Introducing Kayla Burns

Kayla Burns (Spoopi Akii), Amskapi Pikuni, recently joined NNCTC as a Training and Technical Assistance (TTA) Specialist. Located in her home community in the Blackfeet Nation of Northwestern Montana, Kayla has extensive experience in integrating Indigenous and Western practices across school and community settings to address the effects of historical trauma and prevent ongoing exposures to trauma. We invited Kayla to say a few words about how her experiences and interests relate to her new role with us.  

 

I always like to tell people that my Western name is Kayla Burns, but my Indian name is Spoopi Akii, which means Turtle Woman. Our Indian names are very important and prideful for us. I’ve had the privilege to grow up in a culturally grounded family, where I learned about the culture of Amskapi Pikuni or Blackfeet people. Who I am is grounded, first and foremost, in my culture. 

 

When I was younger, I was attuned to the mental health field because of situations going on in my life, as is true of a lot of people who decide to go into this field. My father struggled to use positive coping skills. Mental health wasn’t talked about a lot back then. We unfortunately lost him when I was a freshman in high school. That set me on the path to pursuing a career in mental health. I looked at my people and the things that we were struggling with and quickly learned that it wasn’t just my people but Native people across the board dealing with the same struggles. That’s when I first heard of the term historical trauma. 

 

I started at the University of Montana looking to learn about historical trauma and to find a career that would lessen the impact of historical trauma. I graduated in 2018 with my Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology, and that same year I started working for Blackfeet Community College (BCC) as the Behavioral Health Aid Coordinator. I was working with people one-on-one, advising them, making warm handoffs to other providers, and continually learning about and providing trauma-informed care. I also coordinated the behavioral health aid endorsement for students who were already pursuing degrees at BCC, offering an extra credential they got by attending trainings in behavioral health support and trauma-informed care. We trained teachers, nurses, and people across other professional fields. We also brought in a trainer from SAMHSA to train on developing a trauma-informed community. I felt like I was making a difference by providing trainings and being someone that people could come to for support getting through the educational obstacles of college.  

 

After that, I joined my family on a project. My mother and stepfather, Lona and Tyson Running Wolf, were developing their nonprofit organization called Blackfeet ECO Knowledge. The goal of this nonprofit is to lessen the impacts of historical trauma by implementing projects that will teach our people the culture of Amskapi Pikuni or Blackfeet. We created learning modules that centered our cultural ecological knowledge, in order to bridge the gap created by historical trauma. For example, our relatives in prior generations were not allowed to practice their culture at boarding schools and were fearful of what would happen to them if they did engage in cultural practices and ways. A lot of people today know that the culture is out there and they want to learn about it, but they don’t know how to access it. We wanted to provide access to our culture for the people who wanted to learn about it, and then, once they had learned the foundational knowledge and kind of eased those fears they may have associated with it, they could decide if and how they wanted to be a part of traditional culture. 

 

We ended up creating about 15 modules that we were able to implement as a pilot project for participants in the Healing to Wellness Court, using feedback from focus groups and advisory circles to inform the content. After they got through the first round of the modules with those participants, they gathered data that showed that participants significantly increased their cultural knowledge and then they produced digital stories of participants sharing the impact it had on them. It had great results, and the trainings continue to this day. I’m proud of that work because it really aligned with my goals and values. 

 

I think that culture is pretty much the answer to healing for a lot of Natives. It’s not the only answer, but it’s a big part of the answer. I see it as an undoing of what historical trauma did to us. It brings these teachings back into people’s lives so that they are able to know their place in the world, and to know their history as Native Americans, as Amskapi Pikuni, or whatever Tribe you’re from. It has been proven that connecting to your identity and culture is a protective factor, helps build resiliency, and improves overall well-being. So we can use culture to heal by supporting people in relearning traditional healthy coping skills, like through humor, storytelling, beading, and song.  

 

But there’s also deep culture, which depends on your own Tribe and involves connecting to your People’s philosophy through ceremony. My Tribe traditionally had different ways and practices to help create the sense of a “whole person.” For example, the societies taught you your role within your tribe, and the teachings from your elders taught you how to have a give-and-take reciprocal relationship, not just with your own family but with everything around you, while also instilling life skills rooted in your culture. When we were developing the modules for Blackfeet ECO Knowledge, we used the story of Scarface, which is an origin story for the Blackfeet people on what our journey in life is all about, and in turn, how we got our ceremony and our traditions. We tailored that to the modules so that the participant is like Scarface in their own way, and they learn the story of Scarface over the course of the modules. 

 

From there I went to work for Browning Public Schools as a wellness teacher for 6th, 7th, and 8th grades. I provided Social-Emotional Learning and psychoeducation as well as drug and alcohol prevention education. We were given a curriculum that wasn’t culturally relevant, so I made it my mission to ground the lessons in culture so they would be more meaningful for the students. So, for example, when we’re talking about self-regulation, we may talk with them about Sweetgrass and smudging, of course noting that whatever their family’s teachings were on that topic was what was right for them. I also worked to incorporate identity-building skills within that curriculum, to connect students with a sense of pride in being Native American.  

 

A lot of the struggles the students were experiencing reminded me of myself when I was their age. In my role, I could be an advocate for them and somebody they could turn to. I was an unconditional, positive adult who didn’t judge them. So a big part of the work was developing those relationships with the kids, connecting them to resources, and helping them problem-solve.  

 

At around that time, I attended a conference and got to hear Maegan Rides at the Door present. I was excited to learn about what the NNCTC does, and when a position opened up here, I applied. I’ve already met so many people that I hold in high esteem. I’m kind of amazed that I’m in the same circles as some of my coworkers and the partners we work with. I’m excited to continue to meet people and learn from them and continue to develop my knowledge in teaching and learning about trauma and historical trauma and ultimately how to help people more broadly and not just within my own community.  

 

On a personal note, it’s important to me to share about my kids, because they are the reason for everything. I have two children. My firstborn is Layla Rose. She was born during Covid and she’ll be four next month. Some of these things I’m trying to instill in her that will help give her these healthy experiences, I’m really seeing. She is so proud to get painted at ceremony, and she loves to remind me to deep-breathe when I am stressed. It makes me so proud. My second daughter is Charlo Reign. She is the namesake of her grandmas Charlene and Lorraine. Charlo just turned a year old in August, and she is everything that they say a second child is, wild and a little spitfire. It’s been a lot of fun watching her curiosity bloom and watching her personality develop.  

 

When you go into the world, and you learn about our history, the impacts, and realize what you’re up against as a Native person, you start to see how things like intergenerational trauma play out in your life. I’ve worked hard to make conscious decisions in my life. Once I met the right person and we decided to have kids, I wanted to break these cycles for them. I’ve been focused on learning healthy parenting tools to provide them with healthy experiences and doing my best to give them any opportunity to connect with their identity as Amskapi Pikuni and Indigenous children. This is an essential way of fighting the impact of historical trauma.  

Some things are hard to talk about.

A Reflection on Orange Shirt Day By Shannon CrossBear 

The leaves are turning on this fine fall day and soon it will be Orange Shirt Day, September 30th. It is a day where we reflect, thinking of those Indigenous children in North American that lost their lives in the boarding schools. It is a day where we raise the visibility of the harm created by those government and church sanctioned re-education, indoctrination and colonization camps. The consequences of those actions are reflected in current conditions. 

Some things are hard to talk about. Even harder to live with. In our Indigenous nations and communities that are within the borders of Canada and the United States, we have been in a prolonged period of mourning. Now, we are actively seeking to embrace the hurt and begin the healing. I watch as the count goes up and more bodies are “discovered.” I watch as we bring those bodies home. I wonder about the bodies we don’t count as victims- the elder who was never told they were loved, the mother who can never laugh out loud, the father who saves affection for the bedroom, the son and daughter languishing in prison, the child starving for attention, the grandchild suffering from suicidal thoughts. That is the nature of trauma carried across lifetimes. 

As each child’s body is recovered, as each child’s body is returned to their respective homelands, the wounds are torn open anew. Make no mistake, the wound has never healed. The wounds of separation and loss have festered over generations. Loss of family, language, connection, culture, and the subsequent results play out daily in our lives. In courtrooms and cemeteries, in divorces and dialysis, in suicide and substance misuse, we feel the septic nature of the wound. Orange Shirt Day is a day to dig deep into that wound, to begin to release the poison of a truth denied and hidden for far too long. It is a visible display of solidarity in the message, ”every child matters”. 

Every child matters. The child that never left the school grounds and the child that carries those school grounds with them to this day. So, rip open the wound, dig deep, tell the truth, acknowledge, and treat the trauma and let the healing begin. Be brutal with the truth and gentle with yourselves and each other. We need to feel the enormity of grief, to lance the festering wound, and then apply the medicine of love. We do this by listening to the stories, offering whatever strength we can, validating the truth, and empathizing and encouraging a full recovery of a healed heart. 

 The leaves are turning today. We learn through natural law that the leaves fall and die, they return to the ground and enrich the soil for new growth. 

Some things are hard to talk about. We wear orange shirts to remind ourselves and others that we must do the hard thing and talk about what happened. We must attend to the hard work of restoring the ancestral balance to ensure it never happens again. Every Child Matters.  

September 30th is Shannon CrossBear’s last day serving as a Cultural Consultant for the NNCTC. Shannon is moving on to the next chapter of her life, a life dedicated to serving Indigenous children, families and communities. We’ve been fortunate to have her on our team for three years, offering insights and inspiration, compassion, creativity, wisdom, warmth, kindness, grace, and laughter... lots of laughter. Her commitment to Indigenous lifeways and healing, and speaking of things that are hard to talk about, have been a gift to our organization. Below you will find links to a few pieces she’s written. While we will miss our sister, aunt, friend and colleague, we know that she will continue to bring forward voice, healing and light. 

Baanimaa Apii 

NNCTC Blogposts by Shannon CrossBear 

Commemorating Indigenous People’s Day, October 9, 2023 

We Have the Bodies, July 27, 2022 

Culture Protects Us, February 1, 2022. 


On Cultural Revitalization, Education and Community Healing. A Conversation with Dr. Karla Bird

Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door, Director of the National Native Children’s Trauma Center, interviewed Dr. Karla Bird to talk about community-wide healing in March 2024. Dr. Bird is currently the Tribal Outreach Specialist for the University of Montana and recently served as the President of Blackfeet Community College (see full bio at the end of the interview). It is difficult for us to think about how community-wide healing can take place collectively given the challenges of cross-collaboration, and limited capacity and resources in communities. This conversation inspires change but also helps us reflect on the progress Native Nations have already made in an effort heal individuals, families, and communities. If we get bogged down on thinking about the broader picture, this conversation reminds us that we can always be mindful of how we are living our professional and personal lives in congruence with our cultural and community values and vision.  This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door: I’d like to start by talking about cultural revitalization. What examples can you share of cultural revitalization?  

Dr. Karla Bird: Societies and ceremonies are being revitalized. Next week Lily Gladstone is getting a stand-up headdress. One of the conversations I had with one of our community members was about the stand-up headdress. The stand-up headdress is specific to Blackfeet and goes back to an ancient origin, all the way back to Scarface, Morning Star, and the sun. It was a transfer to Scarface. When we get a headdress, we get it from Scarface and originally from the Sun. It’s a transfer process. People have had sacred transfers passed down for generations.   

When you say revitalization, one of the people I was talking to was saying that the stand-up headdress almost went extinct in the 90’s and you didn’t see them in the community like you do today. These things don’t go extinct because people no longer want to practice them. They go extinct because of the transfer. You have to have people with the right to do the sacred transfer. The few people who were left with this sacred transfer began transferring all of these headdresses, so now it's not uncommon to see people with stand-up headdresses. You are starting to see community members wear them.    

We did some webinars at Blackfeet Community College where some of our ceremonies were hanging on by a thread. One of the people who takes care of the ceremonies had to relearn the songs from cassette tape. Then we have people like Carol Murray who is getting their honorary doctorate here soon at the University of Montana and who has repatriated bundles from museums. As a result of the Native American Graves and Protection and Repatriation Act (NAPGRA) legislation you are seeing people being able to regain items that were originally their communities. Now these items are in active circles of ceremony and so they are considered alive with the spirit. You are seeing community members attend these events, and you see these things in the school system and the college.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: I agree, there is an increased visibility. For example, in sports you see students wearing headdresses or ribbon skirts before games. I saw in Browning on the Blackfeet Reservation here in Montana, that the girls were wearing beaded headbands before their games. It is great to see.  I’d like to speak to a slightly different, but related topic. Can you share with us some ways that you have seen educational growth in your community?  

Dr. Bird: We are seeing different types of educational growth. When you think about the trajectory of education, we went from missionary schools to boarding schools to day schools to public schools to now we are having tribal colleges and now even immersion schools that are solely in the Blackfeet language. When we think about that trajectory we think about the sovereignty in education.   

We are on a trajectory of not just accepting public education, but we want to develop an education that is specific to Blackfeet which is Tribal-centered education for our students. We want to be the people who are developing the curriculum and the pedagogy and how school systems are designed so that students who are going there are inherently learning who they are as a student but also as a Tribal person.   

Blackfeet Community College is a great example of that because we have Pikuni Studies and so we have a degree in Blackfeet Studies and students learn our history, our culture and are in contact with our elders. We have events like All Chiefs Day. We have the Days of the Pikuni, The Bear River Massacre. There is this continuum that even if you aren’t in the classroom and a part of the community there are still learning opportunities.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: So, even if you aren’t enrolled in the college, you are still learning what is happening more broadly. And there’s a connection with education or learning, and healing. I think everyone in the community, every agency, every entity has their own piece of the healing that they are contributing to. It is hard getting everyone together and thinking about what we could be doing more collaboratively and intentionally to heal as a community. What do you think is needed for cross collaboration among everyone in the community for community wide healing?   

Dr. Bird: There was one program that we were invited to at Blackfeet Community College where they pulled everyone together that had anything to do with wellness, education, and support. Part of it was identifying the gaps. When you say intentionally, I think it is partly an assessment of what the community currently offers and where people can collaborate to offer an additional service, and also identifying the gaps. The profound gaps that we don’t have resources for that we can strategically plan to fill those gaps. One of the things that comes to mind is in the development of a youth center in Browning. Having a place for kids to come together in community and having support and something positive. It probably does start with everyone coming together and then doing an assessment to determine the needs and resources and what can be developed.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: What would inspire people to want to come together to be part of a community healing effort like that?   

Dr. Bird: When you think about our cultural values, our cultural values are about our community. We are about taking care of one another, especially the elders and the youth. Between the elders and the youth there are people like us who are able-bodied and able to support elders and youth. I think focusing our efforts on elders and youth is really important.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: When you talk about a community wide effort people can sometimes feel like its just another thing on my to do list, another thing on top of so much that they are already doing. People are feeling a bit overwhelmed, not just all there is to do, but some of the internal conflicts that can arise. It’s a great effort to overcome lateral oppression and still work together for the broader vision. How do you think about the different kinds of healing that need to happen?  

Dr. Bird: One of the things I was thinking about was how we have conventional medicine which is so separated and specialized. It makes people go to school to learn about that area. I think about holistic medicine, that is integrative, and learning how the mind and body work together and all these systems are connected. Our western medicine is focused on treatment of symptoms with medicine or surgery.   

But when you are looking at holistic medicine it's about getting to the root cause, and this has me think about historical trauma. We have treatments for trauma whether it's through social services, counseling, or medication. When we are looking at historical trauma and cultural loss, and the antidote to that, to me you could get all the counseling, but if you are looking specifically at historical trauma, it was a loss of identity and self. We need to look at restoring that identity and systems. So, from that perspective, I think it is culture, language, community. Restoration and reclamation. But, how we get there has to be in a sensitive way, and we have to make it accessible. We have to reduce the institutional and personal barriers. And, there’s a way to help people to not feel shame or blame towards themselves for not knowing these things. They blame themselves even when it was a hundred years of systematic erasure.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: Right, like if historical trauma didn’t happen, we would all readily know our language and culture.   

Dr. Bird: They hold a burden they shouldn’t hold. And because of that burden they hold you can’t just say, “join this”. It is doing a lot to facilitate it to make sure it’s safe, accessible, and welcoming to engage in. If we are looking at historical trauma, we are looking at reclamation. And if we are looking at reclamation then we are looking at teaching it in a way that honors people’s safety.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: Yes. For example, given the high unemployment rate, why can’t we pay people to learn the language. It could be healing in a lot more ways than just economic. This conversation is about continuing to inspire change to happen and think about ways this is already happening. What I am taking away from this conversation is that it is really about a way of being in the world so much so that our systems have to follow that. Of changing the question from not how systems can change but how do we want to live with each other in community.   

Dr. Bird: Another thing that inspires change is knowing what you want our kids, our community, our staff to know and perpetuate. That starts with you, with you changing, because if you want to pass down stories, you have to learn them. If you want your kids to be part of ceremony, you have to go. If you want them to learn the language, you have to help teach them. It is the responsibility we have to the youth. We have to learn it. It puts us in this place of responsibility that I never really felt until I was the leader of our Tribal college and it forced me to change so that I could make that more accessible. We have to learn to transmit knowledge and it forces us to be a learner and a doer.   

Dr. Rides At The Door: Right. It’s everyone asking themselves what can I do to contribute to the community? How am I living my life? Despite struggles that may set us back. Maybe we don’t live up to our own expectations sometimes, but maybe most of the time throughout our life, when we can, we do all we can.   

Dr. Bird: It comes back to your way of being and when you think about Indigenous education, you might have content and pedagogy but it comes back to your way of being. How we welcome one another. How we talk to each other. How we try to be role models for each other. How we give resources to one another. We all are in different professions and sometimes it can feel like the daily grind of going to meetings and doing all the things. Outside of your profession you think about in your family, how you are contributing to community wellness? How are you with your family? Your extended family? Are you going to community events? It goes back to how you are being in the world.   

Karla Bird, Ed.D is a member of the Amskapi Piikani Nation (Blackfeet). She has graduated with a doctoral degree in Educational Leadership, with an emphasis in Higher Education at the University of Montana. She also received an M.A. in Counselor Education, as well as a B.A. in Psychology with a Research Emphasis/ Minor in Native American Studies.  The topic of her doctoral dissertation was on educational persistence among American Indian graduate students. This research orientation was used to view students as sources of strength and resiliency, with tools and assets that help them persist and reach success in academe. Dr. Bird has served in various assets of education and most recently has served as the President of Blackfeet Community College.

 

Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door is an enrolled member of the Assiniboine-Sioux Tribes of the Fort Peck Reservation and a descendant of the Absentee Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma. She has served as the National Native Children’s Trauma Center’s Director since 2015. Maegan utilizes her knowledge in culturally trauma responsive care to provide training and technical assistance with a wide variety of systems of care including but not limited to schools, child welfare, juvenile justice, and healthcare. She has been central to the design and implementation of trauma-responsive systems of care with tribal, private, federal, and state partners; the implementation of cross-system youth suicide prevention programming; and the expansion of child advocacy centers’ capacity to meet the needs of tribal communities.

In Memorium: Alan Rabideau

We at the National Native Children’s Trauma Center are deeply saddened by the loss of our colleague and friend, Alan Ray Rabideau, of the Sault St. Marie Tribe of Ojibwe, age 53. He passed on May 14, 2024, in his home community after battling cancer for several years. Alan was born on March 3rd, 1971, in Escanaba, Michigan, to James Stephen and Arlene Ramona (Souliere) Rabideau.  

When we think about Alan, these are some of the words that come to our minds: kind and gentle-hearted, caring, compassionate, genuine, helpful, passionate, committed, knowledgeable, generous, humble, engaging, fun loving, gracious, playful, a teacher, a friend, and a deep lover of life. He made friends wherever he went and made sure people knew they were appreciated and valued. 

 Our colleague, Shannon CrossBear, wrote the following tribute about Alan

 Alan Rabideau, Jawanodee inini, gentle hearted man, was a voice for what was, for many years, the voiceless; families that had children with social and/ or emotional needs. Alan and I began our friendship over twenty-five years ago. Alan cared for some boys in the community and became involved with the Systems of Care, a children’s mental health initiative. Early on it was clear that Alan would be a voice for families and their children interacting with systems: mental health, social service, justice, and educational systems. He made his life work about family driven, youth guided services in all communities across the country. While he was inclusive of all children and their families, he had a special focus on his tribal relatives. 

We worked together on a field team with the National Federation of Families for Children’s Mental Health providing Technical Assistance to communities on how to be a family driven community-based service provider and how best to engage and retain family voice to define, direct and evaluate services. After the funding of systems of care had run its course in his home community of Sault St. Marie Tribe of Ojibwe, he continued his work as an independent contractor. Alans dedication to the work was often times a feast or famine endeavor. Despite those challenges he continued to provide a haven for those in need along the way whether it was a wayward youth, a home less young adult or a disabled neighbor. Alan spoke often of his mother and would often attribute this generous spirit to her teachings. He was grounded in the traditional teaching of the Ojibwe peoples.  

This love and belief in the inherent wisdom of those traditional teachings led Alan to develop a training incorporating some of those teachings. The Four Directions teachings on discipline have had application in school, residential treatment, juvenile detention, and other settings. Through this and other work he found himself working with a number of Federal, State and Tribal initiatives as well as major universities. Alan was humble about his accomplishments and, as is often the case, an unsung hero in his own backyard. He was an educator and a skilled facilitator of change. Alan was quick to share his lived experience and through his storytelling could bring to life the practical application of the concepts he was teaching. Within recent years he found a home for his life work at the University of Montana when he joined the staff at the National Native Children’s Trauma Center. It was here that he entrusted the curriculum of the Four Directions with the hope that over time it would be part of an evidence-based array of services that could support families and their children. While he was serious about his work, he also had a remarkable sense of play. Whether it was a trip to the casino, sharing his love of sushi or an adventurous road trip, Alan could always be counted on to create a relevant story. He loved life deeply and stayed as long as he could. He left his legacy through the stories he created and shared with his friends and relatives. We are grateful and will remember. Through that remembering we will honor the time he shared with us on this earth walk.” 

All of us have learned so much from Alan and we will keep his lessons close to our hearts. We are committed to carrying on his valuable life’s work, something we know he has always wanted.  We have great love for Alan, we will miss him, and always remember him! 

Below, you will find a few resources that highlight some of Alan’s work at the National Native Children’s Trauma Center. 

Family Engagement in Schools 

Alan took part in work for the National Center for Youth, Opportunity and Justice. In this short video, Alan talks about the importance of understanding background and culture when connecting with the families of students.  

 

Trauma-Informed Practice Strategies to Support Youth Transitions 

In this webinar recording for the Capacity Building Center for Tribes, Alan Rabideau and NNCTC colleagues Laura Guay and Lisa Stark present on, “Trauma-informed Practice Strategies for Youth Transition”.  

 

Personal Balance Wheel Self-Assessment 

One of Alan’s legacies was his, “Walking the Four Directions,” curriculum. In the development of this, he created a Personal Balance Wheel tool that helps participants self-assess the balance in their lives among four domains (spiritual, emotional, physical, mental) using an Indigenous Framework commonly known as a “Medicine Wheel”. After some work with Alan and his colleague, Shannon CrossBear, the Fresno American Indian Health Project adapted his self-assessment to create another version, the Youth Personal Balance Tool

To learn more about the development process of this resource, take a look at this article, “Indigenous Youth-Developed Self-Assessment: The Personal Balance Tool.” 

 

Culture Protects Us 

 This NNCTC Blogpost highlights part of Alan’s Legacy, the, “Walking the Four Directions,” curricula.  It includes a short video of Alan’s colleague, Shannon CrossBear sharing some foundational teachings that are at the heart of “Walking the Four Directions”.  

Historical Trauma and Clinical Practice

Since our founding in 2006, the NNCTC has been part of many system-level, community-level, and national conversations about the role that historical trauma plays in the perpetuation of other traumas and in the overall mental health of Indigenous individuals, families, and communities. We are proud to have helped shine a light on this basic framework for understanding the experiences of many Indigenous communities and families, but we are also aware that little guidance exists in the psychological literature for engaging with clients on the subject of historical trauma. Clinicians may harm clients by dismissing or minimizing historical trauma as a factor in their wellbeing or the wellbeing of their families and communities. At the same time, practitioners may be unsure of how to inquire about the subject, especially if they do not share a cultural affiliation with their clients.

NNCTC’s Director, Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door, recently coauthored a chapter addressing this subject in the 7th Edition of Drs. John and Rita Sommers-Flanagan’s Clinical Interviewing, a leading textbook for psychology and clinical mental health graduate students. We encourage you to review the whole book, especially if you are an instructor who teaches the subject. Chapter 11, “Diagnosis and Treatment Planning,” features Dr. Rides At The Door’s contribution in a section on clinical interviewing about historical trauma. Her guidance includes adaptation of an interview guide offering lines of inquiry that may be appropriate for eliciting important information about a client’s individual, family, and community experiences connected with historical trauma.

The book is available for sale through the website of the publisher, John Wiley and Sons.

If you are aware of other resources that provide guidance for clinicians on historical trauma, or if you would like to talk further about this subject, please don’t hesitate to email Dr. Rides At The Door.  

The Road to Healing Is A Collective Journey

By Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door

Interior Secretary Deb Haaland and NNCTC Director Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door

On Sunday November 5th, I had the opportunity to travel to Bozeman, Montana, with two close friends to attend the last of Interior Secretary Deb Haaland’s Road to Healing events. The first Road to Healing event was held in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in July of last year. (Our colleague at NNCTC, Kimee Wind-Hummingbird, was in attendance.) Secretary Haaland and her team from the Interior Department have since held events in Michigan, South Dakota, Utah, Arizona, Washington, Minnesota, California, Alaska, and New Mexico.  

Media outlets commonly refer to the series of events as the Road to Healing “tour,” but I am not comfortable thinking of them in that way. That term brings to mind tourism, and it risks trivializing what happens at the events: survivors of boarding schools share their testimony about what they endured, while Secretary Haaland and her staff listen on behalf of the federal government. These accounts are recorded and documented for posterity as part of a larger oral history project the Department has undertaken. The oral histories and the Road to Healing events, in turn, are part of the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative, which represents the first-ever comprehensive effort by the U.S. government to document and acknowledge the devastating effects of the boarding school policies it put in place beginning in the early 1800s and lasting through the 1970s.  

Survivors have shared their stories about physical and sexual abuse; about violent suppression of traditional languages and cultural practices; about being separated from siblings and listening to other children crying in the night; and about how these sorrows have not faded with time and how some instances or objects such as lye soap serve as trauma reminders. As we know, these experiences continue to affect our communities across the generations. Traumas have been passed on from one generation to the next.  

So while I don’t like calling these listening sessions a “tour,” I believe that the events are accurately named. The sharing of stories, though extremely painful, indeed has the potential to contribute to a road to healing. By entering survivors’ accounts in the federal record, the U.S. government offers a direct acknowledgement of its crimes against us—a necessary step.  

My friends and I traveled to Bozeman because we wanted to be part of this journey. We took our seats in a ballroom on the Montana State University campus. The event began with the singing of an honor song. The President of MSU gave opening remarks and introduced Secretary Haaland who gave a short introduction to the Federal Boarding School Initiative, made some introductions of her staff, and talked about how her team’s primary function that day was to listen.  

Secretary Haaland instructed survivors to state the dates and locations of boarding schools they attended when sharing their experiences, and although her staffers were clearly documenting what was said, Secretary Haaland listened with a notebook and pen in hand. I felt that this demonstrated her commitment to actively listening and documenting. I came prepared to listen, as well. I wanted to listen and support the elders who were there to share their own stories. 

As the first survivor bravely shared their story of horrific abuses endured in boarding school, later life struggles with alcoholism, and eventual healing, allowing them to fulfil important cultural roles in the community, I began to understand the strength I needed—physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally—to continue listening. I summoned my strength. It was the least I could do. It was nothing compared to what these elders had experienced firsthand. As survivors continued to share stories, some of them sharing on their own, some as groups, I began to recognize that people’s experiences were unique to the specific boarding schools they attended as well as to the years of their attendance. We so often think of the boarding school experience as one experience, rather than as many different experiences. That is no doubt partly because these stories have never been systematically collected before.  

One common thread across specific locations and timelines was that many survivors recounted struggling in the aftermath of attending boarding schools before finding healing in later life, a crucial turning point which led to their becoming advocates for cultural revitalization and protectors of the subsequent generations of children in their communities. I wondered about those who had not lived long enough, or who had not been able to travel to one of these events, to tell their stories. What could we have learned about their experiences if they were here to tell us about them? We will never know. Likewise, we will never know the stories of those children who did not live to tell their stories, whose bodies were often buried on the grounds of their schools. It overwhelmed me to think how recent the experiences I was hearing about were. These were atrocities that continued to happen in our modern world, until not long before I was born, not in some distant historical time.  

Even hearing the survivors’ stories, hearing them explain that they had overcome those unbearable experiences, I still could not fathom how they had done it. My thoughts kept cycling from the experiences that the survivors were recounting, back to my grandparents and their experiences, and then back to the present stories. Several times I thought how what might help the survivors in that moment as they were sharing would be if the rest of us could all somehow encircle them or somehow signal our physical support. 

The story of one survivor in particular touched my heart because I knew her professionally. She had attended several NNCTC trainings over the years, trainings where we always talked about historical and intergenerational trauma. I wondered what she must have felt, sitting in those trainings and listening to people like me, who had not experienced these things firsthand, talk about these experiences that she knew intimately and had struggled to overcome. It made me think about the way we at the NNCTC, as well as the wider circle of professionals we interact with in the National Child Traumatic Stress Network, label and discuss historical trauma. I know that because of this testimony, I will be thinking about my work in a different way for the foreseeable future.  

As that day’s session drew to a close, descendants of survivors and Indigenous leaders in state and Tribal governments spoke about potential legislation, advocated for support, and directly pressed the Department of the Interior about recent and continuing instances of injustice and harm over which they have presided. This part of the day’s dialogue coalesced into a shared wondering about what would happen now that the Road to Healing listening sessions were ending. Would the government be taking any actions in response to all of this? Would any changes occur?  

In her closing remarks, Secretary Haaland shared her own family’s boarding school experiences and was emotional in thanking her staff for being so passionate and supportive in this initiative. She assured the audience that they would be utilizing what they have learned to take action. She did not provide any specifics, though.  

I only briefly interacted with Secretary Haaland, posing for a picture and making small talk. But between this interaction, the words she shared, and my observations of her during the event, I came away hopeful. I got the sense that she cared deeply and knew it was important as an Indigenous person to ensure that the Federal Boarding School Initiative will lead to further action. I also came away thankful that, at her urging, this opportunity to share and listen to survivors’ testimony had occurred.  

In fact, it seemed a shame that these Road to Healing events were ending. Ideally, I thought, they would continue to occur at the community level, led by and on behalf of communities themselves, since each of our Tribal communities has its own stories about boarding schools and intergenerational trauma. At the same time, I recognized that the presence of a high-ranking representative of the federal government had provided an additional layer of validation for survivors who were sharing their stories, and it also created the possibility for systemic change. I thought about how it might be easier to maintain my hope that the government would in fact create positive change if representatives of other agencies had been there. Unfortunately, the Department of the Interior—the lone federal agency led by an Indigenous person—was the only one represented.  

On the car ride home, my friends and I talked about all of those survivors we didn’t get to hear from, either because they had not lived long enough for this moment of reckoning or because they had not been able to make the trip. We wanted to hear more, in particular, about survivors of missionary boarding schools, a perspective that wasn’t represented during the event. We also talked about how despite knowing several of the survivors either socially or through our work, none of us had ever talked about their boarding school experiences with them before. And we talked about how the three of us in the car were close friends but had never talked about our own family members’ boarding school experiences.

As we began to share these stories now, processing our past silences and our current feelings, we began to grapple with the question of what each of us could do now to create positive change. I knew that the following day, I would be speaking to a group of counselors, supporting them as they attempted to address historical trauma in their counseling work. I am privileged to be able to do this work, but all three of us were wondering about something more. I was personally thinking about learning my own language and more about my culture and trying to understand what else I could do to pass this on to my daughter and the next generation.

The road to healing is long, my friends and I agreed, and it is not a straight line or a quick journey. We have to cope with our own continual risk of trauma, grief, and loss, experiences that may interrupt or slow our individual journeys. If many of us are simultaneously contending with similar disruptions, it may seem there is no road at all, and hope can be hard to find. We have to collectively remember that healing is not only possible but probable, and we have to remain mindful of the ways our families and communities have continually survived and found healing over the generations. Thankfully this journey is one we do not have to take alone.

The Brackeen Case and the Mobilization of the ICWA Warriors

By Kimee Wind-Hummingbird

On November 9, 2022, the U.S. Supreme Court heard oral arguments in Haaland v. Brackeen, a case in which the constitutionality of the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) was at issue. This case posed one of the most serious threats to ICWA in decades, as well as threatening to undermine Tribal sovereignty more generally. Ultimately the Supreme Court reaffirmed ICWA’s constitutionality, but the journey toward that decision was a fraught one for many citizens of Native nations and advocates for Tribal sovereignty and self-determination. As we approach the one-year anniversary of those decisive oral arguments, and the 45th anniversary of President Carter signing the ICWA into law, the NCARC asked one of our staff members, Kimee Wind-Hummingbird, to reflect on her experience as part of a national network of ICWA advocates who followed the Brackeen case closely prior to the Supreme Court decision.  

Shannon Smith, Anita Fineday, Kimee, and other ICWA Warriors waiting in line at the Supreme Court.

On June 15, 2023, the news finally came. Most everyone I know in Indian Country had been anxiously holding their breath since November 9, 2022, when the U.S. Supreme Court heard oral arguments in Haaland v. Brackeen, the case that threatened to invalidate the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA). I opened my laptop that June morning with apprehension, a feeling shared by a lot of my friends and colleagues. We had hope but little confidence that we would get the kind of ruling we were wanting so badly, an opinion affirming the constitutionality of ICWA. Those of us who have been involved in the constant battle to defend and promote our nations’ sovereignty and right to self-determination always hope for the best as we prepare for the worst. 

In order to understand why this moment meant so much to me and to other people who work on behalf of our Native nations’ children and families, you need to understand how we got to this moment in history. ICWA was enacted in 1978 to begin the process of remedying more than 100 years of government-sanctioned destruction of Native nations and families, using the separation of our children from their families and communities as a means to the end of getting rid of us as Peoples. This happened first through the removals of children to abusive and traumatizing boarding schools and then, once the boarding school era ended, through a continued governmental campaign of mass removals of our nations’ children from their families by outside agencies.  

ICWA was intended to remedy these atrocities and provide the legal framework necessary to prevent unwarranted removals of “Indian children” (as they are defined by law) from their homes. The law’s key features include the establishment of placement preferences prioritizing connection to family and Tribe, as well as a requirement that child protection caseworkers provide “active efforts” to keep children in their homes and connected to their families, communities, and cultures whenever it is safe to do so. This requirement exceeds state laws already requiring “reasonable efforts” to support families. Because of this requirement for a higher threshold of supports, ICWA is widely regarded as the gold standard for child welfare laws.   

The battle to defend our families and prevent the unwarranted removal of our children from their homes and Nations didn’t end with the enactment of ICWA, however. Since 1978, year after year, our children have continued to be disproportionately represented in both the foster care and the juvenile justice systems. The practice of excessive removal of our children persists today, often in situations when child welfare professionals do not understand ICWA or the intent behind its passing.   

Having worked in Indian Child Welfare since 1999, I know what the fight to ensure that ICWA is correctly implemented looks like in day-to-day practice. I remember one of the first cases that allowed me to see how ICWA can be used to overcome resistance from others in order to reunite children with their families and communities. This case involved a grandmother who lived on a reservation some distance from the city in which her grandchildren were living at the time of their removal. My office, accompanied by our Native nation’s prosecutor, informed the court during regular review hearings that the grandmother was being certified by our nation. Once that process was complete, we would be requesting that the children be moved from their current placement, which was not ICWA-compliant, to their grandmother’s care. When the grandmother was certified and we requested the change of placement, the state resisted, even though this placement was exactly aligned with the spirit and intent of ICWA. Fortunately, the judge was receptive to our arguments and faithfully adhered to ICWA. I will always remember the joy on those siblings’ faces when we drove them to their beloved grandmother’s home just a few short weeks later.  

Every time a child is reunited with their family, community, and culture thanks to ICWA, the child benefits from the nourishing connections that come along with this reunification, and the rest of us profit from the child’s presence as a valued member of the community. Each child plays a role in ensuring the survival of our families, communities, cultures, and nations. Conversely, every time a child is denied these relationships with their family, community, culture, and nation, we lose a piece of our future. Without our children, we have no future. 

Kimee and Rosa Alvarez in front of the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans.

I recall when I first heard of the Brackeen case. It was late 2017, and I was the Director of the Muscogee Nation’s Children and Family Services Administration, which encompassed the Indian Child Welfare Programs including the State Reunification and Permanency Team that was responsible for monitoring compliance with ICWA. I was in Washington, D.C., at a gathering of Native leaders and ICW Directors supported by the ICW division of Casey Family Programs. At a portion of that meeting reserved for policy updates, an attorney began to discuss the dynamics of this new case, how it posed a real risk to ICWA, and how it was being supported by the State of Texas. The case involved the adoption of a Navajo/Cherokee child by a non-Indian couple. Texas’ challenge to ICWA centered on claims that the potential adoptive couple was being discriminated against because of their race and that, in their opinion, ICWA was ignoring the best interest of the child. There wasn’t much time between this meeting and the upcoming hearing in Texas, but the attorney impressed on us all how important it was that we mobilize support for ICWA quickly.  

Those of us present at that meeting did our best to inform as many of the other ICW Directors across the country as we could about this case, as well as Tribal leaders and Representatives. Momentum for the fight grew quickly. The first Tribal amicus brief submitted for the case in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Texas was supported by 123 Native nations and was filed on May 25, 2018. I was happy to have played a role assisting with that effort and proud of my nation for being one of the signatories.  

That joy didn’t last long. In early October 2018, the District Court opinion held much of ICWA unconstitutional. The judge reasoned that because ICWA allows placement preferences for Native families, the law was based on race.  

As every citizen of a Native nation knows, federal Indian law is not race-based. It is based on the unique political status of each sovereign nation. A sovereign Tribe or Native nation determines what is best for its citizens, and in turn, those citizens have certain rights and protections, thanks to their Tribal membership. Tribal sovereignty frequently involves entering into government-to-government agreements with the U.S., with states, and with other sovereign nations. These agreements are based on a recognition that Tribes, as political entities with sovereign powers over, and responsibilities toward, their members, long predated the establishment of the United States and of individual states. ICWA guarantees that Tribal sovereignty is recognized on matters related to our children and families. Protections for children occur based on the legal definition of an Indian child—a definition rooted in eligibility for Tribal membership—rather than on the basis of racial identity.  

It is a lack of understanding of Tribal sovereignty and of the political rather than racial definition of the term “Indian” in federal law that we were trying to fight in our ICWA awareness campaign. It was demoralizing, to say the least, to see that the Texas ruling was based entirely on this sort of misconception. If the ruling stood, Native nations might be at risk of seeing their sovereignty threatened in other arenas, too.  

In the wake of that opinion, Native nations knew we needed to prepare for a lengthy, high-stakes fight. This was a fight for the literal lives of our children, as well as for the preservation of our communities and nations. We redoubled our efforts to bring people together. There were monthly calls facilitated by national organizations focused on Tribal law and Indian Child Welfare. At most major national Native gatherings of that time, discussion regularly came back to the need to educate the general public about ICWA. Sarah Kastelic and her team at the National Indian Child Welfare Association were hugely influential, as was Dan Lewerenz and his crew at the Native American Rights Fund. At National Congress of American Indians quarterly meetings, I recall many of our ICWA workgroups being almost entirely focused on the Brackeen case.  

I also want to note how much of the work of organizing happened at the ground level. As the Director of my Native nation’s ICW Program, I invited our public relations teams to be a part of many of these meetings so they could help with messaging, and of course our Office of Attorneys General were right there with us, staying abreast of the news that came through frequent group emails and calls. The then-Chief of the Muscogee Nation, James Floyd, has always understood the importance of ICWA, and his leadership set the tone for the programs of the nation to stay informed and to continue doing whatever they could to support ICWA. We met often to ensure that any media releases and our public conversations were effective and offered the needed education about ICWA. I know that across Indian Country, the same thing was happening within many other nations.  

The coordinated response I saw across Indian Country to educate others was exciting to witness and be a part of. And it paid off. An unheard-of 325 Native Nations came together to join the amicus brief in support of ICWA for the appeal of the Texas ruling, which was heard in March 2019 at the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans. I traveled there from Oklahoma with a dear friend, a Cherokee ICWA attorney whose personal and professional journeys have both been deeply intertwined with the law and its implementation. She and I felt it was important that we attend. I felt that by being in the courtroom, we would provide a visual reminder to those on the other side of the gallery that our children are loved and that the law impacts real people like us. It was good to see some of the ICWA warriors I had been in meetings with over the last year present in the courtroom, as well.  

My friend and I were joined in the front row by another friend, a Navajo attorney who had spent several years working ICWA cases. The fact that the child in this case was both Navajo and Cherokee was not lost on me, especially in that moment. We settled in, not knowing what might take place. We received a glimmer of hope when Judge Priscilla Owen stopped Kyle Hawkins, the Texas Solicitor General who opposed ICWA, mid-sentence when he used the term “our children.” The Judge said, “You used the word ‘your children’. . .They are not your children, necessarily. If they are members of the Tribe, they’re members of the Tribe before they’re your children.” 

Hearing those words came as a big relief and gave us some hope that Judge Owen was well versed in ICWA or at least understood Tribal sovereignty. I wanted to shout, “MVTO!” (“Thank you” in Muscogee), but I settled for a low-five with my Cherokee friend on one side and my Navajo friend on the other, discreetly keeping our hands down by the courtroom benches so we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. We left those oral arguments feeling optimistic. And we were elated when, in August 2019, the three-judge panel issued their findings that ICWA was not based on race but on the political status of Indian children. This was great news. However, the opinion raised additional questions about ICWA that we knew would have to be decided on appeal, and an appeal would mean that the more basic questions would likely be reopened, too.  

So we enjoyed that moment while waiting for the other shoe to drop, and soon enough, it did. The Fifth Circuit opinion was appealed, as we had expected. However, instead of appealing to the U.S. Supreme Court, the plaintiffs requested an en banc hearing in front of all 16 of the Fifth Circuit Court’s Judges. So we dove back into our messaging and information-sharing campaigns, preparing now for the new hearing, scheduled for January 2020. This time, the Tribal amicus brief was supported by 486 Nations.  

Again, I felt compelled to be in the courtroom, showing the Judges that Native people  care deeply about the protections of our children and families. Admission to the courtroom was tightly limited. A friend made sure to get a ticket for me, and inside, I saw lots of familiar faces. I had a great view of the courtroom and of all the key players, and as the oral arguments progressed, this began to be a source of distress. Watching the body language of some of the judges on the panel, I became convinced that several of them were reacting negatively—shaking heads, folding their arms, falling back into their chairs in disbelief—to any pro-ICWA arguments.  

Jack Troupe and Kimee outside the 5th Circuit courtroom.

Also, the line of questioning in this case felt different. Although the attorneys were passionately presenting their arguments, I felt that their key points were not being heard. I specifically remember one of the judges posing a hypothetical question about “Indians” getting special treatment, and she wanted to know if this special treatment would hypothetically apply to situations where Indian people got DUIs. I looked at the Cherokee friend I was sitting next to and whispered, “Did she just say that out loud?” As the attorney who was defending ICWA tried to nudge her back on course, the judge said something that seemed sarcastic about how “the Indians are like the ancient Romans, who carried Roman law with them wherever they went.”i I could only imagine what she was implying, but I felt pretty sure I knew her thoughts on ICWA.  

When the pro-ICWA attorney was asked why the state couldn’t decide what was in the best interest of its citizens, his argument ended with the reminder that “from the beginning of the Republic, as the amicus briefs in this case show, from the beginning of the Republic, Indian children have been the subject of policymaking and legislation by the federal government.” That point resonated so strongly with me, I felt a glimmer of hope that it would resonate with the Judges, too. But as I searched their faces, that glimmer quickly faded. I was afraid many of them might have had their minds made up about ICWA before the arguments began.  

As we waited for the opinion to be released, the world shut down due to COVID. It wasn’t until April 6, 2021 that we heard from the Fifth Circuit again. It wasn’t all bad, but their opinion did hold that some aspects of ICWA were unconstitutional. Now the big question was whether the case would be appealed to and ultimately decided by the U.S. Supreme Court.  

Meanwhile, I had personally moved on from my capacity with the Muscogee Nation to a position with the National Native Children’s Trauma Center. In this new venture, I found myself able to educate people on a national level about ICWA. I talked about how ICWA is based on the political status of a child determined to be an Indian child, as well as about ICWA’s specific requirements about placement preferences and its insistence that the state provide “active efforts” in working with caregivers. My experience continued to be that even when I was talking to very knowledgeable, well-meaning people in fields like child welfare and juvenile justice, there was a need to continue spreading these messages, because not enough people fully grasp them.  

As I settled into my new role, the news came that the Supreme Court had granted certiorari and would hear oral arguments in Brackeen. We knew way back in 2018, prior to the first oral arguments in Texas, that the case was going to be pivotal in determining what the future would look like for our families, communities, and Nations. Now it was official: the Supreme Court was poised either to uphold federal Indian law as we knew it, or to undermine it and send shock waves through our families, communities, and nations.  

The stakes could not have been any higher, and the dedicated messaging, outreach, and education push continued. When the deadline arrived for submitting amicus briefs in the fall of 2022, an unprecedented 497 Native Nations had joined the brief supporting ICWA.  

I traveled to Washington, D.C., to watch the oral argument on this case. I felt like I had come too far and invested too much mental and emotional energy not to be present for this last showing of unity in support of ICWA. Five friends and I—all of us with backgrounds in ICW departments, Tribal leadership, or federal Indian law—gathered on the plaza in front of the Supreme Court building at 5 a.m. on that cold morning in November. The line to attend oral arguments is first-come, first-served, and as the sun came out and others showed up, the line stretched around the side of the building. We enjoyed visiting with familiar faces as we patiently waited to see who would get in. But it was not to be for our group. The line to enter was cut off three people in front of me—they were not allowing anyone else in.  

We didn’t have time to dwell on our disappointment, though, because once that part of the morning was over, we got swept up in the pro-ICWA crowd, who were there to show their love and support outside. We had a backup plan, too: we knew that another group of supporters would be listening to the oral arguments together at a local hotel.  

The oral arguments went long: three hours instead of two. There were some welcome surprises in terms of the lines of questioning we heard. It was hard to tell from the audio of the oral arguments how much enthusiasm was warranted. It did seem that some of the justices’ questions and comments indicated that they had done their homework and really sought to understand ICWA’s historical context, purpose, and the effects it has on our families and communities. But like I say, we were planning for the worst even as we were hoping for the best.  

As the weeks and months passed while we waited for the Court’s opinion, many of us across Indian Country discussed what we would do to pursue the goals embodied by ICWA if the law were to be struck down. One encouraging development was that multiple state legislatures began moving quickly to codify protections for Tribal children and families in the form of state-level ICW laws. Still, there were so many unknowns. The day after the Supreme Court ruling, we knew we would still be doing whatever we could to protect our children and families. But what would that work look like? There was no way to tell.  

Flash forward to the morning of June 15, 2023. It all happened at once. At the same time that I pulled up the SCOTUS blog, a popular online forum offering news and analysis related to the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS), and began to read the Brackeen opinion, my phone blew up with texts, emails, and calls from other ICWA warriors. A sudden flurry of emotions overwhelmed me as I tried to read the news stories and respond to the texts: the Supreme Court had upheld ICWA in its entirety!  

It took me a while to be able to put that moment into words. In fact, one of the most memorable aspects of that morning was precisely that experience of not having any words to describe what I was feeling. A friend I met doing ICWA work about 15 years ago called me as we both were still digesting the news, and the two of us just sat on the phone in complete silence. Neither of us could formulate any words for quite some time, nor did we need to explain why there weren’t any words. I think about that phone call often, and without a doubt, I will always remember it.  

The main expressions I think of now, when I think of that morning, are excitement and relief. Excitement at the fact that what we had hoped would be true seemed to have turned out to be true: if people really make an effort to understand what ICWA is all about, then they will value it the way we do. The reason I felt relief is probably obvious. I have invested my life in this fight, as have so many of the strongest and most generous, loving, and caring people I know.  

That was a day for celebration and for celebratory conversations with ICWA advocates. Then Friday morning came, and it was right back to the grind. ICWA survived. That battle has been won for now. But the battle to ensure that ICWA is implemented properly on behalf of our children, families, communities, and nations continues.  

The U.S. Supreme Court at 5 a.m.

Commemorating Indigenous People’s Day 2023

Ethleen Iron Cloud-Two Dogs (Oglala Lakota) and Shannon Crossbear (Ojibwe), Cultural Consultants for the NNCTC, draw on their knowledge of their own Tribal cultures to advise our Center and our partners on strength-based approaches to promoting resilience. We invited Ethleen and Shannon to share any reflections they might have on the occasion of Indigenous People’s Day (October 9, 2023) as it relates to our work at NNCTC. 

Ethleen Iron Cloud-Two Dogs

Shannon Crossbear

Ethleen’s Reflection 

When marking Indigenous People’s Day last year, President Biden said, “We honor the sovereignty, resilience, and immense contributions that Native Americans have made to the world; and we recommit to upholding our solemn trust and treaty responsibilities to Tribal Nations, strengthening our Nation-to-Nation ties.” These are important thoughts, and I am glad to hear them coming from the highest levels of the federal government. As we know, the government has not always spoken in this way about Indigenous people and Tribal Nations. Tragically, many of our relatives still carry the spirit burden of the trauma, grief, and loss from generations past, and the effects on the children and youth continue to be devastating.

Indigenous people everywhere acknowledge, appreciate, and honor their precious and beautiful cultural lifeways that have been sustained for thousands of years amidst horrendous histories of trauma. At NNCTC, our training and technical assistance approach is grounded in the belief that these lifeways are at the heart of resilience. Indigenous nations have the answers to how to heal those intergenerational wounds.

NNCTC seeks to engage with Indigenous people and nations as relatives, honoring the cultural and spiritual lifeways that were gifted by the Creator. I was pleased to see this conception of relatives expressed in the popular TV series Reservation Dogs, when one of the characters says, “I’m your grandson, even if I’m not.” I felt the same thing recently when visiting with some youth who were detained in a Tribal juvenile detention center. I told those young people, “I’m your grandmother, even if we’re not blood related. We still belong to each other. We’re human relatives.” Such sentiments—“We are all related”—are common among many Indigenous nations. This is a way of promoting and modeling healing: to treat one another as relatives. This goes for human relatives, four-legged relatives, winged relatives, and plant relatives. The healing energy that is produced compounds and becomes active in every interaction or encounter.

As we celebrate Indigenous People’s Day this autumn, I am also thinking about how people historically lived according to a seasonal and spiritual calendar. They knew when to do what because they were in tune with the universe and understood they needed to be a respectful relative who contributed to a healthy ecosystem so that all living entities could thrive in a healing environment. This makes me think of a discussion that my Ojibwe relative and colleague Shannon had recently about the importance of food sovereignty and, more specifically, how her culture includes respect for the water and the “food that grew upon the water”: wild rice. Let’s hear more from Shannon about that.

 

Shannon’s Reflection 

It is dagwagin, autumn, in the lands of the Ojibwe peoples, and the gathering of the wild rice has just finished for the year. Now the bragging about the success of individuals’ or families’ harvests has begun, along with comparisons of flavors and types, short or long grain, dark or light. There is the selling and trading and eating. Feasting and eating! 

In recent years we have heard more and more about food sovereignty and its importance to our Indigenous communities. When Europeans reached these shores, the reports were of healthy and robust peoples. There were many Western accounts describing the conditions of communities that were self-sustaining. So how is it that communities sustained by generations of hunting and gathering became the food deserts of the continent? How is it that we ended up with some of the highest percentages of diabetes and kidney failure? Between the devastation of food sources such as the buffalo and beaver and government policies meant to starve Indigenous nations into compliance, we found ourselves reliant on food sources such as those that were provided by the federal government. Even the precious corn of the southwest has been manipulated, controlled, altered, and commodified. In the process, it has become less healthy. Now, Tribe by Tribe, nation by nation, we must reclaim the sovereignty and health of our people. 

Within a worldview that encompasses all things being related, we cannot separate our stories, our spirituality, our physicality, and our reliance on and relationship with our food sources. Food enables us to acquire and maintain what the Ojibwe peoples refer to as mino bimaadazawin: a good life path, wellness, and well-being. Whether it be the buffalo, the salmon, the squash, or the rice, we all have stories that describe how that food source fits into our cosmology. 

Let us use the manoomin, wild rice, as an example. The stories about how the Ojibwe came to this part of the country are intertwined with wild rice. It is said that we originally came from the east and that this journey took place prior to European contact. We traveled in a large group and our destination was to be where the food grew upon the water. We were told the food source would sustain us through the harsh winters or when the game was in short supply. We were told to develop a relationship with the wild rice, to allow it to teach us. After generations we finally settled into what was to become our homelands. The place where the food grew upon the water. The Lake Superior Ojibwe were home.

We subsequently learned and honored the relationship with wild rice. Wild rice, in turn, provided, and continues to provide us, with healing and health. We learned how to harvest in a manner that was in alignment with natural law. We became the caretakers of the rice, and the rice cared for us. We have never wavered from that sacred responsibility, and today there are those who are fighting for rice. They understand that the health of rice reflects the health of the people.

It is an Indigenous value to care for our food sources. These teachings are incorporated into our very way of living. Preparing for the gathering of the rice. Getting the canoe ready. Scouting out the ripeness of the rice. Deciding where and when to rice. Preparing your thoughts and mind and heart to be with the rice. It is in these moments that generational knowledge is transferred. The knowledge about what to gather and what to leave behind for reseeding. Our physical being is cared for in the labor of carrying a canoe and using the knocking poles. It strengthens biceps and core. There is the dancing on the rice, the winnowing, and the processing that adds to our physical strength. “Ricing” requires more than one person, so it creates community connection. 

It is in everyday actions that we can include cultural teachings and build upon ancestral wisdom. Recently, I was facilitating a small energizing exercise for a group. We played out some of the actions of ricing to stretch our bodies. I provided a few stories about the wild rice process and the Ojibwe. We had a chance to stretch our minds and learn something. When we got back to work, we did so with a renewed spirit. 

How do we decolonize? Talking at the tables where we share food is wonderful. Especially if it is in our respective languages. Gathering the wild rice to serve at the table is even better. I will bring the rice, I will have my Lakota relatives bring the buffalo, my Dine’ relatives bring the corn, and we will round it out with some sweet maple from our relatives from grandmother country. 

Indigenous Nations are honored on this day, October 9, 2023.  However, we know that we have paid a heavy price for this accolade and that our battle for healing for our children, youth, families, and communities will rage on. At the same time, we revel in the fact that many Indigenous nations still have their language, their ceremonies, their custom, and most of all hopes and prayers that healing is possible. On this day, I would like to suggest that we take a “device detox” day, putting down our technology and taking part in a healing activity, whatever that may be, because we all deserve healing.


 

We invited our relatives on our NNCTC team to respond to the following prompt: What three words come to mind when you think about Indigenous Peoples, and Indigenous Peoples’ Day? We used those responses to create this word cloud.


 

 

We Are Hiring!

The National Native Children’s Trauma Center (NNCTC) invites applications for a Child Advocacy Center Training and Technical Assistance Specialist for its Native Child Advocacy Resource Center. The Native Child Advocacy Resource Center (NCARC) develops resources and provides training and technical assistance to Tribes interested in developing Multidisciplinary Teams (MDTs) and Child Advocacy Centers (CACs) for the investigation and prosecution of child maltreatment, as well as to non-Tribal CACs that serve American Indian and Alaska Native (AI/AN) children and families.

Check out the University of Montana Job Announcements posting for more information.  Application Deadline: Thursday, October 19th.

The National Children’s Alliance Announces Request for Proposals to Expand CACS in AI/AN Communities

Important Dates. Application Deadline 8/31/23; AI/AN Live Q & A 8/3/23 16:00 EDT; Period of Performance 1/1/24 - 6/30/25

The National Children’s Alliance (NCA), under a cooperative agreement with the United States Department of Justice, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention (OJJDP), is now accepting applications for the 2024 National Subgrants Programs.

This is an exciting opportunity to access funds in order to expand Child Advocacy Center (CAC) services to American Indian tribal areas and Alaska Native villages to better meet the needs of child victims and their families living on tribal lands, Alaskan villages and more remote areas not easily accessible to CACs. 

The Native Child Advocacy Resource Center (NCARC) is a program of the National Native Children’s Trauma Center.

We provide:  

  • training and technical assistance on the formation and accreditation of Multidisciplinary Teams (MDTs) and CACs which are trauma-informed and culturally grounded;  

  • guidance on building authentic partnerships with Native nations; and 

  • connection with a peer network of CACs/MDTs run by Native nations and those who partner with them. 

We are here to offer support. Please reach out to me if you have any questions about the application, process, or how child advocacy centers can improve services to children and families in your community.

Best,

Deanna Chancellor, NCARC Project Director

deanna.chancellor@mso.umt.edu

Free Training Opportunity: Classroom-Based Trauma and Resiliency Interventions for Teachers and School Counselors

The NNCTC is offering a free, 2-day training event at the University of Montana in Missoula on July 18 and 19. The training will cover BounceBack for Classrooms and Students, Trauma, and Resiliency, NNCTC adaptations of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy approaches for promoting resilience and recovery at a universal or whole-school level.

Bounce Back for Classrooms, an adaptation of the trauma-focused group counseling intervention Bounce Back (Langley & Jaycox, 2015), is a social and emotional learning (SEL) curriculum based on cognitive behavioral therapy components designed for 2nd  through 5th grades. Students, Trauma, and Resiliency (STAR) is a SEL curriculum designed for middle school and high school students. The intention for both curricula is to be facilitated in the classroom setting by teachers or school counselors to support students in understanding and mitigating the effects of stress and traumatic stress, fostering hope, and building skills that promote healing and resilience. The curricula are one element of a multi-tiered trauma-informed school system as a Tier 1 or universal strategy suitable for all students.

Lesson topics include: the body’s danger response, signs of stress and trauma, connections between thoughts/feelings/behaviors, identifying feelings in self and others, measuring intensity levels of feelings, regulating feelings, identifying helpful and unhelpful thoughts, generating helpful thoughts, social problem-solving, and identifying resources of support.

Bounce Back for Classrooms curriculum takes 12-16 weeks to implement. STAR takes 8-12 weeks to implement.

The training is free of charge, but participants will need to cover their own travel expenses.

If you are interested in attending please register using the following link:

https://umt.co1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_0kvhLeN0cIl7DFA

For more information, contact the trainers:

Debra Hallos: debra.hallos@mso.umt.edu

Amy Foster Wolferman: amy.FosterWolferman@mso.umt.edu

Announcing a New Collection of Nation Building and Trauma-Informed Tribal Community Development Resources

by Fred Fisher

I came to the National Native Children’s Trauma Center (NNCTC) two years ago with the goal of contributing to the Center’s efforts at preventing trauma in Tribal communities. The approach I brought to the NNCTC is one that I developed working with state agencies and nonprofits in Montana and then during my 15 years at Casey Family Programs, working nationally at the intersection of Tribal human services and community development.

In my early work in Montana, attempting to coordinate the delivery of prevention services across systems ranging from maternal and child health to highway traffic safety, our team’s working definition of prevention was “creating conditions in communities that improve the safety, health, and well-being of children and families.” I joined Casey in 1996, honored to work for an organization whose mission is “to provide and improve — and ultimately prevent the need for — foster care.” But it was the last part of this mission—preventing the need for foster care—that formed the core of my work. As Casey’s first Community Development Director and later as a Casey Fellow at USDA Rural Development and the Center for Indian Country Development at the Federal Reserve in Minneapolis, I developed an appreciation of how social determinants of health routinely result in entanglement with the child welfare system. I also learned that trauma-informed principles are an important lens through which a community can reconstruct itself into a “Community of Hope” through a sustained focus on equity.

Upon leaving Casey and returning to my home state of Montana, I hoped to pass along some of what I had learned along the way to an organization that might be able to carry this work forward. I have had the opportunity to do this as a Tribal Community Development Consultant at the NNCTC. In that capacity, I am delighted today to introduce a set of resources that I hope will live on as I wind down my tenure with the NNCTC: a Native Nation Building resource hub that will be part of the NNCTC’s website for years to come.

This collection of resources is the product of two years of collaboration between the NNCTC, the Native Nations Institute, and Casey Family Programs. Our goal was to develop a multi-faceted collection of resources that would not merely deepen the understanding of the insecurities that so many American Indian and Alaska Native children and families experience daily, but that would also point the way toward sustainable solutions. These solutions are rooted in Tribal sovereignty, self-determination, and effective governance, and they apply to all aspects of child, family, and community well-being. Rather than responses to trauma that occur after the fact or in siloed systems that focus on imposing mandates or culturally inappropriate interventions on Native families, the solutions I want to celebrate represent upstream approaches that are derived from the strengths inherent in Tribal cultures and that work across systems to create pathways to success and opportunity.

I encourage you to read through all of the articles on the different sub-pages of the resource hub, but I want to draw your attention to a few personal highlights that illustrate some of what we hope to achieve with this collection.

On the “General Connections” page, where our goal was to lay out some basic concepts and guiding principles for the overall collection, Stephen Cornell and Joseph Kalt’s “Two Approaches to the Development of Native Nations: One Works, the Other Doesn't” is a must-read. This article provides an introduction to the concept and principles of Nation Building with detailed examples of how diverse tribes have found sustainable success using this approach. Another important introductory piece, “The Context and Meaning of Family Strengthening in Indian Country” by Amy Beesaw, Joseph Kalt, and other collaborators, shows that sustained progress in improving outcomes for Native children and their families is possible when decision-making concerning families and children are Native-driven, sanctioned by Tribal leaders, and culturally responsive. 

I would also like to highlight the collection of articles that focus on “The Role of Culture.” Culture influences all aspects of life in Tribal Nations, of course, and it does so in limitless ways: through language, tradition, spirituality, a shared world view, and through the many large and small interactions that give meaning to community life and the experiences of children and families. Culture should, accordingly, be a central component of effective Nation Building. Among the culture-focused articles in the collection, one of my favorites is the Native Nations Institute’s profile of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy’s success at engaging the entire community in its initiative to improve outcomes for their youth through the restoration of traditional Mohawk rites of passage, practices, and teachings with the goal of strengthening their cultural knowledge, self-confidence, and leadership skills. Attention to Tribal cultures isn’t limited to one page of the collection, however. Across topic areas, articles provide examples of how Tribal Nations have incorporated culture into specific programs and policies.

In the section of the collection that focuses on Housing, we make the point that housing security is associated with improved well-being. The case study from the Native Nations Institute on the Tsigo bugeh Village Ohkay Development by the Ohkay Owingeh Housing Authority illustrates how cultural responsiveness can be intentionally embedded into the design of housing. Tsigo bugeh Village, conceived of as “traditional living with a modern touch,” answered the Tribe’s urgent housing demands with 40 units for single and multi-generational living in a modern design that echoes millennia of traditional Pueblo living.

In addressing the subject of Health, we wanted to show that a focus on social determinants of health can yield more benefits than an exclusive focus on the health care delivery system. I would draw your attention to the article by O’Keefe, Cwik, and others called “Increasing Culturally Responsive Care and Mental Health Equity with Indigenous Community Mental Health Workers,” which shows one way that Tribes can exercise their sovereignty and self-governance to develop sustainable solutions to the unmet physical, dental, and mental health needs of children and families.

We hope that this collection of resources will be useful to Tribal leaders, administrators, and agency staff. We also hope that it might resonate with public policy makers, instructors, students, and anyone else who might be looking for new ways of understanding and redefining the root causes of trauma, loss, child maltreatment, food insecurity, housing insecurity, and other issues that too many communities today struggle to remedy. Ultimately, my hope is that policymakers and leaders across Indian Country and the U.S. will embrace trauma-informed principles that respond to questions such as: “What can we do to eliminate the conditions in the community that commonly result in trauma?” and “What can we do to build and sustain resilience at the community level?” We have tried to locate and share the best currently available material on the most pressing topics for many Tribal communities, but we are also aware that there may be perspectives we have missed and resources that we have failed to include. We invite all readers to help us improve and expand upon this collection over time by providing NNCTC with feedback and suggestions.

Recent Publication on Indigenous Wellness

NNCTC Director Maegan Rides At The Door and coauthor Sidney Shaw recently published “The Other Side of the ACEs Pyramid: A Healing Framework for Indigenous Communities,” in the International Journal for Environmental Research and Public Health.

The authors propose a new visual aid for conceptualizing Indigenous wellness, by contrast with the deficit-based “ACEs Pyramid.” Their holistic Indigenous Wellness Pyramid identifies pathways toward healing starting with a foundation of broad-based community healing and empowerment. The article offers examples, supporting research, and implications for implementing the Indigenous Wellness Pyramid.

Trauma-Informed Supervision in Tribal Child Welfare

Join the NNCTC and our partners at the Child Welfare Capacity Building Center for Tribes for a two-part webinar on trauma-informed tribal child welfare supervision. The webinars will provide practical, culturally relevant strategies for supervisors to support their staff.  

Part 1: Maintaining Clear Roles with Realistic Expectations within Tribal Child Welfare Programs 
Tuesday, March 21, 2023 | 11-12 pm Alaska | 12-1 pm Pacific | 1-2 pm Mountain | 2-3 pm Central | 3-4 pm Eastern

  • Participants will learn foundational and tangible tips and strategies that can be utilized to enhance and/or develop culturally-responsive and trauma-informed supervision based in the six principles of trauma-informed care: Safety, Trust, Culture & History, Empowerment, Peer Support, and Collaboration.

  • Participants will gain knowledge about strategies to maintain clear roles and set realistic expectations for caseworkers and those they manage. 

  • Participants will understand how establishing clearly defined job descriptions, roles, and duties support tribal child welfare staff.

Register for Part 1

Part 2: The Essential Need for Adaptive Leadership and Reflective Practice among Tribal Child Welfare Supervisors
Thursday, May 18, 2023 | 11-12 pm Alaska | 12-1 pm Pacific | 1-2 pm Mountain | 2-3 pm Central | 3-4 pm Eastern

  • Participants will learn about adaptive leadership and reflective supervision, including trauma-informed strategies to meet the needs of their team.

  • Participants will learn how trauma has the potential to influence approaches to supervision.

  • Participants will have the opportunity to engage with each other and presenters during session for discussion of practical application of strategies.

Register for Part 2

Announcement: Free Strength-Based Cultural Intervention Training for Adults Who Work With Native Youth

The NNCTC would like to invite any adults who work with Native youth to attend a free, 2.5-day training in our Walking the Four Directions: A Traditional View of Discipline model for teaching youth social and emotional skills.

Walking the Four Directions uses the Medicine Wheel as a framework for developing non-confrontational, strength-based techniques when working with Native youth and supports adults in learning the following:

  • A traditional and proactive approach to discipline

    • Prevention through storytelling and teaching social skills

    • Making Praise and encouragement authentic

    • Flexible consequences

    • Problem solving

  • How to build positive relationships with youth

  • How to promote balanced youth with strong leadership skills

  • How to move youth toward independence and self-reliance

When: March 20-22, 2023

Where: Best Western Plus Grant Creek Inn, Missoula, Montana

Cost: Training is provided free of charge. Participants are responsible for their own travel and lodging. A special room rate is available for participants who make reservations by March 4. Government room rates are also available.

Register here to reserve your spot!      

Questions? Email Alan Rabideau, Youth and Family Engagement Specialist, NNCTC, at alan.rabideau@mso.umt.edu.


About Alan Rabideau, Developer and Lead Trainer for Walking the Four Directions:

Alan “Jawenodee-Inini” Rabideau is a member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians located in the beautiful Upper Peninsula of Michigan. For the past 25 years, Alan has been working with youth, parents and their families in many different capacities. He has served as a school-based intervention specialist, adolescent substance abuse counselor, program manager of a residential based youth treatment program and a specialized or treatment foster parent.  Mr. Rabideau has provided training to court ordered parents, foster parents and treatment foster care parents, teachers and human services professionals.  Currently Mr. Rabideau works as a youth and family engagement specialist for the National Native Children’s Trauma Center at the University of Montana providing training and technical assistance to state, federal and tribal programs around children’s mental health initiatives, consumer, family and youth “driven” systems of care and positive behavioral support.  Mr. Rabideau utilizes his cultural values and beliefs as an Anishinabe to help plan and advise programs so that they are culturally sensitive and “strength-based”. He has three grown foster/adoptive sons.

The Sum of Us

Shaping Children’s Trajectories to Learn & Flourish

by Patrice Kunesh

Across the country, a new school year is beginning, along with the annual migration of millions of children and thousands of teachers back into the classroom. While children from 3 to 18 years old will get down to the business of learning the basics of reading, writing, and mathematics, hopefully they will play a lot too. Play and socialization are powerful drivers of inquiry, expression, experimentation, and teamwork, and other competencies that foster resilience and perseverance. These experiences create pathways for healthy childhood development.

Native cultures understand that learning takes place both formally and informally. In Lakota, the word for “school” is owóksape, which translates to “learning place.” Owóksape encompasses the process of becoming a whole person through knowledge of self and identity acquired from family, tribe, and place, as well as through language, culture, and traditions. Wherever learning takes place, education can change a child’s life trajectory to flourish and prosper.

As a new school year starts, it is a good time to consider how to enrich these learning places for Native students and their families. For decades, Native students have experienced worse educational outcomes than their peers, a reflection of a history mired in historical trauma and social hardships, and recently compounded by the Covid-19 pandemic. Creating an environment to bend the arc toward success carries enormous responsibilities. It will take the sum of us to reshape that trajectory and ensure that Native children and families can flourish.

Shaping Positive Trajectories

Early Childhood Development

Research studies show the power of education in shaping children’s trajectories over the long term, beginning with the youngest of learners. For example, early education is the foundation of a child’s journey: every stage of education that follows relies on pre-primary development. Investments in early childhood education pay substantial returns: for every $1 invested in high-quality early childhood education, our society receives up to a $7-$12 return on investment. Children who receive good quality early childhood education are more likely to graduate high school, have a lower risk of heart disease and obesity, and have higher income as adults. Research also suggests that quality education in later grades may be as important for long-term outcomes, including earning potential, since children continue to develop key neural pathways well into their teenage and young adult years.

Beyond the classroom, education changes lives in more personal ways. The data show clearly that children who get better schooling are healthier and happier adults, more civically engaged, and less likely to commit crimes. Schools, moreover, are much more than academic hubs – they are dynamic environments for learning non-cognitive skills, like grit, resilience, and teamwork, which are increasingly important for generating economic and social mobility.

Similar benefits also accrue to Native children and communities, beginning with early childhood development. Research shows that Native early education programs that integrate the culture and language can promote resiliency in children, reduce effects of adverse childhood experiences, and promote beneficial life skills. When the right components are in place, enriched education experiences also support long term success by helping close the wide and persistent gaps between Native children and white children in school achievement and high school graduation rates. Further studies show that even modest income support to Native families can help improve high school graduation rates, extend years of education, decrease arrest rates, higher likelihood to vote as adults, and decrease rates of smoking, heavy drinking, and obesity.

Food and Nutrition

Most children spend 6 or more hours a day in school-related activities, and while in school they consume more than half of their daily calories at school. This means that the school environment is natural place to help shape lifelong healthy eating behaviors and a critical resource to alleviating hunger and food insecurity.

The federal government defines food insecurity as “a household-level economic and social condition of limited or uncertain access to adequate food.” Food insecurity does not necessarily cause hunger, but hunger is a possible outcome of food insecurity. No other group in the United States lacks reliable access to affordable, nutritious food to the extent as Native communities—one in four Native Americans experiences persistent food insecurity.[1] This obstinate vulnerability is the culmination of historic federal policies[2] and institutions that have led to the deterioration of health and well-being of Native families and communities.[3] An obvious pattern of severe deficits in Indian Country emerges when maps of US food insecurity and health outcomes are overlaid with maps of poverty and economic inequality.

These high levels of food insecurity worsened during the Covid-19 pandemic. Nearly half of Native American and Alaska Native households experienced food insecurity during the pandemic. According to a recent report released by a consortium of Native food organizations, many Native communities continue to lack access to a secure food supply chain. Communities with the highest rates of food insecurity are located in Alaska Native villages and reservations in South Dakota.[4]

In June of this year, Congress passed the Keep Kids Fed Act, partially extending Covid-era school meal benefits through the next school year. This is an important step toward mitigating the impact of food insecurity across the country and improve child nutrition. While the Act provides critical support for childcare centers and summer feeding programs, more assurances are needed to end childhood hunger through programs that fill school lunch bags and empty family pantry shelves.

We know this policy works and generates benefits well beyond health and nutrition—it impacts learning potential as well. Several studies find a close association between good nutrition and improved educational outcomes.[5] Thus, by improving school nutrition and reducing food insecurity, we can positively enhance students’ learning experiences and support better academic outcomes. In Indian Country, making simple changes to ensure students’ have access to nutritional food both inside and outside of school can further help improve their academic performance, which in turn can lead to more opportunities in the workforce and ultimately stabilizing the economic turbulence of poverty. 

Social mobility

Schools also fill an essential role in creating healthy social connections that help overcome economic deficits. Recent studies indicate that children who grow up in socially connected communities likely will overcome intergenerational cycles of poverty. Using “big data” analyses, Raj Chetty and his research team show that early friendships and cross-class relationships, called “economic connectedness,” can be life-altering forces, producing stronger impacts than school quality, family structure, or job availability. Nathanial Hendren’s research demonstrates that targeted investments in vulnerable communities can improve economic outcomes of children who grow up and remain tied to their home communities. In addition, economist John N. Friedman, finds that education is the primary vehicle for social mobility in the country. 

Synthesizing the import of these studies to Indian Country is a significant undertaking, mainly because the contours of social and economic mobility for Native children are not well-known. We can begin the inquiry, however, from the premise that there is a profound and persistent relationship between place and people throughout the history of Indian Country. This connection, both cultural and personal, is the bedrock of tribal sovereignty and self-government and for larger policy considerations in terms of housing, health, education, and infrastructure investments. Further insights are derived from a recent examination of Chetty’s big data to assess the landscape of opportunity for Native peoples. Not surprisingly, economist Donna Feir found that the opportunities for economic mobility look fundamentally different on tribe-affiliated census tracts. Three striking trends stand out.

First, Native women seem to experience the largest disparities in intergenerational mobility. Second, Native American children have the lowest rates of upward economic mobility and are more likely to end up in the bottom of the income distribution in adulthood. Third, nevertheless, Native children raised in Census tracts that significantly overlap with American Indian reservation lands show greater upward mobility. This finding undercuts a general understanding that American Indian reservations are firm predictors of negative outcomes for Native children. The data are not perfect, and more analysis and context are required to get the full picture of the underlying narratives driving these low intergenerational mobility cycles, including poverty.

This analysis, however, compels us to pursue multiple lines of inquiry: one about the benefits emanating from reservation life through cultural connections and community relationships and a comparison of the off-reservation experience for Native children; and the other is about how and where to enhance resources to “low opportunity” communities, such as children and Native women. Perhaps looking at ways that communities, families, and culture act as protective factors will help inform policy discussions about promoting opportunity in low-opportunity areas. Rather than counseling people to migrate to areas of greater opportunity, as some mainstream development experts do, we can focus our work on supporting reservation-based economic development. Too often we hear censure about the reservation as a place to raise children or appeals to move away to seek better opportunities. These admonitions clearly overlook the potential located in Native peoples and places themselves.

For example, a few years ago a major media outlet aired a program called “A Hidden America: Children of the Plains,” which portrayed a grim picture of the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota. Immediately, students from Pine Ridge responded with their own video hailing “We are more than that.” “We have so much more than poverty,” they said, marking themselves with messages of resilience, family, culture, traditions, hope, and the future.

We need to take seriously the students’ refusal to be defined by poverty and resolve to be “more than that.” That determination is paying off in real economic progress across Indian Country. Recent studies show that a growing number of Native nations are experiencing sustained economic growth and becoming hubs for arts and cultural activities. According to the Native Nations Institute at the University of Arizona, “Native nations’ governance success is evident in the role many tribes now play as major regional employers and service providers. By these demographic, economic, social and political measures, Native communities … appear poised to have an even greater impact in the years to come.” Economist Randall Akee and several researchers have begun to map these positive economic trends to promising tribal social welfare outcomes.[6]  

Conclusion

The Pine Ridge Lakota students’ assertion of being “more than that” resonates today as we grapple with the devastating impacts of the Covid pandemic across Indian Country. Almost overnight, the communities were suddenly separated from places where they work, worship, and socialize. Schools shut their doors too, putting the education of thousands of students at risk. Many Native communities responded with remarkable creativity and adaptability—they created new owóksape learning spaces and redefined what is possible.

For example, most classes continued online, but were available only to those who had access to affordable internet service and education devices. Despite the digital divide in Indian Country, Native communities came together to support remote learning by finding ways to provide free Wi-Fi access and hotspots and home-delivered laptops to every student. Educators used social media platforms to check in with students and support their mental health. Tribal radio stations became critical communication conduits, providing information and social connections to students and families. When Covid exacerbated food insecurity on the Navajo Reservation, chapter houses partnered with schools to distribute food and water to families and helped them secure SNAP and P-EBT benefits.

Schools are vital hubs for students and families. In addition to providing the foundations of education, they are critical links to healing trauma and promoting health and wellbeing, individually and community-wide. With new research into social and economic mobility, we should ask which policies help to build good education institutions that enable societies where everyone can thrive.

Some preliminary research has begun to investigate educational and workforce outcomes for Native people, as well as initiatives some Native communities are taking to promote effective, culturally appropriate education and workforce development programs. These studies show that education is indeed a key credential that can unlock constructive social and economic opportunities, particularly when investments target Native children and youth.

Indian Country’s experience during Covid shows that it takes the sum of the community to address big challenges and safeguard wellbeing. The Navajo have a word for this collective care and concern—K’é, which means kinship and community. A Navajo teacher incorporates K’é in her classroom, because “That's something that is extremely important to my identity.” The strengths and abilities children develop at school are crucial for their social, physical, and cognitive growth, which in turn shapes their future economic trajectories. Our homework then, is to prioritize and support further research, policy interventions, and economic resources that will optimize the ability of our children to learn and flourish.


About PATRICE

Of Standing Rock Lakota descent, Patrice H. Kunesh is the founder of Peȟíŋ Haha Consulting, a social enterprise committed to fostering social and human capital and pursuing economic equity in Native communities. Previously, Patrice established and led the Center for Indian Country Development at the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, and has held appointments as the Deputy Under Secretary for Rural Development at the US Department of Agriculture and as the Deputy Solicitor for Indian Affairs at the US Department of the Interior. In addition, she served as in-house counsel to the Mashantucket Pequot Tribe and on the faculty at the University of South Dakota School of Law. Patrice began her legal career at the Native American Rights Fund and recently returned to NARF as the major gifts officer.


[1] See the map of food insecurity, Native American reservations that continue to lack access to food. In the 1970s, the federal government created the Food Distribution Program on Indian Reservations (FDPIR) as part of the Food Stamp Act. FDPIR gave Native people living in rural reservations an alternative to the food stamp program, which required participants to shop in grocery stores, which often did not exist on most reservation or required as much as a full day of travel. Today, more than 25 percent of all Native Americans receive some type of federal food assistance and FDPIR serves 276 tribes across the country.

[2] One stark example of this demise is the once abundant bison, which were nearly slaughtered to extinction within just a few decades in the late 1800s. The slaughter of the bison was one of the largest economic shocks in recorded North American history (Feir, Gillezeua, and Jones 2019). For the Native Americans who relied on the bison, this sudden loss meant devastating upheaval. Their diets deteriorated and they would suffer long-term health impacts and disparities. Research shows that bison-reliant people were once the tallest people in the world, but the generations born after the slaughter were among the shortest. Not only did they lose their economic livelihoods, but valuable social contacts as well. Today, formerly bison-reliant societies now have between 20-40% less income per capita than the average Native American nation.

[3] Reservation poverty and food insecurity also have legacies linked to family separation, relocation, and poor health outcomes. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, most reservation communities suffered from dreadful poverty conditions (Meriam Report 1928). Without their traditional ways of hunting, gathering, and fishing, they had no way to feed themselves, and the federal government was compelled to supply basic foodstuff. These food rations, called commodities or “commods,” consisted of food packaged in cans and boxes, and ingredients unfamiliar to most Native people, like white flour, shortening, and sugar. Shipments of commodities often arrived late or were too moldy to consume.

Sadly, the commodity program exacerbated health problems and malnutrition were exacerbated. The food supplied was of marginal nutritional value and the supply was often insufficient to feed large multi-generational family households. Children and the elderly were constantly hungry, and the health of reservation communities slowly deteriorated. When tribal governments could not provide better food options for their families, many parents reluctantly sent their children to boarding schools to ensure they would at least be fed. In this way, persistent hunger and food insecurity has contributed to the breakup of Native families.

[4] According to the map of food insecurity, among all 3,142 US counties, three Native communities rank in the top ten counties facing the highest level of food insecurity: Kusilvak Census Area in Alaska (26.8%), followed by Todd County, South Dakota, homelands of the Rosebud Tribe (26.4%), and Oglala County, South Dakota, homelands of Oglala Lakota Sioux and the Pine Ridge Reservation (25.9%).

[5] Sorhaindo, A., & Feinstein, L. (2006). What is the relationship between child nutrition and school outcomes. Wider Benefits of Learning Research Report No.18. Centre for Research on the Wider Benefits of Learning.

One of the most extensive studies of the health outcomes was the Carolina Abecedarian Project, which followed two groups of babies from poor families beginning in 1972. In the first group, the children were given full-time day care up to age 5 that included most of their daily meals, games, and other stimulating activities. The other group received baby formula and no additional social or educational stimulation. The study examined whether additional treatment impacted cognitive abilities in the long run. Forty-two years later, the researchers found that the group that received an enriched learning experience were far healthier. The study, published in the journal Science, is part of a growing body of scientific evidence that adversity in early childhood has lifelong health implications. This and other studies not only outline the problem in concrete details, they also offer evidence that policies targeted to providing enriched nutrition and educational experiences, especially in the early years, might prevent it.

[6] See also, Patrice H. Kunesh, The Power of Self-Determination in Building Sustainable Economies in Indian Country, The Economic Policy Institute (2022).

UM to Host Symposium for Educators Addressing Indigenous Boarding School System

The University of Montana, the Phyllis J. Washington College of Education, and the National Native Children’s Trauma Center are hosting a symposium for Montana educators, "Boarding Schools: Remembering Our Resiliency and Shared Knowledge for Trauma-Informed Learning," on September 30, 2022, the National Day of Remembrance for Indian Boarding Schools. The conference, a hybrid event combining in-person and virtual presenters and participants, will run from 8:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m., with a keynote address by Dr. Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart and Dr. Deidre Yellowhair. Continuing education credits will be available for teachers who attend.

The conference coincides with the U.S. government's ongoing Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative, which Interior Secretary Deb Haaland created to investigate the scope of the boarding school system used as a tool of forced assimilation from the 1800s through the 1960s, severely disrupting Tribal families and communities. The first installment of the investigation’s report was released in May, and the Department has begun hosting gatherings to hear and document survivors’ accounts of their experiences in boarding schools. 

“Dr. Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart pioneered the study of the collective traumas experienced by multiple generations of Indigenous North Americans,” Dr. Maegan Rides At The Door, Director of UM’s National Native Children’s Trauma Center, said. “We are honored to host her and her close collaborator, Dr. Yellowhair, as speakers for this event, which we hope will equip Montana educators with the skills to address the ongoing effects of historical traumas in our Tribal communities.” 

The conference’s primary sessions will be accessible to both in-person and virtual attendees, and there will be additional breakout session workshops for in-person participants. There will also be teaching method workshops in the areas of history, language arts, science, art, media, and tribal languages.

“A national conversation about the boarding school system is long overdue,” Dr. Rides At The Door continued. “We want to take this opportunity to promote healing from collective trauma and to help prepare Native youth for this important but potentially disturbing conversation about the deaths, abuses, and intergenerational suffering created by the system. Montana educators are in a position to lead this effort.”

Additional sponsors for the conference include the Robert and Beverly Braig Family, UM’s Department of Native American Studies, the UM Office of the President, the UM Office of the Provost, and Missoula’s All Nations Health Center.

Click here to register for the conference.

The Things They Carried

The Complex Legacy of Indian Boarding Schools & Contemporary Child Welfare Systems

by Patrice Kunesh

Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

— 
— Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses

Introduction: The Valise

Nellie Two Bear Gates (1854-1935), whose Dakhóta name Maȟpíya Boǧáŋwiŋ means Gathering of Clouds Woman, was known as a masterful artist whose beautiful bead work illustrated the transformation of Native lifeways in the late 19th century.[1] Her father was Yanktonai Chief Two Bear (Mahto Nunpa), a courageous leader of the Sioux and survivor of the Whitestone Hill Massacre.[2] At the age of seven, Nellie was sent to a Catholic boarding school in St. Joseph, Missouri, where she endured an unhappy eleven-year separation from her family. When she returned home to what had become the Standing Rock Reservation, she deeply embraced her Dakhóta culture, speaking only her Native language. Nellie and her husband Frank Gates raised their large family at Standing Rock.

In January 1888, the year before North Dakota would become a state, their middle daughter Josephine, my great-aunt, was born on Battle Creek in Dakota Territory. When she was nine years old, Josephine was sent to Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania, where she was trained in domestic skills. Upon her graduation in 1909 at the age of twenty-one, her mother Nellie presented her with a beaded valise, a small suitcase, depicting the 1863 Battle of Whitestone Hill on one side and the Lakota’s last buffalo hunt in 1882, two momentous losses of life and livelihood for the Lakota people that Nellie had witnessed.[3]

Josephine was a classmate of Jim Thorpe and another student from Standing Rock, my grandfather’s brother Colvin Kelly. While Josephine did well in her studies and training, Colvin did not. His report cards indicate that he was often sick and received mediocre grades. He also ran away from Carlisle several times. After they returned to Standing Rock, Josephine and Colvin married and had several children.[4]

Like her mother, Josephine strongly embraced her Native culture and community. Soon after she returned home from Carlisle, she was given the name Wachinoyapi Win, which means The Tribe Looks to Her for Help Woman. Josephine lived up to her name, becoming a tenacious fighter for the rights of her people. In 1946, she became the first woman leader of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe.

Both Josephine and grandfather humbly led their people through treacherous times of enormous change and desperate conditions—Two Bear through the bloodshed of war and transition to the reservation, and Josephine through debasing bureaucracy and poverty. For a filing cabinet in her office, Josephine used a large packing box that once held government food rations. Her briefcase was a patched cloth bag, which she carried all the way to Washington, DC to wrestle funds from lawmakers.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about Josephine, Nellie, and all of my relatives as I reflect on the fact that, for the first time in our nation’s history, Indian Country’s collective trauma from boarding schools is under investigation. US Department of the Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, member of Laguna Pueblo and the first Native American cabinet secretary, recently released a preliminary report on the history of Federal Indian Boarding Schools. Secretary Haaland is committed not only to pursuing the facts on this devastating chapter of US history, but also to seeking justice for Native peoples and finding ways to “assist with healing the generational trauma caused [by this] racist and genocidal policy.”[5] 

Secretary Haaland’s grandparents attended such institutions, as did four generations in my family.[6] Most likely, nearly every Native family in the United States shares similar experiences. We have all, individually and collectively, been deeply affected by government-induced family separation.

Removing Native children from their families has become normalized and systemic—it is done bureaucratically through child welfare systems, court proceedings, and social services. Despite the protections of the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978, Native children are overrepresented in state foster care at a rate 2.66 times greater than their proportion in the general population. This means that although Native children are just one percent of all children in the US, they are 2.7% of all children who are placed outside their homes in foster care.[7]  

National Indian Child Welfare Association (October 2021), Disproportionality in Child Welfare: Fact Sheet.

In several states, Native children as a percentage all children in foster care is shockingly high: South Dakota, 57%; Alaska, 53%; North Dakota, 39%; Montana, 34%; Minnesota, 27%.[8] Behind these statistics are the heavy burdens of historical trauma and grave injustices carried by generations of Native people.  

How is it that the crisis of Native family separation is still ongoing forty years later, and that contact with child welfare systems has become a routine part of growing up for most Native children? New research is shedding light on the depth of the trauma endured through forced Native family separations, how that trauma is carried into future generations, and the link between historical trauma and disparities Native people encounter across legal and social systems. There is much work to be done—in courts and Congress and with public agencies and private philanthropy—to fund more research and services, develop a new generation of advocates to advance the cause of Native children and families, and heal wounds and restore well-being.

Indian Boarding Schools and Native Child Removals

The roots of today’s Native child welfare crisis can be traced to the earliest history of this country in its quest of manifest destiny.[9] Government officials, business magnates, and social reformers, often acting in concert, promoted policies aimed at breaking up Native families as a means of coercing assimilation into the dominant society and taking Native lands and resources. Boarding schools, one of the most aggressive assimilation devices, directly contributed to the cultural annihilation and upheaval of generations of Native families.[10]

[O]n the whole government practices may be said to have operated against the development of wholesome [Indian] family life. Chief of these is the long continued policy of educating the [Indian] children in boarding schools far from their homes, taking them from their parents when small and keeping them away until parents and children become strangers to each other. The theory was once held that the problem of the [Indian] could be solved by educating the children, not to return to the reservation, but to be absorbed one by one into the white population.

— Meriam Report: The Problem of Indian Administration (1928), quoted in the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative's Investigative Report (2022)

Between 1819 and 1969, the federal government operated 357 residential schools across the country. One of the most prominent was the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania, founded by Richard Henry Pratt in 1879. Pratt’s motto, “Kill the Indian, and save the man,” foretold the horrific deprivations and abuse Native children would suffer in these institutions. Carlisle became the model for other government operated schools where girls were taught domestic skills, while boys were trained for industrial jobs. In 1900, 20,000 Native children were enrolled in boarding schools. Twenty-five years later, 60,000 Native children, representing nearly 83% of all Native children, were attending federally funded boarding schools.[11]

Boarding schools were not the only way Native children were removed from their families. They were kidnapped, targeted by religious organizations,[12] pursued for adoption into white families, and manipulated by state child welfare systems.[13] The US government was complicit in many of these efforts. One of its most dishonorable programs was the Indian Adoption Program (IAP), which institutionalized Native child removals at both the federal and state level. [14] 

The Bureau of Indian Affairs funded and promoted the IAP for almost ten years (1958 to 1967). This overtly racialized program, implemented in conjunction with the Child Welfare League of America (CWLA), was responsible for the removal of hundreds of Native children in western states and their placement with non-Native families in eastern states.[15] The IAP and CWLA used shameful tactics to attract more adoptive families, often misrepresenting Native families and culture, with messages such as “unwed Indian mothers, deviant extended families, and hopelessly impoverished and alcoholic parents,”[16] to reinforce the notion that Native children would be better off being raised in a non-Native family.[17]

Native families continued to be targeted through the 1970s. Encouraged by the IAP, state child welfare systems implemented similar adoption programs and tactics. Native parents regularly came under scrutiny by state and county social workers who found reservation conditions appalling[18] and misunderstood cultural norms about the central role of grandparents and extended families in caring for the children. Sadly, countless Native children were removed in cases where family poverty and kinship care were confused with neglect.

By 1978, the year the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) was enacted, these federal and state programs had extracted a huge toll on Native families, creating a crisis of “massive proportions.” More than a third of all Native American and Alaska Native children were no longer living with their families; instead, they had been adopted or were living in institutions or foster homes, with 85% of them placed with non-Native families.[19] Shocked by such staggering numbers, Senator James Abourezk of South Dakota, the lead advocate of federal protections for Native children, declared that the “wholesale separation of Indian children from their families is perhaps the most tragic and destructive aspect of American Indian life today.”[20]

ICWA was a landmark federal law that provided tribal governments critical tools to exercise sovereignty and keep Native children connected to their families and cultures. It established enhanced protections at every stage of state child welfare proceedings and is considered the gold standard for culturally appropriate services in child welfare matters.[21] Many states have incorporated ICWA-based  protections into their child welfare procedures and court systems. Despite these enhanced procedures, all is not well—Native children continue to be removed at significantly high rates today.[22] What has improved, however, is our understanding of how Native families today still carry generations of unresolved grief and how that trauma manifests in the disparate outcomes Native people face in institutions responsible for their care and well-being.

Connecting boarding school trauma to disparities in the child welfare system

Historical trauma

According to the research of social scientist Dr. Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart, the collective phenomenon of historical trauma stems from centuries of disastrous federal policies targeting tribal lands and Native families. “Indigenous peoples of the Americas have experienced devastating collective, intergenerational massive group trauma and compounding discrimination, racism, and oppression.”[23] The breadth and influence of Brave Heart’s work cannot be overstated—in theorizing pathways about the transmission of large-scale collective traumas to present-day descendants of survivors, her research has broken new ground, driven international conversations about trauma among Indigenous people for the past two decades, and launched a new field of interdisciplinary research.

The term “historical trauma” is the specific loss and trauma that Native people have experienced over time, described as the “cumulative emotional and psychological wounding across generations including one’s own lifespan.”[24] The traumatic events suffered by previous generations—the sweeping loss of land, people, and culture and the forced separation of families—create pathways that result in subsequent generations becoming susceptible to higher risk of experiencing mental and physical distress, much like post-traumatic stress disorder. Biological, social, and environmental factors further contribute to the transmission of cross-generational cycle of trauma.[25]

Recent studies have extended Brave Heart’s theory of historical trauma into empirical research on historical trauma symptoms.[26] Their findings establish a through-line from the events that caused historical trauma to current symptoms related to this inter-generational loss,[27] as well as to structural inequities that have reinforced discriminatory practices and negative outcomes.

For example, in 2004, researchers working with Native elders designed a methodology to measure historical trauma in Native Americans by identifying the characteristics of loss and then the association between that trauma and current dimensions of related symptoms.

Whitbeck, L.B., Adams, G.W., Hoyt, D.R., and Chen, X.C. (2004). “Conceptualizing and Measuring Historical Trauma Among American Indian People,” American Journal of Community Psychology.

Such innovative modeling and methodologies, which provide a meaningful framework to evaluate the influences of historical trauma today, confirm that federal assimilation policies “are not truly ‘historical’ in the sense that they are now in the past. Rather, they are ‘historical’ in the sense that they began a long time ago.”[28]

Systemic Disparities

Another thread of research ties the high rates of Native child removals today to the long history of forced assimilation through family separation. These studies provide critical insights into the geographies of institutional disparities and the magnitude of inequalities that Native people carry with them as they confront the child welfare system. Knowing where and how Native families encounter trauma will help us design better interventions and improve the care and treatment of Native children and families—and ultimately preserve family units. Two studies stand out for their data analysis methodologies and findings. 

In American Indian and Alaska Native child welfare system contact across U.S. States: magnitudes and mechanisms (2021),[29] Frank Edwards and Theresa Rocha Beardall examined two sets of national data over five years (2014 – 2018) to determine the contemporary exposure of Native children and families to various forms of child welfare system contact (investigation, substantiations, removals, placement settings, and termination of parental rights). From the National Child Abuse and Neglect Data System (NCANDS), a voluntary reporting system on cases of alleged child maltreatment reported to a state or local child welfare hotline and investigated, they documented the entry point and frequency of Native family separation in state and local child welfare systems. Case files from the Adoption and Foster Care Analysis and Reporting System (AFCARS) were used to measure the frequency of family separation into the foster care system at state and local levels. Their findings provide more granular details about the distressing patterns in Native child encounters and outcomes in child welfare systems.

Native infants under one year of age face the highest risks of child welfare system contact. While that risk tends to be highly variable across states, there is a clear regional pattern in inequalities in the exposure of infants to child protection investigations. For example, the risk of investigation for Native infants is the highest in Alaska, where 19.5 percent of Native children were investigated by children protection services. Three other states had infant investigation risk levels 10 percent or higher: Minnesota, Montana, and Oklahoma. Native children generally have much higher investigation rates than do white children, but those “inequalities are pronounced” in Minnesota, Montana, Nebraska, North and South Dakota, and Oklahoma, Wisconsin.

These regional patterns were also found in foster care placements and termination of parental rights. Nationally, Native children are “treated categorically differently than white children when it comes time to make a decision about removal into foster care.” Regionally, Native infants are at “exceptionally high risk” in the Great Plains and the Pacific Northwest where 3 percent of all Native infants were placed into foster care (these states include Minnesota, Montana, Nebraska, North and South Dakota, Wisconsin, Alaska, Oregon, and Washington). By comparison, white infants face a similar risk in only one state, West Virginia. While in foster care, Native children are highly likely to be placed in a non-Native/non-relative setting and to experience their parents having their rights terminated.

A study published earlier this year expounded on the disproportionality of Native representation in child welfare systems and the experiences of Native youth in foster care through socio-demographic, physical and mental health, and foster care/placement factors.[30] This national population study also used AFCARS data to examine Native proportionality in child welfare systems as well as health and well-being factors. Significant differences between Native and non-Native youth were found in all domains—overall Native children experienced greater disparities in each domain and were disproportionately over-represented at all stages of the child welfare system compared to non-Native children (findings from each domain and stage are discussed).[31]

These studies validate through rigorous scientific data analysis that historical trauma is an ongoing serious risk to Native wellness and well-being. Native children are disproportionately likely to come into contact with child welfare systems and disproportionately likely to be removed. Bias and cultural misapprehension in the child welfare systems may be a factor, although child welfare systems today are not intentionally disrupting Native families in furtherance of a colonial enterprise.

Nevertheless, the practical reality is that current child welfare outcomes are indistinguishable from the pre-IAP and ICWA era and are directly related to the traumas of the past, particularly from forced family separations endured in boarding schools. When a Native family encounters the child welfare system, collective memories of historical suffering are activated, ensuring the perpetuation of intergenerational trauma and compounding the trauma caused by family disruption and child removal. The most necessary intervention is one that heals the wounds and resolves the hurt.

While understanding levels of risk for removal and foster care placement in child welfare systems adds critical information to our knowledge base, there are still yawning gaps in what we do not know, highlighting the need for more complete information on Native children in national databases and for deeper research into state child protections systems. Furthermore, we know very little about the foster care practice with Native children in tribal court systems and social services programs. Tribal nations exercise considerable influence in the protection of Native children and the preservation of Native families both on and off the reservation. Given the fluidity of Native families moving between urban and rural communities,[32] more information about reservation-based child welfare systems would help our understanding of these multijurisdictional experiences and advance discussions about equity and accountability to ICWA. Nevertheless, even with these gaps, what we do know now is actionable.

Action is needed

What does this look like for Native children across the country? The grim takeaway is that contact with the child welfare system has become a routine part of growing up. Moreover, the crisis of Native family separation is ongoing. 

Advocacy and action are needed to reform institutions and systems that have been instruments of harm in the past and restore the balance for the future. Several recommendations from policy and child welfare experts have been shared in previous essays published on the NNCTC blog, including the following:

  • Promote tribal sovereignty

  • Address child poverty

  • Mitigate maltreatment/neglect propensity with family advocates

  • Redirect foster care funding to Native families and community services

  • Recruit Native foster families, both on and off the reservation

  • Incorporate trauma-informed care and treatment in all social services

Recommendations for institutions that may, in the absence of conscious action, perpetuate social inequality tend to be organized around three principles:

  • Build intentional relationships and partnerships that promote responsiveness and empathy

  • Hold community interviews to explore issues from multiple social vantage points

  • Cultivate research and scaffold sociological studies

As to what such research should entail, the Casey Family Programs and the Annie E. Casey Foundation, as well as numerous national organizations, researchers, and individuals with lived experiences in the child welfare system, have created a Research Agenda for the 21st Century on Child Welfare that would help improve the lives of our most vulnerable youth and families. Recognizing that the roots of disproportionality are structural, reflecting widespread inequities in the material conditions of life and in systems that hoard opportunities for the advantaged and deny them to those who are already disadvantaged, their proposed research agenda is bold and far-reaching:

Research on child welfare prevention and response is not limited to the child protection system. It includes every system and support families may touch—housing, income, health, justice, mental health, substance abuse treatment—all of which have known inequalities particularly for Black, Indigenous, and Latinx families. When child neglect is identified, it is often grounded in poverty, mental health, or substance misuse problems and rather than continuing to be reactive, we believe the root causes of these problems needs to be mitigated.  

Conclusion

I did not have the privilege of knowing Josephine personally, but I have learned much about her life through our wide network of relatives. Her mother’s gift of the lovingly sewn beaded valise is a fitting symbol of all the things Josephine carried for herself and her people—an inheritance of unfathomable pain and suffering from war, forced separations, and poverty, but also an enduring legacy of courage, generosity, wisdom, humility, and determination. No matter how heavy or burdened it became, the valise always had room for other journeys filled with daring hopes of healing and justice. Healing is tender work and should be situated in the return to cultural knowledge and belonging, the connective tissues that carry us through trauma, intact and resilient.  

For Native children and families who have carried the pain of generations, rectifying historical injustices will require historic restitution. Secretary Haaland has promised truth and healing and to lay down a foundation for future reparation. Changing policies and institutional practices will not be easy or may be even enough, but it is necessary—and was foretold by another great Native leader.

In 1876, the Lakota chief and spiritual leader Sitting Bull, Tȟatȟáŋka Íyotake, contemplated the future of his people. Despite his victory against the US army at the Battle of Little Big Horn, Sitting Bull realized that his people would face more violence and grave hardship. He also knew that protecting Native American children was the only way to protect the future of his tribe. His appeal then is equally relevant and necessary today: “Let us put our minds together and see what kind of future we can build for our children.” 


About PATRICE

Of Standing Rock Lakota descent, Patrice H. Kunesh is the founder of Peȟíŋ Haha Consulting, a social enterprise committed to fostering social and human capital and pursuing economic equity in Native communities. Previously, Patrice established and led the Center for Indian Country Development at the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, and has held appointments as the Deputy Under Secretary for Rural Development at the US Department of Agriculture and as the Deputy Solicitor for Indian Affairs at the US Department of the Interior. In addition, she served as in-house counsel to the Mashantucket Pequot Tribe and on the faculty at the University of South Dakota School of Law. Patrice began her legal career at the Native American Rights Fund and recently returned to NARF as the major gifts officer.

This essay is the third in a series that the NNCTC is publishing to coincide with the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative’s activities. We highly recommend that you read the Initiative’s introductory report here. The essay was commissioned by the National Native Children’s Trauma Center with support from Casey Family Programs, a national operating foundation dedicated to improving the lives of America’s most vulnerable children. The findings and conclusions presented are those of the author alone, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Casey Family Programs.

These topics are painful and may cause distress. If you feel yourself in need of continued support, please reach out for help. Do so in whatever way feels most appropriate to you: traditional healing, talking to someone you know and trust, getting connected to mental health services, or calling or texting 988. Please know that there are many people across Indian Country who share your pain.


Additional Resources on Structural Inequities

These studies link historical trauma with structural inequities, providing evidence of how disparate treatment leads to poorer outcomes for Native people in multiple socio-economic domains.


Footnotes


[1] Nellie’s beaded valises and other beadwork are recognized as beautiful and meaningful works of art and history.

[2] In 1863, the US Army attacked Nellie’s village of Whitestone, killing as many as 300 Native people in “the bloodiest battle ever fought on North Dakota soil.” Her family survived the Whitestone Massacre and Chief Two Bear moved his family to Standing Rock. Five years later, Two Bears signed the Treaty of Fort Laramie (also known as the Sioux Treaty of 1868), which established the Great Sioux Reservation, including the Black Hills.

[3] Josephine’s granddaughter, author Mona Susan Kelly Power, wrote a moving personal account of her grandmother’s life and leadership, along with photographs of her at Carlisle, with beaded valise, and standing among her male council members as the Tribal Chairwoman. See “Josephine Gates Kelly: Standing Rock Sioux Tribal Leader,” On Second Thought, Think Indian issue, North Dakota Humanities Council, Mar. 1, 2011. See also, Curt Moen, “Did you know that …: First tribal chairwoman fighter for Indian Rights,” Fargo Forum, Mar. 27, 2010.

[4] Josephine’s children would attend the Bismarck Indian School and her great granddaughter would attend Harvard University and write powerful stories about the wisdom of the old ways.

[5] Along with Secretary Haaland’s initiative to examine the “Troubled Legacy of Federal Boarding School Policies,” legislation has been introduced to create a truth and healing commission around American Indian boarding school tragedies. (H. R. 5444, 2021; S. 2907, 2021).

[6] The Cumberland County Historical Society has published a remarkable compilation of information about Carlisle derived from the school’s archives. The materials include student accounts, photographs, and a list of 8,300 Native students at Carlisle (not a complete or total listing of students), including my relatives. Sioux. See Linda F. Witmer, he Indian Industrial School, Carlisle, Pennsylvania 1879-1918, Cumberland County Historical Society, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 2002, and online at Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center, a resource of Dickenson College. For a brief description of the Hampton Institute’s educational programs for Native Americans, see Booker Evans, “Hampton Institute and the assimilation of Native Americans and African Americans,” Educ 300: Education Reform, Past and Present, Trinity College, Hartford CT, April 24, 2012.

[7] By comparison, Caucasian/White children are underrepresented nationwide at a rate of 0.93 times lower than their proportion of the general population. Disproportionality in Child Welfare Fact Sheet, The National Indian Child Welfare Association.

[8] Frank Edwards and Theresa Rocha Beardall, “American Indian and Alaska Native child welfare system contact across U.S. States: magnitudes and mechanisms, SocArXiv (Apr.1, 2021).

[9] The practice of removing Native children from their homes predates the creation of the United States. Richard Drinnon, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating & Empire Building, 47 (1980). The practice continued with the new federal government through policies aimed at territorial dispossession and cultural eradication. Two early examples are the Civilization Act of 1819, 3 Stat. 516-17 (Mar. 3, 1819), and the Indian Removal Act of 1830, 4. Stat. 11 (May 26, 1830). The former, a precursor to boarding schools, funded religious schools for the purpose of “introducing among [Indian tribes] the habits and arts of civilization.” See Margaret D. Jacobs, “The Habit of Elimination: Indigenous Child Removal in Settler Colonial Nations in the Twentieth Century,” in Colonial Genocide in Indigenous North America 189-207 (Andrew Woolford, Jeff Benvenuto, & Alexander Laban Hinton eds. 2014). The latter policy instigated the dreadful Trail of Tears, also known as the “journey of injustice,” which culminated in the forced displacement of more than 60,000 Native Americans from their ancestral lands in the southeast to “Indian Territory” in Oklahoma over a period of two decades.

[10] The history of Native American boarding schools in the United States has attracted new attention and investigation into former boarding schools, including Canadian government-funded schools. See, e.g., Maile Arvin, “Native Hawaiians are Confronting the Legacies of ‘Indian Board Schools,’” Truthout, May 26, 2022; Adam Duxter, “What happened at Minnesota’s 21 Native American Boarding Schools? Unpacking a Complex History,” CBS Minnesota, May 20, 2022; Mark Walker, “Report Catalogs Abuse of Native American Children at Former Government Schools,” The New York Times, May 11, 2022; Mary Annette Pember, “A History Not Yet Laid to Rest,” The Atlantic, Nov. 24, 2021, and “Death by Civilization,” Mar. 8, 2019; Matt Reynolds, “Human rights violations at American Indian boarding schools must be investigated,” ABA Journal, Aug. 10, 2021; Colleen Connolly, “These Native historians are compiling what we know about boarding schools,” Minnesota Reformer, Aug. 9, 2021; Claire Cleveland, “Legacy of Indigenous Boarding Schools in Colorado Includes Unmarked Graves and Generational Scars,” Colorado Public Radio News, Aug. 2, 2021.

[11] The National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition website provides a comprehensive account of this history. In addition, see Brenda J. Child, Boarding School Seasons: American Indian Families, 1900-1940, Univ. of Nebraska Press (2000); Nick Estes, “The U.S. stole generations of Indigenous children to open the West,” High Country News, Oct. 14, 2019; and Preston S. McBride, “A Lethal Education: Institutionalized Negligence, Epidemiology, and Death in Native American Boarding Schools, 1879-1934”(2021).

[12] For instance, the Latter Day Saints Placement Program removed as many as 2,000 Hopi and Navajo children every year from their reservations, placing them in Mormon homes throughout the country. Patrice H. Kunesh, “The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978: Protecting Essential Tribal Interests,” 60 U. Colo. L. Rev. 131 (1988).

[13] I offered brief historical accounts of Native child removal in “Protecting Essential Tribal Interests,” and “Borders Beyond Borders: Protecting Essential Tribal Relations Off Reservation Under the Indian Child Welfare Act,” 15 N. Eng. L. Rev. (2007), including the legislative history of the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978, in which Congress heard testimony about how state social workers often pathologized reservation conditions and viewed Indian reservations as categorically unacceptable places to raise children, culminating in the removal of Native children without due process. Indian Child Welfare Program: Hearings Before the S. Sub. Comm. on Indian Affs., 93rd Cong., 2d Sess., 19-20 (1974).

More recently, in the Teen Vogue series Fostered or Forgotten, Ruth Hopkins relates the story of Lost Bird, an infant found under her mother’s frozen body after the Wounded Knee Massacre in 1890. Lost Bird was adopted by the military leader who led the assault, Gen. Leonard Colby, but her life “was difficult and marred with rejection and abuse….” “How Foster Care Has Stripped Native American Children of Their Own Cultures,” Teen Vogue, May 22, 2018.

Historian Nick Estes recounts the federal government’s military strategy of attacking children to enable the conquest of land by destroying the family and therefore Native nations. Why is the US right suddenly interested in Native American adoption law?, The Guardian, Aug. 23, 2021.

[14] The Adoption History: Indian Adoption Project, University of Oregon (2012) (uoregon.edu).

[15] The Adoption History: Indian Adoption Project. Events around removing Native children in the 1960s have been described as “a black market adoption racket” in Indian children. See Rex Weyler, Blood of The Land, The Government and Corporate War Against The American Indian Movement 149 (1982).

[16] Margaret D. Jacobs, “Remembering the ‘Forgotten Child’: The American Indian Child Welfare Crisis of the 1960s and 1970s,” 37 Am. Indian Q. 136, 144 (2013).

[17] Fifty years later, CWLA director Shay Bilchik formally apologized for the organization’s participation in the widespread removal of Native children from their homes, stating “No matter how well intentioned and how squarely in the mainstream this was at the time, it was wrong; it was hurtful; and it reflected a kind of bias that surfaces feelings of shame, as we look back with the 20/20 vision of hindsight.” See Karen Balcom, “The Logic of Exchange: The Indian Child Welfare League of America, the Adoption Resource Exchange Movement and the Indian Adoption Project, 1958-1967. Adoption & Culture, 1(1), 5-67 (2007). In addition, see note 10 for Margaret Jacobs’ extensive analysis of the collusion between the BIA and CWLA to promote the IAP using deceptive rhetoric of suffering children and unfit families in “Remembering the ‘Forgotten Child’: The American Indian Child Welfare Crisis of the 1960s and 1970s.”

The false narrative and pathologizing of Native families continue today, particularly in challenges to the Indian Child Welfare Act. Law professor Sarah Deer and her colleagues have collected and traced this disparaging campaign against Native identity and tribal sovereignty. Sarah Deer, Elise Higgins, Thomas White, “Editorializing ICWA: 40 Years of Colonial Commentary,” The Indigenous Peoples’ Journal of Law, Culture & Resistance (UCLA), 7(1) 2022.

[18] A recurring theme in federal Indian policy is the destruction of tribalism and dismantling the reservation system. One of the most damaging was the Dawes Act, also known as the General Allotment Act of 1887, 24 Stat. 388 (Feb. 8, 1887), in which Congress authorized the division of communally held tribal lands into individual parcels called allotments. More than two-thirds of reservation lands were lost through allotment and sale to white settlers. With settlers pouring in, tribal lifeways were permanently altered and conditions on reservations drastically deteriorated. Forced to address such appalling neglect, Congress commissioned a study of reservations across the country. The result was an extensive investigation into 40 years of failed federal Indian policies and a detailed report exposing pernicious levels of poverty, disease and high death rates, and severely inadequate and deteriorating housing. The Meriam Report: The Problem of Indian Administration (1928), was the first government study to demonstrate with extensive data that federal Indian policy in the 19th century had resulted in a travesty of social justice to Native Americans. The federal government continues to neglect its responsibilities to Native American tribes. A recent report issued by the US Commission on Civil Rights entitled Broken Promises: Continuing Federal Funding Shortfall for Native Americans, finds that federal funding levels are woefully inadequate to provide for education, public safety, health care and other services required by treaties and federal laws. See, Report of the US Commission on Civil Rights (December 2018).

[19] House Report No. 95-1386, 95th Cong., 2d Session, 1978. See also, Troy R. Johnson, “The state and the American Indian Tribe: Who gets the Indian child?” Wicazo Sa Review, 14(1), 197-214 (1999).

[20] Hearing on Establishing Standards for the Placement of Indian Children in Foster or Adoptive Homes, To Prevent the Breakup of Indian Families, And for Other Purposes, H.R. Rep. 95-13896, at 9, 95th Cong., 2d Sess. (1978).

[21] See, “Indian Child Welfare Act principles: The gold standard of child welfare practices.” Casey Family Programs (2019).

[22] The high rate of removing Native children is drawing some attention, at least in Montana. Earlier this year, a regional newspaper commented on the state legislature’s performance audit of the Montana child welfare system and its high removal rates, particularly of Native children, opining that the system “is not about children and does not promote their welfare. Perhaps now … lawmakers will face up to the harm done by Montana’s dubious distinction, child removal capital of America.” See, The audit proves it: Montana is the child removal capital of America, and that’s bad for children,” Richard Wexler, Daily Montanan (Jan. 16, 2022).

[23] See Brave Heart, “Integrating the impact of historical trauma in the treatment of Native American Indian women,” In Racism in the lives of women: Testimony theory and guides to anti-racist practice, J. Adleman, & G. Enquidanos (eds.) New York: Haworth Press (1995); Brave Heart, “The return to the sacred path: Healing the historical trauma and historical unresolved grief response among the Lakota through a psychoeducational group intervention,” Smith College Studies in Social Work, 68, 287–305 M. (1998); Brave Heart & DeBruyn, L, “The American Indian Holocaust: Healing historical unresolved grief,” American Indian and Alaska Native Mental Health Research, 8, 60–82 (1998); Braveheart-Jordan & DeBruyn, L., “So she may walk in balance; Brave Heart, “Gender differences in the historical grief response among the Lakota,” Journal of Health and Social Policy, 10, 1–21 (1999); Brave Heart, “Oyate Ptayela: Rebuilding the Lakota Nation through addressing historical trauma among Lakota Parents, Journal of Human Behavior in the Social Environment, 2, 109–126 (1999); Yellow Horse Brave Heart, Chase, J., Elkins, J., Altschul, D., “Historical trauma among Indigenous Peoples of the Americas: concepts, research, and clinical considerations,” J. Psychoactive Drugs, 43(4):282-90 (Oct-Dec 2011). *Special note of recognition for co-author, Josephine Chase, the granddaughter Josephine Gates Kelly.

[24] The reaction to this massive disruption and loss, which Brave Heart calls the historical trauma response, often includes survivor guilt, depression, PTSD symptoms, physical symptoms, psychic numbing, anger, suicidal ideation, and fixation to trauma, among other features and behaviors. While the scope and scale of historical trauma response among Native population today is difficult to ascertain, diligent researchers have created a matrix to trace the relationship between historical trauma and current condition. Les B. Whitbeck, Gary W. Adams, Dan R. Hoyt, and Xiaojin Chen, “Conceptualizing and Measuring Historical Trauma Among American Indian People,” Am. J. of Comm. Psychology, 33(3-4):119-30 (June 2004).

[25] For example, parenting and communication styles and cultural signals. See, Kathleen Brown-Rice, “Examining the Theory of Historical Trauma Among Native Americans; Michelle M. Sotero, “A conceptual model of historical trauma: Implications for public heath practice and research,” Journal of Health Disparities research and Practice, 1(1), 93-108 (2006).

[26] Kathleen Brown-Rice, “Examining the Theory of Historical Trauma Among Native Americans,” Oct. 15, 2014.

[27] Les B. Whitbeck, Gary W. Adams, Dan R. Hoyt, and Xiaojin Chen, “Conceptualizing and Measuring Historical Trauma Among American Indian People,” Am. J. of Comm. Psychology, 33(3-4):119-30 (June 2004).

[28] Whitbeck et al. at 128.

[29] Frank Edwards and Theresa Rocha Beardall, “American Indian and Alaska Native child welfare system contact across U.S. States: magnitudes and mechanisms, SocArXiv (Apr.1, 2021). Web.

[30] Claudette Grinnell Davis, Allison Dunnigan, Bailey B. Stevens, “Indigenous-centered racial disproportionality in American foster care: a national population study,” Journal of Public Child Welfare, (Jan. 2022).

[31] Mandated reporting of suspected child abuse or neglect is a critical entry point into child protection systems. Sociologist Kelley Fong’s research makes important contributions to understanding how mandated reporting in family interactions with healthcare, educational, and social service systems impact families, finding that CPS concerns rarely prompted mothers to avoid systems wholesale. Throughout their system participation, however, mothers concealed their hardships, home life, and parenting behavior from potential reporters. Reporting systems also serve as vital sources of support for disadvantaged families, and thus mothers’ concealment of information could preclude opportunities for services and reinforce a sense of constraint or limitation in families’ institutional interactions. Kelley Fong , Concealment and Constraint: Child Protective Services Fears and Poor Mothers’ Institutional Engagement, Social Forces, 97:4, 1785-1810 (2019) https://doi.org/10.1093/sf/soy093.

[32] Native population centers are multidimensional. They are urban, see Indian cities: histories of indigenous urbanization, Eds. Kent Blansett, Cathleen D Cahill, and Andrew Needham, University of Oklahoma Press: Norman (2022): 70% of Native people in the US have lived in cities at some point in the past 50 years; and they are rural, see Native America x Rural America: Tribal Nations as Key Players in Regional Rural Economies, Miriam M. Jorgensen and Joan Timeche, in Investing in Rural Prosperity, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis (2022): approximately 70% of all tribal citizens live on and near reservations, tribal lands that largely are located far from urban cores.