Proud Nations

Proud Nations

Carla Maslin (second from left) joins her daughter Carmen Maslin in celebrating the Head Start graduation of Carmen’s children Natalie and Olivia.

Photograph by Lynn Johnson

Proud Nations Celebrating Tribal Self-Governance

brent simcosky with

cyndi h olmes

Self-Governance Communication and Education Project bellingham, washington

dedication dedication Self-Governance began as a tribally driven and congressionally mandated demonstration project with 30 American Indian tribes in 1988. Permanent authority for Self-Governance was enacted in 1994 for the Bureau of Indian Affairs and in 2000 for the Indian Health Service.

Today, over 50 percent of the federally recognized American Indian tribes and Alaska Native villages have negotiated compacts of Self-Governance with the United States.

With the advent of the Self-Governance initiative, American Indian and Alaska Native tribes are now able to exercise their sovereignty and manage tribal programs as they determine best benefits their communities.

The expansion and continued success of Self-Governance is due to the contributions of many.

Some have departed this earth, but their legacy of wisdom and commitment endures to help all tribes in exercising the right to self-govern. They continue to guide us, advise us and advance the tenets of Self-Governance, and we honor and respect them as the “warriors” who spent long hours promoting and fighting for tribal sovereignty.

Proud Nations: Celebrating Tribal Self-Governance is dedicated to the memory of those no longer with us, but still strong in our hearts.

Joseph B. DeLaCruz President, Quinault Nation Merle Boyd Second Chief, Sac and Fox Nation Michael “Mickey” T. Pablo Chairman, Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes Sam Cagey Chairman, Lummi Nation Roger Jordain Chairman, Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians Susan Wilbur “Lop-she-ahl” Vice-Chair, Swinomish Indian Tribal Community U.S. Representative Sidney Yates Chairman, House Interior and Related Agencies Appropriations Subcommittee Raynette Finkbonner Self-Governance Coordinator, Lummi Nation Sybil Sangrey Finance Director, Chippewa Cree Tribe of Rocky Boy Reservation Dwayne R. Hughes Executive Director, Chickasaw Nation Joseph “Joe T.” Mark Tallakson President, SENSE Incorporated

copyright/cip data

contents

Foreword Introduction

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Wilma Mankiller Self-Governance: A Way of Life

Community Priorities ketchikan indian community chitimacha tribe wampanoag tribe kaw nation grand traverse band confederated salish and kootenai tribes squaxin island tribe

18 27 33 38 46 52 63

Bringing Home the Health Care The Best Thing We’ve Ever Done From the Brink of Extinction Seizing Our Destiny We’ve Come a Long Way Where the Buffalo Roam Tears of Joy

Collaborations and Partnerships southcentral foundation mille lacs band of ojibwe yukon kuskokwim health corporation red lake band of chippewa indians cherokee nation eastern aleutian tribes lower elwha klallam tribe

77 89 99 108 117 127 133

Calling Out Our Warriors Moving Forward Providing for Ourselves Just Like the Old Days Preserving Our Legacy Helping Ourselves by Helping Others Our Language Lives

Leaders and Nation Building choctaw nation redding rancheria hoopa valley tribe salt river pima-maricopa indian community citizen potawatomi nation jamestown s’klallam tribe

144 152 163 174 181 190

Success Is Everywhere Self-Governance Tribes Photographer Biographies Acknowledgements

198 204 207 208

Building a Nation Heart and Soul Sovereignty Has No Boundaries The Maximizers We Have Dreams The Strong People

Title Page: Steven Small Salmon on a road in the Confederated Salish and Kootenai tribes’ reservation in Montana. Photograph by Lynn Johnson Dedication: Teepee poles cast stark shadows on snow in Pablo, Montana. Photograph by Lynn Johnson Opposite: Sacred feathers, sage and medicine bundles in the home of Mille Lacs herbalist Melvin Pewaush. Photograph by keri pickett

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tribe name

foreword | Wilma Mankiller

despite everything that happened to us historically, there is much to celebrate in Indian Country as we begin the 21st century. Our governments are strong, our communities persist, our seasonal ceremonies are still held, our Native languages are spoken and even with all the challenges we face, we still look to the future with the same hope, faith and optimism that has sustained us since the beginning of time.

While it is clear tribal governments continue to face a daunting set of economic and social challenges, the successful stories featured in Proud Nations: Celebrating Tribal Self-Governance clearly demonstrate the profound positive impact Self-Governance has had on tribal people nationwide. The federal policy of Self-Governance has enabled tribal governments to develop a range of innovative projects from language immersion to health care, housing, natural resource management and justice programs. These inspiring stories and images of tribal people illustrate to the general public what we have known for a very long time: Tribal Self-Governance works. Tribal governments perform better when they are able to chart their own courses, allocate their own resources and establish priorities based on local needs.

Most books and articles about tribal people and their governments focus only on problems and often recite a litany of social and economic challenges, leaving most Americans with the impression there is little to celebrate in Indian Country. Quite the contrary is true. There are hundreds of examples of successful tribal projects, services and programs ranging from restoration of Native languages to self-help housing.

This book chronicles a few of those innovative and successful projects.

Only three decades ago, many of the projects included in this book would not have been possible.

Since 1975, when the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act passed, there has been a sea change in tribal Self-Governance. The act enabled tribal governments to administer programs and services formerly administered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Indian Health Service on behalf of American Indian/Alaska Native people. When the law

Photograph by joanna pinneo

was amended in 1988 and in l994 to broaden the scope of Self-Governance, tribal governments began almost immediately to negotiate Self-Governance agreements with the federal government. Under the new Self-Governance laws, agreements were executed that allowed tribes the flexibility to determine their own priorities and, more importantly, consolidate programs and allocate resources where they were most needed At a very lengthy national health meeting in 1988, I was serendipitously seated by a councilman from the Lummi Indian Nation in Washington state who shared his paper on the tribe’s very aggressive Self-Governance initiative. After reading the entire document, I took a copy of the paper back to Tahlequah, Oklahoma, and told my senior staff, “This is what we should be doing.” Though the Cherokee Nation was one of the first Self-Governance tribes, the Lummi Nation and other tribes paved the way for all of us. From the outset it was clear to the Cherokee Nation leadership team that Self-Governance was the appropriate route, though there was opposition from some tribal citizens and members of the Tribal Council, who felt the Self-Governance initiative would diminish federal responsibility to tribal governments and ultimately lead to termination. Understandably, there was considerable distrust of the federal government. But over time, more people began to perceive Self-Governance as a vehicle for strengthening tribal governments and broadening their self-determination efforts.

The success of Self-Governance has been nothing short of astounding. Warriors like the late Quinault Indian Nation President Joe DeLaCruz, who waged a protracted battle for Self-Governance, would be so proud of all the Self-Governance nations depicted herein. On behalf of those warriors, and all the people who have worked in or benefited from Self-Governance, it is my fervent hope that this book will give each reader a sense of the innovation, courage and resilience of American Indian/Alaska Native people across North America. I hope it is abundantly clear that though we have lost a lot of land, lives and resources, we will never, ever give up our sense of identity, family, community and nationhood.

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Jacob Sullivan, left, and Ray Broderson fish on Sequim Bay, located along the Strait of San Juan de Fuca in Washington state. Both are participants in the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe’s Youth Mentor Program, in which teenagers are paired with an adult for three years.

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introduction | Tribal Self-Governance: A Way of Life

To understand today’s tribal governments, it is important to know the basic history of American Indian nations. American Indian and Alaska Native peoples long lived and prospered in organized societies with their own forms of government for thousands of years before contact with Europeans. In fact, tribal cultures demonstrated the basic democratic philosophies that would be embodied in the United States Constitution.

Through the course of dealing with the settlers and later the federal government, oftentimes through treaties, tribes relinquished ownership to millions of acres of land and valuable natural resources. In exchange, the United States was to protect reserved lands, rights and resources as well as provide services to Indian people.

Tribal self-sufficiency was replaced as the United States, through its Congress, courts and the federal bureaucracy, transformed — sometimes brutally — independent tribal status into tribal dependency. Over generations of federal dominance, paternalism and control, even some Indian people began to believe in this imposed dependency.

The federal government’s mistreatment of the First Peoples of this nation and destruction of traditional tribal communities and economies are among the most horrific stories in United States history. Tribal land bases were lost and destroyed by federal termination policies, and many extended families became dysfunctional as tribal children were taken from their homes.

Yet, through all the injustice and hardships, American Indian and Alaska Native communities and culture have survived. The voices of tribal leaders and spiritual elders in each generation reminded their people of their rightful roles and authorities as self-governing Indian nations.

This book is not about the atrocities and brutal history of tribal nations. Rather, it is a compilation of stories that illustrate the success of tribes becoming self-sufficient, self-determining and self-governing once again. Through a tribally driven congressional initiative titled Tribal Self-Governance, the doors have been further opened for tribes to exercise their fundamental sovereign rights and authorities with minimal federal intrusion and involvement.

Brief History of Tribal Self-Governance The United States Constitution recognizes Indian nations as governments. Hundreds of treaties, federal laws and court cases have reaffirmed that Indian nations retain the inherent powers to govern themselves.

Tribal Self-Governance has been a tribally driven initiative made possible through Congressional authorization and appropriation support. Tribal Self-Governance was proposed by tribes in the late 1980s, 12 years after passage of Public Law 93-638, the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act of 1975. Many tribal leaders had continued to be frustrated with the federal bureaucracy — specifically the Bureau of Indian Affairs. In the fall of 1987, the Arizona Republic published a series of articles titled “Fraud in Indian Country.”

These stories alleged serious waste and mismanagement in the federal Indian bureaucracy.

In an attempt to address these allegations, Congress held hearings in 1988 and proposed that funds appropriated to the BIA be turned over to tribes, who would then manage their own affairs. In 1988, Congress passed amendments to the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act that implemented a “Tribal Self-Governance Demonstration Proj-

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ect,” which called for the initial participation of 30 tribes. Subsequent legislation was passed in 1994, changing this from a demonstration project and authorizing Self-Governance as a permanent option for tribes choosing to exercise that right. Further legislation was developed to extend this option to the Indian Health Service. In 2000, Congress enacted further amendments authorizing Self-Governance as a permanent option for IHS. Self-Governance is not just another legislative initiative or tribal program. It is a way of life for tribal nations today. In 2004, there are over 260 Self-Governance tribes (representing slightly more than 50 percent of all federally recognized tribes) who are managing and operating their own programs under Self-Governance agreements with the federal government.

How Does Tribal Self-Governance Work?

Prior to Self-Governance, tribes had only two choices for delivery of governmental services to their communities. They could opt for “direct services,” in which the BIA and/or IHS provided all services through federal employees and facilities. The tribes had little, if any, control over the delivery of these services.

The second choice available to tribes prior to Self-Governance was embedded in P.L. 93638. Commonly referred to as the “638 contracting” provision, this option allowed tribes to sign contracts with the BIA or IHS to deliver specific programs through tribal governmental departments. The provision granted more flexibility than the direct-service option, but tribes were still hindered by bureaucratic red tape. One tribal leader testified before Congress that by the mid-1980s, “Self-Determination contracts, originally conceived as simple documents, had evolved to literally hundreds of pages — with every variety of oversight requirements, reports and forms; a true bureaucratic nightmare.”

With the passage of Tribal Self-Governance legislation, tribes are now allowed to take their program funds, along with funds that were used by the federal government to manage the contracts or direct services, and manage them as best benefits their community. A tribe must have three years of “clean” audits before being allowed to negotiate a Self-Governance Compact or permanent contract agreement. In addition, the tribe negotiates an Annual Funding Agreement that designates the programs being assumed by the tribe and identifies funding amounts.

Once funding is appropriated by Congress, monies are paid to the tribe in a lump sum. After three years of managing under Self-Governance, a tribe may elect to establish its funding in a “recurring base budget.” Both the advance payments of funds and the recurring base budgets have led to more consistency in tribal program budgets.

Tribes managing under a Self-Governance agreement also have a great deal of flexibility regarding their ability to redesign programs, merge and assign program funds and adopt revised regulations. This new level of control leads to two major changes within tribes.

First, it changes the tribe’s focus of program design and delivery. Many tribal programs are now designed and delivered based on their respective needs and priorities rather than based on federal priorities. This change is significant and this book includes many successful examples of innovative programs developed by tribal governments.

Second, Self-Governance changes the tribe’s mentality of tribal government. Most SelfGovernance tribes are now more outcome-oriented. All of the tribes included in this book

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FEDERAL FUNDS ADVANCE PAYMENTS RECURRING-BASE BUDGETS LESS BUREAUCRATIC CONTROL

TRIBAL CONTROL 260 Self-Governance Tribes

ENABLING DECISION MAKERS

REDESIGN PROGRAMS MERGE AND ASSIGN PROGRAM FUNDS ADOPT REVISED REGULATIONS

FOCUSING PROGR AMS

COMMUNITY-DRIVEN NEEDS-DRIVEN PRIORITY-DRIVEN

C H A N G I N G AT T I T U D E S O F T R I B A L G O V E R N M E N T

OUTCOMES VERSUS JOBS LONG-TERM PLANNING COLLABORATION BETWEEN TRIBAL DEPARTMENTS COLLABORATION BETWEEN TRIBE AND OTHER GOVERNMENT ENTITIES Areas of Service (examples) HEALTH CARE

SOCIAL SERVICES

EDUCATION

RESOURCE MANAGEMENT

CULTURAL ENHANCEMENT

Section Title

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From left: Lovera Black Crow, Wendy Sampson, Bea Charles, Adeline Smith and Linda Laungayan at the entrance to the Warrior Path, a trail providing access to the Elwha River estuary, part of the Lower Elwha Klallam reservation near Port Angeles, Washington. The arch was carved by Al Charles Jr. and symbolizes the salmon (on the left post) and their migration back to the river to spawn (seen on the right post).

had long-term strategic plans developed either a year before entering Self-Governance or immediately thereafter. In addition, the ability to combine program funds has led to more collaborative programs between tribal departments and more collaboration with local governmental entities.

Tribal Self-Governance creates opportunities for tribes to exercise their inherent selfgoverning powers. Self-Governance returns decision-making authority and management responsibilities to tribes and their governing bodies. Self-Governance is about change through the transfer to tribal control of federal funding available for programs, services, functions and activities. Tribes are accountable to their own people for resource management, service delivery and development.

Why Does Self-Governance work? It is simple. Program funds, their control and their accountability are pushed as close to the delivery of the services as possible. At the most basic level, tribal leaders and members care more about their people and communities than anyone else. Given the freedom and opportunity to make decisions regarding priority of funding and the subsequent design and delivery of program services, they will always do what is best for their tribe.

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The Future of Tribal Self-Governance After 15 years of major successes under Tribal Self-Governance, there are still many challenges ahead. Tribal communities have an increasing population. Funding is not keeping pace with inflation or the population increases. Additionally, there are some in the federal government who have not fully supported tribal assumption of the programs, and many bureaucratic roadblocks remain.

Despite these challenges, Self-Governance has set a course that cannot be changed. It has been embraced by tribal governments and has expanded in scope, as evidenced by the increasing number of participating tribes over the last 15 years. Self-Governance is a new way of doing business, which requires a rethinking by the old-guard federal bureaucrats. It is a longterm initiative that will transcend future administrations and Congresses.

Self-Governance is not a concept that only works for tribal governments. It is an example of what happens when local communities and governments control their destinies by identifying problems and developing programs to address them.

Self-Governance is not a program with a beginning and an end. Rather, it is a re-creation that changes the thinking of what is and what can be. Self-Governance is a way of life.

Notes on Book Organization We started this project to demonstrate the success of Tribal Self-Governance. We decided to show the human side of Self-Governance and how tribal communities have benefited. We used eight photographers who shot more than 1,000 rolls of film for this book. As illustrated in the following stories, the scope and breadth of these tribally managed programs and services is truly impressive.

Proud Nations is divided into three sections: Community Priorities: These stories tell how tribes have utilized Self-Governance authority to address their top community issues.

Collaborations and Partnerships: These stories provide some wonderful examples of how Self-Governance has led to more collaboration between tribal departments in program development and delivery and more collaboration between tribes and outside governmental entities.

Leaders and Nation Building: These stories show how Self-Governance has led to responsibility and accountability in tribes as they take strides to develop fully functioning governments and nations.

The title, Proud Nations — Celebrating Tribal Self-Governance, clearly conveys the spirit of each of the tribes highlighted in this book. This book is truly a celebration and tribute to all tribal leaders and nations that have chosen to protect their sacred rights and freely govern themselves.

Brent Simcosky, editor Cyndi Holmes, associate editor

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if you don’t have vision and goals, all you do is operate last year’s programs. before operating under self-governance, it was difficult to envision a new and better health clinic. we had to wait until we moved up the ihs construction list. unfortunately, that never happened. we don’t think about limitations now. we think about possibilities, of what we can do.

—Danny Jordan, Hoopa Valley Tribe

Families gather at a graduation ceremony for Head Start and grade-school children of the Hoopa Valley Tribe.

Community Priorities

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KETCHIKAN INDIAN COMMUNITY

Bringing Home the Health Care Close your eyes and imagine the most rain possible; envision a place where rain slickers and red rubber boots dot the landscape, and umbrellas identify the cruise boat tourists. Where a forecast for rain is correct 99 percent of the time and the severity is determined by the angle of the precipitation, not its presence or absence.

With eyes wide open, I looked out the window of the airplane and saw nothing but pea-soup fog racing over the wings as we landed. It was September 2002 and I was arriving in Ketchikan, or “the rock,” as the locals affectionately call it. Situated on Revillagigedo Island in the rain-drenched southeast corner of Alaska, it is home to the Ketchikan Indian Community (KIC), a federally recognized tribe of more than 4,900 members.

To those unfamiliar with Alaska, the complex weaving of Alaska Native corporations, consortia, villages and tribes can be confusing. For-profit corporations, formed as a result of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act, are controlled by tribal shareholders and are usually involved in land and economic development. Consortia comprise multiple tribes and villages and are involved in the delivery of services such as health care. Additionally, over 200 federally recognized tribes and villages complete the political landscape of Native Alaska, with their elected officials often sitting on the boards of the corporations and consortia. The KIC is unique in that, though a federally recognized tribe, its members include Native Americans living in the area regardless of other tribal affiliations.

Close your eyes again and imagine you’re a young KIC mother awaiting your child’s birth. It is three weeks until your due date and you must pack your bags and travel by plane 180 miles to the Mt. Edgecumbe Hospital in Sitka.

Your husband wants to be with you, but he is unable to

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photographs by sarah leen

Cheryl Haven “Shimghet Hytgin” (meaning to “stand strong”) and the KIC Intertribal Dancers perform a song by Harold Jacobs of Sitka. The song’s title, “Tsu Heidei Sugaxtootaan,” translates as “We will open again this container of wisdom left in our care.” The group has more than 25 active members, who sing and dance to ancient and new songs while representing the KIC at cultural events near and far. The totem pole (opposite) is one of three magnificently carved poles outside the Totem Heritage Center in Ketchikan.

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leave work this early. You are all alone. You have diabetes and worry that it may affect your baby or the delivery.

This scenario was the reality for some pregnant women of the Ketchikan Indian Community prior to the takeover of their health care programs through Self-Governance. In fact, most patients had to travel off-island to Sitka for specialty care and any required surgical procedures. Health care was managed by a regional consortium under contract with the Indian Health Service. The few services available locally were provided out of a small clinic with a leaky roof located in the parking lot of a shipping company. At that time, many management decisions were made in Sitka or Anchorage, and few local Natives had any voice in the delivery of health care in Ketchikan.

That began to change in 1992 when community surveys highlighted the need for better health care and a larger clinic. However, the road to a KIC-controlled facility was full of potholes and speed bumps. The tribe had no property or construction funds for a clinic. The Alaskan congressional delegation was wary if not opposed to the breakup of the health consortium. Further, between 1992 and 2000 there were four different Tribal Council presidents.

Prior to my visit, I asked former KIC president Gerry Hope how the tribe managed to persevere despite multiple obstacles. ketchikan indian “We turned the community-needs survey into a long-term stratecommunity Ketchikan, Alaska gic plan that called for the development of a new health clinic,” he tribal membership said. “And even as new KIC presidents were elected, we all stayed , the course with the plan.” This course would last more than eight self-governance IHS:  bia:  years and entail securing excess Coast Guard property; locating grants and sources of funds for construction; and taking control of the tribe’s share of Self-Governance funds. The end result was the grand opening of the five-story KIC Clinic in the spring of 2000.

At the clinic, we were met by Charlie White, the current KIC president, David Landis, KIC acting general manager, and Carleen Howard, assistant health administrator. They acted like proud parents displaying their child’s excellent report card. As we began the tour, Charlie was quick to point out that “nobody thought we could pull this off. Everyone thought a regional health consortium was more efficient and could provide more and better services.” Charlie is Haida, a large tribe throughout southeast Alaska known for its rich history of totem poles. His clan, the Killer Whale, stood for strength. It seemed to fit Charlie well.

The tour was halfway over before I realized how wrong the naysayers had been. I expected to find a nice, new, well-managed clinic. What I found was much more. Not only was the KIC providing better services, it was using innovative approaches and maximizing funding.

Instead of many medical procedures being performed in Sitka or Anchorage, over 95 percent of all treatments were provided locally – after just two years of operation. Cancer patients no longer had to leave town for chemotherapy treatments, broken bones were set at the clinic, and pregnant mothers could be with their families at the local hospital. Patients could even get prescriptions filled by one of the three pharmacists on site.

Teams within the clinic are encouraged to develop innovative and collaborative approaches to health care. The physicians sought outside training in order to perform more complex procedures, such as colonoscopies. The social service counselors had worked out a collaborative arrangement with the clinic so that patients in need of their services could stay in medical

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ketchikan indian community

exam rooms to meet with the counselors. For example, if a young patient was diagnosed with diabetes, the medical team, along with the community-trained diabetes specialist, would contact the social services team. Together, they would develop a treatment and education plan.

In other areas of efficiency, third-party revenue has increased 250 percent, thanks to new computer systems. The addition of a trained/certified coder has resulted in more than $3 million extra collected each year. The KIC sought several grants and received funding for much of the new equipment in the clinic. Furthermore, contracts were developed with the local hospital to provide 24-hour triage, emergency care and delivery of babies.

As we toured the clinic, I tried to put my finger on the main ingredient that made this place so special. How were they able to accomplish so much in such a short time? It finally dawned on me: They weren’t acting like parents showing off their child, they were the parents.

It’s simple. At the core of successful Self-Governance is the community and its dedication to make things happen. The KIC found and acquired the Coast Guard land when they needed it; they sought outside funds to help with construction; and they wrote grants to secure new medical equipment. They worked together as a team to provide a comprehensive and collaborative delivery of care. It’s hard to imagine the federal government having the same organiKIC member and Haida elder Erma Lawrence received an honorary doctoral degree in the humanities from the zational dedication. In fact, they did not.

University of Alaska for her work in the preservation of the Over lunch we met John Brown, a tall, Haida language. lanky and somewhat quiet man, known for his standout play as a high school basketball player in the 1960s. He is also known as one of the original architects of the vision to create the health clinic. “Self-Governance was the tool that allowed us to take control of our health resources,” he said, “and do the best for our community instead of taking programs and money and being told how to spend it, regardless of outcome or patient care.”

The night before my departure, I lay awake in my hotel room and wondered how long it would be until others recognized the commitment and determination of the KIC leaders and staff; how long would it be before others would look at a tribal organization and say, “Good luck, you can do it,” instead of “You’ll never pull this off.”

My visit to Ketchikan was the first stop on a year-long journey to examine the successes of Self-Governance. I wondered if the commitment of a tribal community to control its destiny would be a thread running through all of these stories. Certainly, there is the story of determination and struggle against bureaucracies. But, underneath it all is the personal story, such as the desire of a community to be with its pregnant mothers and support them during childbirth.

After visiting with Charlie White and knowing about other KIC leaders like Gerry Hope, Stephanie Rainwater and Verna Hudson, it was easy to see how their dreams became reality.

Like the tools used by Charlie’s ancestors to carve the magnificent totems of southeast Alaska, Self-Governance was a tool used by this generation to shape its future.

Community Priorities

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ketchikan indian community

The KIC Health Center (opposite, top) has changed health care delivery for the KIC in dramatic ways. Victoria Lent, 4, and Alicia Feak-Lent, 4 months (above), were both born in Ketchikan instead of at the distant IHS hospital in Sitka. Their mother, Ada Feak, reads to them while in the clinic waiting room. (Opposite, left) Five-year-old Tia Rose Marie Simpson happily awaits her dental work. Prior to Self-Governance, it was rare for Native American/Alaskan Native children to receive any dental care.

Among the KIC’s other initiatives is an after-school tutoring program for Native children at the Houtaling Elementary School (opposite, right). From left, Stephani Robles, Sarah Blair and Tiffany Howard.

Community Priorities

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(Opposite) Artist Donald Varnell carves the second of three totem poles that was placed outside the KIC clinic. The 25-foot pole of western red cedar from the Tongass National Forest is estimated to be 500 years old. After all three poles had been carved, a Potlatch ceremony was held where the totem carvers danced around the poles and released them to their new owners. The clinic wouldn’t have been completed without the guidance of leaders such as (clockwise, from lower right) Stephanie Rainwater, David Jensen, Merle Hawkins and Norman Arriola. (Above) Merle Hawkins combs the beach for “gumboots,” a local delicacy better known as cockles or chitens.

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ketchikan indian community

Community Priorities

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CHITIMACHA TRIBE

The Best Thing We’ve Ever Done

“Kids are special,” indeed, at the Chitimacha Tribal School, which celebrates the graduation of students from kindergarten (right). Adriana Bernard (left) marks her graduation from eighth grade by attaching a feather to her tassel. When Adriana moves on to the public high school in Houma, she will be well prepared: Chitimacha students are scoring 20 percent higher than the state average on standardized tests.

photographs by philip gould

Education is not a new or recent community priority for the Chitimacha Tribe of Louisiana. In fact, when denied access to public schools in the early 1930s, students were taught in the home of Chief Ernest “Papa Jack” Darden.

At the time, Chitimachas were not allowed to ride school buses, and in various public places they had to sit at the back, behind the whites and blacks.

In 1934, a condemned one-room school for black students was donated to the tribe. Students were taught in this school for over 40 years as the tribe struggled to secure funding to build a new and larger facility. Finally, in 1974, after many trips to Washington, D.C., Chairman Leroy Burgess secured funding for a new reservation school.

The Chitimacha Day School opened in 1978 and was managed by the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

The School Board, whose members were Chitimachas, had no control over the BIA-operated school. “They couldn’t make decisions and were just figureheads,” a parent told me. “The BIA hired and fired personnel and made all the day-to-day decisions.”

In 1991, the tribe entered into Self-Governance and assumed management of the school, renaming it the Chitimacha Tribal School. I visited the Chitimachas in February 2003 to see firsthand what 12 years of tribal control had brought.

The first thing an outsider notices about the region is the use of first names as the proper manner to address adults.

The school principal wasn’t Mrs. Rosamond, she was Miss Tanya. I felt a bit uncomfortable calling an adult woman Miss Tanya, but it was explained to me that this is the proper form of salutation in Louisiana. Miss Tanya is young and energetic. She was an assistant principal at the local elementary school and jumped at the opportunity when offered the job of principal at the Chitimacha Tribal School.

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As we headed down the hall for a tour, children burst from their rooms, creating a sea of red, white and blue uniforms. Boys and girls can choose white or red shirts to be worn with blue pants or shorts. Miss Tanya told me the School Board mandated uniforms so all students would be on a level playing field regardless of family income or the ability to buy the latest sneakers. On Fridays, students can wear blue jeans with the official school “spirit” T-shirt and necklaces strung with tags that recognize achievement in the Accelerated Reading Program.

In Miss Tanya’s office, she handed me the latest report from the Louisiana Department of Education, which compared the tribal school’s standardized test results with those of other Louisiana schools. To my surprise, the Chitimacha children scored 15 percent higher than the state average on tests conducted the previous spring. (The year after my visit, scores were 20 percent higher.)

Wow! Such strong improvement was very impressive. How was this feat accomplished? Miss Tanya outlined some of the reasons.

First, teachers, parents and the tribal government made a commitment to education with equal participation and responsibility.

Second, as part of that commitment, the Tribal Council increased education funding, which was used to hire more teachers and community teacher aides, thus lowering the stuchitimacha tribe dent-teacher ratio.

Charenton, Louisiana Third, the curriculum was redesigned with an emphasis on tribal membership meeting national and state standards. Chitimacha culture and , history were also integrated into the courses. For example, a lesself-governance IHS:  son around the Bayou Teche, a waterway, would be taught as a “living curriculum” and might include legends of animals or native plants and their uses. Math classes teach counting by using basket patterns and beads, while science classes incorporate tribal beliefs about time, seasons and conservation. It made perfect sense. Kids will learn more if they can relate to the subject matter.

Finally, education was delivered in a team approach that allowed for individual flexibility.

For example, all children are taught to read by concentrating on phonics and comprehension strategies. However, Miss Tanya said, not all children learn as well as others. “If a student is struggling, we will all sit down – the teachers, aides, parents and myself – and determine if a different method would work better for that individual,” she explained.

Collaboration doesn’t stop in the education department. The Chitimacha Health and Social Services Department provides several “wrap-around” services to the school, including health screening visits and immunizations. After entering Self-Governance, the tribe built a new clinic by shrewdly combining grants with tribal and Self-Governance funds.

The Feathers Program is another innovative service that is designed to aid students who are at risk. The tribal courts, education, social services and police departments collaborate to identify at-risk students and eliminate barriers that keep them from becoming productive tribal members. A committee of department staff and parents work as a team to reach consensus on the appropriate plan for each student.

The next day I met with Kimberly Walden, head of the tribal cultural department. She is the type of young woman that symbolizes the spirit of the Chitimacha Tribe. As the granddaughter of Leroy Burgess, it comes as no surprise that she has such a strong desire to promote education. With a master’s degree in hand, she began as a teacher for her tribe. “When I be-

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came a teacher, I was motivated to include Chitimacha history because I wasn’t taught it as a student,” she said. Not only did Kimberly help redesign the curriculum but, as the cultural director, she began and now oversees the Chitimacha language program taught in the school system. “Kids are good at learning and using the language,” she said. “Parents hear their kids using the language and call us asking for adult classes.”

Education is at the center of the Chitimacha community and it has brought everyone together like no other priority or commitment. At the beginning of each school year, the students prepare family trees. “Many times our students don’t realize how they’re related to one another,” Kimberly told me. Hanging on an office wall near her diplomas is a picture with the words, “If our little ones get an education, their bright eyes will seek discovery.

Quick minds will want to search for answers, and they will someday speak the words of authority and achievement!” The quote is from Howard Rainer, the American Indian poet and photographer.

The next day, Kimberly introduced me to her grandfather.

Mr. Leroy Burgess, as he is called here, told me he didn’t start school until he was 12 and voluntarily entered the armed services to serve in World War II midway through his eighthgrade year. “We have pushed education on our kids because we want them to have what we could not,” he said. “If you have education, you can go places.”

There was a look of satisfaction in his face as he retold the struggle the tribe faced seeking funding for a new school.

“We went back to Capitol Hill in 1971,” he began, “and it took several more trips, visits to senators, and a few years before we got the funds to begin construction. If you look back, we’ve always been struggling for education and I thought Mr. Leroy Burgess, who didn’t start it was worthwhile.” As we left, he mentioned that the Chitischool till he was 12, says, “We machas now had an average of 60 students, per semester, have pushed education on our kids attending college through the tribe’s scholarship program. I because we want them to have what could tell by the look on his face that the struggle had indeed we could not. If you have education, been worthwhile. you can go places.”

Often in America, we expect creative solutions to all of our problems. In many schools, dropout rates and violence are up, while grades and test scores are down. Fingers of blame point in many directions and progress is stifled as everyone searches for some secret answer to the problem. The Chitimachas have shown that the answers are not that complex after all. Instead, they have demonstrated that the answer lies in commitment by the community, the teachers and the parents. It requires a community willing to look at themselves and their problems honestly and then make things happen. As Mr. Leroy Burgess told me, “It’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

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The success of the Chitimacha Tribal School can largely be traced to three factors: 1) lower student-teacher ratios; 2) involvement of parents and community; and 3) inclusion of Native culture into the curriculum. Students (left to right, above) Sherry Higgins, Taylor Darden and Karli Mensman show off their Chitimacha language skills.

(Opposite, above) Mr. Leroy Burgess demonstrates the use of fishnets to first and second graders. Tori Risticevich (opposite, right) reads to her fourth-grade class during story time, while teacher’s aide Sheila Gaddy leads the Child Abuse Prevention/Awareness Parade through the community’s streets.

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For Yolanda Porrata, the Aquinnah Cliffs are a place for meditation and reflection. Composed of 150 feet of sediment left by six glaciers, the cliffs tell a story of the past 100 million years, one colorful layer at a time. According to Wampanoag lore, an equally colorful story underscores the cliffs’ sacredness: One day, a benevolent being named Moshup was making his way across the mainland to the headlands of the Aquinnah Cliffs. Weary from his journey, Moshup dragged his foot, leaving a deep track in the mud. At first, only a trickle of water entered the track.

But gradually, ocean tides and wind broadened and deepened the opening, filling it with water and creating an island called Noepe, known today as Martha’s Vineyard. (Opposite) Sasumuneash (wild cranberries).

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photographs by thatcher cook

WAMPANOAG TRIBE

From the Brink of Extinction The cranberry and the Wampanoag Tribe have a common trait. Both are indigenous to Martha’s Vineyard, the quaint little island off the southern shore of Massachusetts. Once a people that served cranberries to the Pilgrims, the tribe has teetered on the edge of extinction, struggling to survive for the last 400 years.

Wampanoag clans (or bands) occupied Massachusetts coastal lands, as well as Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, prior to the arrival of European colonists. The subsequent arrival of smallpox drastically reduced the Wampanoag numbers on the mainland, while somewhat sparing those living on the islands.

A bloody war between the Wampanoags and the colonists in 1675 reduced the mainland population to approximately 400. The island population, which remained unchanged during the conflict, numbered closer to 1,000. Metacomet, the sachem (or leader) of the warring bands, was beheaded and his skull placed on a pole and displayed in Plymouth for 25 years. Ironically, Metacomet’s father, Chief Massasoit, had 50 years earlier saved the original Plymouth Colony from starvation (an act that led to the first Thanksgiving dinner).

In the early 1800s, an unknown disease epidemic wiped out the Wampanoag population on Nantucket. By the mid-1800s, only 40 Wampanoags remained on Martha’s Vineyard. The tribe’s survival was hanging by a thread. But survive it did.

When I visited “the Vineyard,” Beverly Wright, chairperson of the Wampanoags for the last 13 years, talked passionately of the history of the Wampanoags and her dreams for their future. With one foot in the modern world and the other in the traditional world, she exemplifies today’s tribal leader, having both business and organizational traits yet tied to the traditions and cul-

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ture of her people. Her dream was to buy back as much land as possible and reunite all of the Wampanoags.

The Wampanoag Cranberry Festival has been held yearly for the last 100 years. It is a day of harvesting, feasting and storytelling. I was surprised to find cranberries attached to small bushy plants, thickly growing a few inches off the ground. I had thought they grew in bogs full of water. It turns out, that is the way the Ocean Spray company grows them to increase the harvest.

The Wampanoag elders, on the other hand, declared that their cranberries would grow naturally, as they had for hundreds of years, in acidic bogs shielded by the sandy dunes only a stone’s throw from the ocean. It was clear from watching the tribal members that the social activity around harvesting cranberries was just as important, if not more so, than the harvest itself.

During the morning cranberry picking, I listened to all of the different culinary options being tossed around. “I’m going to make cranberry bread,” declared one elder. “We always make cranberry jam, or save them to make snow ice cream in the winter,” countered another picker. There were as many different dishes being planned as those harvesting the rich red pearl. I heard a grandmother telling the children how cranberries were used by whalers wampanoag to prevent scurvy; or by tribal medicine men to treat ailments; or tribe Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts as dyes for rugs. Her eyes glowed with excitement as she told of tribal membership her father driving children to the bogs in an ox cart and how the , day was filled with singing and dancing. self-governance IHS:  BIA:  Storytelling is a strong cultural tradition for American Indians, and I suspect many of her listeners had heard this story before. But, like well-behaved grandchildren everywhere, they listened, smiled and laughed at all the right moments. Up until now, I thought cranberries only came canned in a gelatinous form, sliced into thin slivers for Thanksgiving dinner. For the Wampanoags, the berry is part of who they are as a people.

The next day we met with many tribal leaders and department directors. They all talked of the profound effect that Self-Governance had upon them and the management of their programs. The initial impact was the shift from a grants-driven budget to a base-funding budget.

In the past, tribal programs were developed and implemented based on the grants available.

Priorities changed yearly as tribal directors chased after grants, like a dog after its tail, creating a vicious circle of finding new grants and setting new priorities, while old grants and priorities ended and disappeared, often incomplete.

Self-Governance changed all of that. Priorities are now set by the community and Tribal Council and worked on collaboratively by the various departments.

Freddie Rundlet, the tribal health director, said that disease prevention and health education are top priorities. As part of an incentive to increase exercise and reduce diabetes and other health issues related to obesity, the tribe pays for health club memberships and diet-therapy programs and provides yearly physicals and teeth cleanings. So far, nearly 30 percent of those eligible are participating in the program. Freddie says a healthier community will lead to lower health expenditures. In fact, utilization is down 30 to 50 percent. “Under Self-Governance, the tribe is stronger and people are more willing to participate in their government,” he said. Ironically, many of these more innovative pre-

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ventive programs would not have been allowed under the restrictive IHS contracts prior to Self-Governance.

We then had a chance to meet Nan Doty, the energetic director of education. Nan has a contagious smile and waves her hands wildly when speaking, giving away her background as a schoolteacher. Nan has a strong desire to help tribal members attain college degrees. She proudly presented Yolanda Porrata, a young woman who was about to enter Harvard University and pursue a medical degree.

Yolanda was a Wampanoag from the mainland. As such, she had fewer opportunities to connect with the tribal government and often felt alone after entering Northeastern University. One day Yolanda called the tribe in hopes of finding a mentor. Nan came to the rescue.

From there, the connection snowballed into a circle of people helping and supporting Yolanda. With this support, she participated in the Harvard Four Directions Program, an eight-week course designed for American Indians/Alaska Natives interested in pursuing a medical career. The tribal staff commented on the “new path” they had created to help students like Yolanda. “I started to do things I didn’t think I could do and think about things I never thought possible,” said Yolanda as she looked at Nan and smiled, as if to say thank you.

Yolanda Porrata works part-time in the pulmonary lab of Brigham and Women’s Hospital, an affiliate of the A few months later Yolanda told me she Harvard Medical School. was finishing her master’s thesis in exercise physiology related to American Indian/ Alaska Native diabetes. She had landed a job in the pulmonary lab of Brigham and Women’s Hospital, a teaching affiliate of the Harvard Medical School. She planned to enter Harvard Medical School for the 2004-05 school year.

She sounded upbeat and excited, especially when talking of Nan and Bev. “Both of these women have helped me feel connected to the tribe while I’m living in Boston,” she said. “It is difficult. One of the important things for me is trying to create a sense of community here.”

Yolanda has been a catalyst for that at school. She planned to be a mentor to another American Indian student in the Harvard Four Directions Program. She was also working with a professor to bring Wampanoag students to Harvard for a summer orientation program. As if that weren’t enough, when Nan called for help on a field trip for Wampanoag High School students, Yolanda agreed to meet the students and help out with their hands-on experience at the University of Connecticut.

Like the natural cranberry bogs, the Wampanoags have survived and thrived. Self-Governance has provided an opportunity to move forward and create a new path. Tribal members are proud of their sovereignty and want to help one another. The tribe now has common community goals and priorities, and members collaborate and work together.

While the last 400 years have, at times, been quite a struggle, one realizes that the future holds great things for the Wampanoags, that tribal members will be united and that some day, Dr. Yolanda Porrata, with her Harvard medical degree, will be part of the migration back to the homelands of her people.

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Wild cranberries grow naturally on 200 acres of tribal land in the west basin area of Gay Head (top). The berries grow in acidic wetland areas with sandy soil in which sphagnum moss also thrives and forms a layer of peat. The tribe opens patches in the dunes called swales to promote growth. However, out of respect for the land, the cranberries are neither fertilized nor sprayed with pesticides. The Cranberry Festival (above and right) is a century-old tribal holiday, held annually in the cranberry bogs.

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KAW NATION

Seizing Our Destiny The Kaw people occupied the lower Ohio Valley before the arrival of European settlers. Then, after nearly 300 years of western migration, they were in possession of most of present-day northern and eastern Kansas. In fact, the state derives its name from “Kanza,” the tribe’s original name, which means “people of the south wind.”

Following the admission of Missouri to statehood in 1821 and the opening of the Santa Fe Trail that same year, pressure was mounting on the federal government to open more land to settlers. In 1825, the Kaw negotiated a treaty that ceded 20 million acres (roughly forming the northern half of the Kansas territory) in exchange for a 2-millionacre reservation just west of what is now Topeka. For this huge cession of land, the Kaws were also awarded a $3,500 annuity for 20 years, a quantity of cattle, hogs and domestic fowl, a government blacksmith and agricultural instructor and schools.

Unrelenting pressure on the federal government – this time to accommodate railroad interests and land speculators – led to another treaty in 1846, which required the Kaw to sell their 2-million-acre reservation for just over 10 cents an acre. In exchange, they received 256,000 acres for a new reservation located southwest of Topeka. Later, however, surveys found that the township of Council Grove was actually on the Kaw reservation and that many settlers were homesteading on the Kaw land.

Finally in 1872, after continuous pressure from all sides, the federal government informed the Kaw people that they would be removed to a 100,000-acre site in northern Oklahoma.

Oklahoma is part of a region known as tornado alley.

In fact, as we drove down a long, isolated road during our tour of the Kaw Nation in June 2003, it was pointed out that the movie “Twister” had been made here. “This is

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photographs by joanna pinneo

Kaw Tribal Dances, to which other tribes are invited, are held every August at Washunga Bay near the Old Council House. Dancer Shannon Leroy (below and opposite), dressed in a northern traditional outfit, prepares before the evening dances. Various categories of dance are performed, including the Northern Traditional Dance, which may be the original dance of the northern Plains Indians. A slower tempo, traditionally used by warriors, allows the dancer to convey his emotions.

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where they filmed the flying cow sequence,” said Cheryl Vazquez, Kaw Nation Self-Governance coordinator.

Farther along the road, with turkey buzzards soaring overhead, we reached the Kanza Travel Plaza, a combination convenience store and truck stop at the intersection of Interstate 35 and Oklahoma State Highway 177. Tornado chasers use this site, located on a high point, to wait for storms that might produce tornados. As I stood there, I could see for miles in any direction. How ironic, I thought, that the “people of the south wind” would be pushed out of Kansas into northern Oklahoma to arrive in a place known for massive amounts of wind.

Self-Governance at the Kaw Nation began under the leadership of former Chairwoman Wanda Stone. I had seen Wanda at many conferences and always found her to be a downto-earth, straightforward leader. With a strong background in business, she immediately recognized the flexibility and responsibility of Self-Governance. “The federal government made Native Americans wards of the state,” she said. “The BIA and IHS were reluctant to relinquish their rein of control. They saw tribal governments as only contractors. As a Self-Governance tribe, we have stressed that we are sovereign governments and that our destiny is our responsibility. We have to believe in it.” kaw nation Believe in it they have. Starting with just a couple of buildKaw City, Oklahoma ings and a bingo hall in the 1980s, the Kaw Nation has seen rapid tribal membership: growth and development since entering Self-Governance in the , early 1990s. One of the tribe’s proudest accomplishments is the self-governance: IHS:  BIA:  Kanza Health Center, which opened in 1998. More than 3,500 patients have been treated at the facility, which offers family medicine along with services not seen before Self-Governance, including ophthalmology, podiatry and a pharmacy. In addition, there is a women’s health program with a nurse practitioner who travels throughout the area in a mobile health van.

The Wellness Center next door houses a swimming pool, weight room and another room (with kitchen) for classes and meetings. The Health Center physicians work collaboratively with the Wellness Center and refer diabetes patients for a complete three-month wellness program. On all of my trips to visit tribes, it was refreshing to see the emphasis being placed on preventive health care. Funding and flexibility from Self-Governance have allowed tribes to place more emphasis on keeping their communities healthy. I have little doubt that statistics eventually will reflect vast improvements in the health of American Indian/Alaska Native communities.

The Johnny Rae McCauley Building houses youth programs operated by an energetic Joe Thompson, who told me about the exciting things happening there: after-school tutoring, a grandmother reading program, computer classes and more. He has even had speakers visit, including one of the space shuttle astronauts. “We never thought this possible before,” he said.

The Kaw Nation, like the other Oklahoma tribes, has no reservation. Consequently, it must provide services to tribal members and other American Indians over a multi-county area, which can test the skills of any government. Programs are located in both Kaw City and Newkirk. Wanda told me the Kaw Nation isn’t where it wants to be. However, as “tribes learn for themselves, programs will evolve and get better and better.”

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We stopped in Ponca City to talk with Sheila Tillery, director of the program development, grants and contracts department. Sheila voiced a familiar message I had heard over and over while visiting Self-Governance tribes: namely that tribes are no longer dependent on or driven by grants. “We are thinking outside of the box now,” she said. “We no longer have to depend on grants and the goals established by some foundation. Because of Self-Governance, and the stable funding it provides, we have now developed a strategic planning process that has our Kaw Nation five-year vision, which we revisit every year.” Sheila was quick to point out that the Kaw Nation still applies for many grants each year but that the selection of grants to apply for is based on the tribe’s strategic plan, not just a need for funds. “We want to go beyond just fulfilling needs,” she said. “We want to be self-sufficient.”

The next day I visited with the Kaw Nation’s new chairman, Guy Monroe, the first Kansan elected chairman in 130 years. A former contractor, he told me that “after about two weeks of retirement, I decided to get busy and run for chairman. My strategy has been to be open to new ideas and hire and promote successful workers that know more than I do. ” Guy’s business background has helped in his strategy for economic development.

“We need to spread out and diversify so that we don’t just rely on gaming facilities and Kaw Nation Public Health Nurse Cordelia Clapp sets up shop to check blood pressure and cholesterol smoke shops,” he said. “I want to create a levels at the Kaw Pow Wow. solid foundation for our youth. We need to help our people without being a welfare state.” One of his goals is to purchase more land, particularly in and around Washunga, where the yearly Kaw Tribal Dances are held. “Land is something they don’t make any more of,” he said.

Recently, 158 acres of land near Council Grove was sold to the tribe. The land was the site of the last village of the Kaws before their removal to Oklahoma. I spoke with Kaw Nation historic preservation director Betty Durkee. She was very excited about the land and its meaning to the Kaw Nation. “We have planted 807 bur oak trees on the site to represent the number of Kaws on the 1862 BIA census,” she said.

There is interest outside of the Kaw Nation as well. A group called the Friends of the Kaw Heritage was started to promote education about the tribe that the state of Kansas is named after. Each year this group sponsors the “Voices of the Wind Pageant,” which includes the participation of many Kaw Nation members. “We’re creating many wonderful partnerships,” said Betty.

I remembered something else that Wanda had told me: “You don’t own land, it owns you.”

Over the last 150 years, the winds have blown the Kaw Nation and its people to many different homes. It’s often been a difficult journey. But now the Kaws have a permanent home and something called Self-Governance. It was clear from what I saw and heard during my visit that Self-Governance has empowered the tribal government. There is a strong sense of hope – and the knowledge that they have the ability to shape their future.

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Colt Donelson, 17, helps his 7-year old brother, Dewey Beartrack Donelson (left), get ready for the evening dances.

Their mother, Carol Clark (with back to camera), made all of the children’s costumes. Chairman Guy Monroe (top) chats with Dewey before the dances.

Jessica Clark, 19 (above), prepares to participate as well.

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Ponca Indian teen Dillon Moore (left) waits for the evening dances to begin at the Kaw Pow Wow. The Poncas, along with the Kaw, are thought to be a part of the Dhegiha-Siouan division of the Hopewell cultures originally from the lower Ohio Valley. The Poncas later moved to present-day eastern Nebraska, the Kaw to the Kansas region. Male fancy dancers (above) move in the procession at the grand opening of the dances, which begin at sunset. Maggie Gray (below, left) is the 2004 Kaw Princess, crowned at the pow wow before the start of inter-tribal dancing (below, right).

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GRAND TRAVERSE BAND

We’ve Come a Long Way It really is a small world. I was driving north along Lake Michigan in March of 2004 to visit the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians in Peshawbestown, Michigan. The local radio station was playing “Native America Calling,” a nationally syndicated talk show dedicated to American Indian/Alaska Native issues. During a commercial break, there was a promotion for the Southcentral Foundation’s Family Wellness Warriors Initiative, a successful program described in this book. Just then, I passed a sign that read, “45th parallel, half-way point between the North Pole and the Equator.” At that moment, I could sense the connectivity of tribes to one other and to their common issues.

The Grand Traverse Band (GTB) is known as the People of the Big Drum. I was told this represents the heartbeat of Mother Earth. The Treaty of Washington in 1836 ceded to the federal government the northwestern section of the lower peninsula of Michigan, including what is now the service area of the GTB. A year later, Michigan was granted statehood. In 1855, the Ottawa and Chippewa were forced to sign a treaty that dissolved their tribal organization; this ended the threat of their removal from Michigan, provided for allotment of land, and preserved hunting, fishing, trapping and gathering rights on ceded land. Beginning in 1934, the combined bands of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians in Leelanau County sought federal recognition. Finally, in 1980, they were federally recognized as the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians.

Once in Peshawbestown, I met with Suzanne McSawby, the GTB Self-Governance coordinator. We started out with a visit to Robert Kalbfleisch, the land acquisition officer, to look at maps and get a better idea of the GTB service area. The tribe has 12.5 acres of land that is identified by the federal government as reservation land. The

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photographs by joanna pinneo

Claudia, 6, and her brother Larry, 8, admire the new necklace Claudia made for her first tribal dance. She plans to participate in the girl’s fancy dance at the next pow wow. Both children are part of the Grand Traverse Anishinaabek program. Tribal leaders (opposite) instrumental in the improvements and growth of the tribe’s programs over the last 20 years include (from left) former Chairmen Joseph “Buddy” Raphael and George Bennett and current Chairman Bob Kewaygoshkum. They stand in the cherry orchards near the new tribal facilities: a turtle-shaped youth center, the Medicine Lodge, wellness center and clinic.

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remainder of its 2,356 acres is either classified as lands held in trust by the federal government, lands pending federal approval for trust status or simply fee simple. Most of the governmental programs and tribal housing are situated on land in or near Peshawbestown. Other large pieces of property, including the Turtle Creek Casino and the recently purchased Grand Traverse Resort and Spa, reside on land in the historically significant area on the eastern shore of the Grand Traverse Bay. As we left, Robert pointed out that his main concern these days has been the long delay in converting fee land into trust by the BIA. It is often difficult for tribes to exercise sovereignty if their property is not in federal trust status. In fact, the GTB has to follow many county and/or state regulations regarding land waiting for trust status.

We picked up Phyllis Wanageshik, a GTB elder and longtime employee familiar with the tribe’s vast improvements over the last 20 years. As we drove along, Phyllis pointed out this building and that building and described what program used to be there and what took its place. Due to the growth in tribal programs and services, it seems there is only one building that hasn’t been remodeled or converted to house new programs in the last 15 years.

As we passed an old cherry orchard, Phyllis noted, “When we were children in the 1950s and 1960s, we helped ourselves to cherries.

We’d sit on the hill watching stars. Maybe we’d see one or two cars pass by at the most.” Her voice turned more serious as she described grand traverse band the living conditions then: “Most of our parents picked cherries to Traverse City, Michigan make money. I’d pick cherries all summer so that I could buy school tribal membership clothes, glasses and text books. We lived in old tarpaper shacks. Most , self-governance houses didn’t have running water or electricity until the mid-1970s.” ihs:  bia: Later that day, I met with GTB Chairman Robert “Bob” Kewaygoshkum and past Chairmen George Bennett and Joseph “Buddy” Raphael. Bob spoke of the difficulties in gaining federal recognition for the GTB. “It was a hard struggle,” he said. “We were a forgotten group of people. We experienced poverty, and this area was considered the armpit of Michigan.” George noted, “More and more of our people had been moving away from Peshawbestown until we ventured into gaming with one of the first tribal casinos in the country. Later, after entering Self-Governance, people started moving back because more jobs and opportunities were available.” Today, the GTB employs over 1,500 people between governmental programs and gaming facilities.

In fact, the GTB is one of the largest employers in Leelanau and Grand Traverse counties. George pointed out, “We tell our neighbors that your problems are ours and vice versa.”

During past township meetings, the GTB has “opened its books” to show neighboring communities there are no ill intentions and nothing to hide. Bob and George, who are keenly aware that some communities are suspicious of tribal growth, want local communities to trust the GTB. “Who knows better about broken promises than American Indians?” George said.

“We want to build a brighter future for everybody.”

Bob then provided me with a copy of a full-page ad placed in the local newspaper, the Traverse City Record-Eagle. I was amazed. Besides all of the usual background information about the tribe, the ad included extensive financial data, including a breakdown of annual expenditures by governmental department and the gross revenues for gaming operations and newly acquired resort.

The next day I saw more of what the GTB has to offer. Like other Self-Governance tribes, it has programs that reflect unique design and delivery. For example, the GTB has included traditional healers in its health clinics. The tribe also renegotiated its indirect cost rate to include

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the healer as an overhead cost because that position provides cultural support for all governmental programs and functions.

Self-Governance programs are often both innovative and collaborative, developed to meet the needs and the uniqueness of their communities. For example, the GTB Anishinaabek Family Services (AFS) works because of its collaborative program structure. The program was formerly known as Indian Child Welfare (ICW) and it was viewed by many tribal members as a threat to family preservation instead of a helpful service. Now AFS provides family conferencing in addition to prevention and intervention services to those at risk due to abuse and or neglect issues.

Conferencing is an empowering approach that allows supportive family members to find solutions within the family system.

The program also works collaboratively with behavioral health services (substance abuse and mental health counseling) and court programs. Helen Cook, the daily operations supervisor, emphasized that “the safety of the children comes first. We want to keep the children with a safe tribal family while the parents are receiving help.” If a parent is in court for anything related to the welfare of their children or has voluntarily sought service out of concern that they may harm their children, they can participate in family conferencing. The first step is for the parents Behavioral Health Counselor George Antoine meets with to invite friends and family to a talking circle, Anishinaabek Family Services case worker Margie Mertz (left) and Program Director Sharon Edgington. or family conference, where everyone helps develop a care plan for the children. AFS staff members function as facilitators, providing services as needed or requested. In addition, the staff operates as a team to both review cases and develop client plans.

Collaboration also includes the blending of roles for employees. The behavioral health counselors work on both substance abuse and mental health issues together. In the past, there would be separate counselors for each issue with little sharing of client notes and treatment plans.

The Anishinaabek Program has gone through various evolutionary changes since its inception. Today, it is a model program that many state or tribal organizations could adopt. It is built around traditional ways of family support and interaction, and it blends programs from both the BIA (ICW and the courts) and the IHS (mental health and substance abuse counseling), something that would have been difficult prior to Self-Governance.

Rick Andrews, the chief financial officer, summed it up best: “In my opinion, Self-Governance has been wonderful. We can reprioritize our funding to meet our needs rather than having the federal government making decisions on what we need.” Rick had been involved in the early days of the GTB government and has literally seen the “rags to riches” change. “I cried the first time I sat in our new gaming showroom watching the Diamond Rio band perform,” he said. “Here we were in the middle of Peshawbestown, watching a national act. We have come a long way from the ’70s when 20 of us would sit in the church passing around a can to collect money to print the next tribal newsletter.”

I remembered what George Bennett told me the day before: “Protecting our sovereignty is the number one issue. There have been numerous attempts to assimilate us. They have all failed because we are real people. We’re the caretakers of Mother Earth.”

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Teens from the Youth Opportunity Development program tape a public service announcement about teen pregnancy and its attendant problems. Misty Rose, holding a doll, plays the part of the pregnant teen. Lead Youth Development Specialist Hank Bailey sets up a camera to tape interviews for the PSA. From left are Marcell Schocko, 11, Hank, Byron Francis, 12, and Amy Moore, a youth worker with Catholic Human Services. IHS funding did not include line items for health promotion prior to Self-Governance. Tribes are now able to develop such initiatives in conjunction with other health programs.

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Sandy clips granddaughter Claudia’s toenails while relaxing on a Saturday.

Sandy, whose two grandchildren live with her, has been working with the Family Services Anishinaabek Program. “I couldn’t have gotten through the first year with the kids without the tribe.” A key component of the program is the involvement of extended family members (from left, Uncle Jack Swanson and Aunt Pat Putney, with Claudia, Sandy and Larry) to provide support. Jack is a tribal dancer in his spare time and often spends time with Larry on weekends. Pat works in the tribal office in Suttons Bay and is making Claudia a fancy dress for her to wear at the next pow wow.

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CONFEDERATED SALISH AND KOOTENAI TRIBES

Where the Buffalo Roam At one time, millions of American bison roamed the prairies of the Great Plains. One herd alone would often stretch for miles. They were the life and spirit of American Indians.

The demise of the buffalo began with the arrival of European settlers and the push for an intercontinental railway. The buffalo were slaughtered for their hides and meat and, interestingly enough, for their tongues, considered a delicacy in fancy eastern restaurants. However, a more devious motive – and a calculated military strategy – was to starve out American Indians and force them onto reservations. In other words, kill the buffalo and tame the Indian.

About 2.5 million buffalo were killed yearly between 1870 and 1875. By 1890, less than 1,000 bison remained, mostly in and around Yellowstone National Park, which was established in 1872. And as the buffalo went, so too did the Plains Indians. Around the same time, the Salish, Pend d’Oreilles and Kootenai tribes were rounded up and placed on the Flathead Reservation, near Polson, Montana. In 1921 they were federally recognized as The Confederated Salish & Kootenai Tribes (CSKT) of the Flathead Reservation.

It would take a Pend d’Oreilles Indian named Walking Coyote to help save the buffalo in Montana. Walking Coyote raised six orphaned buffalo calves that had wandered into his camp in 1873. He later sold his herd of 13 buffalo in 1884 to two ranchers, Charles A. Allard and a Kootenai Indian named Michael Pablo. Charles Conrad, a Kalispell rancher and friend of President Roosevelt, would later persuade the president to establish the National Bison Range in 1908. Today the range is comprised of over 18,000 acres within the southern boundaries of the Flathead Reservation, with a buffalo population close to 500, all descendants of the original Allard and Pablo herd.

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photographs by lynn johnson

Where Buffal Roam

Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes Chairman Fred Matt (at left, below) stands with Melissa Michel, leasing program manager, and George DuCharme, title plants manager, on the Flathead Reservation near Polson, Montana.

Comprising more than 1.2 million acres, the reservation includes fertile farmlands and wilderness forest in the Mission Mountains. The tribes have received many accolades for their management, under Self-Governance, of trust lands and programs. The National Bison Range (over the ridge to the right) spreads over 18,500 acres, all within the Flathead Reservation. The land was taken from the tribes in 1908, contrary to the 1855 Hellgate Treaty, and is managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Department. (Opposite) The tribes’ history is inextricably linked to the buffalo.

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It was late summer of 2002 when I attended a Tribal Self-Governance Retreat, hosted by CSKT at a hotel the group owns in Polson. Arriving a day early, I joined a tour of the tribal trust management programs, primarily organized for the Bureau of Indian Affairs’ director of trust transitions. He and members of his staff were to discuss trust management and reform issues with the Self-Governance tribal leaders the next day.

Trying to understand trust management issues is like trying to untangle a 100-foot extension cord. You know there is another end to it, but you must first navigate a confounding course of loops and knots. In as simple terms as possible, the issues go something like this: Beginning in the late 19th century, American Indians were given land allotments in an effort to assimilate them into American society. The federal government hoped that property ownership would keep American Indians in one place and help to break up tribal allegiances.

Over the years, the BIA, acting as the federal trustee, has managed these land allotments and established more than 387,000 Individual Indian Money (IIM) accounts. These accounts hold funds that belong to individual Indians who have earned the money from such sources as oil and gas production, grazing leases, coal production and timber sales on their allotted lands. It is a complex confederated salish system, to be sure. and kootenai tribes Pablo, Montana Many tribes began complaining in the late 1970s and 1980s tribal membership about the accuracy of information published by the BIA. Records , took forever to update and were often difficult to reconcile. Finally, self-governance IHS:  BIA:  in 1994, after years of pressure, Congress enacted the Indian Trust Fund Management Reform Act, which set up a special trustee charged with straightening out the century-old mess. Given that Congress failed to provide funding for the plan, the legislative solution proved totally ineffective. In 1996, Elouise Cobell, who was then the Blackfeet tribal treasurer, filed a lawsuit against the Department of the Interior for failure to reconcile IIM accounts.

The CSKT entered into Self-Governance in 1993 and assumed some of the trust functions from the BIA that year. During our tour, the first stop was to visit George DuCharme, title plant manager for the tribe’s Division of Lands. His office is responsible for recording the many mortgages, deeds and probates. George is a tribal member and his desire to operate a first-class operation is impressive. The tribe has installed software that allows for electronic imaging updating from the old microfiche method still deployed at the BIA’s area offices. In addition, George has implemented processes that increase privacy protection to recorded deeds and reduce the timeframe to cut a check and deposit funds in IIM accounts from 14 days to two or three days.

The BIA staff members who accompanied us on the tour were clearly impressed. One BIA director asked, “Why hasn’t the BIA installed the same software and technology as you?” Everyone in the room went silent as there was no good reason or answer. As George pointed out when explaining why the CSKT had such a good program in place, “This is about our people: my brother, my cousin. This is about our land. We have ownership and pride.”

Every Self-Governance tribe I visited demonstrated similar traits. Tribes are often able to identify issues easier and fix them faster than the BIA. Unfortunately, the BIA must follow established policies – often when the policies no longer make sense – whereas tribes are

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interested in developing policies that work at the local level.

Trust management is more than just the recording of deeds and management of IIM accounts. It is also about the management of tribally owned resources. This includes more than 500,000 acres of prime forest located on the Flathead Reservation. The Salish and Kootenai tribes have approximately 250,000 acres in the commercial logging base, with about 10 percent of that actually logged each year. While there is always pressure to log more, the CSKT Tribal Council is proud of being the first to establish a wilderness area within its land base.

The Mission Mountains Tribal Wilderness is home to grizzlies and other wildlife.

Gary Orr, tribal forest manager, is proud of the ecosystem management that the tribe practices. “This is hard to believe: In the old days, the BIA would hire loggers that used creek beds as the roads,” he says. While that may once have been common, the tribe has enacted stricter environmental practices.

The following morning was gorgeous and sunny and I decided to drive the 13-mile loop on the National Bison Range. The CSKT has wanted to manage the Bison Range and include certain functions in the tribe’s SelfGovernance Annual Funding Agreement.

Anna Sorrel, CSKT self-governance coordinator, had shown me some of the materials used by several groups against the turnover of the Bison Range. I was both enraged and appalled George DuCharme tracks old land ownership records using by what I read. Those opposed were question- the cumbersome BIA system. Under a new CSKT system, digitized records can be accessed via computer in seconds. ing whether an Indian tribe could handle the task. They were quoted as saying, “We don’t think the Salish and Kootenai can protect the nation’s interest.”

I was dumbfounded. It was as if history never existed. It was as if everyone forgot who originally decimated the buffalo populations. The CSKT had managed to live for centuries without eliminating the herds, whereas the non-Indian settlers brought buffalo to the edge of extinction in just 20-some years. And now, a century later, here were people questioning the ability of an American Indian tribe to manage this resource.

I have usually found that those who question a tribal government’s abilities have little knowledge of tribal governmental structures. For example, the general public does not realize that CSKT fish and wildlife programs employ 50 people, including 12 fish and wildlife biologists, one wetland/riparian ecologist, one watershed coordinator, three biologist trainees, one information and education specialist, six field technicians, seven seasonal field technicians, 10 game wardens, four secretaries and a general manager. Persistence has paid off for the CSKT. After many years of negotiating, and not reducing their approach to that of their opponents, as of spring 2004 the CSKT had nearly completed negotiations regarding the management of the National Bison Range.

The near-extinction of the buffalo aided in the near-extinction of the American Indian way of life on the plains. Tribes were forced into submission and herded to reservations. Government agents, military officers and proselytizing priests all attempted to turn the migratory tribes into beef-eating subsistence farmers. Why is it so important for the Confederated Salish & Kootenai Tribes to manage the National Bison Range? They don’t need the meat or the furs.

What they need is the spiritual connection between themselves and the buffalo.

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Salish and Kootenai tribal member Jerry Hamel (top, at left) with friend Bernard Hakeys. On his Flathead Reservation ranch, Jerry owns approximately 50 buffaloes, a private herd started with bison bought from Bernard.

These buffaloes can be traced back to the foundation herd of Michael Pablo in the late 1800s. Jerry also raises cattle and says buffaloes bring both diversity and a Native heritage to his ranch. Friends, such as Richard Armstrong (right and above), raise buffaloes in his herd. The meat from the slaughtered buffalo was used to feed teenagers participating in an at-risk youth program. Some of the teens learned how to dress and clean the buffalo hide.

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In David Durgeloh’s fifth grade class (opposite, above), students learn that the buffalo and the land go together, sketching pictures of the animal and being schooled in its cultural importance (opposite, left). The CSKT’s goals include reacquiring land lost to the federal government but also bringing back indigenous plants and grasses.

Wetland grasses along with willows are grown in greenhouses (above), with the intent of riparian restoration.

Forest fires are always a possibility in the Mission Mountains of the CSKT reservation. A crew from the Forestry Hazardous Fuel Reduction Program (opposite, right) is responsible for clearing underbrush to reduce the fire risk.

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Sisters Alice Bigcrane (left) and Janie Wabaunsee are descendants of Michael Pablo, the Kootenai Indian who helped save the buffalo more than a century ago.

Descendants of his animals are now part of the 600-head herd residing on the National Bison Range in the southeastern portion of the Flathead Reservation. Both sisters were sent away as children to separate schools with little connection to each other or their past. They were reunited in the 1980s.

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The final day of treatment for a patient is a celebration. As patients and counselors gather in a talkingcircle, an eagle feather is passed around. Each person who holds the feather identifies the gains of the graduating patient and will provide support in the after-care plan. It is a day of sadness as new friends part, but also a day of joy. The morning drumming session after breakfast (opposite) is a daily ritual.

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SQUAXIN ISLAND TRIBE

Tears of Joy Alcohol, as we know it, did not exist in North America prior to its introduction by European settlers. Some tribes produced weak beers or other fermented beverages, but these were generally used only for ceremonial purposes.

The distillation of more potent, and thus more addictive, forms of alcohol was unknown.

The common perception is that American Indians have no experience with alcohol and consequently have a higher genetic predisposition to addiction; that the “firewater” moves into their bloodstream faster, creating quicker addiction. While early traders did use alcohol as a bargaining tool because of the advantages it gave them, it is rather naive to assume that all American Indians/Alaska Natives have a genetic noose around their necks. In fact, recent studies have failed to prove a genetic predisposition or any physical metabolism of alcohol that is different from other study groups. Instead, the current theory holds that Native alcoholism rates are high because of trauma associated with generations of annihilation, oppression, abandonment, despair and loss of cultural identification, both to individuals and their communities.

Early in 1993, the manager of the Squaxin Island Tribal Alcohol and Substance Abuse Program had a dream to develop a new in-patient treatment center for Northwest tribes. The Squaxin Island Tribe, in conjunction with the Portland Area Indian Health Service (IHS), successfully lobbied Congress for funds, which were placed in the tribe’s IHS Public Law 93-638 contract. Shortly thereafter, the tribe hired June O’Brien, a Nansemond tribal member with many years of experience in the treatment of alcohol and substance abuse, to manage the center.

As the tribe began to implement its plan for the Northwest Indian Treatment Center (NWITC), it became clear that some managers within the IHS were micro-manag-

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ing the process. There were many differences in June’s vision and the IHS’s “one-model fits all” approach. The IHS model of treatment, at the time, was outdated and focused on aggressive and confrontational approaches to stop drinking. While this type of treatment served to “clean” the patient, it did little to create a long-term foundation of sobriety. In fact, patient relapses were common due to unresolved problems or trauma.

June and the tribe had a different image of the treatment center they wanted, one that established new patterns and a different self-image for the patient. They wanted to stop the abuse by treating the trauma and supporting the person in a life-long journey of sobriety.

Because the NWITC funding was part of the tribe’s contract, IHS managers felt it was their responsibility to control and direct the creation of the center. But the differences continued to grow. The tribe wanted a rural location; the IHS wanted a site closer to medical centers. The tribe wanted a 45-day standard treatment and a lower patient/ counselor ratio to facilitate the trauma treatment approach; the IHS was comfortable with a higher ratio and a 30-day maximum treatment. In addition, the tribe felt aggressive third-party billing was necessary to raise additional revenue. The IHS felt the NWITC should operate within the funded budget and not put overbearing requirements on patient admissions.

In 1994, the tribe finally requested that the NWITC funds be squaxin island tribe placed in its Self-Governance Annual Funding Agreement so that Shelton, Washington the control of the implementation and eventual operation would tribal membership be under the complete discretion of the tribe. The request was  accepted, and in late 2002 I visited the NWITC to see for myself self-governance IHS:  BIA:  what eight years of management under Self-Governance had produced. The center is housed in a refurbished mansion, located in Elma, Washington, a small logging town 35 miles west of Olympia.

The counselors hold a daily staff meeting during the noon lunch hour. I grabbed a plate of food from the kitchen and joined them. There was a level of professionalism and analysis that I didn’t expect to find. They discussed each patient like caring parents, but used the analytical skills of a professional. “How is so-and-so doing?” asked one counselor. “Well, he is exhibiting patterns of paranoia in group sessions the last couple of days,” responded another. “Let’s get him in for a psychological test this week,” suggested June. And so it goes during these gatherings, as the staff members compare notes and observations on each patient, ranging from sleep patterns associated with different medications to issues of trauma related to divorce and loss of their children. June proudly told me later that all of the counselors were “home-grown” or trained and certified at NWITC. The life of a treatment center counselor is not an easy one. Besides the hours, there is the daily barrage of emotions. During a discussion of a female patient and her trauma associated from childhood abuse, I felt the intensity and pain of the situation. Taking a deep breath, I asked the counselors, “What makes you want to do this? What makes you able to cope with the tremendous pain and grief day after day?” One of the counselors handed me a pile of letters and cards from former patients. “It’s because of this,” she said. Opening one of the cards, I found a neatly written note that said, “Thanks for being there these past two years – for being my friend.”

A few days later, I was allowed to sit in on a group session. That day’s session included all of the patients, male and female, who sat in a circle with their counselors, Howard and Sandy. I sat outside the circle and told everyone about the book I was working on and that I was there to observe.

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Group therapy sessions, as a tool, are an important part of the healing process. As an observer, I was overwhelmed by the sense of loneliness and fear exhibited by the patients. The emotions hung over the room, like a huge rock, ready to squash any hope or healing. Howard wouldn’t let that happen. He was there as a guide, leading patients down a better path. One patient told how his father had abandoned him and his mother when he was a child. He broke down and cried when he told the group that, with no goodbyes, he also abandoned his wife and child five years ago. After each story, Howard would take a deep breath. After this occurred a few times, I noticed the patients taking deep breaths with him. As one patient sobbed, Howard softly said, “There is joy in those tears.”

June is the type of person to “push the envelope,” whether by trying new treatment modalities or finding ways to stretch the budget. She has added many functions that were never in the IHS model or plan, including a combined housekeeper-cook position and scheduling staff in four 10-hour shifts. She brought in a psychiatric nurse and contracted with a psychiatrist to better assess patients. June’s approach is simple: treat trauma, use a team approach and heavy one-on-one counseling, train or “home-grow” counselors to your system and include the psychiatric nurse in daily staff meetings.

A large component of treatment includes the integration of cultural identification.

NWITC counselor Jamie Tisdale leads a dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) class, one aspect of which teaches skills for One of the exercises includes making drums managing one’s emotional states. and using them. The drumming takes place in a small room. Because the door is closed to keep the noise down, I decided to look around outside. The drumming-room window was open, and I could sense the power of those drums. As the sun warmed my face on that afternoon and the drums echoed in the background, I saw how peaceful this place must seem to the patients. Cedars, firs and even a huge monkey-puzzle tree tower over the two-story historic mansion used to house the patients. The five-acre site includes many open sunny areas used for Native gardens, and one corner housed the sweat lodge. The drumming had become more steady, the singing louder, creating a hypnotic yet healing experience. I could see why the Squaxins felt it was necessary to create, and act on, their own vision of treatment.

I spoke with several patients who would soon be ready for NWITC graduation. I could sense their hope and desire and pride because they had accomplished something for the first time in their lives. One of the patients told me his son had made him a button blanket and was going to bring it to the graduation. And while I was unable to attend that event, I saw the gleam in his eyes and I remembered the comments from a patient in the group therapy session: “I had lost my dreams and I want them back.”

Treating alcohol and substance abuse through trauma resolution is widely accepted and more commonplace today. However, it took the leadership of June O’Brien and the Squaxin Island Tribe to push the limits. They could have never accomplished this success without SelfGovernance and the ability to control the resources and create their vision of a dream.

If patients come to the NWITC with issues of abandonment and despair, then the Squaxins must have intuitively known the effect this old home would have on them. And while there is pain and suffering in patients, there is now the ability to confront and overcome their demons.

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A day at the Northwest Indian Treatment Center (below) begins with morning meditation. Whether outdoors or indoors (opposite, bottom), meditation always involves a circle, considered a vital part of Native spirituality because of the sacredness of the circle and the belief that people’s lives are structured in a circle from birth to death. Patients at NWITC sleep in a dormitory, and many decorate their areas (top) with pictures to remind them of home. Keeping patients busy and focused is always a challenge, but flower gardens (center), which need plenty of attention, help in that regard.

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A rekindling of Native spirituality is a critical component of treatment as many patients have let that part of their life lapse while using drugs or alcohol. The sweat lodge (right) is used for the renewal and purification of body, mind, soul and spirit. Basketball-size rocks are heated in the fire and then placed in the lodge. The opening is sealed and water is thrown on the rocks to create steam. Other NWITC cultural activities include drum-making (above), and beading. Many of the cultural activities stir the memories of the patients, often bringing to mind what they learned as a child. This helps deepen their sense of pride and a positive identification with being American Indian.

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Mask-making is another group exercise for NWITC patients. They are allowed to design and paint the masks in the colors of their choice. When these photographs were taken, patients were allowed to pose any way they wanted, creating an almost eerie combination of moods and emotions.

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NATIVE VOICES

I found peace within myself at the Northwest Indian Treatment Center. It was like a total rebirth of my Native spirituality. When I first arrived, I felt alone but soon realized that I shared a common history with both patients and counselors. I became aware of myself and my own disease. My time there helped make me strong and see all the things around me that are addictive.

I appreciate that the NWITC counselors took the time and patience to work with me.

The inclusion of Native spirituality really helped. While in the sweat lodge, I recognized my addictions and behavior for the first time. It felt good to have a safe spiritual place to look within myself.

It is tough to come back to my community and see friends that are still using drugs and alcohol. We need more support programs in our communities. I hope to encourage others to seek treatment.

Fighting alcohol and substance abuse is an everyday battle, but I look forward to the future. I’m doing this because I want my son to read this, as I lost him through my alcoholism ten years ago. I hope to regain his respect.

— Ben Redbear Oglala Sioux Tribe

Opposite, Ben Redbear at the Northwest Indian Treatment Center.

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we used to be a liability. now those in county and state governments see us as an asset.

—Chief Chad Smith, Cherokee Nation

These Yurok children attending a Hoopa graduation ceremony are like many Native youth today: happy and proud to be American Indian.

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Rolf and Gwen Christiansen head out from Old Harbor Bay for what Gwen calls ”hunting for whatever the Creator wants us to get for that day: deer or seal.” Subsistence food gathering is a way of life for Alaska Natives. (Opposite) Rolf with a deer, enough fresh meat to last for many days.

The Christiansens were among the first to attend the Family Wellness Warriors Initiative program, developed by the Southcentral Foundation.

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photographs by donna ferrato

SOUTHCENTRAL FOUNDATION

Calling Out Our Warriors Five years ago, Katherine Gottlieb stood before the Alaskan Health Board and asked the Native men to help her address sexual- and domestic-abuse problems. As president of the Southcentral Foundation (SCF), Katherine had long wanted to tackle one of the most prolific, yet least talked about, problems in Indian Country. “All I saw was the top of their heads,” she recalls. “None of the men were willing or comfortable in discussing this issue.”

It was at this point that she realized a new approach was needed to attack the vicious cycle of abuse. Many programs had been successful in protecting the victims of abuse. Yet very few, if any, had succeeded in curbing the tide of further abuse.

Katherine began to seek the opinions of others. A colleague at a large health foundation asked if she remembered the women’s liberation movement of the 1960s and 1970s. “He asked if I remembered very many men participating in this movement,” she told me. “I began to realize that the current ways of dealing with abuse felt more like finger-pointing to the men.”

The next time Katherine addressed the Health Board, she framed her request differently. “I told the men we are calling out our warriors, to lead our communities, to teach sons like mine that if they are angry, they shouldn’t yell at their girlfriends and wives and throw things at the wall or pound a fist.” One of the leaders stood and said, “I’m here.

What do you need?”

What had been an awkward moment at the first meeting now became an open invitation to the men. “We are not forgetting about the child or wife,” said Katherine.

“But, we are now inviting everyone to the table; those that have been harmed, those doing the harming and those that just want to help.”

The Southcentral Foundation is a health consortium formed in 1982 to provide services to 55 Native villages

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along with Alaskan Natives living in the Anchorage area. On the first day of my visit to Anchorage in August 2003, I was given a tour of the Anchorage Native Primary Care Center across the street from the Alaska Native Hospital.

Managed by the SCF, the Primary Care Center treats over 45,000 patients annually. Since entering Self-Governance in 1994, the SCF has made many operational improvements. Like many other clinics managed under Self-Governance, the Primary Care Center changed the old Indian Health Service system, in which patients waited until their names were called, to one with appointments (with the doctor of one’s choice). Care is now oriented around family providers, and a traditional medicine department was added to facilitate the use of native plants and remedies in collaboration with the attending physician.

While there are many success stories at the SCF, it was clear that Katherine’s passion and pride was the Family Wellness Warriors Initiative. She had arranged two days of tours for me to meet and talk with some of the program’s participants. During a three-hour drive to Copper Center, northeast of Anchorage, we discussed the evolution of the program.

After recruiting men to step forward, Katherine formed a committee in 1999 to shape their path. The goal of the program is to end abuse in this generation. The solution proposed was a combination of secular and faith-based components to create a movement, not a southcentral program, to encourage participation by Alaska Native men. foundation Anchorage and Old Harbor, Alaska Members of the committee attended a Survivors of Abuse tribal membership: Leadership Training Seminar (SALTS) developed and presented , by the University of Michigan. The program is oriented toward self-governance: IHS:  BIA;  first healing and then supporting the abused and the abusers.

In addition, SALTS trains participants to become the “wellness” leaders in their villages. Katherine said she was redeveloping much of the SALTS materials to give them more of an “Alaska Native” sense.

At Copper Center, I interviewed the men who had participated in the Family Warriors Wellness Conference, and they all said that having a faith-based component at the conference made them feel safe and protected. One man said, “Many of the men have suppressed terrible situations and it becomes too much to face alone. Many of us don’t have model families. There is acceptance and support when you have the freedom to share without being blamed.”

Another man described it more poignantly, saying, “When you’re hiding a secret, it can consume you and drain you. You begin to believe that God doesn’t love you.” And, in fact, it is the sense of hopelessness and the feelings of guilt and shame that lead to anger and abuse. In many of the men’s minds, the faith-based aspect helped them to heal.

On the second day of my visit, Dr. Larry Severson and I flew to Kodiak Island and then on to the village of Old Harbor. Larry is an employee of the Living Waters Education and Research Center, a non-profit organization that provides faith-based education, research and support resources to individuals throughout Alaska who suffer the effects of domestic violence, abuse and neglect. While Larry is an employee of Living Waters, his salary, along with those of three other Living Waters employees, is partially paid for by SCF. Arriving at Old Harbor airport – which consisted of 50 yards of gravel and a locked maintenance building – we waited in the four-seat airplane for our ride. It was raining hard.

My first interview was with Rolf Christiansen, a 36-year-old Alaskan Native born and raised in Old Harbor. Then in his fifth year of sobriety, he said matter-of-factly that he would

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never drink again. We discussed his participation in the Family Wellness Warriors Initiative and his first conference in December of 2000.

“We’ve never had anything like this. We never talked about abuse,” he said. “And as far as alcohol recovery was concerned, we were told to go to AA meetings and if you missed very many or goofed up, you’d be put in jail.” Rolf wants to lead by example, saying, “Other people see what I have and they want it too. They want to change.”

Rolf ’s wife, Gwen, is a strong and articulate Alaska Native woman. She told me that the SALTS Wellness Conference changed her life, too. She is interested in forming a women’s support group and is proud of her husband and his role as a Wellness Warrior.

That night Rolf and Gwen invited me and my 8-year-old daughter to dinner. When we arrived, their house was full of people, including Rolf, Gwen, their daughter Gwendolyn, a Native missionary couple and Dr. Severson.

I watched as my hosts scurried about preparing for dinner. Gwen apologized profusely for the dog hairs all over the carpet. Rolf sensed his wife’s concern and got the vacuum cleaner, racing up and down the carpet around us. As we sat down to eat, Gwen came up behind Rolf, kissed him on the cheek and gently said, “Thanks for sweeping the rugs.”

The Family Wellness Warriors InitiaRolf helps lead AA meetings in Old Harbor. “Other people see what I have and they want it too,” he says. tive left a strong impression on me. The “They want to change.” combination of secular and faith-based components seems to work because the faith leaders are not pushing religion. “We are not here to convert anybody,” Larry told me in a soft voice. “We are here to help heal.” The line of separation between church and state never really existed in the Native world: Spirituality is intertwined with daily living. Workers such as Larry provide a safe spiritual environment for all participants while Katherine and others at SCF develop secular tools for the Wellness Warriors.

A few weeks after my visit, Katherine called and asked if I, as an outside observer, could explain their program in a couple of paragraphs. Many foundations were asking about it at a recent conference and, as Katherine said, “they had a hard time getting their arms around the program.”

I knew exactly what the problem was. The world of bureaucrats in Washington, D.C., consists of programs, clients, methodologies, outcomes and other statistical data that can be massaged to show progress. They want programs they can be replicated, in cookie-cutter fashion, across the country.

While it may be difficult to understand, the Family Wellness Warriors Initiative will succeed because it is not a program. It is a process to train and support Wellness Warriors to use the tools that work best for them and their communities. As I was told by many, “You can’t cure abuse with a program. You have to go deep to the heart.” And this process does. It accepts that you can make some mistakes and not get it right the first time. The constants are dedication and commitment to a goal: elimination of abuse in this generation.

Where have the all Warriors gone? They are in the villages being healed and serving as role models for the next generation.

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Sustaining a traditional family life means teaching responsibility, especially regarding rifles, which are integral to the hunting/gathering practices common in Alaskan villages. Gwendolyn Christiansen (below) returns home after a shooting lesson, greeted by their pet raven, Peeps. Sunday mornings (opposite, top) may see the whole family, from son Josh to the dogs, jumping in bed to wake mom and dad. Rolf knows that duties such as sweeping the steps (middle) aren’t fun, but they set an example about handling responsibilities. His 36th birthday brings everyone together in celebration.

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“It’s important to me that my son learn the traditional ways of our people,” says Rolf, who teaches Josh how to hone the fine lines of a kayak paddle (left). Whether through such traditions as carving or hunting (top), Rolf strives to be a role model and good father. When his son arrives from a week-long school project in Kodiak, Rolf is there (above) to greet him and help with the luggage and supplies.

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The influence of the Russian Orthodox Church is strong in Alaska villages, and religion plays an important role in the Christiansen family. Rolf and his daughter ring the church bell on Sunday mornings and Rolf volunteers to help Father Ioasaph (below and opposite, bottom) with graveside duties. At other times, Rolf and Gwen can be found at their store, Gwendolooks Food Store & Kiluda Bay Coffee (opposite, top), where one can purchase Native crafts, food, or even get your nails done. Neighbor kids Bjorn Elvehjem (opposite, middle) and Devin Koosaataa help Gwen by carrying wood into their banya (steambath).

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Gwen and Rolf Christiansen at their home in Old Harbor, Alaska.

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NATIVE VOICES

Attending the Survivors of Abuse Leadership Training Seminar was the beginning of a journey for us. It hasn’t been an easy journey and has been full of challenges. But we continue to get our strength through prayer and support from a few people in the community.

Becoming and remaining sober is only the beginning. Building a foundation that begins with the Creator has been and is essential to us as individuals, as a married couple, as parents, and community members. It is our center.

Through the Men’s Wellness Warrior workshop and SALTS, a door was opened in the heart of my husband, Rolf, that was once hidden deep beneath past wounds from childhood and life experiences. It gave him the skills to step back and realize that the past doesn’t have to be who we are today. We can forgive and move forward in our lives. I’m proud to be with a warrior, one that challenged himself to change and didn’t listen to those who doubted him.

Everyday life has its share of struggles, but we manage to overcome them. We want the best for our children and to show them through our example that people can change, and can work through their hardships. We will continue to work with families and kids in the village, teaching traditional arts and crafts, play Native games, and help with summer camps. These are positive activities that bring people together in a healthy way.

— Gwen Christiansen Old Harbor, Alaska

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Traditional Medicine associate Deb Northrup gathers horsetail grasses in a marshy area near Mille Lacs Lake for use in the traditional healing program at the Band’s health clinics. Canoe-builder Earl Mitchell (opposite) splits cedar vines used to lash canoe parts together.

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MILLE LACS BAND OF OJIBWE

Moving Forward Health conditions among American Indian/Alaska Natives are not good. The University of Minnesota published a report in 2002 stating that one-third of the adults living on Minnesota’s reservations would most likely develop Type II diabetes in their lifetimes. Even more alarming, American Indian/Alaska Native life expectancy was 69 for men and 72 for women, compared to 72 and 78, respectively, for the general population.

I recalled a discussion with Dr. W. Craig Vanderwagen, IHS chief medical officer, a few years back. He said many Self-Governance tribes were developing traditional medicine or healing programs in conjunction with modern medical services. He specifically referred to some of the tribes in the IHS Bemidji Area, so I decided to visit the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe in Onamia, Minnesota.

By the mid-1700s, the Ojibwe had established themselves in the region around Mille Lacs Lake in what today is central Minnesota. The Mille Lacs Band signed a treaty in 1837 that protected their rights to hunt, fish and gather on the land ceded to the federal government, but also allowed the land to be settled by non-Indians. In 1855, another treaty set aside 61,000 acres of the ceded lands for a reservation on and around the south end of Mille Lacs Lake, including the southern part of the lake and southern islands.

Over the next 75 years, the federal government attempted to dislodge the band from its reservation by allowing timber companies and others to purchase reservation lands. Finally, in 1934, the Indian Reorganization Act allowed the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe to form as a political union of six Ojibwe bands, including the Mille Lacs group. Not until 1999 did the United States Supreme Court rule that the Mille Lacs Band retained its rights to hunt, fish and gather on lands ceded in the Treaty of 1837.

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Don Wedll, a former Department of Natural Resources commissioner for the band and a lifelong scholar, was my tour guide during a visit in September 2003. Our first stop was a visit with the band’s leader, Chief Executive Melanie Benjamin. A bright and professional woman, Melanie spoke of the governmental changes that helped shape the band beginning in the early 1980s. “We wanted to establish accountability and checks and balances within our government, so we adopted a separation of powers form of government in 1981,” she said. “The BIA was holding tribes at the same level of government. We changed our path by exercising our sovereign authority. We’ve always considered ourselves a sovereign government, but if you don’t use your authority, you lose it.”

With over 3,600 members, the Mille Lacs Band entered Self-Governance in 1991. As Melanie said, “Self-Governance is now so much a part of our everyday life and works so well, that it’s difficult to imagine the time before we were in it.” Both Melanie and Don spoke of the importance of Self-Governance regarding their treaty rights case in 1999. “It was a real key for us,” Don said. “Before Self-Governance, we couldn’t hire attorneys without the authority of the BIA. Hiring our own attorneys in these legal battles was a major factor in our victories.”

We stopped at the Mille Lacs Nay Ah Shing School to have lunch. The first thing that struck me was the upbeat personalimille lacs band ties of the students. All were smiling and eager to talk. A sense of of ojibwe Onamia, Minnesota pride in their history and traditions was exhibited throughout tribal membership: the school. Rick Gresczyk, a Band member and school principal, , explained the importance of culture in the children’s education. self-governance: IHS:  BIA:  “Our teachers tie in life here,” he said. “We’re getting back into our culture and spirituality.”

This is quite a change from what many of the students’ parents and grandparents went through during their school years. In those days, tribal culture was ignored; in fact, students speaking Native languages or wearing Native dress and hairstyles were punished. The mission of the Nay Ah Shing School summed up the new philosophy: “To teach Ojibwe language, culture, tradition, history and skills to live in two cultures.” As we looked in on some of the classes, Rick pointed out how traditional Native culture is intertwined with such subjects as science and history.

When touring the reservation, one has a sense of solidness set on a traditional foundation. It is a solidness connected to the past. The new Ne-la-Shing Health Clinic is a perfect example. A 20-unit assisted-living building for elders is connected to the clinic. The Traditional Healing Program has a healing room in the wing between both buildings. In addition, I was told that in the outlying service area the band has two other assisted-living units with attached healing rooms.

We stopped in to visit with Skip Sandman, the traditional healer. He explained that modern and traditional medicine can and do work together under the right conditions. “The doctor was just here asking about a patient,” he said. “We have open minds here. It is not about me or them, but about the patient.” It was impressive to see that neither the traditional healers nor the medical doctors feel threatened by the other or believe that one practice is better. “Sometimes the elders are uncomfortable with modern medicine,” said Skip. “I help them spiritually so that they trust all the medical services we offer.”

Sitting with us during the discussion was Melvin Pewaush, the herbalist for the Traditional Healing Program. He was an encyclopedia of native herbs and plants, knowledge learned over

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many years from the elders. “I spend most of the summer gathering plants and berries,” he said.

As we headed down the hall, one of the clinic physicians stopped to speak with Skip. They discussed a patient and possible traditional remedies. It was obvious that the word “collaboration” isn’t loosely thrown around; it’s actually practiced.

It is too early to see the benefits of the traditional medicine program from a health statistics standpoint. However, success can be measured in many other ways. It is already clear that the program is well used and respected by both band members and the mainstream health staff.

Sometimes those things that have the most impact are the hardest to measure. For example, does traditional healing cause patients to feel more comfortable about health? Are they more likely to follow medical advice, both traditional and modern? And most importantly, how does the connection to traditional medicine help to alleviate the effects of oppression? It is well documented, for example, that oppression is a root cause of Native substance abuse and all of its related social dysfunction. It seemed to me that the connections lost during many years of oppression might start to reemerge through the use of traditional medicine and the reconnection to cultural beliefs and norms.

The remainder of my tour with Don consisted of seeing impressive infrastructure projects. We passed the wastewater treatTraditional medicine involves the use of many different plants, roots and berries, which healers ment facility, the new water system and gather and prepare. tower, 70 new houses and more. The initial infrastructure construction was funded with a multi-million-dollar bond secured by casino revenue. While gaming revenue helped in that regard, Don credited Self-Governance with providing the ability and mindset to use bonds as a financial leveraging tool. “Most of this wouldn’t have happened without Self-Governance,” Don told me as he gestured toward the landscape. “The IHS construction process would have taken twice as long. We worked in partnership with the city of Garrison on the wastewater treatment, as it would have been difficult for either of us to do it alone. We both benefit from it.”

After securing the initial bond in the early 1990s, the Mille Lacs Band has never looked back. Its members have been on a campaign to buy land back within the reservation and start construction on more housing.

In the past, many awful things have been done in an effort to assimilate American Indians/Alaska Natives into the American “melting pot.” Holding on to their land and their culture has not been easy for the Mille Lacs Band. During most of the 20th century, they were not allowed to practice their religion, teach their language and culture to their children, or govern themselves. Self-Governance, along with economic development, is beginning to reverse the negative impact of oppression. It has created a change in their mindset. Collaboration, innovation and connections to past traditions are now allowed.

In the beginning, some skeptics were concerned that Self-Governance would be viewed as either termination of tribes or the assimilation of tribes into a mainstream type of government. Quite to the contrary, tribes have actually expanded and built upon their cultural roots because of Self-Governance. The Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe is a good example of how they have designed and delivered their programs to include their culture and traditions.

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Traditional healer Skip Sandman provides services in his office at the Ne-la-Shing Health Clinic. Each patient brings an offering of tobacco, which Skip smokes in his pipe (opposite, top) at the beginning of each appointment. (Above) Damon Solis, 9, goes to see Skip with his mother, Maria Kegg (not pictured), and his aunt Chris Kegg. Complaining of a stomach ache and headache, Damon was instructed to use bear grease (in the orange vial) for the former and to drink more water for the latter.

Chris whispers in Damon’s ear, reminding him to give Skip a small gift of thanks. Skip and Deb Northrup (opposite, left) design a brochure for the traditional healing program, which is used in conjunction with modern medicine. As such, Skip and clinic physician Fred Ness (opposite, right) often confer on patient treatments.

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Melvin Pewaush “Soo Line” (right) spends much of his time preparing remedies for patients. The bark of the red willow tree (above) and the green part of the branch just below the bark are shaved off and slightly dried. They are then cut with scissors, mixed with tobacco and smoked in a pipe for ceremony or for pleasure, as the aroma is very sweet. Red bitterroot berries (top), which come from a tree that grows like a vine around other trees, are used to treat stomach and chest ailments. Melvin holds a pipe with a bowl carved into the shape of an American Indian in a feathered headdress. The pipe was given to him by a healer who had a vision that the pipe was intended for Melvin.

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Many Self-Governance tribes have seen a resurgence in cultural activities ranging from language classes to traditional activities such as canoe-building. Earl Mitchell, 68, shows a cultural studies student (opposite, bottom) how to split willow when building a birch-bark canoe. Earl leads students through the entire process, once a lost art, of stripping bark and gathering vines (opposite, top) to create a fully functional canoe. The workmanship can be seen in the detail of the stern (middle). Winnie La Prairie paddles a canoe made with the help of Earl through the rice fields on Lake Mandy. Winnie, 50, began ricing at age 15 with her grandmother, who used to bring in 3,400 pounds of rice per year. Motorized boats are not allowed on Lake Mandy in order to keep the rice free of petroleum products residue.

(Winnie’s husband, “Mushkooub,” a Mille Lacs Band member, is unseen at the back of the canoe.)

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The job of community health aide is both rewarding and difficult. Anna John takes her son Dom to her mother’s before heading to the Toksook Bay health clinic aboard her 4-wheeler. Anna’s job is made somewhat easier by the collaboratively developed Community Health Aide Manual (right), which provides step-by-step treatment protocols.

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YUKON KUSKOKWIM HEALTH CORPORATION

Providing for Ourselves On our way to Bethel, Alaska, my daughter and I were to meet Valerie Davidson, executive vice-president of the Yukon Kuskokwim Health Corporation (YKHC), at the Anchorage airport. She was on her way back to Bethel after attending meetings in Anchorage. By coincidence, we were booked on the same flight. I told Hannah, then 8, to look for a woman with a very small baby. “But Daddy, everybody has a baby,” she told me. Sure enough, as I looked around the airport waiting area, families with small children were everywhere. Grandmothers were playing with their grandkids, and babies were bouncing on mothers’ knees.

When most people think of Alaska, they probably imagine miles of tundra and mountains. The reality can be quite different, as the immensity and diversity of the state is almost beyond comprehension. Where the land meets the water is not often a clean break, as exemplified by the Yukon Kuskokwim River Delta in the southwestern portion of the state. Thousands of lakes dot a largely treeless landscape dominated by the mouths of the Yukon and Kuskokwim rivers. Seasonal or year-round residents include more than 750,000 swans and geese, 2 million ducks and 100 million shorebirds and waterbirds. The region is also home to 58 federally recognized villages of Yup’ik Eskimos.

Bethel serves as the hub for the Native villages in the region as well as the headquarters for the YKHC. Formed in 1969, the corporation manages an area the size of the state of Oregon. Most of the villages in this service area are accessible only by boat or airplane. The health system includes 44 village clinics, one regional hospital and three sub-regional clinics that provide such services as x-rays, lab testing, dental, primary care and behavioral health.

Dr. Charles Grim, the new director of the Indian Health Service, was also in Bethel to visit the YKHC and tour some of the village health operations. We met with Dr. Grim and

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several of his staff at the YKHC headquarters, where YKHC President/CEO Gene Peltola provided a background slide presentation. We had a long day of tours planned, so after the slideshow, everyone grabbed coats and rubber boots provided by Valerie and headed for the harbor.

Our first visit was to Napaskiak, one of the few villages easily reached by boat. We were told that winters are so cold that once everything freezes, roads are plowed for taxi service up and down the Kuskokwim River. We didn’t have to worry about ice today. If it wasn’t for the boardwalks, which served as roads, we would have been ankle deep in mud.

We were met at the Napaskiak airstrip by an ex-Aeroflot pilot and his twin-propeller charter plane. From here, he would fly us to each village on our tour. In one landing, we dove in a corkscrew fashion, reaching a parallel position with the ground only at the very end of the runway. Our Russian pilot smiled as he said, “I found some thin air for a faster landing.”

Gene was our guide throughout the day and he was eager to point out that all of the new clinics had been built without IHS construction funds. A combination of Self-Governance money, Denali Commission construction dollars and an increase in thirdparty revenue (from $2 million to $45 million in 10 years) had allowed YKHC to build and supply an average of seven new clinics a year since entering Self-Governance in 1993. Gene proudly pointed out that local communities and health organizations can yukon kuskokwim provide better and more appropriate services than a federal agency health corporation Bethel and Toksook Bay, Alaska located almost a country away. As an avid supporter of Self-Govertribal membership nance, it was obvious that the IHS’s Dr. Grim was impressed. , The new sub-regional clinic in Emmonak, where local village workself-governance ihs:  ers completed much of the construction, was impressive. “People in those communities hammering the nails have ownership and pride,” said Valerie. Gene pointed out that since Self-Governance, hospital usage at the Bethel facility had flattened out. In fact, in the previous year as many patients were seen at village clinics, like this one in Emmonak, as were seen in Bethel.

Another impressive feature of the new clinics is the inclusion of a Behavioral Health Specialist (BHS), who serves as a combination mental health and substance abuse counselor. We met with Maggie Harpak, the BHS for the Emmonak regional clinic. She told us she wears many different hats and is involved in everything from grief and healing counseling to suicide prevention. “She is successful because kids know Maggie, and it is easier to talk with her than with someone that might be sent here once a month,” said Valerie. Gene added, “We had a three-to-four-year battle with the state over this model. However, they finally accepted it and now use the YKHC model throughout the Alaska health system.”

The transformation of health programs under Self-Governance parallels the transformation of tribal leaders. Gene Peltola and Valerie Davidson are the type of Self-Governance leaders who see themselves as service providers rather than as managers of federal programs and policies. Tribes had expectations of federal agencies that were never met, primarily due to under-funded programs and management practices by the IHS and BIA. It was exciting to see a leader like Gene full of confidence, bragging about the YK and its achievements.

Toward the end of the day, we landed in the village of St. Mary’s, where 75 of the YKHC health aides were attending a week-long training program. The bush pilots of Alaska take some getting used to, and Hannah was more than happy to have her boots solidly on the ground again.

We stayed behind for the next two days while Dr. Grim and the others headed back to Bethel.

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The Alaska Community Health Aide program was started in the 1950s as a response to a tuberculosis epidemic among Alaska Natives. In the early years, most of the community health aides were non-Native nurses who needed translators to work in the villages. That has changed over the years, and today Alaskan Native health organizations like the YKHC manage community health aide programs by hiring and training village members.

According to Reese Carroll, YKHC director of field supervisors, most of a health aide’s work is similar to triage in an emergency room. Patients come in, are assessed, and a treatment protocol is provided. The state of Alaska and many of the Native health organizations collaboratively developed the Community Health Aide Manual (CHAM), which serves as the bible for the health aides. Training is based on the CHAM, and anything outside of the manual has to be physician-directed from the Radio Medical Traffic Office staffed by YKHC hospital in Bethel.

The training confirmed Reese’s comment about triage. It was very professional, and many of the lesson titles would frighten the average person: ABO Resistance Including Boil Protocol; Common Infections Commonly Misdiagnosed; Infections in Disguise; Preterm Labor; Treatment of UTI and STDs. The health aides were eager to learn. The teachers asked difficult questions and all were answered by the aides, whose abilities and knowledge were at a higher level than I ATVs (all-terrain vehicles) are parked outside the Toksook health clinic. Roads are mostly dirt or gravel in rural Alaskan expected, given that most have limited eduvillages, making the ATV the favored vehicle in the summer. cation or experience in the health field. In many cases, they seemed close to the level of a nurse practitioner in their ability to assess and treat patients.

While my daughter was whisked away by a group of blueberry-picking health aides, I stayed behind and asked a group of aides from the village of Toksook Bay why they chose this job. “I love helping my people,” said Bessie Francis in a quiet voice. Another aide noted, “We all need the help of our spouses and families, as we can get called out in the middle of the night.

My mother watches my children, but not on Bingo night.” We all laughed.

The next morning, my daughter hugged everyone as we said our goodbyes. My trips to Alaska have been enlightening. Because of the geographic isolation of the rural areas, I had expected health care to be less professional and maybe even a bit crude. To my surprise, the health organizations that I visited were well managed, professional and able to provide specialized services despite being isolated.

The YKHC strategy is similar to that of all Self-Governance tribes and organizations: to provide better, more innovative and collaborative services. The YKHC has provided more health care at the local level by expanding the Community Health Aide program. In addition, telemedicine systems are being installed so that the aides can send patient information such as x-rays or pictures to Bethel for consultation before proceeding with treatment.

How much better is health care in the rural Yukon Kuskokwim River Delta region? As Valerie Davidson said, “We use to put a patient on a boat or in a plane and hoped they lived until you got them to Bethel.” That has all changed. The village health aides are fully capable of providing good preventive care. If an emergency arises, they have access to Bethel doctors, an air ambulance service and telemedicine. They are indeed providing for themselves.

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Health aides Anna John and Anna Lincoln (left) treat Antone Pitka, who had fallen through the ice with his brother. The aides stay in constant communication with doctors in Bethel to stabilize patients.

Antone’s parents, Grace and Ignatie Pitka (top), wait for the arrival of the air ambulance. After a few days in the YKHC hospital in Bethel, Antone returns home (above) a happy boy. Before clinics and well-trained health aides existed in villages such as Toksook Bay, an accident like Antone’s could have had a very different ending.

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The village of Toksook Bay is home to Alex Julius and Ian Westdahl (left). Like other Alaskan villages, it is both ruggedly remote and beautiful. Located more than 100 miles from Bethel, Toksook Bay is accessible only by plane or boat. The ability of health aides to provide routine care has substantially reduced expensive hospital care and air ambulance services.

Anna John checks Abraham John (top) for a possible ear infection, while Anna Lincoln runs a routine health check on George Nevak (above).

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Health aides often are also mothers and wives, and family duties can be just as demanding as professional ones. Anna John and husband Ralph join friend Rosanna Carl in their boat (opposite, lower left) for a trip to the marshy delta lands to gather grass and “mouse food.” The grasses are bundled by Rosanna (above), who later shares some with friend Gloria Alirkar (opposite, top). The grass is used in everything from baskets to braided rope for hanging salmon and weaved nets for hanging herring to dry. Ralph even used it once to keep his feet warm when he slipped through the ice. The “mouse food” is one of many edible plants available and is the winter nesting area for the local mouse population.

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RED LAKE BAND OF CHIPPEWA INDIANS

Just Like the Old Days Harry Johnson’s eyes light up and he has a distant stare, as if lost in a dream. He recalls his days as a boy helping his family net walleye fish on Red Lake in north-central Minnesota. “There use to be fish camps all along the lake,” he told me with a smile, remembering how he would hang nets in exchange for a piece of bubble gum. Harry’s comments came during my visit to Red Lake in the fall of 2003 to learn how Self-Governance had played a key role in recovering an irreplaceable natural resource.

The story begins with the walleye, a member of the perch family and a sharp-toothed predator that feeds on smaller fish. Walleyes typically travel in schools, and the average three-year-old walleye weighs about a pound and is 14 inches long. The Red Lake walleye is known for its tasty, thick, and nearly boneless, white fillets. It is such a delicacy that dignitaries such as Mikhail Gorbachev have been fed the famous fish.

Besides the walleye, Red Lake is also home to the Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians, one of only a few tribes that resisted compliance with the land allotment legislation of 1887, known as the Dawes Act. Consequently, the entire 850,000-acre reservation is held in common by all band members forever.

The lake itself is actually two basins separated by a channel about a mile wide. Most of Lower Red Lake (comprising 167,000 acres) and nearly two-thirds of Upper Red Lake (comprising 60,000) lie within the reservation boundaries, while 48,000 acres on the eastern side of Upper Red Lake fall within the jurisdiction of the State of Minnesota.

Commercial net fishing did not begin with the Red Lake Band, but instead was initiated in 1917 by the State of Minnesota Public Safety Commission in response to a food shortage triggered by World War I. After the

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Red Lake Band Natural Resources fishery crew (below, from left) Herb Mountain, Pam May and Herman Lussier head out to retrieve nets set the previous day for the walleye population survey. Pam, the Red Lake public information officer/fisheries biologist, says three generations of her family have continued the traditional lifestyle of making a living from Red Lake. Her father, Melvin May Sr., was a commercial fisherman. Her son David May is pursuing an undergraduate degree in biology.

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war ended, commercial fishing continued for economic reasons by both American Indian and non-Indian fishermen under the control of the Minnesota Game and Fish Department.

However, a lawsuit and subsequent court decision in 1927 forbade the state from operating a commercial fishery. The Red Lake Band continued with tribal commercial fishing under the supervision of the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA), while the state opened its portion of the lake to sport fishing.

That all ended in 1997, when the commercial fisheries voluntarily suspended their netting season because of fears that the Red Lake walleye fishery had collapsed. Each September, the Red Lake Band’s Natural Resources Department would conduct a walleye population survey.

Four nets – each 250 feet in length –would be set for an overnight catch assessment, a survey repeated 12 times. In 1996, only four walleyes were caught during the 12 surveys, compared to 1,277 during a 1987 assessment.

It’s hard to point out one single reason for the collapse of the walleye fishery. No doubt some of the blame lies with excessive fishing by both Red Lake Band members and sport fishermen, as well as poaching. Some of the blame may belong with the Corps of Engineers and the Flood Control Act of 1936: Red Lake was dammed, and little effort was made to restore the connection between the lake and the Red Lake River, which crered lake band ated problems with young walleye leaving the lake but unable Red Lake, Minnesota to return past the dam. tribal membership The Red Lake Band had one other problem related to the , fishery collapse: namely, inadequate management practices by self-governance BIA:  the BIA. Fisheries management, from the time the BIA became involved in 1929 until the collapse in 1996, was based on a static annual catch quota instead of science. For example, if the annual harvest quota of 650,000 pounds of walleye was reached early in the fishing season, the fishermen would request a quota extension from the secretary of the interior. If the extension was granted, fishing would continue during the remainder of that season. The granting or denying of this request had no scientific justification.

Unfortunately, as Dave Conner, the Red Lake Band’s natural resources administrative officer, explained, “the BIA’s static quota management system failed to account for annual changes in fish population structure and changes in fishing effort. Therefore, there were many years when the walleye harvest was allowed to exceed what the population could sustain.”

In hindsight, the Red Lake Band’s commercial fishing also contributed to the collapse. In the past, larger cotton mesh nets had been used, which allowed yellow perch and small walleye to escape. The advent of improved gear technology, available through the Internet, enabled fishermen to acquire more efficient monofilament nets without the notice of those regulating the walleye fishery. Nobody thought it would harm the fishery of such a large lake. These smaller mesh nets were more effective in catching yellow perch. However, they were also more effective in catching walleye that were too small to market commercially. At the same time, the lucrative sport fishery in state waters was well known for the practice of “tripping,” in which fishermen would catch their walleye limit, take it to the shore, then head back out to catch another limit, often several times in one day.

Regardless of the reason, it was the Red Lake Band that reacted more quickly to the collapse. The Tribal Council decided to close the fishery first and sought to reach out to other

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entities to restore the lake to its former glory. The Red Lake Band led the way in organizing a science-based collaboration – the Red Lake Fisheries Technical Committee – composed of tribal, state, federal and academic representatives. Though the Band closed the fishery in 1997, it would take the Minnesota government two more years before it closed its portion of Upper Red Lake. Dave told me, “One of the reasons Self-Governance works is that we can make decisions faster. The council meets twice a month, and we don’t have to study issues to death or send it off for legislative approval.”

In 1999, the Red Lake Band and the State of Minnesota signed a memorandum of agreement that called for joint collaboration to recover the walleye stocks of Red Lake.

The collaboration led to important developments in the management of fisheries. The newly formed Fisheries Technical Committee defined data-collection and analysis methods to ascertain population and reproduction estimates.

The success of these changes was apparent during my visit to the lake. At the crack of dawn one day, photographer Keri Pickett and I met the Red Lake Band’s Natural Resources fishery crew to recover nets that had been set the previous day. It was very cold for a September morning and the wind was blowing three-foot waves along the lake. I never realized the immense size of many of the lakes Herman Lussier serves a heaping tray of fried walleye and yellow perch. here. At several spots we would stop, look across the lake and see nothing but water.

The netted fish were hauled into the boats and brought back to the Red Lake Fish Hatchery, where we met with fisheries biologist Pat Brown and his crew of technicians. Here, fish are identified, measured and weighed. In addition, scales, dorsal spines and otoliths (ear bones) are removed to determine age.

On my last day at Red Lake, Herman Lussier, one of the fish technicians, cooked up the walleye and yellow perch caught that morning in the test nets. No official announcement had been sent out, and yet, as lunchtime neared, more than 30 people showed up. By word of mouth, people had heard about the fish fry and were eager to partake of it. Between bites of fish I heard, “This is just like years ago when you had walleye all the time, for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

A couple of months after my trip, Henry Drewes, regional fisheries manager for the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, was quoted as saying that the Red Lake recovery is “nothing short of phenomenal. Though true recovery won’t occur until the lakes contain many different classes of mature fish, we are over the hurdle. Walleye are abundant again.”

Dave Conner told me over the phone that he expected the walleye fishery to reopen in 2006.

However, the Red Lake Band will still need to decide how fish will be harvested in the future.

Some want to reopen commercial net fishing whereas others want to limit it to subsistence fishing for Band members only.

I don’t know how the Red Lake Band members will vote on this sensitive issue. Remembering Herman Lussier, with his big smile while cooking the walleye, I began to see what they really wanted: to get back to eating the fish and making real again the memories associated with the spirit of the lake and the fish within.

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The recovery of the Red Lake walleye can be attributed to using scientific methods to ascertain fish populations.

Red Lake biologist Pat Brown (below) demonstrates to community school children the method for removing walleye otoliths (ear bones), which are recorded and placed in envelopes (opposite, top) before being examined through a microscope (opposite, middle) to determine age. The yellow perch population is also tracked because of its importance as a prey fish for the walleye.

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Red Lake is similar to many bodies of water in Minnesota: shallow but wide and windswept, which creates betteroxygenated water, enabling fish to use the entire depth of the lake instead of just the top 15 feet. Calvin Spears Sr. (top) stands among his old fishing nets, which have hung idle in his yard the last seven years. The history of Red Lake fishing can be seen in old photos stacked in boxes at the closed Red Lake Fisheries building.

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The Cherokee Nation Marshal Service employs over 18 patrol officers to cover a 14-county area. All of the officers are Native American and, like Jay Blackfox (below), many strive to include Native culture in their daily work. Hanging from Jay’s rearview mirror is a dream catcher with a picture of his son Shelby, who died in a motorcycle accident a few years ago. Formerly a dairy farmer, Jay entered law enforcement when a local sheriff ’s department asked him to be a deputy. He agreed to help out for one month. It was a poor county and he was given just one shirt, a key, two quarts of oil and a screwdriver to get started. But Jay was hooked.

The heart of the work for him is working with people. “I guess you call it community policing,” he says.

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CHEROKEE NATION

Preserving Our Legacy Wilma Mankiller’s face wears the history of her people. As the first woman elected chief of the Cherokee Nation, a role she held from 1985 to 1995, her eyes are both sad and hopeful, while also displaying a fierce sense of pride. During a visit with her and the current chief, Chad Smith, in May 2003, we discussed the early years of Self-Governance and what it has meant to the Cherokee Nation.

“At the time it was a radical idea,” said Wilma. “We needed better control of our services and Self-Governance seemed like a natural evolution.” In fact, she had such faith in the potential of Self-Governance that she actually signed her tribe’s compact – the first one signed nationwide – while sitting in a Boston hospital bed one day after a kidney transplant.

We all laughed when she said, “I even had pictures taken of me signing the papers just to prove that it had actually happened.”

Most Americans have heard of the Cherokee Nation.

The tribe’s plight in the forced “Trail of Tears” migration from their homelands in the Southeastern United States to Oklahoma is one of the few Native stories that is widely recognized throughout America. Famous American Indians with Cherokee blood include Will Rogers and Elvis Presley.

In fact, ethnologists estimate that 2 million to 5 million Americans have Cherokee ancestors in their family tree.

Today over 250,000 enrolled Cherokee Nation members live throughout the Unites States, with nearly 100,000 in the 14-county service area surrounding Tahlequah, Oklahoma.

History is extremely important to American Indians, and nobody embraces this history more strongly than Chief Chad Smith. An attorney and former tribal prosecutor, Chief Smith began with an overhaul of the tribal codes. However, what he is most proud of is his development of Cherokee History 101 classes. He handed me a book, about three inches thick, full of historical informa-

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tion ranging from treaties to important legal cases. Chief Smith compiled the book four years ago, and today it is used in the class that all tribe employees are required to attend.

Later that morning, I sat in on one of the classes taught by Julie Coates. About 25 employees were listening intently. “When you lose a Nation, that grief doesn’t go away,” she says.

Indeed, the history of the Cherokee Nation is full of loss, broken hearts and broken treaties: plenty of grief to go around.

However, this history is also full of wonderful surprises. Chief Smith tries to attend every class to give an hour-long presentation. On this day, in a scholarly and legal manner, he presented his case to the employees, talking about the “Cherokee legacy” and the strength of the Nation prior to European contact. He reminded them that “paternalism is a poison that weakens our people. We need to slap their hand and say we no longer need your help.”

As I left, Chief Smith was telling the class that “the greatest pool of future leaders is right here in this room.” Julie later told me, “History is who we are. It is so important that Chief Smith comes to the classes and spends an hour teaching.” I remembered what Wilma Mankiller said earlier in the day: “If you don’t know where you’ve been, you won’t know where you’re going.”

Chief Smith knew the history classes would pull everyone together into what he called “one voice,” noting, “We’ve created a cherokee nation mass of energy, so that our people drive the future.”

Tahlequah, Oklahoma Self-Governance has had a profound effect on Cherokee Natribal membership tion programs. Pat Ragsdale, executive director of Government , Resources, and Melanie Knight, Self-Governance coordinator, exself-governance IHS:  BIA:  plained the differences that began in 1990. “Even though there was a Cherokee spirit woven throughout our programs when we were contractors, there was still the community perception that we worked for the Indian Health Service and Bureau of Indian Affairs,” Pat said. “Once we began managing under Self-Governance, programs evolved into ‘tribal’ programs. We were free to create new programs. It has been much easier to build from the ground up.”

Sometimes with a tribe as large as the Cherokee Nation, it is difficult to highlight all of the positive changes and progressive programs in operation. It was clear, however, there is much more innovation along with collaboration and integration of program services.

By building new health clinics, emphasis has been placed on preventive care. The tribe has redefined the IHS Contract Health priority system and increased third-party billing revenue. The result: A 300 percent increase in the number of patients served over the last 10 years.

I toured a Cherokee HUD cluster-home development and found that one of the houses was being used as an after-school homework and tutoring center – something not allowed prior to SelfGovernance. At the Head Start program, kids were being taught the Cherokee language. I had no idea what the instructors were saying, but the kids understood and they were having fun as well.

One of the more innovative programs I’ve seen anywhere is the Cherokee Foster-Adopt program. The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978 stipulates that tribes have jurisdiction regarding the placement of American Indian children and that tribal families should have priority as either foster or adoption families. The task is more difficult for the Cherokee Nation due to the high number of tribal members living outside of Oklahoma. Parents that hope to adopt must agree to be foster parents, with the caveat that they will be the adoptee family if needed

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for the child. In addition, a Web site was created to allow state programs to view registered families in the Cherokee system across the country.

Another example of Self-Governance success has been the Cherokee roads program. I stopped in to see Harley Buzzard, the director of the tribe’s program. With great pride, he told how his department has built three times as many miles of roads as the BIA ever did in the 14 counties, and it is 10 years ahead of the BIA schedule for Cherokee Nation roads. Since there is no Cherokee Nation reservation, most of the new roads are county roads, meaning everyone in the community benefits. “The County Commissioners are very glad to see me coming,” Harley said with a smile. I understood what he meant. We passed a dedication sign for a new stretch of road built by the Cherokees.

Law enforcement is one of the more difficult programs for any tribe to operate. To begin with, it is very expensive: New cars are required every couple of years, officers need on-going training, and equipment needs constant maintenance. Most counties and cities find it difficult to maintain adequate law enforcement budgets. When you consider all of those problems and multiply them by the number of counties the Cherokee Nation Marshal Service has jurisdiction over, you see how daunting the challenge is.

Self-Governance, along with the strong Cherokee Chief Chad Smith and his assistant Felicia Olaya, “Nation-building” sense of Chief Smith, have daughter of Wilma Mankiller. moved the Marshal Service from a small fiveperson department to a robust one with 35 employees. The breakdown of personnel includes: four NARC officers, four investigative officers, three casino officers, four dispatchers, two office support and 18 patrol officers. There is also Ringo, the drug dog.

It takes more than just adding employees to make a department operate smoothly and garner respect. To fully function within a 14-county area, the Marshal Service had to collaborate with multiple cities and counties. This cooperation led to cross-deputization of tribal and county sheriffs.

On my last day in Tahlequah, Melanie had a Cherokee license plate (without a real number) made for me as a gift and remembrance of my visit. She pointed out that the tribe had negotiated with the State of Oklahoma for the authority to issue Cherokee Nation license plates to tribal members in place of the standard plates. This effort has generated more than $6 million, and 38 percent of the funds went to Oklahoma public schools last year. I looked at the colorful plate with the tribal seal in the middle and the words “Cherokee Nation” spelled across the top in English and across the middle in the Cherokee language. What caught my attention, however, was the word “CITIZEN” centered across the bottom of the plate. I felt proud that American Indians were recognized as citizens of their own Nations as well.

Several years ago I was given the task to explain a proposed Self-Governance funding distribution formula to Wilma Mankiller and other tribal leaders. I remember being somewhat fearful of trying to persuade a leader with the last name of Mankiller. Instead, I found a thoughtful, dignified and caring woman. She started the Cherokee Nation down the Self-Governance path and the harvest along that path has been bountiful. The Cherokee Nation has benefited in many ways, and as Chief Smith told me, “We used to be a liability. Now those in county and state governments see us as an asset.”

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The 14-county coverage area can mean long, lonely nights for officers like Murray Gross, who patrols a Delaware County road (left). In order to adequately cover their territory, Cherokee marshals collaborate with other county or city law enforcement operations. Murray studies a map (top) with Adair County Deputy Sheriff J.D. Holbird to plan the evening’s work. Brett Mull (above), who works out of the Pryor Sheriff ’s Department, uses monitors to watch a prisoner that he and the Pryor police had just brought in. The Cherokee marshals are cross-deputized with the counties and cities in their areas, enabling better communication and coverage among law enforcement agencies.

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Murray Gross (above, right), Marshal Colby Soap and J. D. Holbird respond to a domestic call in Adair County.

Marshal John Ketcher praises the collaboration among police forces, saying, “Cross-deputizing is a great idea because we are all on the same side. It’s great knowing you have backup.” A believer in community policing, John takes time to develop relationships with those he serves. This ranges from stopping in at businesses such as the Cherokee Smoke Shop (opposite, above) to playing a game of basketball and talking with families in Spavinaw (opposite). John is part of a long family line of police officers. His great, great grandfather Johnson Ketcher was the first full-blooded American Indian to be a deputy marshal.

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The Cherokee Marshal Service boasts the only SWAT team in the 14-county area. Three members, below, practice entry maneuvers. The evening shift is a busy one. Sheriff Murray Gross makes an arrest (opposite, top) at a stop in Chewey, Oklahoma, while working with the Adair County sheriffs. Marshal Brett Mull, checks for drugs (middle) after pulling over a truck. He loves working with the K-9 corps and his dog, Ringo, to search for the drugs and money often transported along Highway 69 from Texas to Kansas City. “It all comes through here,” he says. “It’s a north-south throughway. Northbound I look for drugs; southbound, money.” At 2:45 a.m. Brett stopped a young woman (bottom) going 60 in a 35 mph-zone with her two sons in the back seat. Brett tries to calm her down at the Pryor police station while waiting for her brother to arrive.

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The Aleutian Islands bring new meaning to the words “rugged” and “remote.” A lone white fence marks the property line of the local church on the island of Akutan. Accessible by plane and many times only by boat, Akutan lies approximately halfway down the thousand-mile Aleutian chain.

Certified health aide Lorraine Stepetin (opposite) checks Karen Vincler’s injured hand.

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EASTERN ALEUTIAN TRIBES

Helping Ourselves

by Helping Others Most Americans know that the Aleutian Islands trail off the southwest corner of Alaska like a tail that never ends.

In fact, many maps show the Aleutians in a separate box at the bottom of the page because the islands stretch so far into the Pacific Ocean.

Chris Devlin, director of the Eastern Aleutian Tribes (EAT), put it all into perspective as he described the archipelago. “If you draw a straight line down from the beginning of the Aleutians, you would cross Hawaii,” he said, drawing lines in the air with his hands. “Go down the middle and you cross the Polynesian Islands. Finally, drawing a line from the very tip nearly leads to Australia.”

It was starting to sink in. The 1,000-milelong Aleutian Islands chain crosses a vast expanse of the world’s largest ocean.

With that image in my head, I was beginning to understand the dilemma faced by EAT when it entered Self-Governance in 1995. Originally part of the 13-member Aleutian/Pribilof Island Association, the villages of Akutan, Cold Bay, False Pass, King Cove, Nelson Lagoon and Sand Point decided to form the Eastern Aleutian Tribes in 1991. The populations of the communities range from 120 people in Akutan to over 900 people in Sand Point. During fishing seasons, these numbers can double or triple.

However, it wasn’t an easy beginning for EAT. As the salmon market deteriorated in the mid-1990s, local governments could no longer afford to support health clinics.

“The non-Natives in the region represent 50 percent of the population,” said Chris. Emergency non-Native health needs, especially those of uninsured fish processing workers, started to have a dramatic impact on the underfunded tribal clinics.

EAT applied for and was awarded the first Alaskan grant for a tribally operated Community Health Center.

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This federal program provides funding for primary care services to vulnerable populations, including the uninsured and under-insured, and is primarily used to serve migrant populations. “The EAT Board was very visionary at the time,” said Chris. “The islands have a high transient seasonal workforce during the fishing seasons. Most of these workers have no access to health care while here. We now receive funding that allows us to serve this population as well as our Alaska Native patients.”

By deciding to help others with health care, EAT found it was better able to help itself.

To make the system work, EAT must work cooperatively with municipal governments and even with schools. EAT does not own any of the clinic buildings in which it operates; all are owned by village tribal councils or local governments. “It’s a balancing act,” said Chris.

“Partnership is what we do best. Partnership requires trust and it has to work to the benefit of all.” The collaboration and trust are strong in all the villages.

For example, the cannery in Akutan – a town with no roads – bought an all-terrain vehicle with a specially modified flatbed to use as an ambulance along the boardwalks that lead from the clinic to the airstrip.

I wasn’t able to visit the EAT villages, but did manage to speak with EAT President (and Agdaagux tribal member) Della Trumble.

She told me EAT was initially hesitant about accepting the Comeastern aleutian tribes munity Health Center grant. “We were worried there might be a Anchorage, Alaska negative effect on the health care for our tribal members,” she said. tribal membership “However, the better quality of services has benefited everyone in , our communities. It has been a very good collaboration. Most of self-governance IHS:  the EAT communities have new clinics, and we’ve used a combination of funds for staffing.”

I was amazed at the amount of flexibility shown by Della and the EAT villages. Self-Governance helps facilitate this adaptability, which is key to making rapid decisions regarding health care services. In addition, Self-Governance helps catalyze the collaboration among the region’s tribes, local governments and private-sector industries. For example, the King Cove Corporation donated to the city of King Cove the property that the new tribally operated 9,000-square-foot clinic sits on. EAT received both IHS and Denali Commission funds for construction of the new facility with tremendous support from the Aleutians East Borough, a municipal government encompassing six communities. Both IHS and Community Health Center resources are used to support the clinic’s operation.

“The Aleutian Islands are not an easy place to live,” Della told me. “We constantly have to adjust to the environment, the weather. We have learned how to adjust, how to change and compensate. We consistently juggle to make things happen.”

In addition to the Community Health Center grant, EAT also received one of the first grants for telemedicine. The EAT clinics have telemedicine systems equipped with an electrocardiogram, video otoscope, scanner and digital camera. Providers in the rural villages are able to monitor and collect information on patients, and then send that via a telemedicine network to physicians at the Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage. The doctors can then review the information and make treatment recommendations to the provider. These systems provide access to valuable services that are limited or nonexistent in remote villages.

A tele-psychiatry component has also been added. Behavioral health clinics will be equipped with a large monitor and camera unit, enabling real-time video conferencing be-

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tween behavioral health staff and/or patients in a remote village clinic with psychiatrists on staff at the Alaska Native Medical Center. EAT is thus able to provide behavioral health services in places that don’t have a provider on site.

EAT has also provided seven of its medical clinics with medical research kiosks. These feature computers that are available to the public for use in researching medical issues. Diabetics, for example, can use the kiosks to find information on the disease and its treatment, and learn about lifestyle changes that would benefit them. (All patients are instructed to consult with their health care provider before conducting any self-treatment or making major lifestyle changes.) These kiosks are also equipped with printers so that useful information can be copied and taken home.

To offset the high costs of operating the high-speed telecommunication lines between the villages and Anchorage, EAT formed a consortium with the region’s school district.

Now both the schools and the clinics have high-speed links.

Everywhere I traveled for this book, the story was the same. Tribe after tribe was initiating partnerships and collaborative agreements with its local community and area governments - the Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians developed a partnership with the State of Minnesota to restore the The local cannery near Akutan aided the clinic by purchasing a tractor that is used as the ambulance in walleye fishery, for example; and the Ketthe boardwalk-only town. chikan Indian Community contracted for services with the local non-Indian hospital; and the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe transferred funds to its local school district to hire Native American counselors and interventionist specialists. Before Self-Governance, it was rare to see any collaboration between tribal programs and those of the local communities. The advent of Self-Governance not only gave tribes the flexibility, it also served to place a sense of responsibility on tribal leaders and their program staff to provide services that benefited their communities with the greatest impact. That often means a collaboration or partnership with other governments.

The success of EAT revolves around its ability to collaborate and to leverage the most out of its health funds. Chris Devlin said the organization’s 70 employees wear many different hats in an effort to increase efficiency. “Training is becoming increasingly important for us,” he said. “It’s the only way to survive. Success can’t be measured just by productivity in remote sites with small populations, but rather it needs to be based on health outcomes and the ability to provide a reliable health care safety net.”

As I left Chris’s office, we discussed a fundamental question. “Do small remote villages have a right to health care?” he asked. Of course, he knew the answer. That answer doesn’t address the problem of paying for such care, but rather than giving up in the mid-’90s, EAT got creative and decided it could better help tribal members by helping others. The EAT motto, “People working together to promote healthy communities,” seems firmly entrenched in everyone’s way of life. I imagine that if I were to return in five years, I would still see a successful Self-Governance organization committed to healing and still moving forward with creative solutions to challenges in the ever-changing health care environment.

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Collaboration between the Eastern Aleutian Tribes and local governments and businesses has enabled them to build new clinics such as the Anesia Kudrin Memorial Clinic (opposite) in Akutan. Injury prevention specialist Zoann Murphy (above) trains for a simulated asthma attack at the King Cove clinic. Transporting patients to the hospital often requires many different modes. In King Cove, patients are transported by ambulance to the docks (opposite, top), where a fireboat transports them to the airfield. At other times, a telemedicine system may be utilized. Lorraine Stepetin (left) sends patient information to doctors in Anchorage, who will help determine treatment.

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Bea Charles (right) and Adeline Smith (center) walk through the forest with their niece Wendy Sampson, helping to identify trees and plants by the correct Klallam name. Those names will appear on plaques to be installed along the trail. Once told to never speak their Native tongue, Bea and Adeline now train instructors to teach the language at Port Angeles High School.

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LOWER ELWHA KLALLAM TRIBE

Our Language Lives “Why are you hanging out with those dirty Indians?”

Those were the cruel words that Rena Francis heard as she and her friends sat in the front yard eating lunch at a non-Indian friend’s home in 1997. Rena was a sophomore in high school at the time and still excited about education and learning. It all changed that day. A group of older men in the Port Angeles, Washington, neighborhood, known for displaying confederate flags on their cars, drove by and started yelling at Rena’s friend for inviting “those Indians” into their neighborhood. Fights broke out and tires were slashed.

The next week, as she walked the halls of Port Angeles High School, there were whispers and finger pointing, and ugly remarks about American Indians. “I had never experienced that type of meanness before,” Rena told me.

“I was both scared and hurt.” But instead of lashing back with anger, Rena went to the cultural director of her tribe, the Lower Elwha Klallam. “What can I do to make a difference?” she asked Jamie Valadez. “What do you want to do?” she answered. Rena thought about it and decided they needed to have a potlatch, an annual event at which they could build bridges and show the tribe’s living culture.

A potlatch is a traditional custom among Northwest coastal tribes and involves one tribe inviting another to its site for festivities and gift-giving. The host tribe prepares the best meal and provides the best gifts to its guests.

I was invited to the Lower Elwha Klallam’s seventh annual potlatch, held every year since Rena got it started.

As is the case with most Native events, preparation was hectic. Kids were peeling potatoes in one corner while mothers rushed through the high school gym setting flowers and placemats on tables. Many of the tribal students had prepared booths for display in the senior lunchroom, next to the kitchen and gym.

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Amid all this organized chaos sat two elders, both facing a wall of pictures of tribal members who had served in the armed services. As one elder looked fondly at a picture, the other played taps on a wooden flute. This scene was reflective of life in the Native world.

Before long, families and teachers began to arrive. I overheard one child tell his mother that the school principal wanted to sit at their table. The mother replied, “You can’t mess up now.”

Both sat laughing and smiling, waiting for the principal to arrive.

After the dinner, the grade school students presented their teachers and guests with gifts of beaded necklaces and button flags. The high school students then presented the grade school principal with an entire basket of children’s books that they had translated into the Klallam language. To the amazement of all present, the principal thanked the students in the Klallam language. Tribal elder Bea Charles came to the front with wide eyes and proclaimed, “I never thought I’d see the language go this far in the schools.

It’s been a hard struggle. We nearly lost it. Our language is who we are, it’s our tradition and our culture. I’ve seen a difference in our young people.”

As it turns out, the yearly potlatch is just part of a bigger story. The Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe entered Self-Governance in 1992 and used new funds to create a Cultural Department.

The tribe hired Jamie as the first director. After helping Rena lower elwha begin the potlatch in 1997, the relationship between the tribe klallam tribe Port Angeles, Washington and school district grew and flourished. Jamie was later hired by tribal membership the high school to be the American Indian education counselor  and would be the first instructor certified to teach the Klallam self-governance IHS:  BIA:  language at the school. Students may now choose Klallam as a language for graduation credits.

Self-Governance served as the catalyst for a series of changes as impressive as the snowcapped mountains that loom over the Lower Elwha valley. After Jamie was hired as a counselor and teacher, the tribe negotiated a Memorandum of Agreement with the State of Washington that allowed the tribe to transfer Self-Governance funds to the school district so it could hire two American Indian interventionist specialists. Rena was hired to work at the Dry Creek Elementary School.

When the school was designed and built in 1995, it was important that it maintain the open, “family-feeling” atmosphere of the older one it replaced. As I entered the building, I could see that the architects had succeeded. The halls are extra wide and carpeted, and the walls are brightly covered with student work. Special tutoring desks are located outside of each classroom.

Rena was given a rather large office off the main entry, directly across from the principal’s office, a location that spoke of the importance the school district had placed on these new positions. As Rena came out of her office to greet me, a student walked by and gave her a big hug.

I would see this affection displayed by students all day.

Rena’s days vary greatly but, in general, she helps with tutoring, peer support, student behavioral issues and communication with parents. “It was hard in the past to get parents to come to the school and talk with teachers,” she said. “It helps that I am here. Although there are times when I meet the parent in the parking lot and walk in with them so that they feel more comfortable.”

It was now time for tutoring. I followed Rena to a room where she retrieved a boy from

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second grade. As they walked down the hall, she would flip out a flash card and he would say the word. As they walked by signs or posters, he would try to read those as well. We continued outside to the basketball court, and the student was allowed to shoot a basket when he correctly spelled a word. It was amazing to watch as Rena stood under the backboard and the student dribbled the ball excitedly, waiting for the next flash card.

Reward is a powerful incentive. The tribe and schools wanted to increase homework completion and daily attendance. At the end of each week, the teacher signs a piece of paper stating that a student has completed all homework and has missed no days of school. The student takes the signed paper to the tribal center and receives $5. One teacher told me that the $5 does more to increase homework completion and attendance than any other program they have tried over the years. In fact, over 40 percent of American Indian students at Stevens Middle School are on the honor roll.

At this writing, the tribe has new funds to place four additional language instructors into the Port Angeles school district. I was able to attend the daily afternoon class taught by Bea Charles and her aunt, Adeline Smith. They are like two peas in a pod. I was told you can’t mention one without the other as they live next door to one another and do everything together. They are 85 and 86 years of age, respectively, and one can only hope to With the help of Native American interventionist specialists like Michelle Charles, nearly half of the Native American have half their energy at that age. students at Stevens Middle School made the honor roll.

Bea is full of life. A few years ago, when a linguist developed an alphabet and international symbol system for the Klallam language, she learned how to read and write her language for the first time. She told me she didn’t speak English until she attended first grade at the original Dry Creek Elementary School in 1925. At that time, the school was a one-room building that would be added to and remodeled over the years. It was finally sold to a church when the new school was built. Bea spoke in a softer voice when she told me that, as a child, she wasn’t allowed to speak her language in school. “If I didn’t speak English, I’d get a swat on my hand with a ruler,” she said. “Our language was taken completely out of us. I never believed it would be allowed in our schools after we were told we could never speak it.”

There are many ironies in life and often the present returns to the past. Such is the case with the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe. Elders once punished for speaking the Klallam language are now teaching it to tribal members who will be state certified to teach it in the schools. Students once ridiculed for being American Indian are now accepted as employees who play an important role in the daily operation of the schools.

It often takes a great deal of effort to develop a relationship. In 1997, racial tensions at the Port Angeles High School could have followed different paths: one of anger or one of hope.

Instead, out of something ugly there emerged something beautiful, the resurgence of the Klallam language and the growth of a relationship with their community.

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Rena Francis is one of two Native American interventionist specialists hired by the Port Angeles school district and partially funded with Lower Elwha Klallam Self-Governance funds. A typical day involves everything from tug-of-war at recess (above) to helping a student get through a rough period of the day (opposite, top).

Rena is most proud of her work as a tutor (opposite, left). She makes appointments with students who will get valuable one-on-one time (opposite, right) .

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During Native American Day, the Dry Creek Elementary School principal allowed Rena and the Klallam Tribe to provide many cultural demonstrations, including one on canoe building.

“It’s important that our Native students be able to celebrate their cultural background with others,” Rena says. Dancers Chucky Fryberg and Melanie Wheeler, dressed in traditional regalia, take a break between the dances they perform throughout Native American Day.

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Adeline Smith (left) and Bea Charles prepare language classes that will be taught to tribal members and instructors.

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NATIVE VOICES

This relationship, between our tribe and the school district, has been ongoing for years now and it’s really beginning to show.

There aren’t enough fluent speakers for the children to learn the language at home, that’s why it’s so important to teach it in the schools. That’s where our kids are all day, and that’s where most of their learning takes place. These language classes are open to all high school students, and that is another thing that is proving helpful to our Native students. Hopefully this widespread learning about the Klallam language and culture will give all students of other cultures and races a little more insight and understanding of our Native people.

It’s really good to see our kids feeling more comfortable at school. They now have their own language at school, their own Native teacher and, in some cases, their own counselors. Hopefully this combination of Native influences into their school life will enable them to learn their culture and language a little easier at school and make school a more comfortable place for learning academic subjects.

Having so many Native role models in our schools is definitely going to bring positive results for our community.

— Bea Charles and Adeline Smith Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe

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the white men had many things that we wanted, but we could see that they did not have the one thing we liked best—freedom. i would rather live in a tepee and go without meat when game is scarce than give up my privileges as a free indian, even though i could have all that white men have.

—Sitting Bull, 1882

Craftsman George Nevak and granddaughter Ashley Nevak with her dance fans in the Alaskan village of Toksook Bay.

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CHOCTAW NATION

Building a Nation Sovereign (sov-rin; sov-er-in) adj. 1. paramount, supreme.

2. Having supreme power or rank. 3. Self-governing, independent. n. 1. A territory existing as an independent state.

How does an American Indian tribe build a nation? That question kept rolling around in my mind as I set out to visit the Choctaw Nation, located in southeast Oklahoma.

Before Oklahoma was a state, the region was designated as “Indian territory.” Beginning in 1830, it served as the destination for the relocation of Choctaw, Cherokee, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole (known as the “five civilized tribes”) from their homelands in the southeastern United States.

The forced migration of these tribes would later be called the “Trail of Tears.”

Inadequate water and food supplies, and harsh conditions in the dead of winter, when the move took place, led to thousands of deaths. The tribes were given separate reservations. However, Congress passed the Indian Appropriations Bill in 1889, declaring that unassigned lands were part of the public domain. Most of the tribal lands, except for small allotments given to each Native family, were then sold off to the Oklahoma “land rush” settlers. In 1907, the territory was granted statehood. Today, 39 tribes reside in Oklahoma. The Choctaw population is over 150,000, with two-thirds residing in the state.

The Choctaw tribal headquarters is located in Durant, Oklahoma, in a beautifully refurbished brick building that once housed a local college. I had flown to Dallas and then drove north about 90 minutes to Durant. I met with Mickey Peercy, a tireless supporter of Self-Governance who serves as the tribal executive director of operations and management, and Gary Batton, the executive health director. We headed to a local restaurant for lunch. Having grown up in nearby Missouri, I knew firsthand that dining

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Greg Pyle, first elected Choctaw chief in 1997, is sworn in (opposite) for his second full term and gives an inauguration address (below) on Labor Day 2003 in Tuskahoma, Oklahoma. Such “state of the nation” speeches are common governmental functions for many American Indian tribes.

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out in the Midwest is a social event often highlighted by plenty of gravy.

After a couple of hearty servings, we talked about the problems that affect tribes without reservations. The Choctaw Nation, like all Oklahoma tribes, does not have a federally designated reservation, and its Indian Health Service population is spread over 10 different counties. Mickey quickly pointed out that the Choctaw Nation and the local communities are intertwined in an almost unrecognizable manner.

The answer to my question about how to build a nation began to emerge. To be a sovereign nation, you need to act like one. In the case of many American Indian tribes, you need to build one.

One of the key components of nation building is collaboration with non-tribal governments. “People were more skeptical of us in the beginning,” Mickey told me. “However, now they see us as a community that doesn’t just look out for Choctaws.” In fact, there is a long list of Choctaw initiatives that have benefited local communities. For example, the Choctaw Nation has contributed funds for new dorms at Eastern Oklahoma State College, renovation of dorms at Southeastern Oklahoma State University, improved 60 miles of county roads each year and developed disease prevention programs.

This emphasis on collaboration is highlighted in a 23-page fullcolor pamphlet on Choctaw programs and funding. Developed by the tribe, it’s titled “Partners in Success With Oklahoma’s Communities.” choctaw nation Prior to Self-Governance, the Choctaw Nation contributed approxiDurant, Oklahoma mately 20 percent of the funds required to operate governmental tribal membership: programs, while federal grants and contracts accounted for the rest. , After nine years of Self-Governance, that ratio is now reversed, with the self-governance: IHS:  BIA:  Choctaws contributing nearly 82 percent versus 18 percent by the federal government. This is a great example of nation building.

After lunch, I met with Joy Culbreath, the Choctaw education director, a charming woman with a warm smile. I felt like a lifelong friend after only 10 minutes in her office. One of the initiatives that Joy is most proud of is the Choctaw Language Department. “When a language dies, the people die,” she said. “It would be as if the Choctaws never existed.” She has started language classes at the schools and is extremely proud of a Web site that also features language classes.

When asked whether the Choctaw Nation helped students with college expenses, she replied, “Oh, lands. Yes. We helped approximately 300 students five years ago, and this fall we’ll assist over 2,700 Choctaw college students.” To encourage good grades, the students are given higher stipends for higher grade-point averages. The tribe expected to provide scholarships to more than 4,000 students in the 2004-05 school year. Helping tribal members with their education, according to Joy, is an important and necessary component in building a pool of qualified workers who will come back and work for the tribe. “One of our teachers was a finalist for best Oklahoma teacher award,” she said.

As I was leaving her office, Joy proudly pointed out that the Choctaw Nation will buy any new playground equipment requested by local schools in their service delivery area. “All of our community’s children benefit,” she said. “Native as well as the non-Native children.”

The next day, I met Gary at the new Choctaw Nation Hospital. After years of waiting for the IHS to build a new facility, the Choctaws finally decided to use nearly $26 million of their own funds to build it themselves. Completed in 1999, the hospital has 37 inpatient beds and 52 exam rooms in an adjoining clinic. The success of the Choctaw health programs involves much more than the tribe contributing funds. The programs succeed because the Nation runs

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its operations like a business. Because of aggressive collection efforts, third-party revenue has increased from $1.5 million to $15 million per year, a 1,000 percent increase.

Redesigning programs to meet specific goals and needs is another component of nation building. A perfect example is the Choctaw Nation Housing Authority. Most tribal housing programs, prior to Self-Governance, consisted primarily of low-income housing (owned by the tribe) that was rented to needy tribal members. However, the Choctaws had many working families that wanted to own their homes. Surveys showed that many of these families could afford a reasonable monthly loan payment but did not have the necessary funds for down payments and/or closing costs. The Choctaw Nation’s solution is to help first-time home buyers with their down payments. “Many home buyers are caught in the renter’s trap and can never advance to home ownership without some help,” said Rusty Sossamon, executive director of the Housing Authority. “Many of our home buyers are not just first-time buyers, they are firstgeneration buyers. We are helping their families to build wealth.”

On my last day in Durant, I drove north about 90 minutes to the original Choctaw capital of Tuskahoma to attend the annual Choctaw Heritage Day. I arrived just in time to see hundreds of people appearing out of the fog as they finished the four-mile “Trail of Tears” walk to pay homage to their ancestors. In the lead was a group of Choctaw members proudly carrying the U.S. and Choctaw Nation flags. I had yet to meet Choctaw Chief Greg Pyle. However, I quickly located him in the middle of a large group.

Everywhere I traveled when visiting the Choctaw Nation, I would hear comments such as “Chief truly does things to benefit Though his schedule is tight, Chief Pyle takes the time people” or “Chief Pyle listens to our conto call a tribal member involved in a car accident and cerns” or “Chief is interested in the welfare of a young girl in the hospital. people and wants them to be self-sustaining.”

It seemed he had something to do with every good thing that happened to the Choctaw Nation and surrounding communities.

I was looking forward to meeting him. As I watched Chief Pyle in the crowd that day, I was able to see firsthand his personal touch and his ability to listen to everyone’s needs and concerns.

“We’re never afraid to be upfront and honest with everybody,” he told me. “Before SelfGovernance, we had limited resources, limited personnel options, and we spent our time moving from one grant to the next.” He went on to tell how Self-Governance, along with economic development, has created security and that more security has led to more collegeeducated Choctaw members applying for jobs.

It was obvious from my meetings that Chief Pyle encourages an organization that allows for new ideas and innovation. “We’ve cut through the enormous amounts of red tape that the BIA and IHS have to deal with,” he said. “We encourage new ideas. But at the same time, we tell people don’t be afraid to stop something that isn’t working. We understand that every time we try, we get closer to success.”

Great leaders find common ground and collaboration. Great leaders listen to what people want. Great leaders help others achieve their goals and become self-sustaining. In other words, great leaders, like Chief Pyle, are nation builders.

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A tribal leader’s days are busy. Chief Pyle (opposite above, from right) and Assistant Chief Mike Bailey meet with Governor Bill Anoatubby of the Chickasaw Nation and Bob Rabon, the Choctaw attorney, to discuss business issues. Choctaw One, a King Air C90 airplane (opposite, left), is used for trips around the state to visit tribal members and attend meetings. Chief Pyle listens intently (opposite, right) to Executive Director Shannon McDaniel during an executive staff meeting. (Above) The Choctaw Princess invites Chief Pyle, wearing his ceremonial tribal shirt, to dance during the annual Labor Day Festival in Tuskahoma.

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Peace and quiet is a rare commodity for most tribal leaders. Chief Pyle savors an early morning cup of coffee at home before work (opposite, top). On another occasion, he and wife Patti (middle) enjoy the sunset after clearing brush at their 10-acre property (below), where they plan to build a home. “We invite our grandchildren over when we burn the brush and we all have a good time,” he said. Chief Pyle spends a few quiet moments as he prepares his State of the Nation address (opposite, bottom).

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REDDING RANCHERIA

Heart and Soul Water aerobics, as a workout regimen, is not something I have ever taken as serious exercise. It always looked too easy. Besides, it involves music and coordinated dance moves that a man should never be seen attempting. So it was with a great deal of trepidation that I jumped into the pool to join the ladies participating in the diabetes program at the Redding Rancheria in Northern California.

Our instructor was a Cherokee woman named Alma, who I was told had lost over 100 pounds and no longer had Type II Diabetes. She barked commands from the side of the pool as 1950s tunes blared from the sound system: “Let’s move karate kick, let’s move rocking-horse. … Now let’s move down the pool rocking-horse, now back with karate kick.” Not even 10 minutes into the class, I was doubting whether I could finish the full hour.

As I looked around the pool, all of the ladies were having a good time, smiling and trying their best. A few were even singing along: “Oo-ee, oo-ee baby. Oo-ee, oo-ee baby.

Won’t ya let me take you on a sea cruise?” Thank goodness my aerobic moves were hidden under the water!

Kelly Cole, the tribal diabetic program representative, was in the middle with Barbara Murphy, the Redding Rancheria CEO. The aerobics class takes place at a local rehabilitation and therapy gym, and the tribe pays the membership fee for any tribal participants in the diabetes program who want to use this wonderful facility. Kelly told me that when the program began, there were some awkward moments as tribal members and non-Natives established a relationship. On this particular evening, it was obvious that everyone was enjoying each other as much as the class.

At the end of the class, the ladies rushed to the whirlpool while I staggered to the dressing room. On the way out, I heard Barbara answering questions from non-Native women about tribal government.

The next day I joined more than 25 diabetic tribal members for their monthly meeting with the health clinic nutritionist. The topic at this gathering was “Your Heart.”

Patients were given copies of their blood test results, and

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REDDING RANCHERIA

American Indian children are proud of their heritage and none more so than Miranda Edwards, daughter of tribe Chairperson Tracy Edwards. The large number of women in managerial and leadership roles at the Redding Rancheria has created powerful role models for young girls.

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they discussed the different types of fat and acceptable ranges. One of them joked, “The doctor says if it tastes good, spit it out.” It was refreshing to see a health program that emphasized good nutrition and exercise instead of promoting the latest trendy diet, which often results in only temporary improvement.

The Redding Rancheria is a small tribe with fewer than 300 members. The history of rancherias in California does not do the government proud. Between 1851 and 1852, 18 treaties were negotiated between the United States and more than 100 California tribes and bands.

The treaties called for reservations of more than eight million acres for the Native Americans.

However, on July 8, 1852, the U.S. Senate secretly rejected the treaties. From 1852 to 1854, tribes were forcibly moved to temporary reservations.

In the early 1900s, a researcher discovered the unratified treaties, and reformers petitioned Congress to appropriate money to provide land for the homeless American Indians of California. Congress allocated funding to purchase 9,000 acres, which resulted in 50 separate rancherias. Originally, these small pieces of land, or ranches, were intended to provide a place to live for homeless and landless adult American Indians. The rancherias were not originally intended to be separate tribal governments, as most rancherias lumped all of the American Indians in one area toredding rancheria gether, regardless of tribal affiliation.

Redding, California As if that wasn’t bad enough, in 1953 the California Rantribal membership: cheria Act called for the termination of federal trusteeship for  American Indians in California. During this period, 38 tribes self-governance: IHS:  BIA:  were eliminated from government rolls, and tribal members were strongly encouraged to sign away their official status in efforts to assimilate American Indians into “mainstream” society.

Finally, federal legislation supported by President Nixon and signed by President Ford pumped new blood into tribes’ sovereign rights. The Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act of 1975 allowed tribes and rancherias to regain federal recognition.

Today, 104 tribes are recognized in California with more than 50 percent of those established as rancherias.

The Redding Rancheria membership mostly originates from the Wintu, Pit River or Yana tribes, all indigenous to Northern California. They regained federal recognition in 1983 and entered into Self-Governance in 1996.

With the legacy of “termination” fresh in my mind, I toured the Redding Rancheria facilities. A visit to the health clinic provided some startling information. The clinic had files for nearly 6,000 patients. This seemed enormous, given there were fewer than 300 tribal members.

The explanation, I soon discovered, stems from the Redding Rancheria being a largely matriarchal government. (The chairperson, the chief executive officer, chief operating officer and most of the directors and managers are women; many of them have held their positions for 10 years or longer.) As one member of the clinic staff told me, “In the beginning, Barbara Murphy always said as long as we could, we would see every eligible American Indian/Alaska Native in our county.” The natural tendencies of women to be more caring, concerned, nurturing and supportive were intertwined in the operations and vision of the Redding Rancheria programs.

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I asked how it was that so many women were in so many key positions for such a long period of time. “It wasn’t anything planned,” Chairperson Tracy Edwards told me. “It’s just that the men tended to migrate to economic development and casino gaming operations, while the tribal women remained in the social service and health-related programs.”

I first noticed a difference in the Redding Rancheria organization during a staff directors meeting at a local restaurant. I arrived in time to listen to book reports from a reading assigned by Stacey Carman, the chief operationg officer. This struck me as rather odd at first, especially given the seriousness of each report. As the dialogue continued around current issues, there was no controlling of dialogue, no side conversations, no negativism, no territorial issues. A positive spin was put on all topics. Looking for creative answers to issues was viewed

by Carla Maslin, the health director, as a “positive challenge.” Even a discussion regarding how to deal with disgruntled tribal members was shaped into a positive statement: “We need to communicate more how things work.”

There was a definite shift here in the organizational paradigm. They were all thinking outside of the box. This extended to all subjects, whether they involve innovative solutions to problems or who to serve in the community.

When the topic turned to Self-Governance, Carla emphasized that issues are Diabetes water aerobics participants (clockwise from front) Mary Hitchcock, her granddaughter, Amanda Mucks, and unique to each local tribal community. “Indaughters Pat Mucks and Terri Silva. dian Health Service wanted everything to work the same,” she said. “As a community, we look more at ourselves and our specific needs. There was no motivation before Self-Governance because we were given our direction by the IHS. We couldn’t make creative decisions for our future.”

Even Ron Sisson, the information technology manager, said, “We were pounded by the narrowness of our federal contracts, and at first we were in disbelief of what we could do after entering Self-Governance.” He told of an incident where the Rancheria was required to submit a seven-page justification report to buy four computers. “We don’t have to call the IHS for permission now,” he said.

One thing I’ve noticed on each of my visits to various Self-Governance tribes throughout the nation is this: Self-Governance is not always about best practices. It is about a frame of mind. It is about governing as sovereign nations, seeking answers and ideas from our community and the ability to learn for oneself what is needed. Tracy Edwards told me, “We truly do have sovereign authority. We’re responsible: It stops at our door. We have a role in the community.”

Redding Rancheria is a wonderful example of this Self-Governance community spirit. In recent times, limited resources have created difficulties as many tribes struggle to provide the best services to both their members and non-tribal members.

Similar to author John Gray’s best-selling book, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, organizations dominated by women tend, as Carla Maslin told me, “to provide the things that Mother Earth provides … patience, love and a helping hand.”

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Family is important to the leaders and managers of the Redding Rancheria, as evidenced by the number of pictures that surround Chairperson Tracy Edwards (below, right) as she takes time out of a busy day to laugh with Stacey Carman, the Rancheria’s chief operating officer. On “take your daughter to work day,” Miranda Edwards follows her mother to council meetings (opposite, middle) and works on the computer (bottom) while mom takes phone calls. (Opposite, top) Chairperson Edwards examines the painting on the ceiling of the restored Cascade Theatre, a community project toward which the Redding Rancheria has donated funds.

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Over 15 percent of American Indians have been diagnosed with diabetes, which is nearly 2.5 times the percentage among non-Indian populations. Special diabetes funding was allocated by Congress, and many tribes, including the Redding Rancheria, have combined those funds with Self-Governance monies to develop programs that work best for them. Kelly Cole (opposite, top) serves as the Tribal Diabetic Program representative and makes house calls to check on the blood circulation in 94-year-old Leila Schreiber’s feet. Mandy Lee (opposite, right) listens to Nurse Venicia Cuara during a diabetes education session related to pregnancy and family planning. Diabetes Tracking Coordinator Debbie Sarot (opposite, left, in black top) helps program clients examine food labels to determine appropriate foods. Deanna Trotter (above) plays with her son Marcus, while her other son, Mario, is checked for a skin rash.

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NATIVE VOICES

I was born and raised in the Redding community. We had a lot of strong women who were raising large families. We all have the history and understanding of what happened to us during the termination era. How can you give away the right to be Indian by taking ownership of land that was already yours? We later won our rights in court, but federal policy still does not recognize some rancherias and some American Indians. How can we ignore the care of people with our own blood? We have always said when we can help, we will.

When I came to work for the Redding Rancheria after we regained recognition, I had years of community development experience and immediately saw the shortcomings of the federal reimbursement contract. We would pay for something and hope it would be reimbursed based on needs determined by someone in D.C. Do they really know what is needed or does our community know what is best for progress? When you chase grants or funds with someone else’s idea of what is needed, you can never do the best possible job for your people. Self-Governance does away with a whole level of paternalism that can be an obstacle to responsibility. When a tribe takes their resources, and they know their needs, they now have to take responsibility to meet those needs.

I also believe we can’t be whole without knowing who we are as Indian people. Many of us have lost our Native languages, but we still move forward and practice the spirituality that we know. All the medicine in the world can’t make you healthy if your spirit isn’t whole.

—Barbara Murphy chief executive officer, Redding Rancheria

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Barbara Murphy takes in the tranquil scene at her home in Redding, California.

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The Trinity River flows through the Hoopa Valley reservation in Northern California and is the source of salmon and other indigenous fish. As director of the Hoopa Fisheries Department, Mike Orcutt (opposite) spends a great deal of time on the river. The traditional name for the Hoopa Valley is Na tini whe, which means “where the trails lead back to.” Hoopa Valley Chairman Lyle Marshall notes, “It’s our center of the world. Wherever a Hoopa Indian goes, he knows where home is.”

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HOOPA VALLEY TRIBE

Sovereignty Has No Boundaries “You don’t really have sovereign rights until you assert them. Until you exercise your rights and your jurisdiction, you’re only talking about sovereignty.” Those were the words of Chairman Lyle Marshall of the Hoopa Valley Tribe as we sat in his office discussing Self-Governance.

Chairman Marshall, an attorney, former judge for the Northwest Intertribal Court System and former law school instructor, returned home in 2000 after being elected tribal chairman. Now in his second term, he reflected on the importance of Self-Governance to his tribe. “Why did we embark on Self-Governance?” he asked rhetorically. “To control our destiny.”

The town of Hoopa is located on the Trinity River in Northern California near the Oregon border. The Hoopa Valley has been the tribe’s homeland for more than 10,000 years, and the tribe’s 2,200 members are proud of the Hoopa’s continuing ability to fight for and protect its territory from outside influences. They also believe that SelfGovernance gives them the internal stability to develop their government in ways necessary to confront the demands of a changing world that places great value on their resources. As I would see over several days in May 2003, the ability to control their environment is not just a key point; it is the very thread that weaves the essence of the Hoopa people.

Danny Jordan, Self-Governance coordinator and economic development director for the tribe, served as my tour guide and historian. From the town, we climbed to the ridge of a steep river canyon and stopped at an overlook a good 500 feet above the valley floor. As I looked to the south, I could see how the Trinity River cuts a swath through the middle of the Hoopa Valley reservation.

Surrounded by the coastal mountain range of Northern California, the flat and fertile valley bottom gives way to massive steep canyon walls on all sides. It was early spring

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and even at this distance I could see whitewater rushing over the boulders below.

Centuries ago, the remoteness of the valley kept European contact to a minimum. Chairman Marshall explained that while the Hoopas traded for knives and axes with other tribes who had contact with outsiders, it wasn’t until 1828 that an American trapping party made its way up the Klamath and Trinity rivers to the Hoopa Valley. The isolated world of the Hoopa Valley changed in 1849 when hordes of prospectors, referred to as the “49ers,” descended on the area and attempted to dislodge the Hoopa Indians in their zealous quest for gold. The Hoopas wanted to live peacefully in their valley and tried to maintain neutrality during 15 years of hostilities between other tribes and the settlers. Eventually they had to succumb to a “Peace and Friendship” treaty that established the Hoopa Valley reservation; the treaty was never ratified by Congress but was established by presidential executive order in August 1864.

With the warm sun on our faces, Danny and I sat by the road overlooking the Hoopa Valley. He talked about his passion: economic development. Danny is most proud of the 225-page Comprehensive Business Codes that he developed over several years.

“In developing and approving a set of business codes, we are telling outside businesses that we are committed to the rule of law,” he said. “Businesses will not invest on reservations if they have no legal recourse.” This is an important point, as oftentimes the business hoopa valley tribe community is leery of developing businesses on tribal reservations.

Hoopa, California As one of the initial tribes to negotiate a Self-Governance tribal membership agreement, the Hoopas have been at the forefront in the battle to , gain and expand the Self-Governance initiative. They were the self-governance IHS:  BIA:  first Self-Governance tribe to assume the Bureau of Indian Affairs roads program. Additionally, they have fought tirelessly to expand Self-Governance to include other programs within the Department of Health and Human Services and the Department of the Interior.

During our tour, we stopped to talk with roads manager Jimmy Ammon. The Hoopa tribe faced a tough battle trying to include the roads program in its BIA Self-Governance Annual Funding Agreement. With a sigh of frustration Danny told me, “In the beginning, the BIA was hassling and undermining our ability to assume management of the Federal Highway programs.

They didn’t believe the tribe had the skills necessary to carry out the program under the federal standards.” As I listened to Danny and Jimmy, that assessment was difficult to believe. Not only had the Hoopa built and improved more roads (108 miles in 10 years versus 1.8 miles for the BIA in 1992) within the timeframes and budgets, but in 2001, it created its own company to sell gravel to contractors for federal and local road projects. The same year, the tribe also started a separate company that makes and sells cement to area contractors. In addition, the Hoopa built roads at a lower cost than the BIA by contracting out engineering services, collaborating with state and county contractors and using floating staff to save on personnel costs.

One of the Hoopa’s fiercest battles has been over the control and management of salmon and water rights. The Trinity River’s icy waters are home to a number of important fish, including Chinook salmon, coho, steelhead trout, sturgeon and eels. The natural state of the river was forever altered in 1964 with the completion of the Trinity Dam. In most years, over 70 percent of the river’s flow has been diverted to the Sacramento River system to feed the farms of the California Central Valley and generate electricity. By the mid-1970s, it was estimated that the fish runs had declined by 80 percent.

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Fish hatcheries were built to mitigate the decline of the salmon runs. However, in recent years, it has become clear that the reduced flow of the Trinity River continues to threaten both the wild and hatchery salmon populations.

We met up with Hoopa Fisheries Director Mike Orcutt. He explained the history of water uses in the river and how the federal government diverted excessive amounts to the Central Valley. In a 2000 ceremony at the tribe’s central village site, which has been carbondated at 7,500 to 10,000 years old, the tribe and then-Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbitt signed the Trinity River Record of Decision (ROD), intended to increase the flow of the river by 25 to 48 percent, depending on the time of year. Danny was quick to point out that Self-Governance funds from the Bureau of Reclamation had allowed the tribe to hire technical experts who could prove the need for increased water flow.

Since then, however, the Northern California Power Agency and the Westlands Water District have blocked implementation of the agreement, and the flow of the Klamath River has decreased. (The Trinity is the largest tributary to the Klamath River on the northern boundary of the Hoopa Reservation.) It was along a 45-mile stretch of the Klamath from the Pacific Ocean that more than 33,000 Chinook salmon, the bulk of them headed for the Trinity, died from Tribal Chairman Lyle Marshall (with back to camera) meets with BIA officials in Sacramento. “Our goal,” he says, “is for gill rot in October 2002. One of the worst Hoopa to be co-manager of the Trinity River fishery.” fish kills in history was caused by the lack of oxygen as water levels were lowered to feed southern Oregon irrigation canals. The tribe continues to fight these obstacles in court.

I recalled a question Chairman Marshall had posed the day before: “Where is the boundary of our tribal rights?” His answer: “The salmon don’t stop at the reservation boundary, they travel from the headwaters to the ocean. Our rights are to the fishery. Wherever the fishery is threatened, our rights are impinged.” Danny called it gravel-to-gravel management, referring to the cycle of salmon migration from their birth in gravel to their return to spawn. “Our goal is for Hoopa to be co-manager of the Trinity River fishery,” said Chairman Marshall. “We participate at every level, from determining ocean and in-stream salmon harvest to habitat restoration and stream flows. We’re engaged in a process of collaborative decision-making between us and the state and federal government because of our unique government-to-government relationship.”

The morning I left the Hoopa Valley, the fog was thick and I remembered Chairman Marshall’s reference to the valley as their Shangri-la. “This has been our paradise since the beginning of time,” he had said. “It’s our home and we want to keep it as beautiful as it’s always been.”

The rugged isolation of this valley helped the Hoopa maintain their cultural identity and fuel the sovereign warriors within them. The effort to achieve recognition as a sovereign government has been, and will always be, an on-going battle for the tribe, whether it’s trying to include non-BIA programs in Self-Governance, creating an economic base or gaining equal participation in the management of the Trinity River watershed. And even though it is a battle, there is progress. As Chairman Marshall proudly said, “We’ve watched many tribes achieve many great things since the beginning of Self-Governance in 1988 – we can’t wait to see what we can do in the next decade and the future.”

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Resource management has become a common practice for tribes. The Hoopa Fisheries Department conducts a yearly net harvest survey to estimate future anadromous (migrating fish) runs in order to determine allocations among the ocean fishery, tribal fisheries and the sports fishery. Fish Technician Richard Stewart Jr. (below), brings aboard a salmon caught in one of the survey nets placed in the Trinity River. Timothy “TR” Maloney, another fish technician (opposite, top), nets juvenile Chinook salmon (middle) caught in traps placed in tributary streams. The fish are measured, weighed and photographed (bottom) by Richard Stewart Sr., while Vivian Orcutt and Mike Orcutt look on. The Fisheries Department also conducts a season-long creel census based on fishnet locations and associated catch data.

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For the Hoopa, fishing is infused with spirituality – and beauty, seen in nets stretched to dry and be mended (above) or the proud display of a “Hupa” tattoo on fisherman Doug Brown. Fish nets are tied to shore upstream and then let out and anchored downstream (opposite) to capture migrating salmon. During fishing season, families establish fish camps along the banks of the Trinity – in the same place, year after year and generation after generation. Recently, campers have had to contend with black bears that have learned how to pull in nets for an easy dinner.

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For Maggie (left) and Jessie Peters, fishing is clearly fun, but the fishing industry itself is a serious matter. Reduced water flow in the Trinity River has had a great impact on fisheries, a problem the tribe is taking steps to address through Self-Governance.

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Fishing is more than just camping on the riverbank and netting fish. Brothers Raldon “Beetles” Brown Jr. (opposite, top, at left) and Doug Brown wash their catch prior to filleting and grilling over a hot fire. The Browns maintain a daily camp, whereas other families sometimes camp only at the peak of the fishing season. Stanley “Jumpers” Ferris Jr. (opposite, left) cleans salmon before his father, Stanley Ferris Sr. (opposite, right) hangs salmon strips in his smoke house. The fish will smoke for one to three days, depending on whether it will be used for canning or jerky. The smoked salmon is often referred to as “Native candy,” and Stanley Ferris Sr. is well known for providing Halloween visitors with the treat.

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SALT RIVER PIMAMARICOPA INDIAN COMMUNITY

The Maximizers One thing I have noticed in my 15 years of working with American Indian tribes is that they often exhibit unique personalities. More often than not, these personalities include the traits of their leaders. For example, the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community (SRPMIC) reservation adjoins the city of Scottsdale, Arizona, one of the richest cities, per capita, in the country. And while the Business 101 axiom of “location, location, location” might easily explain their success, much of it is largely due to their long-term president, Ivan Makil.

I first met Ivan at a Tribal Self-Governance Retreat in Montana in the summer of 2002. He and his staff approached me to talk about the possible inclusion of their community in this book. At the time, I knew little of President Makil or his tribe. Imagine my surprise when he opened up a laptop computer and proceeded through a Microsoft PowerPoint presentation about his reservation community and its economic development ventures.

Ivan Makil is a slightly built man, impeccably dressed, with a quick smile and honest eyes. There is a quiet confidence in him that underscores his strong leadership. It is immediately evident that he is in charge. Articulate, smart and driven, Ivan describes matter-of-factly his views of government. He is very quick to point out that economic development should be about sustaining a long-term viable business venture, not about serving as a jobs program for a community.

“Self-Governance is about self-reliance,” he said. “We have no tax base and must rely on economic development, and the funds they generate, to move us forward. Because tribes have to be more entrepreneurial, they have to develop specific

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Former SRPMIC President Ivan Makil stands atop one of the many markers he had erected at the entrances to the reservation. His perspective on Self-Governance: “Self-Governance is however far a tribe wants to take its sovereignty. As long as I can remember, success is dependent on ourselves.”

(Opposite) Red Mountain.

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forms of government to meet those needs. Our government streamlines business promotion.”

He went on to say that Self-Governance provides tribes the opportunity to create the style of government that works best for them. “In our case,” he said, “we needed to create respect for our government, one that would attract business opportunities and maximize returns for our tribal members.” For example, each tribal business has a separate “enterprise board” that must maintain profitability.

In December 2002, Robert Scabby, the Self-Governance coordinator for the tribe, served as my host and tour guide during a visit to the SRPMIC reservation. Bob, a Cheyenne Indian, is married to Deanna, a Pima-Maricopa member, and lives on the reservation with their 10 children. We headed out across the flat expanse of the reservation, with a beautiful view of Red Mountain in the distance. Fields of Pima cotton were ready to harvest, their fluffy balls exploding like kernels of popcorn. None of the 54,000 or so acres of reservation is owned by a non-Indian, which is quite unusual in Indian Country today.

We were going to visit the Salt River Commercial Landfill, the catalyst for economic development in the SRPMIC. The old landfill generated much-needed revenue, but was an environmental disaster in the making. Located on the banks of the Salt River, the edge of the landfill eroded during major floods, and garbage once floated down the river through Tempe, Scottsdale, and Phoenix. salt river pima-maricopa The ensuing public outcry created the need for a new landfill site. indian community Scottsdale, Arizona The SRPMIC came to the rescue by developing a state-of-the-art, tribal membership environmentally safe landfill in 1993. Over the years, the commu, nity maximized the operation through the aggressive separation of self-governance BIA:  garbage and recycling, which has added 10 years to the expected life of the landfill. The tribe even installed a small electricity generation facility that is powered by excess methane gas. Electricity is then sold to the local utility for credits to their power bill.

The profits generated by the landfill have served as the seed money for other economic development ventures. In 1987, the community issued bonds to purchase the Phoenix Cement Company, which at that time was in disarray and more than $50 million in debt. Local politicians were surprised that SRPMIC was able to secure the bonds. “They were pretty much dumbfounded when the complex transaction went through,” said Bob. Ivan worked in the SRPMIC community relations department at the time and helped negotiate the final deal for the company. He would be elected president in 1990.

Gone are the days when anyone doubted the success of SRPMIC. Since 1987, the community has turned Phoenix Cement into one of the largest suppliers of cement in Arizona and has increased its value six-fold. In addition, the tribe has developed a sand and gravel company, opened a PGA-quality golf course, taken over management of another course, developed a telecommunications company and commissioned an asset-management company. When it came time in 1996 to construct a casino, the tribe was able to use its own funds to finance the project and self-manage casino operations. It is important to note that even with the success of the casino, more than a third of SRPMIC’s net revenue is generated from its original businesses.

Ivan’s maximizing traits are seen everywhere within the region. The Scottsdale government had a problem with the proposed construction of a new freeway along the eastern border of the city and the western border of the reservation. The city had allowed builders to construct new housing on its portion where the highway was projected to run; it was going to cost Scott-

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sdale millions of dollars to buy out those houses. Instead, under Ivan’s leadership, SRMPIC took a vote and offered to move the freeway inside the reservation boundaries, placing both sides of the freeway right-of-ways on tribal lands, making the lands commercially viable. In return, the Arizona Department of Transportation agreed to build new homes for the few displaced tribal homeowners.

This was quite a coup. The tribe and tribal landowners now possessed valuable commercial property on both sides of a major freeway. These owners leased the land for construction of a new mall. As business maximizers, they negotiated with the State of Arizona to receive 1 percent of the local sales taxes generated on those properties and even negotiated leases that included a percentage of gross sales for landowners from businesses operating in the mall. Not letting any detail slip away, Ivan also negotiated with the Arizona Department of Transportation to decorate the freeway entrance and exit ramps with Native markers and designs.

As we toured the reservation, I noticed something that loomed over the landscape as impressively as Red Mountain. Profits from economic development were going back into the community in an effort to enhance life for future generations. New construction projects included a grade school, high school, fire station, community center and water/ sewage infrastructure. The quality of the new The SRPMIC runs two golf courses, including the Talking Stick Golf Club (above), a course listed in the construction and businesses felt solid. Tribal Top 100 of Golf Digest. culture and heritage were maintained in all economic development and construction projects as dictated by the Community Council. In addition, tribal codes forbid any construction that would obscure lines of sight to the spiritually important Red Mountain.

When I finally caught up with Ivan, he was running out of his office, late for a meeting. As we walked, he told me that the tribe’s ancestors were futuristic thinkers and realized quickly they had to live together with the new settlers. The last day of my visit, I attended the employee Christmas lunch. More than 1,500 employees gathered under a tent to eat, sing and applaud the accomplishments of President Ivan Makil and Vice President Myrna Lewis. After 12 years of service to the tribe, both had only three days left before retiring.

Margaret Mead, the famous anthropologist, once said, “Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Those words ring true in the examination of Self-Governance, from its inception to its implementation. While Self-Governance has a huge number of supporters, it is the dedication and vision of tribal leadership that has made Self-Governance a reality and success. These are the leaders who work the extra hours, make the calls to Congress and attend the long and tedious workgroup meetings.

These are the leaders with the vision and the drive to transform a dream into reality.

At the local level, it is leaders like Ivan Makil who have transformed an Indian community of 7,500 into an economic force in Arizona. He will be the first person to tell you it is the employees that have made the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community such an economic force. While this is true, it is also true that Ivan is a “maximizer” and that his personality is predominant throughout the tribal departments. The implementation of Self-Governance was an extension to what they were already practicing: creating a better life for the next generation.

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A lone tree borders the bank of the Salt River (above), which serves as the southern boundary of the SRPMIC reservation. Tribes depend on economic development not only for jobs but also as a valuable revenue base for governmental programs. Irrigation canals (opposite, top left) serve as the lifeline for the arid basin. While no reservation land is owned by non-Indians, some of the property is leased for agricultural uses. The landfill (opposite, lower left) is where economic development began for the SRPMIC. Profits generated from this enterprise helped in the purchase of the Phoenix Cement company and Salt River Sand and Rock and would lead to many new jobs for SRPMIC members (opposite, upper and lower right), including well drilling for the new community school.

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Citizen Potawatomi Chairman John “Rocky” Barrett Jr. (below) addresses students attending the tribe’s eight-week youth leadership program. “We can always hire specialists and the right technical staff. We can’t hire leaders,” he says. “Our leaders come from our youth, and it is our responsibility to prepare them.” (Opposite) The first group in the program.

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CITIZEN POTAWATOMI NATION

We Have Dreams John Barrett Jr. loves to tell the rags-to-riches story of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation.

And why not? It’s a great story.

Rocky, as everyone calls the chairman, was first elected vice-chair in 1971. At that time, the Shawnee, Oklahoma, tribe operated out of a 10-by-28-foot trailer with only $550 in its checking account. Rocky said, “Even that was reduced by $100 as we needed a new air conditioner for our trailer.”

As we continued our discussion, Rocky quickly rushes down the hall and returns with a framed picture of the trailer. He proudly outlines the 32 years of progress; the whole time that picture sits on the table as a reminder of what was and what can be.

Most American Indian tribes have no tax base. Unlike cities and states, tribal governments are not allowed – except in a few states – to collect taxes on non-Native-owned property or businesses.

Consequently, tribes are forced into economic development as a way to generate revenue for their governments and services.

As it turns out, Rocky is very good at economic development. Over the course of three decades, the Citizen Potawatomi have purchased a bank; opened a golf course, a bingo hall and casino and a supermarket. In addition, the Nation owns (and operates) prime farm lands, a radio station and several convenience/smoke shops.

When it came time to consider entering Self-Governance, it was the same as making a business decision.

“With the BIA and IHS, we were getting less than 30 cents on the dollar,” Rocky says matter-of-factly. “We just felt we could do a better job of providing services.”

The tribe adopted this “customer mentality” of a business owner in the delivery of governmental services. This is especially evident in the operation of

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health care programs. To appreciate how much the Citizen Potawatomi have improved these services, it is important to look at their health clinic. Prior to Self-Governance, the IHS Shawnee Service Unit served five tribes (Citizen Potawatomi, Sac and Fox, Shawnee, Kickapoo and Iowa) with one health clinic, 12 exam rooms and three physicians. Today, all five tribes are in Self-Governance. Each has built a new health clinic with a combined total of 38 exam rooms and 17 physicians.

I met with Citizen Potawatomi Health Director Bill Thorne and Health Consultant Terry Rice; both are former Indian Health Service employees. “How is it,” I asked, “that the IHS could not accomplish what the Self-Governance tribes have accomplished?” This question was a nagging thorn in my side that was felt during every tribal visit. The question is even thornier given my observation that many current and ex-IHS employees appear competent and professional. And yet, in every visit, the before and after Self-Governance stories were like day and night.

As Bill and Terry would explain, the answers are not all that complex. First, there was the perception of need. The Shawnee Service Unit clinic operated on a first-come, first-served basis. Patients often waited hours to see a doctor. At the end of the day, the waiting room was empty. Therefore, the assumption was that care had been delivered to all who needed it. citizen potawatomi In contrast, when control of health care was turned over nation Shawnee, Oklahoma to the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, the perception of need tribal membership changed. Need was now determined by elected tribal leaders , who had to listen to their membership. According to Rocky, the self-governance IHS:  BIA:  Citizen Potawatomi community spoke loud and clear: They did not want to spend hours in crowded waiting rooms.

The tribe now had a mandate from the people, and this brings us to the second difference between IHS and the new health programs operated under Self-Governance. Tribes can apply for clinic construction funds through Housing and Urban Development grants. The IHS is not legally allowed to do so. Instead, it must fund construction out of a yearly congressional appropriation used for clinics at the top of a need-based list. Furthermore, not only are tribes able to leverage funds better than federal agencies, most tribes are able to build clinics at a much lower square-footage cost than previous federal projects.

The third primary difference between IHS-operated clinics and the new Citizen Potawatomi clinic is the ability of the tribe to manage personnel. “The physicians’ salaries, under an IHS-operated clinic, are fixed by the federal government,” Bill explained. “Tribes, on the other hand, are able to adjust salaries competitively so that we’re no longer forced into the ‘rent a doc’ syndrome.”

From a financial standpoint, a huge difference has been the ability of Self-Governance tribes to aggressively collect third-party revenues from Medicaid, Medicare and private insurance. In the case of the Citizen Potawatomi, Bill said revenues have increased by 600 percent.

The reason is simple: The tribe has an incentive to collect more because it gets to keep it.

Third-party funds collected by IHS-operated clinics are returned to IHS headquarters, where it is redistributed to all service units. Bill and Terry both noted that IHS clinics have become somewhat better at collecting third-party revenue primarily due to the pressure brought about by successful Self-Governance operations.

What I found in many circumstances over the course of researching and writing this book

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is that there is a substantial increase in the patient population when clinics are managed by Self-Governance tribes. The reason is obvious. Self-Governance tribes provide better service.

Why would patients choose to wait hours to be seen by a physician unless they were very ill?

Consequently, IHS clinics provided very little preventative care. In the end, Terry summed it up best when he said, “There is a philosophical difference. The IHS thinks of the patient as a federal beneficiary, while the tribes think of a patient as a customer.”

Later I would talk with Joyce Abel, a tribal member who was primarily responsible for persuading the Business Council to embark on Self-Governance. Joyce worked as a registered nurse at a private hospital that saw many American Indian patients in its emergency room.

“Patients would tell horror stories of the care they were receiving at the IHS clinic,” she said.

“One patient with chest pains had to wait over four hours. Finally, in frustration, he came to the emergency room where he was diagnosed as having had a heart attack. I told myself, if I ever get the opportunity to make a difference, I will.”

She did make a difference by helping to develop the new clinic in 1996. She is excited about her current project, the new FireLake Wellness and Fitness Center, which will house a variety of programs promoting preventive care, physical fitness and healthy living. Joyce grinned George Adamietz cradles a child at naptime while working in the Child Development Head Start Program proudly when she said, “We got into Selfat the tribal offices.

Governance because we knew we could do a better job. It’s been our dream, and it’s wonderful to step back and see all of the good things happen.”

Another dreamer is Jeremy Finch. A former Hollywood screenwriter and television producer, Jeremy is a passionate communicator. “The red road is the road I walk, even as Anglo as I look,” he told me. And while he may look more Anglo than American Indian, his heart and passion lie with his people. His dreams include a new museum and cultural heritage center.

Jeremy’s latest passion is the Potawatomi Leadership Program. In its first year, the program selected eight high school students to work and learn during an eight-week project, with each student rotating to a different tribal department each week. “We can hire anyone,” he said, “but, we can only elect future leaders from our enrolled membership.”

I called Jeremy about halfway through the eight weeks. “One of the girls told me she had learned more in the last few weeks than all of her education combined,” he said excitedly. It turns out the young woman had turned down a White House Leadership Program to attend this one offered by her tribe instead. Many of the students lived outside of Oklahoma, and Jeremy said, “They are starting to understand more about their tribal history and culture. It is touching them in an emotional way and their pride is growing. We are blowing on the embers in their heart and getting the fire glowing again.”

If the tribe is fortunate, their future leaders will be like Rocky Barrett, full of dreams and ambitions for their people.

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Eight high school students were picked for the first Potawatomi Leadership Program, including (below, from left) Tori Boydston, Brittany Destree and Heather Bruno, who get to know one another in the dorm. During the eightweek summer session, each student rotated from week to week to different tribal departments. Tori rides with Officer Donnie Lewis (opposite, top) during her stint with the Tribal Courts and Police Department. The favorite week for Jake Edding (opposite, middle) was spent working with the Engineering Department. Noelle Albano shares stories (bottom) with a Creek elder, Richard Deo.

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At the end of the program, a ceremony affirming Potawatomi traditions (below) is led by Director of Cultural Resources Jeremy Finch. Each student prepared a speech on what they learned during the program. Tori Boydston and Brandii Bennett (opposite, top) hold each other while awaiting their turns to speak. Brandii (middle) addresses the Tribal Council, and after all the speeches have been given, the tribal directors and council members (bottom) offer a round of applause.

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— Dummy Name

Noelle Albano (center) attends a rodeo in Oklahoma City with new friends Brittany Destree (left) and Brandii Bennett.

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NATIVE VOICES

I live in Georgia and hadn’t had much experience with my tribe, the Citizen Potawatomi. During my senior year in high school, I was accepted for both the White House Leadership Program and the Citizen Potawatomi Leadership Program. It would have been a great opportunity to go to Washington, D.C. But instead I decided the tribal program was one I would never get another chance at.

I read over the letter from the tribe again and decided to seize the opportunity that my tribe had offered.

My eight weeks in Shawnee, Oklahoma, changed my perceptions of what a tribal government was. I remember telling my mom I may have to rough it when I get there. My eyes were really opened as I half expected that the tribe operated out of a trailer in a small town. I had no idea. My tribe is as sophisticated as a corporation and works hard to provide for our people.

We worked in a different department each week, and I especially liked helping the chef cook meals for the elders and then deliver them to their houses.

During my time in the Leadership Program, I began to understand better what it is to be Native American. My first time at a pow wow was almost a religious experience for me. The dancers were treated with such respect. I wouldn’t trade anything for these experiences. I hope to remain connected to my tribe; it is up to me to keep connected.

— Noelle Albano Citizen Potawatomi Nation

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JAMESTOWN S’KLALLAM TRIBE

The Strong People Self-Governance is about tribal empowerment and selfreliance. It is about the ability of tribes to determine their own future. For the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe, located on the northern coast of the Olympic peninsula in Washington state, empowerment and self-reliance are not new concepts. Its history as a people is full of strong leaders and responsible community members.

In 1871, 16 years after the Point No Point Treaty, Bureau of Indian Affairs agents tried to force the S’Klallams to resettle on the Skokomish reservation more than 100 miles to the south. Most refused, and a group of Dungeness S’Klallam, led by their tribal chief, Lord Jim Balch, pooled together the tidy sum of $500 and purchased 210 acres near what is now Sequim, Washington. There they would remain, and in 1981, after a lengthy battle, they gained federal recognition as the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe. Lord Jim Balch’s rejection of the government attempt to move the S’Klallams and the tribe’s desire to rely on its own abilities formed a recurring theme I would witness during a visit in December 2003.

The major highway to the Sequim is a lonely drive, nestled between towering firs and a jagged seacoast where the rain and mist never seem to end. As I neared my destination, the forest opened up to sunny skies, and I could see why the S’Klallams wanted to stay in their homelands. On one side are the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains, and on the other is the Strait of San Juan de Fuca. Retirees from California have dubbed the area “the banana belt” as it receives only half the annual rainfall of Seattle.

The focus on self-reliance is woven throughout the Jamestown S’Klallam tribal programs. Participants in the General Assistance program must sign a contract

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The Jamestown S’Klallam Youth Mentor Program pairs young tribal youths with adult mentors for a three-year period to develop a grounding in traditional Native thought. Jorene Dick eagerly examines the mentor scrapbook (opposite) developed by tribal staff and presented to the program participants during a Christmas party. (Below) Rusty Buckmaster and the boy he mentors, Joey Hall, in front of the totems outside the Jamestown 7 Cedars Casino.

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outlining steps they will take to improve themselves. “Tribes do not want welfare. We pride ourselves in not being on welfare,” said Liz Mueller, tribal council vice-chair and the family support services administrator. “We’re a community that teaches how to be a responsible community member.”

Early in my travels for this book, a tribal leader told me that the welfare system created by the BIA was the worst thing that ever happened to tribes. “We would have been much better off having something like the Marshall Plan that rebuilt our communities, but maintained our sovereignty,” he said. Over the years, many tribal governments became dependent on federal programs, which were presented in a paternalistic fashion with little control at the local tribal level.

The Jamestown S’Klallams do not want to be dependent on the federal government. Sure, they want the government to live up to its treaty obligations. As Liz said, “There is pride in figuring out a way to make things work for our people. Clients of our programs are tribal members, so if our clients fail, we all fail.”

Self-Governance has allowed tribes to design programs that have a positive impact on their respective communities. It provides tribes with the opportunity for local control and the flexibility to create a new direction in many programs. For exjamestown ample, when Jamestown S’Klallam members came to Liz with s’klallam tribe problems regarding their aging parents, she developed a pilot Sequim, Washington tribal membership program that relied on families helping themselves, rather than  services being handed down. “We started the Empowering Careself-governance BIA:  ihs:  givers of Elders program to help families develop plans for their elder members,” she said. “We get the entire family together, from children to elders, to help and empower them to make decisions and plans that work for their family. We help them with a Plan A, which might entail their elders staying at home; and a Plan B if the situation changes.”

The families go through a process of listening to the desires and needs of their elders. As a family, they decide who will help with medication, who will help with groceries and so on.

Instead of the tribe hiring staff to provide these services, the program empowers families to do for themselves.

Like tribes everywhere, the Jamestown S’klallam places a great deal of emphasis on creating a better life for their children and future generations. A perfect example is the tribe’s Youth Mentor Program developed by Liz and her staff. Tribal youth, ages 12 to 15, are paired with an elder for a three-year period. During this time, they work on projects together and attend various field trips with others in the program.

I was able to attend a Christmas party in 2003 that was being held for the program’s participants. The youths sat with their mentors, and they started by going around the circle with each person telling the group something they should know about their partner. It was fun to hear teenagers and adults describing each other in such loving ways. For example, one mentor said, “My partner is honest, likes to help others and made blankets for the homeless last year.”

Another mentor placed her hand on her young partner’s back while he spoke – as if to say, “I’m here if you need me.”

Liz not only helped design the program, but she served as a mentor to Jorene Dick for three years. It was obvious that Liz was very proud of this role. She noted that Jorene’s mother

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mentioned that since Liz had been her daughter’s mentor, Jorene has learned to respect her own grandmother better. Liz was serving as a role model to demonstrate how past tribal elders served their communities. She had merely looked to the past to improve the future.

At the end of the party, scrapbooks were handed out with pictures of activities over the past year, laced with quotes from the teenagers. I looked around the room to see small groups paging through the books, pointing at pictures as they smiled and laughed. Low self-esteem apparently was not something that this group suffered from.

Self-Governance has sparked a change in tribal governments and the way they design and deliver many programs. Over the past 15 years, a new type of tribal leadership has begun to emerge. Leaders are more sophisticated, with a greater understanding of federal laws, regulations and political polish. sarah leen W. Ron Allen has served as tribal chairman since 1977. Ron is a unique combination of both the old and new type of tribal leader. Early in his political career, he was mentored under the leadership of other Northwest tribal leaders, including Joe DeLaCruz of the Quinault Indian Nation and Sam Cagey of the Lummi Nation. At the same time, Ron also realized that tribes need experts and professionals to provide advice so leaders can make fully informed Jamestown S’Klallam Chairman W. Ron Allen spends a great deal of time in Washington, D.C., working to decisions. As we talked over lunch at the tribe’s 7 Cedars Casino, Ron said, “You need protect tribal sovereignty. to be as prepared – wait, you have to be better prepared – than those you go up against.”

Ron is a tribal leader who is well prepared. I have attended many Self-Governance meetings and negotiations over the years with him. He is a fierce negotiator. In many cases, he knows as much about federal programs and budgets as those in the agencies.

We talked about the health clinic that the tribe recently took over from a large Seattle hospital. The hospital had decided that rural clinics did not fit into its health care delivery strategy. It chose to not renegotiate an agreement with the local physicians in the clinic and planned to close the facility’s doors. The health community of Sequim was worried: This clinic accounted for nearly 50 percent of the primary care in the community, including care of many tribal members. The Jamestown S’Klallam stepped forward and reopened the clinic in less than three months. Today, the tribe has collaborated with the regional hospital for land to construct a new and larger clinic.

Over the years that he’s fought Self-Governance battles, Ron Allen has never seemed pessimistic. However, the life of a road warrior can be difficult and lonely at times. Ron’s mentor, Joe DeLaCruz, often recognized as the father of the Self-Governance movement, passed away in 2000. “I miss Joe,” Ron quietly said. “He kept us all going.”

With just 550 members, the Jamestown S’Klallam tribe is a good example of the success of Self-Governance. Its members believe in responsibility and self-reliance and practice those concepts as individual members and as a tribe. It is impressive to see the progress they have made as a tribal government since federal recognition in 1981. The tribe is known as “the strong people,” a name the Jamestown S’Klallam definitely has earned.

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The Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe purchased a local health clinic that no longer fit the rural strategy of a large Seattle hospital system. One of the new programs implemented after the turnover was a residency program affiliated with the University of Washington.

The first participant in the program, Jamestown S’Klallam tribal member Dr. Kim Kardonsky, watches an attending physician (top) assess a patient at the clinic. Dr. Kardonsky greets Ray and Patti Broderson (above) at the Tribal Elders luncheon and checks the breathing and heartbeat of a patient (right).

Dr. Kardonsky continues a family tradition of medicine; her grandfather was a physician in Sequim, Washington.

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The Jamestown S’Klallam’s Youth Mentor Program has created deep relationships between mentors and their teenage partners. The adolescent participants develop their values and receive the message that they are important and not lost in today’s confusing world. Jane Erickson teaches Miranda Wilson the skills of horsemanship (opposite, top). Liz Mueller shows Jorene Dick (opposite, left) the uses of rose hips. Dixie Lauber takes Katie Mitchell (opposite, right) for a hike on the beach. Ray and Patti Broderson (above) are both mentors: Ray is paired with Jacob Sullivan, who loves the time they spend fishing; Patti mentors Jessica Kahler.

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success is everywhere

Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium The Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium, based in Anchorage, is the largest Native-owned health organization in the United States, with 1,750 staff members and an annual operating budget of $300 million. The Consortium manages statewide Native health services formerly operated by the Indian Health Service, including the inpatient/specialty services of the Alaska Native Medical Center, a statewide environmental health and engineering division, and community and environmental health services.

The Consortium was formed in late 1997 and entered into its first Self-Governance agreement with the IHS in mid-1998. Since then, the Consortium’s significant achievements include: • Doubling the Alaska Native Medical Center’s thirdparty revenues from $55 million to $110 million annually.

• Generating $25 million a year in grant programs from various Health and Human Services agencies and private sources.

• Receiving the American Telemedicine Association’s President’s Award for creation of the Alaska Federal Health Care Access Network, a statewide multi-agency telemedicine project.

• Collaborating with the Alaska Native Health Board in creating a 10-year statewide Alaska Native Health Plan and facilitating an inter-tribal Memorandum of Understanding for the Alaska Tribal Health System.

• Collaborating with the Denali Commission to replace rural village health clinics.

• The Alaska Native Medical Center also achieved “Magnet Status,” a designation awarded by the American Nurses Credentialing Center.

This book isn’t large enough to include all of the wonderful examples of American Indian/Alaska Native Self-Governance.

Every tribe has seen changes and improvements in its governmental programs, which have led to improvement of health and social service indicators. Just the number of new clinics built under Self-Governance (more than 60) because of tribes’ ability to leverage funds for construction is enough to prove success. Following are just a few more stories.

Visitors view newborn babies in the nursery of the Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage. Above, a mural painted by children of the Shoalwater Bay Tribe depicts the “Legend of the Conflict of the Wolf People.”

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Chickasaw Nation

Kawerak Incorporated

The Chickasaw Nation of Ada, Oklahoma, continues to make great strides with its Self-Governance programs.

Forming compacts with both the Department of the Interior and the Indian Health Services has produced positive results and strengthened its sovereignty. SelfGovernance has allowed the tribe to make choices relevant to the needs of its people and allows the tribal government to determine its own destiny.

In 1994, the Chickasaw Nation assumed the operation and management of the Chickasaw Nation Health System (CNHS), which included a 53-bed hospital and three satellite clinics. Since then, the CNHS has expanded its facilities and services dramatically. New facilities include a Family Practice Clinic, a new satellite outpatient clinic and an 8,500-square-foot addition to the hospital to house a Diabetes Care Center. A wide array of specialty services were added, including geriatrics, orthopedics, otolaryngology, endocrinology, ophthalmology & retinal imaging, an expanded formulary and increased referral care for Chickasaw citizens.

Patient rolls have doubled, and patient volume has increased by five times that of pre-Self-Governance compact levels.

There are more than 117,000 active patient charts at the hospital alone. This figure does not include the number of active charts at the Family Practice, Ardmore, Tishomingo and Durant clinics.

In fiscal year 2003, the tribe’s Education Department awarded 1,174 higher education grants to Chickasaw college students who were enrolled either full- or part-time. Student classification ranged from beginning freshman to doctoral students. Funding from the Bureau of Indian Affairs accounted for 266 of these academic awards. Tribal programs awarded 756 general scholarships to Chickasaw students with grade point averages of 3.0 or higher.

Through continuous academic support from their sister governments, American Indian students will be able to provide optimistic and long-lasting futures for their tribal Nations.

The 20 villages of Kawerak Incorporated, based in Nome, Alaska, utilize BIA tribal governmental assistance dollars to fund a tribal coordinator for each location. Prior to Self-Governance, the village tribal governments had unstable funding and lacked adequate planning. Now, with the help of Kawerak grant writers and planners, each village has developed a strategic long-term plan.

Governor Bill Anoatubby of the Chickasaw Nation cuts the ribbon at the grand opening of the Diabetes Care Center in Ada, Oklahoma.

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Lummi Nation During a visioning process led by Lummi Nation Councilman Willie Jones in the mid-1990s, Lummi high school students expressed the desire for a new school just for themselves. Their classes at that time were held in one room in a corner of the Northwest Indian College campus in Bellingham, Washington.

What started as a dream for Lummi students has now blossomed into a new two-story, 120,000-square-foot building scheduled to open in the fall of 2004. The Lummi Nation leadership is most proud to be one of the first tribes to form a compact with the BIA’s Office of Facility Management and Construction to assume managerial responsibility for the new school, located on the Lummi reservation. In the past (and with nonSelf-Governance tribes), the BIA would have managed the entire construction project in phases consisting of planning, design and build. This would normally take many years as each phase would require independent appropriations and approval. The tribe, operating under this scenario, would have had little input or control over the project.

Instead, the Lummi Nation proposed to take responsibility for all aspects of project management within its Self-Governance annual funding agreement.

During the planning phase, tribal leadership presented information that allowed the BIA to increase the scope of the project. What started as a $15 million, 259-student school was reshaped into a $24 million, 750-student facility. The Lummis chose to change from the traditional design/bid processes to the one phase design/build approach, bringing the project in on budget and on time.

The Lummi Nation has completed several construction projects since becoming one of the first tribes to sign Self-Governance compacts with the BIA and IHS in 1989. New facilities built with the help of SelfGovernance include: the Lummi Nation Wex-li-em Community Building (House of Frogs); Lummi Nation Elders Housing facility; expansion of the Lummi Tribal Health Clinic; and Lummi Fitness Center. The construction of the Wex-li-em building is significant

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because it represents the tribe’s dedication and effort to create a community forum where tribal leaders meet with community members and families to restore traditional and customary gatherings and events. It is also important to note that prior to Self-Governance, the Wex-li-em project languished at the top of the Lummi Nation priority list for nearly two decades because of inadequate resources within BIA or IHS budgets.

The benefits of Self-Governance to the Lummi community over the last 15 years have been significant. The community is now much more involved in setting priorities for the future and in shaping yearly budgets. In the words of Lummi Nation Chairman Darrell Hillaire, “The Self-Governance policy has afforded us the opportunity to accomplish these building blocks for the future in the areas of education, health and community wellness. They are a testimony to the spirit and intent of true tribal Self-Governance, and to the vision of the Self-Governance tribes.”

Lummi traditional drum group members Janice Edwards and her sons Tom (left) and Dale perform at the opening of the Lummi Nation Wex-li-em Community Building.

Penobscot Indian Nation

Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe

The Penobscot Indian Nation of Indian Island, Maine, used the flexibility of Self-Governance to save enough maintenance and improvement funds to re-roof its health clinic. In the past, a tribe was forced to spend those funds yearly or lose them. Tribes were not allowed to save funds for larger maintenance projects until the advent of Self-Governance. In addition, leaders have used Self-Governance funds to heavily promote education, prevention and fitness programs.

(IHS line-item budgeting was not available prior to the flexibility of Self-Governance.)

Education is very important to the Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe of Kingston, Washington. Since entering Self-Governance in 1992, over 20 tribal members have received college degrees due to a reservation-based program initiated between the tribe and The Evergreen State College. In addition, the tribe has reallocated Self-Governance funds to increase education funding sixfold over the levels dictated by the BIA in prior years.

In addition, Port Gamble’s leaders consider SelfGovernance to be much larger than a program or a funding amount; it is, rather, an entirely new way for a tribe to perceive itself and a new way to move forward and attain a voice in the world community.

Since entering Self-Governance in 1992, their list of accomplishments is a mile long; it includes some of the following: • New tribal departments - legal, cultural, education and public utilities.

• New programs – drug and alcohol, preventive health, dental and expanded elder care.

• New construction – health and dental clinic, sewer system, housing, Head Start building and the Little Boston Library (voted “Best in the USA” in 1999).

Danette Ives (left) on graduation day with mother Virginia Ives and daughter Ashley Seachord. Dannete was in the first class of Evergreen State College graduates receiving master’s degrees in public administration with a concentration in tribal governance.

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success is everywhere

Quinault Nation

Santa Clara Pueblo

The Quinault Indian Nation, based in Taholah, Washington, is taking a new approach to health care.

Instead of the traditional emphasis on intervention, the Quinault Nation has developed and adopted key strategies toward disease and illness prevention. This approach has been historically considered a luxury, with few, if any, IHS funds allocated for such programs.

Thanks to additional Self-Governance funds and the flexibility of program design, the Quinaults have developed (through the Roger Saux Health Center and the Charlotte Kalama Clinic) the 16-week Lifestyle Balance Program, which is a collaboration of the Basic Food and Nutrition Education program, the dietician, the Diabetes Prevention Team, and the Maternal Child Health and Public Health nursing staff. This exciting new program teaches patients to balance their nutrition and physical activity. The fun and interactive classes focus on food choices, stress and motivation, and help with physical activities and long-term behavior changes. The key to achieving these long-lasting changes is to make daily routines and habits more positive and healthy. Some of the program’s activities are cooking demonstrations, vegetable gardening and coordinated fitness walks.

Corn is an important crop to members of the Santa Clara Pueblo in New Mexico. Besides the common sweet corn grown today, other varieties included flint corn, which had hard kernels (making it easy to keep for years), and flour corn, which was easy to grind.

Dent corn with dimpled kernels was grown for the cattle feed. Corn came in yellow, white, red and blue colors. The corn dance, performed by many New Mexican Pueblos, is a ceremony of thanksgiving for the bounty of that year’s harvest and a prayer for enough rain for the next year’s crops. Santa Clara Pueblo members have five-acre tracts, located away from housing, that are used to grow ceremonial corn along with other crops. Many people, including a majority of elders, couldn’t afford farm machinery and had difficulty in farming their small tracts of land. Consequently, the Santa Clara Pueblo decided to use Self-Governance agriculture funds to purchase a tractor, with tiller, plow and other agricultural implements, to be made available for all to share and use. “Corn is very important to us,” said Edwin Tafoya, Santa Clara Pueblo Self-Governance coordinator. “Before Self-Governance, these funds were being used by the area office for administrative purposes. Now, we’ve put it towards something that benefits our community.”

President Pearl Capoeman-Baller (in green top) of the Quinault Nation leads a fitness walk, part of the tribe’s emphasis on preventive health.

The staff is also able to offer various specialty services such as massage therapy, acupuncture and women’s health clinics that include mammograms.

These services focus on health promotion and illness prevention for vulnerable populations such as elders and the chronically ill. The Quinault Nation believes these services will result in a steady increase in the life expectancy of their Native peoples.

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Seldovia Village Tribe

Shoalwater Bay Tribe

Faced with rising health costs and flat IHS budgets, the Seldovia Village Tribe (SVT), located in southcentral Alaska, wanted to build its own health clinic. A Self-Governance tribe since 1994, SVT had operated a contract health service program, purchasing services from private clinics and a hospital. But that flat IHS funding combined with a local medical inflation of about 10 percent reduced the services the SVT could afford for tribal members.

The SVT had submitted a proposal for clinic construction funding but was turned down by the IHS because the tribe’s population of 550 was deemed too small. Unwilling to give up, SVT used its independence from IHS to acquire extra funding from the Health Resources and Services Administration and to lease a local clinic. SVT then applied for construction funding from IHS and several other sources. As expected, the IHS turned down the request, but other agencies provided money to match SVT’s internal funds, and construction of a new facility was begun. SVT now has a full range of clinical services, including medical nutrition therapy, a breast and cervical cancer early detection program, diabetes prevention and intervention, and a summer walking program.

In addition, staff members assist clients in the completion of paperwork for programs such as Denali Kid Care and the Pharmaceutical Assistance Programs, all designed to improve their access to quality health care and services. Having a clinic also allows for better Native health care through improved communication and collaboration with the Alaska Native Medical Center. SVT no longer has to continually reduce it services each year as contract health funding fails to keep up with inflation. Instead, it is increasing services to its members.

Confronted with extremely high infant-mortality rates and unsatisfactory studies from the IHS, the Shoalwater Bay Tribe of Tokeland, Washington, decided to open the Shoalwater Environmental Laboratory.

Using a combination of federal funds, grants and SelfGovernance dollars, the laboratory is considered the best in the northwest region. Besides conducting tests on its own environment in the Willapa Bay and Grays Harbor areas, the tribe contracts with other tribes and governmental entities to perform various pesticide and water quality analyses. The lab’s state-of-the-art equipment has allowed them “to see things today we didn’t see in the past,” said Pam Norris, Self-Governance coordinator.

Leaders and Nation Building

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state

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BIA Beginning

self-governance tribes

1999 AK 1996 1995

1998

2004 1996

Arctic Slope Native Association, Ltd., P.O. Box 1232, Barrow, AK, 99723, 907/852-2762 Association includes the Native Villages of: Anaktuvuk Pass, Atqasuk, Barrow, Katovik, Nuiqsut, Pt. Hope, Pt. Lay, and Wainwright Asa’Carsarmiut Tribal Council, P.O. Box 32249, Mounain Village, AK, 99632, 907/591-2814 Association of Village Council Presidents, Inc., 101 “A” Main Street, Pouch 219, Bethel, AK, 99559, 907/543-3521 Association includes the Native Villages of: Akiak, Alakanuk, Bill Moore’s Slough, Chefornak, Eak, Goodnews Bay, Hamilton, Hooper Bay, Kipnuk, Kongiganak, Kotlik, Kwigillingok, Lower Kalskag, Napaimute, Napakiak, Napaskiak, Nunapitchuk, Ohagamiut, Pitka’s Point, Red Devil, Scammon Bay, Sheldon’s Point, Sleetmute, St. Mary’s, Stony River, Tuntutuliak, Tununak, Upper Kalskag; Andreafsky Tribal Council; and the Oscarville Traditional Council.

1995

204

Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium, 4141 Ambassador Drive, Anchorage, AK, 99508, 907/729-1900 Aleutian/Pribilof Islands Association, Inc., 201 E. Third Avenue, Anchorage, AK, 99501, 907/276-2700 Association includes the Native Villages of: Akutan, Atka, Belkofski, False Pass, Nelson Lagoon, Nikolski, Pauloff Harbor and Unga; the Pribilof Aleut Communities of St. George and St. Paul; and the Qagan Tayagungin Tribe and the Qawalangin Tribe of Unalaska

Bristol Bay Area Health Corporation, P.O. Box 130, Dillingham, AK, 99576, 907/842-5201 Includes the Native Villages of: Aleknagik, Chignik Bay, Chignik Lake, Chignik Lagoon, Curyung, Clarks Point, Egegik, Ekuk, Ekwok, Kanatak, King Salmon, Kokhanok, Koliganek, Igiugig, Iliamna, Ivanof Bay, Levelock, Manokotak, Naknek, Newhalen, New Stuyahok, Nondalton, Pedro Bay, Perryville, Pilot Point, Portage Creek, Port Heiden, South Naknek, Togiak, Twin Hills, and Ugashik.

1996

Bristol Bay Native Association, P.O. Box 310, Dillingham, AK, 99576, 907/842-5257 Association includes the Native Villages of: Aleknagik, Chignik, Chignik Lagoon, Chignik Lake, Clark’s Point, Dillingham, Egegik, Ekuk, Ekwok, Igiugig, Ivanoff Bay, Kanatak, King Salmon, Kokhanok, Koliganok, Lovelock, Manokotak, Naknek, New Stuyahok, Newhalen, Perryville, Pilot Point, Portage Creek, Port Haiden, South Naknek, Togiak, Twin Hills, Ugashik.

2005 1996 1995

Cheesh-na Tribe, P.O. Box 241, Gakona, AK, 99586, 907/822-3503 Chugachmiut, Inc., 42201 Tudor Centre Drive, Ste. 210, Anchorage, AK, 99508, 907/562-4155 Includes the Native Villages of: Chenega, Nanwalek, Port Graham, Tatitlok; and the Chugach Regional Resource Commission

1992

Central Council of Tlingit and Haida Indian Tribes of Alaska, 320 W. Willoughby Avenue, Juneau, AK, 99801, 907/586-1432 Includes the Native Villages of: Kasaan, and Saxman; the Community Associations of Angoon and Craig; the Central Council of Tlingit and Haida, Chilkoot Indian Association, Klawock Cooperative Association, Petersburg Indian Association, Skagway Traditional Council, and Wrangell Cooperative Association

1996 1995

Copper River Native Association, Drawer H, Copper Center, AK, 99573, 907/822-5241 Association includes the Native Villages of: Cantwell, Copper Center, Gakona, Gulkana, Tazlina

2000 2000 1997

Council of Athabascan Tribal Governments, P.O. Box 33, Ft. Yukon, AK, 99740, 907/662-2587 Eastern Aleutian Tribes, Inc., 3380 “C” Street, Ste. 100, Anchorage, AK, 99503, 907/277-1440 Includes the Native Villages of: Akutan, Cold Bay, False Pass, King Cove, Nelson Lagoon and Sand Point

1992

Kawerak, Inc., P.O. Box 948, Nome, AK, 99762, 907/443-4340 Includes the Native Villages of: Brevig Mission, Council, Diomede, Elim, King Island, Koyuk, Mary’s Igloo, Savoonga, Shaktoolik, Shishmarof, Solomon, St. Michael, Teller, Unalakleet, Wales, White Mountain; the Eskimo Community of Chinik; and Stebbins Community Association

1996 1998 1995

Ketchikan Indian Corporation, 2960 Tongass Avenue, Ketchikan, AK, 99901, 907/225-5158 Kodiak Area Native Association, 3449 East Rezanof Drive, Kodiak, AK, 99615, 907/486-9898 Association includes the City of Kodiak and the Native Villages of: Akhiok, Karluk, Old Harbor, Ouzinkie, Port Lions, and Larsen Bay.

1997 1995

Maniilaq Association, P.O. Box 256, Kotzebue, AK, 99752, 907/442-3311 Association includes the Native Villages of: Ambler, Buckland, Deering, Kiana, Kivalina, Kobuk, Noatak, Noorvik and Shungnak

1998 1997 2000 2000 1995 2003 1996 2000 2000

Metlakatla Indian Community, P.O. Box 439, Metlakatla, AK, 99926, 907/886-6976 Mount Sanford Tribal Consortium, P.O. Box 357, Gakona, AK, 99586, 907/822-5399 Native Village of Barrow, P.O. Box 1130, Barrow, AK, 99723, 907/852-4411 Native Village of Eklutna, 26339 Eklutna Village Road, Chugiak, AK, 99576, 907/688-6020 Native Village of Eyak, 509 1st Street, Cordova, AK, 99574, 907/414-7738 Native Village of Gamble, P.O. Box 90, Gambell, AK, 99742, 907/985-5346 Native Village of Kotzebue, P. O. Box 296, Kotzebue, AK, 99753, 907/442-3467 Native Village of Kwinhagak, P.O. Box 149, Quinhagak, AK, 99655, 907/556-8165

state

IHS Beginning

BIA Beginning 2002 2002 2005

AK

1995

Native Village of Nulato, P.O. Box 65049, Nulato, AK, 99765, 907/898-2339 Native Village of Tanana, P.O. Box 130, Tanana, AK, 99777, 907/366-7160 Nome Eskimo Community, P.O. Box 1090, Nome, AK, 99762, 907/443-2246 Norton Sound Health Corporation, P.O. Box 966, Nome, AK, 99762, 907/443-3311 Includes the Native Villages of: Brevig Mission, Council, Diomede, Elim, Gambell, Golovin, King Island, Koyuk, Mary’s Igloo, Savoonga, Shaktoolik, Shishmarof, Solomon, Stebbins, St. Michael, Teller, Unalakleet, Wales, and White Mountain; and the city of Nome

1996 2005 2002 1995 1996 1995 1995 1994 1995

Organized Village of Kake, P.O. Box 316, Kake, AK, 99830, 907/785-6471 Orutsararmiut Native Council, P.O. Box 927, Bethel, AK, 99559, 907/543-2608 Seldovia Village Tribe, P.O. Box Drawer L, Seldovia, AK, 99663, 907/234-7898 Sitka Tribe of Alaska, 456 Katlian Street, Sitka, AK, 99835, 907/747-3207 Southcentral Foundation, 4501 Diplomacy Drive, Ste. 200, Anchorage, AK, 99508, 907/265-4900 Southeast Alaska Regional Health Consortium, 3245 Hospital Drive, Juneau, AK, 99801, 907/463-4060 Tanana Chiefs Conference, Inc., 122 First Avenue, Ste. 600, Fairbanks, AK, 99701, 907/452-8251 Includes the Native Villages of: Alatna, Allakaket, Anvik, Artic, Beaver, Birch Creek, Chalkyitsik, Circle, Dot Lake, Eagle, Evansville, Fort Yukon, Galena, Grayling, Healy Lake, Holy Cross, Hughes, Huslia, Kaltag, Koyukuk, Manley Hot Springs, McGrath, Minto, Nenana, Nikolai Edzeno, Rampart, Ruby, Shageluk, Stevens, Takotna, Tanacross, Telida, Tetlin, and Venetie

1996 2003 1995

Yakutat Tlingit Tribe, P.O. Box 418, , AK, 99689, 907/784-3238 Yukon-Kuskokwim Health Corporation, P.O. Box 528, Bethel, AK, 99559, 907/543-6020 Includes the Native Villages of: Akiachak, Akiak, Alakanuk, Andreafski, Aniak, Anvik, Atmauthluak, Bethel, Billmore Slough, Chefornak, Chevak, Chuloonawick, Crooked Creek, Eek, Emmonak, Georgetown, Grayling, Hamilton, Holy Cross, Hooper Bay, Kasigluk, Kipnuk, Kongiganak, Kotlik, Kwethluk, Kwigillingok, Lime Village, Lower Kalskag, Marshall, Mekoryuk, Mountain Village, Napaimute, Napakiak, Napaskiak, Newtok, Nightmute, Nunam Iqua, Nunapitchuk, Ohogomuit, Oscarville, Paimuit, Pilot Station, Pitka’s Point, Quinhagak, Red Devil, Russian Mission, Scammon Bay, Shageluk, Sleetmute, St. Mary’s, Stony River, Toksook Bay, Tuluksak, Tuntuliak, Tununak, Umkumuit, Upper Kalskag.

2004 1999 1994 1997 2001 1991 1996 1998 1996 1996

1996

2000 1993

1999 AL AZ 2003 CA 1993 1998 1997 2001 2001 1995 2001 2001 2004 1998 2001 1995 1993 2002 1995 1999 1995

CT FL ID

KS LA MA ME MI

1997 1996 MN 1998 1997 1994 1991 1993 1997 2004

Poarch Band of Creek Indians, 5811 Jack Springs Road, Atmore, AL, 36502, 251/368-9138 Ak-Chin Indian Community, 42507 W. Peters Nail Road, Maricopa, AZ, 85239, 520/568-1061 Gila River Indian Community, P.O. Box 97, Sacaton, AZ, 85247, 520/562-6000 Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, 10005 E. Osborn Road, Scottsdale, AZ, 85256, 480/850-4158 Cabazon Band of Mission Indians, 84-245 Indian Springs Drive, Indio, CA, 92203, 760/342-2593 Cuyapaipe Band of Mission Indians, 4054 Willows Road, Alpine, CA, 91901, 619/445-9124 Hoopa Valley Tribe, P.O. Box 1348, Hoopa, CA, 95546, 530/625-4211 Karuk Tribe of California, P.O. Box 1016, Happy Camp, CA, 96039, 530/493-5305 Manzanita Band of Mission Indians, P.O. Box 1302, Boulevard, CA, 91905, 619/766-4930 Redding Rancheria Tribe, 2000 Rancheria Road, Redding, CA, 96001, 530/225-8979 Yurok Tribe, 1034 Sixth Street, Eureka, CA, 95501, 707/482-1350 Mohegan Tribe of Indians of Connecticut, P.O. Box 488, Uncasville, CT, 06382, 860/862-6100 Seminole Tribe of Florida, 6300 Stirling Road, Hollywood, FL, 33024, 954/966-6300 Coeur D’ Alene Tribe, P.O. Box 408, Plummer, ID, 83851, 208/686-1800 Kootenai Tribe of Idaho, P.O. Box 1269, Bonners Ferry, ID, 83805, 208/267-3519 Nez Perce Tribe, 100 Main Street, Lapwai, ID, 83540, 208/843-2253 Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation, 1628 Q Road, Mayetta, KS, 66509, 785-966-3060 Chitimacha Tribe of Louisiana, P.O. Box 661, Charenton, LA, 70523, 337/923-4973 Wampanoag Tribe of Gay Head, 20 Black Brook Rd, Aquinnah, MA, 02535, 508/645-9265 Penobscot Indian Nation, 6 River Road, Indian Island, Old Town, ME, 04468, 207/827-7776 Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa & Chippewa Indians of Michigan, Route 1, Box 135, Suttons Bay, MI, 49682, 231/271-3538 Keweenaw Bay Indian Community, 107 Beartown Road, Baraga, MI, 49908, 906/353-6623 Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, 523 Ashmum Street, Sault Ste. Marie, MI, 49783, 906/635-6050 Bois Forte Band of Chippewa Indians, P.O. Box 16, Nett Lake, MN, 55772, 218/757-3261 Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa, 1720 Big Lake Road, Cloquet, MN, 55720, 218/878-4593 Grand Portage Band of Chippewa Indians, P.O. Box 428, Grand Portage , MN, 55605, 218/475-2239 Leech Lake Band, Rte. 3, Box 100, Cass Lake, MN, 56633, 218/335-8221 Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe Indians, HCR 67, Box 194, Onamia, MN, 56359, 320/532-4181 Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians, P.O. Box 550, Red Lake, MN, 56671, 218/679-3341 Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux, 2330 Sioux Trail NW, Prior Lake, MN, 55372, 952/445-8900

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state

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BIA Beginning

self-governance tribes

1995 1994 1995 1994 1993 2002 1995 1992 1995 1992 1994 1992 1994 2001 2003 2001 2003 1991 1994 1991 1993 1994 1995 1996 1995 1999 1998 2000 1997 2005 1996 1995 1996 1997 2000 1998 2000 1994 2002 2002 1999 2000 2005 1992 1993 2001 1996 1995 1992 1994 1996 1995 1998 1991 1994 1993 2002 1991 1994 1992 1994 1996 2003 1996 1997 1992 1994 1991 1995 1997 1999 1996 2002 1994 1995 1996 1998 1994 1997 2000 2002 1994 1997

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MS MT NC NM NV

NY OK

OR

WA

WI

Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians, P.O. Box 6010, Philadelphia, MS, 39350, 601/656-5251 Chippewa Cree Tribe of the Rocky Boy’s Reservation, Rural Route 1, Box 544, Box Elder, MT, 59521, 406/395-4210 Confederated Salish & Kootenai Tribes of the Flathead Nation, P.O. Box 279, Pablo, MT, 59855, 406/675-2700 Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, P.O. Box 455, Cherokee, NC, 28719, 828/497-2771 Santa Clara Pueblo, P.O. Box 580, Espanola, NM, 87532, 505/753-7326 Duck Valley Shoshone-Paiute Tribe, P.O. Box 219, Owyhee, NV, 89832, 208/759-3100 Duckwater Shoshone Tribe, P.O. Box 140068, Duckwater, NV, 89314, 775/863-0227 Ely Shoshone Tribe, 16 Shoshone Circle, Ely, NV, 89301, 775/289-3013 Las Vegas Paiute Tribe, #1 Paiute Drive, Las Vegas, NV, 89106, 702/386-3926 Washoe Tribe of Nevada and California, 919 Highway 396 S, Garnerville, NV, 89410, 775/883-1446 Yerington Paiute Tribe, 171 Campbell Lane, Yerrington, NV, 89447, 775/463-3301 St. Regis Mohawk Tribe, 412 State Route 37, Hoganburg, NY, 13655, 518/358-2272 Absentee Shawnee Tribe, 2025 S Gordon Cooper Drive, Shawnee, OK, 74801, 405/275-4030 Cherokee Nation, P.O. Box 948, Tahlequah, OK, 74465, 918/456-0671 Chickasaw Nation, P.O. Box 74820, Ada, OK, 74820, 580/436-2603 Choctaw Nation, Drawer 1210, Durant, OK, 74702, 580/924-8280 Citizen Potawatomi Nation, 1601 South Gordon Cooper Drive, Shawnee, OK, 74801, 405/275-3121 Delaware Nation, P.O. Box 825, Anadarko, OK, 73005, 405/247-2448 Eastern Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma, P.O. Box 350, Seneca, MO, 64865, 918/666-2435 Fort Sill Apache Tribe of Oklahoma, Route 2, Box 121, Apache, OK, 73006, 508/588-2298 Kaw Nation, Drawer 50, Kaw City, OK, 74641, 580/269-2552 Kickapoo Tribe of Oklahoma, P.O. Box 70, McLoud, OK, 74851, 405/964-2075 Miami Tribe of Oklahoma, P.O. Box 1326, Miami, OK, 74335, 918/542-1445 Modoc Tribe of Oklahoma, 515 B Southeast, Miami, OK, 74354, 918/542-1190 Muscogee (Creek) Nation, P.O. Box 580, Okmulgee, OK, 74447, 918/756-8700 Northeastern Tribal Health System, P.O. Box 1498, Miami, OK, 74355, 918/542-1655 Ponca Tribe of Oklahoma, 200 White Eagle Drive, Ponca City, OK, 74601, 580/762-8104 Quapaw Tribe of Oklahoma, P.O. Box 765, Quapaw, OK, 74363, 918/542-1853 Sac & Fox Nation, Route 2, Box 246, Stroud, OK, 74079, 918/968-3526 Seneca-Cayuga Tribe of Oklahoma, P.O. Box 1283, Miami, OK, 74355, 918/542-6609 Wyandotte Nation, P.O. Box 250, Wyandotte, OK, 74370, 918/678-2297 Confederated Tribe of Siletz Indians of Oregon, P.O. Box 549, Siletz, OR, 97380, 541/444-1030 Confederated Tribes of the Grand Ronde Community of Oregon, 9615 Grand Ronde Road, Grand Ronde, OR, 97347, 503/879-5211 Coquille Indian Tribe, P.O. Box 783, North Bend, OR, 97459, 541/756-0904 Jamestown S’Klallam Indian Tribe, 1033 Old Blyn Highway, Sequim, WA, 98382, 360/683-1109 Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe, 2852 Lower Elwha Road, Port Angeles, WA, 98363, 360/452-8471 Lummi Indian Nation, 2616 Kwina Road, Bellingham, WA, 98226, 360/384-1489 Makah Indian Tribe, P.O. Box 115, Neah Bay, WA, 98357, 360/645-2201 Muckleshoot Tribe, 39015 172nd Avenue SE, Auburn, WA, 98092, 253/939-3311 Nisqually Indian Tribe, 4820 She-Nah-Num Drive SE, Olympia, WA, 98513, 360/456-5221 Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe, 31912 Little Boston Road NE, Kingston, WA, 98346, 360/297-2646 Quinault Indian Nation, P.O. Box 189, Taholah, WA, 98587, 360/276-8211 Shoalwater Bay Indian Tribe, P.O. Box 130, Tokeland, WA, 98590, 360/267-6766 Skokomish Indian Tribe, N. 80 Tribal Center Rd., Shelton, WA, 98584, 360/426-4232 Squaxin Island Indian Tribe, SE 70 Squaxin Lane, Shelton, WA, 98584, 360/426-9781 Suquamish Tribe, P.O. Box 498, Suquamish, WA, 98392, 360/598-3311 Swinomish Indian Tribal Community, P.O. Box 388, Laconner, WA, 98257, 360/466-3163 Tulalip Tribes of Washington, 6700 Totem Beach Road, Marysville, WA, 98271, 360/651-4000 Oneida Tribe of Indians of Wisconsin, P.O. Box 365, Oneida, WI, 54155, 920/869-4364

photographers

Thatcher Hullerman Cook www.thatchercook.com Documentary photographer Thatcher Cook is based in Portland, Maine. His clients are primarily humanitarian aid and development organizations that work with refugees and other people affected by war, economic upheaval and natural disasters. His clients include international non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and the United Nations, which have sent him on assignment to over 30 countries.

Donna Ferrato Photographer Donna Ferrato is based in New York City. Her particular talent lies in exploring worlds rarely seen by the camera; her motto is that “nothing is unphotographable.” In the 1991 photojournalism issue of American Photographer magazine, Donna was described as “a photographer who emerged from—and goes beyond—the black and white documentary tradition.”

For the past 21 years, Donna has photographed domestic violence, a subject that profoundly impacts the lives of women and children. From the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence and such magazines as Life, Time, and U.S. News and World Report, it has been reported that her photographs have changed laws and consistently challenged ignorant attitudes promoted by society about violence against women and children.

Donna has published three books, including Amore (Motta Editions 2001); Living with the Enemy (Aperture 1991); and Love & Lust (Aperture 2004). Her awards include the W. Eugene Smith Grant, Robert F. Kennedy Award for Humanistic Photography, Kodak Crystal Eagle for Courage in Journalism and, most recently, the prestigious Missouri Honor Medal for Distinguished Service in Journalism from the School of Journalism at the University of Missouri-Columbia.

Philip Gould www.philipgould.com Philip Gould is a documentary and architectural photographer who has made Louisiana his home and favorite subject since 1974. Based in Lafayette, the hub of Cajun Country, he has photographed throughout the state, the South, the nation, the Caribbean and Europe.

His work has been published in various periodicals around the world and in over a dozen books on Louisiana, including The Louisiana Houses of A. Hays Town; Every Day’s a Party (by Emeril Lagasse); and Natchitoches and Louisiana’s Timeless Cane River.

His images now constitute one of the largest privately held contemporary photographic archives on Louisiana.

Lynn Johnson www.auroraphotos.com, go to Photographer Portfolios Photojournalist Lynn Johnson is known for her intense and sensitive work. Dividing her time between assignments for National Geographic and Sports Illustrated, where she is a staff photographer, Lynn has traveled to such far-flung locations as Siberia and Tibet and has photographed celebrities including Tiger Woods, Mikhail Baryshnikov, Stevie Wonder, Michael Douglas, Tony Hawk, Mister Rogers and the entire U.S. Supreme Court.

Lynn’s work has appeared in more than 10 books.

Her favorite assignments have been emotionally demanding stories about ordinary people: a family struggling with AIDS (Life); the death of an AfricanAmerican coach in Amish country (Sports Illustrated); and Native Hawaiians’ mission to cultivate traditional ways (National Geographic). Her awards include seven Golden Quills for Photojournalism, four World Press Photo Awards, and the Robert F. Kennedy Journalism Award for Outstanding Coverage of the Disadvantaged.

She has also been recognized by the University of Missouri/NPPA Pictures of the Year competition.

Johnson has a BA in photojournalism (1975) from the Rochester Institute of Technology and an MA (2004) from the School of Visual Communications at Ohio University.

Sarah Leen www.sarahleen.com Sarah Leen is a freelance photographer for the National Geographic Society. Her assignments have taken her to the shores of Lake Baikal in Siberia, the Kamchatka peninsula in Russia’s Far East, the Republic of Macedonia, the Mexican volcano Popocatepetl and the suburbs of America for a story examining urban sprawl.

She has been a staff photographer for the Topeka Capital-Journal and the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Sarah has participated in many of the Day in the Life series of books, as well as The Power to Heal, A Passage to Vietnam and Women of the Material World.

Her work is included in National Geographic: The Photographs, Women Photographers of the National Geographic, 100 Best Pictures by the National Geographic, and Swimsuits: 100 Years of Pictures. The National Geographic Society published a book of her work titled American Back Roads in 2000. She lives on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland.

Keri Pickett www.pickettphoto.com Photographer Keri Pickett is the author of several books including Love in the 90s; BB and Jo, The Story of a Lifelong Love, A Granddaughter’s Portrait (Warner Books, 1995); Faeries; Visions, Voices & Pretty Dresses (Aperture, 2000); Saving Body & Soul, The Mission of Mary Jo Copeland (WaterBrook, 2004).

She is a widely exhibited photographer who has published extensively in Time and People magazine.

Her first book, Love in the 90s, had a first printing of 150,000 copies and it was translated into a Japanese edition. She is the recipient of numerous grants and fellowships including three McKnight Foundation Photography fellowships, a National Endowment for the Arts Photography Fellowship, a Bush Foundation Fellowship, and she has received support from the Jerome Foundation and the Target Foundation. Her work is in the permanent collections of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, and the Museet for Fotokunst in Denmark. Keri is based in Minneapolis and New York.

Joanna B. Pinneo www.auroraphotos.com, go to Photographer Portfolios Founder of www.grrlstories.org, Joanna Pinneo is the recipient of the 14th Nikon Documentary Sabbatical Grant to continue her work exploring girls coming of age and the rites of passage many girls experience.

Her photograph of a mother and child asleep in Mali, West Africa, is the cover of the book Women Photographers at National Geographic. In January of 1998, Joanna was awarded one of the prestigious Eisies, the Alfred Eisenstaedt Award presented by the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism and Life magazine. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in 1986 by the Associated Press for work in Colombia, Joanna has published assignments from work in more than 65 countries during her 23-year career.

Joanna has had four solo exhibitions. Her work has appeared in books such as Women in the Material World and 100 Best Pictures by the National Geographic, and in magazines such as Life, The New York Times Magazine, Time, Geo, Stern, U.S. News & World Report, Mother Jones, and American Photographer, among others. She makes her home in the Rocky Mountains.

John Running www.johnrunning.com John Running has lived in Flagstaff, Arizona, for the past 38 years. He has been making photographs for advertising, design and editorial clients for over 33 years. He specializes in photographing people, either on location or in the studio. His photographs stand out because they have a style that is personally creative and graphically strong.

John has published seven books, including Honor Dance; Pictures for Solomon; Dancer; Halo of the Sun; and Navajo Weaving Way. His clients include Eastman Kodak, Polaroid, Nikon, Ilford, Coors Beer, Lee Jeans, US West, Sterling Commerce and Canyon Records.

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acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the encouragement and support of many individuals and agencies.

First and foremost, we would like to thank the Department of Health and Human Services (Indian Health Service) and the Department of Interior (Bureau of Indian Affairs) for their financial contributions to the Self-Governance Communication and Education Project. We specifically want to thank the Indian Health Service director, Dr. Charles Grim, and the head of the IHS’s Office of Tribal Self-Governance, Paula Williams; Department of Interior Assistant Secretary for Indian Affairs Dave Anderson; Principle Deputy Secretary for Indian Affairs Aurene Martin; and Office of Self-Governance and Self-Determination Director William Sinclair.

Our sincere thanks go to the tribal leaders and staff of the Self-Governance Communication and Education Project Tribal Consortium. Their suggestions, examples and inspiration from their own tribal communities (several of which are included in this book) provided the impetus for us to capture and share their compelling stories. We would like to specifically acknowledge the Self-Governance Communication and Education staff, Maureen Kinley, Lorita Tom and Reatha Tom. They provided regular support to us throughout this entire project. Their assistance has been invaluable in ensuring the success of this book.

The beautiful design, layout and photographs in this book would not have been possible without the excellent work of many individuals. We are grateful to Bill Marr of Open Books for his photo editing and design work, and to his wife, Sarah Leen, who recommended many of the photographers for this book. The professionalism of the photographers, given tight timelines, is evident in the moving pictures throughout the book. The final text editing by Tom Kavanagh proved invaluable.

We would like to thank our families for their support and love during our absences. There were many long trips on the road and nights away from home throughout the writing of this book. Airport delays, combined with sometimes interesting and difficult travel logistics, can be exhausting. It was comforting to know that loved ones kept things going at home for us.

Finally, we are humbly grateful to each of the tribal leaders, staff and other individuals who welcomed us to their communities and are featured in this book. We had a unique opportunity to visit some of the most beautiful and, in some cases, very remote tribal communities and reservations. In all cases, we were received warmly and were able to experience the true heart and spirit reflective of those tribes. We thank you for enriching our lives and sharing part of your culture with us. We are truly blessed to have had this experience.

Brent Simcosky Cyndi Holmes July 2004

Copyright © 2004 Self-Governance Communication and Education Project.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, contact: Self-Governance Communication and Education Project, Iowa Street Business Park, 1768 Iowa Street, Bellingham, WA 98229, phone: 360-752-2270

Design and production: Bill Marr, Open Books LLC, www.openbooks.biz

text editing: Tom Kavanagh

Color Separations: IO Color, Seattle, WA Printing: in China by C & C Offset Printing Company, Ltd.

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