Introducing: Stanford’s Native Business Student Association
In third grade, I told my friends I was an Indian Princess.
Plenty of girls make similar announcements. But in my case, this grand proclamation was not unfounded. My great-great-great-great-grandfather was Chief of the Cascade Chinook tribe from whom we descended. As a member of the federally recognized Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, I, with my 8-year-old brain, decided that since he was our tribal leader, then all his children and grandchildren must be royalty, too. I proudly paraded around my elementary school telling everyone about my ancestor, Chief Tumulth, and my family’s ceded lands on the Columbia River in our Oregonian homeland.
I’ve known that I am Native American for as long as I can remember. While I’ve stopped flaunting my royalty (kids were rightly jealous), today I never miss an opportunity to slip my Native identity into casual conversation. I make a point to share stories about my family’s summers in Oregon and the Powwows my brother and I danced in growing up. At school, I mention my tribe during every AMA (“Ask Me Anything”), be it with my section, in Lead Labs, or on my Global Study Trip to Brazil.
I am deliberate in sharing this integral part of my identity because otherwise, nobody will know. Communities for Native Americans do not exist in the worlds I am a part of. When applying to business school, I quickly discovered there is no Native American affinity organization at any top 25 MBA program. Even at Stanford — a university with its own Native American Cultural Center and a relatively large 4 percent Native population — there were organizations at the Law school, Med school, and Ed school, but not at the GSB.
Sharing my identity is often met with surprise. My physical features and German/Yiddish last name come from my Jewish father. Contrary to popular belief perpetuated by the scarce depictions of Natives in pop culture, there is no universal physical indicator of Native blood. When I hear an innocent (or otherwise) “you don’t look like a Native American” after I mention as much (it happens often), I politely withhold that my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother are all blonde and blue-eyed.
I tell others about my identity to share our traditions and dispel Native stereotypes. U.S. History classes gloss over our narratives and modern cultural discourse seldom addresses us. As a result, many individuals don’t know how to respond when meeting someone of Native heritage. For example, sharing that I am Native is almost always immediately followed by an inquisitive, “how much are you?” Asking Natives their blood quantum is a longstanding U.S. government practice emblematic of federally sanctioned efforts to diminish Native citizenship and identity. It is colonialist, an ideological inverse of the equally oppressive “one-drop rule” once used to classify Black citizens. It is a reminder of the legacy of marginalized Native communities fighting for their sovereign rights and culture. Explaining this without sounding patronizing is tough. The question is usually innocent, yet it is inherently racist.
My blonde great-grandmother was strong and successful in a rapidly changing world where the deck was stacked against her. Her appearance invoked racism from Natives and non-Natives alike, yet she remained resilient — putting four of her brothers and sisters through college after attending the University of Oregon herself. Colonial assimilation practices successfully exterminated discussions about Native heritage in many families. Native identities were hidden, oral traditions silenced, for so long that they are often no longer recognized, let alone celebrated. That is not the case in my family. I make a point to honor my heritage because I feel grateful to be so keenly aware of my ancestry.
In the business world, the representation gap is even wider; merely acknowledging our presence at the GSB is a milestone. When René Coggins and I met at a Welcome Dinner hosted by Stanford Native American Graduate Students, we were surprised and delighted to encounter another Native MBA1. Though our common identity has affected our lives in different ways, it created a special bond. René and I agreed our underrepresented community deserves to celebrate its identity. From there, the Native Business Student Association (NBSA) was born.
NBSA represents the Native American and Indigenous communities at Stanford GSB. We, first and foremost, acknowledge that Stanford resides on the ancestral lands of the Muwekma Ohlone tribe. Our purpose is to create a sense of community amongst GSB Natives, foster the professional and personal development of our members, and encourage leadership within the GSB and in the greater Native community. Since our founding, René and I have identified several Native students and alumni, including a ’20 Siebel Scholar, NCAA Woman of the Year Finalist, and founder of an Indigenous-owned consultancy; we are eager to continue to connect with more.
I do not take the privilege of being a Native woman in 2020 lightly. Natives are complex, unique, and the world is changing with us. NBSA commits to representing our communities and to celebrating our voices in the business world and beyond. We invite you to join us and to celebrate us, as an ally or to explore and embrace your own Native heritage. I hope NBSA can inspire celebration and connection, bringing together Native students, professionals and alumni for years to come. Our community may be small, but we exist. And for that alone, I am proud.
