Features Overview
Blake Hausman
is an enrolled citizen of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. He lives with his family in Portland, OR, where he teaches English, Reading, Writing, and Native American Studies at Portland Community College. He also teaches Ethnic Studies with Oregon State University's Ecampus. Blake's first novel, Riding the Trail of Tears (2011), is a surrealistic revisitation of the Cherokee Removal. He is nearing completion of a second novel, a new work of Indigenous Futurism.
Indigenary
Being an intern, spelling mattered. Grammar was, after all, in the call for applications.
But what was up with this autocorrect? Nowhere in the job announcement was there an accurate reference to the power that autocorrect would have over his life as the Communications Intern for Native American Issues at this new and expanding digital newspaper based outside Denver.
In his first tweet for the paper, autocorrect changed Indigenous to Indigent. A change he was not anticipating because the autocorrect on his personal phone had, after nearly a year of refusing him, finally accepted that “I-n-d-i-g-e-n-o-u-s” is an accurate spelling.
But. This was not his phone. And when he tweeted, he tweeted Indigent. Not Indigenous, which is of course what he intended and what he actually wrote.
So he changed it. Not to Indigenous. But to Indian.
His boss called. No, not texted—called.
Edit, rookie, edit, said the Boss. Write it, read it, and read it again before posting. And for god’s sake, you know how to alter something once it’s up, right? Or if not, then take it down, god dammit, but don’t leave it up there, as if you don’t know.
But he really didn’t know. He was 20 and from Leech Lake, and here he was in the middle of what he understood to be Arapaho country, but the signage was so thoroughly colonized and settler-friendly that you had to know where to look. And he didn’t know. He was too green. Out of his element. You could say it made it him, well, Indignant.
But the real question, he figured, is what was up with this company phone?
More importantly—whose autocorrect was this? Or rather, what former intern had broken it in? They seriously never used the word Indigenous, ever?? And so he wrote on.
Indignant? No—
Indigent. No—
Indigenary. What the fuck is indigenary? he asked aloud. The last intern was off the charts! Who does this? They got Indigenary recognized by autocorrect, but not Indigenous?
Imaginary. Seriously—how does autocorrect get from “Ind” to Imaginary?
So, Indian. Everyone knows Indian. Even autocorrect.
But no—Boss called. Again. Are you out of your mind? Columbus was lost, no one calls them Indians anymore.
What?!
Well I don’t care what your grandmother says at home. This is a professional digital newspaper, and We. Are. Accurate.
Okay. Indignant it was. If he couldn’t be Indigenous, it was better to be Indignant than Indigent. But this time, the Boss showed up. In person. Out here at this café across from the Chevron and the Texaco, at an intersection of roads with only numbers for names. What are you waiting for? You have the map. It’s in your phone!
Soon, the Boss was gone, but the phone remained.
He felt he was tweeting on borrowed time.
He felt his days were numbered, that the cavalry was coming for him—and, of course, being Indignant, the Cavalry was coming “for” him as in “to get” him.
And by now he was running out of clichés to describe his desperation.
Indigeneity? No way.
Indigenous? Still—no. Just Indigent. Indigent. Indigent. Indigent. Indigent. Indigent. Good god, ten times should do the trick but still no Indigenous on this phone.
So—he tweeted about “Natives.”
Of course the autocorrect can spell Native. All these “Colorado Natives” around here. But still, he didn’t like it. Everyone was born somewhere. Accordingly, he was postNative. And here was this autocorrect, trying to send him in reverse.
True, it was only an internship. So what was the point, really? He was homesick and lonely. And one might even say he was anti-Indianizing himself. Good god, how could this phone allow her the word Indianizing but not Indigenous?
The Boss texted—Nice work on the last one, “Native” is acceptable. But keep it coming. Dig deeper. Share the pain. Trace the humiliation. Be indignant!
He tried to quit. He texted the Boss, saying he couldn’t work anywhere that denied him the word Indigenous.
What’s wrong with not being Indigent? The Boss wrote back. Who wants that? You confound me, kid. Don’t you get it? This pays. It pays big! Someday. Just not now. Someday. Big time. Baby steps and stepping stones and stay on track kid, stay on track kid, stay on track. Don’t get sidetracked. Don’t be Indignant. For heaven’s sake don’t be Indigent.
Fine. He texted back. Indignant. I’m indignant, so I quit.