As I listened from the audience, the scenario - set four years into the future - seemed too familiar. The lawyers, professors and judges made arguments and fired questions about a university admissions test that relied on DNA testing as proof of students' connection to a cultural heritage.
The case: Should a male student who grew up in an African-American community be given more or less consideration for adding diversity to a university campus, compared to a female student adopted by whites and raised in a white-and-wealthy neighborhood?
A Peter Jennings Project journalism fellowship recently led me to the National Constitution Center, where I had the chance to meet and listen to legal experts like Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Harvard Law School Dean Elena Kagan and Stanford Law School professor Kathleen Sullivan.
Sullivan argued the moot case before a panel of judges. She represented the young man who grew up in a 95 percent black neighborhood, while professor Charles Ogletree of Harvard Law School defended the woman who recently discovered her black-Asian genetic makeup.
The argument central to this case asked whether the mechanics of a blood test should trump diversity acquired through living in a culturally ethnic community.
As the mock hearing neared its end, it was clear which lawyer would claim victory.
As the arguments progressed, I became convinced none of these people had ever considered this futuristic case had long been playing itself out in tribal communities across the U.S.
Tribal nation leaders don't rely on DNA tests as proof of Native heritage, but the majority of tribes have self-imposed criteria that require blood quantum measurements. This means most tribes support and uphold a mechanical proof of tribal heritage, such as three-fourths degree blood.
But when it came to setting a similar proof of heritage for the nation's college students, the panel of moot court judges in Philadelphia slammed the door on the idea.
Judith Kaye, chief judge of the state of New York, called it a “lopsided” case, but commended Ogletree for otherwise presenting superb arguments on behalf of the student who recently discovered her ethnic bloodlines.
After the case ended, I walked up to a huddle of the lawyers and judges. I showed them my tribal identification card from the Three Affiliated Tribes of North Dakota, which clearly displayed my degree of Native blood.
My proof of blood quantum didn't require DNA testing. The Bureau of Indian Affairs has been tracking Native bloodlines for more than a century. Today, most tribes require a person to be at least one-quarter Native. Others simply require proof a relative once appeared on the bureau's tribal enrollment list.
I told the legal experts the mechanics of race is something Native people live with daily. They seemed genuinely amazed enrollment cards existed. Ogletree said I should have stepped forward to help his case.
But the lawyers were arguing something make-believe.
My ID card represents reality.
I've never had to worry about not being able to claim citizenship with a tribe. I could be enrolled in my father's Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe or my mother's Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara Nation, otherwise known as the Three Affiliated Tribes.
In fact, I've been enrolled in both during my life, opting for matrilineal heritage.
I've always supported a tribe's right to determine who belongs and who doesn't.
But after listening to the judges, I had to wonder:
Should tribes continue to rely on the mechanics of race-based citizenship?
Jodi Rave covers Native issues for Lee Enterprises newspapers, including the Missoulian. Reach her at (800) 366-7186 or jodi.rave@lee.net
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