Most of us know Martha’s Vineyard as a vacation destination—a summer haven for the wealthy, celebrity, and political elites of the Northeast. For Joseph Lee and his family, however, the Vineyard is their home. It’s not necessarily where they live—Lee himself, in fact, has also been a summer visitor for most of his life—but it’s the land of the Aquinnah Wampanoag, their Indigenous tribe, which farmed the island, fished its waters, and lived next to its red clay cliffs long before John Belushi or Bill Clinton showed up.
Lee wrestles with his own relationship to Martha’s Vineyard, as well as that of the greater Aquinnah Wampanoag community, in his new nonfiction book, Nothing More of This Land: Community, Power, and the Search for Indigenous Identity. Growing up, Lee says, “The only frames I had for understanding Native history were absence and genocide.” Stories of Indigenous tribes slaughtered and driven off their land in the western United States didn’t fit with the Wampanoag’s history, which was more about a gradual dispersal as tribal members (including Lee’s great-grandfather) left the island. As a result, there is a Wampanoag diaspora within the United States—and the risk that those who remain on Martha’s Vineyard can be thought of as the “real” Wampanoag, while others are somehow lesser. Lee pushes back against this inferred hierarchy, noting that “Moving from the island in search of opportunity is not a deviation or departure from Wampanoag identity, it is a part of it.”
Still, it has sometimes been difficult for Lee and other Aquinnah Wampanoag who live elsewhere to participate fully in tribal politics or maintain connections with a community and culture deeply rooted in Martha’s Vineyard. For decades, Wampanoag governance took place in-person at meetings on the island, and there was a lack of transparency that frustrated and distanced those who could not attend. Only the Covid-19 pandemic forced a change, as the tribe (after some initial reluctance and technical difficulties) scrambled to organize virtual sessions that could, in turn, include anyone who wished to participate. “In a strange way,” Lee observes, “the restrictions from the pandemic led to the best access for off-island tribal members in our history.” Aquinnah Wampanoag who had grown apart from the tribe could now reconnect through a conscientious and inclusive use of technology.
Lee explains for non-Indigenous readers of Nothing More of This Land the ins and outs of how sovereign tribes operate within the United States, sometimes comparing policies here with those in other countries to show alternative possibilities. Despite this big-picture element, the heart of his work lies in Aquinnah (formerly Gay Head), the Indigenous town at the eastern tip of Martha’s Vineyard where his grandparents opened a souvenir shop that Lee’s parents now operate. Working in the shop, Lee reflects on “the many sacrifices that tourism and colonialism demand of us,” grappling with the performance of Indigenous identity for outsiders that has provided his family’s livelihood for multiple generations. Summer visitors to the Vineyard like the charm of having the Aquinnah Wampanoag there and will talk a good game about respecting their ties to the land—until that land’s value proves too irresistible to ignore. (Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, for example, wound up in a protracted legal battle with the Wampanoag over the rights to a slice of beachfront located on her 340-acre property.) Such conflicts don’t just affect tribes living near up-market real estate like the Wampanoag, Lee notes. “The price might fluctuate from place to place, but the more I learn about other tribes and indigenous nations, the more I realize that we’re all dealing with the same issue. Everyone wants our land, no matter where it is or what condition it is in.”
Nothing More of This Land is a skillful blend of history, memoir, and current events—a deeply personal investigation into identity and community. Ultimately, Lee decides, “The way we think about Indigenous identity may shift from generation to generation, but what really matters is that we do what we can to ensure future generations have as many options as possible and a strong relationship with land and community.” Indigenous identity, in this sense, means more than carrying a tribal ID card. It requires active engagement with the community and culture and conscious decisions to share them with others and pass them on to the next generation.