Abstract: While posthumanism has contributed to questioning the foundations of humanism and the process of exclusion it has engendered of those diverging from the universal category of “Man,” numerous scholars have criticized this theoretical approach from Indigenous perspectives. Critics stress posthumanism’s tendency to appropriate Indigenous epistemes without acknowledging them. It thus runs the risk of becoming complicit with colonial violence. Projects of decolonizing posthumanist scholarship argue for a greater engagement with Indigenous studies, fostering a “multiepistemic literacy” (Kuokkanen, Reshaping the University: Responsibility, Indigenous Epistemes, and the Logic of the Gift. University of British Columbia P, 2007). Acknowledging the productive potential of an alliance between Indigenous and posthumanist discourses in reorienting the conversation toward issues of settler colonialism, land sovereignty, and Indigenous self-determination, this chapter aims to apply a lens attentive to both Indigeneity and posthumanism to Chickasaw author Linda Hogan’s Solar Storms. On the one hand, the chapter will focus on representations of taxidermy, deeply tied to colonial violence, which transforms animals into posthuman commodified objects. On the other hand, it will address instances of reassembling skins and bones in acts of regenerative creation, which, unlike taxidermy, acknowledge the need for processes of relational becoming. These combinations of matter constitute a way of envisioning counter-hegemonic modes of being human, relating to the more-than-human, and affirming Indigenous self-determination.






Excerpt: On his first day of kindergarten, five-year-old Diné (Navajo) student Malachi Wilson was sent home early (2014). Neatly braided down his back, Wilson’s long hair defied F. J. Young Elementary School’s mandate that “boys’ hair shall be cut neatly and often to ensure good grooming.” Although the school eventually gave Wilson a religious exemption for his long hair, many other students were not given the same consideration. Just last year, an eight-year-old Diné boy in Kansas was forced to cut his hair to comply with his elementary school’s hair codes. The pervasive and pathological mistreatment of Diné and other Indigenous students’ hair has motivated this essay. The very existence of hair codes reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of the cultural and spiritual significance of hair—particularly for the Diné people. In the Diné language, it is impossible to say the word “leg” or “hair” because these elements of the body must linguistically be possessed. For example, the Diné stem for hair, – atsii’ cannot occur in speech unless there is a prefix, such as shi – (my) or ni – (your), to designate possession. Such an indication is significant because components of the body, like hair, carry the potential to exert negative and positive influences on an individual throughout their life. In this essay, I refer to the knowledge system that informs Diné people’s conceptions of hair and its dual influence as hair cosmology. Hair cosmologies emerge from mythological stories of human construction and bodily effect. These myths encode communal laws that regulate the manipulation, protection, decoration, and maintenance of one’s hair, thereby establishing a framework for hair cosmology.