I finally had my DNA tested through Ancestry.com. I had bought kits for others as gifts over the years but never tested my own. It did not seem necessary. I knew the results for my half brother and my son. Plain vanilla Northern European profiles. What more could I possibly learn from testing my own DNA?
Something fascinating, as it turns out. My profile showed that I have 1% Native American DNA. My son, who received, like any offspring, only 50% of my DNA pool, did not get the Native American genes. If I had not tested, the knowledge about a Native American ancestor might never have been revealed. Perhaps some distant family members know after their own testing, but I am not close to even my first cousins so I would never have known.
This is a startling piece of news, enough to wake me up one slow morning when the email notice arrived. Blink, blink, what? Am I reading this correctly? I have Native American DNA? The first questions that came to mind after learning this were, “who, how, and when.” Since my half brother who has the same mom did not have the DNA,I immediately focused on my dad’s side. And, that didn’t take much sleuthing. I already knew that we had a relative on the Mayflower; years ago someone traced that lineage. Ah, I thought, had an early colonial ancestor in Plymouth had relations with a Native American. I hoped it was consensual and not part of raping and pillaging.
Next, I tried to get a handle on the 1%. Was that percent indicative in any way of a specific amount of time that had passed? Did 50% Native American (the offspring of a white colonist and Native American) dilute to 1% in any predictable time frame? Turns out, the answer is yes. I learned that it would have happened about 10 generations back (30 years each) or about 300 years before I was born.
That puts the dalliance around 1654, 30 years after the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock. Only about 4 women survived that first winter and research shows that European men took Native wives during those early years. Or was it the offspring of one of those surviving women who needed a mate? Some of the men made a living by hunting fur animals in remote areas, and they married Natives as well. In any case, early alliances between Natives and Europeans helped both to survive. In those early days, half-breed children were treated respectfully and were educated and Christianized. Later, intermarriages were made illegal, but studies now show that early America was an extremely diverse group thanks to these connections.
Of course, I have no proof that my Native American DNA arrived in my family line this way, but I can’t find any other possibilities. The timeline is right. The relatives on my mom’s side are much more recent arrivals in America. If it came from them, the percentage would have been far greater.
The question now is, what do I make of this 1% Native American DNA? Should I feel proud? Should I proclaim it boldly even though my racist paternal grandfather is turning in his grave? Should I hide it from view?
At first, I felt a bit torn. I remember the bad press Elizabeth Warren received when she claimed her Native American ancestry. She was mocked and belittled by Native Americans and others. What is that all about, I wondered? Why is everyone so upset that she claimed Native American heritage? Why do Native Americans dislike so intensely the reality that some White people have Native American DNA?
I am glad that I asked those questions. As I scrolled through articles online, I learned that modern Native Americans have several issues that white people with small amounts of Native American DNA need to understand. Their main complaint against Warren was that she seemed to be saying she is, at this moment, a Native American person. Native Americans countered that claim with the argument that a dab of DNA does not make you Native American. That is a cultural category that comes by being raised in a Native community. I get this, completely. Warren and I have a Native American ancestor but we are not Native American. We were raised in a white American culture and there is no sense in denying that we are, culturally, white people.
The other issue was that Warren claimed to descend from a specific tribe, the Cherokee. However, DNA testing only designates a broad group called Native Americans. Explanations that accompany the test results say clearly that Native American DNA includes all of the North, South, and Central American native peoples! There are no genetic markers for specific tribes. Cherokee, Sioux, Cheyenne, Apache, Mayan and all the other tribes have the same DNA. Again, we can say that tribal affiliations are cultural, at most.
And the third issue I uncovered: according to one article I read, Natives today are worried that people like me will suddenly feel less guilty about all the harm our relatives caused them. We might tend to think, so the reasoning goes, “Hey I am one of them, my people were harmed too. It’s not my fault or my problem any longer.” And, while that may be true for some people, it is not what I feel. I am still horrified by the way my white ancestors treated Native Americans, maybe even more so for having some of the DNA. Although to most it might seem meaningless as an arguement for my compassion and caring, I studied Native American history for a while in college and even spent time in my younger years volunteering on several reservations. I still have nothing but compassion for marginalized people everywhere.
Furthermore, I really struggle with my cultural group as a whole (educated, white). I hate the greed, the selfishness, and the self-absorption of my own people. I hate that my generation, who had so much empathy for others and so much promise in terms of making a better world, completely sold out, concerned only about their own creature comfort. I hate that white America has lost its moral compass and is giving rise to a new wave of white supremacy. I hate the divisiveness and the politicians who foment it. Although raised as an American white person, I don’t completely identify with it. By choice, I have lived on its margins and take pride in being a free-spirit and independent soul.
Hence, the 1% Native American brings me great pride. The sentimental side of me whats to shout joyously, “I knew I was different! I knew there was some explanation!” Was this why I love our land so much? Was this where my feisty spirit and independence come from? It is intoxicating to imagine that my Native ancestor was a strong, self-sufficient, and passionate woman. Was her offspring with a white guy another strong young woman? Do they live on in me in some way? Am I like them? Would they be proud of me? Of course, 1% didn’t affect who I am as much as I wanted to believe. However, emotionally it began to give me something to grab onto, an anchor I never had.
Of course, this is exactly the kind of projection that modern Native Americans don’t like. We are their enemy, we are not like them. I understand. Who wants to be related to the group of people who have harmed you the most, who have taken your land and decimated your people? That kind of hate is imbedded in people and lives on for eternity. Think Jewish and Muslim peoples and now Christians and Muslims. Is this kind of embedded hate at the root of their disdain for whites who have a touch of their DNA? To my shouts of joy I hear the reply, “We cannot be kin, you infidel.”
I get it. But what am I to do now? I want to take pride in my heritage and I want to make it known. I think previous generations of whites who may have heard family lore about a Native ancestor probably hid this knowledge due to racism. Although Warren’s family knew about their ancestor and passed it on with pride, our ancestry was never made known to me or my immediate family. Why hide it any longer? It is not a shameful truth but a piece of American history. I am proud but also not sure where to take this. Who will I offend as I bask in pride? Am I a racist for even thinking these thoughts? Am I insensitive by wanting to claim my entire heritage? Who will debate this with me?
In the meantime, I have new hope because I am the consummate idealist. Although DNA tests can only go back so far (700 years?), what we are learning shows ever more clearly our interconnectedness. To me, in the end, this is all that matters: we are all part of the human race, we are the earth’s people. Our divisions, our greed, our disrespect for each other and our planet have contributed in many ways to the crossroads we face today. There can only be one solution for the survival battles that face us now: for all of the earth’s people to discover our common purpose and to come together at last. Our differences and hate make us vulnerable and weak. Unity makes us invincible. Can we set aside hate? Is it too late?
