 Hello everyone, I'm Julie Q, Senior Program Coordinator at the Newcombe Institute here at Tulane University. For National Poetry Month, I want to share with you the work of poet and activist Laili Long Soldier. Laili Long Soldier is a citizen of the Oglalu Lakota Nation and a Lifetime Advocate for Indigenous Populations. Her 2017 debut book, whereas, won the National Book Critics Award and was a finalist for the National Book Award for Poetry. In it, she utilizes the complexities of language to intimately explore notions of personal and national narratives and identity. It's really a fascinating read, I highly recommend it to anyone who's interested. The Newcombe Institute has the honor and privilege of hosting Laili Long Soldier as the 2020-2021 Aaron's Poet. She will be on campus next academic year for a reading and a workshop. We really hope you can join us for this truly special time, not only to listen to an exceptionally talented poet share her work, but for all of us to enjoy the opportunity to finally gather together and celebrate together with members of the Tulane community. Future moments like this are really beacons of light during these dark times. Today, I am going to recite for you an excerpt from whereas, which was penned as a response to the United States government's official apology to Native peoples. Whereas, a string-bean blue-eyed man leans back into a swig of beer, work weary lips at the dark bottle, keeping cool in short sleeves and khakis, he interests the discussion. Whereas, his wrist loosed at the bottleneck to come across his candid. Well, at least it was an apology, that's all I can say. He offers to the circle, each of them scholarly. Whereas, under starlights, the fireflies wink across east coast grass, and me, I sit there, painful in my silence, glued to a bench in the midst of the American casual. Whereas, a subtle electricity in that low purple light, I felt their eyes on my face, gauging a reaction, and someone's discomfort licks out in a well-stated, hmm. Whereas, like a bird darting from an oncoming semi, my mind races to the apology's assertion. While the establishment of permanent European settlements in North America did steer conflicts with nearby Indian tribes, peaceful and mutually beneficial interactions also took place. Whereas, I crossed my arms and raised a crawl's hand to my mouth, as if thinking, as if taking it in, I allow a static quiet, then choose to stand up, excusing myself, I leave them to unease. Whereas, I drive down the road, replaying the get-together, how the man in his beer bottle stated their piece, and I reel at what I could have said, or done better. Whereas, I could have, but didn't, burst the subject of genocide, the absence of this term from the apology, and its rephrasing as conflict, for example. Whereas, since the moment had passed, I accept what's done, and the knife of my conscience pierces with bone-clean self-honesty. Whereas, in a seared conflict between settlers in an Indian that night in a circle, whereas I struggle to confess that I didn't want to explain anything. Whereas, truthfully, I wish most to kick the legs of that man's chair out from under him. Whereas, to watch him fall backwards, legs flailing, beer stinch across his chest. Whereas, I pictured it happening in cinematic, slow motion, delightful. Whereas, the crawl's hand I raised to my mouth was a sign of indecision. Whereas, I couldn't have done it, but I didn't. Whereas, I admit that this also took place, yes, at least.