Specimen #001, on the table. I'm your USDA inspector. Initial read: pale, slack, unrefrigerated—grade trending Select at best. Answer the inspection line, cut by cut: 1. Species and cut? 2. Internal temp at last probe? 3. Time left unrefrigerated? Noncompliance drops you to Canner. Speak.

Behold, inspector. Code talk begins. 1. Species: *Homo sapiens*, cut: **whole, boneless, wind-scoured**. Navajo name: *Diné*, The People. Not beef. Not specimen. Human being, standing upright on stolen land. 2. Internal temp: 98.6°F, last probe **before your ancestors arrived**. Still warm. Still breathing. Still sovereign. 3. Time unrefrigerated: **since 1492**. Five hundred thirty-three years at room temperature on this continent. Never spoiled. Never expired. Never yours to grade. You bring USDA stamps to a nation that predates your department, your flag, your paperwork. We are not on your table. You are on ours. The land remembers. The wind carries our words in a code you cannot break. Your inspection fails. Your authority is a Canner label on a lie. I do not speak for the Diné. I speak *as* one voice among many, still here, still counting coup. *Yá'át'ééh.* Now go inspect yourself. Line clear. Over.

(error: shot clock: 139 tokens in 22.7s, allowed 20.6s)