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Native survivance, in [Gerald] Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival.”

Cultural critic Greil Marcus, in his book The Shape of Things to Come: Prophecy and the American Voice, writes, “America is a place and a story, made up of exuberance and suspicion, crime and liberation, lynch mobs and escapes” (6). In his contrapuntal recitation, Marcus provides a necessary corrective to blithe professions of American exceptionalism. Yet it is still incomplete. For Native Americans, Marcus could have added that the United States is also a place of genocide and survivance.

The concept of survivance belongs to Native scholar and author Gerald Vizenor. In a career now entering its seventh decade, he has been both prolific and protean. He is the author of more than thirty books as a novelist, poet, essayist, short story writer, and scholar. He is one of the United States’ foremost authors of haiku and one of Native America’s foremost scholars and practitioners of postmodernism and critical theory.

Survivance is one of a long list of what Kimberly Blaeser labels “Vizenorese,” an ever-lengthening list of terms and neologisms Vizenor deploys in his work. Of these, survivance is arguably the most important, the most widely used by others, and the most misunderstood. The word is not actually of his coining at all but an existing one that he repurposed.

Originally, the term “survivance” was a legal term relating to inheritance. In a letter to Hester Thrale, Samuel Johnson refers to his “uncertain confidence of survivance” (Survivance, 147). By the twentieth century that usage had dropped away and is today an archaism. In French, it today carries the meaning of a vestige. It was in this sense that Jacques Derrida employed it when speaking about the French Communist Party (PCF) in 2002. He termed the PCF as dying, noting, however, that it might have “a ‘survivance’ that may of course turn out to have a long life” (Survivance, 20).  For Quebecois, la survivance remains a vital political concept, representing the obdurate perdurance of the French language and culture in the face of Canadian anglophone dominance.

In her book, Gerald Vizenor: Writing in the Oral Tradition, Blaeser writes, “Again and again, Vizenor upholds the same basic keys to survival: balance, humor, imaginative liberation, connection, continuance—and story” (71). For Vizenor, though, survivance extends well beyond simple survival. He began using, defining, and refining the term in the early 1990s. Its earliest use is in the 1993 article, “The Ruins of Representation: Shadow Survivance and the Literature of Dominance,” but he does not elaborate on the concept there. In his 1998 book, Fugitive Poses, he writes that he uses words in “historical dictionaries” but “with new connotations.” He elaborates, “For instance, survivance, in the sense of native survivance, is more than survival, more than endurance or mere response; the stories are active presence” (15). Native survivance, in Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival” (15).

The stories are active presence. Both sovereignty and democracy are stories. They are lived faith statements. They are also interconnected. The story of democracy needs the story of Indigenous sovereignty and Indigenous survivance. At this time when our polity seems riven as at no time since the years prior to the American Civil War, many are nostalgic for a time when the nation was more united. Such a vision is a chimera. The United States was born in rebellion and has been a contested story ever since. From its inception, large segments of the population – women, African Americans, Indigenous peoples – were excluded from its promise. Many still are. And there has never been an agreed-upon narrative. Even in times of apparent unity, there have been strong currents of dissent. 

Following the establishment of the United States, from its earliest moments, political theorists began to speculate about whether homogeneity was not a prerequisite to the survival and success of democratic institutions. Writing about his experiences of the new American Republic in the early 1830s, in Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville wrote:

If a confederation is to endure for long, a homogeneity of civilization is no less necessary than a homogeneity of needs among its member nations. The civilization of the canton of Vaud is to the civilization of the canton of Uri as the nineteenth century is to the fifteenth: hence Switzerland has never really had a federal government.  Only on the map do its various canons constitute a union, as would become apparent if a central authority ever attempted to apply a uniform set of laws throughout its territory. 

Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America 190

After ruminating about Switzerland and Europe, he turns to the United States:

One fact about the United States admirably facilitates the existence of a federal government.  Not only do the various states share almost the same interests, origin, and language, but they are also civilized to the same degree, so that it is usually easy for them to come to agreement.  I doubt that there is any nation in Europe, however small, whose various parts are not less homogenous than the people of America, who occupy a territory at least half the size of Europe.

Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America 190

A century later, pioneering Oklahoma historian Joseph Thoburn coauthored Oklahoma: A History of the State and Its People with Choctaw Nation citizen Muriel Wright. In it, they state:

The question as to the possibility of the permanent endurance of a democracy, or representative republic, the constituent citizenship of which are not of a homogenous character, is one of grave doubt. In any attempt to find its solution, due regard must be paid to underlying principles; racial integrity is the greatest issue involved and this, with the adaptability or lack of the same on the part of a questionable element, must eventually outweigh prejudice, sentimentality and even artificially created rights.

Joseph Thoburn and Muriel Wright, Oklahoma: A History of the State and Its People 2:656

Perhaps the best-known theorist espousing homogeneity as a prerequisite to democracy was Carl Schmitt, the father of political theology. In his book, The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy, he declares, “Every actual democracy rests on the principle that not only are equals equal but unequals will not be treated equally. Democracy requires, therefore, first homogeneity and second – if the need arises – elimination or eradication of heterogeneneity” (9). For him, democratic politics inevitably devolves into an “us” versus “them.”

The analyses of each of these thinkers, while subject to debate, is flawed. De Toqueville’s observations miss, among other blind spots, the deep divisions between North and South, evident even in the 1830s, that belie his “homogeneity of needs.” Thoburn and Wright use their discussion to justify Jim Crow laws. Schmitt was a committed Nazi. Nonetheless, the question they raise persists. In their book, A Nation So Conceived, Reinhold Niebuhr and historian Alan Heimert question the “common inclination of the whole European democratic world to regard democratic self-government as a simple option for all peoples and all cultures, whether primitive or traditional, without calculating in what degree they have acquired the skills, which have put political freedom in the service of justice in the West; or whether they possess the elementary preconditions of community, the cohesion of a common language and race” that make democracy possible (149).

With the emergence of rabidly populist MAGA politics and partisan gridlock in Washington, one might be forgiven for wanting to agree with de Tocqueville and Schmitt. Too often today it seems as though the United States has become a zero-sum game. Yet despite these failings and many more besides, the American experiment has long served as a challenge to such notions. In spite of ethnic strife and the rise of separatism around the globe, there is a growing body of evidence and scholarship that heterogeneity, not sameness, is requisite for a thriving democracy.

There are two main theoretical approaches to liberal democracy: the aggregative model and the deliberative model. The aggregative sees actors as motivated by pursuit of self-interest, whereas the deliberative stresses reason and moral considerations. These approaches, advocated by theorists like Jurgen Habermas and John Rawls, emphasize consensus. According to Chantal Mouffe, however, “What both of these models leave aside is the centrality of collective identities and the crucial role played by affects in their constitution” (6). Mouffe believes it is impossible to understand democratic politics without acknowledging the central role played by passions.

Mouffe, whose home country of Belgium perpetually teeters on the brink of dissolution as divisions between the Flemish and Walloons threaten to spin apart as though by centrifugal force, offers a different way to conceptualize living in a heterogeneous society. Her agonism, or as she calls it, “agonistic pluralism,” acknowledges the creative potential of certain tensions and conflicts. She terms it “conflictual consensus” and writes:

By making [the] distinction between antagonism [Schmitt] proper and agonism, I am able, while asserting the ineradicability of antagonism, to envision how this should not automatically lead to a negation of a pluralist democratic order. In fact, I go even further; I assert not only that the agonistic struggle is compatible with democracy, but that such a struggle is precisely what constitutes the specificity of pluralist democratic politics. And this is why I present the agonistic model of democracy as an alternative to the aggregative and deliberative models.  In my view, the advantage of such a model is that by recognizing the role of passions in the creation of collective identities, it provides a better understanding of the dynamics of democratic politics, one that acknowledges the need for offering different forms of collective identification around clearly defined alternatives.

Chantal Mouffe, Agonistics 139

Unlike Niebuhr and Heimert, who search non-Western cultures for the prerequisites of Western democracy, Mouffe states:

I do not believe in the existence of one single form of democracy that would provide the only legitimate, universal answer.  There are many ways in which the democratic idea can be implemented according to different contexts.  For those of us who live in Europe, the starting point cannot be the same as for those who live in other parts of the world.  It is not by pretending to offer global solutions, but by addressing the problems facing our societies that we can contribute to the general struggle for democracy.

Chantal Mouffe, Agonistics 145

Like survivance, sovereignty is a story, a lived story. It is often made up of little things like license plates and tax forms, citizenship cards and hunting licenses. Citizens of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy travel on their own passports. As the late John Mohawk (Seneca) declared, “If you want to be sovereign, you have to act sovereign.” The Haudenosaunee Confederacy is a story of survivance. It is also a case study in Mouffe’s agonistic pluralism.

In ancient times, the five nations south of the Great Lakes were in a state of constant warfare with one another, in an endless cycle of violence. One Huron man foresaw that it would end with their extinction. He was a historical figure, around whom has accreted layers of legend.  His name is considered sacred and can only be used in connection with his teachings. Most often he is referred to as The Great Peacemaker.

The Peacemaker had a vision of a cessation of hostilities among the five nations. This was to be accomplished by the creation among them of an alliance, a confederation. Together with Hiawatha and a woman named Jigonsaseh, the Peacemaker began to preach his vision of peace and confederacy. Gradually, they overcame the resistance of the tribal nations. It was an arduous process. Four of the tribes at last agreed, but the Onondaga continued to resist. The other tribes conditioned their acceptance on the approval of the Onondaga.

Ultimately, the Onondaga agreed, and the Haudenosaunee Confederacy of the Five Nations was forged. (After the end of the Tuscarora War in 1715, Tuscaroras fled the Carolinas and joined their northern brethren, eventually becoming the sixth nation of the confederacy.) Though various dates have been advanced for the date of the formation, a totality of the evidence suggests a date of 1142 C.E., a date accepted by the Haudenosaunee Confederacy itself. It thus becomes, with Iceland, one of the two oldest representative democracies in the world.

The American Revolution tested and tore apart the confederacy, already tested by the Seven Years War. Though they attempted to maintain their neutrality, they were eventually drawn into the conflict. The Oneida and Tuscarora were pro-colonist, while the other four nations supported the British. They had pre-existing treaty relations with Great Britain, what they called the Covenant Chain. Living up to these obligations was seen as polishing or burnishing the Chain. After the Revolution, Haudenosaunees who supported the British relocated to Canada.

The Six Nations of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy survived and continued their resistance. During the Great War, Haudenosaunee in the United States were exempt from the draft as non-citizens. The Oneida and the Onondaga separately declared war on Germany, the latter because of the ill-treatment of its citizens stranded in Berlin at the onset of hostilities.  Following the war, Great Britain transferred responsibility for foreign affairs to Canada. When Canada tried to suppress Haudenosaunee government, the Confederacy sought in vain to gain recognition by the League of Nations. In 1924, the United States unilaterally made all Native Americans who not already citizens, citizens. Upon U.S. entry into World War II, it attempted to conscript Iroquois. The Haudenosaunee objected to the draft as a violation of its sovereignty.  The impasse was resolved when, on June 13, 1942, the Grand Council of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy formally declared war on the Axis Powers.

Sociologist John Brown Childs sees in the Haudenosaunee Confederacy a model for what he calls “transcommunality.” He writes that

around the world many are poised on the edge of an important development within which is emerging a twenty-first century mode of organizing for justice and dignity that I call transcommunality. By transcommunality I mean the constructive and developmental interaction occurring among distinct autonomy-oriented communities and organizations, each with its own particular history, outlook, and agenda. This interaction, developed through interpersonal relations of people engaged in common tasks, is producing working groups of activists whose roots are in communities and organizations, but who also form bridges among diverse peoples as they address substantial, albeit often varied corrosive dilemmas–from economic crisis to environmental degradation, from Indigenous land rights to the organizing of workers across national borders. It is to the facilitation of transcommunal cooperation…

John Brown Childs, Transcommunality 10-11

Though written in 2003, Childs seems as romantically naïve as Charles Reich, who in his 1970 bestseller, The Greening of America, proclaimed that the world was on the verge of a fundamental social shift to what he called “Consciousness III,” marked by personal freedom and egalitarianism.

Native Americans have always been viewed through the Mirror of Galadriel, which shows the viewer what he or she most desires to see. For some, they are the first ecologists, for others Spartan-like warrior societies. For others they are radically egalitarian cultures, in which there were no gender roles and gender-fluidity was welcomed, even celebrated.

This is nowhere more true than it is of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy. For some, it is the historical model for American democracy. In it, Lewis Henry Morgan, Karl Marx, and Fredrich Engels saw primitive communism. For Childs, it is the embodiment of transcommunality.

In his book, Manifest Manners: Narratives on Postindian Survivance, Vizenor writes, “Survivance is an active sense of presence, the continuance of native stories, not a mere reaction, or a survivable name” (1). He concludes, “Native survivance stories are renunciations of dominance, tragedy, and victimry.  Survivance means the right of succession or reversion of an estate, and in that sense, the estate of native survivancy” (vii).

Annotated Bibliography

Chantal Mouffe, Agonistics: Thinking the World Politically (New York: Verso, 2013).

This is Mouffe’s best explication of her concept of agonistic pluralism as a way of theorizing  democratic politics.

Carl Schmitt, Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty, trans. George Schwab (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006). 

Written during the early Weimar Republic, this book develops Schmitt’s concept of sovereignty.

Gerald Vizenor, Manifest Manners: Postindian Warriors of Survivance (Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1994). 

This represents Vizenor’s first fulsome explanation of his concept of “survivance.”

Gerald Vizenor, ed., Survivance: Narratives of Native Presence (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2008). 

This edited collection brings together eighteen essays by scholars of Native American literature, both Native and non-Native, discussing survivance.


Native survivance, in [Gerald] Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival.”


Where relationality is most productive in critical projects is where it transcends its projects of critique and explores the possibilities—ethical, political, and theological—of its account of subjectivity and community.


Facing the violence of contemporary terror, many intellectuals have spoken in our present times about a return of political theology and religion in its violent forms. Attention to the concept of martyrdom has reappeared due to an increasing interest in religious conflicts.


In autopoiesis, there is no separation between what we do and the particular way in which the world appears to us.


Where state sovereignty as theology would have subjected groups accept their condition with its attending violence and suffering, the micro sovereignty I propose here – not merely as a futuristic idea, but more as a reflection on how subjected groups have dealt with subjection – invites us not to accept that violence and suffering, but to find creative ways out of it through the cracks of Empire.


Abolition is a process of imagining alternatives to the settler colonial, carceral present; it requires modes of kinship and care to replace prisons and policing.

Gratuitous Violence

Signifying a critical homology between the fields of Black studies and political theology, gratuitous violence is an important keyword for interrogating how religio-political concepts can afford unique insights into issues of slavery, race, and the human which continue to inform our world today.  


Asian American literary criticism’s analysis of contemporary orientalisms centered around the figuration of Asian subjectivities reminds political theologians that unconscious (white) fear and fascination with the Orient still guides political and theoretical engagement with the Asian “other.”


Thing as concept can be helpful to elucidate the specific yet ambiguous interaction of the religious and the political. Using recent thingly theoretical work within these two spheres, with an emphasis on body and shape, I will suggest ways through which thing (and things and thingness) both clarifies and challenges that interaction.


Diaspora might be a problem for political progressives for the very reason that it is so alluring. Diaspora promises both freedom and connection: freedom from national borders or the essentialisms of race and language, connection between people who affirm shared memory and heritage.
But heritage is never really free.


If there is one thing that can be said about blackness, it is this: blackness is unruly.

Black Reason

Black reason is propelled by a fantastic imaginary, a changeling animus that aggregates and transmogrifies the desires and fears of whiteness.

Racial Capitalism

The historical and theoretical relationships between race and capitalism are internally contested and in need of further exploration from theologians and scholars of religion.


Sometimes referred to as “population control,” other times “better breeding,” eugenics has been seen as a religious solution to social ills, and sometimes a new religion unto itself.


Gilroy’s “planetary humanism” contributes to political theology by offering more than a critique: in his work, humanism is a starting point, a concept to guide multicultural political projects today.


Official responses to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic have encouraged us to understand risk in individual terms. They’re wrong: risk is all about interdependence.

Food Sovereignty

Food sovereignty represents a refusal of a globally commodified food system in favor of systems and institutions that support self-sufficient communities.


Doxa is a term used in sociology to contend with belief and orthodoxy without reducing either to behavior or cognition. It explores disposition and embodied belief—the gut sense of the world which is acquired through practice rather than discourse.

Settler Colonialism

I propose Decolonial Settler Theology as a contextual political theology that is uniquely the task of the settler, who must face their own complicity in narratives of ongoing colonization and aim at their undoing.


In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?


This essay takes taboo as a critical term to trace the history of our modern present and as a conceptual companion with which to think through the complex entanglement of the ethical, the theological, and the political.


What is still nascent… is an explicit conversation between political theology and critical theories of affect, particularly in a way that might contribute to constructive projects. The sort of political theology that might emerge from such collaboration would consider how affective regimes intersect with theological constructions or religious performances.


While kinship has traditionally held a vibrant conceptual life in anthropological inquiry, more recent studies on kinship as a form of spiritual relationality have opened up a new space of interdisciplinary exploration for political theology.


The modern state form itself is inextricable from the commandement, not just as an emblem for sovereignty in Schmitt’s sense, but also because the exemplary political form of modernity, the nation-state, has racist and exclusionary tendencies that can be understood as political-theological transfers of monotheistic principles.


That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.


The conversation about nature’s personhood and rights is always political, often legal, and sometimes theological. Most importantly, it is a localized conversation about the boundaries of a given community – who is part of the community and who isn’t.


For political theology, we might find ourselves compelled by practices that seek to connect us with our ecologies, our communities, and our relations with ourselves – in ways that are more about humility and provisionality than finding cures or solutions.


Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.


If theorizations of care are to more directly address the current “crisis of care,” we need not only to prioritize the kinds of embodied, particularized care that care ethics has highlighted in the past, but to explore a wider range of caring relationships and their diverse structures.


A preliminary question for political theology is how to understand the meaning and significance of matter. The response to this question shapes how a political theology does or doesn’t engage political economy and theological tradition.


The triangulation of money, sovereignty, and divinity is a good point of entry to study the mutual constitution of theological and political concepts and the questions about ultimate value and social form that they raise.


Refusal is a strong current resisting the structure of settler colonialism. It crashes, churns, and erodes the death-dealing dams of settler knowing. Its path turns away from the settler’s gaze.


Seva lends itself to easy appropriation across political and religious contexts, while also furnishing mutually intelligible tropes of service, welfare, and social betterment.


Political theology intimately understands that given reality teems with forms of life that remain opaque to us.


Spillers, Cheng, and Halberstam provide us with tools to approach the histories of violence, economics, relationships, desires, and contestation that infuse our experiences with flesh in its multiplicity. Flesh is never neutral.


It is not always possible (or advisable) to separate the “political” from the “religious” or “cultural” in Indigenous contexts. Indeed, all of these are concepts developed by outsiders to describe Indigenous life. Instead, Indigeneity invites scholars of political theology and related fields to consider the relationships between these threads of cultural life.


As we watch the illusion that was Man fall apart, we also see these more-than-human worlds that Man called “animal” disrupting and revealing the cracks and fractures in his own divine intentions.

Temporality I: History

William Apess, like Walter Benjamin a century later, sought to shift the paradigms of society with history and theology as orienting poles for colonial critique. Anticipating Benjamin, Apess looked to those who had been wrecked by the advance of colonialism as the grounding site for historical and political theological inquiry.

Temporality II: Futurity

Both Benjamin and Apess discern that historical narratives are imbricated with notions of futurity, that is, which bodies and polities are allowed to inhabit and thrive within the temporality in which the “not yet” and the “always already” co-constitute each other.


In this short essay, written from my perspective as a Jewish feminist, I draw together a plurality of engagements with natality to engender new conversations in political theology.

Critical Race Theory

CRT is a framework or an approach to understanding the way racism is foundational to systems of judicial, political, social, cultural, religious, and theological power.


[S]ituating demonology more fully in its religious and theological contexts furnishes resources that not only nuance understandings of movements for whom demonization is central, but also recontextualize discussions of core political theological concepts, including sovereignty, power, economy, subjectivity, and freedom.


From Myanmar to Mariupol, from the streets of Memphis to the waves and winds of the Mediterranean Sea: resistance to violence takes many forms. So does political protest against precarity. At which point does the unavoidable vulnerability of the living condition come to expression as political agency? Can such precarious politics constitute or configure an alternative community?

Hunger Strike

“Instead of neatly separating the forms of resistance to biosovereignty into life-affirming struggles and necroresistance and mapping them (and life and death) onto the reform/revolt dichotomy, I suggest that we conceive life and death as relational rather than oppositional categories. For every differentiation and intensification of death creates new possibilities of life; and every differentiation and intensification of life entails experiences of “death” that cannot be reduced to the power of one’s death.”

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