How do you get students to remember what they learn? According to Gladys Hawk, a citizen of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, you tell them a story.

Hawk is one of dozens of tribal elders featured on the North Dakota Department of Public Instruction鈥檚 website, which now boasts more than 350 videos.

In an played for educators at the Department of Public Instruction鈥檚 annual Indian Education Summit in Bismarck on Friday, Hawk spoke of the bedtime stories her grandmother would tell her in Lakota growing up.

Hawk said at the end of each tale, her grandmother would tie in an important life lesson.

鈥淪he would say, 鈥楢nd that鈥檚 why I want you to be good 鈥� don鈥檛 be like this one in the story,鈥欌�� said Hawk. 鈥淲e have to listen to what our elders have to say, because usually they鈥檙e teaching us something important.鈥�

Sharla Steever and Scott Simpson, who worked on the videos for North Dakota鈥檚 Native American Essential Understandings project, shared Hawk鈥檚 interview as one example of how attendees can integrate Native culture and history into the classroom.

鈥淵ou can pull those stories in any time you want, if you want to focus in on a concept or a theme or something historical that the elder is speaking about,鈥� Steever said of the Teaching of Our Elders videos.

Steever said in her experience, storytelling helps to create a sense of community in the classroom. Kids tend to retain information if they have a personal anecdote to connect it to, she said.

Under a law adopted by the state Legislature in 2021, K-12 schools in North Dakota are required to teach Native history. The website is one of a number of resources the Department of Public Instruction鈥檚 Office of Indian and Multicultural Education has developed that can support schools in this area, Steever said.

She said the Department of Public Instruction is still doing interviews with elders from time to time. However, it can be difficult to arrange.

While the agency likes to give elders who participate a stipend, there鈥檚 not a ton of funding available, Steever said.

鈥淭here鈥檚 never really been a budget for that,鈥� she said. The department also has to squeeze in time for the interviews around its other work, she added.

Steever said she鈥檚 working on an additional set of video interviews with Sisseton-Wahpeton Oyate elders.

Haiden Person, a recent graduate from Bismarck High School and the conference鈥檚 youth speaker, said Friday that teaching more Native American culture and history in schools is key to combatting anti-Indigenous racism.

鈥淭hey don鈥檛 know it鈥檚 wrong, you鈥檝e just got to teach them,鈥� said Person, a citizen of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe.

Person recently graduated from Bismarck High School and plans to attend United Tribes Technical College in the fall. Person said mental health is an issue close to his heart, and that he plans to become a psychiatrist.

The summit also welcomed Daniel Kish, an expert in human echolocation 鈥� using sound to locate objects 鈥� and president of World Access for the Blind, for a keynote address.

Kish has been blind since he was a year old. He said he gained the ability to echolocate because his parents wanted him to be self-sufficient despite his disability. He now helps teach the skill to other blind people.

鈥淚t鈥檚 an ability that provides you with awareness of the environment that鈥檚 way out beyond the length of your cane,鈥� he said.

He said a broader goal of his is studying how people develop a sense of personal identity and agency. Kish said he appreciated hearing Person talk about mental health and the importance of leaning on others in your community.

鈥淗aiden had it right, don鈥檛 be afraid to ask for help,鈥� Kish said.

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. North Dakota Monitor maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Amy Dalrymple for questions: info@northdakotamonitor.com.

A coalition of tribal nations and students is suing the federal government over major cuts to a pair of colleges and a federal agency serving Native American students.

The staffing cuts, part of President Donald Trump鈥檚 effort to reduce the federal workforce, have slashed basic services on the campuses of 鈥嬧�婬askell Indian Nations University in Kansas and Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute, known as SIPI, in New Mexico. The lawsuit says the feds failed to notify or consult with tribal nations prior to making the cuts.

notes that those schools 鈥� as well as the federal Bureau of Indian Education 鈥� are part of a system that fulfills the federal government鈥檚 legal obligation to provide education for Native people. Tribal nations secured that right in a series of treaties in exchange for conceding land.

鈥淭he United States government has legal obligations to Tribal Nations that they agreed to in treaties and have been written into federal law,鈥� Jacqueline De Le贸n, staff attorney with the Native American Rights Fund, the legal group leading the lawsuit, said in a announcing the case. 鈥淭he abrupt and drastic changes that happened since February, without consultation or even pre-notification, are completely illegal.鈥�

Three tribal nations and five Native students have joined the lawsuit. Asked about the case, federal officials told media outlets they do not comment on pending litigation.

According to Haskell student Ella Bowen, cuts to custodial staff have left bathrooms with overflowing trash cans and no toilet paper. SIPI student Kaiya Jade Brown said that school鈥檚 campus has suffered from power outages because of a lack of maintenance workers.

Both schools lost roughly a quarter of their staff last month after Trump and the Elon Musk-led Department of Government Efficiency task force ordered major cuts across a slew of federal agencies. While the schools have since been able to hire back some instructional staff, 鈥淸i]t is not even close to enough,鈥� Native American Rights Fund Deputy Director Matthew Campbell said in the statement.

Thirty-four courses at Haskell lost their instructors in February, according to the statement.

Some students have reported delays in their financial aid, and SIPI students are dealing with brown, unsafe tap water, with repairs put on hold due to the cuts, the statement said. And the school did not have enough faculty to administer midterm exams.

The Pueblo of Isleta; the Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation; and the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes are suing the feds.

鈥淒espite having a treaty obligation to provide educational opportunities to Tribal students, the federal government has long failed to offer adequate services,鈥� Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes Lieutenant Governor Hershel Gorham said in the statement. 鈥淛ust when the Bureau of Indian Education was taking steps to fix the situation, these cuts undermined all those efforts. These institutions are precious to our communities, we won鈥檛 sit by and watch them fail.鈥�

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Stateline maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Scott S. Greenberger for questions: info@stateline.org.

South Dakota public schools would be required to teach a specific set of Native American historical and cultural lessons if a bill unanimously endorsed by a legislative committee Tuesday in Pierre becomes law.

The bill would mandate the teaching of the Oceti Sakowin Essential Understandings. The phrase 鈥淥ceti Sakowin鈥� refers to the Lakota, Dakota and Nakota people. The understandings are a set of standards and lessons adopted seven years ago by the South Dakota Board of Education Standards with input from tribal leaders, educators and elders.

Use of the understandings by public schools is optional. A survey conducted by the state Department of Education indicated use by 62% of teachers, but the survey was voluntary and hundreds of teachers did not respond.

Republican state Sen. Tamara Grove, who lives on the Lower Brule Reservation, proposed the bill and asked legislators to follow the lead of Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate Chairman J. Garret Renville. He has publicly called for a 鈥渞eset鈥� of state-tribal relations since the departure of former Gov. Kristi Noem, who was barred by tribal leaders from entering tribal land in the state.

鈥淲hat I鈥檓 asking you to do today,鈥� Grove said, 鈥渋s to lean into the reset.鈥�

Joe Graves, the state secretary of education and a Noem appointee, testified against the bill. He said portions of the understandings are already incorporated into the state鈥檚 social studies standards. He added that the state only mandates four curricular areas: math, science, social studies and English-language arts/reading. He said further mandates would 鈥渢ighten up the school days, leaving schools with much less instructional flexibility.鈥�

Members of the Senate Education Committee sided with Grove and other supporters, voting 7-0 to send the bill to the full Senate.

The proposal is one of several education mandates that lawmakers have considered this legislative session. The state House rejected a bill this week that would have required posting and teaching the Ten Commandments in schools, and also rejected a bill that would have required schools to post the state motto, 鈥淯nder God the People Rule.鈥�

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. South Dakota Searchlight maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Seth Tupper for questions: info@southdakotasearchlight.com.

The children are buried in 74 unmarked and marked graves, as tribes assess repatriation of remains and protection options more than five decades after U.S. policy shifted away from the practice. Nearly 19,000 children were estimated to be kidnapped from their families, often at gunpoint, and enrolled in government schools with the aim of assimilation, decimating tribal cultures, and reducing land possession.  

While the department acknowledged the figures are underestimated, the data provide the fullest picture of the system鈥檚 scale, marking the end of a to unearth the toll and legacies of the nearly two-century long U.S. policy. Research was obscured by inconsistent public record keeping and that many records are held by private religious institutions.

The remains of 973 children were found at 65 schools and their surrounding communities, but the Department is withholding their locations 鈥渋n order to protect against well-documented grave-robbing, vandalism, and other disturbances to Indian burial sites.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

The final report, released last week, also documented how the boarding school system negatively impacted genetics and for Native families, who for generations have had the nation鈥檚 highest rates of substance abuse, suicidal ideation and chronic illnesses, such diabetes, arthritis, and cancer. 

鈥淎s we have learned over the past three years, these institutions are not just part of our past,鈥� Assistant Secretary of the Interior Bryan Newland wrote in the report鈥檚 opening letter. 鈥淭heir legacy reaches us today, and is reflected in the wounds people continue to experience in communities across the United States.鈥�&苍产蝉辫; 

Oral testimonies from hundreds of genocide survivors, many sharing for the first time during a Road to Healing tour, catalog horrific physical and psychological abuse.聽

Children regularly witnessed each other raped in their beds and in bathrooms, by priests, teachers and school staff, according to the report, and seeing peers, aged 11, 12 or 13, sent home in the middle of the school year pregnant.

One Montana school implemented night checks, shining flashlights randomly into kids鈥� eyes as they slept. In some instances, kids were sent to sleep in basements as punishment, but 鈥渇orgotten鈥� for hours or days. Many more were subject to 鈥渙uting,鈥� sent to live temporarily with nearby white, often Quaker families, and used for free labor.  

鈥淚 think the worst part of it was at night, listening to all the other children crying themselves to sleep, crying for their parents, and just wanting to go home,鈥� a survivor from Michigan recounted. 鈥淎nd I remember one girl was a bedwetter, and they made her scrub the entire bathroom on her hands and knees with her toothbrush.鈥�

On arrival, children were often stripped, their hair cut 鈥� against sacred cultural norms 鈥� provided uniforms and numbers. 

鈥淲e [were] never called by our name, we were all called by our numbers. My number was 77, too because my sister was there before me and her number was 77鈥� it was marked on everything you owned,鈥� said one Alaska survivor.

Living thousands of miles from home with little hope of escape, children witnessed every aspect of their identities and prior life erased and replaced 鈥� belief systems, language, hair and dress. 

鈥淔ood was also weaponized in Indian boarding school settings, in sharp contrast to traditional Native American practices of food as medicine,鈥� the report stated. 鈥淔ood that was seen by Federal Indian boarding school staff to be reminiscent of Native American culture was not allowed, and survivors frequently spoke of being forced to eat highly processed, unfamiliar, or spoiled food.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

A survivor from Alaska described the impact of suddenly eating only processed, canned meats and vegetables, and powdered milk and eggs: 鈥淥f course, we all got violently ill because our bodies couldn鈥檛 process changing our diet over from our traditional Native foods. We had vomiting, we had diarrhea, we had both and we were often punished for soiling our pants or clothing or bedding and we got beaten for that.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Over $23 billion, adjusted for 2023 inflation, was invested in the federal Indian boarding school system between 1871 and 1969. The figure omits child labor estimates which cut down operation costs: Children often maintained school infrastructure, digging for plumbing or maintaining roofs. 

The U.S. government operated and supported , of which 210 were run by predominantly Protestant or Catholic religious groups, across 37 states and territories. 

The final death and enrollment counts do not take into account records from the 1,025 鈥渙ther institutions,鈥� including day schools and orphanages which did not receive federal funding, where children were subject to similar abuses in pursuit of the government鈥檚 explicit policy goal of mass assimilation. 

鈥淚 was told I wouldn鈥檛 make a good mother. And I would tell God when I have children I will love them and care for them. And treat them like a person, because in boarding school you鈥檙e not a person. You鈥檙e not even a human being,鈥� said another survivor from Minnesota. 

Resistance was common, with runaways, secret language use, and challenges when government agents entered reservation land to take children. 

A year after 104 children were taken from the Third Mesa of Hopi to attend Keams Canyon Boarding School, Hopi tribal leaders refused armed government agents. Nineteen leaders were taken as prisoners of war, locked up in an underground cell on Alcatraz.

Even after the residential boarding school system fell out of favor politically, forced removal continued with the Indian Adoption Project from 1958-68, when up to 35% of Native children were removed from their families after discriminatory welfare investigations and overwhelmingly placed in non-Indian homes. 

The disparities, as intended, were clear: In Minnesota, Native children were placed in foster care and adopted five times as often as non-Indian families; in Washington, adoption rates were 19 times greater. 

The practice was widespread until 1978 with passage of the Indian Child Welfare Act, the first time Congress acknowledged, 鈥渨holesale separation of Indian children from their families is perhaps the most tragic and destructive aspect of American Indian life today,鈥� and denounced forced child removal and assimilation. 

Last year, was challenged in the Supreme Court after white parents 鈥� who had already won custody to adopt a Cherokee and Din茅 child over a family from the Navajo nation, in opposition to ICWA’s protections to prioritize adoptions within their culture 鈥� filed a federal lawsuit alleging the law was discriminatory. Three other white couples followed. The court ultimately upheld ICWA . All of the children had Native relatives that wanted to raise them, but only one Ojibwe grandmother, after six years, won their custody battle.

In pursuit of healing and reconciliation with tribal nations, the report recommended investments in family reunification, education, first language revitalization, identification and repatriation of childrens鈥� remains, healthcare, and creation of public memorials or education to share information about the system. 

鈥� without assimilationist aims or systematic violence. A new Senate bill has bipartisan support and will soon reach a vote to establish a and over a six year period, which Native leaders have said is 鈥渓ong overdue.鈥� Members of at least seven tribes in Arizona and New Mexico are now eligible to file claims against the Franciscan Friars of California for clergy sexual abuse. 

鈥淲e鈥檙e not just people here on this earth taking up space,鈥� said Department of the Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, addressing survivors and descendants during the Road to Healing tour. 鈥淲e have an obligation to honor the legacy of our ancestors, so they didn鈥檛 starve in vain, so they didn’t die in vain, so they weren鈥檛 ripped away from their mother鈥檚 arms in vain.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Below are a selection of survivor testimonies collected during the Interior Department鈥檚 Road to Healing tour:

鈥淚 would like to say my aunt said after we all left, after the planes came and we all left, she said the village was so quiet because there was no children. No children in the village.鈥�
– Alaska

鈥淢y sister talked about being put in the closet with the mops and the brooms. And, to this day, she can鈥檛 sleep without a light on. She could be deep in her sleep, and as soon as somebody turns off the bathroom light, she wakes up screaming. And she鈥檚 a grandmother today. She doesn鈥檛 know where this comes from.鈥�
– Washington

鈥淪ometimes they would forget that they had put us down in the basement. Wouldn鈥檛 get out of there until early morning, and it was 鈥� maybe that鈥檚 why I鈥檓 afraid of the dark now. I don鈥檛 know. I leave the light on in my bedroom. Even today. That was a 鈥� that was hurt 鈥� hard for me. I still think about those nights when I had to sit in the basement. I was afraid of the dark. And I survived there for six years.鈥�
– Montana

…They said 鈥榃e鈥檙e going to run away and we鈥檙e going to go home and when we get home, we鈥檒l send for you.鈥� 鈥� They waved to us and were just really happy鈥� they didn鈥檛 know they were on 鈥� the school is on an island and the next morning, we went into the dining hall and they all came in 鈥� Their heads were shaven and they were all wearing little black and white prison suits and us girls just started crying.鈥�
– Alaska

鈥淭he sad part about it is a lot of us had to watch the priest sodomize our classmates 鈥� Nobody wants to share things like that. I鈥檝e learned how to be tough because you couldn鈥檛 cry. Couldn鈥檛 do that.鈥�
– South Dakota

鈥淭hey came in, they stripped them down, put all their clothes, the food they bring in, dry caribou, salmon, and stuff like that, they put it all on the side. They made them go through the shower, shave them, give them their uniform and a number 鈥� I probably cried when they took all their clothes down there and burned them in the furnace, all the beautiful, beautiful parkas and everything.鈥�
– Alaska

鈥淢y grandpa鈥檚 last words were, 鈥榃e鈥檙e going to experience some things,鈥� in Cheyenne鈥� Culturally, our hair is sacred. 鈥榃e do not cut our hair, but they鈥檙e going to do that to you. You get there, your black braids are not going to come home.鈥� And that was hard. My braids got cut off. Excuse me. Just remembering what happened to some of us first day of school.鈥�
– Montana

鈥淥nce I graduated, I had to go straight to the Marine Corps because I had no parents, nobody there when I finished 鈥� to this day, I know it affected my sister, because I haven鈥檛 seen her in probably 30 years, and she鈥檚 been in and out of prison ever since. She鈥檚 never been back to the Indian reservation 鈥� I don’t have a very good relationship with my mother, because by the time we started talking again she 鈥� there鈥檚 a lot of feelings that was brought up just because of separation.鈥�
– California

鈥淚 experience feelings of abandonment because I think of my mother standing on that sidewalk as we were loaded into the green bus to be taken to a boarding school. And I can see it 鈥� still have the image of my mom burned in my brain and in my heart where she was crying. What does a mother think? She was helpless.鈥�
– Arizona

鈥淚 don鈥檛 remember ever getting a hug from my mom. I don鈥檛 remember, ever, my mother telling me she loved me. I remember getting whipped with a switch and finally being able to go live with my father because they didn鈥檛 live together anymore 鈥� He never did anything like that. He said, 鈥楾hat鈥檚 because of the schools.鈥欌��
– Washington

鈥淭o this day I can still see that nun standing and she said, 鈥楬ere,鈥� she gave me a bag and I said, 鈥極h, what is it?鈥� 鈥極h, it鈥檚 from your brother.鈥� 鈥極h, is he here?鈥� 鈥楴o, he鈥檚 dead.鈥� I could still see her standing there and I was still a little girl. And I thanked her.鈥�
– Minnesota

鈥淚 said to Sister Naomi, I think I’m going to go home now. She leaned way over into my face and said, 鈥榊ou鈥檙e not going anywhere, you鈥檙e going to be here for a long, long time.鈥� So, I choked back my tears and I hid inside myself.鈥�
– Michigan

If you are in crisis, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741.

Miranda Lopez remembers when she first learned about local Indigenous activist and athlete Rosalie Fish. Fish, a University of Washington runner from the Cowlitz Tribe, is for dedicating her races to Indigenous women who are missing or murdered, including her aunt.

Lopez is from the same part of eastern Washington where Fish鈥檚 aunt is from.

鈥淚t was eye-opening. I didn鈥檛 realize that this really big issue is happening right where I grew up,鈥� Lopez said. 鈥淚t breaks my heart.鈥�

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The class Lopez took where she learned about Fish is part of a decades-long effort in Washington to implement a K-12 Native studies and history curriculum known as , which requires districts to create Native studies curricula in partnership with the tribes around them. It鈥檚 endorsed by all 29 federally-recognized tribes in the state.

When Lopez entered her senior year, she had no idea what she wanted to do next. So she spent a lot of time thinking about what she cared about, and what came to mind was her Native history class. Now 19, Lopez plans to become a Native studies teacher.

鈥淔rom that point forward, that was my purpose for my future,鈥� Lopez said.

Since Time Immemorial is important to students like Lopez 鈥� but non-Native students, too, should be learning about the communities they live among, said Willard Bill Jr., assistant director of the state鈥檚 Office of Native Education within the Office of the Superintendent of Public Instruction.

鈥淚t鈥檚 primarily to educate the broader鈥ublic school kid, so that when they graduate, they have a better understanding of what sovereignty is, what a reservation is, what does that mean, all the intricacies,鈥� Bill said.

Although the Legislature mandated the curriculum in 2015, no deadline has been set for implementation. And while some districts are partnering with tribes to implement the curriculum, other tribal leaders told state officials they鈥檝e struggled to get their school boards to comply.

Legislation sponsored by state Rep. Debra鈥疞ekanoff, would set minimum standards, a deadline for implementation of Since Time Immemorial and clear the way for state grants to help develop curricula. It failed to pass in this year鈥檚 legislative session. State officials say they鈥檙e optimistic about its chances in the upcoming session, which begins Jan. 8.

Efforts to implement

According to a from the State Board of Education, around 80% to 90% of school districts are incorporating tribal history and culture in their social studies programs. That鈥檚 a big jump from the last report from the 2021-2022 school year when 44% of districts reported having yet to implement tribal history and culture into their social studies curricula.

But without minimum standards, Henry Strom, executive director of the state鈥檚 Office of Native Education, said it鈥檚 difficult to know how many schools are providing quality Since Time Immemorial curricula because the original 2015 legislation did not set minimum standards. That鈥檚 why HB 1332 is important, he said.

At a meeting last month between tribal and state governments, Gov. Jay Inslee asked Suquamish Tribe chair Leonard Forsman how many districts were 鈥渃utting the mustard鈥� when it came to implementing Since Time Immemorial.

鈥淚 think we鈥檙e probably under a third,鈥� said Forsman, also a University of Washington board of regents member. He said the actual statistic may be lower.

鈥淪o that鈥檚 not exactly a success,鈥� Inslee responded.

In the 2022 report, some officials in districts that had not yet implemented Since Time Immemorial reported that their districts had not updated their overall social studies curriculums.

鈥淎 district could, in theory, choose to delay the onset of a social studies [curriculum] adoption if they weren鈥檛 inclined to support Since Time Immemorial,鈥� Strom said at the meeting where Forsman and Inslee spoke.

The work to create and implement Since Time Immemorial began in 1989, said Bill, whose father was one of the first tribal leaders to work on the curriculum. Tribes started funding the work in 2003, and the first legislation 鈥渟trongly encouraging鈥� implementing the curriculum came in 2005.

鈥淭his is some legacy work for us that we鈥檙e carrying on,鈥� said Bill, a member of the Muckleshoot Tribe.

鈥楶lace-based鈥� curriculum

indicate that teaching Native history to Native students often improves their educational outcomes. Native students have compared to other races and ethnicities.

Lopez said she wasn鈥檛 that interested in school before taking the Native history class.

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 see myself in stories and books,鈥� Lopez said. 鈥淪o when you put something like this in front of students, especially Native American students鈥nd you tell stories of successful people, it opens up a sea of opportunities for a child. It changes the way they look at life.鈥�

Today, 16-year-old Francheska Helton is taking the class Lopez first took: Alison McCartan鈥檚 11th grade Native history class, taught at River Ridge High School. When asked what stories resonated with her, Helton, too, pointed to Rosalie Fish.

鈥淚鈥檓 like, 鈥業 didn鈥檛 know that. How did I not know that? That鈥檚 someone from my tribe,鈥欌�� said Helton, who is Cowlitz, like Fish.

Helton and Lopez learned about Fish because Since Time Immemorial is a 鈥減lace-based curriculum,鈥� meaning the focus is on the local indigenous communities who live on the land.

Since Time Immemorial also seeks to teach contemporary Native issues; found 86% of American schools teach Native studies in a pre-1900 context.

In McCartan鈥檚 class, students learned about in response to the plight of missing and murdered Indigenous women. Then they talked about why many of them didn鈥檛 know about the app, and what could be done to both increase awareness and make it better.

McCartan said the issues they talk about vary within classes, but the main concept 鈥� teaching critical thinking about Native history and issues 鈥� remains the same.

In McCartan鈥檚 class, students also start the week sitting 鈥渋n circle鈥� and having a class discussion. It鈥檚 a traditional Indigenous way of learning that , and it鈥檚 not very common in an American high school environment, where learning is often more passive and lecture-based.

鈥淜ids were resistant to it. They were like, 鈥榯his is awkward,鈥欌�� McCartan said. 鈥淏ut once they got used to it, the switch flips.鈥�

McCartan said students open up to her and their peers in ways they never did before circle, and conversations in circle have led to Native students choosing to share about their own experiences and culture. One quiet Native student, McCartan said, even chose to speak at the school鈥檚 multicultural assembly because of conversations and support from his peers in circle.

鈥淭his is more than just a history class. It鈥檚 a community,鈥� Helton said.

Tribal and school district relationships

The idea of Since Time Immemorial is that both Native and non-Native students will learn about who came before them, and who still lives on the land today, said Jerad Koepp, who runs River Ridge鈥檚 Native program. But Koepp said that many districts don鈥檛 ask the tribes around them, despite it being state law, leaving it up to tribes to appeal to school boards.

The relationship between North Thurston Public Schools, where River Ridge is located, and the nearby Nisqually Tribe is decades-long, said Bill Kallappa II, education liaison for the Nisqually Tribe and Washington State Board of Education member. However, the Native studies program at River Ridge began in 2019. Kallappa said having the tribal government-to-local government relationship is integral to the program鈥檚 success.

鈥淭ribes aren鈥檛 in it just for tribal students,鈥� Kallappa said. 鈥淥f course we want our kids to do well in the system. One way our kids can do well in the system is if we help improve the entire system for all students.鈥�

Students in McCartan鈥檚 class said they knew 鈥渮ero鈥� about Native history before taking McCartan鈥檚 class, aside from the brief mention of what tribes exist in Washington in their middle school history textbooks.

鈥淚 think this [curriculum] should be taught in more schools,鈥� said a non-Native student, 18-year-old Isaiah Kauhaihao-Derowin.

Obstacles and progress

McCartan, who is not Native, said she realized almost immediately that she didn鈥檛 have the knowledge to teach a Native studies program. She said she had to get used to saying 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know.鈥� In the beginning, Koepp was in her classroom almost every day, she said, and she leaned on his expertise.

McCartan鈥檚 situation was not unique. Strom says one of the biggest challenges to implementing Since Time Immemorial is a 鈥渞espectful fear鈥� among educators about getting it wrong.

Other obstacles have to do with bandwidth within schools, at the state level and among tribes.

The Office of Native Education has seen a surge in interest in its Since Time Immemorial teacher training, but only has 10 people on staff. Six years ago, there were just two people working for the office. Tribal leaders also say the financial burden to implement Since Time Immemorial shouldn鈥檛 be on the tribes. Currently, tribes often provide the funding and staff for curriculum development. Many smaller tribes aren鈥檛 able to do that, Kallappa said.

HB 1332 is meant to relieve some of that strain.

Koepp said non-Native educators can always turn to books, videos and other resources from their Native peers. 鈥淛ust remember: we鈥檙e here and we鈥檝e probably answered that question before,鈥� Koepp said.

The outcomes of Since Time Immemorial at schools like River Ridge may be hard to quantify, but they鈥檙e visible through students like Lopez, who plans to return to St. Martin鈥檚 University in Lacey next fall to study secondary education focused on history, with a minor in Native perspectives.

Right now, she鈥檚 taking a break from school to search for scholarships and save up for the fall semester. After she graduates, she hopes to teach at River Ridge, within the Native studies program. And one day, Lopez wants to venture out to a school district elsewhere in Washington and create another Native studies program, just like the one at River Ridge.

鈥淣ative Americans are still here,鈥� Lopez said. 鈥淯sing a curriculum like this isn鈥檛 trying to remember them. We鈥檙e acknowledging them 鈥� as they are with us now.鈥�

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Washington State Standard maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Bill Lucia for questions: info@washingtonstatestandard.com. Follow Washington State Standard on and .

TOPEKA 鈥� Officials at R.V. Haderlein Elementary in Girard forced an 8-year-old Native American boy to cut his hair, despite objections that he grew it out to connect with his cultural heritage.

The American Civil Liberties Union of Kansas warned the district in a letter Friday that the school policy is both a violation of religious freedom and one that promotes 鈥渞igid gender norms.鈥�

鈥淭he present-day harms of school policies that restrict Native American boys from wearing long hair must be understood in the historical context of multifaceted efforts to separate Native American children from their families and tribes and to deny them their rights of cultural and religious expression,鈥� . 鈥淗aderlein鈥檚 policy impacts Native American students disproportionately and perpetuates a legacy of cultural, psychological, and spiritual trauma and discrimination.鈥�

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R.V. Haderlein Elementary has a dress code policy mandating that boys wear their hair short, with 鈥渉air not to touch the collar of a crew neck t-shirt 鈥� or extend below the earlobes.鈥� Female students aren鈥檛 subjected to the same mandate.

The 8-year-old boy, a member of the Wyandotte Nation, started growing his hair out after he attended the Nation鈥檚 annual gathering and saw the cultural tradition of men wearing their hair long. A common Wyandotte Nation spiritual and religious practice is for men to grow their hair out, only cutting it when in mourning.

In August, school officials warned the 8-year-old鈥檚 family that his hair needed to be cut to comply with the dress code, according to the ACLU letter. For his protection, the family has chosen not to be identified publicly.

In early September, his mother asked for an exemption to the policy because of his heritage and religious practices but was told this wasn鈥檛 allowed. On Friday, Sept. 22, Joni Benso, assistant principal at the school, sent an email to his mother. Benso said she had noted 鈥渃oncerns about the policy,鈥� but told the mother she needed to cut his hair over the weekend or he would be sent home, according to the ACLU鈥檚 letter.

After several attempts to contact the district鈥檚 superintendent, the child鈥檚 mother cut his hair that weekend under the belief he would be sent home from school every day and potentially suspended, according to the ACLU鈥檚 account of events.

The superintendent, Todd Ferguson, said he could not comment on the case. Ferguson said the district would review the dress code policy during a December board meeting.

The ACLU is now urging the school to accommodate the child and allow for an exemption to the policy, arguing the policy violates the Kansas Preservation of Religious Freedom Act, the U.S. Constitution, Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, and Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Officials also advise the school to rescind the policy altogether and allow all boys to grow their hair out.

鈥淭he school鈥檚 discriminatory sex-based hair policy sends a damaging message to boys that they cannot be feminine in any way, and this message harms all students by promoting rigid views of gender norms and roles,鈥� the ACLU letter reads.

is part of States Newsroom, a network of news bureaus supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Kansas Reflector maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Sherman Smith for questions: info@kansasreflector.com. Follow Kansas Reflector on and .

A room full of survivors, supporters and listeners, many donning ribbon skirts and orange shirts, filled an MSU auditorium this week in the hopes that by sharing difficult truths, healing can continue.

The boarding school healing and justice panel 鈥� titled 鈥�ginoojimomin apii dibaajimoyang,鈥� which translates in Anishinaabemowin to 鈥渙ur stories heal鈥� 鈥� was just as much of a ceremony on Thursday as it was a panel discussion. It encapsulated some of the Native Justice Coalition鈥檚 work to offer safe spaces for survivors鈥� stories to be heard and for non-Indigenous people to listen.

鈥淚 tell my story because I know there鈥檚 many out there who can鈥檛,鈥� said Linda Cobe, who is Ojibwe/Oneida and a Lac Vieux Desert tribal citizen. 鈥溾�� My language was taken from me, my childhood was taken, my culture was taken. But we have the opportunity today to get that all back.鈥�

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All three speakers on the panel, including Cobe, attended the Holy Childhood School of Jesus in Harbor Springs, known by many as the most notorious of Michigan鈥檚 five former Indian boarding schools. Differing accounts point to the northern Michigan school closing between the early 1980s to mid-1990s.

The event also featured Sault Ste Marie Band of Chippewa Indians citizen Tom Biron and Ben Hinmon, a descendant of Chief Pontiac who hails from the Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe. The panel was cosponsored by the聽Indigenous Law & Policy Center, Native American Institute, and American Indian and Indigenous Studies at Michigan State University.

Five federally funded or operated boarding schools once operated in Michigan, according to a released last year: The Holy Childhood School of Jesus; the Old St. Joseph Orphanage and School in Assinins (or Baraga Chippewa Boarding and Day School) near Baraga in the Upper Peninsula; the Mount Pleasant Indian Industrial Boarding School in Mount Pleasant; the (or Sainte Anne School) on Mackinac Island; and the Catholic Otchippewa Boarding School, or Otchippewa Day and Orphan Boarding, in the U.P.鈥檚 Schoolcraft County.

Thousands of Anishinaabe children in Michigan were forcibly removed from their tribal communities to attend that school and others, often many hours away from their tribe and family. In an attempt to assimilate the Indigenous children, their hair was cut, their clothing replaced with more 鈥渨hite attire,鈥� their given names replaced with English names. They were pressured to exclusively speak English and were punished for speaking their own language.

On top of abuse, starvation, poor living conditions and sometimes death, this treatment of entire generations of Indigenous people resulted 鈥� as planned 鈥� with a significant blow to Indigenous identity, wisdom, language, customs and culture, survivors said.

It also came with deep intergenerational trauma that Native families and individuals still grapple with today.

鈥淲e have many children that experienced this horrific process have an inability to connect with who they were as Indian people and a loss of their identity as Native people,鈥� said Wenona T. Singel, MSU associate professor of law, associate director of the Indigenous Law & Policy Center and a citizen of the Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians (LTBB).

Singel walked the audience through the historical context of boarding schools amid a slideshow of historic photographs depicting children who had been forced to attend the schools. She emphasized that the schools were part of the federal government鈥檚 鈥渒ill the Indian, save the man鈥� policy for 150 years that presented a 鈥渃heaper鈥� alternative to killing Native Americans in battle.

鈥淭hese truths are so painful that many cannot share them during their lifetimes,鈥� Singel said.

Under U.S. Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, there has been an effort since 2021 to reveal the depths of experiences at these institutions, marking the federal government鈥檚 first formal investigation and documentation of the boarding school system, decades after the last school stopped enrolling Indigenous children.

The Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative seeks to compile records and information, make the historical truths widely available, and aid in the healing process for survivors and their families.

Bronson C. Herman of the Native Justice Coalition told the Advance that more of these panels are on the horizon in Michigan, where non-Native people are welcome to attend, listen and share what they have learned with their communities.

is part of States Newsroom, a network of news bureaus supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Michigan Advance maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Susan Demas for questions: info@michiganadvance.com. Follow Michigan Advance on and .

The youngest school kids in New Mexico are one step closer to seeing commitments to teach cultural education in tribal head start programs.

mandates the New Mexico Early Childhood and Education Department work with tribes through intergovernmental agreements to administer and provide funding for early childhood programs using a tribe鈥檚 cultural teachings on tribal lands.

This bill, sponsored by Rep. Derrick Lente (D-Sandia Pueblo) also gives tribes the ability to determine if the tribal government wants to enter into these programs with the state.

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Rep. Wonda Johnson (D-Rehoboth) who is Din茅, supports the bill because it helps preserve Native language and cultures

鈥淚 think this affords us a seat at the table to help administer those agreements, to help plan our early childhood programs with our nation鈥檚 tribes and Pueblos,鈥� she said.

Lente said the approach that Native Americans are dictated by western government leaders to do 鈥渨hat鈥檚 best for them鈥� can change with this type of legislation.

鈥淚 think as Native Americans today, in the 21st century, we understand that we鈥檝e been a victim of that, that we have lost so many of our languages and cultures, trying to be more like mainstream society of America,鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut the point being is that we know what鈥檚 best in our communities, we know how to raise our children.鈥�

Seeing Native American representation in an educational setting is crucial for young Native children who are starting their education, according to Lente.

鈥淲hen you can begin your education knowing that you鈥檙e being taught by people around you from your community, or you鈥檙e being taught by those that look like you and act like you and maybe know your parents, or you can be taught by practices that respect where you come from, and the history behind you,鈥� he said,鈥滱nd the languages and the cultures behind where you come from. It makes you feel included.鈥�

Native youth could be at risk of becoming victims of a negative cycle in education where they don鈥檛 see themselves represented, Lente affirmed. That point is also part of the education reform mandated through the judgment made in the Yazzie-Martinez lawsuit.

鈥淲hen they don鈥檛 see themselves represented by their teachers, or by people in educational positions. They just feel invisible. And they feel like there鈥檚 nothing really to do except stay at home and become a statistic,鈥� Lente said.

Lente said his legislative priorities are an attempt to break this cycle of helplessness and hopelessness.

鈥淚f we can provide a mechanism by wave where they can begin to pull themselves up, not looking for a handout, but for a hand up to create this change, that鈥檚 going to prove successful for our people,鈥� he said.

HB148 passed unanimously in the House and Senate and now heads to Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham.

鈥淥ur desire is to raise our children in the most holistic, balanced, beauty way of life that we know how,鈥� Johnson said.

is part of States Newsroom, a network of news bureaus supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Source New Mexico maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Shaun Griswold for questions: info@sourcenm.com. Follow Source New Mexico on and .

A newly released brings much-needed visibility to this disparity, which has long been ignored in the public dialogue about educational access. The report provides comprehensive data and a fresh set of powerful personal testimonies that illuminate how Native students experience the many facets of funding their college education. It offers recommendations for making higher education more financially accessible to Native students, such as providing aid for non-tuition expenses. 

Indigenous researchers collected information from nearly 3,000 students (a 23.2% response rate). These students represent 172 Tribal nations. This Indigenous-led data sharing, collection, analysis and reporting 鈥�  an unprecedented collaboration among the nation鈥檚 four Native scholarship providers 鈥� found that college affordability, not academic performance or any other factor, is the primary obstacle preventing Native students from earning their degree. Simply put: Of the Native students who do not complete their college studies, most stop because they simply do not have enough money to keep going. 

It has long been known that Native students are far less likely than U.S. students overall to graduate from college. has shown that 36% of Indigenous undergraduates entering four-year colleges and universities in 2014 completed their academic degrees in six years, compared with 60% of all other students. 

The new study goes deeper, painting a more detailed portrait of the financial challenges facing Native students. For example, it found that 72% reported running out of money at least once in the previous six months. Many Native students report making sacrifices that no student should have to make 鈥斅爏uch as not eating in order to have enough money for education-related expenses. Over 50% said they struggled with food insecurity, and 16% experienced homelessness while pursuing their degrees.

Examining the underlying reasons for these financial challenges, the report found that Native students shoulder tremendous financial responsibilities. Many are the breadwinners for their families. Almost 50% of respondents in the survey agreed that they served as the primary source of income for their household during college. More than two thirds said they are expected to contribute to family bills. 

As a member of the Confederated Salish & Kootenai Tribes growing up in Montana, I experienced many of these same hardships when I attended college two decades ago. Now, as a scholarship provider, I hear each year from students enduring food insecurity and homelessness. Native Forward helps these students, providing them not just with funding for tuition, but also with housing, food aid and other forms of critical support. 

What I fear is that 20 years from now, students will still be coming to us for emergency relief. Meanwhile, the higher education system will not have evolved to meet their needs.  

The can empower colleges and universities to chart a different course 鈥� one that provides Native students with the resources and support they need to make higher education truly affordable. In my conversations with financial aid officers across the country, I鈥檝e found that few have meaningful data on Native students鈥� financial literacy or challenges. Armed with the treasure trove of statistics in this study, financial aid staff can finally begin to develop expertise around Native students鈥� experiences in paying for their education. Universities can then develop data-informed strategies to better meet these students鈥� needs.  

The report also urges secondary schools to do more to equip Native students to navigate the costs of higher education, such as strengthening financial literacy school curricula and pre-college financial planning, and expanding information and planning for families, caregivers and students around filling out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid (FAFSA).Year after year, Native Forward sends the majority of its funding to students enrolled at a small group of colleges and universities. This is because those schools excel at supporting this student population. Now, it鈥檚 time for more schools to follow their examples. With the聽 as a new baseline, all those who support Native students, from colleges to policymakers to philanthropists, can take informed action and create the institutional change that will finally achieve full equity and opportunity for Native students.

The class assignment was to write a letter to anyone they wanted. In Lingi虂t. Eechdaa Dave Ketah chose his late grandmother, the person who spoke Lingi虂t to him when he was growing up in Ketchikan.

鈥淎nd I was telling her that it鈥檚 hard learning the language at this point in my life, and one thing that makes it even harder is that I have to pay for it,鈥� Ketah said, describing what he wrote. 鈥淲hite people took the language from us and now they鈥檙e charging us to get it back.鈥�

Or: 鈥淪g贸on 岣礱a sh谩ade n谩岣祒鈥檌 dleitx kaa sitee. Tle虂l has ushk鈥檈虂 ka Ling铆t yoo x瘫始at谩ngi has aawata虂w. Yeed谩t Ling铆t x瘫始at谩ngi natoo.eich,鈥� he wrote in the letter.

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Ketah is a high school teacher in Portland, Oregon. He鈥檚 been taking online Lingi虂t language classes at the University of Alaska Southeast since 2020. He started out as a beginner and is now in advanced Lingi虂t learning the language his family spoke for thousands of years, but that he didn鈥檛 grow up speaking.

Ketah initially wanted to learn the language as a way to connect with his culture; he had felt detached from it living outside Southeast Alaska for so long. But it鈥檚 turned into so much more. Learning to speak Lingi虂t is a way to connect to his ancestors, including his late grandmother, who had been taught to hide her culture and her language.

鈥淗aving the opportunity to learn the language has been so powerful in my journey,鈥� Ketah said.

School, which forbade his grandmother from speaking Lingi虂t, is now a place that鈥檚 making this type of personal journey even more accessible. A few months after that letter writing assignment, UAS announced over the summer it would be offering Alaska Native language classes tuition-free. It鈥檚 an effort that had been in the works for a few years. Funding from Sealaska Heritage Institute is making it possible.

Students currently taking non-credit classes in Lingi虂t, Xaat K铆l or Sm始algya瘫x 鈥� traditional languages of Southeast Alaska 鈥� are no longer required to pay any tuition or fees.

鈥淭he University of Alaska Southeast is committed to recognizing and acknowledging historical wrongs endured by Alaska Native Communities. We are making sure Indigenous people don鈥檛 have to pay to learn their own language. It鈥檚 so important in the work towards language revitalization and overall healing,鈥� UAS Dean of the School of Arts and Sciences Carin Silkaitis said in.

X瘫鈥檜nei Lance Twitchell, professor of Alaska Native languages at UAS, has been part of the multi-year effort to make the language classes tuition-free. In finding a way to make it happen, he said the conversations would 鈥渃ome back to historical accountability on the part of governments and education as a system for playing a role in the attempted elimination of Indigenous languages.鈥�

When it comes to endangered languages, Twitchell said, it鈥檚 not equitable to get money out of the population of people who have been oppressed.

鈥淭here鈥檚 so much trauma involved with language learning and recovery as Indigenous peoples that it just didn鈥檛 make sense to look at things from this sort of financial perspective,鈥� he said.

Taking down the barrier of cost is working. UAS language professors say enrollment has gone up for both non-credit classes and for-credit classes. UAS still charges tuition and fees for for-credit classes. When Twitchell first joined UAS in 2011, enrollment was in the 30s or 40s. They were happy when it reached 70. 鈥淎nd I remember when we got up to 100,鈥� he said.

Now, enrollment is nearing 300. More than 130 language students are taking for-credit classes and about 150 are taking the non-credit option.

脡edaa Heather Burge, assistant professor of Alaska Native languages at UAS, said classes usually capped at 30 students in previous semesters. This semester, one of her beginning Lingi虂t classes has 70 students. Higher demand and bigger classes come with its own challenges, but it鈥檚 a fantastic problem to have, she said.

鈥淭o have your classes be in such high demand that we鈥檙e struggling to keep up, it鈥檚 an exciting problem,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 do think long term, we need to hire more people to be able to teach these classes if the demand continues to be this high.鈥�

Ketah, who鈥檚 seeing this growth and revitalization from outside Alaska, is amazed.

鈥淚t might be being a little bit hyperbolic, but it鈥檚 like everybody wants to learn, whereas back in my youth, it just wasn鈥檛 something that people were excited about,鈥� Ketah said.

鈥楾rained to do that鈥�

As a kid in Ketchikan, Ketah used to visit his grandmother, Eva Ketah, a couple times a week.

鈥淚 spent an awful lot of time with my grandmother. I loved going over to her house. Every time I would visit with her it felt like she was trying to immerse me in the culture,鈥� he said.

When the two of them were together, 鈥渨e picked berries, she would feed me traditional foods and speak Lingi虂t to me,鈥� he described. 鈥淚t would be all of this stuff that was about her youth, where she came from.鈥�

But Ketah remembers a peculiar thing that his grandmother would do.

鈥淭hings would abruptly change. Food would be put away, she鈥檇 go back to speaking English, and then there鈥檇 be a knock at the door. It didn鈥檛 matter who it was. It could be another Lingi虂t person. It could be a family friend, an acquaintance, whoever, but as soon as somebody else would come, it was hidden,鈥� he said.

Ketah鈥檚 grandmother lived on a hillside that was accessible by a long staircase, which allowed her to see someone coming from a long distance.

The peculiar thing happened a few more times before Ketah asked his grandmother about it.

鈥淚 asked her, 鈥楪randma, when other people come by, why do you stop doing anything that鈥檚 Lingi虂t?鈥欌�� Ketah said, thinking back 40 years.

鈥淪he said, 鈥楤ecause we were trained to do that.鈥欌��

Ketah, 10 years old at the time, was bewildered by her answer, but he didn鈥檛 know how to ask what she meant. Decades later, though, he鈥檚 been able to piece that memory with other memories and stories his grandmother told him.

鈥溾�楾rained to do that鈥� was a euphemism for: It was beaten out of her.鈥� Ketah said.

His grandmother鈥檚 home

Ketah said his grandmother鈥檚 family is originally from S始eek Heen铆, Warm Chuck Inlet on Heceta Island on the northwestern side of Prince of Wales Island, before they moved to Klawock.

鈥淭he reason why she left Warm Chuck Inlet to go to Klawock was because government agents came and told her mother and all of the other mothers of children, 鈥榊ou need to put your kids in school,鈥欌�� he recounted.聽 鈥淭hey would say, 鈥業f you don鈥檛 put your kids in school, we鈥檒l put you in jail. And then after you鈥檙e in jail, we鈥檒l put your kids in school anyway.鈥� And so, there was no choice in the matter.鈥�

The school in Klawock, Ketah said, had a mix of kids who stayed there all the time and kids who had family in the community and went home on the weekends, like his grandmother.

鈥淭eachers would say, 鈥楴ow, when you kids go home, if anybody is breaking the rules 鈥� and that鈥檚 the school rules 鈥� if they鈥檙e speaking the Lingi虂t language, or wearing Lingi虂t clothes, or participating in any of these cultural things, then you tell us when you come back to school,鈥欌�� he said.

The kids were taught to inform on each other. Even a kid who had not broken the rules but failed to turn in another kid who had would get punished.

鈥淎nd the penalties were physical beatings. So that happened to my grandma and all of her contemporaries,鈥� he said.

Ketah said those wounds echoed into his dad鈥檚 childhood and into his own.

In addition to learning the language as an adult, Ketah has also been establishing himself as a and Alaska Native artist. This past summer, he did a residency at the Sheldon Jackson Museum in Sitka and his work was recently part of an exhibit at the Washington State History Museum.

Within the past couple of years, as Ketah has embarked in this expanded learning of his culture, he asked his dad, 鈥溾�榃hy didn鈥檛 you ever teach me any of this stuff?鈥欌��

His dad said, 鈥溾�楤ecause my parents never taught us. We asked, but they wouldn鈥檛.鈥欌��

Ketah knows now that by not teaching about their language or their culture, his grandparents were trying to protect their children.

鈥淭hey were convinced that the way forward was to completely adopt the white way.鈥�

鈥業 can speak my language in my school鈥�

When Ketah learned enough Lingi虂t, he went into the high school in Portland where he teaches and started his class saying yak始茅i ts始ootaat, or good morning.

鈥淚 was able to speak the Lingi虂t language in, what my grandmother would call, a white man school and I鈥檓 not punished. As a matter of fact, they can鈥檛 touch me for anything that I do that鈥檚 related to my culture. And that鈥檚 incredible to me that we are able to overcome all that dark history and I can speak my language in my school,鈥� Ketah said.

Each time he speaks Lingi虂t in a school setting, he feels like he鈥檚 redeeming what his grandmother and other relatives endured. Despite everything they went through, Ketah said, the language lives on and he gets to be a part of it.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 think of it only as a privilege, I think of it as a responsibility because I have that freedom,鈥� he said. 鈥淢y ancestors didn鈥檛 do it because they couldn鈥檛. And that鈥檚 why I should do it. Because I can.鈥�

When Ketah was a kid and his grandmother spoke Lingi虂t to him, he could only understand a few words, which is 鈥渉eartbreaking鈥� to him. He was never able to speak to her in their language.

But there are a couple video recordings from the 1990s that his uncle made of his grandmother and grandfather. 鈥淭here is an awful lot of Lingi虂t being spoken,鈥� Ketah said, 鈥渢hat I understand completely now.鈥�

is part of States Newsroom, a network of news bureaus supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Alaska Beacon maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Andrew Kitchenman for questions: info@alaskabeacon.com. Follow Alaska Beacon on and .

Morris Jenis Jr.鈥檚 father knew only his son, a Native American student at the Genoa Indian School in Nebraska 100 years ago, had not been seen in a year. 

Morris ran away from the school in 1921 鈥� 鈥渄eserted,鈥� according to the militaristic language school officials used 鈥� like hundreds of other young Indigenous children who resisted the boarding school policies that forcibly stripped them of language and identity, often hundreds of miles from home. 

鈥淭he father鈥s very anxious to see where his son has gone,鈥� a school clerk wrote the superintendent on the father鈥檚 behalf. 鈥淗e recently heard that a student from Genoa was killed in Montana by a horse and he fears that this may be his son.”

Public archives do not provide any answers about Morris, nor his age and tribal affiliation. The school told his father that they could not find 鈥�,鈥� and reportedly returned the $26 鈥� worth about $450 today 鈥� his family previously paid to send him home. 

The plea is among thousands of stories made public by the Genoa Indian School Digital Reconciliation Project, one to digitize elusive school, state and federal records, to bring the stories of Indigenous survivors and those who never made it home back to their families and tribes. 

Last summer, the discovery of more than 900 child graves at former Canadian residential schools tore through international media and reignited investigations of U.S. boarding schools; reports focused on brutal abuse and quantifying death. 

Archivists and community members have continued to retrieve haunting letters, student and local newspapers, photographs and other school documents that paint a poignant picture of resistance and survival in day-to-day student life in the boarding schools. 

Still, many records remain out of reach to descendants, and those that are accessible can be traumatizing. Some collections sit dormant, held by churches or universities with no plans to return them to tribal communities; others require extensive time and . 

鈥淣ative people have never had easy access to their records. And that in itself has continued to contribute to the genocide,” said Tawa Ducheneaux. a citizen of the Cherokee nation working as an archivist at Oglala Lakota College鈥檚 Woksape Tipi library on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, where she raised her family for 19 years. 鈥淵ou’re not having access to relatives and descendants that can educate you more about who you are and where you come from.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Among the archived collections are receipts for music lessons, requests to use funds to buy shoes, picture contests 鈥� a glimpse into students鈥� interests and how they spent very limited leisure time. Others include letters from parents pleading that their child be allowed to travel home for the summer 鈥� a trip families were required to pay for.

Student discipline records and letters show many of such requests denied for lack of funds or because children had to continue building 鈥渟trength of character,鈥� as a punishment for bad behavior or running away. 

Parents encouraged runaways, hid their children, and, when students were able to return home for summers, would teach children their language, culture, and ways of life as a way to undermine the schools鈥� assimilationist aim. Families would not legally be able to deny placement in off-reservation schools until 1978, after over a century of resistance, with the passage of the . 

For those working to find and make material more accessible, the retrieval and research is exhausting, but a necessary step toward healing and reckoning with historical trauma.

鈥淚t’s painful especially when you recognize relatives鈥� names or people that you know … I kind of learned to reconcile with that and just understand that, OK, well, maybe my involvement is that these children, they need help to have their stories come to light,鈥� said Genoa Project co-director and historian Susana Geliga, a member of the Rosebud Sioux tribe and of Taino descent.

鈥淭hey insisted on their humanity:鈥� Student life as seen in archives

The material that has been made available in digital archives is largely from an official government or school perspective. Yet there are phrases, quotes and clippings from students pointing to how they lived and survived. 

Running away became a common occurrence among students fleeing the conditions of the boarding schools, eager to find a way home, like Susie Romero. Before leaving for Genoa one night in 1933, Romero composed a theme song 鈥� 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to go to school here.鈥� In just one year at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania, at least 45 boys did the same. 

鈥�…That tells you a lot about the children’s point of view 鈥� that they were running away from this,鈥� said Margaret Jacobs, co-director of the Genoa Project and historian at the University of Nebraska – Lincoln. 

The documents suggest Romero was discovered and returned to Genoa, but some did find their way back home. In 1920, one student left Genoa for good after a teacher struck him in the face, breaking his nose.

鈥淗e can prove it was done for personal reasons,鈥� an acting superintendent wrote in a letter seeking guidance. 

Student newspapers, common at the boarding schools, though likely heavily scrutinized by school officials, also reveal how students kept themselves informed of local and national news and found ways to make .

When compared to how student deaths were reported briefly in the local Genoa paper, student publications shared more detail on their peer鈥檚 life and personality. One student, whose name has been redacted out of respect for descendants who may not yet know the information, was described as an 鈥渦nusually bright child and the little ones among whom his lot was cast will miss his fair example.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Jacobs said the student newspapers, 鈥渋nsisted on their humanity. They insisted that we matter, and you might not care about us, but we care about each other.鈥�

Some 90 students, in one account published in the Genoa student newspaper, were reportedly in attendance for a funeral at the school 鈥� a detail not lost on Geliga.

鈥淭hey were so policed and monitored with everything that they did 鈥� from the time they woke up until the time they went to bed every day 鈥︹�� she said. 鈥淭hose instances where you can catch their own perspective coming through, they’re really heartwarming because there’s so few and far between 鈥� when you find them they kind of pull you into the moment.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Archives also reveal another facet of student life: the 鈥溾�� system, where children were assigned to white families and expected to work in fields, on ranches and in local homes as part of their 鈥渃ivilizing鈥� process. Piloted at Carlisle, the practice was later adopted by other off-reservation schools including Genoa and the Sherman Indian School in Riverside, California. 

Lorenzia Nicholas, a student at , once refused to return to the family she was placed for outing because of 鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Though they were paid minimally, students were often forced to go on outings during summer vacations instead of returning home to their respective lands and families. The practice grew popular in communities surrounding the schools: children were a source of cheap labor 鈥� girls often cleaned homes and looked after white children, while boys were often placed in undesirable harvest jobs that were , exploitative and dangerous.

On campus, labor did not stop. Children as young as 9 were forced to , likely, Carlisle archivist Jim Gerencser told 蜜桃影视, to save on infrastructure costs. Half of their school days were devoted to learning vocational trades; photographs show students fixing roofs, washing clothes in 鈥渓aundry class鈥� and fashioning utensils. 

Expanding access to archival records, family history

In and the United States, churches are holding onto an untold number of records. Many religious institutions received schools until 1928, yet according to the Department of the Interior鈥檚 investigation, must independently decide to share documents. 

Ducheneaux added tribal governments only recently have had the infrastructure or resources required to retrieve and disseminate records held in various public and government archives 鈥� tribal colleges and universities have been working at returning access since at least the ’60s. 

Some records have been passed on to private universities like Augustana and Marquette instead of tribal communities and descendants, presenting another barrier to access: fees. Marquette has held a including at least 10,000 images from the Red Cloud Indian School for nearly 14 years, only having digitized about 10%.

鈥淸It] is maybe the only collection that might have images of certain individuals’ relatives 鈥� There’s no known images of that person except possibly within that collection,鈥� she said. 鈥淎nd I couldn’t ever get anywhere with them. We have to do justice to all these people that are contacting us asking if we have anything about their relatives.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

An intergenerational legacy: 鈥淚t鈥檚 part of the blood that鈥檚 in us鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Justin Shedee, a member of the Apache nation also known as Corn Cobb Smoker, entered the Carlisle Industrial School in Pennsylvania at 16. Though a letter in his own handwriting expresses his desire to leave, school documents say he 鈥渃onsented鈥� to stay enrolled.

鈥淭he reason is I have been so long enough here, about six years now. So I am very anxious to [go] home. That is all I want to ask you,鈥� he wrote in the spring of 1890, requesting to leave the school. 

He would not leave for three more years, 鈥渄ischarged鈥� on July 5, 1893 for 鈥渋ll health.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

Shedee鈥檚 desire to return home lives on in descendants. Community members, scholars and activists describe the weight of their ancestors’ experiences as intergenerational trauma that impacts their current health and ways of life. 

Native American communities and over 80 U.S. representatives are advocating for l on Indian Boarding School Policies to create a commission to investigate nearly two centuries of boarding school policies. 

Among the policy recommendations that have been floated are reparations, a hotline for those experiencing intergenerational trauma, and reformed child welfare adoption practices to prevent 鈥�.鈥�

鈥淲e’ve been subjected and our ancestors have been subjected to such atrocities and such attempts to wipe us out that we’ve sort of normalized suffering, in a way,鈥� said Stacy Bohlen, CEO of the National Indian Health board and member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, during a webinar hosted by the National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition. 

鈥淚t’s part of the blood that’s in us and the blood of our ancestors that we know was shed for our survival.鈥�

This story was made possible by the archives and archivists at the Genoa Indian School Digital Reconciliation Project, Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center, and National Archives. 

Born and raised on Navajo and Ojibwe reservations, three of endawnis Spears鈥檚 four grandparents were among the estimated hundreds of thousands of Native children separated from their families, their tribes and their traditions and forced to attend government-run Indian boarding schools.

A federal Bureau of Indian Affairs officer took Spears鈥檚 maternal grandmother at just 6 years old from Arizona to the Albuquerque Indian School in New Mexico. The agency threatened the young girl鈥檚 parents with possible jail time if they did not surrender her. 

Her paternal grandmother was sent across state lines from Minnesota to Kansas, where she was forced to attend Lawrence鈥檚 infamous Haskell Indian Training School, unable to return home for nearly a decade.

After hiding from federal officers for years, agents took her maternal grandfather at 14 to Fort Wingate, Arizona and forced him to cut his hair, pray to a Christian god and speak English, though Navajo was the only language he knew at the time. The teen repeatedly tried to run away, and staff punished him by forcing him to spend days on end in the school鈥檚 basement without food. Spears鈥檚 parents shared these stories with her over the years. 

鈥淭hese legacies and these histories are so intimate to us as Native people,鈥� said Spears, who now lives in Hopkinton, Rhode Island and serves as Brown University鈥檚 . 鈥淲e carry them in our DNA.鈥�

At least 500 Indigenous children died while attending federally operated Indian boarding schools, according to a May 11 . Just 19 facilities, a small fraction of the 408 government-supported schools identified, account for that tally 鈥� meaning the death total is likely a severe undercount.

For 150 years, up until the late 1960s, the U.S. government stole Indigenous youth from their communities, often without parents鈥� consent, and sent them to Indian boarding schools where they were forced to use English names, wear Americanized haircuts and perform military drills. Many children suffered and , and an unknown number died, often . 

The long-awaited report represents the first time the federal government has attempted a systematic accounting of the facts and consequences of the Indian boarding school system it perpetuated.

鈥淚’m glad to see it on the news. I’m glad that there are people asking these questions because our Native families, our Indigenous families in this country carry these stories with them every day,鈥� Spears told 蜜桃影视. But the process is only beginning, she added. 

鈥淲e’re just learning the full scope of the truth. 鈥� People always want to jump to reconciliation and they want to skip over the truth-telling part. We need to sit in the truth for a while.鈥�

The May report represents Volume I of an investigation that Interior Department Secretary Deb Haaland, a member of the Laguna Pueblo tribe and the agency鈥檚 first Indigenous head, unveiled in June 2021. The effort is intended to provide a basis through which the U.S. may reckon with past brutality by locating gravesites 鈥� many of them unmarked or 鈥� repatriating children鈥檚 remains and offering resources to affected families.

鈥淚t is my priority to not only give voice to the survivors and descendants of federal Indian boarding school policies, but also to address the lasting legacies of these policies so Indigenous peoples can continue to grow and heal,鈥� said the secretary, who鈥檚 own grandparents were also subjected to the boarding school system.

Indigenous scholars underscore that this first report only conveys a small fraction of the violence wrought by these schools, scores of which were operated by the Catholic Church and various Protestant groups at the government鈥檚 behest. 

鈥淏asically every school had a cemetery,鈥� Preston McBride, an Indian boarding school historian and a Comanche descendent. 鈥淭here are deaths at or deaths because of virtually every single boarding school.鈥�

鈥淭he United States doesn鈥檛 even know how many Indian students went through these institutions, let alone how many actually died in them,鈥� he added.

In his own research, he has documented over 1,000 child deaths at just four boarding schools. He estimates the toll over the entire system鈥檚 century and a half of operation may be .

The Department of Interior declined to comment on whether it believes that to be a plausible estimate, though the report鈥檚 authors note they expect 鈥渃ontinued investigation will reveal the approximate number of Indian children who died at Federal Indian boarding schools to be in the thousands or tens of thousands.鈥�&苍产蝉辫;

鈥淓ach one of those individuals is a story, had a story, has a story. And each one of those individuals did not have the opportunity to continue their traditions, to continue their culture, their language, to have a family 鈥� to be able to pass down the knowledge, the practices, the language that they inherited from generations past,鈥� Samuel Torres, deputy CEO of the National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition, told the 74 after the investigation was first launched.

Spears said her grandparents did not talk about witnessing deaths at the boarding schools, perhaps to protect their family from that horror. 

Amazingly, her grandfather, George Kirk, who suffered deprivation and torture at the hands of the U.S. government, later went on to help the country win World War II. Kirk became a famed , one of 29 U.S. Marines whose skill at transmitting over 800 messages without error in a coded version of their native tongue proved a critical advantage to Allied forces.

鈥淭he very language he was starved for speaking, later helped save this country,鈥� Spears said.

To bring the boarding school history to light, the Interior Department鈥檚 research team is working through the review and electronic screening of roughly 500 million pages of documents held in the American Indian Records Repository in Lenexa, Kansas. 

Most of the staff who have worked on the report are themselves Indigenous, . 

鈥淚t鈥檚 been an exhausting and emotional effort for them to confront this horror on a daily basis to bring this information to you,鈥� said Assistant Secretary Bryan Newland, who led the investigation and is a member of the Ojibwe nation. 鈥淭his has left lasting scars for all Indigenous people. There鈥檚 not a single American Indian, Alaskan Native or Native Hawaiian in this country whose life hasn鈥檛 been affected by these schools.鈥�

As the team continues its investigation, they hope to further clarify the U.S. government鈥檚 role in supporting the Indian boarding system, determine the location of more burial grounds associated with these schools and identify the names, ages and tribal affiliations of those buried there. They have already identified over 50 marked and unmarked gravesites.

The Interior鈥檚 investigation, the beginnings of what may become a public, centralized archive, will continue with

The report follows a similarly disturbing and builds on years of Native-led activism to unearth the truth behind U.S. boarding school policies. Since its founding in 2012, the Boarding School Healing Coalition has filed for the, conducted their own, supported survivors, and led in Eastern Pennsylvania. 

鈥淚 don’t think the impact [of the Investigation] can be underestimated. This is such a big part of American history that has not been talked about,鈥� Jim Gerencser, a Dickinson College archivist who co-founded a, told 蜜桃影视 last year. Many people have reached out to him looking for in-depth archives of boarding schools, family information or sources to incorporate in their . 

Carlisle has become one of the most studied U.S. boarding school sites, in part due to its size and founder鈥檚 infamous propaganda to 鈥渒ill the Indian and save the man.鈥� The site forcibly enrolled over 10,000 children from 142 Native nations over the course of 40 years.

Spears and her husband Cassius Spears Jr. 鈥� first councilman for the Narragansett tribe and nephew of former councilwoman, Tomaquag Museum leader and educator 鈥� have worked to reclaim many of their Native ways of life for their children. Her boys grow their hair out long and have pierced ears. They teach their kids about humans鈥� relationships with plants and non-human animals. They learn words and prayers in Native languages.

鈥淚 make decisions everyday to give my children what my grandparents couldn’t have,鈥� said Spears.

Lede Image: Dan Romero or Walking Bird of the Ute Tribe encircles the graves of children with sage at Sherman Indian School Cemetery in Southern California. (Cindy Yamanaka/The Riverside Press-Enterprise via Getty Images)