Death of Trained Youth Workers, Services Blight Lives in Native American Country

Danny Lamewoman was 16 when he was stabbed 85 times by his best friend in a drink-and drug-fueled frenzy. His friend killed himself two days later.

At the time of his murder on a wintry day in 1993, Danny was living with his grandmother and 13 other relatives on t he Northern Cheyenne reservation in Montana where, ironically enough, they had moved to avoid the threat of urban crime and violence in nearby Billings.

Though they occurred four years ago, the deaths of the two teenagers are regarded today as a "text-book case" of the woes still afflicting what one researcher has termed the "most devastated group of adolescents in the United States" — Native American youth in cities and on reservations.

Dom Nessi, who heads up Native American programs at the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Affairs (HUD) Denver office, ticked off the tragic ingredients at a hearing last year of the U.S. Senate Committee on Indian Affairs. The two youths, he said, were members of dysfunctional families living in overcrowded housing conditions in a society plagued by juvenile delinquency, welfare dependency, alcoholism, vandalism, teenage substance abuse, domestic violence, child abuse, murder and suicide — and a desperate lack of youth development and recreational services.

As a result of such prevalent conditions, he said, Native American youth were suffering a "loss of hope and direction, replaced by despair and tragedy." A YOUTH TODAY informal on-site survey of a half-dozen reservations bears out this judgment but did find conditions were being alleviated somewhat at the Northern Cheyenne reservation and other sites by the recent acquisition of Boys & Girls Clubs of America and similar youth work services (see page 19). But youth services remain in short supply or are nonexistent on most reservations and, sad to report, make Native-American teens, the least likely in the nation to benefit from well-designed and managed youth programs.

Intimacy With Death

More than 1.4 million Native Americans, including Alaskan natives, are under the jurisdiction of HHS' Indian Health Service (IHS). The median age of the population is 24.2 years, compared to 32.9 years for all of the U.S. Some 33 percent, or nearly 500,000, are under 15 years old. IHS 1996 statistics show Indian youth under 15 are twice as likely to die in an accident, by homicide or suicide as their white counterparts. Indian accident and suicide rates for the 15 to 24 age bracket are more than double the rates for all other U.S. races in the same age group. Only the all-race homicide rate is higher.

An April 1992 study by the American Medical Association found many Indian youths have friends or family members who have killed themselves, indicating suicide has become a way for them to deal with the sense of distress and hopelessness enveloping their lives. "Native American youths have a familiarity and intimacy with death and loss within families comparable to few other young people in our society," observed the study headed by University of Minnesota researcher Michael Resnick.

Poverty, substance abuse and educational failure are endemic in Native American communities. Add insensitive state interventions and strong conflicts within tribes, and it's no surprise that it has been a painfully slow process to build effective youth work structures that can do something about it.

Culture's ‘Broken Circle’

The crisis of Native American youth is part of a wider crisis for their communities. While alcohol has been a toxic curse ever since it was introduced by the Europeans, many people attribute the severity of the current situation to the residual effects of U.S. government policy to break up Indian families in the early part of this century.

"When Indian children were forcibly removed from their homes and community the entire make up of the community and its structures were changed forever," said Ada Deer, assistant secretary of the Bureau for Indian Affairs at the Department of the Interior.

"Parents without children in the home forgot how to parent. They became deeply saddened by the loss of their beloved children and despondent that their culture was deemed unfit in which to raise children." Traditional roles of the extended family and other elders in developing young people and transmitting spiritual and cultural values also started to be lost, and ceremonies fell into disuse.

Native Americans refer to it as "the broken circle," and many youth programs try to rebuild the circle, to reconnect young people with their culture. "The biggest challenge is how to hold the eagle feather in one hand and a computer in the other," said Marvin Defoe, director of the Youth and Community Center of the Redcliff Band, Lake Superior Chippewa tribe in Wisconsin.

"I know a fisherman — there's seven in his family and they catch fish, pick berries, and tap maple trees. He's the happiest guy in the world. We encourage youth to aim to be doctors but also to pick berries. Somewhere along the line we have to show them a vision."

With funding from the tribe and the state of Wisconsin, primarily derived from the Federal Substance Abuse Prevention and Treatment Block Grant, Defoe's center runs five initiatives connected with drug and alcohol prevention — among them a junior tribal council, cultural song-and-dance groups and structured recreation opportunities.

It's Called 'Crow Agony’

The HUD-funded Drug Elimination Program for the Crow Tribal Housing Authority, on the Crow reservation in Montana, also has focused on cultural pride. The reservation has huge problems of alcohol and the abuse of elders by their children. Drug investigator Chris Yellowtail says she has come across use of alcohol, crack, marijuana, meth, even mouthwash on this officially dry reservation.

There also are signs of gang activity and, sighs Yellowtail, achievement of status in the high school is by making the basketball team, not A's. The reservation's main community at Crow Agency is known to the locals as Crow Agony.

For all that, Crow culture remains strong, with 60 percent of residents speaking the language and Sundance festivals that see 3,000 tepees raised on the ceremonial grounds. "Our strategy is to integrate Crow culture — you need to know who you are to be successful in both worlds," said project coordinator Ada Bends. The project has brought in successful Native Americans as role models and organized a range of diversionary projects and activities.

Youth worker Bends is matter-of-fact about the process. "You hang out with the kids, find out what they want, respond, evaluate, and if it works keep doing it. We just give them options, alternatives. But if they choose not to join in, we never turn our back on them. We have to support them whatever they decide."

One of their most successful endeavors has been "Our Way of Life," a two-hour Crow cultural presentation on the importance of being drug free. Widely displayed on tour and on video, the presentation was created by some Crow youth who came in to the project saying they wanted to be role models. "Yes, we have a drug problem and we're not going to save everyone, but there's a lot of support in the community," says the ever-upbeat Bends. "This is a wonderful place."

Bibles & Casino Spoils

Connecting young people with their culture is not without controversy. Milton Pelcher runs the Seventh Generation Project of the Saginaw Chippewa tribe in Michigan, a project he describes as "creating an atmosphere reflecting the traditions, culture and spirituality of the way it was years and years ago."

He teaches about the significance of the ceremonies through powwows and tries simply to keep the culture alive. The project was initially funded by W.K. Kellogg's Family and Youth Initiative, and former project officer Guillermina Hemandez-Gallego refers to it as "not a building, not a program, but an infusion of a way of being."

Pelcher hopes the struggling youth project can offset the anti-Indian cultural legacy of John Wayne movies and the current culture of MTV by "following the old ways of loving, caring, sharing." But he seems a bitter and angry man, who must constantly fight battles within his own community. "Ours is a way of life that has been prohibited and stereotyped as devil worship, and still is today by our own people. Many of the elders on this reservation are dead against us," he says.

Pelcher's fight is not for improved youth services but against Christianity and the assimilation it represents. "The Bible does not belong to the Indian people — it comes from the Holy Land, a place where there is murder and killing every day," he fumes. "The Bible is about the white man dictating our way of life, taking away the role of women, about missionaries raping our women."

Further divisions have wracked the community over the spoils from a huge casino on the tribe's Isabella reservation, says Hemandez-Gallego. "Parents are so consumed with making money, doing so much overtime, the effect on youth and children has been deleterious."

Pelcher, who must now rely on the tribe for funding of his rickety youth program, is in an awkward position. Asked how he feels about the casino, he scowls, turns his head to the window and says curtly, "It's not my concern." The casinos that flourish outside of state regulation on reservations are emblematic of the difficulties facing Indian society in dealing with the rest of America. To some they are another manifestation of the addictions that make their communities so dependent. To others they are a source of income that can help break those dependencies.

Warrior Mentality Lives

"Casinos are making tribes money and many are channeling it into scholarships or venture capital, using it very constructively," said Steven Haberfeld, executive director of the Sacramento-based Indian Dispute Resolution Services. "In 1976 no one was talking about economic development; now, everyone is."

The IDRS was set up with representation from tribes all over California to offer trained mediators to resolve conflicts within tribes and between tribes and outside agencies. Its youth program gives group presentations on conflict resolution and traditional ways of peacemaking. Young people on several reservations are being trained as peer mediators.

There is grave concern about how we build stronger, more productive communities," said IDRS training coordinator Shelly Vendiola. "Some of the conflicts within and between communities have gone on for generations and youth get involved in an early age and don't even know why.

"Reservations are a violent environment; young people become warriors at an early age," she continues. "It's like the inner cities. The reservation is hostile, its a ghetto. Sadly, the example of the elders has not always been a positive one."

Pot o' Troubles

IDRS has targeted the Hoopa reservation in Northern California, one of the state’s larger and more remote Indian communities that has retained more of its traditions. But its internal conflicts are still severe and the problems encountered by its youth project, Bright Futures, shed more light on how difficult it is to establish successful programs in such communities.

Set up as five-year project in 1992 with federal funding, Bright Futures seeks to prevent alcohol and drug use by promoting healthy lifestyles through the usual range of prevention-oriented youth development activities. They include peer counseling groups, entrepreneurial training through mini-businesses, skills such as radio production courses and Native American cultural activities. It has helped, several hundred young people but the struggles faced in establishing the project are perhaps more illuminating, showing a lack of trust and mismatch in values between funders and communities.

"In the early days there was a lot of conflict with the director and other workers being fired." said project coordinator Norma Pole. "The state of California tries to deal with us like a corporation when really we are a government." The project was administered by Humboldt County's mental health service, but then dropped because, she said, "the county couldn't deal with the tribe, they couldn't deal with us ... we were having serious run-ins over postage."

Leadership within the community, however, is not clear-cut either. Pole acknowledges that the modern-style democratically elected tribal council set up by the Bureau of Indian Affairs does not mesh with the traditional leadership pattern. Into that mix you can throw the entrenched and powerful economic interests of the marijuana growers on the 1,400-square mile reservation.

Relations with the school, which should have been the major partner for the project, were not what they might have been either.

“The teachers don't understand or don't want to understand our community," said Norma Pole. "Nine out of ten drive in and drive out. They commute for their pay checks. The school is the site of the old boarding school where our kids were taken and separated from their parents. Education still has this legacy and kids are dropping out aged 9 or 10 and only one in five graduate." And like so many others, she has found prevention funding increasingly difficult to obtain since the introduction of the Safe and Drug Free Schools and Communities initiative.

But the biggest issue would appear to be the sheer scale of the problem and the weakness of the community. There is little trust, no single voice, few role models, few jobs, no tradition of successfully implementing youth programs and nurturing them.

And how do you encourage young people not to drink, wonders Pole, when 95 percent of the community is either an alcoholic, a recovering alcoholic or living with someone who is?

"Working with the community is like working with one big dysfunctional family — complete with heroes, villains and scapegoats. Prevention is so hard because substance abuse is the norm. We have 7- and 8-year-old drinkers and drug users."

Blossoming of Youth Clubs

Mark Marques, youth director with the Jicarilla Apache in New Mexico, said the "broken circle" was holding communities back from becoming more civic-minded. "I have traveled throughout the tribal system and it's the same issue everywhere. There is still a lot of disrespect, family life is still eroding, it's a tough time for children to grow up. We need to get our backyard cleared up."

The Jicarilla Apache are largely self-sufficient thanks to the reserves of natural gas and petroleum on their land, but Marques says it is often a discouraging process for others needing state or federal funding. "We've had positive contact with the YMCA and United Way, but we need to see more outside agencies able to train staff for future social services."

Now making rapid strides to establish links with Native-American communities is the Atlanta-based Boys and Girls Clubs of America. The first BGCA club on Indian land was opened by the Sac and Fox Nation in Shawnee, Okla., in 1992 and there are now 20, with a further 15 planned to be chartered in 1997.

Errol Sewell, BGCA's vice president for field operations, admits to encountering several challenges to getting clubs established. A key issue: sovereignty and the fact tribal councils, used to taking responsibility for everything that happens on the reservation, are unfamiliar with the role of nonprofits.

"I've met personally with eight tribal councils to explain the program offered by BGCA and how it can fit in with their beautiful culture," he said. “There are probably some suspicions, but we've shown it can be done."

Another problem is financing, given the weak or unstable economic situation on so many reservations. Club startup costs can be up to $40,000 and an average club's operating budget is around $25,000 a year.

Sewell is trying to identify companies and foundations with an interest in the work and has found two or three but feels they have not really scratched the surface. Could it be that many helping agencies are chary of giving to reservation communities because they see a lack of structure and accountability?

"Absolutely," said Sewell. "I've been told that by foundations and that if it's improved they would be willing to give support. That's what we provide — standards. We have an audit each year, clubs have to submit an annual report detailing facilities, and while staff are not required to attend training it is strongly advised."

With support from HUD, the 2,000-club strong BGCA has been conducting an implementation program with its regional staff making regular visits to help develop new club constitutions and bylaws, and assist with legal matters such as charitable status. Catherine de Plour, specialist assistant with HUD's Office of Native American Affair's, feels that developing training initiatives to help communities become more independent is the best use of their dollars. She highlights skills such as management, grant writing, team building, and conflict resolution.

"Our training workshops reach a lot of people, but we find the same people from the same communities attending," she said. "We don't reach those which are severely disadvantaged and can't afford the fees. Many communities haven't reached the level of sophistication to take advantage of the opportunities and many are still in denial about the need. But when they've taken the first step, I'll find some way to encourage them. Hopefully there's enough strong leaders. That's what we do — develop Strong leadership."

Sewell agrees. "We think it's wise to have a Native American as director — we have to build a reservoir of talent. We hope there will be some kind of mobility and flexibility, and then it starts to feed back into the culture."

HUD's Dom Nessi has high regard for those leaders who have made an impact. He cites examples such as Rick Robinson of Lame Deer, Mont. (see page 19) and Chick Big Crow, a Lakota of Pine Ridge, S.D., who has established a club in memory of her daughter. an all-state basketball player, honor student and homecoming queen killed in an automobile accident. Located in the poorest county in the entire U.S., the SuAnne Big Crow Boys and Girls Club facility was acquired and rebuilt using 90 percent volunteer labor.

Nessi calls them "just exceptional" while lamenting there are so few to go around. Ultimately, it will take more than exceptional individuals to secure future leaders of the reservation.

"The problems that plague Indian youth evolved over time and will not disappear overnight," sums up Ada Deer. "What is required is action that is thoughtful, broad-based and sustained. Solutions will depend on strong tribal leadership and the concerted effort of every sector of Indian society."

Points out Marvin Defoe, "Sure there's always a lack of money, but you can't let it hold you back. It took us 500 years to get to where we are. You've got to flow with the river—just keep going, don't give up. Money is not the number one issue, not the priority in order to live clean and healthy. You don't have to have money, you have your life to be happy."

Burke, Tim. "Dearth of Trained Youth Workers, Services Blight Lives in Indian Country." Youth Today, May/June 1997, p. 48 - 50.