I want to commend the organizers of the Chacmool Conference panel. All too often attempts to discuss the broader social and cultural dimensions of genetic studies of ancient human migrations devolve into simplistic celebrations or condemnations. It is heartening to find here an example of a conference session that managed to avoid these dangerous poles, and to grapple instead with the hard task of discerning the issues raised and not raised by genomic studies of human migrations and history. I would like to devote my commentary to exploring what might be learned from the discussions at Chacmool.
Perhaps mostly important, the Chacmool panel transcript makes very clear that what is at issue in these studies—studies exemplified in many talks at Chacmool about the National Geographic's Genographic Project—is not a clash between proscience anthropologists, archaeologists, and geneticists on the one hand, and antiscience indigenous communities on the other.Footnote 1 Jerry Cybulski, Carrie Dan, and Sheila Greer all provided very promising examples of First Nations peoples in Canada working as scientists, or with scientists, to do human genetic variation research.Footnote 2 They made clear that members of indigenous groups are not antiscience; rather, as Debra Harry noted, they are “pro–indigenous rights.”Footnote 3 The question is not how to stop genomic studies of indigenous DNA; the question is how to do this research in a manner that respects and responds to the concerns and values of the people whose genomes scientists analyze.
It is here that the hard questions begin: How do you conduct science in a way that both respects and promotes the values of indigenous peoples and the values of scientific inquiry? At one level, the answer to this question appears simple: first, one conducts research in a manner that respects rights of self-determination (e.g., the right of indigenous communities to decide if and how they will participate in research) and second, one provides benefits to indigenous communities. Indeed, as much as some indigenous rights leaders and organizers of National Geographic's Genographic Project have disagreed, they do agree on these two guiding principles. The unresolved challenges lie in determining exactly what it might mean to transform these principles into practice. I will focus on the challenges posed by the first principle: respect indigenous rights of self-determination. I break this into two parts: (1) the challenge of determining who the “self” is that determines and (2) the challenge of determining what it would mean, and what it would take, for that self to make determinations. I will begin with the first challenge: defining “the self” that determines.
As many of the speakers in the Chacmool panel made clear, in most indigenous communities the self that has the right to make decisions is not understood to be an autonomous, individual self, as it is in Western liberalism. Rather, it is a self that recognizes its connections to others living in the present, past, and future. It is a collective self.Footnote 4 By now, most who conduct research involving Indigenous peoples (including the organizers of the Genographic Project) understand this distinction between a Western liberal self and a collective self, and the need to respect both. However, much uncertainty remains on how exactly to do this.Footnote 5 The Genographic Project, for example, states in its “Ethical Framework” that “the authority to speak on behalf of any group is fundamentally local and limited.”Footnote 6 The intention here is admirable: to allow people to speak for themselves, and not to let people or organizations located in distant lands speak for them. Translating this intention into practice, however, raises difficult questions. As audience member Bjorn Simonsen asked at the Chacmool meeting, when you say the local community speaks for itself, “who is that community? Are they people who turned up at that particular meeting who said, ‘Yeah, this sounds like a good idea. Nice presentation.’”Footnote 7 This question about who the local community is, and who speaks for it, is more or less difficult depending on whether there is a formal governing structure, and if there is, whether indigenous peoples recognize this formal governing structure as their own or deem it a structure imposed by a colonial nation-state.
However, even in the best of circumstances where a formal governing structure does exist that is recognized as legitimate by Indigenous peoples, resource shortages and the complexity of contemporary issues have led these local communities to network with regional and international governance efforts. A recent report of the Indigenous Community Governance Project (ICGP), for example, found that indigenous community organizations are often “overloaded” and “underfunded.” The resulting struggle of small, local organizations to sustain their service and administrative capacities leads “to federal and regionally dispersed forms of governance.”Footnote 8 This finding is consistent with what I have found in my fieldwork and interviews with members of indigenous groups responsible for responding to requests for DNA. Many who work with or are on governing bodies that review research for First Nations in Canada or tribes in the United States report that these bodies often depend on volunteer labor and, as Sheila Greer noted at Chacmool, are so “taxed” that they do not have the resources needed to gather all the information they need to adequately review genomic studies.Footnote 9 This is one reason why some Indigenous peoples have sought to work together to create regional and international infrastructures—such as the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues (UNPFII), and the Indigenous Peoples Council on Biocolonialism (IPCB)—that can do this work.Footnote 10
The result is a network of organizations that span local, regional, and international levels. Scientists who seek to study the DNA of Indigenous peoples must navigate what ICGP has called these emergent and complex “networks of leadership and authority.”Footnote 11 Understandably, these scientists often encounter problems. Networks raise fundamental questions of governance: What nodes in the “networks of leadership and authority” must scientists pay attention to? What criteria should they use to decide? There are no settled answers, and genome scientists should not be blamed for doing wrong when no clear rights and wrongs exist. Conversely, though, these same scientists understandably create problems and provoke antagonism if they act as if they have all the right answers.Footnote 12
In addition to these questions about the definition of the self—questions partially created by the pressures of colonialism, globalization, and the complexity of an increasingly technoscientific world—efforts to respect indigenous rights of “self-determination” also create challenging questions about what it would take for indigenous peoples to “determine” if they want to participate in this kind of genomic research. Most efforts to answer these questions draw upon the Enlightenment notion that human beings can best make determinations when enlightened by information and knowledge. In the language of dominant discourses of biomedical ethics, this is the practice of informed consent. By now there have been many questions raised about how an Indigenous person could ever be in the position to truly give informed consent to do genomic research. These questions normally turn on questions about whether Indigenous peoples can understand what genomics entails. I suggest, however, that the more important questions hinge on whether genome scientists themselves understand what genomics entails. Organizers of the Genographic Project, for example, state that their initiative primarily entails a “nonpolitical” quest for knowledge about the human past.Footnote 13 The result will be greater stores of information and rationality that will help human beings overcome their irrational prejudices.Footnote 14 Like organizers of the Human Genome Diversity Project, they deny their involvement in anything that might tarnish their Enlightenment goals: patents, racism, and political struggles over sovereignty and group membership.Footnote 15 Indeed, some organizers of the Genographic Project cast as either irrational or uninformed those who suggest their project raises issues of politics and power, such as threats to indigenous rights of self-determination.Footnote 16
In the face of Genographic Project organizers' apparent resistance to recognize their initiative's entanglement in complicated questions about how power and capital (economic and cultural) form in a genomic age, it now falls upon indigenous groups to answer the many unresolved questions. These questions are not easy to address. Let me provide one example.Footnote 17 Genographic organizers state that they will not allow any patenting of the data generated by the project. I believe them. However, as the project's FAQ document explains, “Family Tree DNA [a genetic ancestry company] does have access to some of the DNA and data to assist in the analytical research.”Footnote 18 This raises the following questions: Will access to these data enable Family Tree DNA to develop a new generation of ancestry tests that they can then sell?Footnote 19 In such a case, as Genographic promises, the data would not be patented, but could a new genetic ancestry test be patented? Will Family Tree DNA be able to go back to indigenous groups to ask them if they can perform further tests on their DNA? Finally, who will profit economically from the films made about the Genographic Project?Footnote 20 In other words, although the Genographic Project might not, strictly speaking, produce profits, will it spin off profit-generating products, such as films and genetic tests? If the answer is yes, should this be part of the information provided to indigenous groups as they make their decisions? The Chacmool Conference provided a much-needed space in which these questions could be raised, and approaches to answering them discussed.
Many organizers of genomic studies of early human history and many indigenous people share a similar goal: conducting genomic research in a manner that respects Indigenous peoples and their rights. Sharing this common goal is a first essential step toward addressing centuries of unequal and sometimes oppressive relations between anthropologists and geneticists, on the one hand, and the indigenous peoples whom they have sought to study, on the other. However, moving closer to this goal requires recognition that the goal has not yet been met. Despite the similarity of our genes, we are not yet all one (nor do I think it should be our goal to become all one). Furthermore, we cannot and should not act as if we are.Footnote 21 Consequential power differentials and historical structures of inequality continue to separate many genome scientists from many of the indigenous people they seek to study. For any productive dialogue to take place, the specificity of these power relations—in particular, the specificity of the ways in which genomics shapes and is shaped by them—must be addressed. This, in turn, will require stepping back from the fear that recognizing difficult questions about power and authority will automatically lead to condemnation, a repeat of the Human Genome Diversity Project debacle.Footnote 22 The panel held at the Chacmool Conference demonstrates that there is no direct link between genomic studies of Indigenous peoples and accusations of racism; instead, there are many openings for developing anticolonial genomic practices. My hope is that organizers of current genomic studies of the human past will take advantage of these openings. Here, in these creative spaces, lie the hope and the new possibilities of genomic studies of human variation.
