WHAT IS YOUR BLOOD QUANTUM? MY WHAT?
NDN Blood Quantums

My mom, Holly Holy Smoke has 1/32nd French blood running through her veins which means that she is 31/32nd Dakota Indian.

This drop of French blood would come to bite our family in the butt later in life, however, on the plus side it resulted in her being a fair skinned beautiful young Indian girl.

My biological father was a white guy named John Wagon.

After I was born no one including my mother wanted to talk about him so I am guessing that he was of Norwegian descent, although he could have been a mutt white guy because there are also Germans, Polish, and Swedish people living in and around our reservation. Indian people look at white people as white people regardless if they are Norwegian, German, Polish, French, etc.. 

White people don’t have blood quantum’s like Indians do.

The Indian is the only race in the whole wide world who has the stigma of a blood quantum. 

You need a mathematician to figure out your blood quantum sometimes!

At conception I received half of my mothers French blood making me 1/64th French, 63/64th of her Dakota Indian blood and ½ of Jack Wagon’s Norwegian blood. 

White guys like pretty Indian girls.

It’s not always like what you may think.

My biological father did not take advantage of my mom, in all honesty Mom being young and pretty was also looking for a good time.

I have to admit that it embarrasses me to admit that in her youthful quest for a good time sex was part of the deal.

Mom’s sex hormones must have been raging just like my Norwegian father.

Later in my life I would heard Indian people say that white man used alcohol and money to get sex from pretty young Indians girls.

The Indians derogatorily called these men “Squaw Men,“ but, after giving this aspect of reservation life some thought I came to conclude that yes indeed it is quite possible that white men took advantage of pretty young Indians girl from time to time, but from what I have observed young Indians girls were also “hot to trot,” so it worked both ways.

My biological father, as far as I know, never acknowledged that he was my father.

I was born at the reservation Indian hospital so John or Jack Wagon did not have to pay any medical bills, and he did not sign any paternity papers.

On my birth certificate it states “father unknown” and I was given my mother‘s last name.

My mother was still living at home so my grandmother and my grandfather raised me. Up until I was ten years old I thought Grandpa was my dad. It is kind of strange when I think about it now. 

I knew my mom was my mom, and I knew grandma was my grandmother, but I actually thought my grandfather was my dad. My grandparents did not care that I was half white and half Indian.

I was their first male grandchild and they loved me unconditionally. My grandpa had 1/16th French blood running through his veins. I did know of my mother or his French heritage until I was about 14 years old when I asked him why his friends called him “Fran-Ko-See,” or “Fran-Swaa.”

My mom eventually married, or shacked up would be a another way to describe her marriage to a Dakota Indian guy by the name of Elijah Hides, and they had three children.

Back in those days Indians weren’t really concerned about marriage certificates. If you had kids and lived together, as far as they and everyone else was concerned you were legally married, the same as if you actually possessed a marriage certificate.

Early on I sensed my step-father did not especially like the white blood in me, but he never actually said or complained because if he did my mother would have left him.

To work around that problem I was raised by my grandparents. I later realized that it is not easy raising someone else’s kid, especially if they are half white.

I was in my late twenties when I made peace with Elijah Hides and we get along good now. 

It wasn’t until I went to the nearby country day school that being half Indian and half white made any difference.

The full blooded Indian boys noticed that my skin was lighter then theirs so they considered me a white boy.

I am pretty sure they did not make this determination on their own, they must have gotten their bias from their full blooded Indian parents who knew the circumstances of my birth.

I got into a few fights over my light skin, I won some and I lost some, but after a while the full blooded Indian boys came to accept me as their friend and no longer cared that my skin was lighter then theirs, and they eventually placed more emphasis on the fact that I was half Indian.

My grandmother and grandfather taught me to speak Dakota so that also leveled the mixed blood playing field. If you could talk the Dakota language that generally meant you were an Indian, no matter how light your skin was or what your blood quantum was.

My Grandpa heard about one of my fights at school and he said, “Don’t let anyone push you around just because your half white, it’s not your fault.”

“I told you mom not to mess around with that white guy, but she didn’t listen to me.”

“After you were born I seen that you had your grandma’s mouth and eyes and everything was all cool as far as I was concerned.”

“And, Chaske I want you to always remember that.”

My name on my birth certificate is Thomas Holy Smoke. My grandpa calls me Chaske, which means first born male in Dakota.

Several years before I was born my grandpa dropped the Holy from his name, and later and despite my birth certificate so did I. Everyone called me Tom or Tommy Smoke.

Once in awhile a wise-ass Indian would say, “Holy smoke’s Tommy; or Tommy let me see some smoke.” They would all get a big laugh out of that.

Eventually they got over it and I just became Tom or Tommy Smoke.

When I went to public school in Bumduck my last name became an issue once again. I got into a couple of fights with some wise ass white boys over my name. By the time I got to the 10th grade my name once again became a non-issue. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

I played football and by my senior year I was the starting running back for the “Fighting Scandinavians.”

I use to wonder why they called themselves the Fighting Scandinavians when half of the schools sports teams were made up of Indian boys and girls.

I thought the school’s nickname should have been the “Fighting Sioux” to honor the Dakota Sioux Indian who once owned all of the land Bumduck now sits on.

In a game a game against our archrival New Berlin I broke away from several tacklers and made a long touchdown run, and the announcer in his excitement hollered, “Holy Smokes look at Tommy go!”

The mixed Indian and white crowd roared with laughter. He came up to my grandfather later and apologized, but grandpa told him not to worry about it, grandpa was proud of me, and he told the announcer that the Holy Smoke wasn’t the family name anymore, and he wasn’t the least bit offended.

This was back in the late 1950’s and many of the racial barriers in America hadn’t yet been knocked down. The Indian and white students attended school together, socialized at school, and played sports together, but at the end of the day they would each go back to their “side” of town. 

This self-imposed racial segregation suited both races just fine. 

Bumduck was a town of about two thousand people. The major industry for the white people was farming.

Most Indians lived a hardscrabble existence, living on government handouts, and seasonal employment which lead one Indian to say “We were so poor we didn’t even know the Depression was on!”

The biggest Indian employer was the Bureau of Indians affairs office, Indian roads garage, and the Indian Hospital. The unemployment rate amongst the Indians was well over eighty percent. When America’s unemployment rate hits 5% it’s an economic disaster, but not on an Indian reservation.

When I was in the seventh grade my mom lucked out and got a job as a housekeeper at the Indian Hospital and she became a low level federal employee with a steady paycheck. Her husband Elijah worked at seasonal jobs and stayed home to raise their three kids. Apparently, this arrangement worked because they seemed happy and this made me happy.

Part Two

Having illegitimate children was actually a major industry on the reservation. Illegitimate is a screwy way to describe Indian cultural and the Indian economy. Like I said a marriage certificate was a foreign concept to the Dakota Indian in the 1940‘s and 50‘s.

For hundreds of years the Indian had children without the benefit of a marriage certificate. As far as they were concerned they were “married” when they took up resident with each other, or as they called it “Shacking Up.”

As you would expect some Indians did accept the idea of a marriage certificate and went to the county courthouse and got married, most didn’t.

When welfare was invented in America it certainly wasn’t invented for the Indian people, but being US citizens they were also eligible for the state/federal program they called Aid to Dependent Children or ADC.

You could actually get money for having children, but they had to be “illegitimate.” Meaning that their parents were not married, or the child was “born out of wedlock.” 

I remember my grandma saying to my mother before she got the housekeeping job “The State of South Dakota has a program where a mother can get money for her kids.”

Since this welfare idea was also a foreign concept this took some brave Indian souls to go to the state welfare office to find out if Indians were eligible for this program. My mother was one of those brave souls, 

she took me and my half brother and sister siblings along.

“Come in Mrs. Holy Smoke,” said the state welfare worker.

My mother never changed her name, “Have a seat, do you mind if I give the kids a sucker?”

“No.”

“Tell the nice lady thank you.” Momma said.

My little sister said, “Thank you nice lady.”

The state welfare worker laughed, and I knew that we were on to something good.

“May I ask you where the father of these children is?” The state welfare worker eventually asked. 

“He’s at home.”

“Well, that being the case you are ineligible for assistance.” “The children must be without a father.”

“Oh,” mother responded. “Don’t all kids have a father?”

“That is true, but this program requires that the father has abandoned them.”

“However, if you put on the application that the fathers whereabouts is unknown and that you receive no monetary support from him you may be eligible for our Aid to Dependent Children Program.”

“But, I must warn you that if you put false information on the application you will be charged with a fraud.”

I am sure my mother didn‘t know what fraud meant but she said, “Oh, I see.”

Mother said. “I just heard about this program from a friend so I thought that I would check it out.” 

After additional questions on mothers financial and marital status the state welfare worker said we were ineligible because my mother had a man living with her.

“Okay, thank you for the information.”

When mother reported all that was said to my grandma, grandma sat pondering the situation for a long time and said, “You mean that if your man Elijah doesn’t live with you, then you and the kids are eligible for ADC money?”

“Yes, that’s the way it was explained to me.” Momma said.

Grandma said, “I think you ought to give it a month or two and go back and tell them your man left you, then you will be eligible.”

“I don’t know, they said if I lied they could charge me with a fraud.”

“Fraud.” Grandma said.

“What about Elijah?” Momma asked. 

“Kick him out.” Grandma said.

“Ko-it-cha,” grandma said laughing, “I am just teasing you.”

“It just seems strange to me that the United States government and the state of South Dakota would actually give an Indian women money to raise her kids.”

“My gosh how things have changed. God knows all these young Indian girls can use the money.”

Mother spoke with Elijah about the ADC program and they mutually decided that he would disappear for awhile until she became eligible for the program. Apparently, there was no big moral dilemma or questioning of the rightness or wrongness of getting state welfare money. 

After we got on the ADC Program the state welfare workers at first made home visits monthly, but as their caseloads increased a young Indian mother might get a visit once a year.

One time Elijah was at home when the case worker came to visit our two room shack so he hid under one of the beds. The case worker must have known this Indian trick because she actually looked under one of the beds, fortunately she did not look under the bed Elijah was hiding under. 

Later, the family had a good laugh. Grandpa especially got a kick out of it and started calling him Elijah Hides Under the Bed. Grandpa’s good natured name calling went on until mother got off the ADC program, when she got hired at the Indian Hospital.

Actually, I did not know it until many years later, but I may have been one of the reasons for the federal and state Aid to Dependent Children Program. Apparently white men were fathering children of mixed racial backgrounds all over the country, and the federal and state “powers to be” decided that taxpayers had a moral obligation to provide some relief to the thousands of children abandoned by their white biological father’s.

The indignities one suffers from being on welfare just barely made the money we received worth it. My mother justified taking welfare money by the simple fact that her kids needed food, clothing, and a roof over their heads, and if the government was willing to pay for it, so be it.

The Dakota Indian have always used humor to get through the day.

The ADC Program lead one Indian man to call it the “Another Daddy Children” program.

The ADC program which started out with all good intentions was bastardized by women throughout America who got “knocked up” just to get on the ADC Program. Some Indian women had children from numerous men, and they were not necessarily white men.

Who would have ever thought that illegitimate children would create a new economic industry on the reservation? 

On the other side of the welfare coin were many white people who privately and publicly complained about using their tax money to fund the ADC Program, but their distain for the welfare program, and later the Food Stamp Program was tempered by the fact that these federal programs funneled millions of dollars into the stagnant agricultural and non-existent reservation economies.

Like grandpa said, “It is better to spend taxpayers money on people at home then make bombs to drop on some communists on the other side of the world.” 

Part Three

The idea of blood quantum’s came from the 17th Century and was first used to determine who a Negro was. 

Negroes were brought to this country as slaves.

Horny white men knocked up their slave girls.

The result being, a half-negro, half white baby. After several generations of inter-racial sex it became necessary for the slave owners to establish a method of determining how much white-negro blood a slave possessed.

As federal Indian policy developed in America this same idea of establishing a person’s blood quantum evolved and became federal Indian policy.

The US government arbitrarily determined that to be a “certified” Indian a person must possess at least one quarter, or, one forth degree Indian blood.

As an example a first generation full blood Indian would breed with a white person. Their children would then be ½ Indian and ½ white. If their child bred with a white person their grandchild would be 1/4th Indian and 3/4th white. If the grandchild bred with a white person their great grandchild would possess 1/8th Indian blood and 7/8th white blood.

So, in three generations the Indian would not longer be an Indian according to federal Indian blood quantum rules. The caveat being the third generation Indian who married white people would no longer be the responsibility of the federal government.

Following this blood quantum scheme the fourth generation children would be 1/16th Indian blood and 15/16 white blood, et cetera, and no longer their responsibility.

Some conspiracy theory Indians believe that the less certified Indians there are, the less money the U.S. government will have to appropriate to honor its treaty obligations. 

My grandpa also had a son named Francis. Francis went into the Army in 1941, right after Pearl Harbor and after the war married a white girl from Georgia. Francis found that life away from the reservation was much easier so he never returned to the reservation. As he explained it in a letter to grandpa, “White people like Indians over here. They have this romantic Hollywood idea of an Indian, and they think Indians are just the greatest.”

“They always want to take me on their quail, turkey, and deer hunts because they think that I have extraordinary hunting and tracking skills.”

Francis and his white wife Ellen had four children, two boys and two girls.

Francis’ and Ellen’s children were 1/64th French, 31/64th Dakota Indian, and ½ white.

All of Francis and Ellens children subsequently married white people.

So, Francis’ and Ellen’s grandchildren were 1/128th French, 31/128th Dakota Indian, and the rest white blood.

Francis and Ellen’s grandchildren were no longer Dakota Indians because their blood quantum lacked just 1/128th degree of Dakota Indian blood.

If Francis’ great-great grandfather had not been a Frenchmen Francis’ grandchildren would have possessed the 1/4th degree of Indian blood to be a Dakota Indian. The 16th degree of French blood Grandpa gave to Francis came to bite him in the butt.

Grandpa Smoke had grandchildren who were certified Indians and some grandchildren who were not certified Indians.

Grandpa said, “Piss on the government and piss on the dumb Nawizi Tribe for using this stupid blood quantum system.”

“I love ALL. Read my lips, ALL of my grandchildren the same.”

“One thing I am sure of is the Creator does not have a blood quantum requirement and neither do I.”

Grandpa sure had a way of putting things into proper perspective. 

Of course, when your growing up on the reservation all of this blood quantum stuff had no importance in your young life. It only becomes an issue when you marry a person of another race. Your children would then possess one half or less Dakota Indian blood. If your children married an Indian from the same Nawizi tribe your grandchildren would be okay.

The Nawizi Tribe has an enrollment or membership rule that a allows a potential member to use any Native American blood they may possess to reach the 1/4th degree requirement.

Pasqelita, my girl friend in high school was 17/128th Nawizi Indian. 3/64th Yankton Indian. 5/32 Oglala Indian and 31/128 Cheyenne River Indian.

Like I said you have to be a expert on fractions to figure your blood quantum out.

Pasqelita did not have ¼ degree of blood from one single tribe, but she had 37/64th total Indian blood, five fraction points above being ½ Indian, so she was eligible to enroll with the Nawizi Tribe.

I was twenty years old when I discovered the blood quantum bullshit.

I was going to the Haskell Institute, a Native American vocational school in Lawrence Kansas, and just like what my Uncle Francis said, the white girls liked us Indian boys better the further the Indian lives from the reservation.

I met a white girl who went to Kansas University and after a few months of swapping spit we began to have sex. Back in those days, a responsible male always wore a rubber.

I overheard heard white male students from KU say that using a rubber was like taking a shower with a rain coat on.

If Jack Wagon, my white dad, would have only worn a rain coat I thought.

Neither of us wanted children from our sexual liaison, we simply enjoyed each other’s company. 

She was majoring in Anthropology and we had many discussions on the origin of man and the different cultures in the world.

One day we talked about how mankind throughout history had inter and intra bred with different races. She said that Adam and Eve’s children bred with each other and their children and grandchildren and great-great grandchildren and so on bred with their relatives.

This was all news to me, I always heard that blood relatives were not to have sex with each other because their children would be born retarded or deformed.

Shiela Johnson eventually decided that she could not afford KU, and did not come back for her sophomore year so I had asked a Comanche Indian girl from Oklahoma if she would like to be my girl friend.

She was studying Commercial at Haskell, which was clerical work. I was studying brick laying, not because I was interested in brick laying, but, because I wanted to meet some girls who I wasn’t related too.

“What kind of Indian are you.” She asked on our first date.

“I am mostly Dakota Indian, but I have some white blood in me.” I did not want to tell her that I was more white then Indian because I thought that she may not want to date me. Haskell had a very strong pro Indian attitude.

“Tom you look more white to me then you do Indian,” she said coming straight to the point.

I admired her candor.

Sunny Shine was her name. “Your right Sunny,” I said, “I was kind of embarrassed to say that I am actually more white then Indian.” “But, not by much.” I said. “I am only 1/32nd more white then I am Indian.”

She laughed. “You silly boy.”

“If your a good guy it doesn’t make any difference what your blood quantum is.”

“You know about blood quantums.” I asked?

“Sure, my dad and mother work for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, so I grew up hearing about the governments stupid idea of blood quantums.”

“Stupid idea?” I asked.

“Yes, stupid, stupid idea.” Sunny said.

“That’s the first time I heard that.”

“I figured the US government must have had a good reason to use blood quantums.”

“Why do you say it is stupid.” I asked.

“The Indians in Oklahoma have had longer contact with white people so there has been more inter-racial marriages.”

“My guess would be that ninety percent of the Indians in Oklahoma are mixed bloods, and not just white blood, but black, Mexican, and you name it blood.” Sunny said emphatically.

“Up in North and South Dakota you’re people probably haven’t had as much racial mixing, so your people have more Indian blood.” 

“My mom and dad say that the only reason for the stupid blood quantum idea is that some hair-brain white bureaucrats in Washington came up with the idea to eventually exterminate the Indian, and ultimately get the federal government out of supporting the Indians in America.” 

Part Four

Sunny was probably the most opinionated pro-Indian Indian girl I had ever met. She took me home with her on Thanksgiving break and you know what? Her parents were just as opinionated as she was. 

We had a blood quantum discussion one evening.

Her dad said, “You know what pisses me off Thomas is that the Indian tribes in America have bought into the blood quantum idea lock, stock, and barrel.”

“Shit, that dumb idea was invented by white men to determine who a negro slave is or was.” 

“Damn federal government sold this idea to the dumb ass tribes and they now accept it as if its gospel from the Great White Father in Washington.” 

“Your 1/32nd French, 31/32nd Dakota, and half Norwegian, right?”

“Yes, but I‘m not sure about the Norwegian, I could be a Kraut, Swede, or Pollock.” I said.

“Per chance you and my beautiful daughter here get married and have kids, my grandchildren will not be able to meet the federal one quarter Indian blood standard. And, they won’t be eligible to become members of any tribe.”

“Heck my grand kids won’t be able to attend Haskell, if they insist that you have to be one quarter Indian to attend.”

“My wife is 3/4th Creek Indian and 1/4th white. I am 3/4th Comanche and 1/4th white.”

“Honey, would you get that BIA Blood Quantum Chart out, let’s figure this out.” “What would Tommy and Sunny’s kids be, per chance we let him touch our virgin daughter.”

“We’ll drop our white blood for now.” “Sunny is 3/8th Creek and 3/8th Comanche. Sunny is 1/8th short of being a half Indian.”

“So our potential future grandson or granddaughter would be 3/16th Creek, 3/16th Comanche and 31/64th Dakota.”

Our poor grandson or granddaughter would be a 16th short of being a quarter Creek Indian. And 16th short of being a quarter Comanche, and 1/64th short of being a quarter Dakota Indian.”

“Our grandson or daughter would not be able to enroll in any of the three tribes they have blood in.” 

“Our grandchildren would have to be 4/16th to be a quarter Creek or 4/16th to be a quarter Comanche Indian, and 16/64 to be a Dakota Indian.”

“If Indians had sixteen pints of blood running through our veins, our grandchild would have only three pints, they would be short one pint of being one forth Indian.”

“Our grandchild would be over half Indian and still not be eligible to be a certified Indian according to the stupid blood quantum rules.” 

I graduated from Haskell and became an Apprentice Bricklayer in Kansas City.

Sunny graduated from the Haskell commercial course and decided to follow me to Kansas City. 

I proposed marriage but she said she wanted to marry someone with a little more Indian blood.

I said, “Your kidding me, your dad was right, this blood quantum thing is wrecking us Indians and the way we think.”

“Can’t the Indians see by accepting this stupid blood quantum idea they are breeding themselves into extinction.”

“In a couple of generations, if we keep inter-marrying with other races there no longer will be any certified Indians.”

“Some Tribe’s in Oklahoma don’t have a blood quantum requirements.” Sunny said.

“A few tribes have seen how jacked up this blood quantum idea is and have thrown it out.”

“I thought you said blood quantum was a federal law?”

“Not anymore, now the federal government leaves it up to each tribe to decide, but like Dad and Mom said most tribes blindly follow the one quarter degree blood quantum requirement as if it was still federal law.”

“It is now engrained in their Indian psyche.”

“If we have kids, our kids wouldn’t be eligible to enroll in any tribe.” 

“Geez, why can’t we be like regular people and not have to worry about how much of this blood and how much of that blood we got running through our veins, that’s bullshit Sunny.”

“Indians are going to have to tie their children to the bedpost because their kids are going to sleep with whoever they want. My grandpa told my Mom not to fool around with that John Wagon, but no, she had to get knocked up, and now I am not enough Indian for you Sunny!”

Sunny and I drifted apart after I was drafted into the Army in 1969. I was sent to Vietnam.

One day out on patrol a G.I. asks, “Where are you from Chief?”

Although my light skin had presented some problems back on the reservation it wasn’t an issue in the Army. I tanned easily. I had brown eyes, black hair, and high cheek bones. I looked like a Indian. Especially after the Southeastern Asian sun beat down me.

“What kind of Indian are you?”

“I am a Dakota Indian, from South Dakota ,” I said, “But, my dad, who I never knew is a white man.” 

“Dakota Indian, is that the same as a Sioux Indian or are they two different kind of Indians?“

“They are the same.”

“A long time along the French asked a Chippewa Indian who those people where, pointing at a group of Dakota Indians, and the Chippewa said, Nadowessi, which I am told meant Snakes. The Chippewa and Dakota Indian didn’t like each other. The French plural is oux, so the French called us Nadowessioux and they later chopped it off to make the word Sioux.”

I came back from Vietnam and legally married Shirley Snow fly a Dakota Indian girl.

The days of shacking up and illegitimate children was behind the Smoke family.

My wife’s mother was ½ Omaha Indian and ½ Seneca-Cayuga Indian, and her father was 7/8th Dakota and 1/8 Irish so that made my wife 1/4th Omaha, 1/4th Seneca-Cayuga, 1/16th Irish, and 7/16th Dakota.

We had four children - Chaske (first born male), Hepan (second born male), Hepi (third born male), and Winona (first born female). We gave our children Indian names because we wanted them to have names that sounded more like “real” or “certified Indians.” 

Chaske eventually married a girl who was Navajo, Hopi, Pomo Indian, and a drop of white blood.

They also gave their first son an Indian name. Waanata which means “The Charger” in the Dakota language.

My grandson is 1/64th French, 1/16th Irish, 1/8th Norwegian, 1/8th Omaha, 1/8th Seneca-Cayuga, 7/32nd Dakota, 1/8th Navajo, 1/8th Hopi, and 1/8th Pomo.

Little Charger does not have enough Omaha, Seneca-Cayuga, Navajo, Hopi, Dakota, or Pomo blood to be a certified one quarter blood Indian.

The Seneca-Cayuga Indians of Oklahoma realized the stupidity of the blood quantum idea and threw out a blood quantum requirement so my grandson Waanata may want to enroll with the Seneca’s someday. 

Chaske also give his son an Anglo name, in honor of his several drops of white blood.

His middle name is Ulysses Nathaniel. He said the initials UN also stand for United Nations.

“I wished Grandpa Smoke was still alive.” I said one day.

“Grandpa would have a helluva’ a good time with little Waanata United Nations Smoke.”

“He would be so proud of his great-great grandson who according to the blood quantum rules is a non-certified Indian, and yet he is almost a full blood Indian.”

The End.