Academic training took me away from my Indigenous homeland—but I found my way back

From ScienceMag:

The sun is setting as my postdoc adviser and I arrive at a quiet boat landing in northern Wisconsin with a cooler full of ice, sampling bags, and what is colloquially called a fish guillotine. We set up our makeshift sampling station on a truck tailgate and catch up with the folks cleaning the boats—employees of the Lac du Flambeau Tribe’s Natural Resources Department, our collaborators in studying freshwater fish parasites around the Great Lakes. Soon the boat landing is bustling with Ojibwe harvesters maneuvering boats, receiving harvesting permits, and preparing equipment. For years during my scientific training I missed out on the walleye harvest, a vital cultural practice for us Ojibwe. Now, I get to engage with it as a researcher, by collecting samples from harvesters—and a few days later, hop in a boat with my dad to spear.

Growing up, the seasons set the stage for my daily life. Spring spearing season takes place when the ice melts off the lakes and the ogaa (walleye) move to the shoreline to spawn. I remember watching family members prepare boats and head off in the early evening, and later joined the harvest myself, a hard-fought Indigenous right resecured by many before me who endured harassment and asserted our sovereignty in the courts. The fish and the ethereal eggs they produced inspired me to study biology and, later, to focus on developmental biology.

But I had to give up taking part while pursuing higher education, as the academic calendar almost never lines up with the seasonality of Indigenous practices. In college, classes, research, and building community kept me busy, but in the back of my mind I always felt the pull to return to the lakes. Still, I wanted to continue to pursue my research training and joined a Ph.D. program even farther away. I spent the intervening summer interning at the tribe’s natural resources department, happy to have the opportunity to put on my scientist cap and serve my tribe. But I knew that summer would likely be my longest stay at home for a while—perhaps decades if I followed the path of most academics.

As I neared the end of my Ph.D., I was leaning toward moving to a new city or country and starting a postdoc, further delaying any possible return home. But the COVID-19 pandemic threw a wrench into those plans and gave me the opportunity to reflect on my future, explore the work of fellow Indigenous academics and thinkers, investigate the histories of Western science, and be reminded of how tribal nations are still fighting a multitude of issues. And because the pandemic disrupted the usual academic calendar and expectations, I was able to visit home in the spring for the first time in a decade and tag along for a chilly, long, fun night of walleye harvesting with my uncle.

I realized I couldn’t delay returning; I had to do it now, even if just for a year or two, and even if it meant deviating from the typical academic career path. I toyed with working in natural resources or health as an intern or technician, teaching at local colleges, or even completely moving away from biology to learn a new field if nothing else was available in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. I was vocal about my plans to return, including in an interview for my tribe’s weekly newsletter. The stars aligned because a field station near my tribe’s reservation was searching for a researcher to work full time from the station, rather than being based at the university’s main campus. When the station director reached out to discuss a postdoc position, I leapt at the opportunity.

I’m fortunate that I can study a topic relevant to my tribe, my institution, and my degree, all at once. To help more Indigenous folks stay in academia and fulfill obligations we have to our tribal nations, opportunities like this need to be more common. It’s because of my community and Land connections that my postdoctoral work is flourishing. When Mother Nature decides to change the seasons, I’m there, ready to collect samples or jump into a spearing boat and reconnect with friends, family, and my fish relatives.

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