I am Peter Nelson. I am Coast Miwok and an assistant professor in Environmental Science, Policy, and Management (ESPM) and Ethnic Studies at UC Berkeley. I have to say “Miwok” or “Me-wuk,” which means “person” in the Sierra language, so you will understand where I fit into the anthropological literature on our culture. It is certainly more specific than “Indian,” but it is another tribe's word that an anthropologist applied to mine. Our word for “person” or “people” is michcha (singular) or michchako (plural), tamal michcha (coast person), or simply tamalko, referring to those people along the coast of Marin County. There are many other names for people living in other areas of our traditional and unceded homelands, but through anthropologists’ eyes, we are made into a derivative coastal variant of the Sierra-type specimen. The inaccuracies are the anthropologist's legacy, but the story is my own. I may write it differently at another time for another purpose, but this is how I live it at this moment in time and what I think is important for my colleagues in anthropology to hear. My use of archival collections to weave this story is a refusal to contribute more than is necessary to published ethnography. In doing so, this piece is positioned as an ethnographic refusal (Simpson 2007, 2014, 2016; Tuck and Yang 2014), the performance of which is sometimes apparent and sometimes not.

In 1906, my great-great-grandmother Ruby Sandoval has her first and only daughter, my great-grandmother Louisa. That same year, C. Hart Merriam visits the Bay to speak with Juana Bautista, the mother of Maria (Copa) Frias (Merriam, n.d.). One year later, in 1907, Ruby is stolen away from our family and community at Tomales Bay, California, and is taken to Sherman Indian Boarding School in Riverside. Her mother, Sevina, is left to care for Louisa. We have a black-and-white photo of Louisa from this time; she is barely old enough to stand on the east shore of Tomales Bay, near their home. The picture is ripped and her face obscured, but I imagine a smirk and eyes squinting in the sun and wind. On May 6, 1908, Ruby is commended in The Sherman Bulletin for her proficiency in baking pastries and making doughnuts. Sevina writes a year later, on April 14, 1909, that she is too ill to take care of Louisa any longer and pleads with the superintendent to let Ruby come home to the Bay. The superintendent types a brief memo on April 20 releasing her. In the archive at UC Berkeley, I find Alfred Kroeber's notes in the script of a fountain pen: “2–21–10 betw. Fisherman and Marshall Tomales Bay Mrs. Mary Frias, (born at S. Rafael)” (Kroeber, n.d.). This is followed by a series of words in tamal machchaw, Spanish, and English as Kroeber tries to decipher our language from one of the very few remaining speakers. The area he mentions is just north of where my family lives along the Bay. Merriam (1910) publishes Dawn of the World, which includes stories from my community. Declining in health, Sevina passes away in 1913.

Between 1906 and 1928, government agents establish rancherias for the so-called homeless Indians in California and consult the anthropological literature of that time to inform their decisions about the formation of groups or “bands” who will receive land (Field 1999, 197). The Graton Rancheria is established more than twenty miles north of Tomales Bay in 1920, and about fifteen acres of land are designated for Native American peoples of the surrounding Southern Sonoma and Marin County areas. This grouping conglomerates peoples from several different historical polities spanning two distinct languages (Southern Pomo and Coast Miwok). The fifteen acres of reservation land is hardly enough to support a handful of families, a fraction of the entire community from this area.

People do what they must in order to make their way through life. Ruby convinces a rancher to build a house for her by the Bay. She has more children. My great-great-uncle Gil is born south of Marshall, and my grandpa Ben (Louisa's son) is born near Windsor-Healdsburg in 1925. That same year, Kroeber (1925, 275) also publishes Handbook of the Indians of California in which he writes about Coast Miwok people: “There remain a handful of scattered survivors. The missions have played their usual part… . Of the recent culture … little has been recorded.” He then focuses the remaining four of seven pages of the Coast and Lake Miwok chapter on the historical account from Sir Francis Drake's voyage in lieu of other information. In this piece, Kroeber's focus on Drake suggests that the most salient point about our history is our “discovery” by an Englishman rather than a Spaniard.

Between 1928 and 1933, an act of Congress (May 18, 1928: 45 Stat. 602) allows for a census to be conducted establishing the California Indian Judgement Roll composed of all Indians residing in the state on June 1, 1852, and their descendants. Treaties were signed with California tribes between March 19, 1851, and January 7, 1852, but these treaties were never ratified (Heizer 1972; Shipek 1989, 410). The “Indians of California” file suit against the United States for the seizure of land without compensation (Shipek 1989, 410). People at Tomales and Bodega Bays are living just outside of the property lines of ranches and farms, pushed to the extreme western edge of our tribal lands after a history of removal, slave trafficking, and genocide throughout the last century (Dietz 1976; Ortiz 1993; Schneider and Panich 2019). You cannot put value on that. There is no apology or amount of money that will make it right.

Between 1931 and 1932, Isabel Kelly receives funds from the UC Berkeley Anthropology Department to support her research with elders Maria (Copa) Frias and Tom Smith at Tomales and Bodega Bays (Collier and Thalman 1991). Despite Kroeber's position that the missions had played their part and not much cultural knowledge exists in my community, Isabel Kelly produces copious notes in eleven field journals on Coast Miwok language, culture, history, and ethnogeography. She later organizes this body of fieldnotes on about 8,000 3” x 5” slips of paper, which she intends to publish as a manuscript. She never finishes this manuscript, but Collier and Thalman (1991), two non-Native women working outside of academia, will later edit and publish a 544-page manuscript on Kelly's work with Coast Miwok people. They note stories from Maria Copa Frias's family that Tom and Bill Smith reserved information from Isabel Kelly and advised Maria Copa Frias to do the same (Collier and Thalman 1991, xxxix). This knowledge remains within my community.

While Uncle Gil and I sip coffee and eat his favorite berry pie, we look at photocopies of the old schoolhouse records from Marshall that I brought. He turns over each page delicately, reading every word and chuckling at his and his friend's bad grades. In the 1930s, they are always working when there is work and have high truancy rates—some upwards of 100 to 200 days. He also tells me about the time in his childhood when UC Berkeley researchers come to Tomales Bay to dig burials. There is nothing anyone up or down the Bay can do. Indian people do not have rights, and there are other issues threatening the livelihoods of our families. We have to hide children with a quarter or more Indian blood so they will not be taken to boarding school. Those without a quarter do not receive government commodities, and it is more difficult for their families to make ends meet. Uncle Gil digs clams and gathers oysters. He is the baker in the family, taking after his mother. He also works the ranches, as does my grandpa. In 1934, S. F. Bryant conducts an archaeological survey of Tomales Bay by boat. He talks to Coast Miwok people, the Pensotti family, and Bertha Campigli, maybe others, but he is not there to study the living (UCAS, n.d.). Everyone knows what he is there to do.

In the 1940s, Coast Miwok men join other US citizens and go to war; my uncle Gil and grandpa are among them. In 1941, a young Robert Heizer digs more burials in Point Reyes and finds porcelain and nails from Sebastian Rodriguez Cermeno's ship (Heizer 1941). Kroeber, as the supervising professor, poses for the camera with Heizer. Each of them supports one side of the wooden and glass case containing artifacts taken from Coast Miwok sites. Kroeber makes a statement for the Reno Gazette-Journal newspaper on December 24, 1941, that anthropologists “can now definitely date the native culture of the Estero mound as of around 1595” (Reno Gazette-Journal 1941). He notes that these findings can be used elsewhere in California, where “the earliest positive dating of Indian-European contact material has been from the beginning of the Mission period, about 1775. We have now pushed chronology back almost two centuries beyond” (Reno Gazette-Journal 1941). These are the days before radiocarbon dating, and this finding is revolutionary in terms of refining their version of our history, a taxonomic cultural sequence for Central California that UC Berkeley anthropologists are working to establish.

US Government officials in the land-claims cases from 1946 to 1959 use Kroeber's (1925) Handbook of the Indians of California and other early anthropological works that are viewed as definitive research on California Indian peoples despite insufficiencies and outsider perspectives (Shipek 1989). Many California tribes in this body of early anthropological literature are described as being extinct, especially those along the coast of California under the influence of the Spanish missions (Field 1999; Kroeber and Heizer 1970; Panich 2013). Few of these tribes along the coast between San Diego County and Sonoma County have gained federal recognition status compared to tribes elsewhere in the state, and the anthropological work is an accomplice to federal agents of the Bureau of Indian Affairs and Bureau of Acknowledgment and Research in this process (Field 1999; Panich 2013). Very little additional ethnography is conducted with communities in these decades associated with land claims and federal acknowledgment (Shipek 1989), and forty-six tribes, including Graton Rancheria, are wrongfully terminated with the passage of the California Rancheria Termination Act of 1958, Public Law 85–671 (72 Stat. 619).

Kroeber and others offer expert testimony during the land claims and try to recontextualize their earlier statements about the “extinction” of many California Indian tribes. As Kroeber and Heizer (1970, 2–3) state, “Anthropologists sometimes have gone a step farther and when they can no longer learn from living informants the speech and modes of life of the ancestors of these informants, they talk of that tribe or group as being extinct—when they mean merely that knowledge of the aboriginal language and culture has become extinct among the survivors.” Though this statement recognizes some of the fallacies of their past position on our supposed biological extinction, it doubles down on their opinion that California Indian culture is extinct, which is not much better. It also highlights the fact that anthropologists in any subfield are interested in California Indian people as data, not as collaborators. If we have no more data to offer anthropology or refuse to take part in ethnography, anthropologists write us out of their research as extinct and they move on to new fieldsites in other regions of the world.

In 1969, Native American students from the University of California system—including one of our California Indian scholars, Edward Castillo—protest injustices at Alcatraz Island in the wake of the governmental policies of termination (Castillo 1994). Vine Deloria (1969), a Lakota scholar, publishes a critique of the obnoxious persistence of anthropologists coming to the reservation to mine communities for their research in Custer Died for Your Sins. This inspires a Dakota singer and actor, Floyd Westerman, to write a similar critique in a ballad, “Here Come the Anthros,” that begins, “And the anthros still keep coming like death and taxes to our land.” This was certainly true in the first half of the twentieth century in California, as well. However, Heizer (1978, 14–15) declares an end to the old-style ethnography and an uncertain future for cultural anthropology because of the passing of the older generation of California Indians. He also predicts that some activity will remain in the areas of linguistics and archaeology even though there may be a decline in these disciplines because of fewer speakers of the language and efforts by California Indians to pursue repatriations of cultural materials (14–15).

Heizer's (1978, 14–15) prediction of a future of continued loss and cultural extinction for California Indian peoples is not new. It is steeped in settler perspectives that refuse to acknowledge contemporary Native American stories, experiences, and adaptations as legitimate or authentic compared to those of our precontact ancestors. From this perspective, Native American peoples are destined to or have already disappeared from the land and resources that settlers want to inherit. This extinction myth continues to be so pervasive in publications, parks, and museums throughout the twentieth century that Graton Rancheria has to host an exhibit in 1993 literally called “We Are Still Here” (Ortiz 1993). This exhibit challenges the public to see our people as living in the present while our leaders diligently work to restore our federal recognition status through congress. Our community and political efforts are successful, and on December 27, 2000, Graton Rancheria's federal recognition status is restored, days before President Bill Clinton leaves office and President George W. Bush arrives. Federal recognition enables us to reestablish trust lands or a reservation in Rohnert Park, develop tribal business, protect our cultural heritage, and support our community with resources and staff that were not possible or extremely limited before.

I think about Kroeber's legacy and Heizer's predictions and wonder again: Where have all the anthros gone once the regulations and ethical codes mandate that we be partners rather than data? I would extend this question to the entire field and the academic institution in general, not a single department or individual. What epistemologies and modes of knowledge production are acceptable and legible in a world where the publication of research and data drive tenure? Do we write about methods and relationships too much, refuse to publish too much data to protect our relations and ensure our knowledge is not used secondarily without our consent? We helped you build your future, and you still use our data from your archives. Will you help us rebuild ours?

As Heizer (1978, 14–15) predicts, the majority of anthropological research in California today takes place in the subdiscipline of archaeology, not cultural anthropology. However, I would argue that the slack in anthropological research is actually being taken up by our own scholars from California Indian communities in disciplines largely outside of anthropology. Today, more than fifty California Indian people are actively producing scholarship in a variety of different academic fields at several institutions in California and abroad (e.g., Bauer 2009, 2016; Minch-de Leon 2021; Miranda 2013; Nelson 2020; Risling Baldy 2018; Sarris 1993, 2017; Schneider 2015; Schneider and Panich 2019). I would also argue that older generations of California Indian scholars were doing this work long before our current generation of scholars (e.g., Costo and Costo 1987; Peri and Patterson 1976, 1978). However, unlike what Heizer (1978, 14–15) predicts, the urgency of the current movement of Indigenous-led scholarship is not solely motivated by the close study of ethnohistory, archival materials, and museum collections as vaults of pristine California Indian knowledge. Nor is this work predicated on the harmful idea that our cultures have somehow gone extinct. This movement comes from the strength and survivance of our people who are culturally grounded in our perspectives, values, and intellectual traditions. We are reframing scholarship “on” to scholarship “with, for, and by” California Indian people. Our perspectives and relationships with our communities as partners rather than informants are what drives this research. And our many colleagues, mentors, supporters, co-conspirators, allies, and accomplices join us in collaborative projects and in celebrating the empowerment, health, and well-being of our communities (e.g., Byram et al. 2018; Hinton 2001; Lightfoot 2008; Lightfoot and Lopez 2013; Sowerwine et al. 2019). Together, we are recrafting our stories and our futures.

Part of recrafting the story and making space for Indigenous futures is unnaming and reassigning value to reflect who we are today. On January 26, 2021, Native American students and staff of UC Berkeley speak about their efforts to unname Kroeber Hall, as janitorial staff take down the weathered letters from the building wall. I think back to the Bay. It is time immemorial, and the story is ever-present. The story is not the American anthropologist's. The story is ours. I feel good, proud to be an alumnus of the UC Berkeley Native programs and now returning to Berkeley as a professor.

Being at UC Berkeley is an isolating experience for California Indian and other Native people, even with supportive colleagues. There are currently five Native American professors, including myself, out of more than 1,400 total tenured and tenure-track faculty at UC Berkeley. I am the only California Indian tenure-track professor on campus—maybe the only one in Berkeley's history so far—and one of only eight California Indian tenure-track professors in the entire UC system. There are “world-class collections” from California Indian communities delicately packaged and cared for in folders, trays, and boxes in the Bancroft Library and Hearst Museum for future study. These collections house roughly 8,000 Native American ancestors, far outnumbering the few hundred living Native American students, staff, and faculty who have advocated for and gone without a Center for Native Americans on campus until this past semester, spring 2021. I hope that this move, as well as a Native American faculty cluster hire and new UC policies on repatriation and research with Native American collections, is the beginning of reenvisioning a more inclusive campus for Native American peoples. But there is still much more work to be done.

I still remember the first time I arrived to talk to Uncle Gil about old times over a decade ago. He brings out the big blue book—the Isabel Kelly ethnography of Tom Smith and Maria Copa Frias. He says, “Well, I don't know. Everything you want to know is probably in here already.” This is what anthropology has done to generations of our people, even some elders and those who have a great wealth of knowledge. It has laid claim to our intellectual territory, forced us to cite their publications of our stories to validate and legitimate this knowledge as authentic, and portrayed us as broken, divorced, and relocated from our history and knowledge. It has stolen our authority to tell our own story, even in our most intimate spaces. The book—a useful book that I read often—threatens to silence Uncle Gil and eclipse my family's history in comparison to the “authoritative” old-style Kroeberian or Boasian ethnography. We put the book away, talk to each other, and in so doing, we unname our story from all the authors—Kelly, Merriam, Powers, Heizer, Kroeber, others—telling us what that history should be. Once unnamed, it is ours again, and my uncle has so much to share with us. Our story will live forever, beyond these pages, beyond those names.

我是彼得·纳尔逊。我是 Coast Miwok，是加州大学伯克利分校环境科学、政策和管理 (ESPM) 以及民族研究的助理教授。我不得不说“Miwok”或“Me-wuk”，在塞拉语中的意思是“人”，所以你会明白我在我们文化的人类学文献中的位置。它当然比“印第安人”更具体，但它是一个人类学家应用到我的另一个部落的词。我们用来表示“人”或“人”的词是michcha（单数）或michchako（复数）、tamal michcha（海岸人）或简称为tamalko，指的是马林县沿岸的那些人。生活在我们传统和未割让的家园其他地区的人们还有许多其他名称，但在人类学家看来，我们被塑造成了 Sierra 型标本的衍生沿海变种。错误是人类学家的遗产，但故事是我自己的。为了另一个目的，我可能会在另一个时间以不同的方式写它，但这就是我此时此刻的生活方式，也是我认为对我的人类学同事来说很重要的东西。我使用档案收藏来编织这个故事是拒绝为出版的民族志做出超出必要的贡献。在这样做时，这件作品被定位为民族志拒绝（Simpson 2007 , 2014 , 2016 ; Tuck and Yang2014），其表现有时明显有时不明显。

1906 年，我的曾曾祖母 Ruby Sandoval 有了她的第一个也是唯一的女儿，我的曾祖母 Louisa。同年，C. Hart Merriam 前往海湾与 Maria (Copa) Frias (Merriam, nd) 的母亲 Juana Bautista 交谈。一年后，也就是 1907 年，Ruby 被从我们在加利福尼亚州 Tomales 湾的家人和社区中偷走，并被带到河滨的谢尔曼印第安寄宿学校。她的母亲塞维娜留下来照顾路易莎。我们有一张当时路易莎的黑白照片；她的年龄几乎不足以站在他们家附近的 Tomales 湾东岸。照片被撕破了，她的脸被遮住了，但我想象着在阳光和风中眯着眼睛的笑容。1908 年 5 月 6 日，Ruby 在The Sherman Bulletin 中受到表彰因为她擅长烘焙糕点和制作甜甜圈。一年后，即 1909 年 4 月 14 日，塞维娜写道，她病得太重，无法再照顾路易莎，并恳求主管让鲁比回家。负责人在 4 月 20 日写了一份简短的备忘录，将她释放。在加州大学伯克利分校的档案中，我找到了阿尔弗雷德·克罗伯 (Alfred Kroeber) 用钢笔书写的笔记：“2-21-10 之间。渔夫和马歇尔·托马莱斯湾玛丽·弗里亚斯夫人，（出生于 S. Rafael）”（克罗伯，nd）。接下来是一系列tamal machchaw、西班牙语和英语单词，因为 Kroeber 试图从少数剩余的说话者之一破译我们的语言。他提到的地区就在我家住在海湾沿岸的地方以北。Merriam ( 1910 ) 出版世界黎明，其中包括来自我社区的故事。1913 年，塞维娜因健康状况下降而去世。

1906 年至 1928 年间，政府人员在加利福尼亚州为所谓的无家可归的印第安人建立牧场，并查阅当时的人类学文献，以告知他们关于组建将获得土地的团体或“部落”的决定（Field 1999 , 197）。Graton Rancheria 于 1920 年在 Tomales 湾以北 20 多英里处建立，大约 15 英亩的土地被指定给周围南索诺玛和马林县地区的美洲原住民。这个集团由来自几个不同历史政体的民族组成，跨越两种不同的语言（南波莫语和海岸米沃克语）。十五英亩的保留地几乎不足以养活少数家庭，占该地区整个社区的一小部分。

人们做他们必须做的事情，才能度过一生。Ruby 说服一位牧场主在海湾边为她建造一所房子。她有更多的孩子。我的曾曾叔叔吉尔出生在马歇尔以南，我的爷爷本（路易莎的儿子）于 1925 年出生在温莎-希尔兹堡附近。同年，克罗伯（1925 年，275 年）还出版了加利福尼亚印第安人手册他在其中写到海岸米沃克人：“仍然有少数分散的幸存者。任务发挥了他们通常的作用...... 关于最近的文化……几乎没有记录。” 然后，他将海岸和米沃克湖章节七页中的其余四页重点放在弗朗西斯·德雷克爵士航行的历史记录上，而不是其他信息。在这篇文章中，克罗伯对德雷克的关注表明，我们历史上最突出的一点是我们被英国人而不是西班牙人“发现”。

1928 年至 1933 年间，国会法案（1928 年 5 月 18 日：45 Stat. 602）允许进行人口普查，建立由 1852 年 6 月 1 日居住在该州的所有印第安人及其后代组成的加利福尼亚印第安人审判名册. 1851 年 3 月 19 日至 1852 年 1 月 7 日期间与加利福尼亚部落签署了条约，但这些条约从未被批准 (Heizer 1972 ; Shipek 1989 , 410)。“加利福尼亚印第安人”对美国提起诉讼，要求其无偿没收土地（Shipek 1989, 410)。Tomales 和 Bodega Bays 的人们生活在牧场和农场的财产界限之外，在经历了整个上个世纪的迁移、贩卖奴隶和种族灭绝的历史后，他们被推到了我们部落土地的最西部边缘（Dietz 1976 ; Ortiz 1993）；施耐德和帕尼奇2019 年）。你不能为此赋予价值。没有任何道歉或金钱可以使它正确。

1931 年至 1932 年间，伊莎贝尔·凯利从加州大学伯克利分校人类学系获得资金，以支持她与长老 Maria (Copa) Frias 和 Tom Smith 在 Tomales 和 Bodega Bays 的研究（科利尔和塔尔曼，1991 年）。尽管 Kroeber 的立场是宣教发挥了他们的作用并且我的社区中没有太多的文化知识，但 Isabel Kelly 在 11 份关于 Coast Miwok 语言、文化、历史和民族地理学的实地期刊上发表了大量笔记。后来，她在大约 8,000 张 3" x 5" 的纸条上组织了这组田野笔记，她打算将其作为手稿出版。她从未完成这份手稿，但科利尔和塔尔曼 ( 1991))，两位在学术界以外工作的非本地女性，稍后将编辑并出版一份 544 页的手稿，内容涉及凯利与海岸米沃克人的合作。他们注意到玛丽亚科帕弗里亚斯的家人的故事，汤姆和比尔史密斯从伊莎贝尔凯利那里保留了信息，并建议玛丽亚科帕弗里亚斯也这样做（科利尔和塔尔曼，1991 年，xxxix）。这些知识保留在我的社区中。

当吉尔叔叔和我啜饮咖啡，吃他最喜欢的浆果派时，我们看看我带来的马歇尔旧校舍唱片的影印本。他小心翼翼地翻着每一页，读着每一个字，对他和他朋友的糟糕成绩嗤之以鼻。在 1930 年代，他们总是在有工作的时候工作，并且旷课率很高——有些高达 100 到 200 天。他还告诉我他童年时期加州大学伯克利分校的研究人员来到 Tomales Bay 挖掘墓葬的经历。海湾上下的任何人都无能为力。印度人民没有权利，还有其他问题威胁着我们家庭的生计。我们必须隐藏有四分之一或更多印度血统的孩子，这样他们就不会被带到寄宿学校。没有四分之一的人得不到政府的商品，他们的家人更难以维持生计。吉尔叔叔挖蛤蜊，收集牡蛎。他是家里的面包师，继承了他的母亲。他也在牧场工作，我的祖父也是。1934 年，SF Bryant 乘船对 Tomales 湾进行了考古调查。他与 Coast Miwok 人、Pensotti 家族和 Bertha Campigli 以及其他人交谈，但他不是在那里研究生活（UCAS，nd）。每个人都知道他在那里做什么。

1940 年代，Coast Miwok 男子与其他美国公民一起参战；我的吉尔叔叔和爷爷也在其中。1941 年，年轻的 Robert Heizer 在 Point Reyes 挖掘更多墓葬，并从 Sebastian Rodriguez Cermeno 的船上找到了瓷器和钉子（Heizer 1941）。Kroeber 作为指导教授，与 Heizer 合影。它们中的每一个都支撑着装有从 Coast Miwok 遗址采集的文物的木制玻璃柜的一侧。Kroeber于 1941 年 12 月 24 日在Reno Gazette-Journal报纸上发表声明，人类学家“现在可以肯定地将埃斯特罗丘的本土文化追溯到 1595 年左右”（Reno Gazette-Journal 1941）。他指出，这些发现可以在加利福尼亚的其他地方使用，在那里“印欧接触材料的最早确定年代是从传教时期开始的，大约是 1775 年。我们现在已经将年代学推回了近两个世纪之后”（里诺1941 年公报）。这是放射性碳测年之前的日子，这一发现在完善他们对我们历史的版本方面是革命性的，这是加州大学伯克利分校人类学家正在努力建立的加利福尼亚中部的分类文化序列。

美国政府官员在 1946 年至 1959 年的土地索赔案件中使用了 Kroeber ( 1925 )加利福尼亚印第安人手册和其他早期人类学著作，尽管存在不足和局外人的观点，但这些著作被视为对加利福尼亚印第安人的权威研究（Shipek 1989）。在这一早期人类学文献中，许多加利福尼亚部落被描述为已经灭绝，尤其是在西班牙使团影响下加利福尼亚沿海的部落（Field 1999 ; Kroeber and Heizer 1970 ; Panich 2013）。与该州其他地方的部落相比，圣地亚哥县和索诺玛县之间沿海的这些部落很少获得联邦承认的地位，人类学工作是印第安事务局和承认与研究局联邦特工的帮凶。这个过程（Field 1999 ; Panich 2013）。在这几十年中，与土地要求和联邦承认相关的社区很少进行额外的民族志研究（Shipek 1989），并且随着 1958 年加利福尼亚牧场终止法案的通过，包括 Graton Rancheria 在内的 46 个部落被错误地终止，公法85-671（72 统计。619）。

Kroeber 和其他人在土地索赔期间提供专家证词，并试图将他们早先关于许多加利福尼亚印第安部落“灭绝”的陈述重新置于上下文中。作为 Kroeber 和 Heizer（1970 年）, 2-3) 指出，“人类学家有时更进一步，当他们无法再从活着的线人那里了解到这些线人祖先的语言和生活方式时，他们会说那个部落或群体已经灭绝——当它们仅仅意味着原住民语言和文化的知识在幸存者中已经绝迹。” 虽然这一声明承认了他们过去对我们假设的生物灭绝的立场的一些谬论，但它加倍强调了他们认为加利福尼亚印第安文化已经灭绝的观点，这也好不了多少。它还强调了这样一个事实，即任何子领域的人类学家都对加利福尼亚印第安人作为数据感兴趣，而不是作为合作者。如果我们没有更多的数据可以提供人类学或拒绝参与民族志，

1969 年，加州大学系统的美洲原住民学生——包括我们的加州印第安学者之一爱德华卡斯蒂略——在政府终止政策之后抗议恶魔岛的不公正（Castillo 1994）。拉科塔学者Vine Deloria ( 1969 ) 发表了一篇关于人类学家在卡斯特为你的罪而死的研究中来到矿区保留地的令人讨厌的坚持的批评。这激发了达科他州的歌手兼演员弗洛伊德·韦斯特曼 (Floyd Westerman) 在一首民谣中写下类似的批评，“人类来了”，开头是“人类仍然像死亡和税收一样不断涌入我们的土地。” 在 20 世纪上半叶，加利福尼亚也是如此。然而，海泽（1978 , 14–15) 宣告旧式民族志的终结和文化人类学的不确定未来，因为老一代加利福尼亚印第安人的逝去。他还预测，语言学和考古学领域的一些活动将继续存在，尽管这些学科可能会因为语言使用者的减少以及加利福尼亚印第安人寻求文化材料的归还而有所下降（14-15）。

Heizer ( 1978 , 14-15) 对加利福尼亚印第安人未来持续丧失和文化灭绝的预测并不新鲜。与我们接触前的祖先相比，它充满了定居者的观点，拒绝承认当代美洲原住民的故事、经历和改编是合法的或真实的。从这个角度来看，美洲原住民注定或已经从定居者想要继承的土地和资源中消失。这个灭绝神话在整个 20 世纪的出版物、公园和博物馆中仍然如此普遍，以至于 Graton Rancheria 不得不在 1993 年举办一场展览，字面上称为“我们还在这里”（Ortiz 1993）。这个展览挑战公众将我们的人民视为生活在当下，而我们的领导人则通过国会努力恢复我们的联邦认可地位。我们的社区和政治努力取得了成功，2000 年 12 月 27 日，就在比尔·克林顿总统卸任和乔治·W·布什总统到来的前几天，格拉顿牧场的联邦承认地位得到恢复。联邦承认使我们能够在 Rohnert Park 重新建立信托土地或保留地，发展部落业务，保护我们的文化遗产，并以以前不可能或极其有限的资源和人员支持我们的社区。

我想到了 Kroeber 的遗产和 Heizer 的预测，并再次想知道：一旦法规和道德准则要求我们成为合作伙伴而不是数据，所有的人类都去哪儿了？我会将这个问题扩展到整个领域和整个学术机构，而不是单个部门或个人。在一个研究和数据的出版驱动终身使用的世界里，什么样的认识论和知识生产模式是可以接受和清晰的？我们是否写太多方法和关系，拒绝发布太多数据以保护我们的关系并确保我们的知识在未经我们同意的情况下不会被二次使用？我们帮助您建立了自己的未来，而您仍然使用我们档案中的数据。你会帮助我们重建我们的吗？

正如 Heizer ( 1978 , 14–15 ) 预测的那样，当今加利福尼亚的大多数人类学研究发生在考古学的分支学科中，而不是文化人类学。然而，我认为人类学研究的松懈实际上正在被我们自己的来自加利福尼亚印第安社区的学者在人类学之外的学科中占据。今天，超过 50 名加利福尼亚印第安人正在加利福尼亚州和国外的几个机构积极地在各种不同的学术领域产生奖学金（例如，鲍尔2009 年，2016 年；Minch-de Leon 2021 年；米兰达2013 年；纳尔逊2020 年；Risling Baldy 2018 年；萨里斯1993, 2017 年；施耐德2015 年；施耐德和帕尼奇2019 年）。我还认为，老一辈的加利福尼亚印第安学者早在我们这一代学者之前就已经在做这项工作（例如，Costo and Costo 1987；Peri and Patterson 1976 , 1978）。然而，不像 Heizer ( 1978, 14-15) 预测，当前以土著为主导的学术运动的紧迫性不仅仅受到对民族史、档案材料和博物馆藏品的密切研究的推动，这些研究作为原始加利福尼亚印第安人知识的宝库。这项工作也不是基于我们的文化以某种方式灭绝的有害想法。这一运动来自我们人民的力量和生存，他们在文化上植根于我们的观点、价值观和知识传统。我们正在将奖学金重新定义为“与、为和由”加利福尼亚印第安人提供的奖学金。我们作为合作伙伴而非线人的观点和与社区的关系是推动这项研究的动力。我们的许多同事、导师、支持者、同谋、盟友和共犯与我们一起参与合作项目和庆祝赋权，2018 年；欣顿2001 年；莱特福特2008 年；莱特富特和洛佩兹2013 年；Sowerwine 等。2019 年）。我们正在共同重塑我们的故事和未来。

重塑故事并为土著未来腾出空间的一部分是取消命名和重新分配价值以反映我们今天的身份。2021 年 1 月 26 日，加州大学伯克利分校的美国原住民学生和教职员工讲述了他们为取消 Kroeber Hall 的名字所做的努力，因为看门人从大楼墙上取下了风化的信件。我想回到海湾。岁月不饶人，故事不绝于耳。这个故事不是美国人类学家的。故事是我们的。我感觉很好，很自豪能成为加州大学伯克利分校本土项目的校友，现在回到伯克利担任教授。

对于加州印第安人和其他土著人来说，在加州大学伯克利分校是一种孤立的经历，即使有支持性的同事也是如此。目前，加州大学伯克利分校共有 1,400 多名终身教职员工和终身教职员工，其中包括我自己在内的 5 位美洲原住民教授。我是校园里唯一的加州印第安终身教授——可能是迄今为止伯克利历史上唯一的一位——也是整个加州大学系统中仅有的八名加州印第安终身教授之一。在班克罗夫特图书馆和赫斯特博物馆，有来自加利福尼亚印第安社区的“世界级藏品”被精心包装和保管在文件夹、托盘和盒子中，以备将来研究。这些藏品收藏了大约 8,000 名美洲原住民祖先，远远超过了数百名在世的美洲原住民学生、教职员工、和一直倡导并没有在校园内设立美洲原住民中心的教师，直到上个学期，即 2021 年春季。我希望这一举措，以及美洲原住民教师集群的聘用和加州大学关于遣返和与美洲原住民研究的新政策收藏，是为美洲原住民重新设想一个更具包容性的校园的开始。但是还有很多工作要做。

我仍然记得十多年前我第一次来到这里和吉尔叔叔谈论旧时光。他拿出了一本大蓝皮书——汤姆史密斯和玛丽亚科帕弗里亚斯的伊莎贝尔凯利民族志。他说：“好吧，我不知道。你想知道的，大概都在这里了。” 这就是人类学对我们几代人所做的事情，甚至是一些长者和拥有丰富知识的人。它占据了我们的知识领域，迫使我们引用他们出版的我们的故事来验证和合法化这些知识是真实的，并将我们描绘成与我们的历史和知识脱节、脱离和重新定位的人。它窃取了我们讲述自己故事的权力，即使在我们最私密的空间也是如此。这本书——我经常阅读的一本有用的书——威胁要让吉尔叔叔闭嘴，让我的家人黯然失色” 与“权威”的旧式 Kroeberian 或 Boasian 民族志相比的历史。我们把书收起来，互相交谈，在这样做的过程中，我们从所有作者——凯利、梅里亚姆、鲍尔斯、海泽、克罗伯等——告诉我们这段历史应该是什么的时候取消了我们的故事。曾经无名，它又是我们的了，我叔叔有很多东西要和我们分享。我们的故事将永远存在，超越这些页面，超越那些名字。