critique about the individual motivations behind Native DNA claims, one participant with whom we spoke provided a simple but powerful observation about the tendency of direct-to-consumer DNA products to oversell and sensationalize the search for Indian ancestors, arguing that no one takes these tests to “find out if you’re black” or to “find out if you’re white.” It seems that the majority of products designed to appeal to African American or European/Euro-American consumers is done to “reconnect” to an already known part of your past. By way of contrast, the search for Indian ancestors is viewed as one of surprising and exotic discovery, a socially troubling pattern that has been observed in scientific interaction with indigenous communities over many decades (see discussion below).
Continuity in the Face of Genetic Ancestry Testing
We don’t need a swab in our mouth to prove who we are.
(Focus group 10, participant)
Continuity through Affirming Existing Identity
The most oft-repeated sentiment concerning GAT reported in our discussions with participants was that such testing cannot change a person. Overwhelmingly, the participants with whom we spoke were confident that a genetic test would not alter their current identities as indigenous peoples. Moreover, they repeatedly reiterated that GAT cannot make “non-Indians” into “Indians.” In the event that genetic testing reveals new or previously unknown information about an individual—such as unexpected ancestral links or a genetic predisposition to a certain disease—that information is perceived as most meaningful when it has the potential to strengthen existing social networks and community ties. Thus, for those persons already enrolled as members of a federally recognized tribe or already self-identifying as having ancestry affiliated with a particular or multiple tribes, many do not believe that GAT will change their individual identities, community networks, or their tribal affiliations. The following typifies this sense of self and community identity:
I’ve been a member of the Choctaw Nation since the time I was born—it’s how the federal government identifies me, it’s how the tribe identifies me, and it’s how I identify my family.
(Interview participant 4)
The idea that genetic ancestry information would not alter one’s perception of a previously held indigenous identity in ways that are socially and culturally meaningful is not wholly unexpected given that participants were recruited, in part, on the basis of participation in communities with high concentration of indigenous populations. Individuals with whom we spoke already identified as “Native American” or “Indian” or by specific tribal affiliation prior to our discussions.
Continuity through Rejecting the Primacy of Genetic Identity
Alongside these positive reaffirmations of an existing indigenous identity were multiple statements that contrasted tribal membership through cultural identification, with the implied suggestion that existing group identity could be created through GAT. (This is not to say that participants did not see a possible role for identity formation, only that this was more often seen as secondary to existing community ties).
We don’t need a swab in our mouth to prove who we are because we already know who we are based upon our family and what we learned and what we’ve grown up in. It’s not … the result is not going to change, you know, who we are and what we believe who we are and who we identify with.
(Focus group 10, participant)
So Indians know, Native people know, where you come from—that’s what being Indian is about, not taking this test.
(Focus group 1, participant)
When exploring more deeply as to why this might be the case, to some this rejection of genetic ancestry testing as identity forming or disrupting was based on a confidence that any such test would only show what they already knew. The excerpts below, one from a participant in a focus group and the other from an individual interview, articulate this point:
I kind of know my ancestors so I, it would just confirm from what I pretty much knew already, I think.
(Focus group 2, participant)
I already—you know—I already know where my bloodline is. (Interview participant 5)
When asked what it might mean if results showed something unexpected—a proposition that almost always suggested the finding of non-Native genetic links—most participants acknowledge that such findings would be interesting, and possibly entertaining, but would not alter personal forms of identity. Indeed, such a scenario was greeted with considerable lightheartedness:
If it revealed something that I didn’t know … at this point in time for me, it wouldn’t make that much difference.
(Interview participant 5)
I’d be excited, actually. I wouldn’t mind if it is the opposite of—I already know that I am part of a different ethnic group than the minority, and if I was part of other minority groups than that, I’d actually be excited.
(Interview participant 4)
Another participant gave an example of how a friend who “always thought he was … more Comanche than anything else” took the test only for the report to indicate ancestry from “Northern Europe someplace” (focus group 10, participant). Aside from some teasing by his wife, there is no indication that the man experienced any further identity problems. Notably, the participant telling this story continues to refer to him as “a Comanche friend,” suggesting that the man’s genetic ancestry report did not alter the tribal identifiers with which others were already familiar. Indeed, one participant highlighted just how little it might mean with respect to tribal identity:
I would be doing it [GAT] to find out what kind of white blood … not even for the Indian part, sorry. But definitely not for the Indian part of it. I know about that part.
(Focus group 1, participant)
As argued by another participant,
Whatever the outcome is, I mean, it’s not gonna harm me in any way, is it? Other than just gaining knowledge about my past or relationships? (Interview participant 1)
Continuity of an indigenous identity was also reaffirmed by a clear rejection of the idea that genetic ancestry results lay the foundation for the formation of a meaningful indigenous identity. In particular, this seemed to refer to the unknown numbers of persons currently claiming genetic ancestral ties (as seen above) with Native Americans but not having any (or very little verifiable) direct familial knowledge of their current Native American family. This theme was expanded on by several focus group participants. The almost gleeful affirmation of Native American DNA found in some popular GAT advertisements follows a familiar trope to many living in Native communities who are wary of being rediscovered and keen to point out that “nobody wanted to be Native when it wasn’t cool” (focus group participant).
You can’t just sneak in and say, Oh, I am a Kiowa. … You can’t just sneak into Caddo County, because everybody knows who is Kiowa, and who is family, belongs to who and all of that, then somebody comes in and they don’t know. They will say, Who is she kin to? What tribe is she?
(Focus group 3, participant)
I think, like, the people who try to claim to be Native American … you know, if they just found out that they were, you know … because of the Native American history is so sacred and so like special to Native American people, it would be really hard for them to actually get accepted into that culture and that tradition that they don’t know none of that. You know what I mean?
(Focus group 8, participant)
If you’re having to do genetic testing to see if you got any blood quantum of Indian blood … most likely, except for the tribes that don’t have blood quantums … uh … you’re probably not gonna get in anyway, you know? Because that blood quantum’s gonna be … relatively low, most likely, because you’re far removed from the culture. But you do have the right to know your ancestry.
(Interview participant 2)
In summary, not only was the primacy of genetically constructed identity rejected for persons already identified as Native American within their communities, it was also rejected for those discovering Native American ancestral connections through GAT, who otherwise have no existing cultural ties to Native communities. As one participant stated,
A blood test only shows markers for a particular time frame, but it doesn’t really encompass what it means to stand in certain locations and have names given to you and participate in ceremonies and understand prayers and stuff.
(Focus group 10, participant)
In part, this existing sense of identity—articulated as connectedness to tribal histories, cultural practices, and communal ties—was further strengthened by contrasting one’s own cultural rootedness with others whose identity is not founded on a strong sense of culture and community. As one participant stated, “I don’t think that a lot of white people have that identity” (focus group 10, participant). Participants challenge the notion that meaningful ties to Native communities can be established solely on the basis of genetic reports of Native American ancestry. As seen above, those currently enrolled or identified as Native American have strong ideas about the motivations and legitimacy of individuals seeking and expressly hoping to find genetic proof of Native ancestry without also having some other type of familial or communal attachments.
Tribal Enrollment and GAT
It was during the intertribal religious gathering (see “Context and Objectives of the Research” above) that the discussion turned to the issue of tribal enrollment. Following a prompt from the first focus group of the day, the facilitator asked participants whether they knew of any tribes that were discussing the option of using GAT for enrollment purposes. Quickly, and in somewhat of a departure from most respondents, one woman affirmed, “They need to.” Following this sentiment, an older man explained:
I heard some tribes, you know—a lot of us in here can agree—we have full-blooded Indians, but yet they can’t get on the rolls because their tribal rolls have to be one-quarter to be on the roll. So we have some kids that are now full-blooded Indian, and they can’t get on the roll because they are not of a certain blood type.
(Focus group 8, participant)
As sovereign nations, federally recognized tribes determine their own conditions for tribal enrollment eligibility. Some tribes, as described by the man above, determine enrollment eligibility on the basis of an individual possessing at least one-quarter Indian blood from that specific tribe, so that even a “full-blooded Indian” whose Native ancestry is traced to five different tribes might be ineligible for enrollment in any one of the tribes from which their ancestry is derived. The man above did not endorse the use of GAT by the general public to override current tribal citizenship eligibility requirements; rather, the suggestion was that tribes should consider GAT as an added check on already known family ties and lineages.
Others present in the focus group recounted the stories of individuals whose ancestors opted to not be counted on the historical Dawes Rolls, a singular requisite for enrollment eligibility for some tribes, thereby making them ineligible for enrollment in the tribal nations with whom they identify today. The inability of some individuals to enroll in their tribe of affiliation—whether because they fall below the “blood quantum” requirement or their ancestor was not included on a specific roll at the turn of the twentieth century—creates situations whereby family members encounter fundamentally different everyday experiences on the basis of their enrollment status. As one woman in the group explained,
Yeah, because just like he said, I know kids when they are full-blood Indians, but they don’t know they could be getting benefits like we do, you know, especially when they got kids of their own. Bringing up, they have to pay for their own insurance, and they can’t go to like the doctors we go to, and they can’t go to college and get the benefits that we get, and they are just missing out on it, and it is just a matter of paperwork.
(Focus group 8, participant)
These participants’ comments point to the prospect that genetic tests might be beneficial for individuals who are otherwise ineligible for tribal membership, not because they have no known “Indian” lineage or because they are not descended from a particular tribe, but because current mechanisms for determining tribal citizenship do not always account for the lived realities of many Indian families.
The utility of GAT continues to evolve as the technology itself becomes more advanced and as the accessibility of these tests becomes more widespread. The use of GAT to validate tribal enrollment was a constant point of interest and concern for participants with whom we spoke. Questions of how GAT is currently being used for tribal enrollment purposes were often directed to researchers, in which case the following information was shared with participants: There are some examples of tribes using or considering the use of genetic testing to address issues related to tribal enrollment, disenrollment, and for purposes of seeking federal recognition (Bardill 2010, 2014; TallBear 2003); while many of these cases involve the use of genetic testing to confirm maternal or paternal parentage and not to establish ancestry, there are no examples, to our knowledge, of federally recognized tribal nations requiring the sole use of GAT for citizenship purposes. Using GAT as a measure of tribal citizenship eligibility is a discussion worth having, but it ultimately rests with individual tribes. The prospect of using GAT as a measure of tribal citizenship, however, highlights the complexity with which racial identity and tribal identity are often conflated. Tribes are political entities, often comprised of diverse populations exhibiting considerable genetic diversity. This is also true of all racial and/or ethnic groups (Jorde and Wooding 2004; Lewontin 1972). Nevertheless, the problematic conflation of tribal and racial identities (the latter frequently—and incorrectly—seen as indicative of genetic difference; Livingstone and Dobzhansky 1962) reminds us that “science cannot prove an individual’s identity as a member of a cultural entity such as a tribe” (TallBear 2003:84). The intersection of racial and tribal identities was not a specific area of focus for this project, but participants’ concerns over citizenship being potentially decided by genetic testing (in a manner that might be perceived as defining Native Americans as a biological race) and over identity point to the need for further inquiry into these topics.
As focus group participants continued to discuss the possibility that GAT might be an asset for Indian families who otherwise felt discounted by current tribal enrollment standards, one young woman interjected with clear resolve. Dismissing the idea that genetic tests could verify an indigenous identity, she said boldly, “Not for me … because I know, you know, my family—they are all Native American. I don’t need a blood test to tell me that I am Shawnee and Ponca.” Another woman offered, “It depends on what tribe you are,” to which the young woman countered,
Yeah, but that doesn’t matter to me because I already know that is where I grew up in, and I don’t need something to tell me, like, Oh, well, you are Creek all of a sudden. Or, You belong to this. Or, You belong to Mongolians. You have the traits of a Mongolian. I am not going to be a Mongolian tomorrow. I am Native American, and that doesn’t change.
(Focus group 8, participant)
As this series of exchanges makes clear, the focus groups and interviews necessarily brought forth reflection over the potential impact of GAT for individuals as well as the broader community. As seen above, the prospect that non-Native individuals may appropriate an indigenous identity on the basis of genetic ancestry information was not generally welcomed, but the potential to right the wrongs of the past was recognized as a legitimate use of GAT (at least, tentatively).
Concerns and Critiques of Genetic Ancestry Testing
It’s out of your hands, and you don’t know how it can come back and hurt.
(Focus group 10, participant)
Validity, Commerce, and Trust in GAT
Alongside concerns over how GAT might be appropriated by outsiders were repeated expressions of concerns about whether GAT could be trusted. To some extent, these concerns rested on whether the science behind GAT is proven and whether the participants perceived the companies providing tests as trustworthy. One participant argued that “it’s just a bunch of wild guessing,” while others were more reserved in their judgment of the science:
I think people tend to attach great credibility when this mantel of science is brought out, and to me I don’t know that the testing, if we have it, warrants that type of automatic trust and assurance in what they’re doing. And it’s also not clear that the limitations are well spelled out. (Focus group 10, participant)
Furthermore, given that the consumer is often unaware of how testing is conducted, participants expressed worry that companies might simply provide a made-up result just to make a sale:
Yeah, we have your money. We’ll let’s just throw a dart at them, you know, a map and write it down wherever it lands.
(Focus group 2, participant)
Oh, they can sell you a salt tablet and tell you it just told you your DNA. No one would know the difference.
(Interview participant 6)
Along with issues concerning trust in the companies themselves, focus groups highlighted issues concerned with trust in industry regulators, the government, and the historical reasons as to why such commercial ventures—especially non-Native-owned ventures that stand to profit from the acquisition of bio-specimens from indigenous populations—are likely to be mistrusted. Sentiments pertaining to not trusting the government were relatively common. References to the infamous Tuskegee “experiments” on African Americans (Bates and Harris 2004; Buseh et al. 2013; Byrd et al. 2011; Corbie-Smith 1999; Scharff et al. 2010) and the unethical research practices among the Havasupai Tribe (Dalton 2004; Drabiak-Syed 2010; Havasupai Tribe of Havasupai Reservation v. Arizona Board of Regents, 204 P.3d 1063 (2008)) were mentioned as reasons not to trust GAT and research involving bio-specimens. Other focus group participants recounted stories of non-Native researchers who had worked in the participants’ tribal communities for generations without any sense of the outcomes of that research, calling into question the trustworthiness and commitment of outside researchers. There was a generalizable feeling that genetic information derived from these tests would be used against Native American communities in some way, even if it were not clear how.
It boils down to, Do you really trust the government to know DNA and what are they going to do with that DNA? You know … and it may be in schools right now, but where is it going to end up? … so that would be, I guess, would be [what] people [are] worried about.
(Focus group 5, participant)
And so I think the thing is, people may say, Well, here we have this piece of paper and I give consent. But what happens after that, and you don’t have any control once it leaves your hands and how people use it?
(Focus group 10, participant)
I just think it [genetic ancestry testing] is fascinating—but then still, part of me would think what are they going to do with this DNA, you know, in the future?
(Focus group 2, participant)
More generally, it was argued that indigenous peoples have reason to be suspicious:
Nothing against race or nothing, but most of the white people … they take things. They’re going to twist it to their advantage, you know what I mean? Why do you think I was always told never to write it down, don’t tell nothing? Because they take and they twist it and they use it [for] them. So what are they going to do with this? Once they got this, what are they going to do with it?
(Focus group 1, participant)
I remember hearing—those researchers always come in and out, and they do communities for some kind of testing or study or something, but this was a while ago, but I remember when they were looking at different types of medical testing and the concern was … one concern that was raised was that … Oh, the genome project, that was it. Well, if they try to map all of our DNA, maybe they will try to, like, start targeting us biologically or something. … You can find a genetic weakness that could only affect certain populations, and then you can go after that, you know. And I remember elders saying, You don’t know what they can do once they have that. And once they have it, they can copyright it and then you … you know … do all sorts of things. And so I would be very careful, you know, doing anything like that because, you just … It’s out of your hands, and you don’t know how it can come back and hurt.
(Focus group 10, participant)
In summary, for many in Native American communities, GAT appears to bring forth a strong potential for the applied biological science to be used in ways that may ultimately hurt communities. A sense of mistrust in GAT and fear that GAT information will be used to manipulate Native Americans was mixed with curiosity; a combination that remains troubling to many in the community who see both benefits and considerable risks in utilizing such technology.
Discussion
While there are many elements and concerns raised with respect to GAT as it impacts or might impact indigenous populations, the underlying message of the interviews and focus groups was that GAT produces a specific type of knowledge, but it ultimately does not produce indigeneity. Genetic information, according to those with whom we spoke, does not impart the relational and lived experiences of being indigenous. Thus, we might well conclude—along with Hochschild and Sen (2015) and Greely (2008) in other (nonindigenous) contexts—that the likelihood of GAT results overriding existing cultural identities is low among members of indigenous communities in Oklahoma (at least those who participated in this project). Even while the attraction of GAT is evident—especially in providing a vehicle for identity formation where cultural and family disruption has occurred (such as with adoption) and in identifying health risk—there was a strong sense of resistance to GAT becoming integral to the narrative construction of indigeneity.
Focus group and interview participants made it clear that indigenous notions of identity are founded on long-standing modes of relationality, whereby individuals and communities consciously and unconsciously form attachments on the basis of shared family histories, cultural understandings, political autonomy, specific tribal practices, and purposeful engagement with human and nonhuman beings and landscapes. In other words, there is a fundamental disconnect between indigenous modes of relationality and genetic interpretations of indigeneity through lineage testing or ancestry informative genetic markers. It is clear that people with whom we spoke do not validate claims to indigeneity on the basis of genetic information alone but instead understand indigenous identity formation as grounded in the experiences and knowledge derived from many generations of traveling in and through physical, temporal, and social landscapes. For indigenous communities, the information derived from genetic tests is distinct from ancestral knowledge derived through community narratives and relational connections to people, land, and ancestors (Reardon and TallBear 2012). Knowledge is the compilation of life experiences and relationships that inform one’s identity (i.e., how you and others come to know who you are). Genetic information, on the other hand, is grounded in scientific claims that are often far removed from the meaningful aspects of everyday life that inform a person’s sense of who they are and with whom and to what they are related.
Beyond the distinction between ancestral knowledge and genetic information, it was also clear that the individuals with whom we spoke maintained an understanding of peoplehood and relatedness that was distinct from the genomic understanding of ancestral populations. Genomic articulations of population rest on a presumed “environment/human divide,” one that conceptualizes ancestry not on the basis of relationships but according to the distribution of human molecules over time and space (TallBear 2013b). By way of contrast, “indigenous notions of peoplehood as emerging in relation with particular lands and waters and their nonhuman actors differ from the concept of a genetic population, defined as moving upon or through landscapes” (TallBear 2013a:514–515, emphasis in original). Gísli Pálsson (2008), in reference to Inuit notions of peoplehood and relatedness, employs the term “Inuit epigenetics” to underscore the importance of engaging “the intellectual theories of the people encountered in the field” (546) and how genomic studies must be shaped by indigenous epistemologies. It is clear from discussions we had with indigenous individuals living in Oklahoma that the significance of genomic technologies and applications lies not in the revelation of new information but in the potential for that information to restore the histories of rupture and connectedness that continue to shape indigenous relationships and experiences today.
Our project findings fall between two contrasting pillars for understanding indigenous perceptions of the role of specific genetic applications within their communities. On the one hand, they suggest that, among other things, GAT is a continuation of the century (or more)-old scientific and colonial project whereby scientists and those in power make claims to the effect that they can and should be allowed to define others (Reardon and TallBear 2012). Even though the people we spoke with reject the right of GAT companies to market their identities, it appears in a slightly more opaque form with the discovery of Native American ancestry through DNA among persons not connected culturally or geographically to indigenous communities. There is the perception that commercial enterprises “offering” both Native Americans and non-Native Americans the opportunity to discover themselves—or, at least, themselves as connected to the past—is both exploitative and deceptive.
Further, participants rejected the efforts of those who seek to utilize GAT as a means to secure tribal citizenship solely for purposes of gaining financial benefit. There is little sympathy for persons who use GAT to find or refind their Native American ancestry for financial purposes or merely to make claim to such ancestry because it is socially fashionable. This sort of “rights-based” claim to Native American identity was rejected as opportunistic and offensive. On the other hand, our findings suggest—along with other anthropological observations concerning indigenous communities’ interactions with the genetic sciences—that exploitation does not simply continue unabated. As our focus group participants amply demonstrated, not only is there a strong potential for the outright rejection of these neocolonial elements of GAT, but equally importantly, there is also the possibility of indigenous cultures and ways of thinking continuing to survive and thrive in their steadfast refusal to accept a simplified natural (genetics) versus cultural divide (Goodman, Heath, and Lindee 2003; Pálsson 2008; Strathern 1980). Such is the willingness among participants to integrate parts of genetic knowledge in their own cultural context—even those elements of GAT that might appear particularly individualistic or abstract within the scientific realm. Anthropologists (among others) must work hard to shed the presumption that a dualism of essentialist versus nonessentialist thinking is in operation when examining the presumed impact of genetics on indigenous communities. Furthermore, while it is historically and philosophically correct to argue that Western genetic science has indeed emerged separately from traditional knowledge systems in indigenous communities, it is problematic to assume that genetic science is necessarily imposed on indigenous peoples without refutation or adaptation. Indeed, what is perhaps most exciting about this project is that GAT self-evidently straddles multiple borders—borders between imposition and choice, individual and community, and, ultimately, genetics versus culture. The community is well versed not only in negotiating the impact of genetics on their everyday lives but also in making sure that the dichotomy of abstract scientific discovery versus everyday cultural experience is recognized as false, thus enabling scientific knowledge not only to be resisted but also to be broken down to ensure future genomic applications are applied and not imposed.
The tension between genetic and indigenous epistemologies extends to the broader relationship between genetics and indigenous communities. Genetic science, through eugenics campaigns and biomedical exploitation, has historically contributed to the ongoing ruptures in indigenous communities. There are important questions about how GAT, by using genomic information to validate indigenous identities, perpetuates the erasure of indigenous experiences by making indigeneity readily available for genomic consumers. Noting the relationship between race and property, Reardon and TallBear (2012) observe, “Native American DNA has emerged as a new natural resource that Native peoples possess, but that the modern subject—the self-identified European—has the desire and ability to develop into knowledge that is of value and use to all humans” (S235). Direct-to-consumer GAT produces for consumers a narrative about indigeneity, whereby indigenous peoples themselves, as receptacles of ancient haplotypes or genetic lineages, are largely alienated (à la Marx) from the means of production itself. The implications of this alienation extend beyond ontological discussions of genetics and knowledge production and point to the prospect that genetic science is shaping both the market and the role of indigenous peoples in it. The indigenous peoples with whom we spoke are mindful that they have been largely excluded from this means of knowledge production, and GAT is just one facet of genetic science in which indigenous peoples are increasingly inserting their presence.
Relational Identity
The geneticization of identity produced by GAT becomes an “ideological technos for dehistoricizing and obscuring the social relations that ‘race’ conceals” (Palmié 2007). Genetic articulations of indigeneity authorize genomic consumers to embrace an indigenous identity on the basis of genetic information alone—thereby allowing consumers to lay claim to the time and space upon which their molecules have been dispersed—without a relational and experiential connection to other indigenous peoples, communities, or histories. The tension between indigenous communities and genetic science is more than just “competing epistemologies,” it is also about a power structure that enabled the establishment of a settler state and the legitimization of Western science, both of which played a role in allowing nonindigenous people to lay claim to indigenous bodies. The process whereby GAT links genetic information to indigenous identity construction harkens back to—albeit in less violent ways—the seizure of indigenous bodies.
The linking of ancient molecular distributions to contemporary indigenous identity establishes a scientifically validated “fast pass” to indigeneity that is devoid—at least, initially—of experiential meaning and community rootedness. The ability to curate one’s history and identity on the basis of “molecular-biological data” points to the process whereby “such data [are] simultaneously transformed into the key elements of a form of historical revisionism based on essentially extrahistorical—in fact, antihistorical—forms of knowledge production” (Palmié 2007:209). Palmié (2007) explores this relationship between genomic technologies and the production of historical knowledge, explaining that the “prestige of genomic technologies of knowledge production has forced the retrospective realignment of ‘official historiography’ with previously disqualified forms of historical knowledge” (207). Palmié presents the case of individuals who “inhabit social identities once associated with the violent genealogical rupture of slave descent” (207) and for whom personalized genetic histories (PHGs) often validate long-held community-based forms of knowledge. Individuals with whom we spoke certainly recognized the potential utility of GAT to do just this. One critical distinction between the use of genetic information to restore or validate community-based knowledge forms and its use for the discovery of newfound identities is relationality (the nuances of genetic “discovery” related to indigenous peoples is discussed more below).
While relational identity—attachment to shared history, cultural practice, and political autonomy—serves to prevent identity from easily being usurped by genetic knowledge to create a genetic identity, it does not prevent communities from accepting the possibility that GAT might also be important or even useful for identifying health risks and furthering their knowledge of indigenous and nonindigenous genetic links that may have been lost or unknown to the present generation. These positions do not represent contradictory statements about the value of genetics but instead demonstrate that discussions about GAT are themselves opportunities for individuals to negotiate their own ideas about the value of this science vis-à-vis a defined set of community values. Indigenous communities are not “antiscience” or “antigenetics.” The people with whom we spoke acknowledge that the process of forming attachments on the basis of shared histories and cultural understandings can also be incomplete, conditional, or disrupted—a process that might be made more complete for some by the selective utilization of GAT. Participants shared stories of adoption, boarding school, and removal from tribal communities as examples of how systemic oppression has disrupted indigenous identities. They recognize that part of their shared history is inextricably linked to the ruptures brought about by displacement, relocation, the dismemberment of their communities, and the suppression of cultural practices as a result of living in settler states. It is within this historical and community context that GAT—as a vehicle for finding ancestry—comes to be understood. However, even where GAT is felt to be useful as indicative of health risk, the genetic information sought is retained as familial and community property—not as abstracted notions of individualized biomarkers of risk but as information valuable for the continuation of tribal continuation into future generations.
The commitment to relational identity seen in the focus groups also serves as a position of strength from which to observe how non-Native Americans might try to utilize GAT in ways that might be damaging to the larger sense of community. Community concerns about the contemporary utility of GAT emerge alongside a long history of scientific and anthropological discovery, genetic exploitation, bio-prospecting, and unethical engagement involving bio-colonialism and indigenous communities within and outside of North America. The marketing of genetic technologies to “search” for indigenous DNA promotes the idea that indigenous ancestral links are innately hidden, recoverable through scientific means, or so remote that indigenous DNA is somehow “closer to the origins of humanity” and representative of “an earlier stage of human evolution” (Reardon and TallBear 2012). Absent from the marketing of GAT products is a narrative of indigeneity built on modern, dynamic, and politically autonomous communities that are dialogically adept to engage with and shape the potential for these technologies.
The narrative of scientific “discovery” that is inherent in the marketing of these products has particular significance for indigenous communities that have and continue to be impacted by policies and decisions made in the name of scientific advancement. This tumultuous and exploitative history bears witness to the troubled relationship between the biosciences and indigenous communities, most recently with respect to resistance to the Human Genome Diversity Project (Awang 2000; Reardon 2009; Santos 2003). GAT is a highly specialized genomics application, and yet indigenous individuals with whom we spoke made it clear that perceptions of GAT are interwoven with these broader concerns about biomedical exploitation and unethical research practices. While GAT companies—perceived as outsiders by those with whom we spoke—might seek to sell their products as a means to verify Native American ancestry, indigenous communities largely reject this utilization of GAT as suspicious. As mentioned earlier, participants were also leery of individuals who might seek to utilize GAT results to secure financial benefits reserved for enrolled tribal members. A lack of trust underpinned a great deal of what was said concerning the role of GAT, highlighting longer-term wariness of repeated patterns of such outside intervention ultimately not being beneficial to Native Americans.
Conclusion
To the best of the authors’ knowledge, this is one of the first studies to document perceptions of GAT among self-identified indigenous individuals living in communities with a high concentration of indigenous populations (or, as was more commonly referred to among participants in this study, “Native Americans” or people with a specific tribal affiliation). It is important to note that we spoke mostly with individuals who had not taken a genetic ancestry test and who might otherwise hold different views about the value of GAT should they ever decide to take a test. While the people we spoke with appeared to have a sense of community that seems unlikely to be fundamentally disrupted by GAT, it also true that even relatively benign uses of technology can have unexpected implications. As was seen in the focus group discussions, the use of genetics (not necessarily GAT) to establish parentage for purposes of securing child support payments and paternal relationships can also be used to confirm or challenge individual tribal citizenship. The danger is that such subtle forms of social-technological interplay might undermine cultural values. As TallBear (2013b:85) notes, the linking of “DNA markers [such as found through paternity tests and GAT] to the right to invoke economic benefits reserved in treaties and law for Native American tribes and their citizens” could ultimately undermine tribal governance by according a greater value to DNA findings than relational forms of identity and associated tribal membership (TallBear 2013b:85). It is possible that GAT could undermine the sovereignty of tribes to determine their own conditions for membership in the event that GAT becomes utilized—by tribal or non-Native entities—as a tool for inclusion or exclusion. Nevertheless, presuming that GAT can only be seen as an overwhelming threat to indigenous peoples incorrectly assumes indigenous communities are powerless in the face of new technologies. Such presumptions downplay community resilience in a way that reproduces a narrative about Native communities as vulnerable populations waiting to be exploited. While the many concerns about essentialism and the legal ramifications of GAT are valid, the resilience of Native American communities and the ability of communities to find a way of utilizing GAT without succumbing to its essentializing and potentially damaging attributes should not be underestimated. GAT and associated ways of envisaging biology and the historical past will not usurp the varied and prevailing processes of community knowledge production seen across Indian Country. Instead, as shown in our focus groups and interviews, the future of GAT presents opportunities and challenges for tribal communities to inform, lead, and shape the direction of cutting-edge genetic and genomic research in their own communities.
Comments
Darryl Leroux
Department of Social Justice and Community Studies, Saint Mary’s University, 923 Robie Street, Halifax, Nova Scotia B3H 3C3, Canada (darryl.leroux@smu.ca). 22 X 18
This paper provides significant empirical and analytical contributions to ongoing debates about the use and circulation of genes associated with peoples indigenous to the Americas, especially as it pertains to efforts to redefine indigeneity and indigenous identity. Given the recent fallout from US Senator Elizabeth Warren’s use of DNA ancestry testing to “prove” her Cherokee ancestry, represented in part by the Cherokee Nation’s swift rebuttal of her efforts, debates about the relationship between DNA, indigeneity, and indigenous identity and/or ancestry appear poised to enter the mainstream. The authors provide a cogent, timely analysis of Native American perspectives on what they call genetic ancestry testing (GAT).
Their main focus is to present and analyze the rich data they have assembled from focus groups and interviews with a remarkable 128 research participants. Their sensitive discussion of some of the methodological barriers and ethical considerations they faced undertaking research into GAT among Native Americans will likely remain valuable to researchers for years to come. As the authors rightfully claim, theirs is likely one of the first studies to document indigenous perceptions of GAT with this level of attention.
The true strength of the paper is how it brings to life the often-complex negotiations a range of Native Americans in Oklahoma undertake with GAT. The authors demonstrate how the violent history of indigenous dispossession and displacement has led many of their participants to remain relatively open to some of the uses of GAT at the same time as they express widespread skepticism about some of the efforts made to appropriate Native American identities and lifeways through molecular technologies. By outlining some of the complexities involved in Native American responses to GAT, the authors contribute to a meaningful dialogue with social scientific researchers who have been examining the impacts of Native American DNA in the terms problematized by anthropologist Kim TallBear (2013b; see also Reardon and TallBear 2012).
There are a few aspects of this study that would benefit from additional work, especially if the authors aim to continue with this research into the future. First, I encourage the authors to develop finer theoretical tools for students of the relationship(s) between GAT and social identities. The apparent paradox between participant support for some limited use of GAT and the overall resistance to it offers an excellent opportunity for theoretical innovation. The authors, however, undertheorize the basis for indigenous identity, as explained by participants themselves. Having spoken with more than 100 Native Americans on the topic of GAT, I anticipated a more robust interpretation of participants’ “narrative construction of indigeneity.” If participants are indeed relatively ambivalent about the use of GAT, what does this tell us about contemporary forms of indigeneity as expressed by the participants?
The authors do briefly present what they call “relational identity” as a way to explain participant statements about indigeneity, which they develop as a form of indigenous identity that focuses on attachments to “shared history, cultural practice, and political autonomy.” One clear aspect of their relational model that is absent is any connection to land-based relations, including with other-than-humans. This might be explained by the authors’ general lack of engagement with the robust theoretical literature on the topic of contemporary forms of indigenous identity and belonging (see Barker 2011; Doerfler 2015; Garroutte 2003; Gaudry and Andersen 2016; Palmater 2011), including by anthropologists (see Simpson 2014; TallBear 2013b; Todd 2014). Further work developing their concept of “relational identity” alongside current theories of indigenous identity in anthropology, sociology, and indigenous studies would add an important conceptual component to their far-reaching empirical work.
One last suggestion involves the authors’ use of the term GAT to refer to a “form of biotechnology offering consumers the opportunity to learn more about their biogeographical ancestry or population affiliations.” While their definition is itself unproblematic, it does appear that participants are at times referring to an altogether different form of genetic testing, one that connects individuals to more immediate paternal or maternal relations, as is the case with adoptees searching for biological relations. That specific type of genetic testing has been available to consumers for much longer than mtDNA, yDNA, and autosomal testing services, each of which deal more explicitly with the type of “biogeographical ancestry” and “population affiliations” presented by the authors in their definition of GAT. The authors’ work would benefit from more clarity around their use of the term GAT, since locating a twelfth-generation maternal ancestor through mtDNA analysis as a way to self-indigenize (see Leroux 2018) is an altogether different venture than an adoptee identifying their birth mother for the purpose of familial reconstruction later in life.
Overall though, I see this research as an exciting entry point into a number of crucial concerns in social sciences—for instance, the potential impacts of the “molecular rein-scription of race” (Duster 2015) on social and political identities and current efforts to redefine indigeneity (and, by association, whiteness) to suit white desires (see Gaudry 2018; Gaudry and Leroux 2017; Kolopenuk 2018; Sturm 2011). I do hope that the authors intend to develop this research further.
Justin Lund (Diné/Navajo Nation)
Center on the Ethics of Indigenous Genomics Research, Laboratories of Molecular Anthropology and Microbiome Research, Department of Anthropology, University of Oklahoma, Norman, Oklahoma 73072, USA (justinlund@ou.edu). 20 X 18
Natives Have Perspectives Too
This article comes at a time when these specific concerns about genetic identity and its implications on Native American people, communities, and sovereignty must be addressed. Blanchard and colleagues, working in Oklahoma Indian Country, raise some interesting and profound perspectives on these issues and are quoted directly from the people who are most impacted by ancestry research and rhetoric; these are also the voices that have historically been ignored during negotiations of identity, including the racial categories thereby produced. As the authors have pointed out, Native American identity, tribal affiliation, and tribal citizenship are social and political categories that are undermined by the insinuation of genetics, blending into a long-troubled history of US racial identity politics. Despite that fact, the Native participants of this study expressed an optimism for the eventual utility of genetic sciences for their benefit. These participants recognize the power of genetics as a tool that can both harm and benefit their communities.
The authors discuss their concern with and the pragmatic use of self-identified ethnicity classifications in their work. The topic of self-identification, in this context, is interesting and exemplifies the importance of this research. Self-identity of race is a recent addition to the racial politics of human classification; in contrast, observer-assigned classification has fallen out of favor among the public (Aspinall 2001; Tutton et al. 2010). This change is reflective of a move away from racialized categories to an understanding of ethnicity and how individuals conceptualize themselves in conjunction with their association with a particular ethnic group. Genetic ancestry tests are the antithesis of this movement. As a “scientific” result, genetic ancestry removes self-identity from the equation and returns us to the disparaging observer-assigned racial classificatory system. This becomes harmful because Native Americans have a unique political history with the US government in which Native American identities are defined directly in relationship to the tribal communities’ authority to self-govern. For this reason, tribal nations must be allowed to define their own citizenship requirements without the interference of direct-to-consumer “science.” Blanchard and colleagues have expertly woven together the complexity of tribal belonging, Native American perspectives on genetic ancestry tests, and the problematic nature of genetic identity.
In a recent public comment on this topic, the Cherokee Nation (2018) eloquently stated that “[u]sing a DNA test to lay claim to any connection to the Cherokee Nation or any tribal nation, even vaguely, is inappropriate and wrong. It makes a mockery of DNA tests … while also dishonoring tribal governments.” Cherokee Nation not only identifies the political issues but also comments on the “mockery” made of DNA tests. The participants in Blanchard and colleagues’ study echo this understanding. The authors are correct in questioning how genetic ancestry tests may complicate tribal sovereignty in the future. This is a very real concern. Native American sovereignty does not just exist because of the numerous treaties that say so. Tribal sovereignty must be exercised while also recognized to maintain its political power. Native American identity is intricately woven into that political power dynamic. It must be understood: identity politics in Native American contexts are truly about politics, not ancestry. This work by Blanchard and colleagues contributes a unique and insightful perspective to the literature for this very public and ongoing discussion.
Joe E. Watkins
Archaeological and Cultural Education Consultants, PO Box 31121, Tucson, Arizona 85751, USA (jwatkins@ou.edu). 25 IX 18
Television, the ultimate salesman, floods the airways with commercials touting the latest in genetic testing. Helix (2018) urges everyone to “follow your DNA to a wealth of insights into your ancestry, health, wellness, and more.” AncestryDNA (2018) airs a commercial for its product where Kim Trujillo finds out she is 26% “Native American.”
Publicly, Blanchard, Outram, Tallbull, and Royal have raised some interesting questions in their article concerning Native American perceptions about genetic ancestry testing (GAT). While there is a great deal of information in the article, I want to focus on the social politics of identity in the contemporary world. While the tribal participants generally felt that the genetic tests would not “prove” someone to be Native American, one case has taken advantage of the genetics to create an opposite result.
The Ancient One (Kennewick Man, to the general public) was the name given by tribal groups in the American Northwest to a set of human remains discovered along the banks of the Columbia River in Washington State in 1996. The story of the journey of the bones is long and convoluted (see, e.g., Chatters 2002; Owsley and Jantz 2014; Thomas 2000), and as an inadvertent discovery under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), a complex set of regulations governed the treatment and disposition of the remains. Skull morphology suggested the remains were more closely related to the Ainu of Japan and Polynesian populations. Ultimately, however, in 2015, a team of researchers (Rasmussen et al. 2015) recovered and sequenced genetic material from the skeleton that indicated a close relationship with two Colville individuals who had offered their genetic material for the study. Rasmussen et al. (2015) wrote:
Identifying which modern Native American groups are most closely related to Kennewick Man is not possible at this time as our comparative DNA database of modern peoples is limited, particularly for Native-American groups in the United States. However, among the groups for which we have sufficient genomic data, we find that the Colville, one of the Native American groups claiming Kennewick Man as ancestral, show close affinities to that individual or at least to the population to which he belonged.
While this information was not instrumental in the ultimate return of the remains and subsequent reburial, it was touted as “proof” that the tribes’ initial 1996 claims were valid and that the Ancient One was, indeed, their “relative.” The Ancient One was returned to the tribes as a result of a rider in the Water Infrastructure Improvements Act for the Nation (WIIN), which was signed by President Barak Obama on Friday, December 16, 2016. The WIIN Act superseded the NAGPRA process and prompted the Army Corps of Engineers to transfer control of the remains to the Washington State Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation (DAHP), on the condition that DAHP return the remains to the claimant tribes. On February 18, 2018, the Ancient One was given a ceremonial reburial, more than 20 years after it was recovered.
While the tribal participants of the GAT study felt genetics did not make you Native American, in the case of the Ancient One, genetics was interpreted as evidence of Native American ancestry. Thus, there are the sometimes conflicting perceptions of ancestry versus identity.
I am intrigued by the authors’ presentation of the story of the “Comanche friend” who found out he was not genetically Native American but that “the man’s genetic ancestry report did not alter the tribal identifiers with which others were already familiar.” That is, the man was “culturally” Comanche, even though perhaps he was not genetically so. An iconic and much more famous example of such a situation is that of Cynthia Ann Parker.
Parker (c. 1825–March 1871) was an Anglo-American who was kidnapped in 1836, around age 10, by a Comanche war band that had massacred her family’s settlement. Parker was adopted by the Comanche and lived with them for 24 years, completely forgetting her white ways. She married a Comanche chieftain, Peta Nocona, and had three children with him, including the last Comanche war chief, Quanah Parker. At approximately age 34, Cynthia Ann Parker was discovered and forcibly relocated to the remnants of her family by the Texas Rangers. At least once, she tried to return to her Comanche family and children but was again brought back to Texas. She stopped eating and died of influenza in 1871. Genetically, Parker was “white,” but culturally she was Comanche.
These are just two examples of the sociopolitical nature of tribal/Native American identity. The authors wrote that the participants gave a “clear rejection of the idea that genetic ancestry results lay the foundation for the formation of a meaningful indigenous identity.” Native Americans simultaneously carry many aspects of identity—tribal membership, community relationships, and familial relationships and responsibilities. Additionally, they carry the broader conceptual idea of “Native American” or “American Indian.” These identities operate in the background and are pulled out as situations warrant. Native Americans are both blessed and cursed to be “defined” by federal law, and many groups cannot meet federal requirements to be defined as “Native Americans.” Some wear their status openly and proclaim it loudly; others quietly exist without fanfare.
Politically, Native American tribal sovereignty allows tribal governments to establish their own guidelines in relation to tribal membership; culturally, tribal communities establish their guidelines in relation to community belonging. As such, one must be certain to discuss the context when describing concepts of “tribal identity” and “indigeneity.”
As long as it’s “cool” to find out about long-lost ancestry, there will be those who will participate in the party-trick aspects of it; to those who “know” their ancestry, it will be very little more than anecdotal information.
Reply
We appreciate all of the thoughtful remarks, and we find great value in the responses provided by each of the commentators. We also acknowledge that the opportunity afforded by Current Anthropology to respond to these replies is an important part of the process, ensuring that critical discussions about the ethical issues and social impacts of genetic testing continue.
The commentators each note examples drawn from the headlines to illustrate the timeliness of our discussion: the ongoing fallout resulting from Elizabeth Warren’s efforts to use DNA to affirm indigenous ancestry (Keene et al. 2018), the public statements by the Cherokee Nation criticizing the use of DNA to lay claim to tribal ancestry or citizenship, and the practice of using DNA to validate Native claims to ancestral remains that are to be “resolved liberally in favor of Indian interests” even without established genetic connections (Babbitt 2000). These examples speak to what can happen when those in powerful positions call for the genetic authentication of Native ancestries—many times to bolster or challenge public claims to Native identity—and often in juxtaposition to the assertions by Native communities.
These stories have been dubbed “newsworthy” in the past few years, and yet they point to the persistence of centuries-old practices that employ tools of Western science (i.e., Native DNA) to dictate the production, use, and value of Native identity claims. There are deep ties here to early scientific efforts to biologize race in the United States, beginning with the establishment of racial typologies using anthropometry to justify colonialist policies, moving on to the quantification of Indian blood for purposes of denying Native entitlements to land and other resources, and then on to the sterilization of Native women as part of the eugenics movement that ramped up in the twentieth century.
These are poignant reminders that scientific methods and technologies have long been used—and continue to be used—to undermine tribal self-determination and discredit Native connections to the land and to each other in ways that “appropriate the concept of indigeneity away from indigenous peoples’ own definitions” (Tsosie 2005; see also TallBear 2013a). This is not to say that Native peoples and tribal nations reject altogether the utility of genetics. It is to say that inciting calls to address questions of Native ancestry and tribal citizenship using DNA testing—especially from those in the highest political and judicial seats in federal government—stands to destabilize the sovereignty of federally recognized tribal nations (and to further marginalize those who, to Joe Watkins’s point, “cannot meet federal requirements to be defined as ‘Native Americans’ ”).
Public calls to use DNA in this way will continue to shape a national narrative about Native identity in ways that may not align with the experiences and interests of Native peoples. To reiterate the observation by TallBear (2013b) cited in our original article, the narrative practices that we continue to see at the highest levels of national political discourse “promote understandings of ancestry DNA in which it obfuscates and stands in for legal and social practices and political histories that have constituted Native American identity in its tribal and racial forms” (88). The use of science to directly separate, seize, and silence Native peoples is just one part of understanding the incredibly complex narratives about the contemporary relationships between white settlers and indigenous peoples worldwide. Darryl Leroux’s (2018) work highlights what he terms the “unmatched colonial genius” that works to mobilize “a tiny amount of genetic material … to indigenize an otherwise European settler population,” thereby validating Native American DNA as a natural resource with which “to intervene in contemporary white settler–indigenous relations and national politics in Québec” (15–16). DNA joins the ranks of other natural resources that have been extracted from Native lands and Native bodies (Evans-Campbell and Campbell 2010; Lewis et al. 2017; Reardon and TallBear 2012; TallBear 2013b) and eventually come to serve the interests of those for whom such extraction costs very little.
We appreciate very much the insightful and germane comments of Leroux, whose work sheds vital light on the changing political landscape of settler societies who expertly mobilize scientific authority and Native DNA in ways that shape indigenous realities. Leroux offers excellent recommendations for amplifying our discussion more meaningfully alongside the literature on indigenous identity and belonging. The importance of this discussion, as also highlighted by Lund and Watkins, certainly does not escape us, and we hope that our efforts to highlight individual Native perspectives about GAT lays the groundwork for us to follow up with a more meaningful contribution to the literature on indigenous identities.
We appreciate Leroux’s note that our discussion of indigenous relationality lacks “any connection to land-based relations, including with other-than-humans.” Helpful here is Doerfler’s (2015) work, which he cites; it goes beyond the notion of blood to promote citizenship that encapsulates how the “Anishinaabeg carry the power of creation.” This concept is premised on the totality of human/other-than-human connections that is common throughout even the most diverse indigenous experiences. Some of our current work with various tribal communities across the United States speaks to the growing importance of developing tribal policies that explicitly acknowledge the protection and stewardship of human and other-than-human actors in research.
Justin Lund iterates a number of critical issues that we intended our article to speak to, most certainly beginning with the inclusion of indigenous voices communicating their own perspectives on GAT. Lund points to the complicated ways that ancestry testing stands to interfere with tribal self-governance, particularly as “scientific” results provided by genetic ancestry companies continue to enter into tribal debates about citizenship. Lund’s point that “genetic ancestry removes self-identity from the equation” and reinforces an “observer-assigned racial classificatory system” raises a complex issue: while the imposition of “observer-assigned” racial identities is nothing new for indigenous populations on whose identities many of these products are marketed (Walajahi, Wilson, and Hull 2019), genetic ancestry testing absolutely does promote the active self-identification or re-creation of identity for many consumers (Bolnick et al. 2007; Lee 2013; Nordgren and Juengst 2009; Roth and Ivemark 2018). The problematic aspect of this phenomenon happens when nonindigenous people employ features of molecular-biological data to reorder their own identities and histories in ways that reinforce a newfound (but conveyed as very old) rootedness in the land and ancient histories (Leroux 2018; Palmié 2007).
The premise behind Lund’s comments about the impact of “scientific” results aligns well with Watkins’s commentary about how genetics have been touted as scientific “proof” of Native ancestral claims even as such debates overlook indigenous assertions of kin, belonging, and sovereignty. Watkins weaves together the powerful examples of the Ancient One and of Cynthia Ann Parker to illustrate how multifaceted the social politics of identity are across Indian Country, including important distinctions between identity and ancestry that often get muddled in public discourse.
Finally, Watkins’s note about tribal governments establishing their own guidelines for tribal membership being distinct from tribal communities that maintain their own guidelines as they relate to community belonging is key. Debates about GAT make clear the challenges that can exist to tribal sovereignty and governance; less clear is how these new technologies will continue to shape the everyday lives of individuals and the shared experiences of community members.
—Jessica W. Blanchard, Simon Outram, Gloria Tallbull, and Charmaine D. M. Royal
Acknowledgments
This project was made possible by the participation of many individuals who, for reasons of confidentiality, will remain anonymous. We are indebted to these unnamed tribal community members with whom we worked on this project. We thank the following individuals for the time and thoughts they contributed to the work upon which this manuscript is based: Morris Foster, Chantelle Wolpert, Jill Powell, Arian Davis, Will Foster, and Angela Helt. This research was funded by the National Human Genome Research Institute, NIH (grant 1R01HG006295). Support for J. W. Blanchard and G. Tallbull was also provided, in part, by the Center on the Ethics of Indigenous Genomic Research (RM1HG009042).
Contributor Information
Jessica W. Blanchard, Center for Applied Social Research at the University of Oklahoma (5 Partners Place, 201 Stephenson Parkway, Suite 4100, Norman, Oklahoma 73072, USA)..
Simon Outram, Center on Genomics, Race, Identity, Difference (GRID) of the Social Science Research Institute (SSRI) at Duke University (2024 West Main Street, Erwin Square Mill Building, Bay C, Suite C103, Durham, North Carolina 27705, USA)..
Gloria Tallbull, Center for Applied Social Research at the University of Oklahoma (5 Partners Place, 201 Stephenson Parkway, Suite 4100, Norman, Oklahoma 73072, USA)..
Charmaine D. M. Royal, Departments of African and African American Studies and Biology at Duke University (234 Friedl Building, Box 90252, Durham, North Carolina 27708, USA)..
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