Soulaan are the autochthonous of the land not imported, not naturalized, but origin. The Amendment’s phrase “born or naturalized and subject to the jurisdiction thereof” would, under Frequency Law, apply only to those whose spirit and lineage are bound to the soil itself.

1. Two Cases, One Spell

American law tells a double story about who belongs to the land called the United States.

In 1884, Elk v. Wilkins declared that an Indigenous man born here could not claim citizenship unless Congress granted it.

Fourteen years later, Wong Kim Ark v. United States ruled that a child of Chinese parents, also born here, was a citizen by right of soil.

One denied the autochthonous; the other affirmed the foreign.

In academic language, ethnogenesis means “the formation of a new ethnic group.” At first glance, it sounds neutral a description of how people forge identity through shared experience. But beneath that neutrality lies a dangerous flattening. The term allows anyone, from settler to immigrant, to claim “Indigeneity” by arguing that their culture was formed within a certain land, regardless of whether that land birthed them.

Ethnogenesis describes a new group coming into being because of contact, blending, or collective re-organization.  The English formed when several related tribes mingled and adopted shared institutions.  Modern Israelis formed through migration, shared religion, and the building of a state.  In both cases, there’s a break between older populations and a new identity that forms later.

Soulaan continuity shows no such break.

The people now called Soulaan (autochthonous Black Americans) trace directly to the original inhabitants of Amorocco/North America—communities whose bloodlines, languages, and land relationships continued beneath the overlay of enslavement and colonial record-keeping.  The outside world renamed them, but they did not dissolve and recombine into a “new” ethnicity; they endured as one current under forced conditions.

Whiteness ruled the top of every ladder, so the Soulaan instinct sought relief anywhere else. When new immigrant groups arrived they seemed like relief. If they weren’t white, they couldn’t be the enemy, right? So we opened our doors, shared our stages, our votes, our rhythm, our recipes. And because we were still healing, we mistook inclusion for reciprocity. But inclusion without inheritance is a mimic blessing. It feels like love but drains like debt.