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.

The Bravery of Our Relatives

By Kimee Wind-Hummingbird

July 9, 2022 marked the beginning of the Department of the Interior’s “Road to Healing” Tour. The Tour is a follow-up to the Department’s recently released “Federal Indian Boarding School Investigative Report,” which documents the scope of the boarding school system and outlines the social, religious, and policy context in which it took shape. Because it is based on archival government documents, the report is history as told by government representatives, not by the Indigenous people who experienced the system’s abuses.

While reading the report, I could count on one hand the items of new information that I learned. Unfortunately, many of us have heard these heartbreaking stories from family members and other survivors for years. What was new information to me was how well documented the horrific treatment of our relatives has always been. It is disturbing to read how government leaders all the way back to Thomas Jefferson knew the conditions our children were being housed in and the measures being taken to break up our families and force our children to assimilate into U.S. culture. The report makes it obvious that government officials across different eras of history considered this abuse of our children an easier and cheaper way of destroying Tribes and taking our land than killing us.

But the report doesn’t include the voices of boarding school survivors. That’s where Secretary Haaland’s “Road to Healing” Tour comes in. The Tour is designed to give voice to survivors’ accounts.

The Tour’s first stop was Riverside Boarding School in Anadarko, Oklahoma. Riverside, which opened in 1871, is still in operation today, though it is no longer operated for the purposes it was designed for. Today it is home to youth from many different Tribal Nations who attend the school for a variety of different reasons. It felt appropriate to launch the Tour at Riverside, since it is one of the oldest boarding schools still operating, and since Oklahoma—where I live—has the shameful distinction of having been home to 76 Indian boarding schools, more than any other state.

Riverside Indian School, 1901

As a Muscogee citizen with Cherokee descendancy who was raised on the Muscogee reservation and spent 22 years working in the child and family services programs of my two Nations, I know firsthand how the effort to “kill the Indian and save the man” devastated our communities and peoples. Three generations of my Muscogee/Cherokee family attended boarding schools. My sister and I were the first ones in roughly 100 years to be spared, but that doesn’t mean the losses have been healed. I have seen the ripple effects of the traumas my great-grandparents, grandparents, and my father experienced when they were taken away from their families and forced to attend schools far away from their homes.

When I heard the Tour would come to Oklahoma and survivors would tell their stories, I knew I had to attend. Being there was important to me. My life’s work has been serving the families of my communities. Our elders, the wisdom keepers of our communities, would be speaking, and they needed support. They needed to feel comfort and surrounded by love as they shared their stories. I hoped to offer that in whatever way I could.

I invited my father to drive to Anadarko with me. He declined. I knew why he declined, even though he did not put it into words. I knew the experience would be painful for him. I didn’t press him. Throughout my life, I have watched my father cope with the challenges rooted in having attended boarding schools and not being raised with his siblings. His path—which started with rebuilding lost connections to family and his former self—has been ever-changing, and his achievements have been hard-won. Today he proudly serves the Veterans of our Nation as part of our Tribal Cabinet.

I made the nearly three-hour drive to Riverside alone and in silence. I never drive anywhere without listening to music or podcasts, but on that day, I felt that I had to mentally prepare for the heaviness I was headed toward. I thought about all of those beautiful, courageous community members who were making a special effort to show up and share their stories of endurance. I felt grateful to them, and I prayed they would find peace and calmness after sharing. Some of them would likely be telling their stories out loud for the first time in their lives.

Almost everyone talked about how they were treated upon first entering their school, how they had their hair cut and then had an unidentified burning liquid poured over their scalp. Some thought the liquid was kerosene. Everyone talked about how badly it burned their skin and eyes. Many spoke of the powerlessness they felt, how they were abused and treated with no regard for their safety or wellbeing. Several talked about how, when summer break came, they were sent to live on local farms as forced laborers for non-Indian families.

Another common theme was separation from siblings. Children were removed from their homes without an attempt to keep siblings together. These speakers mourned the years of family life, of bonding with siblings, that they will never get back.

Some were taken away as children and never again saw their family homes. Some talked about the loss of language and the shame they still feel—like many of us—at not being able to speak their own language.

It would be impossible to overemphasize how chilling it was to hear these stories one after another, as person after person stood up to share the truth of their experiences. To hear each survivor and honor their internal feelings with the empathy they deserved was a challenge, more so as their inflections of rage, anger, and sadness accumulated. The sense of loss they conveyed, the pain in many of the voices—these things hit me hard, in spite of what I already knew about the heartbreaking system they were talking about. It overwhelmed me. So many have endured that pain in silence for so long.

Ending the silence is necessary and long overdue. I am grateful to Secretary Haaland for instituting the Boarding School Initiative, and I appreciate the importance of including the voices of survivors. I believe this is a necessary step in the journey toward healing.

I also worry about how individual survivors are doing after having shared their stories. As with any disclosure of traumatic experiences, there are bound to be aftereffects. These aftereffects may include positive feelings of having connected with others and of releasing tensions that have been buried for too long. But the aftereffects might be destabilizing, too.

There were mental health professionals onsite at Riverside, but are the people who spoke being supported now that they are back to their everyday lives? Also, what should we be doing to support our communities as these stories begin to see the light of day all at once? I think about the cumulative force of all those stories I heard at Riverside, and I wonder what happens when you multiply the stories in community after community across the country.

Other types of revelations are coming, as well. We already know that US Indian Boarding Schools had burial sites on their campuses. Part of the Initiative’s mission is to identify and repatriate the remains of the unknown number of children who did not survive their “education.” In the initial report, the government authors make clear that they expect the number of burial site discoveries to increase as the investigation proceeds.

I returned home from Anadarko in silence, the same way I had come. But on the return trip, I tried to keep in mind the bravery of those people who had shared their stories. None of us would be here today without their bravery. We will all need that bravery in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

Kimee Wind-Hummingbird, a citizen of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation with Cherokee descendancy, joined the NNCTC in 2021 after 22 years serving youth and families in the child and family programs of her two tribal nations. In addition to extensive supervisory experience and expertise on the Indian Child Welfare Act, she has trained and consulted with both tribal and non-tribal stakeholders, including judges, attorneys, state child welfare agencies, tribal child welfare agencies, and other service providers. Her focus across all of her professional activities has been keeping indigenous families connected to their tribe, culture, and community.

This post is the second 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.

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.

We Have the Bodies

by Shannon Crossbear

Every year we celebrate our birthdays together. My friend, Bernie and I. We break out the cribbage board, make tea, and talk.

Today she told me she went to three residential schools. Three. I knew she went to one. We talked about it over the years. Not much. Just in safe moments and always in whispered tones. Today was different. Today she told more. Two of the schools had those electric chairs. She saw them. She saw a boy once die in that chair. She stopped speaking the language that day.

Students at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, circa 1900

All the schools were bad, she said. All of them did terrible things to the children. She said they did tell their parents and others at home about what was happening. No one believed them. She said, “Even our parents did not believe us. They thought we just did not want to go back to school. They thought we were making it up.” We both agreed it would be hard to believe something so evil as hurting children.

Evil. That is the word we both thought was the only one appropriate. Evil done in the name of their God. It was the collusion between church and the federal government across both colonized nations on this northern continent. If we are to see justice, it must cross borders, just as the bodies do. Neither Canada nor the United States can claim to be absolved of this sin, of this crime against humanity. They continue to not be held accountable for the crimes.

Today she told me she lost four more family members in the last month. One got disconnected from life support yesterday after a drug overdose that rendered her brain dead. Two have gone missing from separate locations connected with the oil industry. Diabetes finally took her brother.

She said, “It is like they moved the school outside the building, and we are still there. In that bad place.”

It is true. We have the bodies to prove it. Not just the bodies of those children buried on the school grounds. The bodies of the brother that died from a drug overdose and the son that died by suicide. The bodies of the sister that is behind bars and that daughter sleeping on the streets.

As the count of those found under the ground grows and we have our birthday tea, we wonder if we will ever count those “off campus” bodies. We wonder how we are not yet among them as we celebrate our 67th birthdays together over a cup of tea and a conversation.

 

Shannon CrossBear, pictured above (front row, center) with her grandchildren, serves as a Cultural Consultant for the NNCTC. She has facilitated for and consulted with the National Indian Child Welfare Association, the Federation of Families for Children’s Mental Health, Georgetown University, The National Child Traumatic Stress Network, and the Surgeon Generals Conference on Children’s Mental Health. She has worked with tribal and non tribal communities throughout the U.S. and Canada to promote traditional, culturally congruent, and trauma-informed practices, as well as to support systemic change to improve outcomes for children and their families.

This post is the first in a series that the NNCTC will be publishing to coincide with the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative’s activities. We highly recommend that you read the Initiative’s introductory report here.

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.

Tribal Child Welfare Systems and Self-Determination

Aligning Governance with Culture and Creating Community Supports that Foster Family Wellbeing

by Patrice Kunesh

Earlier this year, the United States Supreme Court granted review of four cases[1] that challenge the constitutionality of the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA), a federal law intended to address the incredibly high rate of removal –  and subsequent adoption – of Native children from their families by state agencies.[2] A ruling invalidating ICWA would have significant impacts on state and county child welfare practices, particularly if it would weaken protections and services for Native children domiciles outside the reservation.[3]

Despite this uncertainty, what is not at stake is the inherent right of tribal governments to support child and family welfare within their own communities.[4] Many tribes are animating their laws and community services with traditional values that honor child and community well-being.[5] The fullest expression of this authority is a responsive tribal child welfare system oriented to supporting families and children through culturally attuned tribal codes and courts, broad social services sensitive to a family’s diverse needs, and community infrastructure to maintain family safety and stability, such as housing and child care.[6] Tribal governance and investment in families and children not only improves social outcomes, it also increases economic stability and, in turn, community well-being.[7]

Aligning governance and culture

Well before Congress enacted the Indian Child Welfare Act in 1978, tribal leaders demanded federal action to halt the abusive practices and tragic consequences of removing Native children from their families.[8] When Congress finally acted, it vowed to safeguard Native children from further injury and strengthen the legal authority of tribes in child welfare matters.[9] Finding that “there is no resource that is more vital to the continued existence and integrity of Indian tribes than their children,”[10] Congress unequivocally affirmed the critical role of tribes in preserving Native families.  

Enacted during the self-determination era of federal Indian law, ICWA represented a seminal shift in federal Indian law and policy.[11] Tribal self-determination is based on the premise that tribal leaders and members are in the best position to understand the needs and priorities of their communities, and thus advances tribal governance and reservation control over policy and economic decisions. In ICWA, Congress imported the mandates of self-determination while affirming the inherent responsibility of tribes as parens patriae[12] in child welfare matters.

These are not lofty policy aspirations. ICWA explicitly defines the exclusive jurisdiction of tribes over child welfare matters arising on tribal reservations or when the child is a ward of the tribal court, as well as concurrent jurisdiction for actions arising outside the reservation.[13] In addition, tribes must be notified by county or state child protection agencies of proceedings involving Native children, including children eligible to be tribal citizens. If out-of-home care is necessary, the state court is required to prefer placing the child with extended family members, other Native families, and tribally approved foster homes.[14]  

Many tribes have established comprehensive child welfare laws and courts.[15]Among the more promising models are tribal child welfare systems that are informed by community trauma and embrace broad the responsibility for healing and well-being well beyond basic social services. These systems involve partnerships with state and local governments to enhance cultural understanding and more compassionate interactions, and weave together community supports and preventative services to foster safety and stability. The goal of these adaptive systems is to shift capacity and resources to respond appropriately to children and families in need of care and create pathways for family preservation.  

As important as tribal child welfare systems are in Native communities, they are highly influential in state court proceedings and child protection services. Because ICWA requires that states defer to tribal child welfare codes and practices, tribal codes have the power to directly impact state action and outcomes for Native families and children. Thus, there is a real social justice imperative for tribes to address child welfare concerns through the fullest expression and practice of sovereignty both on and off-reservation.  

Adaptive Tribal Child Welfare Systems

Pillar 1: Tribal Laws and Codes 

Across Indian Country, tribes are creating unique child welfare systems tailored to their culture and community values. These systems comprise many public and private sector actors working together to address child maltreatment (abuse and neglect) and strengthen families. Child welfare systems are adaptive and multi-layered, driven by the family’s needs (day care and health care) and social-economic changes (employment and housing).

In Indian Country, the primary responsibility for child welfare lies with the tribal government. In some cases, the Bureau of Indian Affairs provides child welfare services to the Native community.[16] Tribal laws define the government’s responsibilities to protect children who are at risk of maltreatment and guide tribal court decisions concerning interventions, removal, reunification, and ultimately permanent legal and relational connectedness. Tribal customary law is often recognized to help resolve internal conflicts or to approach an issue in a more traditional way, such as using customary adoptions to preserve family relationships rather than permanently severing parent rights.[17]  

The Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe recently established a Family Healing Wellness Court called Noojimo’wiigamig Inaawanidiwag, which means Healing Journey in Ojibwe. Recognizing its responsibility over child and family welfare, the Band intends for its laws and court to help safeguard its “culture, language, rights and way of life, as well as promoting a future of prosperity for Band Members and future generations….” In fulfilling this mission, the Band directs the Court to:

  • provide intensive services and more frequent court intervention to facilitate the reunification of Band families and to prevent the breakup of such families;

  • improve the safety and well-being of children whose families are affected by substance abuse, trauma, and mental health conditions;

  • prevent the prenatal exposure of infants to alcohol and controlled substances;

  • expedite family reunification and reduce the lengths of children’s out-of-home placements;

  • strengthen families’ indigenous cultural, traditional, and community ties;

  • reduce recidivism rates of substance abuse and promote recovery; and

  • develop future healthy generations of Band members by promoting health and wellness for participants, their families, and Band communities.[18]

The authority of the Mille Lacs Band’s Family Healing Wellness Court is augmented by the support of a multidisciplinary team that serves families involved with the child protection system in both a collaborative and cultural way. Similarly, two other Minnesota tribes, the White Earth Nation and Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe, have incorporated traditional healing knowledge and cultural practices into their child protection systems. With a more intimate knowledge of their community, these tribes offer alternative resources to assess and meet a family’s needs with a robust array of preventative services and pathways to connect families with what they need (for example, services to address poverty and poverty-related problems, and support for chemical dependency or mental health issues).  

On a larger scale, a research collaboration between the Native Nations Institute at The University of Arizona and the National Indian Child Welfare Association, examined over one hundred tribal child welfare codes[19] to determine the array of authority over child welfare matters. The study analyzed eight core aspects of tribal child welfare policies: culture, jurisdiction, tribal-state relationships, child abuse reporting, paternity, foster care, termination of parental rights (TPR), and adoption. Among the important lessons learned from this review, cultural values appear to be most impactful. For example, many tribal codes set a higher burden of proof to remove a child from their home and disallow termination of parental rights, favoring instead customary adoption. Placement preferences favor grandparents and extended family. The study validated the central tenet of self-determination: the most important and effective approach to supporting families and safeguarding children is through tribal governance. 

pillar 2: Tribal Child and Family Programs

Against the backdrop of tribal codes and courts, tribal child welfare systems provide an array of community-based services and partner with families directly to meet their particular needs. These services and supports include family preservation services, foster care, mental health care, and substance abuse treatment, employment assistance, and housing and financial assistance. The family-community approach also identifies alternative pathways to better support families if an intervention is necessary. For example, close partnerships with schools, public safety, and social workers could leverage capacity to provide concrete support to a family and alleviate a referral to the child protection office. These practices emphasize relationships and connections and expand responsibility for children and family well-being to the whole community.[20]

Another example from Minnesota illustrates the possibilities of adopting the whole community-guided/family-centered approach to tribal child welfare systems. In May 2020, the Red Lake Nation celebrated the opening of a new building with hopes that it will inspire a new era of community well-being. The Nation’s redesigned child and family services program has been renamed to Ombimindwaa Gidinawemaaganinaadog, which means Uplifting our Relatives, and will be housed in the newly constructed Intergenerational Services Building. 

Rooted in Anishinaabe language, culture, and traditions, the new program addresses intergenerational trauma and healing through family and community relationships. It offers a traditional approach to fostering wellness and connectedness, such as referring to clients as “relatives.” While most people on the reservation are in fact related, the reference to one another as relatives also fosters a deeper personal connection. Similarly, foster parents are known as “relative care community service providers,” a title that emphasizes family relationships. Another important change is re-framing child protection case management as “reunification services.” Negative terminology often pathologizes child welfare matters and risks exacerbating pre-existing trauma. Using Native words is an expression of tribal sovereignty and conveys the traditional aspiration of healthy and bonded families.

These are not mere cosmetic changes. Buildings and structures and revamped programs represent direct tribal investments in families and children. They also signify meaningful cultural transformations around family relationships. The underpinning of these tribal child welfare systems is the knowledge that preserving families is a vital pathway to healing and repairing the community as a whole from the persistent effects of historical trauma, which surface in the extreme over-representation of Native people in the child welfare system,[21] the juvenile and criminal justice systems, and chronic health disparities. Another leading public-health approach to resolving trauma was designed by the Center for American Indian Health, which promotes home care, parenting skills, and cultural strengths. In healing from historical trauma, community members also recover their identity and their health.

pillar 3: Tribal Community Supports

The third pillar of the child welfare system is community supports. These are the buildings and infrastructure that complement the other two pillars, tribal laws and social services. The relationship between physical space and overall health is well known. In Native communities, for example, social challenges often associated with poor housing conditions are extensive and exacerbate both health problems and child welfare.[22] 

The COVID-19 pandemic revealed the worst consequences of these conditions. Native Americans have suffered the most severe health and economic consequences of any major population group[23] during the pandemic, with the highest infection rates and a mortality rate 2.5 times that of non-Hispanic whites.[24] The public health emergency soon exposed another crisis: acute overcrowding and inferior housing conditions across Indian Country, which aggravated Covid conditions and created an imminent health threat to households.[25] A less obvious, but extremely worrisome outcome of the pandemic is that Native youth have suffered the highest rate of caregiver loss of any population group, more than 4.5 times higher than the rate for non-Hispanic white children.[26]

Several Native nations are creating unique community supports around housing to reduce child removals and keep families intact—supports that also provide protections against losses such as those suffered during the pandemic. In the Pacific Northwest, the Lummi Tribe designed Sche’lang’en Village, a co-housing community with the mission of preserving and protecting “Native families by providing an opportunity for families to make transformational life changes.”[27] The word “sche’lang’en” means “way of life” in Lummi, and it represents both the Tribe’s essential philosophy and its intentions for residents of the Village to be sheltered and protected.  

The Tribe located the housing development in the center of the reservation – the heart of the community – and within walking distance of health care and social services. Clustered with elder housing and counselors-in-residence, Sche’lang’en Village is comprised of 45 multi- and single-story houses that have become home to 34 families and more than 100 children. The houses are built in pods, with front doors and back porches facing other houses to encourage neighborly interaction and connected to an outdoor community space for more socialization opportunities. 

On the Great Plains, the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe is building a multi-generational housing community designed around traditional values of health and well-being. The Tribe’s express goals were to ensure that every family will be able to live in safe, sanitary, and affordable housing in a community with a central social and cultural gathering place.[28] Moreover, the project had to be community-led. Untethered from their initial reluctance – never had they been asked to be the architect of their own space – they eagerly imagined a place for their relatives, young and old, bounding with opportunities for future generations.  

The Tribe listened carefully and went even further, insisting on upgraded materials to ensure tribal members received quality, energy-efficient homes and amenities such as dishwashers and microwaves, washer-dryer units, garages, and Internet service. Previously, these features of quality and convenience have not been synonymous with housing in Indian Country. The power of this community collaboration cannot be overstated. By making significant investments in its people, the Tribe instilled a profound sense of respect and dignity in its community – qualities rarely considered in the appalling legacy of reservation housing development, housing which often serves today as yet another persistent and visible reminder of historical trauma. 

Conclusion

In 1978, as it considered the Indian Child Welfare Act, Congress and the country learned about the grave disruption to Native communities from the excessive and unnecessary removal of Native children from their families and culture. Despite ICWA’s jurisdictional mandates and procedural safeguards, Native children continue to be removed from their homes at alarming rates and vulnerable families remain at risk of displacement. Even more, ICWA’s mainstay protections are again being challenged in the US Supreme Court. 

The imperative to act is as urgent as ever. What is needed is more tribal impact in child welfare systems both within and outside reservation communities. Many tribes have recognized the urgency of these challenges. They have created child welfare systems animated by cultural values of health and wellness that weave traditional practices and innovative child protection laws together with community supports designed to honor the dignity of each person and family.  

These collective contributions offer insight, wisdom, and pragmatic ideas with the potential to transform tribal child welfare practices, and in doing so, ensure the preservation and well-being of Native children, families, and communities. 

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 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.

[1] In Haaland v. Brackeen (consolidated for one hour of oral argument with Cherokee Nation v. BrackeenTexas v. Haaland, and Brackeen v. Haaland), the Supreme Court will review a ruling by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit that invalidated portions of the Indian Child Welfare Act. The consolidated case will be argued in the fall of 2022, with a decision to follow next year. 

[2] In the 1970s, between 25-35% of all Native children were removed from their families, and a prominent study found that 85% of removed Native children were placed with non-Native adoptive families. In a 1974 hearing on the proposed ICWA, Congress heard testimony that some state social workers viewed Indian reservations as categorically unacceptable places to raise children and removed children without due process. Matthew L. Fletcher, Federal Indian Law 422 (citing Indian Child Welfare Program: Hearings Before the S. Sub. Comm. on Indian Affs., 93rd Cong., 2d Sess., 19-20 (1974). See also Patrice H. Kunesh, The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978: Protecting Essential Tribal Interests, 60 U. Colo. L. Rev. 131 (1988); Borders Beyond Borders: Protecting Essential Tribal Relations Off Reservation Under the Indian Child Welfare Act, 15 N. Eng. L. Rev. (2007). The federal government itself was complicit in these efforts, funding the “Indian Adoption Project” (IAP) in the 1950s. Along with the Child Welfare League of America, the IAP’s overt goal was to remove Native children in western states and place them for adoption by white families in eastern states. The Adoption History Project, University of Oregon (2012). Adoption History: Indian Adoption Project (uoregon.edu) 

[3] Supporters of ICWA maintain that the law is based on the political government-to-government relationship between tribes and the federal government and sets the gold standard for culturally appropriate services in child welfare matters. See also, “Indian Child Welfare Act principles: The gold standard of child welfare practices.” Casey Family Programs (2019). Opponents contend that ICWA interferes with states’ rights and is impermissibly based on race. Their two main constitutional arguments are that ICWA violates the 10th Amendment of the Constitution because it “commandeers” – imposes duties on – the states, and that ICWA is an impermissible race-based law that contravenes the Equal Protection clause. 

[4] In general, Native American tribes have inherent authority over their internal affairs to the same extent as state and federal governments. This arises from their pre-existing status as independent sovereigns. Tribes exercise this authority through their own form of government, laws, and judicial systems. The ICWA confirms this authority in its jurisdictional provisions: mandating that the tribe has jurisdiction exclusive as to any state over any child custody proceeding involving a Native child who resides or is domiciled within the reservation of such tribe, except where such jurisdiction is otherwise vested in the state by existing federal law (such as Public Law 280). 25 U.S.C. 1911(a). 

[5] Among the many diverse Native cultures throughout the United States, there are widely shared beliefs and practices that children are a responsibility of both the family and the community. See Tribal Best Practices for Family Engagement Toolkit, National Indian Child Welfare Association (2018). Contemporary Native families and communities also continue to value kinship care, where extended family members and relatives share responsibility for child-rearing, along with their parents. This cultural practice is confirmed in the demographic data, which show that “single-race Native Americans are the group most likely … to live in multigenerational and crowded households. In these “grandfamilies,” Native grandparents were most likely to be responsible for raising their grandchildren (51.1% of all Native kinship-care families). Understanding these worldviews is the foundation of culturally responsive child welfare practice and policy. Patrice H. Kunesh, “How Are the Children? Addressing Covid Mortality in Native Families by Investing in Child Well-Being,” (Missoula, MT: National Native Children’s Trauma Center, (Jan. 2022). How Are the Children? — National Native Children's Trauma Center (nnctc.org). 

[6] Despite the considerable strengths of thriving Native communities, some families continue to struggle, and they may become entangled in state, county, or tribal child welfare systems. These challenges often are rooted in the legacy of unresolved historical trauma. Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart, Josephine Chase, Jennifer Elkins, & Deborah B. Altschul, “Historical Trauma Among Indigenous Peoples of the Americas: Concepts, Research, and Clinical Considerations,” Journal of Psychoactive Drugs, 43 (4), 282–290 (2011). See also Patrice H. Kunesh, “What We Inherit & What We Send Forth: How Tribes Can Improve Community Well-Being Through Trauma-Informed and Asset-Based Care,” (Missoula, MT: National Native Children’s Trauma Center, (Sept. 2021); John Red Horse, Cecilia Martinez, Pricilla Day, “Family preservation: Concepts in American Indian communities,” National Indian Child Welfare Association and Casey Family Programs (2001) (pdf on file with author). 

[7] An abundance of research has established that tribal self-governance produces the best policy outcomes: when tribes make their own decisions about what development approaches to take, they consistently out-perform external decision makers on matters as diverse as governmental form, natural resource management, economic development, health care and social service provision. Harvard Project on American Indian Economic Development. Research also has well-established that investments in young children through an array of social welfare policies yield “the biggest bang for the buck.” Clea Simon, “Social spending on kids yields biggest bang for the buck.” The Harvard Gazette (July 24, 2019). Rob Gruenwald, “The promise of early childhood development in Indian Country,” Center for Indian Country Development, Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis (Nov. 17, 2017). The promise of early childhood development in Indian Country | Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis (minneapolisfed.org) 

[8] Long before the ICWA shed light on this crisis, the federal government sanctioned the removal of Native children from their families based on policies aimed at forcibly assimilating them, particularly through boarding schools. For over one hundred years, from 1869 to the late 1970s, under the authority of the Indian Civilization Act of 1819, the federal government supported the removal of hundreds of thousands of Native children from their homes and enrollment at federally funded boarding schools. Children as young as three years old were removed from their families and sent to schools located far away from their families. The first was the Carlisle Indian Boarding School, founded by Richard Henry Pratt on a former military installation in Pennsylvania. Pratt’s motto, “Kill the Indian, and save the man,” foretold the horrific violence and abuse children would suffer in these institutions. Children were punished for speaking their Native languages and conformity to school rules was strictly enforced, from dress to manners to curriculum. Girls were taught domestic skills while boys were trained for industrial jobs. Carlisle became the model for 357 other government operated schools. In 1900, 20,000 Native children were in boarding schools. Twenty-five years later, 60,000 Native children, representing nearly 83% of all Native children, were attending boarding schools, according to the National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition. Thousands of these children never returned home. When the last school was closed in 1978, generations of survivors carried deep emotional scars from their boarding school traumas.

In addition, the Indian Adoption Project (IAP) further operationalized the federal government’s policy of forced removal of Native children from their families, communities, and cultures. The nonprofit Child Welfare League of America (CWLA), in cooperation with the U.S. Department of Interior Bureau of Indian Affairs, carried out the IAP between 1958 to 1967. In 2001, Shay Bilchik, the CWLA President and CEO, formally apologized for the organization’s participation in the widespread removal of Native children from their homes. K. 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).

Despite ICWA’s intentions and procedural interventions, serious disparities continue to occur. Native children in foster care are represented at nearly two times the level of white children, according to a 2007 report by the National Indian Child Welfare Association (NICWA). For example, according to statistics from the South Dakota Department of Social Services, a Native child is 11 times more likely to be placed in foster care than a white child. In South Dakota, Natives comprise less than 9% of state’s population, but 52% of the kids in South Dakota’s foster care system are Native. See Patrice H. Kunesh, “A Call for an Assessment of the Welfare of Indian Children in South Dakota,” 52 South Dakota Law Review (2007).

[9] 25 U.S.C. § 1901(3) – (5). 

[10] 25 U.S.C. §1901.

[11] After the termination policies of the 1950s and the 1960s era of civil rights, Congress endorsed a suite of sweeping new policies to encourage tribal self-government, including the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act (ISDEAA) of 1975, the Indian Civil Rights Act of 1976, and the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978. The ISDEAA fundamentally changed how the U.S. engages with Indian Country, empowering tribes to exercise their sovereignty and control their own affairs. In this new era of self-determination, government agencies must contract with Native nations to provide services for their citizens such as health care, education, and housing, which previously were exclusively provided, and controlled, by the federal government. In the words of tribal leader W. Ron Allen, Chairman of the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe, “We took charge of our own destinies. We are now capable of meeting our communities’ needs more effectively than any other government. We know our people and are sensitive to their cultural traditions and realities. Our people take comfort in knowing that their governments—not the state or federal government—are making decisions on their behalf.”  

[12] Under the legal doctrine of parens patriae, the government has the inherent authority, both the power and the duty, to protect people who are legally unable to act on their behalf. In the area of minor children, the government and its courts have the duty to intervene to protect the best interests of families in need of services and children whose welfare may be at risk. Congress recognized tribes’ status as parens patriae in ICWA’s jurisdictional mandates and procedural responsibilities to act on behalf of Native children. See Cami Fraser, Protecting Native Americans: The Tribe as Parens Patriae, Michigan Journal of Race and Law Vol. 5 (2000). See generally, Oglala

Sioux Tribe v. Van Hunnik, 993 F.3d 1017 (8th Cir. 2014) (discussing standing of Oglala Sioux Tribe to pursue ICWA claims on behalf of tribal members to maintain tribe's integrity and to promote ICWA's goal of maintaining the security and stability of Indian families); United States v. Santee Sioux Tribe of Nebraska, 254 F.3d 728, 734 (8th Cir. 2001) (under parens patriae doctrine, tribe acts on behalf of all of its members). 

[13] ICWA’s jurisdictional mandates are set out in 25 U.S.C. §1911. See A Practical Guide to the Indian Child Welfare Act, National Indian Law Library (2011). 

[14] 25 U.S.C. §1915. 

[15] The study examined 109 tribal child welfare laws, of which over half were enacted after 2000. For a general summary of these tribal laws, see “Tribal Child Welfare Codes as Sovereignty in Action: A Guide for Tribal Leaders” [Conference Edition]. Rachel Rose, Adrian T. Smith, Mary Beth Jager, Miriam Jorgensen, and Stephen Cornell. 2016. Paper presented at the 2016 National Indian Child Welfare Association Annual Meeting, St. Paul, MN, April 4-6, 2016. National Indian Child Welfare Association, Portland, OR; Native Nations Institute, Tucson, AZ. 

[16] The Bureau of Indian Affairs at the US Department of Interior is responsible for implementing regulations under ICWA and supporting tribal self-governance in child welfare and family services. State child welfare systems similarly are supported by federal funding and policy initiatives. The Children’s Bureau within the US Department of Health and Human Services’ Administration for Children and Families holds the responsibility for implementing federal child and family legislation. https://www.childwelfare.gov.  

[17] Customary adoption is the main focus of a recent report issued by the California Tribal Families Coalition, formed by a consortium of tribal leaders following an extensive review of the state’s compliance with ICWA and its implementation of Cal-ICWA. “Tribal Customary Adoption (TCA) and the Resource Family Approval (RFA) Process: Challenges and Opportunities,” California Tribal Families Coalition, (Dec. 2020). The review found that California “is at the epicenter of ICWA,” with “some of the most divisive and controversial cases.” While the state is at the “cutting edge of innovation and reform,” the report finds that the California child welfare process is still missing important context about tribal customs and opportunities to collaborate with tribes around ICWA compliance. 2020.12.13-TCA-RFA-Report-KAC-draft-2-3.pdf (caltribalfamilies.org) 

[18] In Chapter 4 of the Judicial Branch, establishing the Family Healing Wellness Court as a voluntary program, the Mille Lacs Band sets out several findings and goals around family preservation and strengthening the Band’s traditions:

(a) The Band Assembly hereby finds that the purpose of this chapter is to bring together healing resources, cultural resources, and drug treatment by using a team approach to achieve the healing of the individual, the preservation and reunification of Band families, and the strengthening of Band communities.

(b) The Band Assembly hereby finds that 24 MLBS § 2003 states that Zhawenimaa, to keep the people together as one, is the way of life of the Non-Removable Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe. The Band’s goal is to restore the circle of peace and harmony by helping those that come before the Court of Central Jurisdiction so that they may experience a good life and the Band will continue to survive.

(c) The Band Assembly hereby finds that Band children and families impacted by substance abuse and mental health disorders are better served by a cooperative process grounded in Band culture and traditional teachings as an alternative to the usual court process.

[19] Tribal Child Welfare Codes as Sovereignty in Action, n. 5. 

[20] Wendy Haight, Cary Waubanascum, David Glesener, Priscilla Day, Brenda Bussey, and Karen Nichols, “The Center for Regional and Tribal Child Welfare Studies: Systems change through relational Anishinaabe worldview,”  Children and Youth Services Review 119 (2020). 

[21] The recent changes to the Red Lake Nation’s human services program, as with the changes in other Minnesota tribes mentioned above, are necessary responses to the exigency of the over-representation of Native children in the Minnesota foster care system. “Nationally, Indigenous children are 1.6 times more likely to be subjects of alleged maltreatment reports than white children. In Minnesota, Indigenous children are 5.4 times more likely than white children to be subjects of … Child Protection Services. … Furthermore, the number of Indigenous children in out-of-home care has increased …[and] Indigenous children in Minnesota have the highest rates of re-entry into out-of-home placement within 12 months following family reunification.” Haight et al. (2020)

[22] Haight et al., referencing a 2010 Canadian study indicating that “poverty and poor housing significantly account for over-representation of Indigenous families with children in out-of-home care.” 

[23] Desi Rodriguez-Lonebear, Nicolás E. Barceló, Randall Akee, and Stephanie Russo Carroll, “American Indian Reservations and COVID-19: Correlates of Early Infection Rates in the Pandemic,” Journal of Public Health Management and Practice 26, vol. 4 (2020): 371–77. https://journals.lww.com/jphmp/toc/2020/07000

[24] Randall Akee and Sarah Reber, “American Indians and Alaska Natives are dying of COVID-19 at shocking rates” (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2021). 

[25] Rodriguez-Lonebear et al. 2020. There is no doubt that poverty and poor housing harm health. According to the National Congress of American Indians, substandard housing makes up 40% of on-reservation housing, compared to 6% of housing outside of Indian Country. The Department of Housing and Urban Development, which oversees the largest housing programs serving Indian Country, has found that:

the overcrowding and physical housing problems of American Indians and Alaska Natives living on reservations and in other tribal areas remain strikingly more severe than those of other Americans. Particular circumstances of tribal areas—remoteness, lack of infrastructure, and complex legal and other constraints related to land ownership—make it extremely difficult to improve housing conditions in those areas.

Nancy Pindus, G. Thomas Kingsley, Jennifer Biess, Diane Levy, Jasmine Simington & Christopher Hayes, U.S. Dep’t Hous. & Urb. Dev., Housing Needs of American Indians and Alaska Natives in Tribal Areas: A Report from the Assessment of American Indian, Alaska Native, and Native Hawaiian Housing Needs (Jan. 2017). https://www.huduser.gov/portal/sites/default/files/pdf/HNAIHousing Needs.pdf

[26] Kunesh, 2022. How Are the Children? — National Native Children's Trauma Center (nnctc.org).

[27] Elizabeth Amon, “A Village Apart: Lummi Nation Creates a Unique Community to Support Families.” The Imprint, Youth & Family News (July 21, 2021). https://imprintnews.org/family/a-village-apart/57033

[28] Patrice H Kunesh, “The Significance of Belonging for Indigenous Peoples: The Power of Place and People—Creating a Vision for Community in Indian Country through Self-Governance and Self-Determination,” Journal of Affordable Housing & Community Development Law 30, no. 1 (2021): 23–46. Vogel’s mission is to create an affordable housing community called Badger Park, a 160-acre subdivision nestled in rolling grassland plains in Eagle Butte. Vogel’s plans include 160 rental units, an elderly community, a 20-unit apartment complex, 35–45 home ownership, and space for community and economic development. The entire park will create 265 family units, housing a total of 1,000–1,500 people. The site also anticipates more park areas and a business center. Achieving their goals requires Vogel and her team to weave together many housing programs and constantly scout new funding opportunities.

Tribal Health Sovereignty and Self-Determination

by Fred Fisher, MPA

In a recent essay we published on the NNCTC blog, Patrice Kunesh writes about “the sticky residue of settler colonialism,” which she defines as “hostile policies aimed at disempowering tribal government and crushing Native culture.” Among the ongoing effects of this colonial residue, as Patrice writes, have been “generations of economic inequities and precarious housing conditions, as well as egregious health disparities, particularly for Native youth.”

I was reminded of Patrice’s comment when I saw this HRSA funding announcement for a Community Health Worker Training Program, because I firmly believe that one of the keys to eliminating colonialism’s hold on the present and future is tribal health sovereignty. For better or worse, the road to tribal health sovereignty still runs through the federal government in many instances. That is the case with this worthy grant program, which I encourage tribal stakeholders to review.

Health care for American Indian and Alaska Native people has always been a core component of the federal trust responsibility to tribal nations. However, since the passage in 1978 of the Indian Education and Self-Determination Act, the federal government has increasingly exercised this trust obligation through a transfer of its authority and control from federal agencies to the tribes themselves. In response to this crucial policy shift, tribes immediately began to lean into the opportunity to recreate health care systems and delivery that are culturally responsive and tailored to community needs.  

In the decades since 1978, many tribal nations have enhanced the design and delivery of health care through efforts to make services culturally responsive and tailored to tribal population and community needs. The results have been impressive both in improved health outcomes and consumer satisfaction.[i] Randall Akee, in a 2018 blog post on the new challenges to the Indian Child Welfare Act, states that his research has “failed to uncover a single example of how removing control, jurisdiction, or authority from tribal governments improves outcomes for American Indian and Alaska Natives.” This aligns with the findings of a  Harvard Project on American Indian Economic Development report, “The Context and Meaning of Family Strengthening in Indian America,” which characterizes effective services to tribal children and families as those that meet the following conditions:   

·        Effective programs and policies are self-determined;

·        Leadership can emerge from many levels of tribal society;

·        “Buy-in” on the part of tribal communities and formal leadership is essential;

·        Effective initiatives are institutionalized;

·        Effective initiatives are spiritual at their core.[ii]

Tribal nations are redefining the nature of health itself to include personal and community well-being and are increasingly designing and delivering programs and services at all levels of Tribal administration and governance that tap into local community assets and resources to promote health and well-being. In most tribal communities, the people who live there—elders, parents, relatives, youth, and others (in development terms, the tribal community’s social capital)—are increasingly being engaged as resources in health promotion as opposed to recipients of health services. This is an important shift in vision that tribal leaders and others with deep cultural understanding are tapping into to realize a more sustainable and positive health future for their children and families.   

Despite the progress that has been made in the exercise of tribal health sovereignty since 1978, the disproportionate impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on American Indian and Alaska Natives exposed many of the remaining gaps in health equity for Native children and families. The Community Health Worker Training Program[ii] may offer an important resource to re-building Native Nations in the aftermath of this public health crisis. The purpose of the programs is: 

·        to enhance the skill and knowledge of current community health worker and increasing the number of local health care workforce to respond to public health needs in underserved communities.

The objectives are: 

·        Expanding local capacity to recruit, train, and support new community health workers by reducing barriers to enrollment in the program (e.g.; support for tuition, health insurance, child care for trainees);

·        Reinforcing and updating current knowledge and expanding the skill sets of health workers;

·        Workforce development and employment; and, perhaps most importantly,

·        Health Equity.  

These goals and objectives appear to offer a good cultural match for many tribal nations. Tribal colleges and universities may be the perfect home for a program like this. I encourage readers to explore entire program announcement and consider applying.  

For more information on Tribal Health Sovereignty and Self-Determination in action, see the following profiles:

Quapaw Community Health Program

Chickaloon Native Village  

Oglala Lakota Nation

Menominee Nation

[i] For a thorough analysis of this transfer of power and authority using the implementation of a dental aide program by the Swinomish Tribe in Washington State as a case study, see: Geoffrey D. Strommer, S.K. Roels, C. P. Mayhew. Tribal Sovereign Authority and Self-Regulation of Health Care Services: The Legal Framework and the Swinomish Tribe’s Dental Health Program

[ii] For an excellent essay on incorporating traditional healing and spiritual practices into public health, see: Healing Historical Trauma: How Native American researchers are turning long-held traditions into novel public health solutions by Jackie Powder in the latest edition of Hopkins Bloomberg Public Health.

[iii] For on-going updates on grants, loans, research, and other health resources that improve health in rural America and in Indian Country, consider becoming an on-line subscriber to the Rural Health Information Hub.

Fred Fisher, MPA, is the NNCTC’s Community Development Advisor.

CBITS–AI: The Conception and Development of a Culturally Responsive Intervention for Trauma

By Deb Klemann, MS, LCPC

The NNCTC is pleased to announce the publication of Cognitive Behavioral Intervention for Trauma in Schools for American Indian Youth (CBITS–AI), our adaptation of Cognitive Behavioral Intervention for Trauma in Schools (CBITS), an in-school group counseling intervention for middle school students. First developed in 2003 by Lisa Jaycox, with a 2nd Edition coauthored by Jaycox, Audra Langley, and Sharon Hoover arriving in 2018, CBITS helps young people develop skills that promote healing from traumatic stress. CBITS is designed to be delivered in schools, helping to eliminate numerous practical and cultural barriers that might stand in the way of caregivers’ ability to ensure that their kids regularly get to therapy appointments.

The NNCTC has been providing training and consultation in CBITS implementation for more than fifteen years, with the understanding that the manualized course of treatment could be further modified by community members to best meet their needs. We have supported numerous clinicians and counselors who have facilitated CBITS group sessions in schools serving tribal communities. These providers working in tribal communities have consistently found, over the years, that CBITS is effective in reducing symptoms of traumatic stress and increasing positive coping strategies.

At the same time, the providers we partner with have shared their belief that portions of the CBITS manual could benefit from alterations that would make it a better cultural fit for American Indian students. Until now, each individual clinician has been responsible for making their own changes to the manual to make it more culturally responsive. Sometimes, this process goes smoothly. But it isn’t always a workable solution. Some CBITS facilitators may have too much on their plate already, or in cases when they aren’t from the local tribe, they may not have the cultural knowledge or permission to carry out a thorough cultural adaptation.

In an attempt to address these obstacles, and with the permission of the CBITS developers, the NNCTC formed a workgroup to guide a cultural adaptation that could be used across tribal communities, including some generalized structural changes, delivery nuances specific to tribal beliefs and customs, and numerous culturally responsive constructs. Based on consistent partner feedback, we also prioritized the promotion of traditional healing methods and students’ connections to their tribe, community, culture, and language as resilience-building factors.

The workgroup guiding the cultural adaptation consisted of NNCTC staff members with clinical experience serving tribal populations, as well as individuals with experience facilitating CBITS in schools serving tribal youth. The group included both tribal and non-tribal participants. Our shared goal was to re-work the intervention so that indigenous methodologies, tribal cultural knowledge, tribal beliefs, and traditional cultural practices serve as its foundations, while retaining the existing core components of CBITS.­­­­­­­­

Some specific examples of changes we made:

1. To promote an indigenous perspective privileging community interconnectedness, we  encourage the counselor/facilitator to self-disclose about themselves more than traditional clinical models would encourage. We recommend that the facilitator identify themselves to the students in relation to the tribe, community, and school, and then lead a discussion with the students about how to maintain confidentiality.

2. The manual uses the American bison as a metaphor for resilience. Of enormous cultural significance to Plains tribes, the bison, like North American tribes, are native to this land. Despite colonizers’ attempts to eliminate the bison population, bison are resilient. They have survived, and their numbers are growing. A herd of bison, confronted with a storm on the Plains, will choose to head directly into the storm, because that is the quickest way through it. The manual uses this image of strength and resilience to encourage students to face difficulties, share their traumatic stories, and overcome anxiety.

3. Psychoeducation (education about mental health issues) is a core component of CBITS. To help students understand common reactions to stress and trauma, CBITS teaches that thoughts, feelings, and behaviors are all connected. To convey this concept in a culturally relevant way, the CBITS-AI manual uses the medicine wheel, a common Native American symbol in teachings and practices related to wellness, health, and balance. Students learn how trauma reactions can impact the interconnectedness and balance of the four directions: mind, body, emotions, and spirit.

These are just a few examples of changes we made in the hope of making CBITS a better cultural fit for tribal youth. We recognize that there are limits to pan-tribal cultural adaptation and that further adaptation to meet the needs of individual tribes and communities may still be needed. We are happy to provide training and technical assistance in the implementation of CBITS-AI and to support community-level adaptations. The complete manual is available for download at no cost through the RAND institute, our partners in bringing this project to fruition. If you would like to request training and/or technical assistance in implementing CBITS–AI, please submit a TTA request, and we will contact you to discuss the details.

Deb Klemann is the NNCTC’s Clinical Consultant. She is an experienced clinical counselor and the lead author of two classroom-based social and emotional learning curricula focused on mitigating the effects of trauma and rooted in the principles of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, one for adolescents and one for younger children.