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Asunto:PAN- La CucaRACHA Y Viva Bush
Fecha:Martes, 2 de Noviembre, 2004  11:49:35 (-0600)
Autor:Anahuak Home <redanahuak>

tejiendo con las redes chicano-latinas en los EUA... 
networking with the chicano-latino grids in the USA... 
From: todo y nada <y_nadatodo@...> 
Date: Tue, 02 Nov 2004 08:46:13 -0800 
Subject: La CucaRACHA Y Viva Bush 
1) Hear or see Jorge W. Bush rap-Old School Latin Style! 
2) Exercising the right to speak 
Students at Cerritos College rally around the 
3) Geronimo's power and legacy 
4) A Mexican Feast for Bodies and Souls....... 
lakeside town of Pátzcuaro is one of Mexico's top Day 
of the Dead tourist destinations 
5) Soul Wound (education) 
"In early days we were close to nature. We judged time, weather 
conditions, and many things by the elements--the good earth, the blue 
sky, the flying of geese, and the changing winds. We looked to these for 
guidance and answers. Our prayers and thanksgiving were said to the four 
winds--to the East, from whence the new day was born; to the South, 
which sent the warm breeze which gave a feeling of comfort; to the West, 
which ended the day and brought rest; and to the North, the Mother of 
winter whose sharp air awakened a time of preparation for the long days 
ahead. We lived by God's hand through nature and evaluated the changing 
winds to tell us or warn us of what was ahead. Today we are again 
evaluating the changing winds. May we be strong in spirit and equal to 
our Fathers of another day in reading the signs accurately and 
interpreting them wisely." 
6) Protesters demand new inquiry into Mexican 
murders in Ciudad Juarez 
Hear Jorge W. Bush rap-Old School Latin Style! 
Coming Soon: MIGRA MOUSE: Editorial Cartoons on Immigration by Lalo 
Alcaraz and LA CUCARACHA: The First Collection from the Daily Comic 
Strip by Lalo Alcaraz. 
Exercising the right to speak 
Students at Cerritos College rally around the 
First Amendment. 
By Jenny Marder 
Staff writer 
Monday, November 01, 2004 - NORWALK — Bush and 
Kerry aren't the only ones trying to get their 
voices heard these days. A rally at Cerritos 
College Monday had nothing to do with ballot 
propositions, congressional candidates or a close 
presidential race. 
Aubrey Simons-Araya, 18, was there to protest 
global female oppression. Student body president 
Josh Franco was there to honor fallen soldiers. 
Hilmaro Agustin, who was arrested at an Oct. 14 
rally for "disturbing the peace," was arguing for 
students' right to demonstrate. 
But the collective goal of the 500 students who 
gathered peacefully at Falcon Square at Cerritos 
College Monday was simple: to exercise their free 
speech rights. 
"It's up to us to get together and collaborate, 
to know where all ideas are coming from," Franco 
said to the crowd Monday. 
This is the third such rally at the college in 
the past month. 
On Oct. 26, students chalked outlines of 1,104 
bodies into the ground in a tribute to American 
soldiers that have died in Iraq. Some students 
were angered when the outlines were hosed down 
minutes after the event ended, Franco said. 
And at a similar rally Oct. 14, three students 
were arrested by campus police, Habbestad said. 
"We're here fighting for freedom of speech," said 
20-year-old Audrey Silvestre. "This is a college, 
it's a safe environment and we're not allowed to 
speak our voices." 
But Kristen Habbestad, a spokeswoman for the 
college, said the students were arrested for 
yelling, making noise and disrupting the peace on 
campus. College officials, she said, had no 
intention of curbing any civil liberties. 
"We have lots of demonstrations all the time," 
Habbestad said. "That's a part of student life. 
We want to encourage that and allow students to 
be free and support different causes." 
The rally Friday included several short speeches, 
after which students formed a circle, held hands 
and chanted free speech mantras. 
"We wanted to voice our opinions and we're fed 
up," Agustin said. Agustin is a Chicano Studies 
major and a member of the college's Mecha 
organization, a Chicano activist group on campus 
and one of the driving forces behind the rally. 
Mecha is an acronym for Movimiento Estudiantil 
Chicano de Aztlan (Chicano Student's Movement of 
Rafael Lopez, also a member of Mecha, said he 
hopes campus organizations will unite around the 
common cause of the right to speak out. 
"We're all humans, we're all flesh and bone, 
we've gotta unite," he said. "Unity gives us 
Lopez was pleased with the turnout at the rally, 
but said he hopes to see more in the future. 
"This makes people say, 'I can say what I want to 
say," he said. "It's a great example of people 
speaking out." 
Habbestad also said that campus leaders welcome 
these kinds of events, as long as they don't 
disrupt classes. 
"College campuses are where people come to 
understand different policies and ideas," she 
said. "We want students to have the freedom to 
learn and grow. It's just when it comes to 
disrupting class, students come first." 
Geronimo’s power and legacy 
Geronimo’s great-grandson reflects on the powers of the Apache chief, 
with a message for Indian country 
By Brenda Norrell 
Indian Country Today staff 
MESCALERO, N.M. – Geronimo possessed extraordinary powers as the 
ultimate warrior of the Chiricahua Apache and came to know the power of 
unity, said great-grandson Harlyn Geronimo, preparing to unveil a 
plaque at Geronimo’s birthplace. 
Beneath a shower of stars, at the confluence of the headwaters of the 
Gila, Geronimo was born in 1829. 
“Geronimo stood for freedom, that was his major concern, to fight for 
his people’s freedom, so they could live within the Gilas ‘for as long 
as the wind blows,’” Harlyn told Indian Country Today. 
While the Calvary was trying to wipe out his people, Geronimo rose to 
be chief of his band, the Bi da a naka enda (Standing in front of the 
Geronimo possessed extraordinary powers that made him invisible to the 
enemy. “Several times when the Calvary was close to catching him, he 
made his small bands invisible,” Harlyn said. 
“Geronimo could also turn people into wolves. He turned the Calvary 
into wolves as they were running by.” Down the way, once past 
Geronimo’s band in the Sierra Madres of Mexico, they returned to being 
“He had the power to turn daylight into nighttime. These were the 
things that were told to me,” Harlyn said. 
“Geronimo could control the rain and tornados. He used it to his 
Geronimo evaded capture so many times that the final search for him 
took several months and 5,500 troops crossing 1,645 miles, U.S. records 
Harlyn said if Geronimo could look across this mural that is Indian 
Country today, he would see that his prediction of the Apache Nation’s 
progress has become a reality. But, he would urge Indian tribes to 
“One thing that would come to his mind is unity. Without unity, we as 
indigenous people are not going to move forward. This would be 
Geronimo’s number one priority.” 
He said Geronimo would tell Indian tribes to fight to protect their way 
of life and preserve their languages. “Once you lose the language, you 
have lost everything.” Geronimo would urge tribes to develop preschool 
classes with full day instruction in Native languages, to keep the 
languages alive. 
Urging Indian young people to focus on their education, Harlyn said 
tribal sovereignty and treaty rights are precious rights. “Focus on 
your education and elect leadership that will fight for traditional 
rights, so the state and federal governments can not encroach on tribal 
court systems.” 
Harlyn, sculptor and longtime fighter for Apache water, timber and 
hunting rights, is preparing a 12-foot bronze sculpture for Geronimo’s 
birthplace where the memorial plaque is being dedicated in the Gila 
Wilderness. The former tribal councilman said he began sculpting in 
1983 to take his mind off politics. 
Now, the 57-year-old grandfather is carrier of the great stories. 
Geronimo was born to Chiricahua Apache parents in 1829 and grew up 
during a time when there were no Anglos in Chiricahua territory. But 
times were changing. In 1875, the superintendent at San Carlos, Ariz., 
tricked him into coming there and held Geronimo in confinement for four 
“That started the Apache wars,” Harlyn said. From there, Geronimo 
fought in the Sierra Madres of Mexico and returned with Victorio, who 
he fought alongside, to recruit warriors in the Mescalero region. 
At that time, Chiricahua Apache had three leaders in their territory, 
which stretched into Mexico. Geronimo was chief of his band from the 
Gilas to the Rio Grande in New Mexico. Farther to the south, Cochise 
led his people in Arizona. In the Sierra Madres of Mexico, Juh led his 
“It was all Chiricahua land, down to north of Mexico City and to the 
Apache women were also warriors. Harlyn recently portrayed his 
grandfather in the Discovery Channel documentary “Lozen.” She was the 
Apache woman who fought fiercely with Cochise until he and his people 
were massacred by the army in the Sierra Madres. Then, Lozen became a 
fighter alongside Geronimo. 
When Cochise was slain, Geronimo was 100 miles away, fighting with Juh. 
Lozen joined Geronimo and fought with him for six years. 
“She had the power to detect the enemy’s presence. She got her power 
from the Holy Mountain,” Harlyn said. 
Meanwhile, Lewis and Clark and others opened up the west and Indian 
people were tricked into signing treaties that were never honored, 
while the Calvary carried out genocide. “They tricked them into signing 
treaties, while wiping out small families,” Harlyn said. 
After Geronimo’s final surrender in Skeleton Canyon near present day 
Rodeo, Geronimo was taken to Holbrook, Ariz., on the border of 
Navajoland, and placed on board the train that carried him to 
imprisonment in Florida. 
Where present day curio shops and blue dinosaur monoliths now stand, 
Geronimo took his last look at the sky bursting with stars that he was 
born beneath and touched for the last time the motherland that nurtured 
Geronimo died at the age of 90 in 1909 in Fort Sill, Okla. He never 
returned to the Southwest. 
Harlyn, however, said the Apache people remain an unconquered people 
and Geronimo’s legacy is alive. “We are still here and we are 
“He was fighting for his homeland and for his people. He stood for 
While Geronimo could foresee a great future for his people, it is 
unlikely he imagined a new collection of relatives claiming his blood 
to capitalize on book sales. 
“Every time there is a new book published, there are new relatives,” 
Harlyn said. “I don’t appreciate that.” 
Harlyn also gave a warning to Indian people, to never let their guard 
down, for no one knows what the future will bring. With his special 
intuition, Geronimo predicted a large war would occur in the Southwest 
when the white sands and the lava beds merge in southern New Mexico, 
where Apache were 1,000 years ago. 
Harlyn heard these stories from Geronimo’s wife Kate, who died in 
Mescalero in 1964, when he was seven years old. Kate passed the stories 
down to Harlyn’s father and his mother, Maneulo Carrillo, who retold 
them to Harlyn during her last days. 
Harlyn’s father’s mother was the daughter of Geronimo, the only 
surviving daughter who bore children. Lana Geronimo was born in St. 
Augustine, Fla. in 1887. She named her son, Harlyn’s father, Juanito 
Via, at a time when the name “Geronimo” was not celebrated by heads of 
state the way it is now in New Mexico. 
“At that time, they didn’t want us to have the last name,” Harlyn said. 
Geronimo left the legacy of a method: planning and strategizing to 
reach one’s goal. For instance, it might take all afternoon to kill a 
deer with one arrow, but after engaging in this, the experience would 
carry over onto the battlefield. 
Harlyn said this legacy -- of strategizing and planning to reach one’s 
goals – is a traditional way tribes can protect their people and their 
With Gov. Bill Richardson and an array of Congressional leaders invited 
to the unveiling of the Geronimo memorial plaque on Oct. 9 in the Gila 
Wilderness north of Silver City, Harlyn said his great-grandfather did 
foresee a time when Apache people would achieve tremendous progress. 
“He wanted the Apache Nation to progress. He saw this and made this 
prediction at that time.” 
On the plaque at his birthplace are these words, “I was born by the 
headwaters of the Gila. “Geronimo,” appears in large letters, with the 
words “Chiricahua Apache Chief, 1929 – 1909.” Engraved is his image 
with a rifle in hand. 
Harlyn knows the ultimate legacy of Geronimo. 
Geronimo’s legacy was survival. 
A Mexican Feast for Bodies and Souls....... 
lakeside town of Pátzcuaro is one of Mexico's top Day 
of the Dead tourist destinations 
October 27, 2004 
SOMETIMES the smell of a steaming, freshly corn-husked 
tamale is enticing enough to wake the dead. 
This time of year, in the mountainous Lake Pátzcuaro region 
of the Mexican state of Michoacán, villagers prepare a 
feast for their deceased as part of the annual Day of the 
Dead celebrations. From the end of October through early 
November, families dedicate ofrendas (home altars) to the 
recently departed, setting a lavishly adorned table with 
the loved one's favorite foods. 
In this part of central Mexico, the table is crowded with 
indigenous classics like corundas, pyramidal tamales filled 
with salty cheese and poblano pepper; and churipo, a 
slow-simmered meat and vegetable stew in a ruddy broth of 
blended chilies, as well as more modern dishes like the 
regional staple sopa tarasca and the ubiquitous Day of the 
Dead treat, pan de muertos. 
People here believe that the dead are guided by the 
alluring odors of their favorite foods during the long 
journey back from the world beyond. Once they arrive, they 
will share a meal with the living during an all-night vigil 
in the town cemetery. 
The Day of the Dead is not Mexico's answer to Halloween, 
nor is it a Latin-American interpretation of All Saints' 
Day. Like Mexican food, itself a complex blend of 
indigenous and Spanish influences, the Day of the Dead is 
an inextricable mix of pre-Hispanic spiritualism and 
post-conquest Roman Catholicism. 
The lakeside town of Pátzcuaro is one of Mexico's top Day 
of the Dead tourist destinations. On Nov. 1, known as the 
Night of the Dead, ferries crowded with tourists leave its 
docks for the tiny island of Janitzio in Lake Pátzcuaro, 
where revelers - many young and from Mexico City - party 
among the marvelously decorated, candlelighted burial plots 
of the island's small cemetery. Visitors craving a more 
spiritual scene can still find unspoiled ceremonies in the 
many small villages ringing the lake. 
Pátzcuaro, with about 50,000 residents, is similar in feel 
to Oaxaca in southern Mexico. It has impressive 
16th-century colonial churches, wide plazas and cool stone 
archways, yet is indelibly influenced by its humble Indian 
The ancient, soul-satisfying taste of slow-steamed corn 
tamale is the flavor of Pátzcuaro, and the best tamales are 
prepared by the Purhépecha peasants who commute daily from 
outlying villages to stock the town's bustling food market 
and sell handmade crafts in street-side stalls. 
The corunda is the king of Purhépecha tamales. The 
difference between a corunda and the tamales found 
elsewhere in Mexico or the United States is that corundas 
look like pyramids rather than cylinders. They are wrapped 
and steamed in the fresh, long green leaves of the corn 
plant rather than dried husks. Seasoned tamale eaters will 
notice how the fresh corn leaf imparts a slightly smoky, 
vegetal flavor to the dense dough. 
On my most recent visit to Pátzcuaro I was lucky to be 
accompanied by Cristina Potters, co-editor of Living at 
Lake Chapala (, an online magazine, 
and a 25-year veteran of Pátzcuaro's cuisine. Together we 
tracked down Efraín Fuentes Montañez (a k a Don Juan), a 
vendor famous for his savory softball-size corundas. 
Don Juan's classic corunda, made from a recipe he says he 
inherited from "my ancestors, my relatives, my 
grandfathers," is filled with a square of doblecrema - a 
fresh, slightly salty cheese similar to cream cheese - and 
strips of the roasted poblano chilies commonly known as 
The corunda is not spicy, but the salsa that accompanies it 
is piquant. 
The simple green sauce, Don Juan says, is made from only 
two ingredients: tomatillos and chili peron, an intensely 
spicy chili that is similar in shape (like miniature bell 
pepper) to the even spicier chili habanero and comes in 
red, orange or yellow varieties. 
Another Pátzcuaro specialty with deep Purhépecha roots is 
churipo, the hearty beef and vegetable stew in a potent 
broth of ground, dried chili arbol, chili guajillo and 
chili pasilla. 
Churipo is traditionally a special-occasion dish and in 
pre-Hispanic times would have been made with fish or wild 
game like rabbit. 
Doña Paca, the restaurant at Hotel Mansíon Iturbe in 
Pátzcuaro, makes a wonderful churipo with tender veal and 
distinctive Mexican vegetables like chayote (mirliton, or 
vegetable pear) and tuna (the fruit of the prickly pear 
cactus, which doubles as a vegetable when green and sour), 
along with chunks of carrot, onion and two-inch sections of 
corn still on the cob. 
Doña Paca's churipo is simmered all afternoon and served 
the following day with a selection of condiments - chopped 
white onion, fresh cilantro, lime and powdered chili - 
whose supplementary flavors are as important as the stew 
Not all of Pátzcuaro's signature dishes have purely 
indigenous pedigrees. In the mid-1960's a young man named 
Rafael García shared the kitchen at La Hosteria de San 
Felipe in Pátzcuaro with the restaurant's owner and his 
Philadelphia-born wife. 
Mr. García said they invented a tomato-based soup flavored 
with dried chili pasilla and Worcestershire sauce, 
thickened with corn masa and cream, and adorned with fried 
tortilla strips and Oaxacan cheese. They called it sopa 
tarasca, for the Tarascans, as the Spanish conquerors 
called the Purhépecha. The soup became an instant hit. 
Now Mr. García, a smiling-eyed figure known to everyone as 
Don Rafa, is the owner of Restaurant Don Rafa, the 
undisputed temple of sopa tarasca in Pátzcuaro. 
But nearly every restaurant in town and most restaurants in 
the lake region now serve sopa tarasca. Some thicken the 
broth by blending in beans. Some substitute other cheeses. 
Don Rafa obviously prefers the original. The trick to his 
soup's superiority, he says, is the fresh ingredients, 
which he handpicks from the produce market every morning. 
If there is one food associated exclusively with the Day of 
the Dead - not only in Pátzcuaro, but all over Mexico - it 
is pan de muertos, a moist, eggy cake-bread generously 
coated with butter and sugar. 
Alejandro Rivera Torres, the owner of RivePan bakery in 
Pátzcuaro, said he bakes and sells thousands of loaves of 
pan de muertos every season, in the traditional round shape 
with decorative "bones" or in the form of muertitos, little 
dead people flecked with pink sugar. 
On a chilly November night in the pine mountains of 
Michoacán, a sweet slice of pan de muertos and a steaming 
cup of atole - a corn masa drink flavored with cinnamon, 
vanilla or many types of fruit - do wonders to warm the 
souls of the living as they huddle all night in the 
cemetery sharing favorite traditional foods and fond 
memories with the spirits of their ancestors. "There's a 
mutual nostalgia," Ms. Potters explained. "The living 
remember the dead, and the dead remember the taste of 
Soul Wound (education) 
"In early days we were close to nature. We judged time, weather 
conditions, and many things by the elements--the good earth, the blue 
sky, the flying of geese, and the changing winds. We looked to these for 
guidance and answers. Our prayers and thanksgiving were said to the four 
winds--to the East, from whence the new day was born; to the South, 
which sent the warm breeze which gave a feeling of comfort; to the West, 
which ended the day and brought rest; and to the North, the Mother of 
winter whose sharp air awakened a time of preparation for the long days 
ahead. We lived by God's hand through nature and evaluated the changing 
winds to tell us or warn us of what was ahead. Today we are again 
evaluating the changing winds. May we be strong in spirit and equal to 
our Fathers of another day in reading the signs accurately and 
interpreting them wisely." 
Soul Wound: 
The Legacy of Native American Schools 
U.S. and Canadian authorities took Native children from their homes and 
tried to school, and sometimes beat, the Indian out them. Now Native 
Americans are fighting the theft of language, of culture, and of 
childhood itself. 
Andrea Smith (Cherokee) is interim coordinator for the Boarding School 
Healing Project and a Bunche Fellow coordinating AIUSA’s research 
project on Sexual Violence and American Indian women. 
A little while ago, I was supposed to attend a Halloween party. I 
decided to dress as a nun because nuns were the scariest things I ever 
saw,” says Willetta Dolphus, 54, a Cheyenne River Lakota. The source of 
her fear, still vivid decades later, was her childhood experience at 
American Indian boarding schools in South Dakota. 
Dolphus is one of more than 100,000 Native Americans forced by the U.S. 
government to attend Christian schools. The system, which began with 
President Ulysses Grant’s 1869 “Peace Policy,” continued well into the 
20th century. Church officials, missionaries, and local authorities took 
children as young as five from their parents and shipped them off to 
Christian boarding schools; they forced others to enroll in Christian 
day schools on reservations. Those sent to boarding school were 
separated from their families for most of the year, sometimes without a 
single family visit. Parents caught trying to hide their children lost 
food rations. 
Virtually imprisoned in the schools, children experienced a devastating 
litany of abuses, from forced assimilation and grueling labor to 
widespread sexual and physical abuse. Scholars and activists have only 
begun to analyze what Joseph Gone (Gros Ventre), a psychology professor 
at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, calls “the cumulative effects 
of these historical experiences across gender and generation upon tribal 
communities today.” 
“Native America knows all too well the reality of the boarding schools,” 
writes Native American Bar Association President Richard Monette, who 
attended a North Dakota boarding school, “where recent generations 
learned the fine art of standing in line single-file for hours without 
moving a hair, as a lesson in discipline; where our best and brightest 
earned graduation certificates for homemaking and masonry; where the 
sharp rules of immaculate living were instilled through blistered hands 
and knees on the floor with scouring toothbrushes; where mouths were 
scrubbed with lye and chlorine solutions for uttering Native words.” 
Sammy Toineeta (Lakota) helped found the national Boarding School 
Healing Project to document such abuses. “Human rights activists must 
talk about the issue of boarding schools,” says Toineeta. “It is one of 
the grossest human rights violations because it targeted children and 
was the tool for perpetrating cultural genocide. To ignore this issue 
would be to ignore the human rights of indigenous peoples, not only in 
the U.S., but around the world.” 
The schools were part of Euro-America’s drive to solve the “Indian 
problem” and end Native control of their lands. While some colonizers 
advocated outright physical extermination, Captain Richard H. Pratt 
thought it wiser to “Kill the Indian and save the man.” In 1879 Pratt, 
an army veteran of the Indian wars, opened the first federally 
sanctioned boarding school: the Carlisle Industrial Training School, in 
Carlisle, Penn. 
“Transfer the savage-born infant to the surroundings of civilization, 
and he will grow to possess a civilized language and habit,” said Pratt. 
He modeled Carlisle on a prison school he had developed for a group of 
72 Indian prisoners of war at Florida’s Fort Marion prison. His 
philosophy was to “elevate” American Indians to white standards through 
a process of forced acculturation that stripped them of their language, 
culture, and customs. 
Government officials found the Carlisle model an appealing alternative 
to the costly military campaigns against Indians in the West. Within 
three decades of Carlisle’s opening, nearly 500 schools extended all the 
way to California. The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) controlled 25 
off-reservation boarding schools while churches ran 460 boarding and day 
schools on reservations with government funds. 
Both BIA and church schools ran on bare-bones budgets, and large numbers 
of students died from starvation and disease because of inadequate food 
and medical care. School officials routinely forced children to do 
arduous work to raise money for staff salaries and “leased out” students 
during the summers to farm or work as domestics for white families. In 
addition to bringing in income, the hard labor prepared children to take 
their place in white society—the only one open to them—on the bottom 
rung of the socioeconomic ladder. 
Physical hardship, however, was merely the backdrop to a systematic 
assault on Native culture. School staff sheared children’s hair, banned 
traditional clothing and customs, and forced children to worship as 
Christians. Eliminating Native languages—considered an obstacle to the 
“acculturation” process—was a top priority, and teachers devised an 
extensive repertoire of punishments for uncooperative children. “I was 
forced to eat an entire bar of soap for speaking my language,” says 
AIUSA activist Byron Wesley (Navajo). 
The loss of language cut deep into the heart of the Native community. 
Recent efforts to restore Native languages hint at what was lost. Mona 
Recountre, of the South Dakota Crow Creek reservation, says that when 
her reservation began a Native language immersion program at its 
elementary school, social relationships within the school changed 
radically and teachers saw a decline in disciplinary problems. 
Recountre’s explanation is that the Dakota language creates community 
and respect by emphasizing kinship and relationships. The children now 
call their teachers “uncle” or “auntie” and “don’t think of them as 
authority figures,” says Recountre. “It’s a form of respect, and it’s a 
form of acknowledgment.” 
Native scholars describe the destruction of their culture as a “soul 
wound,” from which Native Americans have not healed. Embedded deep 
within that wound is a pattern of sexual and physical abuse that began 
in the early years of the boarding school system. Joseph Gone describes 
a history of “unmonitored and unchecked physical and sexual aggression 
perpetrated by school officials against a vulnerable and 
institutionalized population.” Gone is one of many scholars contributing 
research to the Boarding School Healing Project. 
Rampant sexual abuse at reservation schools continued until the end of 
the 1980s, in part because of pre-1990 loopholes in state and federal 
law mandating the reporting of allegations of child sexual abuse. In 
1987 the FBI found evidence that John Boone, a teacher at the BIA-run 
Hopi day school in Arizona, had sexually abused as many as 142 boys from 
1979 until his arrest in 1987. The principal failed to investigate a 
single abuse allegation. Boone, one of several BIA schoolteachers caught 
molesting children on reservations in the late 1980s, was convicted of 
child abuse, and he received a life sentence. Acting BIA chief William 
Ragsdale admitted that the agency had not been sufficiently responsive 
to allegations of sexual abuse, and he apologized to the Hopi tribe and 
others whose children BIA employees had abused. 
The effects of the widespread sexual abuse in the schools continue to 
ricochet through Native communities today. “We know that experiences of 
such violence are clearly correlated with posttraumatic reactions 
including social and psychological disruptions and breakdowns,” says 
Dolphus, now director of the South Dakota Coalition Against Sexual and 
Domestic Violence, sees boarding school policies as the central route 
through which sexual abuse became entrenched in Native communities, as 
many victims became molesters themselves. Hopi tribe members testified 
at a 1989 Senate hearing that some of Boone’s victims had become sex 
abusers; others had become suicidal or alcoholic. 
The abuse has dealt repeated blows to the traditional social structure 
of Indian communities. Before colonization, Native women generally 
enjoyed high status, according to scholars, and violence against women, 
children, and elders was virtually non-existent. Today, sexual abuse and 
violence have reached epidemic proportions in Native communities, along 
with alcoholism and suicide. By the end of the 1990s, the sexual assault 
rate among Native Americans was three-and-a-half times higher than for 
any other ethnic group in the U.S., according to the Department of 
Justice’s Bureau of Justice Statistics. Alcoholism in Native communities 
is currently six times higher than the national average. Researchers are 
just beginning to establish quantitative links between these epidemic 
rates and the legacy of boarding schools. 
A more complete history of the abuses endured by Native American 
children exists in the accounts of survivors of Canadian “residential 
schools.” Canada imported the U.S. boarding school model in the 1880s 
and maintained it well into the 1970s—four decades after the United 
States ended its stated policy of forced enrollment. Abuses in Canadian 
schools are much better documented because survivors of Canadian schools 
are more numerous, younger, and generally more willing to talk about 
their experiences. 
A 2001 report by the Truth Commission into Genocide in Canada documents 
the responsibility of the Roman Catholic Church, the United Church of 
Canada, the Anglican Church of Canada, and the federal government in the 
deaths of more than 50,000 Native children in the Canadian residential 
school system. 
The report says church officials killed children by beating, poisoning, 
electric shock, starvation, prolonged exposure to sub-zero cold while 
naked, and medical experimentation, including the removal of organs and 
radiation exposure. In 1928 Alberta passed legislation allowing school 
officials to forcibly sterilize Native girls; British Columbia followed 
suit in 1933. There is no accurate toll of forced sterilizations because 
hospital staff destroyed records in 1995 after police launched an 
investigation. But according to the testimony of a nurse in Alberta, 
doctors sterilized entire groups of Native children when they reached 
puberty. The report also says that Canadian clergy, police, and business 
and government officials “rented out” children from residential schools 
to pedophile rings. 
The consequences of sexual abuse can be devastating. “Of the first 29 
men who publicly disclosed sexual abuse in Canadian residential schools, 
22 committed suicide,” says Gerry Oleman, a counselor to residential 
school survivors in British Columbia. 
Randy Fred (Tsehaht First Nation), a 47-year-old survivor, told the 
British Columbia Aboriginal Network on Disability Society, “We were kids 
when we were raped and victimized. All the plaintiffs I’ve talked with 
have attempted suicide. I attempted suicide twice, when I was 19 and 
again when I was 20. We all suffered from alcohol abuse, drug abuse. 
Looking at the lists of students [abused in the school], at least half 
the guys are dead.” 
The Truth Commission report says that the grounds of several schools 
contain unmarked graveyards of murdered school children, including 
babies born to Native girls raped by priests and other church officials 
in the school. Thousands of survivors and relatives have filed lawsuits 
against Canadian churches and governments since the 1990s, with the 
costs of settlements estimated at more than $1 billion. Many cases are 
still working their way through the court system. 
While some Canadian churches have launched reconciliation programs, U.S. 
churches have been largely silent. Natives of this country have also 
been less aggressive in pursuing lawsuits. Attorney Tonya 
Gonnella-Frichner (Onondaga) says that the combination of statutes of 
limitations, lack of documentation, and the conservative makeup of the 
current U.S. Supreme Court make lawsuits a difficult and risky strategy. 
Nonetheless, six members of the Sioux Nation who say they were 
physically and sexually abused in government-run boarding schools filed 
a class-action lawsuit this April against the United States for $25 
billion on behalf of hundreds of thousands of mistreated Native 
Americans. Sherwyn Zephier was a student at a school run from 1948 to 
1975 by St. Paul’s Catholic Church in Marty, S.D.: “I was tortured in 
the middle of the night. They would whip us with boards and sometimes 
with straps,” he recalled in Los Angeles at an April press conference to 
launch the suit. 
Adele Zephier, Sherwyn’s sister, said, “I was molested there by a priest 
and watched other girls” and then broke down crying. Lawyers have 
interviewed nearly 1,000 alleged victims in South Dakota alone. 
Native activists within church denominations are also pushing for 
resolutions that address boarding school abuses. This July the first 
such resolution will go before the United Church of Christ, demanding 
that the church begin a process of reconciliation with Native 
communities. Activists also point out that while the mass abductions 
ended with the 1934 Indian Reorganization Act (IRA), doctors, lawyers, 
and social workers were still removing thousands of children from their 
families well into the 1970s. Even today, “Indian parents continue to 
consent to adoptions after being persuaded by ‘professionals’ who 
promise that their child will fare better in a white, middle-class 
family,” according to a report by Lisa Poupart for the Crime and Social 
Justice Associates. 
Although there is disagreement in Native communities about how to 
approach the past, most agree that the first step is documentation. It 
is crucial that this history be exposed, says Dolphus. “When the elders 
who were abused in these schools have the chance to heal, then the 
younger generation will begin to heal too.” 
Members of the Boarding School Healing Project say that current levels 
of violence and dysfunction in Native communities result from human 
rights abuses perpetrated by state policy. In addition to setting up 
hotlines and healing services for survivors, this broad coalition is 
using a human rights framework to demand accountability from Washington 
and churches. 
While this project is Herculean in its scope, its success could be 
critical to the healing of indigenous nations from both contemporary and 
historical human rights abuses. Native communities, the project’s 
founders hope, will begin to view the abuse as the consequence of human 
rights violations perpetrated by church and state rather than as an 
issue of community dysfunction and individual failings. And for 
individuals, overcoming the silence and the stigma of abuse in Native 
communities can lead to breakthroughs: “There was an experience that 
caused me to be damaged,” said boarding school survivor Sammy Toineeta. 
“I finally realized that there wasn’t something wrong with me.” 
Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 16:39:02 +0000 
From: andre cramblit <andrekar@...> 
Subject: Deep Thoughts (musings) 
Unknown Speaker addressing the National Congress of American Indians in 
the mid 1960's 
"In early days we were close to nature. We judged time, weather 
conditions, and many things by the elements--the good earth, the blue 
sky, the flying of geese, and the changing winds. We looked to these for 
guidance and answers. Our prayers and thanksgiving were said to the four 
winds--to the East, from whence the new day was born; to the South, 
which sent the warm breeze which gave a feeling of comfort; to the West, 
which ended the day and brought rest; and to the North, the Mother of 
winter whose sharp air awakened a time of preparation for the long days 
ahead. We lived by God's hand through nature and evaluated the changing 
winds to tell us or warn us of what was ahead. Today we are again 
evaluating the changing winds. May we be strong in spirit and equal to 
our Fathers of another day in reading the signs accurately and 
interpreting them wisely." 
Protesters demand new inquiry into Mexican 
By Tim Gaynor in Ciudad Juarez 
02 November 2004 
Protestors from the United States and Canada have 
arrived in the Mexican border city of Ciudad 
Juarez, demanding action in an alleged flawed 
investigation into the murders of hundreds of 
Prosecutors say more than 340 women have been 
stabbed, strangled and bludgeoned to death in the 
city since 1993, but just two convictions have 
resulted from a criticised police investigation. 
Five convoys of cars visited more than 50 US 
cities in a two-week trek to Ciudad Juarez. They 
were greeted by a 1,000-strong crowd on Sunday 
chanting "no more deaths" and "justice now". 
Tom Hansen, a protest organiser said: "Eleven 
years of these killings is enough. Almost all the 
cases remain unresolved and the few people who 
are in prison are probably innocent." 
The killings have been attributed to domestic 
violence, drug cartels and serial killers. But 
despite the outcry, just an Egyptian chemist and 
a local bus driver have been convicted in an 
investigation marred by shoddy police work. 
Last week, a special prosecutor appointed by 
Mexican President Vicente Fox, said 100 police 
and criminal prosecutors faced misconduct 
© 2004 Independent Digital (UK) Ltd 
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