Historian, professor, and scholar Kyle T. Mays describes himself as “Afro-Indigenous,” and his fourth book, When We Are Kin, explores the possibility and promise of solidarity between people of Native and African heritage. The book is by turns idealistic and pragmatic. On one hand, Mays writes that he dreams of inter-group unity. On the other, he understands that “no two oppressed groups are natural allies.”
He further acknowledges that tribes, including the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole trafficked in, and profited from, the sale of Black bodies until 1866 when the Civil War ended. Moreover, Mays writes that during the 19th century, Black Buffalo soldiers “participated in violent actions against Indigenous nations in the southwestern and western parts of the United States.”
But fast-forward a century, and Mays notes a radical shift, with several prominent Native activists working alongside the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. to build a robust Poor People’s Campaign to demand “a guaranteed income, housing, schools, [and] economic development” for residents of low-income communities.
It was a powerful alliance, he writes, built on a foundation in which “anti-Blackness and anti-Indianness” were recognized as central components of the “cultural, economic, political, and social” development of the United States. Later, he writes that activist groups including the Third World Women’s Alliance pushed progressive feminists to see the connections between patriarchy, capitalism, and imperialism, and stressed the importance of a Black-Native collaboration.
Mays champions this. But he also recognizes that for the majority of people of color— hell, for the majority of people of all races, genders, ethnicities, and backgrounds—the desire for human rights and respect can be easily separated from the fight against colonialism, capitalism, male supremacy, and imperial conquest.
For Mays, this brings numerous political contradictions to the fore, and it is where his idealism rubs up against what is. For example, Mays concludes that “the United States has no right to exploit Black people on indigenous land.” He further concludes that the country “has no right to give Black people land usurped from Indigenous people.” In this case, he is referring to the Homestead Act of 1862, through which the federal government gave millions of acres of Native land to Black men who had served in the military. For Mays, this offer invited “Black people to participate in the settler-colonial project as settlers.”
And then there’s Black capitalism.
Mays is critical of the frequent elevation of Tulsa, Oklahoma’s Black Wall Street as the pinnacle of achievement. “A Black capitalist is still a capitalist,” he writes in When We Are Kin. “Black capitalist desires are still capitalist desires. Black wealth will still be hoarded in the hands of a few and not the majority.”
This is, of course, true. At the same time, telling people who have never had access to financial security that “Black capitalism is not the future” strikes me as naive. After all, in a country that prizes individual wealth accumulation, celebrates property ownership, and showcases people whose personal connections and so-called business acumen—think Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Mark Zuckerberg—are presented as the epitome of success, it seems unlikely that most working-class and low-income folks will reject this model in favor of collective well-being. Quite simply, those who have never had, want.
That said, Mays puts forward an idea called Mino-Bimaadiziwin, which in the Anisitinaabemowin language of the Obijwe people means “the good life.” Mays presents this as a rejection of middle-to-upper class careerism and material acquisition. “The good life means an end to settler colonialism, a return of all Indigenous land, and an end to anti-Black racism and the hyperexploitation of Black people. The good life means living in harmony with human and non-human relations. It means nurturing and maintaining relationships built on reciprocity and care for all living things—humans and non-humans. It means centering the land, fostering kinship between Black and Indigenous communities; kinship also means solidarity.”
It’s a beautiful, if aspirational, vision. Still, getting from here to there will require, at minimum, reducing the wealth gap—now a chasm—between the gazillionaires and the poor, and ending society’s pervasive worship of money and possessions as proof of achievement.
Unsurprisingly, Mays does not tell us how he envisions this transition unfolding, but that may be okay. His provocative writing asks us, as readers, to consider what really matters and act accordingly. Needless to say, our collective future hangs in the balance.
When We Are Kin: The History and Future of Afro-Indigenous Solidarity By Kyle T. Mays
Haymarket Books, $19.95, 184 pages. Release Date: May 26, 2026. Available for pre-order.
The Indypendent is a New York City-based newspaper, website and weekly radio show. All of our work is made possible by readers like you. During this holiday season, please consider making a recurring or one-time donation today or subscribe to our monthly print edition and get every copy sent straight to your home.
