Perm do both— No mutually exclusivity with [Set Col Alt], the perm wouldn’t be severance or intrinsic, they’re both aimed at reaching terminal point of resisting tactics of white domination

The ghosts of whiteness have haunted Indigenous peoples in North America since before the U.S. nation was metaphorically “birth[ed],” considering that “the [Christian] church and [Euro-American] state . . . acted as coconspirators in the theft of Native America” (Grande 2015, p. 15). The racial logics of Euro-American settlers from the 15th through the 20th century were tied to an aggressive “Protestant ideology” (Adams 2008, p. 12). This ideology informed white Christians’ colonization efforts from their inception. It was an ideology founded on possessing Indigenous lands and invalidating Indigenous knowledges for the socioeconomic and political benefit of those deemed “white” enough for their entitlement (Grande 2015, pp. 183–90; Grosfoguel 2013; Mills 1997, pp. 12–14; Wynter 2003). Kelley (2021); Mills (1997); Robinson (2005) have argued that the predecessors of Locke and Kant-oriented Euro-American Christian missionaries perfected their colonization tactics in Europe prior to their North American arrival. They did so, the scholars assert, by waging epistemic, spatial, and spiritual genocide among the Jews, Muslims, and Pagans. In effect, the French Huguenots, Spanish Catholics, and British Protestants arrived at North American shores in the 15th and 16th centuries like ghosts with unfinished business. Grande (2015, pp. 15–16) details how over the subsequent centuries, “full-service educational systems” determined to “de-Indigenize” Native children and youth. Indeed, the mission of some of the U.S.’s earliest educational institutions—including Harvard (1636), the College of William and Mary (1693); Dartmouth (1769)—were committed to dual charges of “civilizing” and “Christianizing” North America’s Native peoples (Grande 2015, pp. 15–16). Ghosts have taken the form of U.S. jurisprudence and legislation, revealing the horrific intent by white, Euro-American settlers to deprive Indigenous peoples and their children of epistemic, spatial, and spiritual sovereignty. The passing of a Virginia Statute on “The Education of Indian Children Held Hostage” in 1656, for instance, demonstrates white Euro- American settlers’ possessive interest in reorienting Indigenous worldviews. It was their intent to center Christian ethics and morals, dispossess Indigenous peoples of their lands, languages, and relationships, and to inculcate the capitalistic labor classes and principles taught by white missionaries and colonial settlers (Fraser 2010; Grande 2015, pp. 50–51, 54–55; Kaestle 2011; Urban et al. 2019, pp. 10–11). The U.S. Congress passed the “Civilization Fund Act” in 1819 for the purpose of “civilizing” North American Indigenous peoples in “agriculture,” and in “reading, writing, and arithmetic” (Fraser 2010). However, Indigenous children’s schooling on the U.S. frontier in private homes and at Christian missions was merely “a place of ‘becoming white’” (Peshkin 1997, p. 117). Furthermore, Grande (2015) illustrates the ghostly nature of U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall’s opinion in Johnson v. McIntosh (1823), haunting Indigenous peoples of the past as well as in the present. Marshall’s nineteenth century opinion highlighted and elevated the so-called “Doctrine of Discovery”—the Medieval European law that established rules and regulations for the “discovery,” “finding,” and “right of occupancy” to land in the western hemisphere—to rational jurisprudence in the modern world (Grande 2015, pp. 55–56). True to form, the poltergeists of the juridical past, continue to “haunt the political and legal domain” of the U.S. They have effectively established a “landlord-tenant relationship” between the U.S. federal government and Native nations and tribes that continues to this day (Grande 2015, p. 56; Harris 1993). Next to African enslavement, one of the most horrific instances of haunting induced by the ghosts of whiteness in the U.S. were the creation and operation of residential boarding schools. Most famous among these schools, which eventually dotted North America (Urban et al. 2019, p. 146), was the off-reservation school located at Carlisle, Pennsylvania after which other so-called “schools” were modeled (Adams 1995; Reyhner and Eder 2004). The haunting of Carlisle was epistemic and spiritual assimilation of Native children to “white” society by instructing them “in the light of Christian civilization” (Adams 2008, p. 20). “Reclothed, regroomed, and renamed” (Reyhner and Eder 2004, p. 168), Indigenous children’s realities were distorted by the ghosts of whiteness, which also attempted to replace Indigenous spiritual rituals with those based on a white supremacist Christian theology (Adams 1995; Deloria 2003; Standing Bear 2006). Carlisle—and other “schools” modeled after it—also served white supremacy’s pernicious spatial ends by further dispossessing Indigenous families of their lands in order to “gain access to [Native] labor and resources” (Adams 2008, pp. 26–30; Grande 2015, p. 23). Persistent efforts by the phantom “Wasichus”—or white colonizing settlers (Neihardt 1979; Estes 2020, pp. 46, 111)—to eradicate Native American cultural and religious cer- emonies through the 1883 Code of Indian Offenses and subsequent corollaries (Treuer 2019), and otherwise dispossess Native peoples, proved futile (Adams 1995; Estes 2020; Grande 2015; Ostler 2019). Through Indigenous resistance across time and space, Native peoples’ identities, relationship to the land, human, and non-human relatives, as well as their spiritual ceremonies and rituals remain presently intact (Estes 2020; Grande 2015; Villegas et al. 2008). This has been most recognizable through The Ghost Dance, but more recently through the #NoDAPL Movement—e.g., the Indigenous women led movement against the Dakota Access Pipeline (Estes 2020; Keene 2020; Mackey 2018; Mays 2021). Contrary to popular white settler understanding, the Ghost Dance—begun in the 1870s by Paiute prophet Wodziwob—was part of an “anticolonial theory and movement” that resisted the ghost world created by white supremacy and colonialism by presenting “visions” of a pan-Indigenous “anti-colonial future” (Estes 2020, pp. 124–25). In every way, the Ghost Dance religion, informed the Indigenous resistance movement in 2016–2017 at Standing Rock against the Dakota Access Pipeline (Estes 2020, p. 131). The Ghost Dance thus presents further opportunities for exploring Indigenous resistance, flexibility, expertise, and epistemology as decolonial and hauntological pedagogy and theory (Keene 2020, pp. 109–10; Mackey 2018). The ghosts that have for centuries haunted the lands and lives of Indigenous peoples on “Turtle Island”—or North America to numerous but not all Indigenous nations (Paris 2020, p. 23)—are unsurprisingly discontent, and continue to morph in the 21st century. Indigenous peoples contemporarily face issues as they struggle for educational sovereignty, including educating administrators and instructors at P-20 educational institutions about the histories and needs of, as well as institutional responsibilities towards, Indigenous students and their communities (Brayboy et al. 2015, p. 6). The ghosts of whiteness also cast a shadow over Indigenous language revitalization efforts, as demonstrated by the inconsistencies of the federal government’s No Child Left Behind (NCLB) policy. NCLB notoriously called for Indigenous language revitalization, but punished schools enrolling Indigenous students by taking away money and essential resources due to poor performance on standardized tests (Reyhner and Sing 2015, pp. 26–27). In response to this, educational leader and Indigenous scholar, Mackey (2018), has suggested that to rely exclusively on U.S. education policy to assist Indigenous nations and peoples in education related efforts is essentially to live in a state of futility and torment. In effect, she argues that overreliance on federal intervention is to be haunted by the ghosts of whiteness. Indigenous leaders encourage increased solidarity with Indigenous peoples and educators who advocate “place-based” pedagogies centered on community resources and needs, kinship, and relationality, relying on intergenerational epistemologies, and reflecting on Indigenous resistance as a guide for “protecting what is sacred” (Garcia et al. 2020, pp. 90–92, 97).