Dear Smith and the Smith community,
To begin a number of large, high-profile events at Smith College and other nominally progressive institutions across the United States and Canada, a leading figure of the institution, who is usually not Indigenous, approaches the stage to read a land acknowledgement. The Smith College land acknowledgement, formally called the Indigenous Land Statement, asserts that the college recognizes their place on Nonotuck ancestral homelands, appreciates the existence of Indigenous nations surrounding the college and celebrates the presence of Indigenous peoples within the broader Smith community.
No other day is the Indigenous Land Statement more on display than on Cromwell Day. As many students gather within the walls of John M. Greene Hall to listen to the keynote speaker discuss race and cultural difference, someone reads the land acknowledgement to begin the afternoon of dialogue and reflection to demonstrate that the college is thinking of its Indigenous students amidst the conversation of the day. This year was no different. As always, to begin the keynote event, Floyd Cheung, Vice President of the Office of Equity and Inclusion, read the Indigenous Land Statement. After the reading, the college elevated the work of Farah Pandith ‘90, this year’s keynote speaker, an alumna who worked for the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), the National Security Council (NSC) and the Department of State, seeking to forge meaningful relationships with Muslim communities abroad in the name of counterterrorism.
As an Indigenous student on campus (who will forgo giving away their specific tribal affiliation to retain anonymity), I find the college’s decision to invite Pandith to serve as the Cromwell Day keynote speaker very troubling, as it illustrates a concerning disregard of Indigenous community members beyond the act of a land acknowledgement.
While there are many (valid) concerns regarding the efficacy of land acknowledgements, this is not where my issue lies. Rather, it is with the administration’s decision to accompany such statements with an uncritical celebration of the work that drives American national interests, which are inherently imperial, the same work that continues to harm and erase Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island today.
Following her time at Smith, Pandith entered the federal government working for USAID before pursuing graduate work in security studies at Tufts University. This coursework brought her to the NSC, where she spent a number of years developing policy options and strategizing about how the United States ought to act in the name of national security. After 9/11, Pandith began working at the Department of State under the Bush Administration. It was during this time that she helped pioneer the Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) framework, a new approach to American counterterrorism strategy. Rather than relying on “hard power” (military action), she sought to change hearts and minds through “soft power” — building awareness among Muslim communities, beginning intervention programs and developing counternarratives to the rhetoric used by extremist groups.
While these community-based interventions sound helpful in theory, as the policy of the US government they are really an attempt to reshape Muslim communities abroad in accordance with “Western values.’” US-led soft power invites cultural change by backing projects deemed respectable by the American government, effectively taking a default stance on what Muslim communities ought to act like in the name of putting an end to the radicalization of Muslim youth abroad. In other words, while CVE sounds appealing, seemingly avoiding the mobilization of the US military against communities, it ultimately serves as a means of furthering American interests abroad, expanding the US government’s reach into lands that are not their own. Indeed, CVE serves as yet another extension of Manifest Destiny, the American exceptionalist belief that motivated the massive expansion of the US, justifying the occupation of unceded Native lands across what is now the US and its holdings abroad.
I must note that while I center my discussion around Farah Pandith and her work, at the end of the day, it is truly not about her or the work she has done. In some ways, I am happy with the decision to bring her to speak. I thank her for this opportunity to do just as she promotes: to engage in meaningful dialogue with those with which I do not necessarily agree. She seems genuinely committed to these values, doing work that is admirable, yet ultimately in service of American imperialism. Rather, my frustration lies with the college’s decision to elevate her voice on a day dedicated to reflecting on “diversity, racism and inclusion,” and interrogating how individuals and systems play into and disrupt structural harm. To specifically use the language of “(disrupting) patterns of structural oppression” while simultaneously elevating an individual whose work feeds into the larger imperial project, the very same project that drives the violence that attempted to rid my ancestors of their homeland and culture, feels disingenuous. It feels as though the college is gloating that it (and all individuals within its community) exists and thrives on stolen land, firmly and proudly proclaiming that the work of American imperialism ought to be elevated to the highest stage on Cromwell Day, a day committed to racial and cultural diversity and evaluating systemic violence. While the administration supposedly acknowledges and celebrates the presence of Indigenous people within their community, they shine a spotlight on work that serves the same mission that forced my ancestors to march with guns to their backs from Georgia to Indian Territory.
I hope this letter invites a greater consideration from the institution, the students and all other community members about the continued presence of Indigenous students on this campus and Indigenous existences beyond a simple land acknowledgement. Despite the many efforts of American colonial expansion, the very same that Pandith’s work continues, we remain here among you today, loud and proud, thanks to the intentional resistance of our ancestors against colonial repression. It is not simply my duty to myself and my community, but to all those who came before me who worked so hard to ensure I exist, to voice my concerns.
Anonymous
The author of this letter chose to remain anonymous with the approval and verification of the Editorial Board.
