REPATRIATION AS NEUROTHEOLOGY POSTHUMANISTIC APPROACHES TO DECOLONIZATION, HOPE, AND COGNITIVE JUSTICE

REPATRIATION AS NEUROTHEOLOGY: POSTHUMANISTIC APPROACHES TO

DECOLONIZATION, HOPE, AND COGNITIVE JUSTICE

Preliminary Framework

This essay proposes to study a particular case of repatriation to a Native

American people, unpacking the relevant ethical issues within the various contexts

at play. In doing so, the essay targets three major aims. The first is to show that

re- ‐

patriation is not just a matter of property rights or cultural property, but is in fact

also related to processes of cultural healing and positive transformation. The second

is to demonstrate an ethical procedure that allows us to take a wider range of issues

into account while still retaining flexibility with regard to our response to scenarios

that might lead to repatriation and the various priorities that might inform such

re- ‐

sponses. Finally, the third goal is to understand the ways that dynamics at the scale

of planetarity and the long history of modernism can impact on the various priori-

‐

ties and the arguments we use to justify them. The essay will attempt to unify these

three themes ultimately under a single perspective, addressing the return of

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti,1 the “Real Omaha,” to the Omahas.

In most of the discourse on repatriation, we end up discussing both the

situa-

‐

tion and terms of debate according to the ontologies, cognitive styles, and

cultural assumptions of the settler colonial culture’s people. (Kakaliouras, 2012;

Silverman, 2015) This can happen for many reasons. In the first case, it is simply a

matter of power relationships. This can break down into at least three forms of

relationship. It is simply the case that in most historical situations of settler

colonialism that by the time the colonial efforts have taken hold, they are usually

expressed in terms of

power over the indigenous population(s) of the area in question. (Wolfe, 2006)

While many such situations have improved in the last few decades, it is still the case

that indigenous communities find themselves very often subaltern to settler colonial

power, even while various forms of resistance and sovereignty are maintained. It is

also the case that because of the consequences of persistent subaltern status, many

indigenous communities have internalized this power structure and the ideologies

that come with it, as well as the languages and epistemological habits that promote

it. (Poupart, 2003) There are limits to such a claim, and those limits will vary from

culture to culture, but it is very frequently true to at least some small extent.

Moreo-

‐

ver, it is the case that there are consequences from the above for ethical

understand-

‐

ing. Not only do settler colonial powers control or heavily influence

the terms of eth-

‐

ical debate and the formal structures through which they get

resolved, but they also will have likely impacted on the indigenous populations’

ethical understanding by means of language, ideology, and epistemic habits so that

the subaltern people may not have the means to express in persuasive terms why

things like repatriation are important in terms that carry the force of Western

categories. (Richland, 2008) In all of these cases, the ontologies, cognitive styles, and

cultural assumptions of settler colonial powers disproportionately tend to shape the

outcome of interaction with regard to specific repatriation efforts. (Poirier, 2011)

As mentioned, there are specific interactions at various scales that have

found their way to what would on many accounts be a more just distribution of

power. In these cases, the intentional distribution of power, the evocation of tradi-

‐

tional socio- cognitive‐ semiosis, and the recognition of bad histories and historical

bad faith have all contributed to more sustainable cultural relations. Yet, even in the

best circumstances, we are arriving out of a history where all of these problems

have been the norm. (Mignolo, 1989) The interactions happen largely in contexts

that still encode the problematic past, including legal systems, intergovernmental

processes, and naked prejudice or ignorance. The improvements of the last few

dec-

‐

ades are specifically improvements on these faulty grounds, and it is out of

those same grounds that we must develop means to resolve differences that arise

out of them. Despite this intractability, this essay argues that we should

nevertheless make progress and improvements where possible, as justice is not

absolute in a binary sense, but comes in degrees and at various scales, subject to the

various semiotic structures and orders involved.

Contexts in which repatriation is considered are, because of all this, reasoned

out more often than not in terms of rights, property, contracts, etc., even if we bring

in vocabulary or concepts that introduce a layer of sensitivity. (Riley, 2002) In the

case at hand, the system that encompasses these means is the modern Anglophone

legal system in its specifically American form. This system carves up the world in

ways that may not be compatible with the traditional worldviews of other cultures,

and it is only determinant of the situation as an extension of continuities of cultural

and material violence, the degrees of which will vary depending on the particular

circumstances of any given people. (Aboriginal Justice Implementation Commission,

1999) In contemporary times, when the dominant culture takes on the mantle of

science, the scientific ideological scheme—in which scientific work is understood as

specifically not cultural, as a system of independent free thought, and as a tool to

upend alternative socio- cognitive systems of the erroneously subjective past— ‐

ironically reinforces cognitive injustice by refusing to take up the specifically

cultur-

‐

al issues of historical trauma, cognitive sovereignty, and cognitive justice.

(Santos, 2002) Even without science in the picture, though, the Anglophone legal

system’s tendential desire to reduce all things to fixed members of static categories

and known operational relations is both intrinsically conservative and contrary to

the forms of understanding that might make repatriation self- evidently‐ necessary.

In other words, the Anglophone tendency to insist on its own representational

objec-

‐

tivity may, in fact, be contrary to objectivity in a more authentic sense of

producing knowledge about the world, due to the ideologically managed ways in

which it oper-

‐

ationalizes its own desired outcomes. (Thrift, 2008)

Because indigenous cultures may not have thought of or related to the items

under consideration for repatriation in such terms, using instead traditional and

cul-

‐

turally appropriate forms of understanding, the socio- cognitive‐ appeals that

would otherwise arise from the peoples in question are likely filtered, translated, or

re-‐

pressed altogether in favor of settler colonial systems. Here we must recognize

that repatriation itself, as a process or operation may take the form of an act of

coloniza-

‐

tion, or at least propagate the colonial power structures. This does not

mean that it is undesirable to proceed with repatriation efforts, but rather than we

must take

se-‐

riously the redoubled colonialism at play and the possibilities of

continued, or even amplified, harm that might be done. Heightened sensitivity is

called for, with the goal of avoiding or moderating intractable colonial aggressions

wherever and whenever possible. It is an irony of the success of indigenous

communities in shap-

‐

ing the politics of these situations through legislation that the formal requirements

of that legislation’s enactment may often allow for a certain institutional laziness

with respect to heightened attention, and that the legal nature of the requirements

around repatriation give ideological cover to many who would identify as scientists

in the sense that they can display an open ressentiment with regard to political ma-

‐

nipulation of the conditions for the production of knowledge. This cynical use of

sci-

‐

ence as antisocial framework can and does often mix with uncritical opinion

and ideas to reinforce undesirable ethnocentrism and racism under the guise of

human-

‐

ism.

In this essay, I am interested in attempting to think differently, taking the

ar- ‐

guments of individuals such as Boaventura de Sousa Santos, who think that

decolo-

‐

nizing efforts must take into account not only historical traumas, social

justice, and other standard postcolonial concepts, but also new ideas centered

around a rubric of cognitive justice. For Santos, the efforts to improve upon an

undesirable past means recognizing historical traumas and their lasting

consequences, including the fact that indigenous economic and legal systems may

be part of what was lost in the trauma, and that therefore these must be included in

any effort to heal historical trauma.

…[T]here is no social justice without cognitive justice.

Probably more than ever, global capitalism appears as a

civilizational paradigm encompassing all domains of so- ‐

cial life. The exclusion, oppression, and discrimination it

produces have not only economic, social, and political

dimensions but also cultural and epistemological ones.

Accordingly, to confront this paradigm in all its dimen-

‐

sions is the challenge facing a new critical theory and

new emancipatory practices. Contrary to their prede-

‐

cessors, this theory and these practices must start from

the premise that the epistemological diversity of the

world is immense, as immense as its cultural diversity

and that the recognition of such diversity must be at the

core of the global resistance against capitalism and of

the formulation of alternative forms of sociability.

Over the last decades, there has been a growing

recognition of the cultural diversity of the world, with

current controversies focusing on the terms of such

recognition. But the same cannot be said of the recogni-

‐

tion of the epistemological diversity of the world, that is,

of the diversity of knowledge systems underlying prac-

‐

tices of different social groups across the globe. Howev-

‐

er, from an anti- capitalist‐ perspective such recognition

is crucial. The epistemological privilege granted to

modern science from the seventeenth century onwards,

which made possible the technological revolutions that

consolidated Western supremacy, was also instrumen-

‐

tal in suppressing other, non- scientific‐ forms of knowl-

‐

edges and, at the same time, the subaltern groups

whose social practices were informed by such knowl-

‐

edges. In the case of the indigenous peoples of the

Americas and of the African slaves, this suppression of

knowledge, a form of epistemicide, was the other side of

genocide. There is, thus, an epistemological foundation

to the capitalist and imperial order that the global North

has been imposing on the global South…. [T]he reinven-

‐

tion of social emancipation is premised upon replace

the “monoculture of scientific knowledge” by an “ecolo-

‐

gy of knowledges”. The ecology of knowledges is an

in-‐

vitation to the promotion of non- relativistic dialogues ‐

among knowledges, granting “equality of opportunities”

to the different kinds of knowledge engaged in ever

broader epistemological disputes aimed both at

maxim-

‐

izing their respective contributions to build a

more democratic and just society and at decolonizing

knowledge and power…. All social practices involve

knowledge. The production of knowledge is, in itself, a

social practice and what distinguishes it from other

so-‐

cial practices is its self- reflexivity,‐ which productively

reshapes the context of practices in motive and engine

of actions. (Santos, Nunes, & Meneses, 2008)

Santos’ is a restorative justice model in the sense that he does not want to erase the

past or deny its lasting impact, but rather undertake a remediation with the goals of

decolonization foregrounded among many possible and some equally important

goals. The lasting harms are particularly important for indigenous populations in

settler colonial situations, who may not recognize themselves as postcolonial so

much as in need of decolonization. (Byrd, 2011) Santos takes seriously the ideas of

cultural revitalization and cultural sustainability. For him this means that all ele-

‐

ments of cultural organization must be liberated to the degree possible from injus-

‐

tice. It is not enough to speak about the various things mentioned unless we include

among them cognitive justice, the enactment of personal and collective sovereign-

‐

ties that permit the production of knowledge and the understanding of self, culture,

and world in ways that are free of coercion, bad faith, and manipulation. The rela-

‐

tionship of cognitive justice to the issues regarding repatriation as described above

is self- evident.‐ Of course, it is also important to acknowledge that native communi-

‐

ties have seldom, if ever, surrendered entirely to the infliction of cognitive injustice.

It is also important to note that there is room here to expand the definition of

cogni-

‐

tion in ways that are compatible with the alternative epistemologies he

would revi-

‐

talize, including domains Western humanism would cut off from

knowledge stricto sensu, such as affective states or dream spaces.

For example, if we look at the case of the Omaha, we see that Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti, the

“sacred pole” or Real Omaha, is not thought of or related to as an object (ritual, sa-

‐

cred, etc.), but rather as a person. It is in relation to this person that the Omaha peo-

‐

ple understand themselves to be Omaha. A traditional narrative description of his

arrival among the Omaha shows this.

"When the Omahas still lived in wooded country near a

lake," Yellow Smoke said, "their chiefs met in council to

devise some means by which the bands of the tribe

might be kept together and the tribe itself saved from

extinction." While they were in council, a young man,

the son of a chief, was hunting in the woods. At night he

lost his way. He stopped to rest and to find the

"motionless star" (the pole star) for his guide. Suddenly,

he was

at- ‐

tracted by a light. When he approached the

light he saw that it was "a tree that sent forth light. He

went up to it and found that the whole tree, its trunk,

branches, and leaves, were alight, yet remained

unconsumed." The young man watched the luminous

tree "until with the rising of the sun the tree with its

foliage resumed its natural appearance." He remained

by it throughout the day. "As twilight came on it began

to be luminous and continued so until the sun rose

again. When the young man returned home he told his

father of the wonder." The young man's father told the

chiefs of all the tribes:

My son has seen a wonderful tree.

The Thunder birds come and go upon this tree,

making a trail of fire that leaves four paths on the burnt

grass that stretch toward the Four Winds.

When the Thunder birds alight on the tree,

it bursts into flame and the fire mounts to the top.

The tree stands burning, but no one can see the fire ex-

‐

cept at night.

Then they cut the tree down "and four men, walking in

a line, carried it on their shoulders to the village." They

made a tent for the tree and set it up within the circle of

lodges. "The chiefs worked upon the tree; they trimmed

it and called it a human being. They made a basketwork

receptacle of twigs and feathers and tied it about the

middle." They placed a large scalp lock on top of the

pole for hair. "Then they painted the Pole and set it up

before the tent, leaning it on a crotched stick which they

called imongthe (a staff)." When the people were gath-

‐

ered, the chiefs stood up and said:

You now see before you a mystery.

Whenever we meet with troubles we shall bring all our

troubles to Him (The Pole).

We shall make offerings and requests.

All our prayers must be accompanied by gifts.

This (the Pole) belongs to all the people, but it shall be

in the keeping of one family

in the Honga clan. (Ridington)

What the legal framework of the United States would see as a static object

that needs to be handed back over is, for the Omaha, a person with whom they may

have real, important, and quite dynamic relations—relations so important that they

can be and are understood to define the very notion of what it means to be Omaha

according to tradition. It is the possibility of this defining relationship or set of rela-

‐

tionships that is being restored in repatriating Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti, as much as the simple

rights, ownership, or entitlement to property. To return Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti is thus, in a real

sense, to give back sovereignty and cultural sustainability to the Omaha. Of course,

for those who have responsibility for repatriation from the institutional side, the

idea that the capture of items like Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti may involve issues of personhood is

frequently seen as alien, which is ironic in regard to a dominant culture that allows

for the legal concept of corporate personhood to have profound consequences for

its own sociodynamics and politics, as well as the planet itself. But what if the

Omaha were heard on their own terms? What if we took them seriously?

1. Repatriation and Revitalization as Semiotic Technology

It is probably true that some, if not a large number, of claims to repatriation

are simply about property rights and the like as understood by those communities

either in a traditional way, in Anglo ways, or both. (Riley, 2002) Yet, if we are to

take

claims seriously that present themselves out of a different socio- cognitive and ‐

semi-

‐

otic order, such as with the Omaha, then we must also situate the arguments

about these claims in the contexts that make them intelligible. As indicated, the

desire to bring Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti home is about returning him to his people and restoring

the kinds of relationships to him—and by extension each other—made available to

them in the past through him. This places the claim in the realm of revitalization as

much as repatriation, where they are jointly understood as semiotic technologies. It

is not always the case that these two will be closely intertwined, but when they are

it is important that we recognize and understand the relationship between them

due to the necessity of double sensitivity as described above. Revitalization is a

complex issue in its own right, and it can take many forms: social, religious,

linguistic, cultur-

‐

al, economic, etc. For the purposes at hand, it is important to

understand how revi-

‐

talization movements and the transformation of socio-‐

cognitive and semiotic

re-‐

gimes may hang together. It is in this context that we will

be able to understand what motivates both this essay and the important moment

that it holds up as exam-

‐

ple.

In academic literature, Native American revitalization movements have often

been treated as religious movements, and this section will explore some of that

treatment. While theories of revitalization movements attempt to understand and

explain the various consequences of these movements, the basic fact of them as

reli-

‐

gious movements goes largely unexplained. This is partly due to the relative

paucity of comprehensive study of Native American religion in those who practice

religion-

‐

swissenschaft as a discipline. This paper proposes to challenge this basic

assump-

‐

tion about revitalization movements, understanding them not as a

problem of reli-

‐

gious consciousness per se, but rather as an information theoretical

problem. The perspective taken is useful in that it challenges certain settler colonial

assumptions about indigenous consciousness and also in that it allows for a more

comprehensive view of revitalization movements that does not take Kantian modes

of subjectiviza-

‐

tion for granted.

Acknowledging the difficulties faced by Native American communities in an

era of severe decline, the American sociologist Bernard Barber (1941) discusses re-

‐

vitalization movements among those communities in terms of messianic revival as

part of his research into a theory of social systems. The use of a messianic metaphor

in discussing what he sees as religious phenomena is not terribly surprising, given

the time in which he is writing, as the study of religion, as an academic discipline,

was still almost exclusively a form of Biblical Studies. It wasn’t until decades later

that Mircea Eliade and his ilk transformed the study of religion, taking a broader,

more global perspective. On Barber’s view, in cases where they are lacking security

and the comfort of stable norms, individuals are “predisposed to accept a doctrine of

hope,” (p. 665) which, in itself is not a productive or generative state of affairs, but

rather makes them receptive to messages that are in line with that hope. Such mes-

‐

sages can be delivered by a “culture hero” or “Messiah”.

At such a time, messianic prophecies are most

likely to be accepted and made the basis of action. Mes-

‐

siahs preach the return to the old order, or rather, to a

new order in which the old will be revived. Essentially,

their function is to proclaim a stable order, one which

will define the ends of action. (p. 665)

One could argue with his articulation, perhaps saying instead that the func-

‐

tion in this case is to speak to the aberrant nature of the present: in general, the

or- ‐

der of things is both stable and desirable, and one must take certain actions in order

to bring the present back into alignment or harmony with that order.

In more contemporary language, we can say that the messiah figure

de-‐

scribed here would provide direction for the social system’s autotelic functions,

guidance for the actions of community members that allow them to undertake

ac-‐

tions toward desirable goals that inform a metastable continuity. However, this

theory does not take into account the fact that culture heroes often appear in con-

‐

texts that are foundational for a culture, providing an origo for a given community.

(Koch, 1986; Cohen, 2007, pp. 63- 69)‐ Indeed, Barber needs to explain in these

terms why a messianic figure constitutes a revival or revitalization, rather than a

renovation. It seems that both theories take for granted the reality of a tipping

point, though in one case the system totters back into place (even if it has changed

orientation), while in the other it falls over into a whole new state of affairs. In cases

where genuinely renovative change does take place, Barber must show that the new

somehow revives the old in a way that does not amount to mere survivance and that

it does so, at the same time, in a way that provides order for the community. It does

seem difficult to reconcile a messianic intervention providing both stabilizing order

and the transformation of circumstances, unless we assume that their failure is im-

‐

manent and inevitable, so that the communities begin a cycle of perpetual unfulfilled

expectation. This structure, familiar to Christians, certain Shi’ite sects, and some

Pure Land Buddhists, is difficult, though not impossible, to find among Native

Amer-

‐

ican revitalization movements.

This paucity may be explained in part by the availability of social structures

grounded in precisely that cycle of perpetual anticipation. Specifically, there is, for

many, the possibility of converting to Christianity (completely or syncretically,

ei- ‐

ther by choice or by acceptance of imposition), such that the old and new ways are

elided into Christian patterns of existence. We certainly see this at certain scales in

the hybridization of Catholicism in colonized areas. In such cases, one expects to

find one of two scenarios: either the one just described, wherein a relatively stable

order is disrupted only up to a point and the elision is achieved without a wholesale

conversion, or a situation in which the disruption is severe enough to require a

to- ‐

talizing conversion.

In a society that may be integrated, but not singular, we might find that parts

of the above are true for different segments of the culture. In such cases, the

result-

‐

ing forms should not be seen as causes, but rather as symptoms of the

tipping point the culture reached in its instability. In a situation where nativist

tendencies were present (see the discussion of Linton below), it is also possible that

a mixed conver-

‐

sion and a pure messianic nativist movement might appear. These

would likely be at odds, but would need to remain in contact and mutually

contestive, as both are responses intended to respond to the situation of the

community as a whole. This

emerges in circumstances such as Tenskwatawa (Edmunds, 1983) and Handsome

Lake (Wallace, 1972), although it masks as a different kind of scenario.

We also can see the possibility of the formation of a temporal order of this

sort established in a chiasmic formation, whereby the Christian temporal structure

is transcluded into the originary mythic scheme, while the Christian theopoetic

structures remain intact, after a fashion. A prime example of this can be seen in co-

‐

lonial Peru, after the capture of the Tawantinsuyu. The Incan Empire was nothing if

not deeply woven together in its semiotic structures. Indeed, there was little, if any,

separation between the cosmic, the mythic, and the social, such that the divine

world and the world of the Empire’s structures of rule were largely one and the

same. When the Spanish murdered the Sapa Inca, they did more then commit a

reg-

‐

icide in contradiction to their own policy. They destroyed the existing

harmony of the world. Sara Castro- Klarén‐ cites Nathan Wachtel in describing this

catastrophe:

la derrota se experimenta allí como una catastrophe de

amplitude cósmica…. el choque coincide con la muerte

del hijo del Sol, el Inca. Este asegura la mediación entre

los “Dioses” y los hombres, y es adorado como un “Di-

‐

os”: representa de alguna maera el centro carnal del

universe, cuya armonía garantiza. Una vez asesinado

ese centro, desaparece el punto de referencia viviente

del mundo, y es ese orden universal lo que resulta bru-

‐

talmente destruido. (Castro- Klarén S. , 1989)‐

Defeat was experienced as a catastrophe of cosmic

di- ‐

mensions…. The clash coincided with the death of the

son of the Sun, the Inca. He constituted the mediating

point between the gods and men, and he was

wor- ‐

shipped as a god. In some way he represented the bodi-

‐

ly center of the universe. He was the guarantor of the

harmony of the universe. Once that center was

mur- ‐

dered, the living point of reference in the world disap-

‐

peared. Universal order is thus brutally destroyed.

(1993)

This did not result in a complete collapse, however. The Inca pantheon was

and is complex, layered, and multifaceted in ways that scholars are still working to

unpack. The result was a disaggregation of a previously unifying force, leaving

in- ‐

tact much of the traditional structures. Rather than being taken on completely

through a process of conversion, the Spanish god, “Dios” as the Incas referred to him

using the label as a foreign proper name, stepped into the role of the sun god as an

alternate sky god who had come to rule. (1993) This approach alone achieved much

of Barber’s ends of establishing continuous order. But the story doesn’t end there.

Wachtel describes a “destructuration” whereby Dios, as solar supplement,

also represented loss and destabilization, even in the face of continuity:

la dominación española, al servirse de las instituciones

incaicas, acarrea al mismo tiempo su descomposición;

sin que esto signifique, sin embargo, el nacimiento de

un Nuevo mundo, radicalmente extraño al antiguo. Al

con-

‐

trario, por el término de “desestructuración”

entende-

‐

mos la supervivencia de estructuras antiguas

o de ele-

‐

mentos parciales de ellas, pero fuera del

contexto rela-

‐

tivamente coherente en al cual se

situaban. (1989)

Spanish domination, while making use of Inca institu-

‐

tions, also caused their demise. This decomposition did

not, however, mean the birth of a new universe radical-

‐

ly different from the old one. On the contrary, it in-

‐

volved destructuration, which we understand as the

survival of ancient structures or partial elements of the-

‐

but displaced from the relatively coherent context in

which they used to function. (1993)

The result is a kind of contingent messianic temporality encased in a myth that nev-

‐

ertheless adheres to an abstracted and atemporal Dios as new head divinity of the

sky. The messianic structure adheres, but requires the permission of the traditional

order to come to pass.

The demise of the Sun and the subsequent prof-

‐

anation of Cuzco, the sacred center of the cosmos,

disar-

‐

ticulated the Andean pantheon. Since the

Andean dei-

‐

ties were particularly tied to the system of

kinship, so-

‐

cial structure, and economic production,

their demise meant not only the death of God, but the

devastation of the visible and invisible worlds alike. For

this reason, we can also read the myth of Incarrí as a

response to the end of the known social order. Most

variants of the myth hold that Incarrí’s head was hidden

in the under-

‐

ground. There it grows, impervious to

decay, so that one day the head and the body will be

reunited. On that day, when the mutilated body

becomes whole again, In-

‐

carrí will be restored to life

on the surface of the Pa-

‐

chamama, and if Dios allows it,

the son of the Sun will reign again. At the same time, the

sacred order—that is, justice as harmony—will be

restored to the Andeans. (Castro- Klarén S. , 1993)‐

The traditional divine figure uses the Christian temporal scheme in order to achieve

ends incompatible with traditional structures, but which may be permitted by the

Christian deity who now orders and resolves all issues pertaining to that structure.

The chiasmus is further complicated by the plays of power using a destructured

my-‐

thos as gameboard, where both native and colonizer use the others’ forms to wield

power in the relationship. Barber simply cannot account for either the more- than-‐

‐

religious nature of this scenario, nor its complex phenomenological intermixings.

Linton (1943) addresses this theoretical gap directly. Avoiding the term

“messianic” in favor of terminology that allows for greater precision, he refers to

na-‐

tivistic movements in a move that some might read as prefiguring the contemporary

language of post- colonialism.‐ Yet more than simply theorizing resistance to colonial

and/or settler colonial influences, nativistic movements emphasize issues of cultural

survivance, thus indicating an assumption in the use of the term of that the commu-

‐

nity in question may be at risk of losing their cohesion entirely. Tracing the con-

‐

tours of the gap in Barber’s description, Linton provides a set of subcategories to

classify these movements.

All the phenomena to which the term nativistic

has been applied have in common […] selection of cul-

‐

ture elements and deliberate, conscious effort to per-

‐

petuate such elements. However, they differ so widely

in other respects that they cannot be understood with-

‐

out further analysis. At the outset it is necessary to dis-

‐

tinguish between those forms of nativism which involve

an attempt to revive extinct or at least moribund ele-

‐

ments of culture and those which merely seek to per-

‐

petuate the current ones. For convenience we will refer

to the first of these forms as revivalistic nativism, to the

second as perpetuative nativism. These two forms are

not completely exclusive. Thus a revivalistic nativistic

movement will be almost certain to include in its selec-

‐

tion of elements some of those which are current in the

culture although derived from its past. Conversely a

perpetuative nativistic movement may include

elements which had been consciously revived at an

earlier date.

However, the emphases of these two forms are distinct.

(Linton, 1943, p. 231)

Going further, Linton expands this bifurcation into a fourfold matrix by fleshing out

two other qualifying subcategories of nativistic movements: the magical and the ra-

‐

tional. While the tone of his description of this pattern of difference is somewhat

condescending, especially in light of certain important recent critiques of the rela-

‐

tionship between “reasoned” discourse and “magical” discourse (Bracken, 2007),

the differences encapsulated in his model are worth noting:

There is a further necessity for distinguishing be-

‐

tween what we may call magical nativism and rational

nativism. It may well be questioned whether any sort of

nativistic movement can be regarded as genuinely ra-

‐

tional, since all such movements are, to some extent,

unrealistic, but at least the movements of the latter or-

‐

der appear rational by contrast with those of the for-

‐

mer.

Magical nativistic movements are often spectacu- ‐

lar and always troublesome to administrators, facts

which explain why they have received so much atten-

‐

tion from anthropologists. Such movements are compa-‐

rable in many respects to the Messianic movements

which have arisen in many societies in times of stress.

They usually originate with some individual who as-

‐

sumes the role of prophet and is accepted by the people

because they wish to believe. They always lean heavily

on the supernatural and usually embody apocalyptic

and millennial aspects. In such movements moribund

elements of culture are not revived for their own sake

or in anticipation of practical advantages from the ele-

‐

ment themselves. Their revival is part of a magical for-

‐

mula designed to modify the society’s environment in

ways which will be favorable to it. (Linton, 1943, p.

232)

Linton then proceeds to explain the rational by means of its coordinate position

within the matrix as a whole:

What we have chosen to call rational nativistic

movements are a phenomenon of a quite different sort.

While such movements resemble the magical ones in

their conscious effort to revive or perpetuate selected

elements of culture, they have different motivations.

What these are can be understood more readily if we

re- ‐introduce at this point the distinction previously

made between revivalistic and perpetuative nativistic

move-

‐

ments. Rational revivalistic nativistic

movements are, almost without exception, associated

with frustrating situations and are primarily attempts

to compensate for the frustrations of the society’s

members. The elements revived become symbols of a

period when the society was free or, in retrospect,

happy or great. Their usage is not magical but

psychological. By keeping the past in mind, such

elements help to reestablish and maintain

the self respect of the group’s members in the face of

adverse conditions. (p. 233)

Here we must note that Linton imposes a culture/nature or individual/environment

split in his reading of the movements that may not be consistent with the societies

meant to be described by his schema. He naturalizes this split by, ironically,

natural-

‐

izing it, so that those who revive elements of their culture in order to effect

change on their circumstances—their “environment,” which includes a naturalized

settler colonial imperial context—are proceeding irrationally, or magically, while

those who do so in order to effect change in their mood, outlook, or aspiration,

which is to say in their psychic disposition, are rational, even if, perhaps, still foolish

after a fashion. This is certainly a melancholy description at best.

Rational perpetuative nativistic movements, on the oth- ‐

er hand, find their main function in the maintenance of

social solidarity. The elements selected for perpetua-

‐

tion become symbols of the society’s existence as a

unique entity. They provide the society’s members with

a fund of common knowledge and experience which is

exclusively their own and which sets them off from the

members of other societies. In both types of rational

nativistic movement the culture elements selected for

symbolic use are chosen realistically and with regard to

the possibility of perpetuating them under current con-

‐

ditions. (p. 233)

Having laid out this matrix in its entirety, Linton points out that one quadrant

of his fourfold system may not actually be applicable in any cases of which he is

aware. The Perpetuative- magical‐ nativistic movement “is so rare that the writer

has been unable to find any clearly recognizable example of it.”

The reason for this probably lies in the conditions

which are usually responsible for magical nativistic

movements. The inception of such movements can be

traced almost without exception to conditions of

ex-‐

treme hardship or at least extreme dissatisfaction with

the status quo. Since the current culture is associated

with such conditions and has failed to ameliorate them,

medical efficacy in modifying these conditions can

scarcely be ascribed to any of its elements. Neverthe-

‐

less, a perpetuative- magical movement might very well ‐

arise in the case of a society which currently occupies

an advantageous position but sees itself threatened

with an imminent loss of that position. (p. 234)

While one hesitates to use language that describes nativity to them in the context at

hand, the Christian revival movements of the First and Second Great Awakenings do

seem somewhat consistent with this category, as does the cultural politics of certain

elements of public discourse of the last three decades in the United States. This is

especially true of the recent Tea Party and other similar movements. That said, I

be-

‐

lieve the above described myth of Incarrí may fall squarely into this quadrant of

Lin-

‐

ton’s matrix, though he is unfamiliar with it as it remained uninvestigated in

his time.

It is perhaps telling that most of the examples that seem ready to hand of this

kind of movement are in the dominant culture of the United States. Linton does ar-

‐

gue for a reasonable explanation that incorporates critiques of power differentials

into his matrix, but it may also be the case that the particular processes and forms of

subjectivization mentioned above that produce the individual subject over and

against culture and/or nature are not shared by the societies he attempts to

critique. Indeed, this particular construction of consciousness brings to bear a

semiotic re-

‐

gime that produces significance and truth in ways that may not be

recognizable within a reading such as Linton’s. The representationalist assumptions

of his sche-

‐

ma perhaps prevent the recognition of scenarios that would be compatible in some

way with this empty quadrant, even against the grain of the anticipated role of

pow-

‐

er differentials. The importance of understanding nonrepresentational forms,

the critique of them, and the play of power within and amongst them has been

articulat-

‐

ed by those concerned with language ideologies and geography. (Thrift,

2008)

Lear (2006) discusses at length the story of Plenty Coups, who led his people

across the threshold of transformation from their traditional lifeway into a distinctly

new way of being, from a largely traditional continuity with the past to one that is

able to accommodate contemporary cultural forms and the realities of the times

without compromising authenticity of identity. He spends time analyzing, in partic-

‐

ular, the way in which Plenty Coups brought to his people an understanding of the

shape of their own future, by taking upon himself the anxieties, confusion, and des-

‐

peration of the community on aggregate and seeking out a vision that would provide

guidance. This certainly has little to do with the forms of practical reason in the

ra- ‐

tional quadrants above. Indeed, his actions are not limited to the currency of exist-

‐

ing forms or even the exchange of these for other, new forms. Rather, what is at

stake is an agency that acts in and as semiosis, a magic zone in which semiosis is free

to operate on itself and transform the ways in which it conditions itself. In other

words, the continuities Plenty Coups works to empower are not representational,

but rather exist in the patterns of life choices, of affect, and of bearing that constitute

what it means to be a Crow.

Interestingly, Plenty Coups’ journey did not start with himself, but rather

with a series of dreams and visions that informed him of the transformation he was

about to undertake. The Crow were not naïve in their understanding of dreams.

In- ‐

deed, they understood there to be several types of dreams:

“No- account dreams,” in which one merely saw some‐

incident.

“Wish- dreams,” which saw some hoped-‐for circum-‐

‐

stance coming true. These did have special spiritual

power—“medicine”—but they did not always come

true.

“Property dreams,” in which a person would see horses,

blankets, or the like, which he would later acquire

through actual events.

“Medicine dreams” or visions. These gave powerful

in- ‐

sight into the future. (p. 67)

As Lear explains:

One would expect a young chief to seek a vision in order

to determine whether this was a good time to go off to

battle. One would also expect young men to seek

vi-‐

sions to know where one could hunt the buffalo herds.

So the Crow, like Freud, thought that dreams were re-

‐

sponses to human wishes. They also, like Freud,

thought that the deeper meaning of dreams was often

not transparent—and thus that important dreams re-

‐

quired the interpretation of wiser, older members of the

tribe. Within the context of our inquiry, the most im-

‐

portant difference between Freud and the Crow is that

Freud thought humans were alone in the universe, and

the Crow did not and do not. For Freud dreams are

simply a human response to human wishes: they pro-

‐

vide a disguised gratification. For the Crow, by contrast,

humans have a meaningful place in a meaningful world.

Not only is the world populated by spirits, but there is a

single God, Ah- badt-‐dadt-‐deah.‐

Given this worldview,

when a Crow had a strong desire or a wish, there was

reason for him to hope that his desire or wish had come

into being because the world itself was slightly out of

kilter. Going off into the mountains to pray to God to

“Pity me!” was a way of drawing the spiritual world’s

at-

‐

tention to one’s plight. In a dream- vision‐ one might be

visited by a spirit who would explain just how the order

of the world would be adjusted so as to gratify one’s

wish. (pp. 67- 68)‐

This is not rational in the sense Linton would have it, but it is rational from a Crow

perspective, within the Crow order of things. The world is not inanimate, and Plenty

Coups does not produce signs in order to transform the world by “magic” in the

sense of some resonant forcing of the situation by means of remote manipulation.

Yet it is, nonetheless, magical in the sense that it is not grounded in practical reason

or in the everyday functional economy of the standard Crow semiotic regime.

In- ‐

deed, the fact that they had a classification for types of dreams indicates precisely

the extraordinary nature of dreaming—it requires interpretation to bring it within

the realm of the intelligible. But this translation is not a hermeneutics of desire. It is

communication with that which can explain how desire can be fulfilled. Dreams do

not represent the world or the objects of our desire per se, but rather inform us

about our relationship to the world, the living forces within it, and the state of

affairs with regard to the unfolding of events in the whole system of relations.

Dreams make us people with regard to the entirety of the world, because they give

us knowledge and agency about that world in all its depths. The dream Plenty

Coups brought back, however, was informative and responsive in this way, but was

also nonrepresentational.

What is striking about young Plenty Coup’s dream—and

the interpretation the tribe gave to it—is that it was

used not merely to predict a future event; it was used by

the tribe to struggle with the intelligibility of events that

lay at the horizon of their ability to understand. Dreams

were regularly used by the Crow to predict the future.

People would, for instance, wait for a vision in a dream

to tell them it was a propitious time to go into battle.

But young Plenty Coup’s dream was of a different order.

It did not predict any particular event, but the change of

the world order. It was prophetic in the sense that the

tribe used it to face up to a radically different future. (p.

68)

Plenty Coups’ vision was about a new way of having vision, the knowledge he

brought back about a new way of knowing. As Lear points out, this pointed to a cri-

‐

sis of consciousness, a disruption in the lifeways that were a systematic expression

of an interpretation of relation to the world and what it meant to exist as a person

or subject within it. (pp. 42- 3)‐ Plenty Coups’ dream does not provide him with

specific knowledge about the future, but rather with knowledge that the future will

be dif-

‐

ferent from the present, and may even require different epistemologies and

semiotic regimes if there is to be any survival at all. Thus, in order to keep faith with

the world of his ancestors and the ontology to which he is fully committed, to

continue to be Crow in the way that he knows how, he will have to cease to be Crow

in the way that he knows how. In the gap of this double bind lies the crux of

survival:

In an age when secular readers often think that

religious commitment breeds arrogant intolerance—as

though the believers had a “direct line to God”—it is

worth noting that Plenty Coups’s form of commit-

‐

ment

—at least, as we have imagined him reasoning— would

lead him toward humility. He has to admit that he has

little idea of what is coming—other than a “tre-

‐

mendous storm” that will knock down all the trees but

one. The dream did not even explicitly predict that the

Crow will survive—though that is how the elders inter-

‐

preted it. In this way, Plenty Coups can both bear wit-

‐

ness to the end of a traditional way of life and commit

himself to a good that transcends these finite ethical

forms. Precisely because Plenty Coups sees that a tradi-

‐

tional way of life is coming to an end, he is in a position

to embrace a peculiar form of hopefulness. It is

basical-

‐

ly the hope for revival: for coming back to life

in a form that is not yet intelligible. (p. 95)

It is important to remember in relating to this scenario that Plenty Coups’ dream

was not his own. He in fact reached out to the deeper world in order to interact

with it on behalf of the community. In doing so, he brought the energy of

transform-

‐

ative, generative semiosis into an otherwise stable regime at the time

when that

en- ‐

ergy was most needed and when it could contribute the most. Plenty

Coups’ vision was itself a double bind, an experience sought by a metastable

semiotic regime in order to produce change within itself. This act, being one of

social metacognition opens the community to the changes possibly necessary for its

own survivance.

This idea of working with metacognitive processes in order to free up pat-

‐

terns of semiotic processing and habituated lifeways is explored in a different con-

‐

text by the decolonization theorist and activist Michael Yellow Bird. For him, re-

‐

sistance results not necessarily in the continuity of a given semiotic ecology, but ra-

‐

ther in the capacity of a people to individually and collectively remain (a) people as

subjects of their own cognitive and expressive processes. This is consistent with

Lear’s reading of Plenty Coups’ vision. Arguing for an understanding that relates

theories of neuroplasticity, decolonization, and “an Indigenous Peoples’ mind- brain‐

policy,” Yellow Bird argues that a kind of neurocognitive semiotic work must be un-

‐

dertaken by those who want to move past the historical traumas of colonization.

For him, the appropriate metacognitive outcomes can be achieved through mindful-

‐

ness practice(s) understood as neurodecolonization:

…[I]n order for decolonization to be successful it must

begin in our minds. We believe that creative, healthy,

decolonized thinking, actions, and feelings positively

shape and empower important neural circuits in our

brain, which in turn provide us with the personal

re-‐

sources, strengths, talents, and abilities we need to

overcome the oppressions of colonialism. We believe

that a healthy, well- balanced mind and brain are essen-‐

‐

tial to helping one to engage in proactive, creative, and

successful decolonization activities. On the other hand,

we are convinced that unconstructive, negative think-

‐

ing, feelings, and behaviors dampen and short- circuit ‐

the brain’s creativity and optimism networks, and

in-‐

crease our susceptibility to the many stresses that arise

in everyday life; we believe that these “regular” stress-

‐

ors are made even worse by the additional traumas of

colonialism…. [H]ow our brain changes depends on how

we train our minds to engage the world….

There are many ways out of our negativity brain

bias. Some of them are as old as Indigenous culture it-

‐

self: practicing positive thinking, speech, actions, and

feelings; engaging in mindfulness meditation; stopping

ourselves from ruminating on the hurtful past and un-

‐

certain future (this is where the constant thinking about

and discussions of historical trauma, without effective

neurodecolonization strategies, has, in my opinion, be-

‐

come a liability for decolonization); and, finally, en-

‐

gagement in contemplative prayer that is personal lov-

‐

ing and extends love to all creatures and sentient beings

on the planet. (Yellow Bird, 2012, pp. 58, 60)

Yellow Bird points out quite strongly an element of colonial practice that is usually

overlooked or, when noted, is seen as merely an issue of cultural or semiotic change,

rather than one that affects peoples’ abilities to cope with the realities of their cir-

‐

cumstance—the traditional contemplative practices passed down across genera-

‐

tions.

There is a part of mindfulness that most mind-

‐

fulness scholars and practitioners fail to mention or un-

‐

derstand: the “politics of mindfulness,” which concerns

how colonization activities were instrumental in

de-‐

stroying the mindfulness traditions and practices of In-

‐

digenous Peoples. For instance, when colonizers out-

‐

lawed or ridiculed important ceremonial songs and

dance, many indigenous Peoples’ brain circuits of hope,

happiness, and purpose that were associated with these

practices were undoubtedly reduced, inactivated,

and/or deleted. As these brain networks became inac-

‐

tivated, the importance of ceremonial activities would

correspondingly lose their importance and appeal. In

place of Indigenous ceremonies and practices, coloniz-

‐

ers offered Christian religion and beliefs, stressing their

importance since they were received directly from THE

CREATOR and indispensable because they “saved” In-

‐

digenous Peoples from their primitive beliefs, and the

Christian Hell, and enabled them to get to the Christian

Heaven or Paradise. (p. 70)

Winkelman (2000, pp. 224- 5) seems to make arguments that generally support Yel-‐

‐

low Bird’s position.

It is perhaps in this light that we should interpret the surprising amount of

ceremonial action associated with revitalization movements. Dance, trance, etc., are

all major components of such movements in a large number of cases, if they do not

constitute them nearly entirely. This is not only true in the well- studied‐

movements of North America, but also in the increasingly well- known‐ Taqui- Oncoy‐

(“sick dance”) of the Incan realm, which coincided with the articulation of the

Incarrí myth discussed above. Indeed, from the works of Guaman Poma, a

generation later, we know that there was an ongoing semiotic crisis in the region

provoked by, among other things, the violence of the Extirpation, and to which the

indigenous peoples of the region responded by looking to traditional models of

semiotic authority and transformation.

What all of this seems to suggest is that, despite outward appearances, the

revitalization movements we see across the Americas, spanning from the sixteenth

century into the twentieth (and, including Yellow Bird, the twenty- first),‐ may not

be entirely about the assertion of land rights, cultural forms, etc., but also about the

be-‐

ing and becoming of persons and the reassertion of the means by which the

individ-

‐

uals involved know how to produce such subject- agents.‐ As in the case of

Plenty Coups, and so many others, the results of revitalization have more to do with

simple vitalization than any “re-

“ ‐

might imply. And if that is the case, we should not

find it surprising that demographic research such as that undertaken by Thornton

(1986) indicates higher survival rates for those communities who underwent such

process-

‐

es. These individual and social metacognitive practices enable the kinds

of socio-

‐

cognitive and semiotic transformation that allowed them to adapt to the

new reali-

‐

ties they encountered under the oppressive systems of invasive settler

colonial dominance. It seems, moreover, that interpreted in this light they may

point to a wisdom had by those communities that may still be beneficial to people

today.

2. Semiotic Theology: Yellow Smoke and Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti

If we look at the history of the Omaha, it is obvious that the absence of

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti is a profoundly important aspect of their experience in the twentieth

century. While it is not singularly responsible for the difficulties they have faced by

a long stretch, this absence is certainly a contributing factor in the sense that it has

damaged their semiotic ecology in such a way as to make it less robust and capable

of adaptation. It is obvious that for the Omaha the return of Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti would be of

primary concern. It would therefore be natural for them to think of this case as

fore-

‐

grounded in discussing the ethics of repatriation or the importance and

challenges of revitalization for cultural survivance. What about for the rest of us? I

am not Omaha, nor will be the vast majority of the readers of this essay. What is it

about this particular case that motivates our discussion of it?

With regard to repatriation, this is a relatively unique case. The return of

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti to his people occurred in a particular moment that allowed for the pro-

‐

cess of its return to be very well documented, including video tapes of the individu-

‐

als involved and of the homecoming ceremony itself. Moreover, this event occurred

prior to The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) of

1990 and all the legal and administrative events that came thereafter. This means

that the return of the Real Omaha to his home was undertaken in a context that was

specifically ethical, as the negotiated agreement between the Omaha people and the

Peabody Museum was not forced by any particular legal requirements—although

there was a legal agreement in place that described the Peabody’s possession of

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti as a holding in trust. The Peabody Museum honored the arguably difficult

to enforce agreement in largely good faith, though with some hesitation, marking a

success for the Omaha consistent with their remarkably successful efforts at repat-

‐

riating large numbers of human remains from various institutions at around the

same time.

The absence of federal requirements means that we are able to consider the

ethical scenario in a more immediate sense than we might otherwise, as the

interac-

‐

tion of sovereignties and legal structures, as well as legal ideologies and

ideological factors with regard to the relationship between religion, science, and

government, don’t come into play as explicitly complicating factors. Of course, these

are present, as the climate at the time was weighted by public discourse on precisely

these

mat- ‐

ters in light of the pending NAGPRA legislation. However, they do not

directly com-

‐

plicate the matter in the sense that they do not cause formal

procedures to be in place that are not specifically negotiated between the two

parties involved, nor do they trigger the involvement of additional parties.

We can see then the multiple vectors that cause this event to be of specific

in- ‐

terest. It occurs at a specific moment in time that allows it to be documented

well, while remaining prior to mediating complications not directly part of the set of

questions we are investigating. It is part of a general movement among the Omaha at

the time to undertake repatriation as part of a cultural revitalization, taking place in

the context of a public discourse about repatriation and revitalization stimulated by

the American Indian Movement and related efforts at cultural revitalization and

survivance across the Americas. It is also specifically centered around actions that

make use of traditional constructs as socio- cognitive‐ and semiotic technologies for

the purposes of promoting the flourishing of the Omaha people.

For those who are not directly involved in an ethical scenario, particularly

one in which the heightened sensitivities we have described are in play, it is

im-‐

portant to have an appropriate and well thought out motivation for discussing it. It

is, in an ultimate sense, none of my business what occurs between these two parties,

except insofar as my way of life or actions impact indirectly on the survivance of the

Omaha community or on the successful outcome of the situation. It is very much my

business as a citizen of the United States the ways in which First Peoples are treated

by my government and by the institutions it supports, particularly as someone

in-‐

vested in human rights discourses and as someone who is aware of and concerned

with Native American issues. In taking up this case as an example, I in no way claim

to speak on behalf of or, again ultimately, in a deeply knowledgeable way about the

Omaha people or its relationship to Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti. As someone who has a stake in the

information professions, I am concerned in general about the ethics involved in

re-‐

lating with indigenous communities and I speak about this case out of a motivation

to promote anti- racist‐ and appropriately sensitive discourse around these issues

among those for whom it is a concern. I naturally and sincerely offer my apologies to

any and all communities mentioned or described here if I have in any way spoken

out of turn or inappropriately about any matter. It is simply the case that when we

speak about ethical issues, it is extremely helpful to speak about specific cases. Here,

the return of Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti fits the bill for the kind of scenario we are trying to get at.

I’m sure there are probably other possible ones, but the particular form of

documen-

‐

tation around this event made it especially useful.

The return of the Real Omaha and the community ritual enacted upon his

ar- ‐

rival is documented extensively, particularly in the public television documentary

Return of the Sacred Pole. (Nebraska Educational Television Network, 1990) The

documentary is helpful in that it incorporates not only footage of the events in

ques-

‐

tion, but also interviews with some of the various individuals involved. In

bearing witness to the events as presented in the documentary, one moment stands

out to me as particularly moving and important. The scene runs from approximately

19:53 – 21:32. In it, Lawrence Gilpin, a spiritual leader for the community, in

initiating the ritual by which the Omaha welcome Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti home, speaks about

him and his meaning to the community. As he does so, he becomes overwhelmed by

emotion.

There are multiple interpretations of this moment that are possible: the healing of

personal and collective historical trauma, the overwhelming feeling that comes from

being in the presence of a profoundly sacred figure, the fulfillment of a movement

that attempts to bring together the community, etc. It is under any reading or com-

‐

bination of readings an important and meaningful moment. Lear (2006) indicates to

us that it is such small moments that are often useful for philosophy, and especially

philosophical ethics, as they serve to provide us with a constrained view into the in-

‐

tersection of multiple semiotic series and sociocultural dynamics. To the extent that

Gilpin can be seen to be experiencing the moment on behalf of those gathered and

departed, he can, like Plenty Coups, be seen to be engaging in socio- cognitive‐ and

semiotic transformations that contribute to the revitalization of the Omaha. Because

of the particular dynamics at work in the community’s relationship to Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti,

we can say that the Real Omaha and Gilpin work together to reinstantiate and rene-

‐

gotiate the whole structure of relationships among those present.

We are therefore given a specific motivation to look into this case because of

its utility, because of its relevance to the range of issues we are addressing, and

be-‐

cause of its powerful meaning. For the ethical procedure we will describe, it is

natu-

‐

rally important that the issue being considered be foregrounded in our

awareness or prioritized in our attention in some way. This is a metaethical

assertion: that

in-‐

quiry into ethics or the critical self- reflection that helps us to ‐

determine our acts should be motivated. Without this motivation, our reflections

are possibly arbitrary, and, at the very least, lacking a context that allows us to

undertake important pro-

‐

cesses of prioritization that emerge along the pathway of

inquiry and decision. As we have indicated, the scene we are looking at is self-‐

evidently important to the Omaha and relevant to the individuals involved from the

institutional side. For the purposes of this essay, which engages at a remove, the

motivations are understood to be the clarification of an ethical procedure as it

pertains to a class of situations.

The motivation for taking up the specific case should also be clear at this point.

Regardless of the motivation, in taking up an ethical question, it is important

to review the situation carefully and thoroughly, appraising the range of possible

understandings and descriptions. The robustness of the final ethical argument or

decision will depend on the intensity of the exploration. In other words, no matter

what we are trying to accomplish, it is unquestionably favorable to understand what

we are engaging with as completely as possible. This is not only intellectual under-

‐

standing, but also affective sympathy and openness to other points of view and

frameworks for determining the nature and outcome of the scenario. We must not

only hear an ethical call or take up an ethical charge, but must also respond to it

vulnerably or else we are never actually in the scene to begin with.

One major difficulty on this front is the relationship between science and

universalist humanism as mediated through late modern concepts. For so many of

us, the assertion of difference over unity is seen as dangerous and even unethical.

(Appiah, 2009, p. 98) The Kantian version of cosmopolitanism in particular requires

us to understand humans as a kind of generic matrix of capacities and faculties

without specific content, acting rationally among patterns of coequal exchange. It is,

however, true that the specific content matters for our histories and identities in

ways that are not abrogated by our similarities. For example, the bodies of non-

‐

Europeans became forfeit in the eyes of Europeans, resulting in the instantiation of

power differentials that are bound up inextricably with the power structures that

exist in the global world- system‐ of today. This means that a people who have been

intentionally and systematically robbed of power by the instantiated operations of

scientific capitalist humanism and its predecessors must, in order to gain power,

as-‐

similate fully or assert difference and autonomy from that system. Neither of these

extremes is actually possible under the circumstances in a pure form. Assimilation is

prevented precisely by that which makes it both desirable and needed, which makes

assimilation into a self- denying ascetic act separating humans from what has histor-‐

‐

ically made them such. The assertion of difference and autonomy is, of course, an act

of power. Thus assimilation is only possible under the conditions of its own denial,

and autonomy is only ever partial, as it requires some degree of assimilation to take

root.

A.K. Appiah (2009) has analyzed repatriation in the context of a cosmopoli-

‐

tan ethics with somewhat mixed results. Appiah makes significant headway in the

forms of cosmopolitan arguments that do bear some appeal. For example, his state-

‐

ment that “Our ancestors have been human for a very long time,” goes a long way

toward situating ethics within “Big History” (Christian, 2005) and giving credit to

the forebears of modern humanity for the real efforts they invested in becoming

what we are. Yet it is this becoming in history that is precisely what leads Appiah to

certain kinds of problematic statements. For example,

Indeed, a great deal of what people wish to pro-

‐

tect as ‘cultural patrimony’ was made before the mod-

‐

ern system of nations came into being, by members of

societies that no longer exist. People die when their

bodies die. Cultures, by contrast, can die without physi-

‐

cal extinction…. Perhaps the matter of biological

de- ‐

scent is a distraction….

One connection—the one neglected in talk of cul-

‐

tural patrimony—is the connection not through identity

but despite difference. We can respond to art that is not

ours; indeed, we can fully respond to ‘our’ art only if we

move beyond thinking of it as ours and start to respond

to it as art. But equally important is the human connec-

‐

tion. My people—human beings—made the Great Wall

of Chine, the Chrysler Building and the Sistine Chapel:

these things were made by creatures like me, through

the exercise of skill and imagination. I do not have those

skills, and my imagination spins different dreams. Nev-

‐

ertheless, that potential is also in me. The connection

through a local identity is as imaginary as the connec-

‐

tion through humanity. The Nigerian’s link to the Benin

bronze, like mine, is a connection made in the imagina-

‐

tion; but to say this isn’t to pronounce either of them

unreal. They are among the realest connections that we

have. (pp. 101, 109)

One barely knows where to begin. Firstly, it is important to note that Appiah swipes

away descent and embodiment as relevant concerns, only then to use that irrele-

‐

vance as part of an argument for a common humanity. This is self- contradictory‐ in

the sense of a Big History, which would assume the very real relevance of local his-

‐

tory and embodiment as that which has helped to shape us into the very humanity

Appiah would lay claim to. Secondly, having swiped away these actual connections

to the past, Appiah then argues that such connections are imaginary. Balancing the

footing of the argument, Appiah then refers to the humanity appealed to as imagi-

‐

nary, as well, but more important for reasons that aren’t entirely clear, except per-

‐

haps simply because of the magnitude of humanity as a whole by comparison with

the trivial numbers of “small” local concerns. That magnitude is, of course, a

biomass that reinstantiates humans within the context of a “glocal” planetarity-‐

embodiment. Regardless, Appiah prioritizes “humanity” over historical difference

and embodi-

‐

ment, then locks it in again with this new arrangement by asserting

their reality in as vacuous a way as their imaginary nature was asserted.

The argument is bizarre in the reification of the metaphor of death with re-

‐

gard to cultures. This strangeness is specifically in the assertion that becoming

dif-

‐

ferent is equivalent to having died. This equivalence is at the core of Appiah’s

argu-

‐

ments: that difference is death. That formula is one that is as recognizable as

the above rhetorical machine. The gesture here is one that is repeated across the

globe as the means to produce the “mass man” that is the universal type of

contemporary humanity, the mass man possessed of infinite transparency and

interchangeability. (Deloria, 2000, p. 178) This is the same gesture that has

separated physical anthro-

‐

pology and archaeology from ethnography, that has mythologized the disappear-

‐

ance of the Indian as a cultural trope, and that has ignored contemporary Native

Americans in favor of an Romantic, idealized past full of “authentic” Indians, whose

lives, bodies, and cultures are available to anyone who sees fit to make use of them.

(Crawford, p. 224) The argument also loops on itself, as the swiping away of local

continuity and embodiment foregrounds culture, which is then valued for its own

sake, and which, in turn, is used as a justification for the expropriation of the traces

of that local history and embodiment. Crawford points out that the use of such trac-

‐

es directly contradicts the rhetoric, as the very first area of inquiry under almost any

circumstance is to situate the item or body within the context of its particular

locali-

‐

ty and historical continuity.

Appiah makes an additional argument here about the items in question being

“art,” a category which is largely meaningless and/or alien to most traditional

socie-

‐

ties and which is used as a bucket term for objects that can be sold in the

market under terms of valuation specific to the category. One element of such a

category is the impossibility within the framework of its construction of construing

anything so classified as a person rather than an object, which already takes

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti out of his appropriate framework, for example,2 if he were to be

considered in this context. Using this term, Appiah then makes the trivial argument

that many such items were made available to institutions or collectors under

frameworks that made such things perfectly within their rights. This may be so, but

it ignores the underlying question

2 Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti is not so situated as an art object in the minds of either set of stake-

‐

holders, but is nonetheless situated in such a way with regard to the various epis-

‐

temic and power structures that it could be so taken, if the stakeholders were

differ-

‐

ent. It is not uncommon for sacred objects to be taken as art by museums.

of motivation. Why were such objects sold? Under what pressures and sets of

op-‐

tions were they given away? Were such rights consistent with traditional under-

‐

standings or innovations of newer forms of governance adopted under coercion?3

To ask such questions implies a cultural context relevant beyond mere economy

and legal framework for that system of exchange that Appiah cannot allow. If such

ques-

‐

tions are allowed to become relevant, then there also becomes the possibility

that the whole category structure might fail: objects might become persons, the

value of things might become that of vital cultural elements, etc. This shows how the

eco-

‐

nomic argument is not only singular and trivial, but also constitutes violence.

With-

‐

out the ability to evaluate Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti on other terms, wouldn’t the Omaha

be voice-

‐

less? Wouldn’t the “object” in question be denied the central role he plays

in the

so-‐

cio- cognitive‐ and semiotic ecologies in which he properly takes his place?

What

ob-‐

ject is worth the health and well- being‐ of an entire society? If there were

such a class of objects, wouldn’t they have transcended their role as “art” anyway? If

not, who would get to decide? Appiah thinks not, and thinks that the decision is one

that can be made under a rubric of what is “reasonable.” (Appiah, 2009, p. 107) This

whole complex of issues founders on questions of cognitive justice.

Crawford’s argument for semiotic sovereignty is extremely important, then,

as the struggle over power, rights of exchange, interpretive modes, and the produc-

‐

tion of knowledge are all bound up with the history of cognitive injustice that is part

3 For example, we can think of cases where individuals conducted perfectly legal

ex-‐

changes of items, but which exchange was not the right of the individual with regard

to the item in question in the understanding of the culture that produced the

desira-

‐

ble item. Historical legality is not the same as ethical correctness, and

Appiah, as someone who would lay claim to critical reason, should recognize the

distinction.

and parcel of the world- system‐ of modernism, even as it claims for itself a humanist

stance. That world- system is founded on the intentional destruction of cultures, lan-‐

‐

guages, religions, gender systems, and other semiotic and socio- cognitive systems ‐

across the globe, and the history of academia is not exempt from this legacy.

(Grosfoguel, 2013) With this in mind, the request for repatriation is an opportunity

for the institutional stakeholders to reflect critically on this legacy and the ways in

which humanism falls short of its goals with regard to its place as ideology of the

modern world- system. (Taksony Hewitt, 2014) To claim the self-‐discovery of hu-‐

‐

manity as a goal for expropriative acts is simply to endorse a long history of Euro-

‐

centric prejudice that sees the colonial subject as equivalent to a universal ground

for meaning and value, as well as the arbiter of aesthetic judgments. It is also to sit-

‐

uate oneself in a specific history while denying the act of having done so, removing

oneself from the locality of the ethical charge in order to claim an overriding neces-

‐

sity that eliminates personal responsibility for seeking out one’s own personal

goals. This is an intrinsically colonial gesture, and one that is bound up with the

history of cognitive injustice. (Bracken, 2007) Ethical behavior means that we must

seek to be in the situation so that we can find voices within the scene that intensify

our aware-

‐

ness, and then prioritize those situational others within the range of

possible priori-

‐

ties. This latter metaethical problem is the source of many ethical

failures. We should work to foreground those issues that call us to our highest level

of responsi-

‐

bility.

The move to the highest level of responsibility can be understood as an

au-‐

thentic humanism. Humanism, in this sense, is not an ethics but a metaethics,

fo-‐

cused on the intensification of critical reflection, ethical action, and responsibility

among the community of human beings as such. When we take humanism as an

eth-

‐

ics, meaning that we work within the given frameworks of humanism as

instantiated in the modern world- system, we lose sight of the strengths humanism ‐

offers us in the first place with regard to metaethics—the ability to think critically

about both our actions and the decisional processes that lead to them, as well as the

ability to think critically about the frameworks we use to understand and engage

with those processes. It is in this way that humanism requires us to articulate

carefully the dis-

‐

tinctions between philosophy and metaphilosophy. The encounter

with those who would lay claim to different socio- cognitive and semiotic ecologies ‐

means that our metaphilosophy must engage with humanism as a metaethics or risk

foreclosing in advance on the authenticity of an encounter between cultures,

between sovereign-

‐

ties, and/or between institutions and stakeholders. For

scientific claims, this means recognizing the history of science and its role in the

humanist oppression of non-

‐

Western cultures in the name of the modern world-‐

system and taking seriously the metaepistemological insights that recognition

provides. This metaepistemology en-

‐

ables a metaphilosophy, which can be

emboldened and enacted by means of a metaethics that frames our decisional

processes in contextual orders outside their normative engagements. We ought to

reflexively critique our engagement, in other words, in order to ensure that we

understand the polysemy and multiplicity of

se-‐

miotic orders impacting on the

scenario and participating in it, so that we can then, in turn, negotiate an authentic

humanism free of representational bias and seeking cognitive justice through depth

of humane encounter.

This is, in simple terms, being honest about our history and our responsibili-

‐

ties with regard to it, giving up defensiveness and the pursuit of our too- interested ‐

interests, and sitting vulnerably before the situation asking what can be done to en-

‐

sure the flourishing of healthy peoples and semiotic ecologies. Michael Yellow Bird’s

neurodecolonization can be seen as a potential praxis to such ends, a kind of non-

‐

representational semiotic theology of care that attends to the well- being‐ of peoples

and histories. Here we use semiotic theology as a term parallel to political theology,

where we recognize that our superstructures tend to take on forms derived from

our patterns of thought about fundamental reality and where we recognize that

the-

‐

se are still workable and malleable at their own level. This is the kind of work

that was undertaken by Plenty Coups as described previously. Moreover, it is the

kind of work the Omaha have done. A rather well known associate of Alice

Cunningham Fletcher, Francis La Flesche, proposed to Yellow Smoke, the last

keeper of the Pole, in 1888 that Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti be sent eastward to “live in a great

brick house” rather than his traditional home of a tent. (Ridington) According to the

Omaha, Yellow Smoke faced a situation not unlike Plenty Coups, and agreed to allow

the Peabody Museum, in coordination with Francis La Flesche and Alice

Cunningham Fletcher, to hold him in trust until such time as certain conditions

were met.

The specific terms of the agreement matter here a great deal, as the holding

in trust is quite different from a surrender of ownership. In a real sense,

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti was sent to live elsewhere for a while, as opposed to having been

property that was exchanged or leant. If the latter had been the case, it is very

possible that he would never have been able to return to his people. The Peabody

Museum kept the terms

of the agreement honestly and, when the conditions were met, returned him home.

Yellow Smoke may have taken a very controversial action, but it was one that cut

across cultures, seeking to ensure the survivance and continuity of his own even

while negotiating that preservation in terms of the other. His act was not one of

sur-

‐

render or assimilation, nor was it an assertion of absolute difference. Indeed, it

was a profoundly humanistic act, a cosmopolitan gesture, much like Plenty Coups’

ac-

‐

tions. It was an act that understood both cultures for what they were and

engaged with each according to the interests of the goals in mind. Whether or not it

was the only choice and whether La Flesche and company had the best of intentions

in mind is not at issue. The nature and quality of Yellow Smoke’s choice, when

understood in terms of cognitive justice, semiotic theologies, and the advancement

of specific ethi-

‐

cal aims should stand out to us as exemplary. It is probably rare

that such actions can be met in kind by institutions and governments acting at the

same level of sub-

‐

tlety and humanity, particularly as these are often set up to

engage with the world in somewhat machinic ways. This machinic approach to

institution-

‐

and government-

‐

building is a result of Kantian cosmopolitan

approaches to the enactment of West-

‐

ern political theologies of the mid-‐

seventeenth to early nineteenth centuries as am-

‐

plified through the industrial era.

These constructions are relatively unstable due to their inflexibility, and, as it turns

out, their incapacity to deal humanely with the ob-

‐

jects of their concern. (Howard,

2014) Yet, for people born to the modern world-

‐

system, the political theology and

semiotic theology they represent are so pervasive and self- reinforcing‐ that the

effort to disengage from their hold can be very difficult. We must unlearn a lifetime

of thoughts, actions, and reinforced patterns of behavior

in order to transcend them. In a very real sense, for everyone involved in the cross-

‐

cultural encounters in question, Yellow Bird’s neurodecolonization must begin at

home.

3. Historical Trauma, Neurodecolonization and Posthumanism

We have already discussed the tears of Lawrence Gilpin during the repatria-

‐

tion ceremony and the ways in which this represents his feeling on behalf of the

community. Like Plenty Coups, he makes his cognitive process available to the

bene-

‐

fit of the community. In the case of Plenty Coups, this makes possible

generative in-

‐

sight in communion with the more- than-‐human world, while in Gilpin ‐

is made pos-

‐

sible a more- than-‐personal being-‐moved that allows the historical ‐

trauma of past

experience to begin to heal by shifting. This trauma does not

disappear all at once, of course, nor does it even get experienced in its entirety. It is

unlikely that any con-

‐

sciousness could contain at once such suffering. But Gilpin’s

consciousness is, of course, not only his own, as through the semiotic and socio-‐

cognitive technology of ritual and communal engagement he serves as the focal

point for a reintroduction of (re- )generative processes made available once again. ‐

This is not a spiritual power over, but a power- with‐ whereby, in collaboration with

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti, he brings heal-

‐

ing and the potential for restoration through

restorative justice to and as the com-

‐

munity.

Thornton’s work on the value of repatriation movements to survival rates in

native communities shows us that the importance of these semiotic ecologies cannot

be underestimated. For example, we know the realities of a wide range of health

ef- ‐

fects, from nutrition to addiction to heritable patterns of abuse, that come with the

degradation of cultural forms and traditional cognitive patterns. He has also pointed

to the work of others as a partial explanation for increased survival rates, looking to

concepts of historical trauma to offer a causal theory for this correlation. (Thornton,

2002) On this theory, semiotic and socio- cognitive‐ systems are integrated fully

with the social ecology of humans in such a way that the health of that system is as

im-

‐

portant as the health of the environment, the health of individual psyches, etc.

Semi-

‐

otic systems can act to self- heal‐ in and through themselves, through the

relation-

‐

ships they bear to their environment, and through the effects they have in

ordering their substrates. (Thacker, 2004) This take on socio- cognitive/semiotic ‐

systems (Thibault, 2004), which we have been calling semiotic ecology, is a

postvitalist (Doyle, 2003) understanding of life that engages with semiotic

perspectives on biol-

‐

ogy (Shapiro, 2013), which would take anthroposemiosis as a

subclass of a general semiotic process fundamental to the cosmos—a process in

which humans partici-

‐

pate and which they shape for themselves, but which is not

singularly caused by or for them. If Thornton is correct in using the work of Duran

and Duran (1995) as grounds for a causal explanation of semiotic survivance,4 then

this undermining of humanism in favor of a posthumanistic perspective is essential.

Interestingly, it is an amplification of humanism in that it takes seriously the socio-‐

cognitive and semiotic perspectives on non- Western‐ communities on terms equal

to themselves, providing for cognitive justice even in the midst of allowing semiotic

sovereignty.

If this posthumanistic context is the one in which we find the various positive

4 The idea of “semiotic survivance” here builds on the work of Gerald Vizenor, who

uses the term survivance to indicate the ways in which resistance to settler

colonial-

‐

ism and survival are intertwined. (Vizenor, 1999) The term semiotic

survivance articulates in the terms of this thesis the ways in which survivance can

be understood to be specifically bound up with semiotic processes, as in Thornton,

and the ways in which the ends of survivance can in turn be seen as continuities of

semiotic ecologies across thresholds of representation, non- representation, and ‐

unrepresentability.

outcomes that we seek, then repatriation must be rethought in this context. Michael

Yellow Bird’s neurodecolonization takes on vital importance, as it a rearticulation of

the anthroposemiotic process in terms that make a more expansive understanding

available across cultural boundaries, so long as one is willing to take on the work

involved. Going further, the work of neurodecolonization across the bounded inter-

‐

actions of semiotic ecologies means that we are interacting with the human world,

the more- than-‐human‐ world, the posthuman world, and the prehumanist world

simultaneously. This would seem to indicate that the work involved in

neurodecolo-

‐

nization needs to actively engage in overcoming the specific

representational forms of given systems in favor of nonrepresentational modalities,

needs to be targeted towards the development of habituated affective ends that

motivate coordinated willingness and mutual vulnerability, and needs to be seen as

an intensification of the systems involved such that power- with‐ rather than

power- over‐ is the primary mode of engagement. This is a neurotheology (Newberg,

2010) and a semiotic prax-

‐

is that transcends the forms of humanism instantiated

in the modern world- system, gaining access to potentially undifferentiated systems‐

of cognition (Champagne, 2007) without losing track of the insights that historical

differentiation has made available in our experience.

All of the above forces a context shift for our ethical and metaethical

perspec-

‐

tives, providing for a moral enhancement (Persson & Savulescu, 2012)

that can

en- ‐

gage with our deepest problems in ways that do not further or worsen

systematic injustices, either local or global. In it we discover the Big History of our

shared

hu- ‐

manity and our ecological planetarity even while finding an increased

capacity for

ethical behavior that makes possible epistemogenesis not limited to Western sci-

‐

ence. Through individual and collective practice, we can find in repatriation an au-

‐

thentic movement to the healing of historical trauma that is in keeping with our

best critical understanding. If we look to other forms of restorative justice, for

example linguistic revitalization or the restoration of belief expressions to their

proper land-

‐

based contexts, we can see that environmental justice, racial justice,

sexual and gen-

‐

der justice, reproductive justice, and cognitive justice are all part

and parcel of a nonrepresentational intensification of humanism that makes

possible the surviv-

‐

ance of communities across the thresholds of their own

trauma. In restoring our own capacity to our deepest humanity in this way, we all

come home like Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti to his people, returning to a situated ecology of

restoratively balanced relations as an outcome of socio- cognitive and semiotic ‐

justice practices.

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REPATRIATION AS NEUROTHEOLOGY: POSTHUMANISTIC APPROACHES TO

DECOLONIZATION, HOPE, AND COGNITIVE JUSTICE

Preliminary Framework

This essay proposes to study a particular case of repatriation to a Native

American people, unpacking the relevant ethical issues within the various contexts

at play. In doing so, the essay targets three major aims. The first is to show that

re- ‐

patriation is not just a matter of property rights or cultural property, but is in fact

also related to processes of cultural healing and positive transformation. The second

is to demonstrate an ethical procedure that allows us to take a wider range of issues

into account while still retaining flexibility with regard to our response to scenarios

that might lead to repatriation and the various priorities that might inform such

re- ‐

sponses. Finally, the third goal is to understand the ways that dynamics at the scale

of planetarity and the long history of modernism can impact on the various priori-

‐

ties and the arguments we use to justify them. The essay will attempt to unify these

three themes ultimately under a single perspective, addressing the return of

Umoⁿ'hoⁿ'ti,1 the “Real Omaha,” to the Omahas.

In most of the discourse on repatriation, we end up discussing both the

situa-

‐

tion and terms of debate according to the ontologies, cognitive styles, and

cultural assumptions of the settler colonial culture’s people. (Kakaliouras, 2012;

Silverman, 2015) This can happen for many reasons. In the first case, it is simply a

matter of power relationships. This can break down into at least three forms of

relationship. It is simply the case that in most historical situations of settler