consent to. She describes this tradition as a “[m]oral lens for water relations,” which invokes the capacity of water to treat us with “malevalence or compassion” (p. 222). Nelson’s work shows how the challenge of understanding how to treat such an entity that we cannot consent to is similar to an environmental planning process in which we go through multiple possibilities in order to be best prepared for unknown futures.
Indigenous philosophies of consent suggest the importance of ensuring that all our relationships are consensual and that people can freely dissent. Susan Hill (2008) writes, “We [Haudenosaunee] govern ourselves by consensus and endeavor to build consensus in all aspects of our society.” Consent is just one example of how Indigenous philosophies work in terms of how they understand the organization of society. I raise this issue to put in stark contrast what it means for a society that places great value on consent to suddenly be confronted with a nation like the United States that does not value consent, whether the consent of humans or nonhumans.
Colonialism and Consent
Given the importance of consent within many Indigenous traditions, what is the best way to characterize the lack of consent in the relationship between nations like the United States and Indigenous peoples?
One way in which environmental injustices are made possible is when societies and relationships between societies do not value consent. For many Indigenous peoples, I would argue, one way of understanding environmental injustice is as the systematic undermining of the consent relationships of one society by another society. The undermining is “systematic” when the perpetrating party, such as the U.S. government or a corporation, fulfills two conditions. First, a key reason why the perpetrator harms certain people is because of the afflicted persons’ identities, such as their ethnicity, indigeneity, race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and age, among other identities. Second, the perpetrator creates a false reality in its own mind that such harms are (a) negligible concerns, (b) morally acceptable situations, or (c) even deserved by those who are harmed. In the cases of environmental injustice against Indigenous peoples that have been discussed so far, nations like the United States, and many of their citizens, see the denial of Indigenous consent as (depending on the case) a negligible concern, a morally acceptable situation, or deserved (by Indigenous peoples). The actual cultural, social, and political systems of the United States and many other nations have as fundamental features the disrespect of Indigenous consent and dissent. Consider some examples.
Bruce Duthu’s study of U.S. Indian law shows that the United States justified its own sovereignty in North America by the doctrine of discovery (Duthu, 2008). The doctrine refers to the idea that by virtue of landing in North America, Europeans and eventually the United States are sovereign over the continent (and for no other reason). In the 1830s, U.S. Chief Justice John Marshall established that, by virtue of “possession,” that “discovery gave title to the government by whose subjects, or by those authority, it was made.” Interestingly, Duthu writes, “Only Christian colonizers in their encounters with non-Christian peoples could invoke the discovery doctrine. An Indigenous seafaring tribe, by contrast, could not plant a flag in the British Isles or on the beaches of Normandy and make comparable claims to England or France under the doctrine” (pp. 70–71). Today, the United States believes that it is able to choose which tribes it recognizes as Indigenous peoples. The U.S. Congress exercises “plenary power” over tribes, which means that the U.S. Congress believes it can even decide who counts as a member of a tribe. In these ways, Indigenous consent to invasion, colonialism, and U.S. sovereignty was considered to be negligible.
Another illustrative case is how the United States endorsed the breakup of Indigenous territories into private property. The allotment policy sanctioned by the 1887 Dawes Act made individual Indians own land in fee simple as a way to get them to organize into nuclear families that made income from farming. Religious groups, such as the Quakers, saw this as a great moral mission. Of course, the great moral mission of doing this made advocates of the policy feel it was legitimate to break up Indigenous kinship systems to force nuclear family formations. A second way is to cast violent military, containment, and other colonial practices as ways of saving Indigenous peoples. For example, the liquidation of Indigenous lands into private property in the 19th century, which also involved the breaking up of Indigenous kinship networks and families, was cast as helping Indigenous persons become independent “competent” farmers and was advocated by settler organizations that often called themselves “friends” (Royster, 1995; Stremlau, 2005). Even institutions as assimilative and violent as boarding schools were also seen as civilizing Indigenous peoples (Archuleta, Child, & Lomawaima, 2000). The dispossession of Indigenous lands was considered to be a morally acceptable situation (Mascarenhas, 2012).
Violent confrontations and forced land dispossession are also often cast as inevitabilities of progress. Thomas Morgan (1889), a U.S. commissioner of Indian affairs, wrote in the late 19th century,
The Indians must conform to the “white man’s ways” peaceably if they will, forcibly if they must. They must adjust themselves to their environment, and conform their mode of living substantially to our civilization. This civilization may not be the best possible but it is the best the Indians can get. They cannot escape it, and must either conform to it or be crushed by it.
Across these examples is an important truth about U.S. imperialism, namely, that integral to its formation as a modern nation-state, the United States set up an entire system and tradition of denying Indigenous consent in an effort to justify the violence of its colonial legacy.
Conclusion: Restoring Consent for the Future
After hundreds of years of colonialism, we are certainly living in times that many of our ancestors would have seen as dystopian. Often in dystopian science fiction stories, the main characters find themselves in a situation where dominant groups of people exercise nearly absolute power over them. For example, the popular movie The Matrix is about a time in the future when artificial intelligence (AI) has dispossessed humans of their land. Decades of abuse by humans and AI have heavily polluted the environment. AI now uses humans for energy it needs to survive. It created a system in which humans who are being tapped for energy have the illusion that they are living free and fulfilling lives. In reality, humans live under nearly absolute domination and do not consent to the way they are treated by AI machines.
Were our ancestors several hundred years ago to have heard a story about what life is like today for Indigenous peoples, it would likely have sounded to them like the story of The Matrix, where the United States is the AI and Indigenous peoples, among other oppressed groups, are the humans. Like the characters in The Matrix, our situation involves living under nearly total domination, and our possibilities for liberation are greatly limited because of the lack of consent. The educational, social, cultural, and political institutions of the United States seek to create the false reality that Indigenous peoples were not violently dispossessed of land and that U.S. colonialism is largely over. In this false reality, Indigenous peoples are seen as either tragically eliminated or romantically clinging to a holistic environmental ethic.
In terms of environmental injustice, our ancestors would have likely believed that today’s times are ones in which environmental destruction has occurred at the same time that relationships of consent have been diminished. Today, through actions such as the resistance to the Dakota Access Pipeline and the Unist’ot’en Camp, Indigenous peoples largely do not have the right to consent to the actions of other groups that affect environments in which Indigenous peoples live, work, and play. There is a lack of concern, broadly, with whether our nonhuman relatives consent to how they are treated by industries such as oil and gas, commercial agriculture, and mining. The landscape-scale environmental change caused by these industries demonstrates little concern for the well-being of nonhuman lives and ecosystems. Our ancestors would have also noticed a marked lack of respect for those entities for whom we cannot consent, such as the climate system. It seems like some
