Tag Archives: inclusiveness

The Challenge of Our Times: “Won World” or “One World”?

Carol A. Hand

I wonder how many of my blogging comrades feel compelled to write when there are too many other pressing responsibilities that need attention? Today is one of those times for me, but I know if I don’t honor this pressure in my heart to share, I won’t be able to focus and my day will be unproductive anyway.

As I was reflecting about how to challenge environmental threats from a positive frame, two contrasting metaphors flashed though my thoughts this morning: “won world” vs. “one world.” From my perspective, these are the clear alternatives we face. As I think about the never-ending wars over resource control and the costs for people and environments, the images that come to mind are fracking fields,

tar sands independentreport dot blogspot dot com

Photo Credit: independentreport.blogspot.com

oil spills,

oil spill examiner dot com

Photo Credit: oil spill examiner.com

world hunger,

world hunger schmidtgs2 dot wikispaces dot com

Photo Credit: schmidtgs2.wikispaces.com

smog-filled cities where people cover their faces with masks.

smog businessinsider dot com

Photo Credit: businessinsider.com

The list could go on. This seems to be the future vision of the powerful elite, a “won world” where the rest of us are merely pawns to be controlled or disposed of. It’s not the world I want future generations to inherit.

The alternative, “one world,” I picture as the earth seen from outer space — a lovely blue and green orb that is not divided by imaginary borders that separate humanity into nations – it’s the home we all share.

earth wordlesstech com

Photo Credit: wordlesstech.com

This is a vision worth working toward. I know it is one that is shared by my friends in the blogging community who have enriched my life with an incredible diversity of gifts, wisdom, and (com)passionate commitment to social justice.

As someone who has worked with communities to build new initiatives to address a wide range of issues, I know the first step is to identify the shared vision of community members and in partnership, frame a mission that inspires people to take on the hard work of transformation. It is too easy for opponents to divide people otherwise. So my contribution for the day is to share this brief essay with gratitude for all you do and all you have taught me. I look forward to hearing your ideas!

Chi Miigwetch (many thanks) for sharing your insights and inspiration.

One World One Song

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Alternative Futures — Who Chooses?

Carol A. Hand

“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”
– Albert Einstein

“You will only learn what you already know.”
-John McKnight, Sufi Story

This week’s social policy class was difficult — not because of the enthusiastic hard-working students. It is always a difficult subject for me to teach because I need to stay on top of troubling current events and somehow find a place of hope for the future before I can encourage students to work for change. The evening before class, I was reading the news and realized for the first time the magnitude of danger and stupidity involved in the Enbridge Energy Pipeline.  A day later, I’m still uncertain about what I can do to help avert disaster, let alone contribute to positive alternatives.

enbridge

Photo Credits: Google Enbridge Pipeline images

The pipeline that carries dirty tar sands oil laden with toxic chemicals around the Great Lakes already exists, threatening one-third of the fresh water on earth. At a public hearing last evening in Duluth, I listened to the proposal Enbridge has pending with the state to expand their pumping capacity – to pump more dirty oil to refineries into the state and across the headwaters of the Mississippi River, under and around the Great Lakes, through wetlands and wildrice beds, and through tribal lands in violation of treaty rights. I went to listen, observe, and learn, not to testify.

This morning (another snowy one), I am still reflecting as the winds from the southeast bring the toxic heavy fumes from the nearby factories. I am struggling to find hope for the future. I wish I could press the rewind button to change the past. What did I think was so important at the time the pipeline was being built that I didn’t pay attention to what Enbridge was doing? What small local issues felt so important that I missed attending to the larger threats? Yet those questions are only unproductive distractions. The question should be what can I do now? Listening to the people who spoke last night has left me with another question, is it already too late? I decided to write about my initial observations and reflections as a foundation for dialogue with others who may have insights.

Ever the storyteller, I need to begin with “one true sentence.” I don’t like to attend group meetings. Yesterday, I found myself looking for any excuse not to go to the evening hearing — driving at night is hard because I can’t see well enough, taking the bus at night would add hours to the commute across town because busses run so infrequently, going alone into a crowd of unknown but probably opinionated cliquish strangers is so uncomfortable, I have nothing to add to the conversations because I don’t know the history or science. I had to ask myself if I really cared enough to go anyway, and even though it was counter to the underlying concern to reduce our reliance on fossil fuel, I called a cab and showed up with more than 100 other people in the basement conference room of a downtown hotel.

Because it was a public hearing to consider Enbridge’s request to expand an already existing pipeline, Enbridge staff and lawyers, key state agencies charged with making the final decision, and an administrative judge to conduct the hearing, sat at tables in the front of the room. The final decision rests in the hands of state decision makers based on state laws that consider only if the proposed energy-related expansion is necessary to promote the public interest of state citizens, to protect life and safety. It was difficult to listen to the Enbridge staff and lawyers try to justify the need for expansion and glorify their commitment to the environment and well-being of communities. Of course, their assurances of corporate commitment to safety rang hollow to me in light of the profit motive and their attempts to justify a xenophobic national agenda to reduce dependence on imported oil from unfriendly Arab states by partnering with our friendly neighbor to the north.

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Photo Credit: Google Enbridge Pipeline images

Enbridge had planned well. Knowing that the order of speakers would be based on the when they arrived and signed in, the first five people to testify spoke in favor of the proposed expansion. All had carefully-crafted written speeches that emphasized the economic benefits through employment opportunities and increased tax revenues, and like the other eight supportive speakers, all had direct economic links to Enbridge. (I did stifle an incredulous chuckle as the Red Cross representative who spoke in support of Enbridge praised their corporate commitment and past efforts in disaster relief.)

The opposition testimony (two-thirds of the speakers) varied from emotional appeals to protect the water and earth to citing scientific studies about the urgency of addressing climate change by reducing reliance on fossil fuels and non-renewable energy sources. Others documented Enbridge’s history of oil spills and noted specific observations about the carelessness of their building and maintenance practices, or their failure to follow treaty provisions when crossing tribal lands.

I listened, observed, and took notes. Today, I am trying to sort out my overall insights. First, I need to reflect on the opening remarks of the administrative judge. He explained that the meeting room was set up with a table for speakers so everyone could speaker to each other as neighbors and community members. I’m not sure that happened. Half of the audience would applaud after those in support of Enbridge spoke (the woman seated next to me was among them), and the other half would applaud for those who presented their opposition (I was among that half). Although many spoke with passion, their words did not touch my heart because I didn’t sense their hearts in their words. Perhaps it was fear of speaking in public, but even fear is ego-motivated. Only one woman had the presence of mind to stand and face the audience as she testified, with her back to those at the front tables. Her words came the closest to touching others who expressed differing views.

As I reflect on the perspectives of those who spoke in support of expansion, I realize that no one offered viable alternatives to meet their legitimate economic concerns. They need Enbridge to support their families. Do we have viable alternative energy businesses to absorb businesses and workers reliant on old oil technologies? Do we have universities and technical colleges that can help them retool? Their support for the continuation and expansion of our reliance on old technology is understandable, but no one in the room who opposed expansion acknowledged this, so the room remained divided. It seemed as though the supporters of expansion were forced into a position of denying climate change to defend a perspective that was characterized as ignorant and self-interested. Opponents could leave and feel self-righteous and blame their failure to reach others’ hearts because the others were ignorant and self-interested, not really a part of our community.

This is the challenge of being between cultures – the need to understand different perspectives from an empathetic middle. It doesn’t answer the larger questions of what I can do, but I can begin to explore ways to address legitimate concerns and bridge cultural divides. And I can ask the blogging community, many of whom who are far more knowledgeable than I for help. I welcome dialogue, links and creative, inclusive ideas.

enbridge 5

Photo Credit: Goggle Enbridge Pipeline images (with edits)

In the meantime, I will live with the knowledge that a “disaster-waiting-to-happen” is not far from my front yard. I will continue to explore whether it is possible for the community to come together to imagine an alternative future that is inclusive or whether opposing sides will remain divided in the certainty that only their side knows the right answer.

enbridge 4

Photo Credit: Kalamazoo Pipeline (2010)

Links for Further Information:

http://www.house.leg.state.mn.us/hrd/pubs/petinfra.pdf
http://www.occupymn.org/mn-enbridge-resistance/
http://www.wdio.com/article/stories/S3369902.shtml
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2014/03/14/northern-gateway-pipeline-tanker-spill-risk_n_4967272.html?utm_hp_ref=enbridge
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/desmog-canada/kitimat-plebiscite-enbridge-northern-gateway_b_4987798.html?utm_hp_ref=enbridge
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/ben-west/vancouver-orcas-oil-kinder-morgan_b_4995668.html?utm_hp_ref=enbridge
http://www.globalresearch.ca/voices-of-resistance-to-canadas-enbridge-northern-gateway-pipeline/5362704
http://www.canadians.org/pipelines
http://www.vice.com/en_ca/read/how-activists-shut-down-the-enbridge-line-9-pipeline-hearings
http://www.pipeupagainstenbridge.ca/
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/resources-minister-rickford-faces-aboriginal-backlash-over-enbridge-project/article17598247/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalamazoo_River_oil_spill
http://www.epa.gov/enbridgespill/
http://michiganradio.org/term/kalamazoo-river-oil-spill
http://chicagoist.com/2012/07/26/two_years_after_massive_oil_spill_t.php
http://switchboard.nrdc.org/blogs/aswift/pipeline_regulators_cite_two_d.html

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In Search of Community

Carol A. Hand

“Is it not right, then, that education should help you, as you grow up, to perceive the importance of bringing about a world in which there is no conflict either within or without, a world in which you are not in conflict with your neighbor or with a group of people because the drive of ambition, which is the desire for position and power, has utterly ceased? And is it possible to create a society in which there will be no inward or outward conflict?”
(Krishnamurti, 1964, Think on these things, p. 52)

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Living through the polar vortex forced me to question the wisdom of continuing to try to survive on my own. Of course, I am not totally alone. I have supportive friends and family, but this past winter they all had their own challenges to attend to, their own leaking roofs and freezing pipes, icy roads to travel to get places not served by public transportation, and never-ending snow to shovel despite artic temperatures. It has led me to the realization that living the way we do in this neighborhood isn’t wise or sustainable. Each family has its own separate dwelling, heating system, and needs to attend to all of the chores associated with survival on their own.

As much as I would like to head off to an intentional community, I am skeptical. I already tried that, twice. I am still laughing about the second attempt. A group of successful, smart people coalesced to prepare for the end of the world in a small farming community in central Illinois. I wasn’t there because of the nonsense the charismatic leader espoused. I was there because it made sense to share the work of growing food, contributing one’s unique skills to a collective, and reducing one’s carbon footprint on the environment. But the need many people have to follow leaders has never ceased to baffle me. Taken to extremes it is hilariously ridiculous or frighteningly dangerous.

carnival swing miss dash thrifty dot co dot uk

Photo Credit: Carnival Swing – miss-thrifty.co.uk

When I think of collective living, I think of people in my second alternative community experience. The leader organized a community-wide event for members — a chance to raise their IQs, for a moderate-sized fee of course. One of the members offered his large home as the training venue, and many attended the evening event. Attendees were greeted at the door and were given small brown paper bags as they entered. At the appointed time, the lights were dimmed and attendees were told to strip down to their underwear and breathe in and out of the paper bag for 10 minutes. They were promised that this exercise would improve their IQs – it would make them smarter!

(Then, I didn’t have internet tools to research the scientific validity of these claims, but in writing this essay many years later, it seemed wise to give it a try. Breathing into a paper bag for 5 minutes does seem to be a credible treatment for anxiety-triggered panic attacks – it helps rebalance elevated oxygen levels from over-breathing during attacks by increasing CO2 levels in the blood stream. People often feel immediate relief. So in this ingenious money-maker, creating a stressor and then reducing its impact left people with the impression that they felt better and brighter as a result of the exercise! Yet I only discovered wily walnut’s claim that the “Brain Bubbles” created by blowing in and out of a paper bag is one of the techniques one can use to raise IQ.

My partner and I were invited, but we declined. I heard about the event later from a friend who did go and felt even less intelligent as a result. My partner and I decided to leave the periphery of the community soon after.

The reasons for leaving my first attempt at “community” were not as amusing. Like the second community, the first was organized around a charismatic leader. But the followers were much younger, as was I when I first arrived, a single mother with a one and a half year old daughter. We hitchhiked, my little one in her stroller packed with necessary supplies and $20 in my pocket, trusting the kindness of the universe to help us survive. We weren’t escaping abuse, merely a mind and spirit-numbing environment of never-ending criticism and cold indifference — a life lacking warmth and laughter and possibilities for something better than the pursuit of empty material comforts. In the next four and a half years, our lives were transformed.

By the time we arrived, the alternative community had been in existence for more than 3 years and had grown from less than 20 people sharing a treehouse to more than 200 people spread across four towns in northwestern Massachusetts. I willingly agreed to accept the principles espoused by the community, no drugs, alcohol, or promiscuity. Newer arrivals like my daughter and me were initially relegated to live with more than 100 members in a rural setting that included a large house and dormitory with a smaller two-story shed. Despite my battered self-esteem, I looked around the community and noticed more than 25 children under five roaming about who were without care or supervision. With two other mothers, I set out to create a daycare center. We were able to renovate the first floor of the two-story shed, adding a sink that I helped plumb, and a stove and refrigerator we were able to get for free. We scrubbed and painted, and found some furniture and made sure kids had meals and supervision.

During the first few months, there were a number of observations that raised my curiosity about cultural differences. I watched as people pushed each other out of the way so they could be the first on the bus to attend meetings organized by the community leader. They competed for the white sweaters that proved they were more spiritually evolved than others and bullied and demeaned those who were forced to wear brown sweaters showing their lack of spirituality. I pondered the disconnect between the spirituality they gave lip service to and their actions. I also pondered it as I witnessed how mothers who previously ignored their children suddenly were only concerned about their children, stashing private bags of food for their children in the daycare center refrigerator. Unlike other mothers, I felt the need to make sure all children had the best we could provide.

I was also aware of how disrespected and patronized I felt by those who were in the upper echelon within the rural setting hierarchy, explaining it away to myself as another indicator of my many deficiencies. Despite my lack of self-confidence, there was still a noticeable difference between me and most of the members I encountered. I still thought about each of my actions and made my own decisions. I was perplexed by my observations that otherwise smart caring people did whatever the leader told them to do without question, even if it contradicted their deeply held values. Almost everyone else did unkind, foolish or illegal things because the leader told them to do it. Yet I stayed because I genuinely cared about my new friends despite all of these differences.

Slowly over the years, I gained skills and had experiences I doubt would even have come my way in another setting. I worked outside jobs as a waitress, nurse’s aide, donut finisher, receptionist, and seamstress, and as an attendant for an institution for people with cognitive and developmental challenges. As my status in the community rose, I moved from setting to setting. I travelled to the south to promote the community radio show, served as the booking agent and lightshow operator for a mobile disco, and ended up as the general office manager for the community, a buffer between the leader and ruling elite and the 200 members of the community. As my status in the community shifted, so did my ability to see more of what was really occurring. At first, I had believed most people followed the publicly proclaimed principles. I even believed that when I was the office manager, collecting members’ weekly donations, allocating funds to members to cover their needs, purchasing household supplies and food for twelve different enclaves, and buffering members from the never-ending demands for more money by the elite.

Again I pondered cultural differences. There were members who worked multiple jobs to donate all they could for the well-being of the community as a whole. There were members who never donated anything, but who were exempt because the leader favored them. There were members who were so wounded by life that they were unable to contribute anything but still needed resources multiple times a day every day. My carefully calculated food purchases to make sure each person in each house could have two eggs a day on Saturday and Sunday were glibly blown away by members from privileged backgrounds who thanked me for buying the eggs, proclaiming “I had six eggs this morning and it was such a treat.” I wondered how many children would be denied protein as a result.

But these were minor annoyances. There were deeper secrets I finally discovered – the way people’s hard-earned dollars were used to subsidize the costs of the leader’s alcohol and cocaine addiction. I thought long and hard about whether to stay and try to help someone whom I thought at the time wanted to recover or leave for my daughter’s sake. I came up with an alternative that I felt was reasonable. My daughter’s father agreed to take care of her for the summer. I would stay for that time to see what I could do to help the community get back on track. Two days after my daughter left, the leader of the community accosted me, yelling. “What the FUCK did you DO! Sending your daughter away was SO FUCKED UP!” (Those of you who have read my previous blog posts probably can guess how I responded.) I looked him at him calmly and replied in a quiet voice, “If you want to understand why I act as I do, it would be better to ask me. I always consider important decisions very carefully knowing that it is my karma not someone else’s if I make mistakes. It is not your right to question or judge my decisions. And it’s certainly not your right to tell me what to do.” He turned red in the face and screamed “GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!!!!” This was the only command I obeyed, but based on my own decision that it was the wisest course of action. It was not until decades later that I learned about the sexual abuse women and children experienced at the hands of the leader and his closest cronies, something many former members still prefer to ignore as they continue to believe they are “more spiritually evolved.”

So as I ponder the wisdom of living in an intentional community, I remember these experiences and ask if it is possible to find people who can really build a community based on comradeship. Can people escape the need to follow a leader? The organizational structure that both communities and every organization I have worked for shared in common was based on hierarchical power distinctions. Those organizations that were the most dysfunctional took oppression a bit further, using the “hub” style of management. The person in charge developed personal connections with each member or employee separately and discouraged the development of inter-collegial relationships by pointing out the deficiencies of all the others, a divide and conquer tactic that isolated people from each other and made them easier to manipulate. A picture is worth a thousand words here.

hub management

Photo Credit: Hub-Management Powerpoint slide

The three-dimensional picture of the carnival swing (above) is a more effective illustration. Each person is isolated, reliant on a thin tether that connects them to the power source for their continued survival, a power structure they are incapable of penetrating because of its distance and protective isolation. Each worker or member is easily replaceable, a part of the ride. How can such a structure do anything other than encourage individualism and selfish preoccupation? Can intentional communities undo the unconscious programming of what “leadership” means to those socialized in the dominant culture?

Perhaps I am stuck in my romantic notions of “traditional” Ojibwe culture. In order to become an adult, each individual was encouraged to find his or her own gifts in order to more fully contribute from a grounded foundation to the well-being and survival of the community as a whole while protecting the environment for future generations. I wonder if this ideal is possible. I wonder if the moral of the Sufi story that John McKnight relates is true, “You will only learn what you already know.” Do we as a people already know that our survival really does depend on everyone else who shares the planet? Do we really already know what it takes to live with others in inclusive, respectful, constructive, peaceful ways?

For the sake of my grandchildren and generations to come, I hope we already do know or are still able to learn.

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Indian Child Removal and the Ga-Ga

Carol A. Hand

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Recognizing the special relationship between the United States and the Indian tribes and their members and the Federal responsibility to Indian people, the Congress finds-–

… that Congress, through statutes, treaties, and the general course of dealing with Indian tribes, has assumed the responsibility for the protection and preservation of Indian tribes and their resources;
… that there is no resource that is more vital to the continued existence and integrity of Indian tribes than their children and that the United States has a direct interest, as trustee, in protecting Indian children who are members of or are eligible for membership in an Indian tribe;
… that an alarmingly high percentage of Indian families are broken up by the removal, often unwarranted, of their children from them by nontribal public and private agencies and that an alarmingly high percentage of such children are placed in non-Indian foster and adoptive homes and institutions; and
… that the States, exercising their recognized jurisdiction over Indian child custody proceedings through administrative and judicial bodies, have often failed to recognize the essential tribal relations of Indian people and the cultural and social standards prevailing in Indian communities and families.
(The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978)

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Years ago, the director of a child welfare agency asked me to do an in-service training for her staff about Native American child welfare issues. She added “Don’t tell them about the Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978. They already know it. What staff need to know is why they should care.” Because I left my position before I had a chance to respond to her request, this essay is my belated way of addressing her concerns.

boarding school adoptionstar dot com

Photo Credit: Carlisle Indian Industrial School (1879-1918) – adoptionstar.com

The most effective way to conquer a nation is to acculturate their children. Although the removal of Native American children from their families by the federal government, under the guise of education, did not become official policy in the U.S. until after the Civil War, it was not a new practice. From the earliest accounts of Spanish and English colonizers, Native American children were a special focus of assimilation policies. Removal by force and kidnapping were sanctioned ways of dealing with the children of people who were viewed as heathens and savages, and who were certainly in the way of the foreign advance forces that were only interested in claiming indigenous territory and resources.

Although the agents of removal have changed over time, the consequences have been destructive for families and communities for hundreds of years. According to an Ojibwe elder and social worker, social workers eventually merited a name drawn from Ojibwe mythology, the ga-ga, or bogey man. In dangerous environments, Ojibwe parents and elders met the challenge of protecting children from harm in many creative ways because physical punishment and coercion were rare and culturally discouraged. In the most serious circumstances, parents and elders used “scaring stories” that were passed on through the generations, sometimes taking on new meanings. She said that according to oral tradition, Ojibwe parents or elders used to tell children that the bear would take them away if they did not learn to listen and behave. And then, one child was taken by a bear. In order to avoid offending bear relatives and invoke their anger, the ga-ga, a mythical creature like the bogeyman of European fairy tales, was substituted for the bear in the scaring stories.

No one believed that there really was such a creature, until the imposition of colonial domination gave new meaning to this warning. Canada and the United States implemented sweeping policies intended to civilize indigenous peoples by removing children from tribal communities. The agents of removal, Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) agents, missionaries, and social workers, became known as the ga-ga. As the Ojibwe social worker recounted, for generations Ojibwe children have been warned.

 I heard the story when I was little. My mother told us that if we did not behave, the ga-ga would come to take us away. They would take kids and put them into other homes or schools. That’s all I remember. (Ojibwe elder, Personal communication, July 5, 2003)

The new nation that emerged on Indigenous homelands didn’t waste much time in asserting their agenda of political, religious, economic, and cultural domination. In 1819, soon after the United States was founded, Congress authorized $10,000 annually to support religious groups and individuals who wished to establish mission schools in tribal communities. Stressing white values, the schools taught boys farming and blacksmithing and girls domestic skills. For the next several decades, Indian education remained the responsibility of the churches, with federal monetary support” (O’Brien, 1989, p. 239).

Day schools proved ineffective at dismantling culture and community ties. When the Civil War ended, a new intervention spread throughout the nation, Indian boarding schools. The first federal school, under the direction of the BIA, opened in 1860 on the Yakima Indian Reservation in the state of Washington. It was not until 1879, however, that the U.S. opened what is probably the most famous boarding school in Carlisle, PA, under the direction of Captain Henry Pratt, a veteran of the Civil War and the Indian Wars in the western United States. By the 1900s, the BIA operated 251 schools, 113 of which were boarding schools, the preferred method for educating Native children even though they were more costly to operate than day schools. “It is the experience of the department that mere day schools, however well conducted, do not withdraw the children sufficiently from the influences, habits, and traditions of their home life, and produce for this reason a … limited effect” (as quoted in Adams, 1995, p. 30).

When children arrived, their hair was cut, they were stripped and scrubbed with disinfectant soap, deloused even if they didn’t need to be, and clothed in the garb of the colonizers, sometimes in cast-off Civil War uniforms. They were stripped of their given names, forbidden to speak their languages, and housed in over-crowded dormitories. They suffered emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, and because of crowded housing and poor nutrition, thousands died from tuberculosis, measles, pneumonia, and other causes. They were only taught manual trades, to be farmers, tradesmen, or servants, and indoctrinated to value the morality of hard work and the ownership of private property. Those who did return home “were virtual strangers, unable to speak their own language or understand the ways of their own people” (O’Brien, 1989, p. 239).

Photo Credit: My Mother before Catholic Boarding School (“Mom age 7 – Grapes of Wrath”)

norma 1

norma 2

Photo Credit: My Mother after Catholic Boarding School (“My 1st Communion”)

After the Great Depression (1934), the federal government shifted the focus of Indian education from the assimilation of Indigenous children through boarding schools to a broader integration approach within the public school system. The Johnson-O’Malley Act of 1934 provided funding to cover education for Native youth within local public schools in the White communities that bordered tribal communities. The agents of child removal also shifted, from federal agents to state and local child welfare workers.

By 1976, an alarm was sounded by tribal communities and advocacy groups. The number of Indigenous children who had been removed from their families and communities had reached staggering proportions. Surveys conducted by the Association of American Indian Affairs in 1974 estimated that “approximately 25-35 per cent of all Indian children are separated from their families and placed in foster homes, adoptive homes, or institutions” (Byler, 1977, p. 1). The U.S. Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs established a task force to investigate Indian child welfare issues and discovered that foster care placement rates for Native American children were more than five times higher than those of non-Indians. Adoption rates for Native American children, predominantly by non-Native homes, were also significantly higher than those of non-Indians. The task force concluded that “the removal of Indian children from their natural homes and tribal setting has been and continues to be a national crisis [,] … seriously impacts a long-term tribal survival and … Non-Indian public and private agencies, with some exceptions, show almost no sensitivity to Indian culture and society” (U.S. Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs Task Force Four, 1977, p. 52).

The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978 (ICWA) was passed the next year to end the destruction of tribal cultures through policies that encouraged keeping Native American children who were removed from their families within their tribal communities or Native American homes. In reality, the law only granted tribal courts some say in decisions affecting children, and allowed tribal governments an opportunity to place some children who were removed with families on the reservation rather than with Euro-Americans families in other locations. The law did not return total jurisdiction to tribes to design the types of practices they defined as best to promote safe and healthy families. Despite ICWA, child welfare policies and best practices are still largely dictated by federal and state governments. The illusion of control represented by ICWA, however, has kept many tribes from challenging an oppressive system. And the backlash to ICWA from counties, states, and Euro-Americans who desperately want to adopt Native American children has been unrelenting.

Tribal child welfare workers with caseloads of 50 to 120 families struggle to keep children safe and families intact. Their clients span multi-county communities, states, and the nation as a whole. One of the biggest obstacles they face is the appalling ignorance of the general U.S. population about tribal histories and cultures. An even greater obstacle, however, is the rock-solid assumption among most non-Native child welfare experts and practitioners that they really know what is best for all children. Culture doesn’t matter. Community is irrelevant. What matters is being adopted as part of an insular nuclear family. They argue that nuclear families give children a sense of “permanency,” at least until they reach the age of 18.

Yet culture matters a great deal. Being part of a community with which one identifies matters as well. An exercise designed by Vera Manuel, First Nations author and teacher from British Columbia, demonstrates the profound difference between the Euro-American concept of “permanence” and an Indigenous sense of belonging to a community and culture. She engaged participants in sculpting the organization of a pre-contact tribal community. She placed a small pouch on a chair in the center of the room, explaining that it contained things that were sacred to her. The sacred pouch represented the spiritual beliefs that were the center and foundation of the community. She then asked for volunteers to act out the role of children. She asked them to form a circle facing the sacred bundle. Next, she asked for volunteers to role-play parents and form a circle around all of the children. The next volunteers, encircling parents, were aunties and uncles and other adults in the community. Elders formed the final circle of those community members who were facing toward the children and the sacred center. Around the periphery, facing outward, were the volunteers who agreed to represent leaders and warriors who were responsible for protecting the community from harmful outside forces. Next, a few brave volunteers agreed to play the role of “child stealers,” the ga-ga.

In early times, the ga-ga were federal BIA agents or missionaries. In later times, they were state and county child welfare workers. These agents of churches, the federal government, counties, and states broke through the protective circles to forcibly remove the children. Despite resistance by the leaders, warriors, elders, aunties and uncles, and parents, children were removed from their place at the center of the community and taken away by strangers using threats and force. Participants in the sculpted exercise were asked to act out their reactions to losing their children. Without their children, parents, adults, and elders cast their eyes down and turned inward, wrapped their arms over their heart, turned their backs to the center, or left the circle. Warriors and leaders were deeply shamed by their defeat and also turned inward or left. Their meaning in life was lost. When some of the children returned as adults, the community was often disorganized and unrecognizable. Without a purpose, the circles of care that had surrounded them as children were in disarray.

Most agents of removal may well have sincerely believed that Native children would be better off away from their families and cultures. Removal and outplacement continued for generations, funded and encouraged by federal policies and religious institutions. However, for the Ojibwe community members of all ages who have shared their stories with me, the life-long consequences of removal are clear. Each told me that the experiences he or she shared with me were unique and too painful for others in the community to hear or understand. They suffered silently, alone, with the legacy of self-doubt, pain, and anger. Their families and communities suffered as well. Most internalized the shame and blamed their removal on their parents’ substance abuse or irresponsibility. Few recognized that their experience was part of an enduring and deliberate federal agenda to eradicate tribal cultures, a repetition of what their parents, grandparents and more distant ancestors had survived.

Healing the legacy of widespread government-sponsored abuse of Native American children, families and communities is not an easy prospect. Children who were removed from their families and communities, warehoused and abused in federal and religious institutions, or placed with families of non-Indian strangers who were at best not able to help children be integrated into their tribal communities and cultures, and at worst were cruel and abusive, face special challenges as parents. Each generation has stories to tell about their experiences:

• being kidnapped from a village road at the age of five and delivered to a federal boarding school more than 100 miles away still carrying scars more than 70 years later from punishment inflicted on their first day for speaking the only language they knew, “Indian,”
• being the first of many community children placed in a white foster home where Native children were beaten and sexually abused from the age of nine until they were 18 and old enough to exit care,
• running away at the age of 15 to fend for themselves because system interventions only intensified their abuse,
• returning “home” to the tribal community only to find that the mythic culture they created in their imagination to survive years of exile was not there to welcome them and enfold them in a healing circle.

Tribes have done their best to rebuild communities of care despite centuries of destructive policies, and they have made significant strides. There is much yet to do and tribes need allies who understand the harm that has been done and are willing to work in partnership to help banish the ga-ga once and for all. As I write this essay in 2014, Native American children are still more likely to be removed from their families and communities than children from other backgrounds (Summers, Wood, & Donovan, 2013), and the ICWA provisions that offer some protections have suffered serious setbacks. Still, I believe it is within our power to prevent future generations of Native Americans from losing their connections to family and community, to their languages and cultures, and to their self-respect. It is possible to create policies, institutions, and practice paradigms that prevent abuse and neglect while also preserving families, communities, and cultures if we care enough to engage in constructive dialogue and work together as advocates in whatever ways we can.

circles of care samhsa dot com

Photo Credit: Circles of Care – samhsa.gov

Chi miigwetch to the community members who made me feel welcome and shared their stories, laughter, and pain, and whose inspiring work to improve the lives of the next generations will continue to give me hope despite these troubling times.

Works Cited:

Adams, David Wallace (1995). Education for extinction: American Indians and the boarding school experience: 1875-1928. Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas.

Byler, William (1977). The destruction of American Indian families. In Steven Unger (Ed.), The destruction of American Indian families (pp. 1-11). New York: Association on American Indian Affairs.

O’Brien, Sharon (1989). American Indian tribal governments. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press.

Summers, Alicia, Steve Wood, & Jennifer Donovan (2013). Disproportionality rates for children of color in foster care, Technical Assistance Bulletin. Reno, NV: National Council of Juvenile and Family Court Judges. Available from http://www.ncjfcj.org/sites/default/files/Disproportionality%20Rates%20for%20Children%20of%20Color%20in%20Foster%20Care%202013.pdf

U.S. Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs Task Force Four: Federal, State and Tribal Jurisdiction (1977). Final Report to the American Indian Review Commission, In U.S. Senate Reports, Vol 1-11, Miscellaneous Reports on Public Bills, XI, 95th Congress, 1st Session, Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.

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Join us and live in Peace?

Cheryl A. Bates

In light of escalating tension between the U.S. and Russia, I wanted to share a thought I had after stumbling upon the 1951 movie, The Day the Earth Stood Still. First, let me say that as a child of the sixties living in a very rural area of the Pacific Northwest, the availability of information concerning the world was limited to weekly newspapers and access to only two major television networks (in black and white); consequently, I didn’t develop a passion for science fiction until recently. Yes, I literally became a Trekie in my fifties. With assistance from media streaming and unprecedented access to movies, documentaries, and other genres of entertainment, I have discovered a world of thinking in science fiction that transcends my rural country roots. How did I ever make it to the age of 51 without having discovered the film The Day the Earth Stood Still, a prophetic story about a humanoid alien visitor (Klaatu) and his omnipotent robot companion (Gort/Gnut) who land on earth to deliver a message that Earth must learn to live peacefully or be destroyed?

We come in peace and goodwill

Photo Credit: Klaatu, The Day the Earth Stood Still

“It is no concern of ours how you run your own planet, but if you threaten to extend your violence, this Earth of yours will be reduced to a burned-out cinder” (Klaatu)

As a representative from a federation of other planets, Klaatu is sent to Earth to warn humankind that their experiments with atomic weapons are threatening the safety of other peaceful civilizations (www.britannica.com). The message is simple, Klaatu requests to meet with all the leaders of Earth in which to deliver the message that unless humankind gives up violence, other planets will destroy Earth in their own defense.  He was told that a meeting of such magnitude was impossible. Thus, as a peaceful demonstration of his power, Klaatu arranges for a 30 minute black out of power except where such a loss would be life-threatening. Even in the face of omnipotent power, humans are disbelieving in that something more powerful than they can live in peace.

surrounding ukraine infantry

Photo Credit: Surrounded: Unidentified armed men prepare their camp in font of Ukraine’s infantry base in Privolnoye.

Are we there now with sides aligning and taking on allies to brace against the fight over which one ultimately dominates the other? Each side is equipped with bombs aimed at the other that can destroy the world as we know it. Why do we insist on such lopsided accumulations of wealth and power? How can either “side” justify wealth and power that is used to secure more wealth and power, limit access to resources, and continued enforcement of hegemonic dictates instead of soothing the hunger of swollen bellies, healing the perils of disease, and perhaps building a world that is united, compassionate, cooperative, and beautiful? Where is that omnipotent presence now that will convince humankind that life is a beautiful gift and one meant to be shared?

peace

Photo Credit: Peace

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Reflections on another Snowy Morning – Blogging and Connections to Community

Carol A. Hand

This morning I was still thinking about the observations voiced by a gifted photographer from Greece who shared his parting observations about blogging, his farewell to his many followers and to the blogosphere. A year ago, I would never have imagined myself understanding what a blog was, let alone participating in one. As I understand his words, blogging from his perspective keeps people from living life in the real world, giving them the illusion they are tackling the injustices they write about rather than taking the on-the-ground actions necessary.

I know I have watched my own obsession with blogging intensify during this winter. Yet I need to be honest about the importance of context. I have never lived through a winter like this one. The two feet of snow that came early in December, covered by a layer of freezing rain, ushered in a polar vortex that is only now beginning to lift in mid-February. My car was literally frozen shut for three weeks by temperatures that never rose above zero degrees Fahrenheit. Windchills of 30 to 40 below zero made being outside a “nose and finger-numbing” reality in just a few minutes. I don’t have a tv, so the internet and blogging became my connections to the larger world.

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Photo: Duluth – February 17, 2014

My occasional trips to the store for necessities have never made me feel as though I was part of my new community. Although I try to live in the moment and connect with others in these public spaces, few respond to smiles or comments intended to create some kind of human-to-human connection. Being introverted, more because of life experiences than by nature, the only spheres for interpersonal connections for me have been work, school, and sometimes neighborhoods. Now that I am semi-retired, these options are limited.

The retiring blogger’s reflections have reminded me of how I have lived in other isolating times. When living in insular environments, I found whatever media I could to remind me of larger world contexts, photographs of people from around the world during colonial and post-colonial times, books and poetry from many different historical eras, nations and cultures, and foreign films and television shows. Blogging has been a more accessible way to connect. I am fortunate to have a computer and internet connection that are unattainable luxuries for others in the U.S. and the world. Yet I also realize that blogging has been more than merely learning about events around the world from many diverse perspectives. It has also been about building connections with others who share similar values.

This winter, blogging has exposed me to a community of creative critical thinkers who have challenged me to learn and grow. I am humbled by the contributions of other bloggers – the beauty of artistic gifts and eloquent descriptions of crucial actions to counter hegemony in nations, communities, prisons, and classrooms. It inspires me to use the opportunities I do have as a part-time adjunct to connect students with global information from bloggers who share creative ways of thinking about resistance to hegemony and actions that are being taken to build a kinder more inclusive world. I am grateful for those bloggers who have reached out to make me feel included in this community. From the still snowy north-country, I wish to say miigwetch (Ojibwe thank you) to the inspiring people in the blogging community who have opened up new vistas and a sense of comradeship for me during a winter that might otherwise have been unbearable.

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Photo: Pinto, my recently rescued companion – February 17, 2014

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Reflections on the Meaning of “Social Justice”

Carol A. Hand

Years ago, I eagerly sought out a position at a university social work department that publically proclaimed its commitment to social justice as a foundation for working with individuals, groups, and communities. When the position was offered to me, I welcomed the chance to work with faculty whom I thought shared my values. It didn’t take long for my excitement to wane. As I heard some of my faculty colleagues gossiping outside my office door about the deficiencies of new faculty, I realized their definition of social justice was not the same as mine. “Perhaps,” I thought, “the problem is in the phrase ‘social justice’.” When I looked up the meaning of “justice” in the dictionary, I realized this could be the problem.

The noun “justice” is defined as,

1. the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness …

2. rightfulness or lawfulness, as of a claim or title; justness of ground or reason …

3. the moral principle determining just conduct,

4. conformity to this principle, as manifested in conduct, dealing, or treatment,

5. the administering of deserved punishment or reward… (Webster’s Dictionary, 1989, p. 776)

The definition of the verb “do justice” offers a more hopeful image, “to treat justly or fairly, … to appreciate properly, … to act in accordance with one’s abilities or potentialities; acquit oneself well” (p. 776). Yet it still embodies the notion of just deserts, that one must earn fair treatment; fair treatment is not an inherent right of all simply because they exist.

LP sword

The behavior of my colleagues led me to literally envision social justice as “Lady Justice,” holding a book of law in her left hand, and in her right hand, a sword to smite wrong-doers. This was not what I meant when I had used the term in the past. I meant the recognition that we have all been socialized to unconsciously accept a social structure that is hierarchical, competitive, and excludes and devalues those who are different in some way. The challenge of inequality was to raise awareness — not only of those who are oppressed by the current social structure, but also of those who benefit from the oppression of others, sometimes without knowing.

lady justice

Photo Credit: Google lady justice images

In some measure, through socialization in a given culture at a given time in the U.S., all people in the U.S. are dressaged – like horses trained to perform programmed movements when commanded by the rider. They are socialized to accept the structure of inequality as natural and immutable. Yet if you think about it, even gated communities are prisons for the wealthy elite, locking inhabitants into an enclosure that they are fearful to leave. The question then becomes “How can one really work toward the liberation of all?” How can we create a sense of community that eliminates social structures that are, by their very nature, divisive?

The answer can be found in a Latin word, “praxis.” Of course, I needed to look up the meaning in an unabridged dictionary the first time I read it in an assigned reading for a social work class. Simply stated, praxis is the blending of theory and action. I decided what I meant in the past was not social justice, but rather liberatory knowledge-guided action, or liberatory praxis. Then, I discovered Paulo Freire’s (2000) Pedagogy of the Oppressed. His suggestions for using the principles of liberatory praxis as a foundation for teaching fit with what felt right to me from an Ojibwe perspective. He argues that theories without action are useless, they need to be applied. And action, without knowledge, is often harmful or counterproductive.

Over the years as a teacher in universities, I have experimented with ways to implement a respectful dialogic approach based on liberatory praxis. I discovered my methods were not valued by many of my colleagues, although students were increasingly motivated to become engaged as active, creative scholars who were driven to find ways to change the world for the better. I am writing about this now because I have recently been contacted by two of my former students attending different universities. Both are at risk of not passing because they are “different,” that is, older, or gentler, or more gifted than faculty at developing rapport with clients, or Native American, Black, Latino/a, or Hmong, or Muslim, Mormon, Lesbian, or Gay, or the first member of their family to go to college. The list could go on. Students who are different make faculty uncomfortable because of faculty biases, so they are less likely to get the types of advice and support their “normal” peers receive without asking. The gatekeepers of social work education are more likely to view students who are different as unsuitable for the profession, as unable to maintain professional distance from their future clients.

The perception that clients are not our family, neighbors, comrades, or members of our community is really part of the problem with the world. Liberatory praxis challenges this notion on a foundational level, where social justice does not. Social justice speaks of redistributive justice rather than transformational change of oppressive social structures, values, and institutions. Freire notes that ending inequality will not be led by those in the elite strata. It will only come from those who are oppressed. Yet in the present social climate, those who are oppressed are less likely to attend the types of schools where they will have opportunities to learn critical thinking skills. They are less likely to go to college, and if they do, will in all likelihood be too burdened by repaying student loans to take on the onerous burden of working for societal or global transformation. Their views, regardless of educational attainment, will also be less likely to be seen as important and worthy of attention. And like the rest of us, they may have internalized the message that things cannot be changed by ordinary people like us. The media will anesthetize them into believing resistance is futile. Star trek fans will recognize this refrain.

Today is not one of the days I feel optimistic. We are standing on the precipice of yet another war to appease corporate greed. Yet as I write this, the thought comes to mind, “but what kind of world do I want my grandchildren to inherit?” “Am I willing to remain silent, accepting defeat without trying to live liberatory praxis in my life?” My answer? I am writing this essay to do what I can today. And tomorrow I will do something else, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, for as long as I can because my grandchildren, and all world citizens, deserve to live in a peaceful, egalitarian world.

 

lp world

Photo Credit: Google images – lp world

References

Freire, Paulo. (2000). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th Anniversary Ed.). New York, NY: Continuum Press.

Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language (1980). Avenel, NJ: Gramercy Books.