INDIGENOUS POLICY JOURNAL

December 16, 2009

Conner – Tables 1 – 5

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Table 1

Description of Variables

Variable Description
School Quality1Meets Adequate Yearly Progress

(AYP) in 2006-07

Duration of not meeting AYP as of

2006-07                   

    School does not meet AYP
    School meets AYP
3 years or less4 years or more
Student Performance2
9th Grade Science Proficiency Percent of American Indian students proficient or above
9th Grade Math Proficiency Percent of American Indian students proficient or above
9th Grade Reading Proficiency Percent of American Indian students proficient or above
11th Grade Math Proficiency
    Percent of American Indian students proficient or above
11th Grade Reading Proficiency Percent of American Indian students proficient or above
Student Retention3
Average Graduation rate between2004-05 and 2006-07 Three year average graduation rate for American Indianstudents
Attendance Rate 2005-06 American Indian attendance rate 9th – 12th grades
Preparation for Higher Education4
    Average SAT I Verbal Scores
    for 2004-05 and 2005-06
    Two year average SAT verbal scores for all students
Average SAT I Math Scoresfor 2004-05 and 2005-06 Two year average SAT math scores for all students
Percent Enrollment in AdvancedPlacement (AP) Classes 2006-07 Percent American Indian enrollment in 9th – 12th grade APClasses

1 Based on State District Report Cards released annually by school districts and     organized by the New Mexico Public Education Department (NMPED).

2 NMPED’s statistics and data files for 2006-2007.

3 NMPED’s statistics and data files for years between 2004-05 and 2006-07.

4 New Mexico Higher Education Department (2008).

Table 2

Two Measures of School Quality Comparing Public High Schools Serving American Indian Students from Gaming and Nongaming Nations in New Mexico in 2006-07*

Schools serving students from gaming nations (N=13) Schools serving students from nongaming nations (N=23) Percent Difference
Adequate YearlyProgress (AYP)
Schools meeting AYP              in 2006-07 Number of Schools 2 1
Percent 15.38 4.35 11.03
Schools Failing to MeetAYP in 2006-2007 for:
3 Years or less Number of Schools 4 9
Percent 30.77 39.13 -8.36
4 Years or more Number of Schools 9 14
Percent 69.23 60.87 8.36

*Source: NM District Report Cards (2007)

Table 3

Five Measure of Student Performance Comparing Public High Schools Serving American Indian Students from Gaming and Nongaming Nations in New Mexico in 2006-07

American Indian Students Scoring “Proficient or Above” on: Schools serving students from gaming nations Schools serving students from  nongaming nations Percent                Difference
9th Grade Science Exam MeanPercent 23.58 22.06 1.52
Standard Deviation 10.37 10.85
Number of Schools 11 20
9th Grade Math Exam MeanPercent 23.51 20.39 3.12
Standard Deviation 14.67 10.77
Number of Schools 11 20
9th Grade Reading Exam MeanPercent 29.16 29.24 -0.08
Standard Deviation 11.67 9.29
Number of Schools 11 20
11th Grade Math Exam MeanPercent 20.16 14.50 5.66
Standard Deviation 14.04 10.20
Number of Schools 10 20
11th Grade Reading Exam MeanPercent 34.23 31.50 2.73
Standard Deviation 14.61 11.31
Number of Schools 10 20

* Source:  NMPED Statistics and Data Files (2008)

Table 4

Two Measures of Student Retention Comparing Public High Schools Serving American Indian Students from Gaming and Nongaming Nations in New Mexico between 2004 and 2007*

American Indian Student: Schools serving students from gaming nations (n=10) Schools serving students from nongaming nations (n=17) PercentDifference
Average graduation rate between 2004-05 and 2006-07 MeanPercent 83.70 80.08 3.62
Standard Deviation 8.87 9.77
Attendance rate in 2005-06 MeanPercent 91.69 91.29 0.40
Standard Deviation 3.42 2.62

*Source:   NMPED Statistics and Data files (2008)

Table 5

Three Measures of Student Preparation Comparing Public School Districts and Public High Schools Serving American Indian Students from Gaming and Nongaming Nations in New Mexico in 2004-05 and 2006-07*

All Students: Schools serving students from gaming nations (n=9) Schools servingstudents from

nongaming nations (n=11)

ScoreDifference
Average SAT 1 Verbal Score for 2004-05 and 2005-06 MeanScore 532.00 485.14 46.86
Standard Deviation 54.83 51.34
Percent American Indian 25% 60%
Average SAT 1 Math Score for 2004-05 and 2005-06 MeanScore 512.78 489.73 23.05
Standard Deviation 41.83 46.16
Percent American Indian 25% 60%
American Indian Enrollment in: School districts serving students from gaming nations(n=7) School districts serving students from nongaming nations(n=5) Percent Difference
Advanced Placement Classes in 2006-07 MeanPercent 7.28 6.83 0.45
Standard Deviation 5.60 4.12

*Source:  New Mexico Higher Education Department (2008)

THE INDIAN POLICY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

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THE INDIAN POLICY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

W. Dale Mason

As James M. McPherson notes in his recent Tried By Fire: Abraham Lincoln as Commander in Chief, “Abraham Lincoln was the only president in American history whose entire administration was bounded by war.”1 During his four years as president Lincoln was preoccupied with the Civil War but several events occurred that had lasting impact on Indian policy and Indian people.  As David A. Nichols notes, “For the most part, the president left Indian matters to the Indian office,” the precursor of the Bureau of Indian Affairs.” 2 An indication of the level of Lincoln’s involvement in Indian affairs is his brief mentions of Indians in each of his four Annual Messages to Congress.

Second only to winning the Civil War and establishing a just post war reconstruction, Lincoln’s highest policy priority was settling the west.  The Homestead Act and facilitating the construction of the transcontinental railroad were two means designed to accomplish this end. Neither were concerned with the well being of Indians except to the extent that if Indians were in the way they had to be moved by any means necessary.  Nichols writes,

The combination of civilization on the march, sanctioned by God buttressed by white supremacy, and personified in homestead, gold mines, and railroads was too powerful for the Indian.  In the white men’s mind he was the opposite – a static, uncivilized impediment to the progress of civilization.”3

In other words, Indians were an obstacle to manifest destiny in the form of Christianity, mineral extraction, farming, and the transcontinental railroad.

Most presidents have had little knowledge and even less experience with American Indians.    Abraham Lincoln was no exception.  As Stephen Oates notes, Lincoln shared the paternalistic view of Indians that most Americans held.  This was reflected in both his official policy and his interpersonal relations with individual Indians.  His grandfather Abraham Lincoln was killed by an Indian in Kentucky, probably a Shawnee, in 1786 near what is now Louisville. 4   Prior to his presidency Lincoln had only limited contact with Indians.  Most of it took place in the Black Hawk War.  Royal Clary, who served with Lincoln in the war, related to Lincoln’s former law partner William H. Herndon an incident that took place during that conflict.

An Indian came into Camp..and our boys thought that he was a spy – sprang to our

feet – was going to shoot the man – he had a line or Certificate from Cass.”  Lincoln jumped between our men & Indian and said we must not shed his blood – that it must not be our Skirts – some one thought Lincoln was a coward because he was not savage: he said if any one doubts my courage Let him try it. 5

Lincoln’s service in that war lasted three months and was unremarkable.  When he was in the House of Representatives in 1848 Lincoln related his limited experience in that conflict by comparing it to that of General Lewis Cass.

If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it was more than I did but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes. 6

Lincoln’s views were reflected in his first debate with Stephen Douglas in 1858 when he referred to them as “inferior. 7   However, he did not go as far as Douglas who, in two debates, called Indians “savage. 8   In his Third Annual Message to Congress Lincoln spoke of Indians as “wards of the Government” and mentioned civilization and Christian faith as necessary in treating Indians. 9

During his years in the White House Lincoln greeted many Indians personally.  In these encounters his paternalism and lack of knowledge were apparent.  For example, in a greeting that could be from a Lone Ranger and Tonto episode, Lincoln asked a group of Indians, “where live now? When go back to Iowa.”10  David Herbert Donald has speculated that Lincoln enjoyed meeting with Indians dressed in their regalia because “they were exotic and because he rather enjoyed playing the role of their Great Father, addressing them in pidgin English and explaining that ‘this world is a great round ball” 11

In actions that had direct impact on Indians, Lincoln signed the Homestead Act in May 1862 and worked for the transcontinental railroad.  The Homestead Act opened the west to accelerated white settlement on lands taken from Indians through treaties.  In his Third Annual Message to Congress Lincoln announced that over 1.4 million acres had been opened through homesteading. 12  The following year Lincoln informed Congress that another1.5 million acres had been homesteaded.13   Treaties with tribes also led to the loss of Indian land for the construction of railroads.  Historian David Howard Bain has observed about Lincoln and the railroad,

He was really the godfather of the Pacific railroad.  If he had not thought of [the transcontinental railroad] as being a national priority, it wouldn’t have been done during the war.14

During his four years in office Lincoln routinely signed treaties with the western tribes and all provided for the cession of Indian land.

Two of the most important events in Indian affairs during the early 1860s were the Santee Sioux uprising in Minnesota and the removal and confinement of Navajos and Mescaleros on a reservation in New Mexico Territory.  The conflict with the Sioux is the one aspect of Indian relations that is most well known.  In the summer of 1862 the Santee Sioux in Minnesota rebelled against their treatment by the government and killed several hundred white settlers.  The starving Santees charged that the government was violating treaty guarantees when it failed to provide annuities and rations, especially food.  After an initial attack on five white hunters by the Sioux, a full scale war broke out.  When the US Army finally put the rebellion down two months later, the Indians were put on trial before a military tribunal. Three hundred and three warriors were sentenced to death.

Lincoln told Congress in his Second Annual Message that the Sioux uprising had been “wholly unexpected.” 15   He asked General Henry Pope, Commander of the Department of the Northwest, for a “full and complete record” of those convicted. 16   In a special report to the Senate on December 11, the president told the legislators how he reached his decision on pardons.  He said that among the documents he reviewed was a “joint letter from one of the Senators and two of the Representatives from Minnesota, which contains some statements of fact not found in the record of the trials.” 17   Lincoln went on to tell the Senate that being anxious not to “act with so much clemency as to encourage another outbreak on the one hand, nor with so much severity as to be real cruelty on the other, I caused a careful examination of the records of the trials to be made, in view of first ordering the execution of such as had been proved guilty of violating females.” 18   He found only two to have been guilty of rape.  He then distinguished the rest of the convicted between those who engaged in massacres and those who engaged in battles.

Lincoln may have been influenced in his final decision on pardons by Episcopal Bishop Henry Whipple who had asked General Henry W. Halleck to arrange a meeting for him with the president.  It was after that meeting that Lincoln issued his pardons.

Notwithstanding the popular outcry for the Indians’ executions, Lincoln told Minnesota Governor Alexander Ramsey that “I could not hang men for votes.”19  After reviwing the cases of all 303 men who were sentenced to death Lincoln sent Colonel Henry Sibley the final list of the 39 Indians to be hanged on December 6, 1862.   One man, Tatemina, received a reprieve.  The executions of the remaining thirty-eight warriors took place on the day after Christmas in 1862. 20 As Cox writes in Lincoln and the Sioux Uprising, “Lincoln’s intervention was not the result of a complex political calculation but rather a simple expression of his character.”21

Unlike his involvement in the Santee Sioux outbreak, Lincoln took no direct part in the events in New Mexico Territory involving Navajos and Mescalero Apaches.  As Nichols notes “General James Carelton was given a relatively free hand when he went to New Mexico in the spring of 1862 to deal with the Indian situation.”22   In July 1863, ostensibly to end Navajo raids on white settlers,  Carleton ordered Kit Carson to force them to move to a reservation.  Carleton’s plan, according to Prucha, was “to subdue the hostile elements of the tribes and move all to some distant reservation.”23  Carson burned the Navajos out of Canyon de Chelly.  The rounding up of Navajos concluded with a forced march to Fort Sumner in eastern New Mexico Territory.  Known as the Long Walk, several groups of Navajos walked 300 miles to be confined at Bosque Redondo, where up to 9,000 Navajos and several hundred Mescalero Apaches remained at Fort Sumner until 1868, three years after Lincoln’s death.  While not directly involved in the New Mexico Indian matters, placing Indians on a reservation was consistent with Lincoln’s overall policy.

While leaving events in New Mexico Territory to the commanders in the field, Lincoln dealt directly with issues concerning the Five Civilized Tribes (Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole, Creek and Cherokee) in Indian Territory, especially the Cherokees.  The Confederacy deliberately sought to win those five tribes to its side.  On the other hand, as Viola notes, “The Lincoln administration evidently at first did not regard the five tribes as a serious military threat and so did little to counter the confederate efforts until too late.”24   Prucha writes that after Union troops were removed from Indian Territory, “The Indians were left at the mercy of the Confederacy, and southern officials were quick to capitalize on all the points in their favor.”25  The Confederacy acted much more aggressively than the Union, engaging in treaty making and recruiting tribal members to its military.

Lincoln, however, did have direct contact with Cherokee Principle Chief John Ross who Viola calls the “foremost Cherokee delegate in the Civil War era.”26   Ross stayed in Washington, D.C. from October 1862 to July 1865.  Lincoln first met with Ross on September 12, 1862.27  The Cherokee Principle Chief also wrote a steady stream of letters to the President.  Lincoln, in his Second Annual Message told Congress that “The chief of the Cherokees has visited this city for the purpose of restoring the former relations of the tribe with the United States.  He alleges that they were constrained by superior force to enter into treaties with the insurgents, and that the United States neglected to furnish the protection which their treaty stipulations required.”28

Ross had made that point to Lincoln in a September 1862 letter.  Ross wrote that the Cherokees were “forced for the preservation of their country and their existence to negotiate a treaty with the Confederate States. What the Cherokee People now desire is ample military protection…and a recognition by the Government of the obligations of existing treaties.”29   Lincoln responded that he hadn’t been able to “determine the exact treaty relations between the United States and the Cherokee Nation.  Neither have I been able to investigate and determine the exact state of facts claimed by you as constituting a failure of treaty obligations on our part, excusing the Cherokee Nation for making a treaty with a portion of the people of the United States in open rebellion against the government thereof.”30  He said that he would “cause” an investigation of the matter.  It is clear from other correspondence that issues involving Cherokees were brought to Lincoln’s attention.  In a January 1863 letter to Ross, Huckleberry Downing and Tahlahlah told Ross that Justin Harlan, Agent for the Cherokees, “says that the President thinks that the Indians have been badly treated in time passed, & sent him (the Agent) with special instructions to see that every thing was done for them which can be.” 31   Ross himself wrote several Cherokees that same month that “at our interviews with the President & other officers of the Govt. we represented the deplorable condition in which our people are placed, in consequence of the failure on the part of the U. States Govt. to afford them protection, agreeably to their Treaty obligations with the Cherokee Nation.”32

In January1864, the Cherokee National Council sent a petition to the President drawing his attention to the condition of the Cherokee Nation and what, in a separate letter to Lincoln, Ross called “grievances, and the evils which have come upon them.” 33   Further, the Principle Chief wrote, “we beg leave very respectfully to ask the favorable attention of your Excellency to the several points embraced in the prayer of the petitions.” 34   Lincoln and the government did nothing to ameliorate the conditions Cherokees faced.

Another tragedy in the history of white expansion into Indian land that occurred during Lincoln’s years in the White House was the Sand Creek Massacre in southeastern Colorado in November 1864.  During an attack by the Third Colorado Regiment volunteers under Colonel John M. Chivington over 400 Cheyenne and Arapaho were murdered.  There is no recorded reaction by President Lincoln to the massacre, although it led to the resignation of Commissioner of Indian Affairs William P. Dole after Lincoln’s death.

Lincoln engaged in a unique relationship with the Pueblo Indians in New Mexico Territory.  In 1863, following the examples of a Spanish King in 1620 and the Mexican government in 1821, Lincoln presented Pueblo leaders silver headed ebony canes engraved with his name.  New Mexico’s Indian Superintendent Michael Steck had told Lincoln that the Pueblo leaders were anxious to have new canes from the United States. 35   The canes were engraved with the following words: 36

A. Lincoln

Prst. U.S.A.

(Name of the pueblo)

1863

These canes recognized the sovereign status of the pueblos. The canes are still revered in the pueblos today and are used to symbolically legitimize the authority of the pueblo governments.

There was no great difference between Lincoln and Congress in the implementation of Indian policy.  This is clear in his Third Annual Message delivered in December 1863.  In the same Message Lincoln reveals some of his fundamental goals for Indians.  He informed Congress that

The measures provided at your last session for the removal of certain Indian

tribes have been carried into effect.  Sundry treaties have been negotiated, which will in due time be submitted for the constitutional action in the Senate.  They

contain stipulations for extinguishing the possessory rights of the Indians to large

and valuable tracts of lands.  It is hoped that the effect of these treaties will

result in the establishment of permanent friendly relations with such of these

tribes as have been brought into frequent and bloody collision with our outlying

settlements and emigrants.  Sound policy and our imperative duty to these wards

of the Government demand our anxious and constant attention to their material

well-being, to their progress in the arts of civilization, and, above all to that moral

training which under the blessing of Divine Providence will confer upon them the

elevated and sanctifying influences, the hopes and consolations, of the

Christian faith.37

The last mention of Indians in Lincoln’s public papers occurred in a March 17, 1865 Proclamation.  Noting that “reliable information has been received that hostile Indians within the United States have been furnished with arms and munitions of war by persons dwelling in conterminous foreign territory and are thereby enabled to prosecute their savage warfare upon the exposed and sparse settlements of the frontier,” Lincoln ordered that the individuals engaged in that activity “be arrested and tried by court-martial at the nearest military post.”38

Finally, Lincoln faced the political and bureaucratic muddle of the Indian Office.  The highest levels of those responsible for Indian policy were the Secretary of Interior and the Commissioner of Indian Affairs.  Lincoln had two Interior Secretaries during his time in office.  The first was Caleb B. Smith, a Pennsylvanian who had seconded Lincoln’s nomination for president at the 1860 Republican convention.  Smith resigned at the end of 1862 due to ill health and was succeeded by John P. Usher of Indiana in January 1863.  Lincoln named a fellow citizen of Illinois, William P. Dole, as Commission of Indian Affairs.

Below these positions were the highly political and lucrative positions of Superintendents and reservation agents.  These were central to what David A. Nichols calls the “Indian system.” The corruption of the system was open and openly acknowledged.  “No president,” writes Nichols, “including Lincoln, could escape the demands of his victorious followers for their share of the rewards.” 39   As was common at the time Lincoln responded to the pressures for patronage by relying on the Interior Secretaries, Dole and members of Congress. For example, early in his administration he refused to name the agent for Oregon tribes that Dole recommended because of objections from the state’s two Senators.40   Nichols notes that

Because of his preoccupation with the War for the Union, Lincoln knowingly allowed the Indian System to function normally until he died.41

President Lincoln broke no new ground in Indian policy or Indian-white relations.  He continued the policy of all previous presidents of viewing Indians as wards of the government while at the same time negotiating with them as sovereigns. He made no revolutionary change in Indian-white relations as he did in black-white relations with the Emancipation Proclamation. While he called for reform of the Indian system in his last two Annual Messages to Congress, he provided no specifics and he continued the policy, already in place, of confining Indians to reservations after negotiating treaties.        The greatest impact of federal policies on Indians during the Lincoln administration were policies that were not directed at Indians themselves.  As discussed, these policies included homesteading and railroad construction.  These along with Christianizing and civilizing Indians led to an assimilationist policy and an ever greater loss of Indian land.  Finally, any evaluation of Lincoln’s Indian policy must be seen in the context of his larger goals of winning the Civil War and settling the west.

END NOTES

. James M. McPherson.  Tried By War: Abraham Lincoln As Commander In Chief. (New York: The Penguin Press, 2008), xiii.

2. Nichols, David A. Lincoln and the Indians: Civil War Politics and Policy. (Champaign,  IL: University of Illinois Press,1999), 161

3. Ibid., 196.

4. White, Ronald C., Jr. A. Lincoln: A Biography. (New York: Random House, 2009), 12.

5. Wilson, Douglas L. And Rodney O. Davis, eds. Herndon’s Informants: Letters, Interviews, and Statements about Abraham Lincoln. (Urbana: IL: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 372.

6. Roy P. , ed. The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, 9 vols. (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1953-55), I: 509-10.  Hereinafter CWOL.

7. CWOL, III: 9.

8. CWOL, III:113 and 196.

9.  A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the President, Volume VIII. (Washington, D.C.: Bureau of National Literature, 1896), 3388.  Hereinafter as Messages and Papers.

10. Viola, Herman J. Diplomats in Buckskin: A History of Indians Delegations in Washington City. (Buffington, SC: Rivilo Books, 1995), 99.

11. Donald, David Herbert. Lincoln. (London: A Touchstone Book, 1995),393.

12. Messages and Papers, 3387.

13. Ibid., 3444.

14. Bain, David Howard.  “The Transcontinental Railroad.” In Abraham Lincoln Great American Historians on Our Sixteenth President, Brian Lamb and Susan Swain, eds. (New York: Public Affairs, 2008), 111.

15. Messages and Papers, 3333.

16. CWOL, V: 493.

17. Messages and Papers, 3345-46.

18. Messages and Papers, 3246.

19. Cox, Hank H. Lincoln and the Sioux Uprising of 1862. (Nashville: TN: Cumberland House, 2005),184.

20. CWOL, 542-43.

21. Cox, 183.

22. Nichols, p. 165.

23.  Prucha, Francis Paul. The Great Father: The United States Government and the American Indians. (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1984), 450.

24. Viola, 24.

25. Prucha, 417.

26. Viola, 79.

27. Moulton, Gary E. John Ross: Cherokee Chief.  (Athens: GA: University of Georgia Press, 1978), 176.

28. Messages and Papers, 3333.

29. CWOL, V: 439-40.

30. Ibid.

31. Moulton, Gary E., ed. The Papers of Chief John Ross Volume II 1840-1866. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1985), 530.

32. Ibid.,  531.

33. Ibid., 564.

34. Ibid.

35. Simmons, Marc. “Trail Dust: Lincoln’s lasting legacies.” Santa Fe New Mexican, January 9, 2009. http://www.santafenewmexican.com/Local%20News/Lincoln-s-Lasting-Legacies. Retrieved February 5, 2009.

36. “Self-Guided Tour to Acoma.” http.//www.Sandia.gov/day/docs/Acoma. Retrieved February 5, 2009.

37. Messages and Papers, 3388.

38. Messages and Papers, 3480.

39. Nichols, 8.

40. CWOL, IV: 403.

41. Nichols, 207.

RETURNING TRIBAL GOVERNMENT TO TRADITIONAL PRINCIPLES

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RETURNING TRIBAL GOVERNMENT TO TRADITIONAL PRINCIPLES APPROPRIATELY FOR THE TWENTYFIRST CENTURY: THE ONGOING EXPERIENCE OF NAVAJO NATION

Stephen M. Sachs, Political Science IUPUI

1916 San Pedro Dr., NE, Albuquerque, NM 87110

ssachs@earthlink.net, (505)265-9388

Paper Presented to the 2009 Meeting of the Southwest/Texas Popular Culture/American Culture Association

Albuquerque, NM, April 25-28, 2009

RETURNING TRIBAL GOVERNMENT TO TRADITIONAL PRINCIPLES APPROPRIATELY FOR THE TWENTYFIRST CENTURY: THE ONGOING EXPERIENCE OF NAVAJO NATION

Stephen M. Sachs, Political Science IUPUI

Today, a great many Indian Nations are struggling to overcome inappropriate forms of government that were directly or indirectly imposed by the U.S. government. These alien modes of governance conflict with traditional tribal culture and values, causing ineffective governance, and contributing greatly to community disharmony.1 Among the most interesting current attempts to improve tribal government, is the ongoing process of government development at Navajo Nation, which for some time has been working to reinculcate traditional values into its political institutions, in ways that are appropriate for the conditions of the current and unfolding era.

TRADITIONAL TRIBAL GOVERNANCE

Traditionally, tribal and band societies in North America, for the most part, functioned harmoniously through inclusive ways of building community consensus that balanced individual and community needs and concerns.2 Although each of the tribes had its own particular culture and way of governing, the general practice was that no decision was made without involving everyone who was concerned. Usually issues were discussed until consensus was achieved.3 This was attained in large tribes and in multi-tribal federations, such as that of the Huron which in 1634 consisted of 30,000-40,000 people, by using consensus decision making in meetings at each organizational level (e.g., clan segment, village, tribe, federation) with discussion back and forth across the levels until general consensus was reached.4

Leaders (who have mistakenly been called “chiefs”) functioned primarily as facilitators, consensus builders, and announcers of decisions.5 In general, they had little or no decision making power of their own, though usually they had influence. They were chosen for positions of leadership on the basis of their high moral character and ability to represent the people and lead in the long term interests of the community as a whole.6

This inclusive process of egalitarian, consensus decision making, normally limiting civil leaders to being facilitators and advisors of the people, was built upon cultural and structural foundations that, while varying in detail among Indian nations, generally followed the same basic principles. Culturally, people believed in, and related on the basis of, mutual respect, identifying with the band or tribe as an extended family, in which members supported each other in their individual endeavors to the extent that they did not contradict the common good, while they collaborated out of mutual interest and a strong sense of shared consensus. Structurally, in different ways and to different extents among various peoples, political and social power and function were widely dispersed – generally beyond the division of powers and functions in U.S. government (though for similar reasons). At the same time, economically, as well as socially, the structure of living caused people to need each other’s support, while economic power was at least not so concentrated as to upset egalitarian relations, and was most often broadly dispersed in economies based upon reciprocity (usually even more so than is supposed to be the case in current, mainstream economic theory to maintain a “free” market economy). Thus, by developing cooperation and a sense of unity through honoring diversity on the basis of mutual respect, these communities usually maintained a very high quality of life.7

The Impact of Colonialism

As U.S. colonialism developed in the late Nineteenth Century, Indian nations were denied the right to govern themselves, and their traditional leadership was undermined as part of an attempt to assimilate Native Americans into mainstream U.S. society. When the assimilationist policies were reversed in the 1930s, the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) of 1934, the Oklahoma Indian Welfare Act of 1936 and the Alaska Reorganization Act of 1936 forced a form of government on most tribes that, with variation, generally provided for government by a tribal council elected at large, with a strong tribal chair to make decisions.8 This form of representative government usually did not separate or diversify power, in many cases giving the council authority the power to review (and thus overrule) judicial decisions. Even by western standards, this form of government has serious potential problems. For tribal people, who by various means were used to having a direct say in decision making, with leaders acting as facilitators and respected guides, rather than, deciders, in a system with widely dispersed power, the IRA type governments are contrary to their traditional values, contribute greatly to community disharmony and difficulty in getting things done. A major impact of this alien governmental system has been to compound the difficulties from physical and cultural genocide that tribes are working to surmount.

Traditionally, inclusive forms of consensus decision making worked to make each member of the community feel that membership through their participation, because, direct participation in deciding about community affairs was a major source of each person’s identity as a community member. The current practice of holding elections in which there are winners and losers, and the electing of councils that make decisions, rather than announce decisions made by the people as a whole, are divisive. Indeed, communication has broken down on a considerable number of reservations, so that people are often not aware of decisions being made, and in numerous instances have false impressions of what has transpired. This alienation has also been reflected in low levels of participation in elections and public meetings in many Native communities, accompanied by often vicious gossip and infighting. Those who lose an election often perceive that they have been rejected by the community, and believe that their honor has been impugned (where, for mainstream Americans this would not be the case). People who are not included in the making of a decision, even if they are invited to a meeting to state their opinion to the decision makers, tend to feel left out. Indeed today many people are, in fact, left out as their interests are not effectively represented in the tribal electoral systems. It is important to note that the effective exclusion of people from the electoral process is a result of the nature of the system itself, and, in general, not because of who the particular leaders happen to be.

Moreover, when tribal government authority became more dispersed in the 1960s, as the War on Poverty broke the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA)’s monopoly in overseeing Indian affairs by having each federal agency arrange the local implementation of its programs directly with each Native nation, the results were twofold. On the one hand, the opportunity of tribal people to run their own programs was an essential educational and nation building experience. On the other hand, the new programs were often not adequately integrated into tribal governments. This often brought about a fracturing of the governance process by the development of separate services, originally reporting to different federal agencies with disparate regulations and reporting requirements. This tended to create competing serfdoms, sometimes at odds with the elected leadership.

In addition, because of institutional racism, Indian people have not been taught in school the validity of their own ways, even though traditional Native American governance had a profound effect on the development of American democracy.9. Thus, Indian people have not been educated to glean public policy in a tribal government perspective. As a result, tribes are often encouraged to create codes that mimic U.S. statutes, rather than developing measures that fit their own tradition and circumstance. Because Indian people, for generations, were undermined in following their own cultures, time and energy often needs to be invested for tribal members to clarify how their traditions can be effectively applied in current circumstances. This is especially the case, as a variety of perspectives have developed as to just what those traditions are, while new traditions have come into being, such as the rise of the Native American Church, or importation of some form of the Sun Dance, by a number of Indian nations. Moreover, to varying degrees, and in a range of ways, members of Indian communities have adopted, or been affected in their ways of seeing, by non-Indian ways and institutions (including churches, as most Indian people today are at least nominally Christians, regardless of the extent to which they may also follow traditional ways and be involved in traditional ceremonies).

The Development of Current Forms of Tribal Government

The development of current forms of tribal government has taken place over a considerable period and has gone through many stages.10 Over half of the federally recognized tribes have governments organized on the IRA model. Some tribes, such as the Crow and the Yakima, have organized themselves through their own tribal agreements. Most tribes have an elected governing council of some kind (under a variety of names) that often combines legislative with executive (and sometimes judicial) authority. A few tribes, including the Onendaga, some Pueblo groups, many smaller bands in California and most Native communities in Alaska, continue to use more traditional forms of tribal governance. Many of the Indian nations that do not have IRA governments, have been influenced by it in developing their own governmental forms, or have developed other western, rather than traditionally based forms, as did Navajo Nation, that mirrored the federal government in establishing a three branch system of government with checks and balances. Many of these tribal governments have suffered some of the same problems as have been typical of many of the directly U.S. imposed Indian governments.

The problem of the inappropriateness of the more widely used current general form of governance has become of greater significance since the 1960s. Prior to that time (despite the intent of the 1930’s legislation enacted under the leadership if BIA Commissioner John Collier), tribes and tribal governments had little autonomy, and much of the function of the elected council members was to act as brokers for the tribe and its members in dealing, first, with federal, and second, with state and local officials. With the Civil Rights movement and the War on Poverty, commenced an increase in the authority of tribal governments to make significant decisions in their affairs, that generally continues to expand11

Thus the difficulties experienced by many Indian nations with inappropriate governmental processes have been intensifying over time. For some tribes, the problems have been relatively minor, while for others they have been quite serious. In too many instances, infighting has left tribal governments locked in deadlock, or quite unstable. In extreme cases, volatile conflict relating to governance has broken into violence, and/or led to a take over of tribal government by the Department of the Interior to restore or maintain peace.12 Currently, tribal governments are facing increasing challenges that are making community disharmony more likely and more intense. These include demographic shifts, rapid cultural, social and economic change, growing concerning as to whether economic development is occurring compatibly with tribal values, and increasing responsibility for tribal governments as the Federal government devolves authority to the tribes, states and localities.

RECREATING THE CIRCLE: INDIAN NATION EFFORTS TO APPLY TRADITIONAL VALUES TO IMPROVING TRIBAL GOVERNANCE

Over the last several decades, a number of Indian Nations have been making developing efforts to improve tribal governance by integrating traditional values and methods to contemporary situations, with an eye to the future.

Reviving Inclusiveness at Southern Ute

The Southern Utes, consistent with the inclusive participatory decision making of their traditional bands, are an interesting example of a Native Nation enlarging tribal member involvement in government in stages. First, in the late 1990’s, the tribal council increased the number of general tribal meetings from quarterly to once a month. Shortly thereafter, they instituted monthly sessions for members with concerns or complaints about tribal government and services, to meet individually with the Tribal Council.13 Next, in 1999, the Southern Utes became the first Indian nation to participate in a project, funded by the U.S. Children’s Bureau, to build coordination among social services that effected children, with ongoing community input. At the request of the tribal chair and council, a consulting team from the Social Research Institute at the University of Utah was brought in to help facilitate a Design Team. The team included administrators from a wide range of tribal services, since, at least indirectly, all services and the community members they interact with, have an impact on children.  Community consultants, including former social service recipients and elders, collaborated in building team work among social services, with responsiveness to community needs and input. The goal was to provide culturally relevant, supportive and integrated services to ensure that all Southern Ute children are successful in school and in life.14 The Southern Ute Indian Tribal Information Services Department, building upon inter-agency cooperation and coordination begun under the Design Program, in 2000, called a meeting of Southern Ute and La Plata County, CO social service agencies, in February 2006, to renew and expand a 2003 memorandum of understanding, which included bringing in the Mental Health Center as a collaborator. The meeting focused on working together as a consistent policy, the need to create a service directory, and the desire of non-tribal entities to increase tribal awareness of efforts to create a La Plata County Health District. Thus inclusiveness and cooperation among tribal agencies continued to foster collaboration with outside entities for more appropriate and effective delivery of services to Southern Utes.

In 2001, when there was a heated dispute over who should lead the Southern Ute nation’s most important spiritual ceremony, the annual Sun Dance, when it should be held, and how it should be undertaken, the tribal chairman, for the first time, called for the Sun Dancers, and any other interested community members, to meet to resolve the problem.15 After three contentious meetings, the issues were worked out. The previous Sun Dance Chief resigned. Another experienced Sun Dance chief agreed to run the ceremony according to the wishes of the assembled Sun Dance community, for one year, until a new Sun Dance Chief could be chosen. After the meetings, some of those on each side of the major set of issues that had been talked out in the sessions went to some of those who had been on the other side, out of concern that they had been too hard on them. Thus, some significant reconciliation occurred before the year’s Sun Dance, which took place smoothly. At the end of the ceremony a new Sun Dance Chief was announced, who ran the 2002 ceremony, which ended with more harmony than the community had experienced in several years.

One widely experienced problem in instituting processes for reapplying traditional inclusive participatory values, that arose at Southern Ute, is that even though increased community involvement may bring tribal governance more into agreement with the basic mores of the culture, it takes time to firmly establish the new ways of doing so. Until that occurs, a new tribal chair or council majority may not appreciate them, and may eliminate them. That occurred at Southern Ute, when, even while initiating the Design Team, a new tribal chair led the council to discontinue monthly general meetings. However, that chairman was recalled by a vote of the tribe because he was seen as too unresponsive to the membership. His replacement returned momentum to expanding community participation by initiating the meetings to resolve the Sun Dance issues. The Southern Ute Tribe has since, begun using focus groups to provide member input on tribal issues (which also has become a regular practice at Navajo Nation),16 and, in spring 2004, began holding ‘open forum’ general meetings, with no prior agenda, to allow tribal members to raise concerns with the tribal council as the members saw fit.17

Yurok and Alaska-British Columbia Inclusiveness

In another instance of returning to inclusive participation, the Yurok Tribe, in 2005, undertook a comprehensive, long range Tribal Transportation Plan, “Taking Back a Traditional Trail,” through an inclusive discussion process, involving tribal members, community residents and other relevant stakeholders identifying community priorities, unmet needs, and the unique circumstances relating to tribal transportation, under a grant from the California Department of Transportation.18

It was reported in May, 1996, that a few Native nations in Alaska and in Western British Columbia have adopted the Baha’I “consultation” method of decision making, which is essentially a consensus decision making process.19 This consultation method involves an elected council which is trained to listen respectfully to all sides and views on an issue as expressed by community members, either in open community forums, or by representatives of different ways of approaching an issue. Only after carefully hearing the full range of concerns on a question, will the council move to crafting a policy. It attempts to do so as inclusively as possible, balancing the full range of concerns in any decision. Policies can later be reviewed by the same process, to take into account changing circumstances, and/or difficulties created, or inadequately addressed, by the earlier action.

Development of the Indigenous Leadership Interactive System and its Use By the Comanche and Other Nations

A particularly interesting set of cases has been the development of the Indigenous Leadership Interactive System (ILIS – originally called the Tribal Issues Management System: TIMS) and its application by the Comanche and, to a lesser extent, three other Oklahoma nations.20 ILIS is a contemporary, computer assisted, participatory consensus strategic planning process developed specifically for tribal use over two years in a collaboration between Americans for Indian Opportunity, the Department of Communication at George Mason University, and Christakis & Associates. After its development, which included establishing options for applying it appropriately for tribal cultures and in a variety of Native settings, ILIS was successfully tried out in an intertribal planning meeting.

In 1990, the Comanche Business Committee invited Americans for Indian Opportunity (AIO), Oklahomans for Indian Opportunity (OIO), the Department of Communication at George Mason University, and Christakis & Associates, to apply ILIS to help the tribe overcome problems of conflict and infighting that were causing a variety of community problems and making it difficult for the business committee (the Comanche governing body, an IRA type government) to develop and carry out a program. ILIS is a system of consensus decision making consistent with traditional values of inclusiveness and mutual respect. To build trust, considerable time is spent in culturally appropriate welcoming and other rituals, while a tribal elder reminds the participants of traditional values at the beginning of each round of discussion and whenever a controversial topic is taken up.

The Comanche began the ILIS process at the tribal level with two meetings in which representatives of every major group among the four main Comanche communities in Oklahoma participated in creating a vision and suggesting specific plans for realizing that vision. All of the participants were very enthusiastic about their experience in returning to inclusive consensus decision making. As one participant stated,  “I’d like to say that I’m really impressed. I really feel honored to be here because these are the concerns that I’ve had for a long time and they’re not even voiced by most of us because you’re not always able to say something for fear of stepping on someone’s toe or saying something that’s not reflecting something that you really feel, and someone misinterprets what you say a lot of times. And I just really appreciate being able to deal with these things. I just feel the oneness that I’ve always wanted to feel about my culture.21

Following this initial success, the Comanches began a series of meetings going back and forth between tribal level sessions and local general meetings in each of the four communities. This led to the carrying out of a number of projects at both the local and tribal levels. In June of 1992, the four communities formalized the two level ILIS process in the “Comanche Community Participation Units Articles of Voluntary Association” which was officially made part of the Tribal governance process in a resolution of the Comanche Business Committee of July 11 1992.

During the early 1990’s, a number of issues were discussed to the point of consensus through the two level process. When the resulting proposals were brought to the Business Committee, they passed easily. Proposals that had not gone through the ILIS process, typically failed to pass the Business Committee for lack of support, regardless of their substantive merit. Meanwhile, a sense of harmony and trust began to return to the community. The next general tribal meeting achieved the largest turn out in a number of years, and for the first time in at least a decade, confidence in tribal governance rose sufficiently so that a Tribal Chair was reelected.

Clearly, ILIS, was a culturally appropriate vehicle for building community consensus. It functioned well, consistently with long established Comanche values. However, because of the long experience with an imposed form of government, considerable time making decisions through the ILIS process was required for it to become established as the proper way to deal with community issues. Thus a new Tribal Chair did not appreciate the value of the process, failed to replace the tribal ILIS facilitators when they left their positions, and did not use the process (though three of the four local communities were continuing to use their version of it as of early 1999). When two important issues arose in 1996 that the new Tribal Chair believed needed quick action, he simply made his own proposals to the Business Committee. The result was that people who had begun to appreciate being involved, as their values indicated they should be, felt betrayed at not being given the opportunity to participate in making the decisions. Thus Comanche affairs became even more disharmonious than they had been prior to the institution of ILIS. Although some attempts have been made to revive the ILIS process at the tribal level, none had been successful as of early 2009. The earlier experience shows that ILIS and other inclusive methods of building consensus show great promise for returning many Indian communities to harmony, but only if their use is nurtured sufficiently until tribal members can be reacculturated to handling community affairs in a neotraditional manner.

THE CONTINUING PROCESS OF GOVERNMENT DEVELOPMENT AT NAVAJO NATION

Traditional Navajo Governance

The longest, currently on going, process of tribal government development has been in progress for many years at Navajo Nation. The Dine, generally known as the Navajo, were a society governed largely at the band level with somewhat more complexity in their social organization owing to their strong clan structure.22 Clans (extended family units) were important in public affairs, in part, because they were responsible for the behavior of their own members (e.g., debts, torts and crimes). Since clans gave considerable emotional and economic support to their members, pressure from kinsmen, especially elders, was likely to have exerted a strong influence. In speaking of more contemporary local governance, Kluckhohn and Leighton describe what oral history says was true of the old band government and which was typical of traditional Native American government in general.23

Headmen have no powers of coercion, save possibly that some people fear them as potential witches, but they have responsibilities. They are often expected, for example, to look after the interests of the needy who are without close relatives or whose relatives neglect them [a rare occurrence in traditional times], but all they can do with the neglectful ones is talk to them. No program put forward by a headman is practicable unless it wins public endorsement or has the tacit backing of a high proportion of the influential men and women of the area.

The two authors go on to say that at meetings, “the Navaho pattern was for discussion to be continued until unanimity was reached, or at least until those in opposition felt it was useless or impolitic to express disagreement.” They point out, however, that while public meetings provided an occasion for free voicing of sentiments and thrashing out of disagreements, the most important part of traditional Dine political decision making took place informally in negotiations among clan and other leaders representing their respective groups who regularly discussed community concerns face to face. These discussions included input from women, particularly elder women, so that everyone in the community was represented. Prior to U.S. government intervention, there was no national Dine government, beyond the clan and inter-band negotiating process. However, there is evidence in oral history that prior to the Dine territory becoming part of the United States, in 1846, traditionally there were meetings, called the Naachid, every two to four years of the war and peace leaders of many of the bands, at which issues of war and peace were discussed, but it is not clear if civil issues were also considered at the meetings. As with band government, the Naachid had no power to coerce compliance of its decisions.

From Colonial Imposition to Arising Self-Determination

Under U.S. colonialism, following 1868, imposed administration was initially undertaken from a single agency. Then between 1901 and 1924 Navajo administration was decentralized into six districts with BIA personnel interacting with local band leaders.24. During this period there was considerable resistance to U.S. administration and its cultural suppression, with the military called in as late as 1914 in the face of threatened uprisings.

“The discovery of oil on Navajoland in the early 1920’s promoted the need for a more systematic form of government.”25 The first business council was formed in 1922, which became formalized in 1923 into an initial tribal council. “This political structure was a dramatic and completely foreign mode of governance for Navajo society. Major differences include: the centralization of power, official demarcation of boundaries and standardization and uniform application of laws. Historically, political power was disaggregate, lacking official boundaries and consisting of multifarious interpretations of DinÈ cosmology and laws. At the time of its inception, the nation-state format wasn’t something needed by the natural community of the DinÈ. Rather, it was created to serve the interests of the U.S. federal government and foreign corporations. In other words, Navajos dramatically altered their natural political institutions for benefit of outside forces-not for consideration of the Navajo community…. That this process wasn’t explicit doesn’t undermine the effect putting tribal societies under the control of U.S. governmental bureaucracies had on internal politics of these societies. This created a bureaucratic ruling class that runs the tribe today.”26

The first chapters were established in 1925, and at least fit somewhat into the Dine tradition of having local government at the band level.But such groupings corresponded to nothing in Navajo experience, and the techniques laid down were still more foreign. The cultural provincialism of the Indian Service was shown in the fact that each chapter was told to elect a president, vice president, and secretary and to carry on according to parliamentary procedure.”27 This arrangement made it inevitable that the younger, more western educated, Dine filled most the offices of the chapters, rather than the more locally and traditionally knowledgeable, and wiser, elders. The Indian Service attempted to direct the chapters, insisting that the leadership agree to many of its proposals or resign. This lead many of the chapters to become centers of anti U.S, government agitation. Whereupon, the BIA withdrew its financial support, leading most of the local units to collapse. Yet the organization of chapters spread, and by 1933 over 100 were operating across the reservation, as they had practical advantages and integrated with the tradition of local governance through the extended families of the bands.

In the early years, until after World War II, the Navajo Tribal Council, like the councils of many tribes coping with BIA impositions as best they could, also, acted primarily as a reactive body, saying yes or no to BIA proposals, while proposing very little (though there were some examples of the council being proactive after 1940). As a body forced on the Navajo by an alien government often riding rough shod over Dine interest and culture, the Council was often a focus of protest and resistance. During the New Deal, in 1934, the Navajo voted against adopting an IRA government, “Nevertheless, the Indian Service proceeded administratively, and under the legal principle of inherent and unextinguished tribal authority, to extend to the elected authority some control over tribal affairs.”28 In 1936, after a search of the reservation for “competent” men, led by Father Berad Haile, the BIA appointed a constitutional assembly. The assembly disbanded the old government, and appointed a provisional executive to act until a new constitution could be written. Agreement was never reached for a new constitution, but the assembly did come together on a set of rules for a new council, that the BIA approved, leading to an election in 1938.

Many Navajos were suspicious of this arrangement. “At the time of its adoption, there was vehement resistance against this method of governance. In the 1930s Jacob C. Morgan, later to become tribal chairman, led campaigns to oppose Navajo concessions of mineral wealth, the Bureau of Indian Affairs livestock reduction initiative, the creation of the first tribal council and the 1937 Navajo constitutional effort. It wasn’t until he was named chairman that Morgan ended his political opposition against the central government of the Navajo tribe. Other forms of resistance happened more subtly. Justices within tribal courts (or the courts of Indian offenses) used traditional methods of justice to resolve Navajo offenses despite BIA mandate to operate otherwise. It was the Navajo judiciary that took the lead in incorporating traditional values and concepts into the legal (i.e., political) logic of the centralized Navajo government. This led eventually to the formal incorporation of the peacemaking courts in the 1980s. But converse to this trend, the Navajo courts decided at this time that statutory law trumps common law when each is in conflict on a given issue. In other words, the will of the central government is held in higher esteem than cultural principles rooted in DinÈ culture.”29 However, in 1985, the Navajo judiciary was established as an independent branch, and even though legally the council could overrule the Navajo Supreme Court, for political reasons the council has respected its independence.30 Moreover, within the letter of statutory law, there has been considerable space for the courts to apply Navajo tradition in both statutory interpretation and in developing common law. This in turn has had an impact on public opinion, on the Council’s writing of legislation, and upon the larger process of government development.

After World War II, the Council became more active in developing policy, which expanded greatly with the growth of tribal decision making as a result of, first, the war on poverty, and then the growing federal Indian policy of self-determination, initiated under the Nixon Administration. Among those gaining leadership skills and experience as a result of the war on poverty Indian programs were Peter MacDonald31 and Peterson Zah. MacDonald was elected tribal chairman in 1970, and began doing a great deal to increase Navajo Nation tribal sovereignty and economic wellbeing, quite aggressively moving to extend tribal control over education and other programs, and over mineral leases. MacDonald took advantage of the concentration of power in the Navajo Nation’s IRA like government, which he expanded considerably. However, after serving three terms as Chair, he lost the election in 1982 to Zah. Typical of many tribal leaders who’s culture is collaborative, emphasizing consensus decisions making rather than elections, he took the election loss personally, as an attack on his honor, causing him to shift to a power seeking approach to politics. Building a strong political machine, he won the 1986 election for chairman, and ruled quite dictatorially, setting off a major political struggle which came to a head with a riot in Window rock, on July 20, 1989, that left two Dine dead and ten injured.

A substantial part of his political power was based upon his bringing needed money and jobs to the reservation by expanding mineral extraction and launching numerous Navajo owned enterprises, including the Navajo Nation Shopping Centers Enterprise and Navajo Engineering and Construction Authority. He clearly did a great deal to advance the sovereignty and economic wellbeing of Navajo Nation, though the damage to land and people from mining in the longer term have been considerable, and along with some other aspects of the development he launched, have violated some important Dine values. Moreover, MacDonald engaged in considerable favoritism, nepotism and misappropriation of moneys, which led to his suspension as chair, in 1988, and his conviction on federal charges of bribery, fraud and misuse of federal funds in 1990.

At least some of the favoritism and nepotism can be attributed to the traditional value of a leader supporting his relatives, which functioned very well in precontact times, when every member of a band was a relative. Then, assisting family members was helping the whole band, which is not the case in the modern context. This is a difficulty that requires a new approach across Indian country. But MacDonald’s financial self-aggrandizement, is hardly traditional. Rather it is an offshoot of the creation of a new class of political leaders resulting from U.S. assimilation and government restructuring policies of the U.S. government.

The Post-MacDonald Reforms

As a result of the problems of the MacDonald government, the first effort to bring at least a modicum of traditional dispersion of power back into Dine government, though in a largely western format, was the creation of the current government structure, in 1989, featuring separating of powers roughly following the model of the three branch U.S. federal government, with leadership from Peterson Zah, who served as chairman of the Navajo Tribal Council at Window Rock from 1983 – 87, and who was elected first President of the Navajo Nation in 1990, under new Constitution.32

The current constitution establishes an 88 member elected council delegates representing 110 Navajo Nation chapters, an executive branch headed by a President, leading a sizable administrative bureaucracy and a court system. In contrast to the United States government, the legislature. as the direct representative of the people. has preponderant legal power over the other branches, making the Speaker the most powerful official in the government, followed  by the President, whose powers include a veto over legislation, that can be overridden by the Council. The constitution places governmental authority primarily in the national government, located at Window Rock, which can allocate authority to the chapters.

Concentrating decision making in Window Rock has long presented difficulties. Navajo nation with the largest population of any recognized Indian tribe in the United States, spread over an extremely large reservation with poor roads and other infrastructure stretching across three states, found that attempting to govern almost all tribal matters from the tribal capital had resulted in a cumbersome, bureaucratic tribal government, that many Navaho’s found to be unrepresentative and too distant to act with an adequate understanding of conditions in its many varied local chapters, or to be in communication with local citizens. The geographic separation also tended to increase the psychological separation between the educated class, composing much of government and administration, and the rest of the population. Moreover, many aspects of the nation’s three branch government, modeled on the U.S. Constitution, did not fit with traditional Navajo ways, even though some traditional governmental practices were retained, and the tribal courts incorporated a considerable amount of Navajo custom in tribal law.

Decentralization and Participation at Navajo Nation

Thus, In early 1998, the Navajo Nation acted to decentralize many aspects of government to its 110 local chapters, even as it was working to improve the quality of many chapter meetings by finding ways to incorporate relevant traditional values in contemporary governance.33 A sales tax was established so that chapters certified in self-governing competence could obtain funding for from retail sales in their jurisdiction. At the same time, the central government began taking steps to debureaucratize its operation, and to improve the accessibility of, and communications with, each of its organs. Most of the planning and initial implementation of these efforts have been carried out by the Navajo Government Commission, an arm of the legislative branch, and its Office of Navajo Government Development. The Commission and the Office have some able staff, and have been advised by traditional elders. With a weak economy, however, it has been difficult for the nation to provide adequate resources for the immense and many facetted task. The Office has received some assistance in providing forums for local chapter officials to work out methods for improving chapter governance through the Leadership Program at Dine College. However, the program has not had the resources to move very quickly in working with the large number of geographically dispersed chapters.34

A similar, problem exists concerning the technical competence of the chapters to carry out programs effectively and to handle finances with accountability. Thus the nation’s government established a process for chapters to be approved on their money managing competence, and thus be certified to operate their own programs under the decentralization statute. At first, very few chapters became involved in the certification program, as the paperwork involved was complex, while many of the chapters were understaffed, overworked and inexperienced in the more complicated bookkeeping that the revenue sharing process of applying tribal funds locally would involve. As a result, Navajo nation developed methods to simplify accounting while maintaining accountability, while finding affordable yet adequate ways to provide technical assistance to chapters on finance and other matters. This has begun to increase chapter certification, but the process is still very slow. In October, 2004, the Sweetwater Chapter became the first to have its Local Governance Act Community Land Use Plan approved by the Navajo Nation Council’s Transportation and Community Development Committee, having obtained assistance from the Shiprock Agency Local Government Support Center, one of several regional centers set up to assist chapter governments. By April of 2005, six additional chapters had land use plans approved, on December 24, 2008, the number reached 10 chapters achieving certification.35

At the same time, public participation in Navajo Nation national government has been increased in several ways, including the institution of representative focus groups to obtain input on important issues and posting proposed legislation on the legislature’s web site. This was done while allowing time for public (and Navajo executive agency) comment before issues come to a vote. In 2004, the Navajo Nation’s Supreme Court’s Chief Justice called for public commentary in the regular evaluation of judges.36 Also that year, the nation set up polling stations in tribal elections for its registered voters living off reservation in Albuquerque, Denver, Salt Lake City and Phoenix.

The Current Reform Initiatives

While the process of decentralization, initiated in 1998, began to move toward its desired ends, many Navajo found it too limited and too slow, bringing a call to reexamine the entire system of the Nation’s government. Thus, in 2002, a Navajo Nation Statutory Reform Convention was held with 256 representatives from the 110 chapters and 13 organizations.37 They proposed 26 amendments to Navajo law, two of which that President Joe Shirely wanted to put before the voters. Following that, the council established an independent Office of Navajo Government Development. The office, however, was unable to obtain the approval by the council of any of the amendments. In 2007 the office’s independent mandate was revoked, and it returned to being an organ of the Office of the Speaker.

Political discussion of government reform resurfaced as a Navajo national issue, in 2008. However, it quickly became a political football between Navajo President Joe Shirley, Jr. and Council Speaker Lawrence Morgan, and as of February 2009, there had been no real public or governmental discussion of the issues.38 On April 21, President Shirley announced in his annual State of the Navajo Nation Address that his administration was working, consistently with traditional Dine principles, to streamline government and bureaucracy, to reduce costs and improve service to tribal members.39 With the Navajo Nation beginning to feel the decline of the U.S. economy, on April 29, the President launched the first of two attempts to have Dine voters pass a constitutional amendment that would reduce the Council from 88 to 24 members and give the President a line item veto.40 Shirley stated that the two provisions would save money by cutting council expenses and allowing the President to eliminate unnecessary spending that he asserted was often added to budget bills in riders proposed by individual council members. He also asserted that the provisions would create a better balance between the executive and legislative branches, in part, because a smaller council would have less time to engage in expensive micromanaging of administration. However neither referendum achieved certification from the Navajo Election Commission as having been approved, though the first received about 70% of the votes cast.41

Speaker Morgan took a different view of reform, requesting the Dine Policy Institute to prepare a report of ways in which Dine government could be revised to make it more compatible with the nation’s traditions, with several options for possible action. While the Institute was working on the project, the President and the Speaker communicated about initiating reform, signing a memorandum of agreement, on August 13, to seek comprehensive reform, a reform convention, and ultimately a referendum of the people.42

The Dine Policy Institute of Dine college issued the Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report, September 2, 2008, which received a very short initial discussion by the Navajo Nation Council during its October 20-24 session.43 The executive summary stated the following findings about the existing, nationally power centered, three branch. national government, which mirrors the U.S. national government. “The concept of Nation-statism and constitutionalism is inappropriate and ineffective as applied to the Navajo Nation. Decentralization of government needs to be thoroughly examined. The current government originates from Western political history and carries a contrasting experience from that of the DinÈ. This has created a political system supporting a ‘strong man’ which is historically incongruous. The DinÈ must rethink their government to reflect cultural values and norms. The DinÈ need to utilize new terminology when communicating governance ideas. We have adopted Western concepts of government that do not reflect our cultural knowledge. The prevailing institutions (norms and values) need to be addressed, understood, and deconstructed when examining governance and its implementation. The separation of powers is a problematic system – one codified on the basis mistrust – creates a multitude of limitations. An implicit, non-codified separation of powers, based in the DinÈ concept of trust, adequately reflects traditional concepts of cooperation and integration. Conversely, the current system only works within a model of mistrust and does not foster efficiency or confidence. Judicial review is an essential component to regulate government.”

The report acknowledges that the current western structure has had some advantages, the main one being stability, providing for community peace, and bringing a consistency that can foster economic development. But the report found that economic development, while desirable, must be balanced with other values, and that the national government, in Window Rock, AZ, at times acted contrary to traditional values, and to the will and needs of the people. This was found to be occurring partly from Window Rock’s isolation, and the alien western values built into its structure, and partly because of the inefficiency and unwieldiness of its bureaucracy.

One of the authors of the report stated, “The utilization of nation-statist political and economic development has perverted our former institutions, forcing us to make stretched analogies between traditional governance and contemporary governance… a nationstate is a framework in which to implement new and (for the Navajo) foreign institutions, such as a centralized system of governance and social services. These institutions are not historic to Navajo society, which had functions and/or roles that served similar purposes, but in a dramatically different context and at a much smaller level. Hierarchies within historic DinÈ institutions, such as the family, clan and naataani, extended no more than a few levels. Whereas contemporary institutions such as the Navajo Nations government, police force and departments of social services have rigid and deep bureaucracies, creating multiple layers of hierarchies. Ultimately, the main problems with nation-statism for the Navajo Nation is the centralization of political authority, the creation of hierarchies, over bureaucratization and the emergence of class. Centralization of authority differs from the function of our historic political institutions, which were localized. This has led to much animosity toward Window Rock from more distant communities. The creation of hierarchies is divergent from the more egalitarian, role-based Navajo society of historic times. That is to say political position had function, not scopes of authority. Creating hierarchies creates dissonance within Navajo society, where responsibility to family and clan relatives was prioritized, but now must be nullified to meet the needs of large institutions. Of course the most frequently identified aspect of Navajo governance preventing ‘economic development’ (i.e., the development of a service economy) is the bureaucratic nature of tribal divisions designed to assist Navajo entrepreneurs. Removing bureaucracies through increased emphasis on local rule seems a necessary first step in the process. Lastly, the emergence of class has become a serious issue on the Navajo Nation. At present, there seems to be two broad classes, with subtle subdivisions found in each of these. The dominating class is the technocratic class, administrators within government services in Window Rock. The second class is everyone else, including: pastoralist, unemployed, the seasonally employed, service-sector employees and low-rank government officials. Often, the dominating class looks downtrodden on the rest of Navajo society, especially more rural folk whom they view as backward and uneducated. This has manifested also in recent efforts at government reform, in which the executive branch has attacked the legislative branch in an attempt to remove from influence representatives from distant communities and further centralize power in Window Rock. Nation-statism has created a crisis in institutions, with the Navajo Nation trying to replicate foreign hierarchal establishments under the false assumptions that these are needed for modernization.”44

After an examination of the current Navajo government structure, and the idea of having a formal constitution, the report proposes four “Alternative Governance Models,” to provide a range of options of how best to apply traditional values to the needs of the Twenty-First Century. The traditional values focus on living in beauty, or in balance. This includes concern for the economic, social, familial, and environmental well-being of the Navajo Nation. As the author of the third model states the first of four principles (p. 53), “Clearly safeguarded by historical DinÈ was an acknowledged ownership of goods and products of labor (however Lockian that appears to be). But more importantly was respect for others use of land and goods delineated by its use.” This involved reciprocity, and a responsibility of those with more to help those with less, as is indicated by the third principle, below. Hence all the proposed models express concern for distributive justice. “Second, a respect for the moral order, that is in extreme cases they were moments of punitive measures meted out, but the rationale for those measures rested on a notion of restoring a sense of harmony among kin. [See the expanded discussion of this in Part II of this chapter]. Third, is a respect for the needs of others, to ensure that all needs of others were met as best as they could be by those who have. Fourth was an assurance of reciprocal security – that is one is assured that neighbors, often family, would be ready to protect against any encroachment, physical or spiritual. These four concepts appear to be the motivations of the historical DinÈ in their survival. Therefore, the four aspects include: rights and protection of property; respect and assurance of civil order; freedom to wealth with responsibilities; and, security from physical and spiritual dangers. Thus a government structure must be able to protect and safeguard these particular traditions of DinÈ, while also balancing and fulfilling its basic core function.” Other balances also needed to be preserved and restored, according to tradition, most notably between male and female genders, a point directly addressed in two of the models. The report affirms the current functioning of the Navajo court system, with none of the proposals suggesting changing the judiciary. All of the models propose the need for education to decolonize the thinking of those in government and other institutions, and the people in general.

The Four Options for Revising Navajo Government

The four options put forth in the report range from adjusting the current system of government, to totally changing it to approach returning to historically locally based governance. The first is a status quo model that emphasizes little change, but alludes to efficiency in government. It would (p. 41) streamline bureaucracy, improving intergovernmental relationships. “These possible changes, not only should be within the system, but also as a social movement to deconstruct the existing cultural norms among the people and their reliance on the bureaucratic system.” This option calls for discussing whether (and if so how, and to what extent) privatization of collectively held land, as a means of promoting wealth generation, would be consistent with Navajo values. This approach asserts the need to move much further with decentralization, “Currently, and in all reality, the central Navajo government holds all real power with little emphasis placed on local governance (as seen with the dismal results of the Local Governance Act). Policy may be formulated which would emphasize local governance without sacrificing instability in the central government.”

The second is a bicameral parliamentary model stressing the integration and cooperation of a traditional and legislative body to form and execute laws, while decentralizing power by entrusting the Navajo people with the approval of all laws. The current model would be changed by eliminating the current executive branch, and replacing it with an executive headed by a prime minister selected by the Navajo Council. The executive would then appoint a cabinet approved by the Council. Elections for the Council would be undertaken with a runoff election between the top two vote receivers in the initial voting. Terms would be for six years, with the possibility of running again for an immediate two year term. After the eight years, a council member would have to wait four year before running again, as would a person who was not elected to a second two year term, after her/his initial six years in office. To maintain male-female balance, half the elected delegates would be men, and half women, with a lottery determining which chapters would initially elect representatives of each gender. On completion of each six or eight year service, the gender of the chapter representative would switch. The second house would be a house of elders, appointed for life by the executive, whose function would be to advise the government to assist its acting consistently with Navajo values, and who would have no formal power. All laws passed by the Council would be taken to the local chapters for approval. Effective channels would need to be constructed between the chapters and the Council to maximize political stability. Education of the populace and those in government, and the bureaucracy would be necessary to decolonize thinking and debureaucratize administration. This model would be developed over 15 years.

The Third, Dialectical Option

Third is a “dialectical model based in Navajo political philosophy” stressing the complete integration of DinÈ thinking as the premise behind all institutions in the governance system, and critically calling into question each aspect of politics, deconstructed and succeeded by Navajo reasoning. Underlying this approach are four principles (pp. 50-51). The theory of representation requires full participation, open to all, with “the peoples’ voice open to all aspects.” “The peoples’ will is a unified will that must be represented” in “a reciprocal arrangement that informs the relationship between representative and constituent.” Thus “a leader who represents perfectly the will of the people is established.” The theory of rights and duties, involving reciprocity and equity holds “there are certain rights, expectations, and duties that one can claim, demand and expect, while other things there is an obligation involved. Thus there is a theory of rights of access to the bounty of Nahasdzaan Nihima and Nihiti’aa Yadilhil.” Notions of property begin with an implicit recognition or respect of the ownership of others, songs, prayers, stories, material goods, and so forth. Yet, the notion of property here is not one that implies exclusive ownership where one is free to do as she pleases. Rather this concept of property, while under the individual use of one person is recognized as that, but also understood that it can be understood as communal property if certain criteria are fulfilled, such as familial criteria.” The theory of the economic order “was that of constrained capitalism, where the onus of wealth was stressed. That is those who accumulated much were expected to be concerned and giving with their wealth to those who did not have much. This is a derivative of kíÈ, with the understanding that the knowledge and practice brings about both a spirit of constrained development, innovation, while having the struggles of the people at the fore front of any decision.”

“The core functions of government derived from the DinÈ perspective include concern for the economic, social, familial, and environmental well-being of the Navajo Nation. Each of these areas corresponds to traditional notions of balance. (p. 53)” “The purposes of the Navajo Nation are the protection and development of the individual and respect for the dignity of the individual, the democratic exercise of the will of the people, the building of a just and peace-loving society, the furtherance of the prosperity and welfare of the people and guaranteeing of the Fulfillment of the principles, rights, and duties of the Navajo Nation. Education and work are the fundamental processes for guaranteeing these purposes. The purpose of the Navajo Nation is to establish hozhoo [beauty or balance]. Hozhoo takes many forms in its economic, social, governmental, economic, political, educational, and environmental functions. Therefore the government must be able to provide effective governmental services to the people and to meet their dynamic needs. (p. 55)” This requires a government based upon trust.

“To do so, there must a separation of powers based, not on the logic of distrust, but rather on the logic of trust, implicit trust of the institution and the people who occupy those institutions. This trust is extended so long as the people are able to give that trust status by upholding it through the continued practice of kíÈ. Thus the separation of powers must be an implicit shared power, not a legally bound separation of powers. (pp. 55-56)” “Supervisory committees are needed to supervise the agencies and regulatory bodies; these oversight committees must be derived from the local levels. That is, a more democratic regime, than a republican regime. A single elected leader to serve as the voice of the nation, but not to retain much power, power to sign bills into law. Consistent with the Navajo Thinking, there must be a check of power, but not a codified separation of powers. (p. 56)”

“There should be a check on the powers of the leader – by the Council of Elders, who have veto authority over the leader and the Council of the People; however, the Courts of Nahata have check on the powers of the leader, the Council of Elders, and the Council of the People. The leader will have two assistants – a Hozhoojii and HashkejiiNataanii – these are appointed by the Council of Elders, with nomination from the leader, but confirmed by the Council of the People. The Council of Elders consist of 2 individuals from each agency – one Hozhoojii and one Hashkejii – these are appointed and approved by district, agency, and confirmed by the Leader. The Council of the People consists of elected officials from the various electoral districts of the Navajo Nation. The Council of the People has non-voting status for community groups and NGOs, which are appointed by the Chapter, districts, and agencies. These people are popularly elected. The Council of the People’s acts are then checked by the chapters, the districts, and the agencies. (p. 56). Ultimately these reforms must be undertaken as a grassroots work, redesigning governance over 12 years, beginning at the chapter level and working up.

The Fourth, Decentralized Option

The fourth proposal is a decentralization model stressing national and community issues with greater empowerment to social subgroups and agencies. It outlines a government that reflects more fully traditional and customary laws and norms and replaces the President with an 11 member Executive Board. The Council remains nearly as-is, with the exception of adding 12 non-voting delegates specifically dedicated to certain social subgroups and non-profit organizations. The decentralization will address the gender issue by balancing the men, predominately in positions in the central government, with the women who are the preponderance of leaders in chapters and the growing numbers of nongovernmental organizations. “Our reasoning for this transition is based on Navajo history and current social behavior. The Navajo Nation historically resembled a parliamentary system and had decentralized political units. We believe that our proposed model would move us back in this direction…. Therefore, we have established four major steps to move our current system of governance from a presidential model to something more like the historic naachid. These steps are: 1) moderate the concentration of power in the executive branch; 2) restructure agency councils to balance power between legislative and chapter house members; 3) increase the power of the agency councils and 4) create new mechanisms through which nongovernmental organizations can influence formal governmental processes. (p. 63)”

“We would replace the Office of President and Vice President with an 11 person Executive Board, comprised of five female members, five male members, and the Navajo Nation Speaker who is the rotating chair. The members are elected, two from each of the five agencies, whereas the Speaker is a member of the Navajo Nation Council and therefore represents the interests of both the legislative branch and his or her particular community. Though the Speaker is a member of the 11 person Executive Board, he or she does not have ultimate authority over the rest of the council and therefore is a minor and not controlling member of it…. Secondly, the Agencies would gain more autonomy than what they have now. Each Agency addresses different concerns due to the surrounding topography. Therefore, the Chapters would address their concerns at Agency Council, and the Agencies would have more autonomy and more representation since they have elected representatives on the Executive Board.

“Thirdly, the 88 Delegates would be elected in the same fashion as they are elected today… However, the major difference of the Legislative Branch would be the 12 Non-Voting Members of the Council. So, in total the Council would consist of 100 members. The Non-Voting Members would represent the non-profit sector on the Navajo Nation and the youth of the Nation. Since the youth population is growing at an astonishing rate and the role of women is needed, the implementation of the Non-Voting Members of Council will help eliminate some of the gender and age discrepancies. Lastly, with the removal of the entire Executive Branch, the Committees, Commissions and Divisions would have to be restructured. Therefore, we put into place four Committees: the Social Committee, the Economic Committee, the Families Committee and the Environmental Committee. Under each Committee, we placed the appropriate Program or Division. For example, under the Environmental Committee, we place the Division of Natural Resources, the Navajo Environmental Protection Agency and the Navajo-Hopi Land Commission. Each Committee would consist of 12 members, which would include ten Delegates, and 2 Non-Voting Members of the Council. The Executive Board would appoint the Committee Members. (pp 65-66)” Implementation is recommend to take three years.

Looking Ahead

It will be very interesting to see how far, and in what ways, Navajo nation goes in reforming its government. The process of bringing back traditional values to fit present and future needs has been an extended one, that has been unfolding in a series of expanding stages. The U.S. government, wishing to have a single leader and body to deal with, imposed a chairman centered form of elected government, centralized at the national level, almost completely opposite to the traditional Dine participatory band government, with regional associations, and no national government. In 1988, a partial decentralization was undertaken, but almost entirely within the national government, with the institution of three branches of government, with separation of powers. In 1998, a process of decentralization of some functions was initiated, with on going adjustments, that have developed slowly, bringing only limited control of governance back to the people in the chapters, while services remain bogged down in bureaucracy. To further and accelerate the process, the current deliberations are now in motion. To make real and legitimate progress, the discussion will have to break out of its initial battle of press releases between the offices of the President and the Speaker, and become a true public dialogue. If major changes are to be seriously considered, consistent with Dine philosophy, there will have to be a series of community meetings and forums as well as extensive discussion in the Council. The Office of Government can also assist by organizing focus groups, conferences and other vehicles for reflecting Dine views and promoting dialogue. What the Navajos develop, may also provide lessons and guidance for other nations struggling with inappropriate governmental systems.

FOOTNOTES

1. LaDonna Harris, Stephen M. Sachs and Benjamin Broome, “Harmony Through Wisdom of the People: Recreating Traditional Ways of Building Consensus Among the Comanche,” American Indian Quarterly, Vol. 25, No. 1, Winter 2001.

2.  See also, O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, Ch. 2; Stephen M. Sachs, “A Transformational Native American Gift: Reconceptualizing the Idea of Politics for the 21st Century,” Proceedings of the 1993 Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association (Washington, DC:  American Political Science Association, 1993).

3. Ibid.

4.  Bruce G. Trigger, The Huron: Farmers of the North (Fort Worth, TX:  Holt Reinhart and Winston, 1990), especially Ch. 6.

5.  Sachs, “Reconceptualizing the Idea of Politics,” pp. 1-3; O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, Ch. 2; Walker, Lakota Society, pp. 17-18, 23-32 and Ibid.

6. Ernest Wallace and E. Adamson Hoebel, The Comanches: Lords of the Plains (Norman, OK:  University of Oklahoma Press, 1952), Ch. 9; O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, p. 17.

7.  Sachs, “Reconceptualizing the Idea of Politics,” Part 1, particularly p. 1 and foot note 5; E. Adamson Hoebel, The Law of Primitive Man (New York: Atheneum, 1976), Ch. 5 & 7 and O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, pp. 37 and 40.

8. Sources for the entire discussion of the impact of colonialism on tribal governance, including the imposition of IRA governments and the impacts of the War on Poverty are in, Stephen M. Sachs, LaDonna Harris, Barbara Morris and Deborah Hunt, “Recreating the Circle: Overcoming Disharmony and Infighting in American Indian Communities,” Proceedings of the 1999 American Political Science Association Meeting (Washington, DC: American Political Science Association, 1999).

9. “Acknowledging the Circle: The Impact of American Indian Tradition Upon Western Political Thought and its Contemporary Relevance,” Proceedings of the 2002 American Political Science Association Meeting (Washington, DC: American Political Science Association, 2002).

10. The history of this development is outlined in O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, Parts 2 and 3. The background of the development of U.S. policy toward tribes, and of tribal-federal, state and local government relations is discussed in some detail in Ch. 3 of this volume.

11. O’Brien, American Indian Tribal Governments, pp. 86-90; Morris W. Foster, Being Comanche (Tucson:  University of Arizona Press, 1991), p. 138; and LaDonna Harris, Stephen M. Sachs, and Barbara Morris, “Native American Tribes and Federalism: Can Government to Government Relations Between the Tribes and the Federal Government Be Institutionalized?,” Proceedings of the 1997 American Political Science Association Meeting (Washington, DC: American Political Science Association, 1997).

12. For example, see Brenda Norell, “Chaos Continues for San Carlos,” Indian Country Today, August 31-September 7 1998, p. A 6 and “The Power that Divides: San Carlos Conflict Isn’t Resolved with New Council,” Indian Country Today, January 4-11, 1999, p. C1; George Pierre Castile, To Show Heart: Native American Self-Determination and Federal Indian Policy, 1960-1975 (Tuscon: University of Arizona Press, 1998), pp. 129-133; and Gerald Alfred, “From Bad to Worse: Internal Politics in the 1990 Crises at Kahanewake,” Northeast Indian Quarterly, Spring 1991. See also Loretta Fowler, Arapahoe Politics, 1851-1978 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1982), Fred Eggan’s “Forward,” p. 15, and “Introduction,” p. 1; and Cornell, Accountability, Legitimacy and the Foundation of Native Self Governance.

13. The Southern Ute Drum, June 4, 1999, p. 2.

14.  The facilitators reflected that, the Design Team has helped the community to redefine and embrace a vision of healing. Given all that has been said about post-colonial dynamics of disharmony, the commitment, courage, honesty and energy witnessed by the facilitators has been truly inspirational. According to one facilitator, “setbacks, disappointment and criticism are balanced by a passion for creating a better future for the tribe’s children.” D.E. Hunt, M. Gooden, & C. Barkdull, “Walking in moccasins: Indian child welfare in the 21st century,” in K. Briar Lawson, H. Lawson, & A. Sallee, Eds., New Century Practices with Vulnerable Children and Families (Dubuque, IA, Eddie Bauer Publishing, 2000). The three authors, two of whom are Indian, but not Ute, have been the primary facilitating team at Southern Ute. Stephen Sachs, who has a long association with Southern Ute, was a participant at several meetings in 2000. On the 2003 and 2006 follow up of the collaboration begun with the Design team, see Dave Brown, “A Meeting of Minds Over Social Services,” Southern Ute Drum, March 3, 2006, p. 1.

15.  The Southern Ute Drum, in, 2001, reports the calling of the meetings. Information on the working out of the Sun Dance dispute was thorough interviews with community members by Stephen Sachs, and his observations at the 2001 and 2002 Sun Dances.

16. For example, see “Indian and Indigenous Developments, Tribal Developments,” Indigenous Policy, Volume XVI, No 1, Spring, 2005; and Dave Brown, “Tribal Government Reacts to Focus Groups,” Southern Ute Drum, September 30, 2005.

17. Southern Ute Drum, May 14, 2004, pp. 1, 3, 7.

18.  For information, contact Outreach Coordinator. Neil Peacock, 190 Klamath Blvd., Klamath, CA 95548 (707)482-1365. (Neil Peacock. “Tribal official calls for input: Developing transportation plan,” Naive American Times, January 12, 2005, p. 3).

19.  In a May 1996 discussion at the Baha’i office in Victoria, BC, it was reported to Stephen Sachs that several Alaskan and Canadian west coast tribes had adopted the Baha’i method of consultation. This is in essence a modified form of consensus decision making. Though it is undertaken with an elected council formally deciding by majority vote, a strong element of the process is that the decision makers gain a full overview of the issues from all perspectives by listening carefully to the views of all parties. See John E. Kolstoe, Consultation: A Universal Lamp of Guidance (Oxford: George Ronald, Publisher, 1985), particularly, Dedication, Ch. 2. 3, and 5, and pp. 81-83,153-159, 169-172 and 175-180.

20. The ILIS process and its application is discussed extensively in LaDonna Harris, Stephen M. Sachs and Benjamin Broome, “Harmony Through Wisdom of the People: Recreating Traditional Ways of Building Consensus Among the Comanche,” American Indian Quarterly, Vol. 25, No. 1, Winter 2001. See also Harris, Sachs and Broome, “Harmony Through Wisdom of the People”; LaDonna Harris, Stephen M. Sachs, and Benjamin Broome, “Recreating Harmony Through Wisdom of The People: The Case of the Comanche and Other Oklahoma Tribes, Summary version,” Proceedings of the National [Canadian] Gathering on Aboriginal Peoples and Dispute Resolution: ‘Making Peace and Sharing Power’, (Victoria, BC: University of Victoria, 1997); LaDonna Harris, Stephen M. Sachs, and Benjamin Broome, “Returning to Harmony Through Reactivating The Wisdom of the People: The Comanche Bring Back the Tradition of Consensus Decision Making,”   Native Americas, Vol. XII, No. 3, Fall 1996; and Benjamin J. Broom, “Promoting Greater Community Participation in Comanche Tribal Governance: Planning Sessions held March 26-28 & May 13-15, 1991” (Fairfax, VA:  Department of Communications, George Mason University,  June 1991).

21. Broom, “Promoting Greater Community Participation in Comanche Tribal Governance.

22. Clyde Kluckhohn and Dorethea Leighton, The Navaho (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), pp. 111-123. Robert W. Young, A Political History of the Navajo Tribe (Tsaille, Navajo Nation, AZ: Navajo Community College Press, 1978), pp. 15-16, 25-27, reports that, according to Dine legend, the people lived in independent, self sufficient camps, in which, like other band societies, discussed below, decisions were made by the community by consensus. Headman (Hozhooli Naat’aah) only acted as advisors. He usually was proficient in leading at least one ceremony, governed by persuasion, “expounded on moral and ethical subjects, admonishing the people to live in peace and harmony. With his assistants he planned and organized the workday life of his community, gave instruction in the arts of farming and stock raising and supervised the planting, cultivating and harvesting of the crops. As an aspect of his community relations function, it was his responsibility to arbitrate disputes, resolve family difficulties, try to reform wrong doers and represent his group in its relations with other communities, tribes and governments. He had no functions whatsoever relating to war because the conduct of hostilities was the province of War Chiefs. “A headman was a man of high prestige, chosen for his good qualities and only remained a leader “so long as his leadership enlisted public confidence or resulted in public benefit.” Also discussing traditional Navajo governance is David E. Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, Revised Edition (Lanham, MD: Roman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc, 2003), pp. 67-72.

23. Kluckhohn and Leighton, The Navajo, p. 118. The Naachid is discussed by Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 70-71, and pp, 71-73 discuss the general continuance of traditional Navajo governance during the Spanish/Mexican period, 1700 – 1846, despite the occasional attempt of the colonials to designate heads of the Navajo Nation.

24. Kluckhohn and Leighton, The Navajo, pp. 122-123, 157-166, discusses the development of Navajo administration and tribal government to the 1950s; as does Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp, 73-80.

25. The Navajo Nation web site history section: (http://www.navajo.org/history.htm. Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 81- 87, sets forth a brief history of Navajo government and BIA administration from 1922-1936.

26. The Dine Policy Institute of Dine College, Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report, September 2, 2008, is downloadable in PDF from: http://www.navajo.org/, pp 17-18.

27. Kluckhohn and Leighton, The Navajo, p. 158. On chapters, see also Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 81-82.

28. Kluckhohn and Leighton, The Navajo, p. 159. Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 82-87.

29. Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report, p. 17. On the development and operation of the Dine Court system see also Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, Ch 8.

30. Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report, Section III, and p. 9.

31. On Peter MacDonald and his administration, see Bruce E. Johansen and Donald A. Grinde, Jr., The Encyclopedia of Native American Biography (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1997) p. 228; Bary T. Klein, The Reference Encyclopedia of the American Indian, 6th edition (West Nyack, NY: Todd Publications, 1993) p. 576; and Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_MacDonald_(Navajo_leader. See also Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report, p. 9; and Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 88-94. The discussion of MacDonald’s (and Peterson Zah’s) participation in Indian programs established by President Johnson’s war on poverty (also mentioned by Wilkins), and the impact on MacDonald of losing the election, came from a discussion by the author with LaDonna Harris, President of Americans for Indian Opportunity, March 4, 2009.

32. On Peterson Zah, see Klein, The Reference Encyclopedia of the American Indian, p.665; and Encyclopedia of World Biography: http://www.bookrags.com/biography/peterson-zah/. On the 1989 government reforms, see Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, pp. 92-95, Part II, and Appendix G.

33.  Action was taken through the Navajo Nation Local Governance Act, 26 Navajo Nation Code, revised 4/28/98. The Office of Navajo Government Development has been developing alternative means for chapters to improve the quality of their meetings, for which coauthor Stephen Sachs has been a consultant from 1997 to 2002, and has instituted a process of sharing ideas for improving local meetings and governance among chapters. Much of the early work to develop decentralized government is discussed in the following documents published by the Office of Navajo government Development, P.O. Box 220, Window Rock, AZ 86515 (928) 871-7214/7161: The Commission on Navajo Government Development Report: Executive Summary of the Local Governance Act (Spring Report 2000); Commission on Navajo Government Development, Engaging the People of the Navajo Nation in the Process of Nation Building (December 3, 2001); Commission on Navajo Government Development, Executive Summary of the Agency-Wide Summits on Nation Building; Navajo Nation Statutory Reform Convention (March 3, 2002); Navajo Nation Statutory Reform Convention: Red Rock state Park, Church Rock, NM, May 14-15, 2002, Proposed Amendments; Commission on Navajo Government Development, Navajo Nation Statutory Reform Convention, Amendments and Policy Reasons for Them (August 2002);  Budget and Finance Committee of the Navajo Nation Council, in Coordination with the Office of Navajo Government Development and the Office of the Navajo Tax Commission, Agency Wide Hearings on the Proposed Navajo Sales Tax Trust Fund, Plan of Operation for Distributing Funds (September 24, 2002); Commission on Navajo Government Development, Navajo Nation Statutory Reform Convention Amendments and Status of Those Amendments (January 23, 2003); and Office of Navajo Government Development in Coordination with thee Office of Navajo Tax Commission, Navajo Nation Sales Tax Trust Fund Distribution Plan (March 06, 2003). For the Local Governance Act of 1998, see Wilkins, The Navajo Political Experience, Appendix H.

34. Personal communications by Stephen Sachs with the Office of Navaho Government Development (with whom he did some consulting) and the Dine College Leadership Program.

35. See Navajo Times, 10/14/04 p. A12 and “Indian and Indigenous Developments, Tribal Developments,” Indigenous Policy, Volume XVI, No 1, Spring, 2005, at: www.indigenouspolicy.org, and for the December 2005 update, “Baahaali Chapter beclmes LGA certifies, receives $160,00 check as incentive,” press Release, Navajo Nation Council – Office of the Speaker, December 30, 2008 available at http://www.navajonationcouncil.org/.

36.  On legislative measures, see Bill Donovan, “Officials Put Brakes on Legislative Process,” Navajo Times, February 10, 2005, p.A4. On action by the courts, see Navajo Times, October 10, 2004, p. A14. On off reservation polling places, see the Navajo Times, October 14, 2004 p. A4.

37. Marley Shabela, “Speaker, prez battle over reform,” Navajo Times, December 30, 2008. p. A3. There was a battle of press releases on reform between the President and the Speaker, available at: http://www.opvp.org/default.asp?CustComKey=6465&CategoryKey=151983&pn=Page&DomName=opvp.org, and http://www.navajonationcouncil.org/press.htm.

38. See Shabela, “Speaker, prez battle over reform.”

39. “Navajo President Joe Shirley, Jr. launches Government Reform Initiative.” Press release from the Office of the Navajo President, April 29, 2008, available at:  http://www.opvp.org/default.asp?CustComKey=6465&CategoryKey=151983&pn=Page&DomName=opvp.org. While the April 29 press release speaks of the President’s State of the Navajo Nation State of the Union address calling for the establishment of a government reform taskforce, the published text does not specifically mention the taskforce or government reform. It speaks more generally of streamlining government and service delivery. The Task force was created, however, and guided the drafting and campaigning for the ballot initiatives (see the next footnote below for more information). The State of the Nation Address is available on-line at the same location as the press release.

40. “Navajo President Joe Shirley, Jr. launches Government Reform Initiative.”

41. Jason Begay, “Government Reform Effort Falls Short,” Navajo Times, December 30, 2008, p. A3.

42. ”Comprehensive government reform jeopardized by Speaker’s inaction to place legislation before the council,” Press release from the Office of the Navajo President, October 2, 2008, available at:  http://www.opvp.org/default.asp?CustComKey=6465&CategoryKey=151983&pn=Page&DomName=opvp.org.

43. Navajo Nation Constitutional Feasibility and Reform Project report. The authors of the report are: Robert Yazzie, Director, Moroni Benally, Policy Analyst, Andrew Curley, Research Assistant, Nikke Alex, Research Assistant, James Singer, Research Assistant and Amber Crotty, Research Intern, The authors of the four models are: “Model 1: Approaches for an Alternative Model Government” (which discusses general concerns and guidelines for all the alternative models, but does not present the first model of keeping the current form of government with modification, which is actually in the beginning of “Model 2”): Robert Yazzie, “Model 2: The Bicameral Parliamentary Model” (which contains Model 1 at the beginning of its discussion): James Singer, “Model 3: “Dine Political Philosophy:” Moroni Benally, and “Model 4: Decentralization Model:” Nikke Alex, Andrew Curley and Amber Crotty. On the reports being presented to the Navajo Council, see the Navajo Nation Council – Office of the Speaker press release, “Speaker Morgan to present report on feasibility of a constitutional government for Navajo Nation during 2008 Fall session,” October 13, 2008, http://www.navajonationcouncil.org/press.htm.

44. Ibid., p. 19.

From colonized region to globalized region?

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 4:11 pm
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From colonized region to globalized region?

Challenges to addressing social issues in Nunavik in the transition to regional government

Nicole Ives, MSW, PhD

Assistant Professor, McGill University, School of Social Work

3506 University Street, #309, Montreal, QC H3A 2A7

(514) 398-7065 ▪ Fax: (514) 398-4760

nicole.ives@mcgill.ca

Nicole Ives is an Assistant Professor in the School of Social Work at McGill University. Her current research and teaching interests lie in the areas of Indigenous social work education and refugee studies. Dr. Ives is currently conducting research on social work education for First Nations and Inuit communities in Canada. She is an Associate Member of the Centre for Research on Children and Families, McGill University, and a Fellow of the Program for Religion and Social Policy Research, University of Pennsylvania.

Oonagh Aitken, MA, MEd

Coordinator, Indigenous Access McGill, McGill University School of Social Work

3506 University Street, #300, Montreal, QC H3A 2A7

(514) 398-7057 ▪ Fax: (514) 398-4760

oonagh.aitken@mcgill.ca

Oonagh Aitken has a background in local government management and social policy. She has been involved in a number of projects including research on social work education for First Nations and Inuit communities and access to health and social services for minority Anglophone communities. She is presently working as National Adviser, Children, Young People and Families, with the Improvement and Development Agency for local government in the UK.

Abstract

In a time of globalization, local knowledge critical to addressing social issues is becoming slighted for a more generic, disconnected, and transferable social work practice. This transformation of social work into a more tightly scripted, less skilled activity has implications for Indigenous communities that rely on local, specialized knowledge to adequately meet social needs. As the Inuit of Nunavik, Canada, move toward regional government in 2011 and take responsibility for the oversight and implementation of social service delivery, attention must be paid prevent the region’s previously colonial-proscribed approaches to addressing social issues from evolving into globalized approaches. The paper briefly reviews globalization in a social context before exploring the political and social contexts of the Inuit in Nunavik and examining the extent to which a regional government with a colonized past can influence a return to more traditional practices and values to address social issues. Alternative paths toward a more respectful and rewarding engagement with Indigenous communities are suggested, based on research findings regarding social work needs and social work approaches in Nunavik’s largest communities.

Key words: Indigenous social work; Inuit; colonization; regional government; globalization

Introduction

In a time of increasing globalization, local knowledge critical to addressing serious social issues is becoming slighted for a more generic, disconnected, and transferable social work practice. Economic forces of globalization have blurred the divide between business strategies and social work, resulting in social work functioning within a “quasi-business discourse.”[1] This transformation of social work into a more tightly scripted, less skilled activity has serious implications for Indigenous communities that rely on local, specialized knowledge to adequately meet social needs. As the Inuit of Nunavik, Canada, move toward regional government in 2011 and take responsibility for the oversight and implementation of social service delivery, attention must be paid to prevent the region’s previously colonial-proscribed approaches to addressing social issues from evolving into globalized approaches.

The Inuit are one of three distinct Indigenous groups in Canada as defined by the Constitution Act, 1982, with distinct cultural heritage and language. Nunavik (population 9,565 Inuit) lies north of the 55th parallel in Quebec and is one of four regions in Canada that comprise Inuit Nunaat (Inuvialuit, Nunatsiavut, Nunavik, and Nunavut) – Inuit homeland. Two of these four regions have achieved regional government: Nunavut in 1999 and Nunatsiavut in 2005. This paper examines social implications of the intersection between colonization and globalization as Nunavik approaches regional government (planned for 2011) and the social work approaches needed to develop and implement social policies and programs in Inuit communities. The paper briefly reviews globalization in a social context before exploring the political and social contexts of the Inuit in Nunavik and examining the extent to which a regional government with a colonized past can influence a return to more traditional practices and values to address social issues. Alternative paths toward a more respectful and rewarding engagement with Indigenous communities are suggested, based on research findings regarding social work needs and social work approaches in Nunavik’s largest communities.

Globalization and Social Context

Globalization in a social work context has been defined as “a process by which all peoples and communities come to experience an increasingly common economic, social, and cultural environment.”[2] Various accounts of the impact of globalization focus on benefits for what are termed “Western countries”[3] or on social welfare and social justice consequences in what is termed the “Global South.”[4] Hall and Midgley described the South as being “those countries once labeled ‘Third World’… [while] the ‘North’ denotes the industrialized nations.”[5] Globalization discourse tends to make monolithic the “Global South” and, by extension, the static existence of a “Global North.” It is important, however, to focus attention on regions within the “Global North” whose contexts tend to be condensed with their more privileged neighbors. Within First Nations and Inuit communities of Canada, for example, critical social indicators that describe community health are commensurate with some of the poorer countries of the Global South. As an example, life expectancy in Nunavik is 62.8 years while it is 79.5 for the total Canadian population.[6] In comparison, estimated life expectancies are 60.78 years for Haiti and 62.89 years for Madagascar.[7]

Any positive economic benefits that may come from globalization are rarely felt in Indigenous communities, including those in Canada still grappling with the legacies of colonization. Moreover, the negative effects such as a depression on wages in the Western countries, reduced social expenditure and program retrenchment, and a weakening of governmental ability to protect the domestic economy are felt more acutely in vulnerable communities.[8] While academics underscore the need for globalizing policies to “be developed to respond to social need and to benefit the welfare of the populations of the South,”[9] there is limited government recognition of the need to pay the same attention to Indigenous populations in North American countries. This is not surprising considering two key goals of colonialism were to institutionalize the marginalization of Indigenous communities and the exploitation and movement of commodities and resources away from those Indigenous communities.[10]

There are multiple views on globalization and its myriad effects. One perspective holds that powers of globalization can be tamed to benefit humankind. Accordingly, a proposal for doing this is by “strengthening existing multilateral arrangements or establishing new arrangements that can effectively manage global economic as well as political processes for social ends.”[11] There is an assumption that a domesticated form of globalization can be used for good “out there,” in places deeply affected by the negative aspects of globalization such as debt and resource exploitation, as if globalization’s impact on social welfare and redistributive justice is functioning well “in here.” It is critical for governments of “Northern” countries to remember that they owe their own citizens what they advocate for in other, supposedly lesser developed countries.

Inuit Context in Nunavik

Until the early years of the 20th century, the Inuit of Nunavik were a semi-nomadic people with a subsistence-based economy. Contact with the outside world and enforced settlement triggered epidemics and a decline in reliance on traditional food sources. The end of the fur trade left Nunavik economically and socially dependent on subsidies from the province of Quebec.[12] Nearly as damaging as the destruction of their economy was the assault on the social fabric of communities that is still manifested today. The legacy of colonization has shaped contemporary life for the Inuit of Nunavik as for other Inuit communities in Inuit Nunaat and in the circumpolar regions. The loss of identity, traditional ways of life and culture are often expressed through substance abuse, violence, and child abuse and neglect.

Political Context

Section 35 of the Constitution Act of 1982 opens with the following words: “The existing aboriginal and treaty rights of the aboriginal peoples of Canada are hereby recognized and affirmed.” These words were the starting point for a process of self-determination, leading to the possibility of self-government for Indigenous peoples in Canada. By recognizing and affirming these rights, the Act put an end to speculation about the nature of Indigenous societies at the time of first contact. Indigenous societies occupied their territories in a way that could be recognized by contemporary non-Indigenous groups; they cooperated in kinship groups in terms of hunting, trapping and fishing and organized these groups according to their own structures and laws. Native peoples should be considered a survival success story. Their cultures, languages and unique lifeways have survived generations of attempted assimilation by the Canadian mainstream.[13]

Indigenous Rights in Quebec

The James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement (JBNQA), signed in 1975, saw the creation of Nunavik by the government of Quebec as well as the creation of municipal entities in the newly formed region: Kativik Regional Government (KRG), Kativik School Board (KSB) and Nunavik Regional Health and Social Services Board (NRHSSB). Although these institutions were mandated to provide oversight and implement the region’s educational, health, social, and other government-run programs and services, the legislative authority for all of these institutions still remained with Quebec’s ministries. Thus, the province recognized Indigenous rights to regional government insofar as they did not exercise sovereign rights “that might jeopardize the territorial integrity of Quebec.”[14]

Nunavik Commission

The Nunavik Commission was established in 1999 and met through 2000-2001 with the task of consulting with Inuit in Nunavik’s 14 communities on their expectations of regional government. The Commission proposed a model of regional government which would see the amalgamation of KRG, KSB, NRBHSS and the Avataq Cultural Institute and would have an executive of 5 members including a leader. The Nunavik Assembly would be composed of at least 15 locally elected members. The Assembly would have exclusive law-making powers with respect to Inuit language and culture, and substantive and effective (shared) powers in other areas such as education, health, environment, land and resources. The government would be a public as opposed to an ethnic government representing all residents (Inuit and non Inuit) of Nunavik.

Towards an Agreement in Principle

On December 5th, 2007, Makivik Corporation (responsible for managing, administering and investing funding received through the JBNQA for the Inuit of Nunavik and for promoting cultural preservation and social, health and education issues in Inuit communities) and the governments of Canada and Quebec jointly signed a document entitled Agreement in Principle (AIP) For the Creation of the Nunavik Regional Government. In the May 2008 edition of Makivik magazine, negotiators made it clear that the Nunavik Regional Government would not be a school board or a health board or indeed a supramunicipality but a new form of government—the only institution of its kind in Quebec.[15] Thus, KRG would become the Department of Local and Regional Affairs, KSB would become the Department of Education and NRBSS would become the Department of Health and Social Services. Administrative and financial support services from all 3 existing institutions would be regrouped into a Department of Central Administration and Finances.

The Agreement in Principle, however, falls short of the proposals on intergovernmental relations proposed by the Commission. The commission proposed the creation of a trilateral Nunavik conference, comprised of members of the governments of Nunavik, Quebec and Canada; that the members of the Nunavik Assembly maintain a continuing assembly-to-assembly dialogue with their counterparts in the National Assembly of Quebec and the Canadian Parliament; that the government of Nunavik maintain and strengthen its relations with other governments and institutions, both inside and outside Canada; that a Forum of Aboriginal Peoples of Northern Quebec be created; and that Nunavik be represented by a member of Parliament and by a member of the National Assembly of Quebec. The AIP proposes that a Minister in the Provincial government would be responsible for the general relationship between the NRG and the Government of Quebec. The NRG and each of its various departments and secretariat would maintain a relationship with their corresponding Provincial ministry. Wilson called this “nested federalism” and compared it to the relationships between autonomous okrugs (districts) in the Russian Federation States.[16] Since 2007, negotiations have continued and the present timetable should see a final agreement at the end of 2009, followed by a referendum. The government could then be created in 2011/2012.

Social Context

This section provides an overview of the current social issues challenging Inuit communities in Nunavik and Inuit community members’ perceptions of these issues as well as social work approaches. Inuit communities in Canada are the site of debilitating social problems, well documented by researchers and government entities. However, they are also sites of resilience. Inuit live the challenges in their communities on a daily basis. Community members emphasized how Inuit traditions (“working person-to-person”, “working from the heart”) as well as current practices of helping and healing had to be integrated into the existing legal social work framework (“working by the book”) in order to have an authentic, effective approach to addressing social issues in Nunavik.

Current Statistical Background

Statistics underscore the serious issues facing Nunavik’s communities. Inuit communities have one of the highest rates of suicide among young people.[17] They also have high rates of alcohol and drug misuse[18], nearly double the number of families under the Low-Income Cut-Off (LICO) rate compared to non-Indigenous families[19] and an elevated high school dropout rate[20]. The rate of family violence in Inuit communities is 10 times the Canadian average and teenage motherhood is prevalent and increasing.[21]

Educational statistics from the 2006 census reveal Nunavik’s need to increase its educational capacity, critical in the transition to and the implementation of regional government. Only 4% of the population in Nunavik aged 15 and over had college, CEGEP[1] or another non-university certificate or diploma (compared to 12% in Quebec).[22] In that same age group, only 1.4% had a university certificate or degree, compared to 6% for the same group in Quebec.[23] For those aged 35 to 64, only 2.4% had a university certificate or degree (compared to 13.2% of the population in the same age group in Quebec).[24] About 4% had a university degree, an increase from 2% in 2001, but still much lower than the percentage in 2006 for the total Canadian population aged 25 to 64 (23%).[25] The 2001 census results showed that 52.8% of the population aged 20 – 34 had less than high school graduation as an indicator of educational attainment level. This trend continues throughout the age groups indicating that around 50% of the population does not complete high school.[26] Economic statistics do not paint a brighter picture. In Nunavik, unemployment is 20.5%, higher than in the rest of Quebec and the average household income is lower than in Quebec as a whole.[27] Approximately 50% of the population is under 19 and almost 40% is between 0-14.[28]

Overcrowding has serious social and health consequences, including an increase in the likelihood of childhood sexual abuse and lower respiratory illnesses. The Report of the Commission des droits de la personne et des droits de la jeunesse observed that overcrowding creates conditions conducive to the emergence of social problems and makes it more challenging to eradicate them. The lack of privacy in itself creates situations in which the risk of abuse from family members who drink or are violent is greater. According to the 2006 Census, 31% of all Inuit in Canada lived in crowded homes (homes with more than one person per room), compared to 3% of the total population in the country.[29] Among Inuit children under the age of 15, 40% lived in crowded homes, which is six times the Canadian average of 7%.[30] Inuit children have the highest hospital admission rates globally for lower respiratory tract infections due to poorly ventilated, crowded homes.[31]

Perceptions of Social Issues in Nunavik

In 2006/07, the McGill School of Social Work undertook a qualitative research study in Nunavik entitled “Rethinking Social Work Education in First Nations and Inuit Communities.” The School had previously offered a 30-credit certificate in Northern Social Work Practice which was terminated in 2006. Funded by a grant from the Ministère de l’éducation, du loisir et du sport, the study sought the views of certificate program graduates and participants, community members and Elders on the future social work education needs of Inuit communities. Twenty-two community members were interviewed in Nunavik. Interviewees included certificate program graduates and participants, community members working in social service agencies in Nunavik, and Elders. Nineteen of the 22 interviewees were Inuit. Interviews explored the ways in which people thought that social work education should be delivered in their communities, although interviewees were also asked, by way of context setting, a number of questions eliciting their views on the region’s social issues.

Social programs and services delivered in Nunavik represent a significant public expenditure and an important component of Quebec’s strategy to reduce social exclusion. Despite this investment, however, the people of Nunavik continue to experience poor social outcomes relative to the non-Indigenous population. Study findings largely confirmed what is already known about social issues in Nunavik: Substance abuse was frequently considered to be at the heart of many social problems. Nunavik is a “dry” region, meaning that alcohol is on sale only in the hotel and bar in the largest community of Kuujjuaq; it is unavailable for public purchase anywhere else in the region. Residents are, however, able to order alcohol from Southern Quebec, and bootlegging is common. Many interviewees also considered alcohol abuse-related issues such as fetal alcohol syndrome and family violence to be endemic in Nunavik’s communities. Thus, substance abuse and the lack of facilities for treatment was also a critical issue. There is currently only one addictions treatment center for all of Nunavik’s 14 communities. Interviewees’ responses revealed that many families rejected relatives struggling with drug-related addictions, and there was limited capacity within the region to provide support to families and treatment to those addicted. When addiction problems are combined with overcrowding, they are particularly serious. Domestic abuse was considered by many interviewees to stem from the interaction of substance abuse and overcrowding.

An Inuk interviewee saw many social problems having their origins in stress and noted that there was little understanding about stress and how to address it by the largely white, non-Indigenous health and social services work force. She believed that stress could lead to substance abuse and family violence which in turn could cause child neglect and general family tension:

People are so stressed over everything. They don’t know it. They may be stressed over financial problems. They may be stressed over health problems. They may be stressed over any little thing, a child in the school, past history, family history…

This interviewee felt that any attention paid was to the consequences of stress but not its etiology. Mental illness as a result of the stress brought about by substance-related issues was also mentioned repeatedly, along with the lack of resources to offer help.

A general trend in the interviews was the sense of powerlessness and defeat that many community members felt in the face of so many problems and so few resources. Moreover, they felt that as Inuit approaches to social wellness were being eclipsed for mandated, imported Qallunaaq[2] interventions, they were bearing the brunt of community members’ negative attitudes toward those involved in the provision of social service programs. Inuit community workers recalled being insulted and verbally attacked at gatherings where community members met to discuss community problems. Some interviewees also mentioned a more subtle perception that social workers had the reputation of interfering in people’s lives. Issues faced by Inuit working in their own communities and having to intervene in the lives of family members and neighbors were also problematic; these were not issues faced by white social workers from outside Nunavik. Many interviewees thought that in order to improve the social work recruitment crisis in Nunavik, the image of social work and social workers would have to change: it was not seen as an appealing career path for Inuit young people.

The Importance of Indigenous Solutions

Based on interviewees’ responses, there was evident tension between “Northern” or Inuk and “Southern”, Qallunaaq, or white ways of intervening to resolve social issues. This was often expressed as “two worlds” or “two world views.” When these two different ways of practicing social work come together, there is an opportunity for a fruitful blending which produces both mutual respect and results. Both the Southern-trained social workers and the Inuit community workers could maintain their own identities and, as one Inuk interviewee phrased it, “mix the knowledge and the understanding that makes a nice offering to the community.” However, it was clear from the interviews that there were major differences in intervention styles and practices, making reconciliation of the views a challenge.

Inuit community workers put a great deal of emphasis on listening skills and on involving extended family in conflict resolution. They also stressed the need to use traditional wisdom and learning, noting that their ancestral values and practices have as much, if not more, answers to Inuit social needs today. One interviewee highlighted their historical abilities to address needs in their own communities:

In the old days, when Inuit were all by themselves, there was no suicide; Inuit were very motivated to live. When they saw a misbehaving person in their communities and families, they used to take action to correct the problem immediately. Inuit had their own ways to deal with social problems, positive and healthy life values and conflict resolutions.

Addressing social issues effectively within the community had been present before public social service delivery. Elders had been more integrated into public problem solving, being called on to resolve myriad community issues. Another interviewee described her community’s traditional approach to problem solving, and envisioned a two-world approach as a path forward:

I was born in a snow house and I remember the old Inuit way of treating social relationships…situations where there was social discord were mended by Elders in whom they believed. There should be a complementarity between the Qallunaaq way and the Inuit way, by starting to turn more towards the Inuit Elders. If this could be done, if the Qallunaaq program could incorporate the participation of Inuit Elders who remember and could give advice as to Inuit approaches…

Safeguarding Elders’ knowledge and wisdom is critical to understanding traditional approaches to problem solving. However, respect for and the place accorded to Elders and Elders’ knowledge, skills and wisdom is being seen as slipping away. This could be attributed to the loss of generational transmission of knowledge due to the residential school system as well as a diffusion of cultural characteristics in response to acculturation with non-Indigenous regions. One interviewee noted that Inuit communities used to “[recognize] Inuit Elders’ wisdom and counseling methods. We gave them great respect and honor until today.”

Increasing Inuit communities’ capacity to address social issues from a local perspective also involves ensuring that Inuit community members with gifts and skills are being used appropriately. Some interviewees saw the arrival of white people as a time when Inuit lost confidence in their ancestral ways. People who had previously been regarded as wise and natural social workers were intimidated by “white knowledge” and began to believe that their traditional knowledge was inferior to Qallunaaq knowledge. Interviewees voiced a strong belief that most community members could contribute to community wellness but that spirit needed to be fostered to enable them to intervene. It is critical for Inuit community workers to be able to utilize that wisdom and feel internal validation when integrating it into their practice. From the interviewees’ perspective, a “two-world” approach does not privilege degree-based preparation for social work. There is only one Inuk Bachelor of Social Work graduate in all of Nunavik’s 14 communities, although this has more to do with program accessibility (culturally, academically and geographically) than with a lack of motivation for post-secondary education. Without a validation of Inuit traditions and norms, as one Inuk community worker put it, they will feel as though they are “a mere servant providing others with translations services…,” referring to their work with white social workers. There was much hurt expressed at the deeply felt injustice of a situation which saw Inuit workers constantly coping with crises in the communities, being on perpetual call by their own communities, eventually burning out because they put other peoples’ problems before their own health and well being, and yet still being referred to as social work assistants by white social workers and administrators. While it is a reality that community workers must operate within the Quebec social welfare system with its rules and regulations, it is imperative to legitimately create space for Inuit intervention approaches. Without this validated space, the system will continue to be ineffective due to its colonial-based foundations.

At the core of “cultural sovereignty”[32] is having the “rights to practice traditional ways of life, including language, religious beliefs, property values, and social systems toward relatives and family.”[33] Central to this is not second guessing one’s own cultural teachings based on the marginalization of these teachings in the colonized past; one interviewee pointed out that “as an Inuk, without being told, I know when I do right and wrong. We still follow our ancestral beliefs and taboos.” Part of colonization is marginalization or elimination of Indigenous ways of knowing and being, seen by the colonizers as inferior. Thus, as one interviewee noted, Inuit “started to believe that their old values were lower and less powerful than those of Qallunaaq values…”

Research findings confirm that overcoming Nunavik’s enormous social problems that stem from social, economic and political exclusion and cultural marginalization can only happen with region-grounded interventions by people who know and understand the communities and who are able to understand and relate to Inuit ways of knowing, being and doing. The major challenge in terms of Inuit regional government is the potential for significant change in terms of social and economic policies which will contribute to the improvement of the social and economic situation in the region. A large body of literature, analyzed by Salée [34], suggests that Aboriginal quality of life depends largely on the space of political and institutional autonomy that communities ultimately succeed in securing for themselves in accordance with their own cultural sensitivities and priorities. Légaré’s [35] analysis of the creation of Nunavut, Canada’s newest territory, is that its only real success has been the Inuit reassertion of their collective identity. He indicated that the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement and the Nunavut Act gave the Inuit the legal jurisdictional and political tools to confront the social challenges of Inuit society but he blamed the failure to overcome poverty, alcoholism, unemployment, inadequate housing, family violence and suicide on Nunavut’s fiscal dependency on Canada and its weak economy. Developing a healthy economy is Nunavut’s biggest challenge, and Nunavik faces the same issues: Communities with little economic base, high living expenses, lack of qualified personnel, absence of markets, difficulty in obtaining resources and exorbitant transportation costs.  If we add to these challenges high birth rates, a young workforce with low educational levels, high levels of unemployment and dependence on social assistance, inadequate public services and public housing, poor health conditions and rates of substance abuse, violence, suicide and incarceration which continue to escalate, the task is daunting.

“Southern” solutions mentioned by community respondents in our study have had little impact on the ongoing decades-long struggle with social problems in Nunavik (and other Inuit homelands). There now seems to be fairly wide consensus within the research and policy communities that the significant erosion of social capital brought on by various state policies, cultural disintegration, displacement and the wearing down of traditional knowledge is largely responsible for the difficulties many Indigenous communities and individuals experience.[36] If these communities are empowered to reclaim control over their lives and their sociocultural assets, assert their cultural sovereignty and have opportunities to use traditional values and knowledge to reestablish social cohesion then there is a chance for the communities to heal and move forward. However, even under a regional government where traditional values and knowledge are reinstated, social work practices will still be circumscribed by the legal context of Quebec and Inuit social workers will still have to meet the requirements of the Ordre Professionnel des Travailleurs Sociaux du Québec to practice in their communities.

Even the establishment of self government is a contested issue within Indigenous communities. Monture-Angus finds that western concepts like “self government” and “sovereignty” are not useful for achieving justice because they remain rooted in the colonialist history of Indigenous peoples and the Canadian state.[37] Instead, Monture-Angus advocates for Indigenous “independence,” a word that she argues is free from the taint of the Crown’s unjust treatment of Indigenous peoples in Canada. An Inuk political commentator noted that

No individual makes or enforces law. No group of individuals can speak on behalf of other individuals. No group of individuals constitutes an assembly or equivalent to government. The individualism of the culture is a barrier against any form of organized domination; the egalitarianism a barricade against competitive individualism.[38]

While the negotiators for the Nunavik Government consider that regional government is the only way forward, personal communication with some Inuit community members suggests that not everyone is convinced. One community member was very specific and said, “…this is not the Inuit way…we do not choose one person to be the Leader…not everyone supports this form of government.”

Conclusion

Historically, vast numbers of people have been “othered” by European colonialist thought, constructed as backward and inferior depending on the production of binaries such as civilized/uncivilized or rational/primitive.[39] Nasu suggests that

one of its (globalization) essential points can be said to be a global adaptation of a set of so-called global standards to almost all areas of the globe. It can also be expressed in such slogans as “All Together” or “Everyone is Equal”. Therefore globalization can be characterized as a process of reduction or disappearance of “otherness”.[40]

Social work practice with a “globalized perspective” can “[incorporate] conceptions of interdependence, responsibility and reciprocity, and cultural competence.”[41] For Inuit and other Indigenous peoples, this is a globalized perspective informed by the colonized experience. Nunavik’s policies and programs must be culturally relevant and authentic to the Inuit reality in order to be effective in addressing the region’s pressing social issues. Sharing respective histories and struggles with other Indigenous peoples across the globe can contribute to the creation of “new sites of resistance, new forms of cultural survival, new types of indigeneity, and continued social change.”[42]

An important step on an empowering path could be opening a dialogue with communities to explore their understanding of their own capacity to heal and to build social cohesion using a blend of traditional Inuit ways and the political will of the new Nunavik Regional Government to implement social policies which support this direction. Gathering and mobilizing this community input will contribute to the goal of having solutions based, first and foremost, in community realities.[43] This could contribute to the development of a new relationship among Inuit community members, the NRG, the province of Quebec and the Euro-Canadians who are living and working in the North, a relationship which privileges capacity-building, community development and genuine partnership.

Regional government for the Inuit of Nunavik will provide a significant measure of freedom to oversee their own political, social, economic, and cultural spheres. However, a colonizing/colonized relationship does not produce fixed, stable identities but is characterized by a “hybridity” of identities.[44] For better or for worse, there has been acculturation. It may be seen as more of a diffusion of Inuit culture in Nunavik than an integration of Inuit culture into European-Canadian cultural backgrounds however. There are Inuit who find themselves comfortable in both Inuit and mainstream Canadian worlds and reshape their Inuit culture to include elements of a North/South hybridity. How this hybridity is negotiated within regional governance and then translated into the implementation of locally developed social policies and programs will be important for other Indigenous peoples facing similar struggles with colonial pasts.

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Healy, Lynne M. International Social Work: Professional Action in an Interdependent World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.

Ives, Nicole and Oonagh Aitken. “Technology and Access: Responding to the Social Work Education Needs of First Nations and Inuit Communities.” Social Work Education 27 (2008): 686-694.

Kovesi, Thomas, Corrine Stocco, Don Fugler, Robert E. Dales, Mireille Guay and J. David Miller. “Indoor air quality and the risk of lower respiratory tract infections in young Canadian Inuit children.Canadian Medical Association Journal 177 (2008): 155-160.

Légaré, André. “Canada’s Experiment with Aboriginal Self-Determination in Nunavut: From Vision to Illusion.” International Journal on Minority and Group Rights 15 (2008): 335–367.

Loomba, Ania, Colonialism-postcolonialism. London, Routledge, 1998.

Makivik Magazine. “Overview of the Structure and Functions of the Nunavik Regional Government, As Described in the Agreements in Principle.” Makivik Magazine 12 (2008, May): 2-8.

Midgley, James. “Perspectives on globalization, social justice and welfare.” Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare 34 (2007): 17-36.

Nasu, Hisashi. “How is the Other Approached and Conceptualized in Terms of Schutz’s Constitutive Phenomenology of the Natural Attitude?” Human Studies 28 (2006): 385-396.

Nunavik Commission. Amiqqaaluta – Let Us Share.  Mapping the Road Toward a Government for Nunavik. (2001) Available at: http://dsp-psd.pwgsc.gc.ca/Collection/R2-233-2001-1E.pdf

Payne, Malcolm and Gurid Aga Askelund. Globalization and international social work: Postmodern change and challenge. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008.

Plourde, Chantal, Natacha Brunelle, Michel Landry, Louise Guyon, Celine Mercier, and Serge Brochu. “Psychoactive Substance Use Among Nunavik Youths: Results of the Survey.” Summary Report presented to Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR) Nunavik Regional Board of Health and Social Services.

John Richards and Aidan Vining. “Aboriginal off-reserve education: A time for action.” C.D. Howe Education Commentary, The Education Papers, 198 (2004): 1–27. Available at: http://www.cdhowe.org/pdf/commentary_198.pdf, accessed 10 March 2008.

Rotabi, Karen Smith, Denise Gammonley, Dorothy N. Gamble and Marie Weil. “Integrating globalization into the social work curriculum.” Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare 34 (2007): 165-185.

Salée, Daniel. “Quality of Life of Aboriginal People in Canada: An Analysis of Current Research.” IRPP Choices 12 (2006): 1 – 37.

Statistics Canada. Aboriginal Population Profile, 2006 Census (2008). Available at: http://www12.statcan.ca/english/census06/data/profiles/aboriginal/index.cfm?Lang=E

Tait, Heather. “Aboriginal Peoples Survey, 2006: Inuit Health and Social Conditions.” Social and Aboriginal Statistics Division, Statistics Canada (2008). Available at http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/89-637-x/89-637-x2008001-eng.pdf

Tawhai, Veronica M. H. “Teaching diversity, advancing democracy: Challenges for citizenship education in Aotearoa New Zealand.” The International Journal of Diversity in Organisations, Communities and Nations 8 (2008): 153-160.

Tester, Frank James and Paule McNicoll. “Isumagijaksaq: Mindful of the state: Social constructions of Inuit suicide.” Social Science & Medicine 58 (2004): 2625–2636.

Wilson, Gary N. “Nested federalism in Arctic Quebec: A comparative perspective.” Canadian Journal of Political Science 41 (2008): 71 – 92.


[1] Collège d’enseignement général et professionnel refers to a post secondary 2- or 3-year program prior to attending university.

[2] Qallunaaq is an Inuit adjective describing a non-Inuit, European or “white person”


[1] John Harris, The social work business (London: Routledge, 2003), 5.

[2] Karen Smith Rotabi et al., “Integrating globalization into the social work curriculum,” Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare 34 (2007): 167.

[3] Payne and Askelund.

[4] Robert J. Polack, “Social justice and the global economy: New challenges for social work in the 21st century,” Social Work 49 (2004): 281-290.

[5] Anthony Hall and James Midgley, Social Policy for Development (London: Sage, 2004), xv.

[6] Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, Inuit Statistical Profile (2008). Available at: www.itk.ca

[7] CIA. World Fact Book—Country comparison, life expectancy at birth (2009). Available at: https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2102rank.html

[8] Midgley.

[9] Payne and Askeland, 11.

[10] Polack.

[11] Midgley, 28.

[12] Commission des droits de la personne et des droits de la jeunesse, “Investigation into child and youth protection services in Ungava Bay and Hudson Bay,” (2007) retrieved on November 8, 2007 from URL: http://www.cdpdj.qc.ca/en/home.asp

[13] Michael Asch, Home and Native Land: Aboriginal Rights and the Canadian Constitution (Scarborough Ontario: Nelson, 1988).

[14] William Hamley, “Native Land Claims in Quebec Considered in a Canadian Context,” Geografiska Annaler Series B, Human Geography, 75 (1993):102.

[15] Makivik Magazine, “Overview of the Structure and Functions of the Nunavik Regional Government, As Described in the Agreements in Principle,” Makivik Magazine 12 (2008, May): 5.

[16] Gary N. Wilson, “Nested federalism in Arctic Quebec: A comparative perspective,” Canadian Journal of Political Science 41 (2008): 75.

[17] Frank James Tester and Paule McNicoll, “Isumagijaksaq: Mindful of the state: Social constructions of Inuit suicide,” Social Science & Medicine 58 (2004): 2625–2636.

[18] Chantal Plourde et al. “Psychoactive substance use among Nunavik youths: Results of the survey,” (2007) Summary Report presented to Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR) Nunavik Regional Board of Health and Social Services.

[19] Marcelle Chabot, “Consumption and standards of living of the Quebec Inuit: Cultural permanence and discontinuities,” The Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 41 (2004): 147-170.

[20] John Richards and Aidan Vining, “Aboriginal off-reserve education: A time for action,” C.D. Howe Education Commentary, The Education Papers 198 (2004): 1–27. Available at: http://www.cdhowe.org/pdf/commentary_198.pdf, accessed 10 March 2008

[21] Commission des droits de la personne et des droits de la jeunesse.

[22] Tait, Heather, “Aboriginal Peoples Survey, 2006: Inuit Health and Social Conditions,” Social and Aboriginal Statistics Division, Statistics Canada (2008) Catalogue no. 89-637-X — No. 001. Available at http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/89-637-x/89-637-x2008001-eng.pdf

[23] Ibid.

[24] Statistics Canada, Aboriginal Population Profile, Inuit Health and Social Conditions, 2006 Census (2008) Available at: http://www.statcan.gc.ca/bsolc/olc-cel/olc-cel?catno=89-637-X2008002&lang=eng

[25] Ibid.

[26] Nunivaat, Nunavik Statistics Program, Available at: www.nunivaat.org

[27] Statistics Canada.

[28] Ibid.

[29] Tait.

[30] Ibid.

[31] Thomas Kovesi et al., “Indoor air quality and the risk of lower respiratory tract infections in young Canadian Inuit children,” Canadian Medical Association Journal 177 (2008): 155-160.

[32] Wallace Coffey and Rebecca Tsosie, “Rethinking the Tribal Sovereignty Doctrine: Cultural sovereignty and the collective future of Indian nations,” Stanford Law & Policy Review 12 (2001): 191-202.

[33] James V. Fenelon & Thomas D. Hall, Revitalization and Indigenous Resistance to Globalization and Neoliberalism,” American Behavioral Scientist 51 (2008): 1872.

[34] Daniel Salée, “Quality of Life of Aboriginal People in Canada: An Analysis of Current Research,” IRPP Choices 12 (2006): 1 – 37.

[35] André Légaré, “Canada’s Experiment with Aboriginal Self-Determination in Nunavut: From Vision to Illusion,” International Journal on Minority and Group Rights 15 (2008): 335–367.

[36] Salée.

[37] Alcantara, Christopher, “To Treaty or Not to Treaty? Aboriginal Peoples and Comprehensive Land Claims Negotiations in Canada,” Publius: The Journal of Federalism 38 (2007): 348.

[38] James S. Frideres and René R. Gadacz, Aboriginal Peoples in Canada (Toronto: Pearson, 2008), 290.

[39] Ania Loomba, Colonialism-postcolonialism, (London, Routledge, 1998).

[40] Hisashi Nasu, “How is the Other Approached and Conceptualized in Terms of Schutz’s Constitutive Phenomenology of the Natural Attitude?” Human Studies 28 (2006): 386.

[41] Rotabi et al. 179.

[42] Fenelon and Hall 1895.

[43] Nicole Ives and Oonagh Aitken, “Technology and access: Responding to the social work education needs of First Nations and Inuit Communities,” Social Work Education 27 (2008): 686-694.

[44] Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture, (London: Routledge, 1994).

Book Review Essays by Erich Steinman

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 4:08 pm
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Book Review Essay

Reviewed texts:

The Politics of Minor Concerns: American Indian Policy and Congressional Dynamics, by Charles Turner. University Press of America, 2005.

Taking Charge: Native American Self-Determination and Federal Indian Policy, 1975-1993. George Pierre Castile. University of Arizona Press, 2006.

Why has there been so little social science research trying to explain recent changes in Federal Indian policy, particularly given the dramatic shifts of the last 40 years? Since 1970 the previous policy of termination gave way to an evolving self-determination policy, a dramatically expanded role for tribal governments, and the emergence of large scale Indian gaming. Even with these striking changes – and the expansion of Indian affairs as a policy area – there have been only a handful of social science analyses of the Indian policy domain (most notably Gross 1989). Much recent scholarship in the area has been primarily descriptive or interpretive (Castile 1992, Bee 1992), with research commonly driven by area expertise rather than guided by policy related theory. In his nuanced and theoretically-driven account, Charles Turner argues that Indian policy, like many other areas, is a “minor concern” to both policymakers and policy analysts. As such, Indian policy often doesn’t fit the conditions or provide the variables featured by main theoretical approaches to explaining policy outcomes more generally. Unlike most analyses, Turner gathers and utilizes quantitative data to explore Indian policy outcomes. The strength of the analysis is that Turner challenges and tests a number of widely

asserted interpretations ofIndian policy formation. Most centrally, he examines the common understanding that Indian policy is bipartisan. Turner examines Congressional roll call votes between 1947-2000, as well as party platform rhetoric. Turner finds that party membership matters, but in changing and contextual ways. Voting on Indian issues was partisan both before 1967, and – against common wisdom – after 1978. Turner casts the intervening period as one in which uncertainty about the unfolding policy changes generated uncertain interests, alliances, ideologies, and party positions. After this, however, the central tenets and overall framework of Democratic and Republican Indian policy positions become taken-for-granted. Periodic increases in media attention to Indian affairs function to provide incentives for parties to develop a distinct identity or position. Subsequently, partisan-identified positions shape voting by providing a guide to the vast majority of policymakers, who are generally ignorant of Indian policy issues. With Indian legislation often offering risks but little rewards, risk-averse individual

lawmakers can play it safe by following partisan frameworks and voting patterns.

By the 1980s, Turner asserts, Indian affairs was a stable national policy area (though still a minor one). Since that time, party membership and region of country have loomed large in explaining votes, with Democrats and legislators in Western states more likely to support Indian interests. But while votes have become more partisan since the decade of dramatic policy change that ended in the late 1970s, party platforms have in general converged. Curiously, as Democratic platforms have given very limited attention to Indian issues since 1988, Republican platform statements about Indian affairs have increased. While Democrats’ recent minimalist statements (in the years they have addressed Indian policy) have emphasized upholding treaties and acting with cultural sensitivity, Republican’s predominant message over the past two decades has highlighted political self-determination and economic self-sufficiency.

Turner’s findings about the temporal and shifting nature of partisan Indian affairs voting is an important contribution to the study of Indian policy. Testing the assumed nonpartisan nature of Indian policy is a clear example of doing systematic research to challenge conventional wisdom. Similarly, Turner’s data-guided speculations about the effects of media attention to Indian policy voting is also a welcome addition. Overall, his grasp of relevant Indian policy and Indian affairs makes him well-equipped to interpret his quantitative findings in an appropriately contextualized fashion. Similarly, his willingness to accommodate the ambiguities and complexities of Indian affairs in conceptualizing his hypotheses and interpreting his data is refreshing, particularly for a scholar producing theoretically framed research. Indeed, one easily imagines that the complexity of Indian affairs (i.e., 550+ distinct tribal nations) and the lack of systematic or comparable data are factors keeping some policy-oriented scholars at arms length.

Yet while doing so Turner simultaneously advances conceptual understanding of “minor

concerns. ”

The analysis does suffer from a number of limitations and weaknesses. To its credit and disadvantage, Turner keeps the scope of his analysis consistent. This is a book identifying and explaining some general patterns of Congressional activity (primarily floor and committee voting) regarding Indian policy. Very rarely does Turner make claims beyond the data. One of the few times is his assertion that by the 1980s Indian issues had come to represent merely another interest group rather than a national phenomenon of larger significance. While some shift in public opinion is quite likely, I suspect that this characterization simplifies and overstates a complex shift that involves the symbolically charged backlash that Turner also notes (but doesn’t discuss in detail). More to the point, the reliance on a singular quote by former Colorado Representative Ben Nighthorse Campbell does not sufficiently support this claim. Scholars and the public interested in Indian policy may be disappointed to learn that the book does not attempt to explain any particular outcomes, as the author confines the analysis to understanding general patterns of this particular domain of minor concerns. More limiting, though again understandable, given Turner’s commitment to systematic quantitative analysis, is the lack of attention to how the respective partisan frameworks and voting patterns emerged and stabilized. If partisan patterns guide the ignorant lawmaker, how, why, and by whom did these broad patterns become taken-for-granted? The importance of these questions calls out for qualitative historical scholarship to complement the important research Turner has produced. The other Indian policy research agenda the analysis suggests, and which Turner mentions amidst a number of more theoretically-oriented research questions, regards the impact of gaming-generated political contributions on (partisan) voting behavior. With well over a decade of largescale Indian gaming revenues by an increasing range of tribes, and similarly increasing political contributions, there will be much to examine in the years ahead even within a focus on Congressional policymaking.

In Taking Charge: Native American Self-Determination and Federal Indian Policy, 1975-1993, George Castile also provides an important addition to the limited existing attempts to examine, describe and explain contemporary federal Indian policy development. A long time scholar of American Indians and federal Indian policy, Castile draws on a very different source than Turner for his original data, through extensive archival work in the Presidential libraries of Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, and George H.W. Bush. Castile’s masterful grasp of federal Indian policy infuses the book, making the often byzantine topic extremely clear. The book is tremendously accessible and provides a firm outline of the big picture to the new student of federal Indian policy while also conveying countless subtleties.

Like To Show Heart (1998), Castile’s previous book on the foundations of self-determination policy, Taking Charge has a narrative structure, as the author follows the main developments blow-by-blow. In terms of explanation, such a structure has advantages and disadvantages. Most beneficially, it allows Castile to present a coherent and consistent account of the changes as they unfold. For many readers interested in a sophisticated baseline understanding of federal Indian policy, this will fully satisfy. Others, and in particular social scientists looking for a different type of explanation, may have more reservations and questions about the analysis. For scholars interested in a more explicitly causal analysis, Castile’s account appears to provide a series of ad hoc explanations of particular events and actions. No theoretical framework is employed to guide the interpretation of these developments or to provide the basis of the causal claims made, often implicitly, through the narrative.

In this sense, Taking Charge is the analytical foil – or complement – to Turner’s theory-driven analysis. The two books highlight the trade-offs of narrative case analysis versus a theoretically-based analysis. Whereas Turner’s analysis can only partly incorporate the larger, and shifting context, Castile’s has other – and distinctively narrative-based – weaknesses. A convincing narrative is best at explaining why a particular thing happened; what it struggles to do is to explain why other things did not. Castile does not choose to seriously explore any counterfactuals (what might have been) and consider why they did not occur. For example, how did self-determination, and its focus on tribal governments, became the only legitimate federal policy approach? In 1971, the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act bypassed traditional Native social and political structures and constructed nonprofit corporations as holders of particular Native revenues. Why does this structure not gain more consideration as a model for reforming federal Indian policy? Similarly, in the late 1970s the first of a wave of backlashes to Indian right arose in the west; why have these been so ineffectual in altering federal policy?

Relatedly, there are tensions between elements of Castile’s narrative that go unexamined. One instance of this that is clearly within the scope of the Presidential data he utilizes has to do with the relationship between tribal control of federal policies affecting them – the heart of self-determination – and the affirmation of tribal sovereignty (and a government-to-government relationship). Tribal control of federal policies and tribal sovereignty are not identical, a point made repeatedly by tribal advocates, and which can be seen in the 1977 report by the American Indian Policy Review Commission. Nixon promoted self-determination but did not speak of sovereignty or a government-to-government relationship. As is (sometimes grudgingly) noted around Indian Country, Reagan was the first contemporary president to explicitly refer to tribal sovereignty. Why didn’t Nixon do so (or Carter), and why did Reagan? To date, there is no analysis that persuasively and comprehensively accounts for the emergence of explicit federal policy affirmation of tribal sovereignty from the structure of self-determination, though this author has addressed aspects of this change elsewhere (Steinman 2003, 2004, 2005). Similarly, Castile pays no attention to the Environmental Protection Agency, even though it was the first department or agency to meaningfully implement the affirmation of tribal sovereignty; it was the only one to do so well into the 1990s. How does this uneven acknowledgement and implementation fit into or challenge Castile’s account?

A transformation of federal policy as significant as the explicit affirmation of tribal sovereignty was hardly inevitable under self-determination policy, given the many reversals of federal policy and frequently shifting political winds. Indeed, even in the previous Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) reform era, the many branches of the federal government did not revise their understanding and treatment of tribes; for decades the policy had little impact beyond its more narrow provisions (the limitations thereof which are widely known). Why does self-determination, unlike the IRA, develop into a more robust policy and also become implemented beyond the realm of the Bureau of Indian Affairs? Again, a descriptive narrative of changes as they unfolded cannot easily address such more explicitly analytical questions.

One other aspect of Castile’s work also directs attention away from these more muddled parts of federal policy development. Policy development and implementation as conveyed by Taking Charge appears to be a very top-down process. Whereas in To Show Heart, Great Society federal bureaucrats – listening to and supportive of tribes – drive the action, in Taking Charge it is Presidents and their staffs who act. While this focus is understandable given the original data used for the analysis, it is nonetheless problematic in terms of a more integrated and holistic account of policy changes.[1] The logic of explanation in the analysis proceeds from non-Indians needs, concerns, and frameworks. The rise of tribal governments is cast as an issue (and goal) of self-determination policy implementation. What is omitted or downplayed in such a focus is tribes’ self-motivated efforts to rebuild Indian governments (Wilkenson 2006). For such a deft and well-written book, this unacknowledged imbalance between the attention given government and tribal actors regarding the development and implementation of policy is problematic. It is also ironic, given the title of the book. While tribes have indeed taken charge since 1975, this book newly reveals less about that process and more about another set of actors’ partial, albeit undoubtedly crucial, influences on federal Indian policy.

With its strengths and weaknesses, Castile’s book usefully challenges scholars of Indian self-determination, tribal sovereignty, and federal Indian policy to incorporate the roles played by various key parties and processes in shaping contemporary federal policy. Indeed, taken together, Castile two books on the executive branch, Turner’s analysis of Congressional dynamics, and Wilkinson’s tribally-centered account of the resurgence of Indian nationhood constitute three different prisms through which to understand the extraordinarily complex phenomenon of contemporary federal Indian policy. While balancing these factors in a more satisfyingly integrated account is clearly the task of the whole sub-field rather than achievable through one piece of scholarship, the need is clear. Beyond that, of course, are additional factors, such as the role of the Supreme Court (Wilkins and Richotte 2003, Williams 2005), and more critical perspectives (Biolsi 1992, LaDuke and Churchill 1992, Wilkins 1993). By not accepting the present interpretation of federal Indian policy as a closed topic, scholars can hopefully produce insight into the recent past that also helps illuminate influences on the future.

References

Bee, Robert L. 1992. Riding the Paper Tiger. Pp. xxx in State and Reservation: New Perspectives on Federal Indian Policy, edited by George Pierre Castile and Robert L. Bee. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Biolsi, Thomas. 1998. Organizing the Lakota: The Political Economy of the New Deal on the Pine Ridge and Rosebud Reservations. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Castile 1992. Indian Sign: Hegemony and Symbolism in Federal Indian Policy. Pp. xxx in State and Reservation: New Perspectives on Federal Indian Policy, edited by George Pierre Castile and Robert L. Bee. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Castile, George Pierre. 1998. To Show Heart: Native American Self-Determination and Federal Indian Policy, 1960-1975. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Gross, Emma R. 1989. Contemporary Federal Policy Towards American Indians. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.

Kotlowski, Dean J. 2001. Nixon’s Civil Rights: Politics, Principle, and Policy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

LaDuke, Winona and Ward Churchill. 1992. “Native North America: The Political Economy of Radioactive Colonialism.” Pp. 241-66. in The State of Native America, edited by Annette Jaimes. Boston: South End Press.

Skrentny, John David. 1996. The Ironies of Affirmative Action: Politics, culture, and justice in America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Steinman, Erich. 2003. Tribal Governments as Sovereign Governments: The Struggle for Legitimacy. American Sociological Association Annual Meeting, Atlanta, August.

Steinman, Erich. 2004. American Federalism and Intergovernmental Innovation in State-Tribal Relations. Publius: The Journal of Federalism 34(2): 95-114.

Steinman, Erich. 2005. Legitimizing American Indian Sovereignty: Mobilizing the Constitutive Power of Law through Institutional Entrepreneurship. Law and Society Review 39 (4): 759-792.

Wilkins, David E. 1993. “Modernization, Colonialism, Dependency: How Appropriate are These Models for Providing an Explanation of North American Indian `Underdevelopment’?” Ethnic & Racial Studies 16(3): 390-419.

Wilkins, David E., and Keith Richotte. 2003. The Rehnquist Court and Indigenous Rights: The Expedited Dimunition of Native Powers of Governance. Publius: The Journal of Federalism 33(3): 83-110.

Wilkinson, Charles. 2006. Blood Struggle: The Rise of Modern Indian Nations. New York: W. W. Norton

William, Robert E. 2005. Like a Loaded Weapon: The Rehnquist Court, Indian Rights, and the Legal History of Racism in America. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.


[1] Also, Castile surprisingly makes little use of relevant secondary Presidential scholarship, such as analyses of Nixonian policy by Kotlowski’s (2001) and Skrentny (1996).

HAUDENOSAUNEE LIVES

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 4:05 pm
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HAUDENOSAUNEE LIVES

By Wendy J. Gonyea

We are the Haudenosasunee, meaning “People of the Longhouse.”  Newcomers to this land called us the Five Nations or the Iroquois.  We are descendents of an ancient Confederation born on the shores of Onondaga Lake where our ancestors accepted a message of peace and formed a democracy with Chiefs, Clanmothers and Faithkeepers placed as leaders, a government so thorough it spelled out leadership titles and duties, designated clans with two houses complementing one another, included procedures on how to install new leaders, how to acknowledge and treat the natural world and gave specific protocol to care for those who have passed on.  This way of life was so complete, encompassing mandates for a way of life that it continues in the midst of American society today.

Our Confederacy, the Haudenosaunee, comprising the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca was formed at least 1,000 years ago, perhaps 2,000 years ago.  (The Tuscaroras were accepted in the Confederacy in 1722.)  The ancient instructions are oral, carefully passed down from one generation to the next, the words still spoken in our languages.  We are not a remnant of an ancient civilization but an extension of it.

Today, we face dozens of pressures from the world outside of our small communities and, unfortunately, mounting pressures from within.  We are inundated daily with western thought, messages directly in contrast to our ancient teachings.  Our youth, in particular are in a precarious situation as the world outside of our Longhouses pulls them in other directions.  Many circumstances are new enticements, new ideas, modern gadgets, a lifestyle centered on individual gains, as opposed to the ‘old’ communal way of everyone helping one another and a whole village truly raising a child.  Today the Haudenosaunee use ancient laws to deal with contemporary situations such as drug abuse, treasonous acts, and a myriad of social ills indicative of ways humans can disrespect one another.  Our laws don’t include jails with degrees of punishments, but rather concentrate on individual freedom to conduct oneself in acceptable behaviors with positive values.  This self-regulation we call ‘using the good mind.’  Haudenosaunee do recognize a darker side to humans and a ‘punisher’ in the afterlife for wrongdoings.

At the core of this way of life is a Thanksgiving that acknowledges all of the elements that sustain us; the grasses, medicines, trees, animals, birds, air, foods, sun, moon, stars, rains, the Creator, and one another.  This Thanksgiving is spoken daily by individuals, and at the beginning and end of all ceremonies, meetings and other gatherings on our territories.  The minds of those present are brought together in humbling thought, a calming reminder of our place in the universe.  We are not a force to subjugate others, but a part of a whole life plan to live in balance with the rest of creation.

Some of our communities have come to this day completely independent of federal intervention.  My community, the Onondaga Nation, is one of them.  There is no Bureau of Indian Affairs office, there is no police force, there are no’ strings’ to any federal agency to hold us in check.  Our Nation’s Council meets and negotiates with various agencies, the New York State Department of Transportation for our roads and bridges, the Onondaga County Sheriff’s Office, for serious internal matters, and the Environmental Protection Agency and the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation regarding our lands and waters and the Lake bearing our name, to name just a few.  This is procedure, this is protocol.  Every official is greeted with those well worn words of Thanksgiving, also proper protocol.

Our ancestors signed the 1974 Treaty of Canandaigua with the new government, ratified by George Washington, President of the United States of American in 1975.*  The Haudenosaunee hold fast to Canandaigua as a binding agreement between two Nations. When disharmony occurs and we are given cause to have complaint, we take the issue to the President.  When there is outside encroachment on to our territories, we remind the President of the words in this treaty.  The resulting response is routinely from the Department of Justice, or Department of the Interior, but at least one visit to our Longhouse was made by a special assistant in the White House during the Carter administration.  Canandaigua established ‘peace and friendship’ between our Nations, and we continue to maintain this agreement.

We survive because our predecessors saw to it.  The dedication and tenacity of all those leaders throughout our history to carry on in spite of the armies they faced, relocation, missionaries, germ warfare, boarding schools, and attempts to extinguish them as a people. They still held firm.  Our strength is also in the message itself, the Great Law, a principled method of balance in leadership, environmental mandates expressed in ceremony and peace.   And equally vital is our belief in a power that created this for us, and who continues to keep our people well.

These teachings are the heart and soul of the Haudenosaunee.  However, foreign influences seem to grow larger every day, permeating susceptible minds bringing angst and uncertainty to our people.  Some are drawn to assorted entertainments with money grabbing a hold in a rush to attain material wealth.  The tired old western role of male dominance lingers in some minds upsetting the balance of fundamental Haudenosaunee law.  Haudenosaunee languages have given way to proficiency in English.  The intrusions seem endless.  We maintain our economic independence, but even that resource is eyed by outside entities in a current taxation challenge.  We have a tough road ahead, but our elders say it has always been so.

Realizing all humans are affected by the exploitation of our earth and her resources, Haudenosaunee speakers have begun sharing our ancient messages with the world outside of our Nations.  In urgent appeal, they call for us all to look out for the generations yet coming; for that is our vision, and that is our mandate from the past.  [Now this reader wants you to tell her how you envision us doing this!]

*National Archives, Wash., D.C., Ontario Co. Historical Society, Canandaigua, N.Y.

Participatory action research: exploring Indigenous youth perspectives and experiences

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 4:02 pm
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Stewart, S. L. (Paper Submitted, 2009). Indigenous Journal of Policy

Participatory action research: exploring Indigenous youth perspectives and experiences

March 02, 2009

Word count: 8525

Suzanne L. Stewart, Yellowknife Dene, PhD, C. Psych (s.p.)

Assistant Professor

Department of Adult Education & Counselling Psychology

Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, University of Toronto

252 Bloor Street West, 7th floor, Room 7-220

Toronto, Ontario  M5S 1V6 Canada

cell #: 416-828-4715

office tel. # : 416-978-0723

fax #: 416-926-4749

e-mail: slstewart@oise.utoronto.ca

ABSTRACT

This study sought to expand on existing data concerning the Aboriginal

experience of ethical issues in psychoeducational research. The research question focused on exploring the experiences and perceptions of Aboriginal youth who participate in action research conducted in their communities. Through a qualitative approach, the study examined the experiences of five Aboriginal youth from a British Columbia setting who had participated in a recent participatory action research project. The purpose was to identify both appropriate and damaging research practices employed by researchers working in an Aboriginal youth context. Three major themes emerged from the data, Research Design and Methodology, Benefit to Participants, and Benefit to Community, all with several categories and sub-themes also identified. Major findings regarding ethics include implications for participatory action research, cross-cultural sensitivity by researchers, Aboriginal control over research, and directions for future ethical research design.

Keywords: Aboriginal, Participatory Action Research, Ethics, Psychoeducation

INTRODUCTION

Historical oppression at the hands of colonial government has marginalized and disempowered Indigenous peoples in Canada since first contact (Green, 1997). Research with Indigenous participants often reflects this power imbalance (Piquemal, 2001). What are the perceptions of Indigenous youth regarding their experiences as participants in a research project? This qualitative study sought to identify the salient issues in the research relationship between non-Native researchers and Native participants by clearly articulating the ethical issues that arise when academics enter Native communities.

The issues involved in psychological research with Indigenous peoples have had profound effects on the functioning and well being of Native Indian communities that are both positive and negative (Hudson & Taylor-Henley, 2001). In comparison to the dominant culture’s existence, Natives have a distinct culture, social structure, and way of life (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, 1993; McCormick, 1997), which is not always reflected in the ethical dimensions of research practice (Piquemal, 2001). In contrast to Native worldviews, the Western academic perspective, despite certain theoretical grounding in diversity, remains an extension of the dominant culture’s base of western values, ethics, and norms. Previous studies have identified culturally inappropriate approaches to doing research with First Nations (Choney, Berryhill-Paapke, & Robbins, 1995). Many researchers have suggested ways to adapt research procedures by incorporating some Native cultural practices into the research relationship (Darou, 2001; McCormick, 1997; Medicine-Eagle, 1989). This study, however, employed a design that sought to address already recognized problems with researching First Nations, through a qualitative phenomenological approach. The intent of this research was to address some of the wider relating themes and problems of marginalization in the cross-cultural research relationship and greater society.

The general purpose of this study was to identify and analyze, through a qualitative inquiry, both damaging and appropriate/effective research practices with Indigenous participants in order to assist and inform other psychological or educational researchers to be sensitive to Indigenous communities in future research projects and to generate further research into ethical issues in Indigenous psychological research. The participants were selected on the basis of being Native youth and all having participated in one previous academic research project. A specific purpose of this study was to provide information to empower Indigenous communities to exercise control in psychological and/or educational academic research conducted with their peoples. Finally, this study is important to the Indigenous community because it addresses the possibility of an equitable relationship with non-Native psychoeducational researchers based on a newly defined structure that could benefit community rebuilding and healing for First Nations. Because many researchers have employed the same time-worn methodologies and perspectives that have historically oppressed and disempowered Indigenous peoples (Piquemal, 2001; Hudson & Taylor-Henley, 2001; Herring, 1999; Darou, Kurtness, & Hum, 1993), another goal of this project is to offer suggestions that researchers can employ to effectively design and implement an ethical psychoeducational research approach with Native research participants.

One reason that healing is required in Native communities is that generations of domination have caused shame and unworthy feelings for many Indigenous people about themselves and their culture (Hodgson, 1990).  The long-term effects of disempowerment and acculturation can be seen in epidemic proportions of low self-esteem within Native communities (Green, 1997; Weenie, 2000). Renewal of self-esteem and other forms of emotional healing can occur through a return to traditional ways achieved by renewing the legitimate authority, power and knowledge of Elder and community leaders, and individual participants in a research context, whose strength and support in raising self-esteem is a necessity in restoring community health (Martin & Fares, 1994).

In current literature about educational research with Indigenous peoples, the following issues are identified as potential problems or dilemmas in research design and implementation: knowledge of the historical context of Indigenous peoples (including trust and power)  and cross-cultural research design (including community control, informed consent, and benefit to the community) (Herring, 1999; Darou, Kurtness & Hum, 1993; Piquemal, 2001; Hudson & Taylor-Henley, 2001).

LITERATURE REVIEW

Historical Context

Indigenous groups in Canada today live shrouded by a long history of genocide, oppression, and control at the hands of colonial governments (Choney, Berryhill-Paapke, & Robbins, 1995; Green, 1997). This history has resulted in mistrust and suspicion by Natives of many non-Native researchers and practitioners (Darou, Kurtness, & Hum, 1993). Today, Indigenous communities, in every action and decision, work toward autonomy, self-determination, and healing the social and economic ills that have resulted from historical and continued colonization and assimilation (France, 1997; McCormick, 1997).

Colonization and assimilation practices as employed by Canadian and American federal governments, such as residential schools, the creation of reserves, and denial of land claims, have had far reaching implications for Native life in Canada (Alfred, 1999). Essentially, the explicit agenda of the North American dominant culture to systematically breakdown traditional ways of life and knowing, cultural norms, and beliefs and values has had a devastating impact on Native communities over the last 500 years. Colonization effects continue to perpetuate many of the barriers to Indigenous knowledge, health and healing (Herring, 1999). Through governmental cultural elimination tactics, many First Nations people have lost their connections to cultural roots, knowledge, spirituality, their families, and communities (Hodgson, 1990).

In the history of research practice with Natives, researchers have tended to generalize Native culture when concentrating on specific Native problems (Smith & Morrissette, 2001; Darou, Kurtness, & Hum, 1993).General research results or “truths” are culturally inaccurate (Herring, 1999; Smith & Morrissette, 2001) because each Nation is unique and different. .Being knowledgeable about this historical information is necessary to a successful research relationship with any Indigenous group (Herring, 1999, Garret & Herring, 2001).

Cross-Cultural Research Design

Cross-cultural knowledge becomes invaluable when considering communication with Natives because research has historically been wrought with general problems of cross-cultural communication (Darou, Kurtness, & Hum, 1993). In sharing language, particularly English, with First Nations in a research context, it is recommended that the importance of the social values of the Native worldview be the foundation. Communication with First Nations also means identifying ways of respecting differences for the express purpose of minimizing cultural biases. Hudson & Taylor-Henley (2001) write that respectfully discussing and consulting with Elders and local Natives is a key and initial step to creating partnerships agreements of research with communities.

The notion of community control in cross-cultural research demands that research processes empower the community by respecting cultural values and belief systems, which traces back to a basis of ensuring informed consent. (Hudson & Taylor-Henley, 2001, Piquemal, 2001). Integral to a Nation’s control over research is authority over a project’s agenda (its purpose and methodology), budget, and participant selection (Piquemal, 2001). Also, the Nation and not the researchers, should themselves select First Nations leaders and elders who are to act as consultants throughout the research process (Choney, Berryhill-Paapke, & Robbins, 1995). However, Hudson & Taylor-Henley (2001) caution that control is something that must be measured by degrees and that it is unrealistic to believe that a community can have complete control over a research project implemented by outsiders; instead, the relationship should be viewed as a partnership agreement, but with major decisions ultimately made by the First Nation. A deeper look at the theme of control suggests that if there is social or political dissent or problems within a band, deciding which members should be legitimate spokespersons might be difficult: Piquemal (2001) writes of possible problems with identifying the legitimate authorities within Nations to give informed consent. In some cases, tribal councils are distanced and mistrusted by the community itself. Thus, bearing in mind each community’s unique social and political landscape is also important (Hudson & Taylor-Henley, 2000).

METHODOLOGY

Phenomenological Approach

The general approach to this study was qualitative, in which a phenomenological design was employed. The nature of the qualitative paradigm was effective in uncovering personal and subjective experiences of youth in the present research context.

Additionally, the research project in which the participants had previously been involved was a participatory action research (PAR) project; it is important to make the distinction that this thesis project does not employ a participatory action framework and instead uses only the phenomenological approach detailed in this section.

Sampling

Participant selection relied on purposive qualitative sampling. Participants

were five Indigenous youth, two female and three male, who resided in two First Nations reserve territories within an urban area but were not necessarily members of either Nation. Both male and female participants were selected as  equally as possible for balanced gender representation. Four of the participants were students at an urban secondary school and were between the ages of 16 and 19. The fifth participant was a 25 year old youth who was an employee in a First Nations community service agency.

The participants all met the criterion of having previous knowledge of and/or participation in psychoeducational research. The four student participants had had direct research experience as participant-co-researchers in a recent psychoeducational participatory action research project. The older youth had been interviewed by one of the student-co-researchers. Additionally, the older youth possessed knowledge about research in the local Indigenous community due to his position as community youth worker in the urban area. The older youth did not provide data that was significantly different in content or meaning from the younger youth; he had similar comments and views

to the other youth. The greatest difference was his ability to more clearly and

confidently articulate his views, which did not vary in content from those of the

other youth.

All of the participants in this study had been involved in the same previous research project, over the course of about one year. The researcher preferred the homogenous nature of the participants in terms of their previous research experience because it created a strong and common experience regarding their research experiences. The narrow, shared experiences of these participants reflected my choice of purposive sampling that is in keeping with the narrow, phenomenological approach of this study. The researcher sought to examine lived and shared experiences of a sample of youth who had all participated in the same action research project. Youth were used in sampling because it was the researcher’s view that Indigenous youth today face different and unique futures, more so than any generation past. Youth today are situated in radically different contexts and face different challenges than previous Native youth generations due to the burgeoning global economy, drastic increase in technology, and the post-colonial rebuilding and healing currently underway in Native communities.

Recruitment was accomplished through posters placed at various locations in the community where young Native people were known to be, as well as by word of mouth at the University of Victoria and throughout the Native community.

Interviews

Semi-structured interviews were the main source of data. Each participant completed two interviews, taking about 1-1/2 hours total time. The first interview was audio-taped, and at the second one, field notes were recorded. The research project was exploratory in nature, therefore open-ended and unstructured interviews were appropriate (Van Manen, 1990). Research questions posed to participants were:

  1. What have your experiences of working with academic researchers been like?
  2. What were the most positive/most difficult parts of the experience?
  3. Describe the relationship between yourself and the researcher(s).
  4. What issues arise with researchers?
  5. What are the particular issues associated with research involving Aboriginal youth?
  6. What are your feelings and thoughts about psycho-educational research in your community?
  7. What research procedures and practices should be used?

To ensure an on-going process of consent, informed consent was revisited, orally, throughout the interviewing and research process; at the beginning of each meeting with participants, they were reminded of the purpose and objectives of the research and asked if they wished to continue their involvement. Interviews were conducted within 35 to 50 minutes. Interviews were then transcribed and analyzed by the researcher. These transcriptions and analyses of the interviews were then shared with the participants in a second interview for confirmation of identified themes. This interview was recorded by field notes taken by the researcher.

Data Analysis

Data analysis consisted of participant interviews, field notes, and field journal. Interviews were transcribed by the researcher and analyzed for thematic content and relevant issues, according to an inductive content analysis framework designed by Bogdan and Biklen (1992). The researcher’s field notes were typed and added to the data collection for analysis. The researcher also kept a detailed and consistent journal throughout the research process that, along with the transcribed interviews and field notes, was also analyzed and completed a triangulation process necessary for internal validity (Anderson & Arsenault, 1998) relating to accurate data analysis.

The analysis of all the data was inductive by nature and followed the steps below, described by Bogdan and Biklen (1992). This qualitative analysis seeks to uncover deep meanings and insights from participant statements.

Line by line content analysis was conducted and did not contain any interpretation, only reflection of the content “meaning” of each statement. Codes were assigned to the content reflections that provided a meaningful description of the content of the statement. These codes were called sub-categories once the themes had emerged.

Categories were then formed of codes grouped together by related meanings. Categories listed were not necessarily in all transcripts but were in at least one. Themes were formed by groupings of categories that were found within all transcripts.

Preliminary themes were reviewed by the participants, with their comments and feedback recorded in field notes. Prior to the final writing of the study’s results, the findings were taken to the Songhees and Esquimalt band offices, where Elders and band members reviewed the findings and gave validation to results. Participants were informed in the consent letter of this community council review of the study’s results.

RESULTS

The three overarching themes that were embedded in the data: 1) Research Design and Methodology, 2) Benefits to Participants, and 3) Benefits to Community (Figure 1). Fourteen different categories comprise the three themes, with overlap of three categories of Support, Change, and Learning occurring across Themes Two and Three, presented with the Data Results Themes in Figure 1.

Four meetings occurred in total with the two First Nations Band councils, two meetings with each Nation’s office, to disseminate and confirm results with councilors and Elders to ensure respect, accuracy, and ethical action on the part of the researcher. Piquemal (2001) writes that providing the Aboriginal community with data throughout and upon completion of the research project is part of the researcher’s ethical

Themes & Categories
Themes: Theme One:

Research Design &

Methodology

Theme Two:

Benefits to

Participants

Theme Three:

Benefits to Community

Categories: Control
Community
Participatory Action

Research

Instrumentation
Collaboration
Respect
Permission
Support Support
Change Change
Learning Learning
Negative Research Experiences
Positive Research

Experiences

Teaching
Cohesion

Figure 1. Data Results Themes

responsibility. As a result of this study, both the Band Chiefs and councilors have asked the researcher to create an ethical protocol for their bands for use with future researchers entering their territories. At the time this project was conducted, neither Nations had a research protocol in place. The researcher agreed to draw up a draft research ethics protocol based on research results for this study, and to collaborate with the Elders, Council members, and Chiefs on completing the protocol to become the property of their respective Nations.

Theme One: Research Design and Methodology

As an overarching theme within and across all transcripts, content categories related to research design and methodology arose. The issues within and about research were grouped into seven categories, and into additional sub-categories that further specify

the dimensions of the categories. The seven categories that comprised the theme of research design and methodology are: Control, Communication, Participatory Action Research, Instrumentation, Collaboration, Respect, and, Permission.

Control

The concept of Control as a category was referred to by participants in two sub-categories: control by participants and control by the community. In this context control refers to control over research processes, results, outcomes, and with whom the research is conducted within a given group or community.  All participants expressed a belief that they as participants in the research project preferred to be in control as the decision-makers of how the research was designed and implemented.

One participant explained that the relationship with researchers was enhanced because the researchers gave the participant creative control over specific steps in the research process. The participant thus felt able to “get along” with and enjoy the company of the researchers.

Participants also spoke about the band councils and Elders requiring control over research done in their community. Specifically, one stated that prior to commencing a research project in an Indigenous community, researchers from outside needed to inform Elders and allow them make decisions regarding design, implementation, and participant selection.

“Before you start [researching], you need to tell the Elders what’s going on and let them say its okay and how it [the research] should be done, who’s involved.”

Communication

Participants talked about communication within the research context. Two sub-categories describe communication within the research context by the participants: oral and dialogue. Oral communication refers to a verbal or non-text-based mode of communication, such as the use of language. Participants unanimously stated that an oral form of transmitting information, such as talking, by the researchers was preferential to being given information written on paper.

One participant used the context of the research relationship with the researchers to describe how having a dialogue with the researchers had impacted. The dialogue had allowed her to view the researchers positively and to feel compelled to engage more freely in talks. The reason for this sense of freedom to talk and positive view of the researchers was because the researchers were open with the youth and gave them space to talk and share their voice in a non-judgmental atmosphere.

“The relationship was good because I could talk with them and ask questions about anything and they would show me, tell me without judging me or making me feel dumb. I could talk about or ask anything. They were very open and willing to talk back and forth with me, and I liked that. I liked that about them.”

Participatory Action Research

All participants directly or indirectly discussed a preference for the use of participatory research design for research implemented in their community. One participant, and older youth, explained that participatory action research was a good fit for the local Native youth population because by design it addressed issues such as knowledge of culture and respect for the community’s culture by researchers, the need for community input in the research process, and research to benefit the community.

“I guess community research is good because it looks at health issues that are a problem in the community from the people’s own perspective…It’s giving back to the people what they need. You know that with community-based research why these people [the researchers] are here, what are they really trying to find out, together with the youth, so I think giving information [back to the community about the research results], in terms of using culturally appropriate knowledge, is needed.”

Instrumentation

Instrumentation was well addressed by all participants in terms of two sub-categories of Technology and Interviews.

Technology

All participants cited enjoyment of the use of technology in their research experience. All liked using video/audio equipment to carry out their project, which was designing, filming, and editing an 8-10 minute video on a health topic of their choice, because it was a method that was visual, oral, and rendered their research results easily accessible to different audiences. Computers and video/audio cameras were cited as being especially good to use to document the research they were conducting because the technology met the youths’ interests in computers and video and allowed them to learn more skills in the area.

Interviews

All participants perceived interviews as the most favored tool for researchers to use in their community mainly because talking was held as the preferred way to communicate with others.  That is, talking was preferred over written interview instrumentation such as questionnaires, checklists, or rating scales. Thus, the oral nature of such interviews is what participants deemed most important about choosing interviews as a way for them to conduct community research. Also, it was expressed that those in their families/community understood the value of oral communication in their culture, as this tradition was handed down through generations. For example, one participant explained that his grandparent had informed him that taking with others was the best way to gather information. This youth used this knowledge that he had gained from his family to guide him through the interviewing aspect of the research project

“A cultural way [of doing research], I would say, is just sitting down and talking. Because what I have heard from my Great Grandma, is the best way to get to know somebody and learn from them is to sit down and actually talk to them and listen to what they have to say. And that’s pretty much what I did when I did my research.”

Collaboration

All of the participants talked about collaboration as an important component to their experience with the researchers. Collaboration was described by participants through dimensions, or sub-categories, of  “Asking not telling”, Working together, Helping, and Listening. Participants expressed that the researchers’ collaborative actions along such dimensions demonstrated to them a level of respect for and integration into their community that was important to these youth.

Respect

Respect is a recurrent category in the transcripts in terms of interactions with researchers and how research is implemented. Mutual respect was identified by all of the participants as a very important aspect to their experiences with the Participatory Action Research researchers. Mutual respect was cited as important because the youth expressed their definition of relationship as being based in respect, particularly mutual respect. What seemed important about mutual respect was that it was reciprocal and gave the youth a sense of validation regarding their positions as co-researchers in the project.

Respect for culture, specifically First Nations culture, was cited by participants as an important issue in how this research was conducted.  The youth felt that respect for culture was a necessary dimension to respect because it made them feel accepted for who they were as Native people. In other words, respect for culture meant accepting their identity as Native, and this made them feel proud of themselves for who they were. Also, respect for culture was stated as being especially important for them because of historical negative experiences when non-community members had entered their community to do research and had blatantly disrespected both their cultural practices and identities by inaccurately representing their experiences and their words.

Permission

Participants enjoyed being asked permission to become involved in the research project. They also valued being asked to give permission to be helped at various points throughout the research process. Similar to the category of Respect in Theme One, youth like being asked to do certain things within the research process rather than being told that they had to carry out a certain action or step within the research project.

Participants mentioned a need to consult with community leaders and obtain their permission prior to engaging in community research.

A participant simply stated that before entering a community to do research, it was necessary to consult with local leaders. Reasons for this were cited as respect for traditional Native ways, which entailed “checking in” with Elders and leaders, and the need for guidance that only these Elders and leaders had authority to give.

What it is, is that you just gotta check in with Elders and the like before you start anything [research] in an Aboriginal community because that’s the way we do it and it deserves respect. Also, those Elders know things about the community that we don’t, and we need to listen to them for guidance in what we do.”

Theme Two: Benefits to Participants

Research benefits to participants were widely discussed across all transcripts, and are noteworthy as parallel to three of the categories (Support, Change, and Learning) in Theme Three. It is necessary to mention that themes two and three both deal with the issue of benefits of research, with each theme delineating the difference of benefit in

terms of who, specifically, is the recipient of such benefit.

Five categories emerged in this theme. These categories are: Support, Change, Learning, Lack of Negative Research Experiences , and Positive Research Experiences, and, and are presented in Figure 1.

Support

All participants felt much supported, as illustrated by subcategories of support by: researchers, their own families, and their communities, throughout their experiences with research.

Researchers

All participants emphasized the benefit of feeling supported by the researchers as manifesting in a sense of self-efficacy and as a positive research experience. Participants were quite enthusiastic, according to field notes, when they spoke about the support given them by researchers throughout the project.  As was discussed in several categories within Theme One, participants held their relationships with researchers in this project as very personal and close, not merely as a traditional “research relationship” that a subject would have a traditional researcher. This closeness of relationship was reflected in how they talked about the support given to them individually as they learned, and sometimes struggled, with different aspects of research protocol and procedures.

Community

Community in this context refers to classroom, social/peer group, or Indigenous band/urban affiliation. Participants said that they had felt supported by the community throughout their participation in a research project, and that this was important in terms of succeeding in implementing a community-based research project.

Family

Participants mentioned that their families were supportive of their participation in research and that this further enforced and enhanced the positive nature of their research experiences. Family was not a huge category across the data, but it did occur significantly in the context of support experienced by participants in their research efforts.

One participant spoke of family support for her research in terms of accomplishment. Her family had told her that it was “good” that she was accomplishing something with the research that benefited her in terms of learning a new skill (research) and the community in terms of learning about a health issue.

“My family thought the video was a good idea, yeah, they thought it was a very good idea. Because I was learning to do research and teaching the community health stuff.”

Change

Change was effected for individual participants within two sub-categories: Technology Increase and Healing.

Technology Increase

All participants described change as having occurred for them through research that brought an increase of technology in their lives. This change of technology in their lives overlaps somewhat with the learning of technology that was expressed by participants in the sub-category of Learning within this theme. The major difference here is that participants discussed an increase of technology items per se, such as computers and video cameras, which were placed at their disposal as a result of the research experience, and not the acquisition of skills related to such technology. All participants mentioned that such equipment was not previously available to them.

Healing

Healing occurred for participants through leaning about themselves in a way that provided a catalyst for change in a previously held belief or behaviour. For example, participants spoke about learning about issues that related to their lives personally, and through this learning about an issue, they altered their actions and belief in accordance with the knowledge acquired.

One participant talked about learning to have healthy relationships with peers. More specifically, she talked about learning that bullying was unjust and wrong. Her experience in making a video on bullying demonstrated to her in concrete terms that it was “stupid” to bully others. For her, bullying now became something that was unjustifiable.

“… I didn’t really think about being a bully and trying to get in it, so it [the video research project] made me realize more how stupid it was to bully someone for stupid little reasons and stuff.”

Change in the form of healing of emotional/spiritual issues associated with loss of control was described by all participants. Participants described that as they learned about certain community health issues, they were able to change or heal unhealthy behaviours or beliefs. More specifically, participants explained that by educating themselves about community health issues, they were able to effect personal healing and empowerment through learning and implementing research processes in their community.

One participant felt that he had benefited from the research experience by changing his views on racism. He also felt that if he could change his views as a result of producing or viewing a video, so, too, could others. For him, a key aspect to change was understanding and receiving knowledge that could empower a person to change their mind or  have a “change of heart”.

“Well, you can benefit, you can benefit just by doing your thing [research], and it’s just a benefit of learning and empowering yourself with that learning so you can make healthier choices. And it’s just a good experience to learn and change, like learning about racism so we can make changes, change people’s minds about it, and give them the power to have a change of heart about race and stuff.”

Learning

When the researcher probed as to why a youth’s particular research experience has been good, often the answer was “because I learned something.” Learning seemed to be a very important aspect to these participants’ research experiences and lives in general. All participants spoke strongly and highly of the rich and multi-dimensions of learning that had occurred for them through their research experiences. There were nine sub-categories of learning: Relationships (including further specifications of with researchers or peers), Role Models, Health, Strength (particularly of their culture), Research, technology, and Career Goals and Opportunities.

Relationships

Through research experiences, participants were given opportunities to interact with people they would not have otherwise met (i.e., researchers) and forge and strengthen connections with such people. Participants saw this as valuable because they all seemed to find relationships integral to success both in the context of the research project in which they were involved and in life in general.

Participants also spoke frequently about how relationships with peers were impacted by the research project. Relationships with peers were cited as strengthened, improved, and made closer by the research experience. In essence, participants felt that they learned about their relationships with friends and learned to improve these relationships through their research experiences that had them work together with peers and rely on each other for help, support, and cohesion.

Role Models

Participants reported that they learned what characteristics constitute a role model for them and who those role models in their communities were. Two participants also stated that through their experience in a research project, they themselves become role models or helpers to others in their communities, which fostered a sense of self-efficacy and self-confidence in these participants.

Strength

Participants discussed having learned about strengths in their culture that they gained access to through their experiences in the research project. Specifically, the participants talked about learning the strength of their Native culture to aid them as Native individuals through times of crisis, stress, or weakness.

Research

Participants felt that learning about research and how to do it in their communities was a salient and valuable aspect to their experience in the participatory action study. Field notes and journal entries reflect that research seemed to satisfy participants’ curiosity and hunger for knowledge, especially knowledge related to health issues that affected them directly through personal and group life experience.

One participant spoke of learning about research as a valuable aspect to her research experience. This participant felt herself to be a “real expert’ in the field of research due to her relationship with the researchers who came to her class. For her, there was a sense of gratification in term of self-confidence that evolved through learning from the researchers, whom she felt were “the best’ at what they did, how to do research, and this showed in her demeanor as she spoke in the interview (recorded in field notes).

I am kind of an expert about research like them [the University researchers] now, so I learned from the best, that is all I can say about them now, learned from the best. I know how to do it and can be a researcher now if I want to.”

Technology

Youth expressed a benefit from learning about technology through their research experiences. Technology was a great area of interest and the youth all expressed a hunger for knowledge and skills with computers and video equipment that was satisfied by their involved in the previous research project. It was noticed and mentioned by all participants that they would not have the opportunity to gain information and skills with such technology without their participation in the project.

Career Goals & Opportunities

Learning about new career goals and opportunities was a salient point of learning for all participants interviewed. Each participant stated specific ways that being involved in a research project (that was a participatory project) allowed them to discover new horizons such as designing and implementing research projects, conducting field interviews, doing camera work (filming), doing video editing on computers, working with communications equipment that sparked an interest for future occupational

possibilities. Three of the participants stated that doing research had become one of their career goals due to their experience as co-researchers in a previous project.

Lack of Negative Research Experiences

A lack of negative research experiences was continuous throughout all interviews. Again, this must be viewed as contextual and relevant to their experience in the PAR study, in which they were involved in every aspect of the research project, including formulating research questions, implementing the research, and disseminating results to the community. Also, the researchers in the PAR project demonstrated culturally sensitive modes of communication and behaviour with the Indigenous youth, according to the youths’ own reports on interactions and relationships with the researchers. Two sub-categories emerged: Nothing Negative To Say, and Glitches with Technology.

Nothing Negative To Say

There was an obvious lack of negative things said by the participants about the research experience. Field journal entries suggest that participants took a very dismissive stance when they were asked about their negative experiences with research. Basically, their responses to that question succinctly stated that there was nothing negative to say about their research experiences.

One participant said that because researchers had been respectful, there had been no negative aspects to the experience for her. This participant had spoken previously about the value of a close relationship with researchers, and that a central aspect to this relationship was respect.

“No they [the researchers] were respectful, nothing really negative happened.”

Glitches with Technology

Technical difficulties, or “glitches”, with the video equipment, the computer software, and computer hardware were the only negative experiences that participants related concerning the project. Students complained abut losing files on the computer related to their video projects, and of having audio/video difficulties related to the camera they were using.

Positive Research Experiences

All participants spoke strongly about the positive aspects of their research experiences. It must be noted that because all participants were involved in a PAR study, their favorable view of research must be viewed in the context of the project in which they participated, and cannot be generalized to all research conducted with Indigenous youth or peoples. The researcher was somewhat overwhelmed by the veritable plethora of positive sentiments that the youth had for their research experiences, as is evidenced by field journal entries of the researcher’s reflections, and by field notes that recorded participants’ attitudes as “overwhelmingly positive” toward their research experiences and prospects for future research. Participants described their research experiences within two sub-categories of Fun and Excitement.

Fun

All participants described their participation in the project as “fun”, thus fun became a sub-category because of its numerous occurrences throughout all transcripts. Research as fun seemed to have great appeal to the youth, whose level of enthusiasm and animation in the conversation with the interviewer appeared to increase significantly, according to the researcher’s field notes and field journal, when they were asked directly about their research experiences.

Excitement

Excitement also emerged as a second sub-category of Positive Research Experiences. That all participants found their experience in research to be exciting in one way or another led directly to their statements of having a positive experience. Two of the participants tied the categories of fun and excitement together, while the three other participants spoke of the excitement of research as tied to other categories such as Learning, Change, and Teaching. For example, one participant said that research was exciting because it afforded the opportunity to learn about something. Again, a desire to learn appears as a thread that ties together many aspects of the participants’ comments about their research experiences throughout the data sets.

“My feelings and what I thought: I was really excited when I first did my first one [research project], and really happy and stuff because I learned something…”

Theme Three: Benefits to Community

All participants provided ample data to substantiate the benefits of the participatory action research (PAR) on the community. Participants identified five categories of benefits of research to community: Support, Learning, Change, Teaching, and Cohesion. Each category possesses sub-categories which the youth identified as specific aspects to each category.

Support

Participants noticed and valued support given them as a group by the researchers. All expressed feeling supported as a group.

The researchers made statements conveying interest in them as youth in particular. Participants felt that the researchers supported youth by examining health issues related specifically to youth. In the context of being high school students in one class, the youth experienced support from researchers who made themselves known and readily available, without being intrusive, to the participants throughout the research project for practical

help (such as with interview designs, video and computer equipment operation) and encouragement. Also, researchers were cited as being supportive of the outcome and findings of all participants’ video projects.

Change

Youth underwent change as a part of their research experience through two sub-categories: Healing and Technology increases. This category parallels the Change category in Theme Two (See Figure 1.)

Healing

The sub-category of Healing was formed by the researcher to describe meaningful personal positive change that was described by all participants. Healing in this context meant changing negative feelings/views/beliefs/perceptions about an issue that were previously held by a participant. All participants discussed one form or another of this sort of change as occurring at group/class level. The opportunity participation in the research project gave the students as group occurred in terms of healing issues such as racism and identity by the gaining of knowledge and understanding of these issues through the research process and the presentation of research findings.

Technology Increase

Another change experienced by youth due to their research experience was an increase of technology availability and use in their classroom and their lives. Video equipment was brought into the classroom for them to use, along with computer software and knowledge about how to use such technology. Thus youth as a group experienced greater education through their acquisition of skills and knowledge of video-making and editing, and designing and conducting community-based research.

Learning

Learning at the community level was one of the largest categories discussed by participants. All participants reported that, in one form or another, they had learned about themselves and about youth in general. Learning at the community level was characterized by the participants who identified and explicated three sub-categories: Role Models, Health, and Relationships that exist in their communities.

Role Models

Youth learned about research in the context of the Participatory Action Research project in which they were involved. For them, one dimension to learning was learning about community role models and exposing the community to these role models by capturing them on film and showing the film to the community. Youth came into contact with Elders, professionals such as counsellors, various program coordinators and directors, and teachers, to name a few role models that the youth interviewed for the research project.

One participant explained that filming one person who worked in the community at a successful art gallery gave people who were watching his video an opportunity not only to learn about the health topic he was investigating, but to see a successful Indigenous person in the greater work force.

Yeah, it was cool because he talked about racism, but seeing him on the video really showed up that Natives can work out there and get good jobs and do good things.”

Health

All participants explained that they as a group discussed and learned about health

issues in their community. Also, three participants discussed learning about health issues in the context of community. Learning about health at the community level was described by participants as relating to issues such as racism, addictions, teen pregnancy, identity, peer pressure, and bullying.

Relationships

The youth also learned different ways to strengthen or create new relationships with peers by collaborating with classmates to do joint video projects. This is similar to the sub-category of learning about relationships with peers in Theme Two, where learning was described at the individual/participant level. A difference with learning about relationship at the group level was that it occurred together in a way that seemed very powerful and fostered a sense of collectivity among the students.

Individual participants as a group of youth learned how to forge and maintain relationships with adult researchers. The youth worked literally alongside University researchers as they chose topics of investigation for the study, formulated interview questions, recruited participants, and negotiated camera work and video editing to create an 8 – 10 minute video production. Interaction through these processes allowed youth to build relationships with researchers and with one another.

One youth related that as a class, the participants learned how to adapt to the researchers as who they were in terms of being in the class not to just teach about research but to work with the students on the research project. For this youth, it was beneficial to learn how to get along with researchers, who were different than teachers or other adults who came into the classroom because their agendas were different. That is, the researchers were there to work with the students and not tell them how to do something as a teacher might. Another difference mentioned was that the researchers were goal-oriented in their relationship with the youth, that is, they were there to “make friends” and get the research done, and this participant liked that about the research relationship.

We learned a lot, we learned about how to adapt and hangout and get to know new people[the researchers]…and them coming into the class taught us how to get along with them as researchers, cause it was weird at first. They weren’t teachers and definitely not students, but they were here to make friends and get our video projects done. It was cool to work together…and we had to learn to get on with them to do it.”

Teaching

Youth were able to teach each other and their communities about three sub-categories: Role models, Health, and Strength.  The category of Health was further specified by participants along dimensions of peer pressure, bullying, teen pregnancy, addictions, identity, and racism. Through their involvement in the project, youth were able to teach other youth about timely and relevant issues facing their community. Each video that was created by the youth taught other youth in their classroom, and community members who attended screenings, about a particular health issue documented.

Cohesion

Participants described cohesion as a sense of togetherness and family that exists within the Native community. Research was described as promoting cohesion within the community through the explication and presentation of Native identity in the videos.

Identity

Participants expressed the power of research to assist and affirm their community identity as a collective that works together, to do research and to deal with community health issues such as peer pressure, bullying, addictions, teen pregnancy, identity, involvement in sports, etc.

One of the participants felt that working together within the classroom dynamic had fostered a sense of shared identity and self-confidence about the videos produced and about themselves as a class. He explained that because everyone had worked hard together to make the videos, had learned new skills, they could all feel a sense of accomplishment as a group of student researchers.

We [the students] all worked real hard on the videos, worked together. Now we really have something to show. Now we can say, hey, we’re not just kids, we’re researchers who can get the word out there. We all learned we can do something as class and succeed at it. The research was a success story for us as a class.”

IMPLICATIONS

1. Participatory Action Research

While not advocated or referred to directly by participants, the type of research about which these youth spoke was participatory action research. The fact that the youth had nothing negative to convey about their research experiences speaks volumes about PAR as a method of doing ethically-sound research with Indigenous communities. PAR is a method that describes itself as doing research “ with” rather than “on” individuals within a community (Whyte, 1991). “Community” is also a key concept within PAR (Sommer, 1999) and this evidences itself in this investigation in the ways participants described research as benefiting the community.

Participatory action research appeared in the literature as early as the 1940s, when Lewin (1946) conceived of action research as a method of research requiring the active involvement of the potential users of the information throughout the research process; this notion is not in agreement with traditional research practices (Sommer, 1999).  In support of participatory research, Herring (1999) writes that educational research with minority individuals and groups must be conceived of and carried out through a process of praxis in order to be ethical. Meeting the needs of cross-cultural research participants is the rationale for an investigation into PAR as a possible effective and ethical methodology for implementing research with marginalized participants such as Indigenous youth.

In summary, PAR is usually value-driven (i.e., ethically-motivated) instead of value-neutral, and has several related objectives: to improve the lives of the participants; to advance knowledge about health; and to improve the practice of  PAR through a critical examination of the collaborative process (Sanford, 1970; Whyte, 1991; Hart, 1995).

2. Cross-Cultural Sensitivity by Researchers

A second implication for research design with Indigenous youth rests on cross-cultural competency and sensitivity, regarding issues of respect, control, communication, non-interference, permission, and control demonstrated in the PAR study these

youth experienced.

There is a need for non-Native researchers working with Indigenous youth to understand and undertake Native ways, which vary across communities, of interacting both on personal and professional levels in order to meet ethical standard outlined by participants  in this study. In terms of the ethics of personal interaction these youth have expressed desires to “have things done their way” by researchers in terms of asking and not telling them how or what to do, giving space and autonomy within research projects, communicating in oral, respectful, non-threatening and non-interfering manners. The students identified significant leanings and benefits from their experiences in a PAR project with researchers who were educated and capable in First Nations modes of communication, world view, and cultural ethical practices and thus able to undertake ethical cross-cultural research.

3. Indigenous Control over Research

The participatory action project in which the youth were involved and this project both followed consultation with community members throughout the research process. This form of giving control to the community over research implemented with its peoples was acknowledged by participants as critical to effective and ethical research design and methodology .

Ethical research practices with First Nations must require elder input, be marked by community control, and produce outcomes, such as transfer of technological skills, that benefit the community (Hudson & Taylor Henley, 2001; Piquemal, 2001; Stubben, 2001).

4. Directions for Future Research and Policy

Future cross-cultural research into ethics with Indigenous youth might include larger samples, and long-term follow-ups on the effects of benefits of research. Also, a comparative study that examined benefits from a PAR project and a non-PAR project would further add to the literature ways of doing research with Native participants. In addition, future researchers may want to examine what other factors enhance or negate ethical research experiences for Indigenous youth participants, with a greater focus on how research contributes to decolonization and healing in Native communities. This has great implications for policy on research because it gives a foundation to the need for community based and Indigenous research to be the norm in Native communities. For example, the role and impacts of local Native researchers as compared to non-Native or non-local Native researchers in one Indigenous community could be explored.

SUMMARY

It must be acknowledged that this study is an initial step to understanding some current and future ethical needs or issues associated with conducting research with Indigenous youth in one specific area. Further research into the area of cross-cultural ethics in research is needed to develop a broader scope of implications and implementation of academic research. This study was significant because if research, such as the participatory action research project as described through the experiences of five Indigenous youth, is to be truly ethical and appropriate, it must be rooted in local cultural ways and norms and sensitive to individual and community needs. The results from this study described the importance of ethical dimensions such as research to benefit the participants, youth, and community, as well as culturally appropriate research design and methodology as exemplified by the participatory action project in which the youth had been previously involved.

This study illuminated some of the ethical benefits of doing research in an Indigenous community from a participatory action research framework. This study also conveyed the significant enthusiasm and zeal that these particular participants held for their experience in a PAR project and the necessity for researchers to be culturally sensitive to community ethics when working with Indigenous youth. The PAR project incorporated the youth in the research process. It appeared to have created a catalyst for change in the participants in a variety of areas. These areas included: self-efficacy, career possibility, identity renewal, and a return of power and control to the community in the research context. In addition, research experiences for these youth allowed for personal change that could be viewed as turning marginalization into empowerment through healing, Ethical research with First Nations means meeting the needs of both researches and participants while benefiting the community through positive change.

This research could provide an opportunity to increase policy support for participatory action research projects as an ethical and effective research methodology in Native communities. In this study, participatory action research has been documented ethically appropriate because it enabled Native community members and leaders to take greater control over research implemented in their territory, which can lead to further decolonization through knowledge, empowerment, and healing.

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Atonement Among the Haudenosaunee

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Atonement Among the Haudenosaunee

(Six Nations Iroquois)

©by Doug George-Kanentiio

The act of atonement among the Haudenosaunee (the Six Nations Iroquois) Confederacy of the North American northeast takes several forms.

Atonement or the making right, the reestablishing of balance, the restoration of sanity, alleviation of grief and the resumption of life is of primary concern to those individuals, families, communities and nations, which exist within the circle of the Haudenosaunee.

Elaborate rituals to insure peace and harmony are restored after the ebb of conflict compose a critical part of Haudenosaunee culture. These acts and ceremonies, songs and customs can be traced to the formation of the Confederacy in the 12th century when a prophet called Skennerahowi (“he who makes peace”) or “the Peacemaker” entered the homeland of the Iroquois to bring an end to war by creating an alliance system of nation-states based upon a common set of rules called “Kaiienerekowa” or “the great law of peace”.

Where chaos, violence and warlords reigned he established procedures for resolving disputes. Working in concert with his principal disciples Aiionwatha (Hiawatha of the Onondagas), and Jikonsawseh (Seneca) he persuaded the Iroquois to cease fighting among themselves and cede partial authority to a Grand Council of all the Iroquois nations: Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca with the Tuscaroras joining after they fled North Carolina in 1715.  This “league of the Iroquois” became the most formidable native organization in North America with its influences felt far into the continental interior.

The Confederacy was, and is, a democratic entity in which each representative to its “grand council”  must be selected by their respective citizens in a series of public forums open to all regardless of age or gender.  These representatives are called “roiiane” in Mohawk, meaning “nice people”. Referred to as “chiefs” they are held to strict codes of behaviour and may be recalled for breach of duty. Each candidate is selected by a female leader called “Kontiianehson” or ‘clanmother”.  Her duties stem directly from Jikonsawseh, the first human being to embrace the teachings of Skennenrahowi and subsequently the first clanmother. No male leader may assume his position without first securing the nomination of the clanmother and the endorsement of his clan.  There are nine clans within Iroquois society divided into ecological realms: hawk, snipe and heron from the sky; bear wolf and deer from the earth; and turtle, eel and beaver from the water.  Not all Iroquois have nine clans since the Mohawks and Oneidas have only three: bear, wolf and turtle.

Clans are essential to Iroquois life. Disputes, property disbursement, ceremonies, marriages and political stature all are rooted in clan affiliation. Each citizen of the Confederacy must have membership within a clan, which follows a maternal line.  However, in instances of naturalization or adoption, a process called rotishennakehte (“they carry the name”) a person born of another nation mat be accorded all the rights and duties of all other Iroquois. They are given a clan name and free to take part in the activities of their respective community but may not hold elective office. In many instances the adoptions were made to replace someone who had died in warfare. The adoptee assumed the dead person’s identity, their social standing, and name, occupation and family obligations. Their former self was entirely obliterated.   After decades of inclusion beginning in the 17th century the Iroquois had become a complex mixture of dozens of native peoples such as Huron, Tutelo, Susquehanna, Mohican and many others. Added to this in later years were captured Europeans and a few Africans who escaped slavery to find refuge within the Confederacy.

When offenses do occur the clan leaders, roiiane and kontiianeshon, serve as arbitrators and judges.  Since the Iroquois justice system is based on reconciliation and atonement, versus the Western adversarial and punishment, all efforts are made to have the offending party acknowledge their wrong and make amends to the injured person, to make things whole and complete. Removing the offender from the community is not an option except for serious crimes such as rape and murder in which instances capital punishment may be imposed.  Under traditional law a sentence of death is also considered when children are sexually abused. A person found guilty of a lesser crime must make amends through the issuing of a formal apology done before a public assembly then assigned a series of tasks designed to reinforce good behaviour while satisfying the person who has been wronged.  All victims have a right to determine the degree of punishment but must not remove the offender from their normal duties and are required to restore them to good standing.  Compensation was also ordered either by the giving of wampum to the victims, restoration of stolen goods or tendering of physical labour until the victim could return to their former condition.

In all instances the Iroquois strive to return to a state of mental, emotional and spiritual clarity called “kanikenriio” (the good mind).  This can only occur when a person is free from guilt or the compulsions of hatred and revenge. At the time of Skennenrahowi the Iroquois were consumed by wars, which were particularly harsh given their common heritage.  After great effort he had convinced many Iroquois there was an alternative to conflict using the principles of the Great Law of Peace but he had yet to find a way to alleviate the personal anguish felt by those who had suffered the loss of family and friends.  It was Aiionwatha who came up with a solution in which atonement without revenge, forgiveness without sacrifice was possible.

Aiionwatha had become, along with Jikonsawseh, the most effective advocate for the establishment of the Confederacy but was confronted by the Onondaga warlord and sorcerer Atotaho said to have the power to command the winds.  He was thoroughly evil, his appearance marked by snakes entangled in his hair and seven crooks in his twisted body. Deformed and suspicious, he was given to the consumption of human flesh.  He responded to Skennenrahowi’s peacemaking and Aiionwatha’s advocacy by keeping the Onondagas in a state of terror by threatening murder on those who embraced the Great Law. His rage against his kinsman Aiionwatha was so great as to cause him to kill all seven of the preacher’s daughters.

Aiionwatha went insane with grief, stumbling about for many days until he reached a small lake south of the main Onondaga towns. There he sat but the intensity of his sadness was so great as to cause the water birds to flee from his presence, taking the lake’s waters with them. Aiionwatha had sufficient reason to notice this strange event and saw clusters of snail shells on the lake bottom. He gathered the snails into a string and held them in his hand uncertain if he would ever have his suffering relieved. At that time Skennenrahowi approached singing a chant, which restored Aiionwatha’s reasoning and brought him to Kanikenriio. Beads drilled from the quahog shell, its purple and white colours to be deemed sacred by the Iroquois, would in time, replace the shells. The colours represented the transition from the blood, which pools beneath the surface of the skin (purple) to the clarity of healing (white). Called anonkoha in Mohawk the beads would be woven in belts and strands, the alignment and patterns having specific meaning.  These wampum beads were vital to the culture of the Iroquois and would, in colonial America times, be used as currency, a practice quite distinct from its original intent.

Skennerahowi first spoke the words of healing and the Iroquois has sustained atonement 800 years ago but his chants and the procedures, which accompany them, since then.  The words were used when the Iroquois as a group approached Atotaho who used every tactic and power he had to defeat them only to be subdued by the power of Skennenrahowi’s songs. He was the last to accept the Great Law of Peace and in recognition of his conversion was given the role of chairperson of the new Confederacy.  Atotaho had to acknowledge his past before his mind and body was healed. He grasped the string of shells brought by Aiionwatha then accepted his fate. Rather than have the sorcerer executed Skennenrahowi converted his power from evil into a force which propelled the Confederacy into being.

Besides the string and belts of shells Skennenrahowi also used universal symbols to represent the events of the day. He said the eastern white pine tree, the tallest of all northeastern trees, would represent the Confederacy with its roots deep into the ground and its top touching the clouds, connecting earth and sky while visible to all human beings.  The four roots of the great tree of peace were white and gleamed in the sun, they extending to the four sacred directions and were meant to be followed to the tree itself. All nations and individuals were free to walk alongside the roots and secure physical, spiritual and moral shelter beneath the branches of the tree. On top of the tree he placed an eagle to watch for anyone approaching and to call to the people below to be alert against possible dangers. Before the Confederacy was formally established Skennenrahowi caused the tree to be uprooted from the ground and in the resulting large cavity he pointed out a fast flowing underground stream.  He had all the former warlords and warriors through their weapons into the hole were the waters carried them away.  He replanted the tree and said that the casting away of the weapons meant warfare was forever outlawed among the nations of the Confederacy and their allies.

Skennenrahowi instructed the Iroquois as to the rituals they were to preserve if they were live in a state of peace. He created fifty roiiane with an equal number of kontiianehson (clanmothers).  To every one these he added an assistant called raterontanonha (“he takes care of the tree” or sub-chief), a female faithkeeper called an iakoterihonton and a male faithkeeper roterihonton.  These two are to advise the roiiane and kontiianehson on spiritual matters while insuring the ceremonial activities are conducted at an appropriate time and manner.  The result was the governing council of the Mohawks, for example, consisted of 45 individuals (a roiiane, Kontiianehson, iakoterihonton and roterihonton) since there were nine roiiane with each of the three clans having three “titled” male leaders.  All roiiane had to have a title name that was decided upon at the time of the formation of the Confederacy.  The names are permanent and clan specific, they transferred to a roiiane at the time of his installation in a ceremony called a ‘condolence.”

Skennenrahowi created the procedures by which a condolence takes place.  Upon the death of a roiiane the mourning nation will send out strings of wampum to each of the other nations. The person carrying the strings is called a “runner” and will call them to gather to replace the former roiiane with another.  Once the Confederate representatives are gathered together the word of Skennenrahowi are spoken in a long chant, a eulogy of sorts. They begin, symbolically, at “the edge of the woods” just as Skennenrahowi began to emerge from the forest to the clearing before Atotaho. These songs cite the grief felt by all the people at the loss of a clan leader, and then cite the formation of the Confederacy.  They are called “Hai Hai” songs and may take hours to complete. They express not only sadness but also the joy at the knowledge that the Great Law of Peace endures.

For this event the Confederacy divides into two sections: the “younger brothers (or nephews)”, meaning the Oneidas, Cayugas and Tuscaroras, who speak and sing the words of condolence to the “old brothers” (or uncles); the Mohawks, Onondagas and Senecas. A restoration of the mind is called for along with an alleviation of sorrow. If the older brothers have suffered the death of a roiiane then the younger ones will conduct the grieving rituals, a situation which is reversed if the younger ones have experienced a death.

The speakers will use symbolic language such as using fawn skin to wipe the eyes clear of tears, a feather to open the ear channels and pure spring water to remove the blockage in the throat.  They will recite how the Confederacy came to be and call off the title names of each of the 50 roiiane.  Tobacco is placed into an open fire as part of the ritual, an offering meant to carry the words of the people to the universe.  Tobacco is also used during the installation of a ceremony but is smoked in white clay pipes by the roiiane. It is said that the tobacco plant was brought to earth from the skyworld and is the means by which human prayers are most effectively carried not only to the world but also to the spiritual beings that monitor human activity.

When tobacco is placed into fire and becomes smoke words become power, thoughts have physical substance. It is considered evil to misuse this power with severe repercussions for those who employ it for purposes other than prayer, thanksgiving or clarity of mind. Tobacco is so closely allied with humans it is called oionkwa:onwe that is the same root word as human beings. Its latin name is niotiana rustica and is very harsh and pungent, hence those who elect to smoke it may blend the leaf with gentler tobaccos or herbs.

The removal of sorrow and anger is a necessary function of all Iroquois social, ceremonial and political activities. No important session can begin without the recitation of the ohenten kariwahtekwen, which is “the words which come before all else”. This is an “address” since it speaks directly to the different elements of the planet beginning with the earth and proceeding to water, fishes, insect, plants, animals, birds, winds, thunder, moon, stars, spiritual beings, the creator. Gratitude is expressed to all of these entities that is then carried over to the actual communal function. It is also meant to remove any feelings of hostility since it places the human experience within a broader natural and spiritual cycle. Once the emotions of the moment are swept away and clarity of mind restored the matters at hand may be addressed using thinking unencumbered by spite.

The Iroquois have used these methods of peace thinking and peace acting for generations.  The historical record lists hundreds of events marked by the “cleansing of the mind” and the “raising of the tree” between the Iroquois and their European neighbours. Beginning with the French explorer Jacques Cartier in 1534 the Iroquois have used the power of imagery, ritual and music to effect peace.  Wampum diplomacy was initiated with the Dutch in the second decade of the seventeenth century followed by the usage of the “silver covenant chain” between England and the Confederacy in 1677.  In 1653 a formal treaty of peace and friendship in which a “maypole tree” was planted in colonial Quebec with the French. Although this compact would not hold a permanent treaty guaranteeing peace with the French was signed in 1701.  That agreement is still held to be in effect by the Confederacy.

As part of the formal negotiations with the European nations the Confederacy used acts of atonement prior to discussions on the terms of a pending treaty. Speakers would rise, express their sorrow, make and appeal for healing and then give belts of wampum as compensation for any losses. The European delegation reciprocated. The language and rituals of Native-European treaty making took root with the Iroquois. The employment of phrases such as “as long as the grass grows” began in the northeast, as was the smoking of tobacco in “peace pipes”.  The requirement that no Native lands could be transferred without the consent of national governments stemmed from the Iroquois complaints to Britain of avaricious land speculators trespassing on Native territory, entering into fraudulent sales agreements with individuals and then using force to remove the natives. This insistence on a formal set of rules led to the enactment of the Royal Proclamation of 1763 outlawing intrusions onto Indian lands west of the Allegheny Mountains and proved to be a primary cause of the American Revolution.

That war, perceived as a family fight by the Confederacy, drove a deep wedge among the Iroquois as factions within the league elected to fight for or against the rebellious Americans. As brutal as the conflict was on the frontier it was equally destructive for the Iroquois who had dozens of their towns destroyed, saw hundreds die from starvation and entire populations relocated to Upper Canada (now Ontario).  Yet the Haudenosaunee Confederacy endured and summoned sufficient representation to meet with the Americans in western New York State in the fall of 1794. The result, after the rituals of condolence, was the one and only treaty between the Iroquois as a collective and the United States.

In subsequent year the Iroquois lost most of our lands with the greater part of our population moving north of the Great Lakes or to distant Wisconsin. A group of Senecas and Cayugas settled in northeastern Oklahoma while a small band of Mohawks secured land in north central Alberta. Under this stress of displacement and reduced political influence the Iroquois degenerated into a period of chaos marked by widespread alcohol abuse.  This destructive behaviour was brought under control as a result of the religious teachings of Skaniateriio (Handsome Lake) a Seneca prophet. He had a series of visions beginning in 1799 in which he was shown how the Iroquois might survive in a distinctly different world.

Skaniateriio stressed the need for the public admission of transgressions.  He introduced the practice of holding a string of sacred wampum while making a confession during one of the 13 lunar ceremonies that mark the Iroquois year. He taught that without a purging of guilt there would be severe repercussions in the spirit world. Prior to this, the Iroquois perception of the afterlife was one of release and awareness: the spirit was liberated from the body to return along a star path to a place of living light, an actual planet in the Pleiades cluster. While on this journey the spirit would come to know the mysteries of the universe and would be thereby enlightened.  Punishment for acts of evil beyond the clan sanctions occurred at the time of death when the spirit was denied enlightenment.  Skaniateriio expanded upon this, describing in vivid detail a version of Pentecostal hell fire and damnation radical enough to counter the moral anarchy threatening to overwhelm ancestral customs.

Skaniateriio succeeded in part because he did not try and suppress the Skennenrahowi’s principles but to strengthen them by emphasizing the need to maintain the traditional rituals. The result was a body of ethics called “The Code of Handsome Lake”. It is recited entirely by memory each year among the Iroquois with each community sponsoring the recital on a rotating basis.

The fundamental elements of Iroquois society have endured into the 21st century.  Clan affiliation is stable even as the Iroquois language endures great stress.  The ceremonial cycle is followed on most territories.   The ancient practices of atonement are present but no longer central to resolving disputes. Canadian and American justice methods have supplanted the ancient customs.  An Iroquois citizen who breaches the law is more likely to be imprisoned than reconciled. Compensation is difficult to come by as crimes against property has become commonplace. The roiiane and kontiianehson no longer serve as arbitrators although they carry on with their ceremonial and political functions.

Atonement as witnessed by the community is a whisper of what it once was.

####

Doug George-Kanentiio is an Akwesasne Mohawk.  He is the former editor of the journal Akwesasne Notes, a co-founder of the Native American Journalists Association and was a member of the Board of Trustees for the National Museum of the American Indian. He is the author of Iroquois on Fire published by the University of Nebraska.

His address is: Doug George-Kanentiio, Box 450, Oneida, NY 13421. Tel. 315-363-1655. E-mail: Kanentiio@aol.com

Mainstreaming Indigeneity by Indigenizing Policymaking: Towards an Indigenous Grounded Analysis Framework as Policy Paradigm

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 3:56 pm
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Mainstreaming Indigeneity by Indigenizing Policymaking: Towards an Indigenous Grounded Analysis Framework as Policy Paradigm

    • Roger Maaka
    • Dean, Maori Faculty
    • Eastern Institute of Technology
    • Napier New Zealand
    • and
    • Augie Fleras
    • Sociology
    • University of Waterloo
    • Waterloo, Canada

Abstract

    Engaging politically with the principles of indigeneity is neither an option nor expediency.  The emergence of Indigenous peoples as prime-time  players on the world’s political stage attests to the timeliness and relevance of mainstreaming an indigeneity agenda in advancing  a new constitutional  governance for living together differently. Insofar as the politics of mainstreaming indigeneity are pivotal in indigenizing policymaking, this paper argues that reference to an indigenous grounded analysis (IGA) framework as  policy  paradigm  is both necessary and overdue. The paper also argues that the mainstreaming of indigeneity by indigenizing policymaking may enhance the operationalizing of  indigenous self-determining autonomy as governance principle.  To put these arguments to the test, the politics of  mainstreaming indigeneity in Aotearoa New Zealand are analyzed and assessed within the framework of  an emergent Maori-centered policymaking framework.  The political implications of an indigeneity-policy nexus are then applied to the realities of  Canada’s Indigenous/Aboriginal peoples. The paper contends that, just as central authorities are committed to a gender- based analysis (GBA) for mainstreaming policy outcomes along gender lines, so too should the mainstreaming of indigeneity (or aboriginality) secure a corresponding agenda-setting formula for minimizing systemic policy bias  while maximizing indigenous inclusiveness. The paper concludes by situating  the concept of  an indigenous grounded analysis (IGA) framework  within the broader context of competing ‘determinations’ – ‘self’ vs ‘state’ – in promoting a postcolonial policymaking governance.
    Key Words: The Politics of Indigenity;  Mainstreaming Indigeneity as Indigenzing Policymaking;  Mainstreaming Maori Indigeneity; Gender-based Analysis Framework; Indigeneity-Grounded Analysis Framework; State determination versus Indigenous self determining autonomy.

Introduction: Indigeneity Agenda as a Policy Paradox

Conflicting narratives contest the politics of indigeneity1. A prevailing narrative is that of poverty and powerlessness. Indigenous peoples2 worldwide remain structurally excluded and culturally marginalized because of a pervasive (neo-)colonialism3(Maybury-Lewis, 2002; Maaka, and Andersen 2006). The systemic discrimination that dominates political and policymaking spheres through inaction, silence, and indifference generates both misery and marginalization at individual or group levels (Battiste 2009). Even in seemingly progressive settler societies like Canada and New Zealand, Indigenous peoples continue to experience punishing levels of poverty and disempowerments whose sources (and solutions) are systemic and foundational rather than attitudinal and incidental (Maaka and Fleras 2005). Nevertheless, formal initiatives to address systemic barriers and neo-colonialist mindsets by incorporating an indigenous centered policymaking agenda are rarely tested or theorized.

A sharply different narrative also prevails. Indigenous peoples are striding across the world’s political stage by capitalizing on the  principles and politics of indigeneity as catalyst for empowerment and engagement. In a relatively short period of time, Indigenous peoples have managed to achieve all or parts of the following advances: shed the most egregious dimensions of colonialism; recover and articulate their voices; challenge political and public attitudes; secure international support in defense of their claims; enlist international law to prove violations; and propose a specific agenda of Indigenous peoples rights (Xanthaki 2008). Nowhere is this progress more evident than in the adoption in 2007 of the UN Declaration of the  Rights of Indigenous Peoples – not only in transforming Indigenous peoples from ‘victims’ to ‘actors’ but also in reframing the debate over  indigeneity as one of ‘rights’ rather than ‘claims’ (Gilbert 2006; Barelli 2009). The emergence of Indigenous peoples as peoples with rights rather than minorities with problems or needs propels indigenous peoples politics to the forefront in debating the  mainstreaming of indigeneity by indigenizing policymaking.

The mainstreaming of indigeneity along indigenous policymaking lines is no longer an option or excuse. Mainstreaming constitutes an indigenous–centered experience that challenges the deeply ingrained Eurocentric mentality behind policymaking. As a principled approach to collaborative engagement, the principle of mainstreaming also  recognizes the need for indigenous concerns and realities to be incorporated into the design, implementation, monitoring, and evaluation of all policies; encourages policymakers to adopt an indigenous perspective; and promotes the full participation of indigenous stakeholders in policymaking so that indigenous peoples’ needs and aspirations migrate from the margins to the centre (see also Hanson 2007; Poole 2008). In short, without the catalyst of an indigenous grounded policy lens to challenge, resist, and transform, there is no foreseeable end to those neocolonial foundational principles whose governance logic continues to impoverish and disempower (Turner andSimpson 2008; Ladner and  Dick 2008).

A commitment to mainstreaming indigeneity is critical in bolstering an indigenous policymaking framework. Insofar as there appears to be a dearth of initiatives for analyzing Indigenous peoples’ policymaking input (Chesterton 2008), this paper proposes the necessity and feasibility of an indigenous-grounded analysis (IGA) framework as policy model to offset systemic information-processing biases, while spearheading a move toward an indigenous self-determining autonomy as an alternative governance framework. The paper also contends that an indigeneity policy agenda must go beyond design or content; equally critical is a focus on policymaking process by incorporating multiple indigenous stakeholders in shaping policy outcomes (Chataway 2004). To put these arguments to the test, the politics of  indigeneity in Aotearoa New Zealand are explored to demonstrate advances in constructing a Maori-centered policymaking milieu. An indigenous-grounded analysis (IGA) framework as policymaking paradigm for Canada’s Indigenous peoples is then proposed, based on the precedent-setting principles of a gender based analysis (GBA) equivalent. Lastly, the debate over state determination versus indigenous self determining autonomy as competing governance models provides   insight into the politics – and pitfalls – of mainstreaming indigeneity within an IGA policymaking framework.

    Indigeneity as Policymaking ‘From Below’
    Article 18 Indigenous peoples have the right to participate in decision-making in matters which would affect their rights, through representatives chosen by themselves in accordance with their own procedures, as well as to maintain and develop their own indigenous decision-making institutions.  UNDRIP Sept 13, 2007
    Article 19 States shall consult and cooperate in good faith with the Indigenous peoples concerned through their own  representative institutions in order to obtain  their free prior and informed consent before adopting and implementing legislative or administrative measures that may affect them. UNDRIP Sept 13, 2007

The field of international relations is witnessing a growing trend toward participatory  governance. Viewed from an engaged governance perspective, policymaking is no longer simply seen as a public intervention in the social or economic sphere, but rather as a complex interaction among a wide variety of both public and private (non governmental) actors (Tommel and Verdun 2009). Yet, despite this commitment to the meaningful participation of civil society in collaborative policymaking, Indigenous peoples continue to be excluded from the policymaking process, including the design, implementation, and evaluation of policies and programs that directly impact on their lives and life chances (UN Workshop 2005). Indigenous peoples and communities are often adversely affected by government policies and programs because of top-down policymaking approaches that gloss over their distinctive visions, ways of life, needs and experiences, and aspirations. Even policies and programs  that are specifically targeted toward indigenous communities often operate in a non inclusive manner, in the process intensifying patterns of powerlessness and poverty, eroding any progress toward sustainable development, and further destabilizing the social and cultural integrity  of first peoples’ communities.

The consequences of a ‘we know what is best for you’ policymaking mentality are all too obvious in perpetuating a (neo)colonial status quo. Sociologically speaking, Indigenous peoples constitute  ‘involuntary minorities’ who have been forcibly incorporated against their will into someone else’s system. Dispossessed, disempowered,  and oppressed,  they want to escape an exploitative political arrangement by challenging both the conventions that refer to the rules as well as the rules upon which conventions are based (Fleras 2010).  Rodolfo Stavenhagen (2009:2) captures the enormity of the struggles ahead:

    The historical inequities and inequalities that led to the dispossession of their human rights and dignity; the genocides, the massacres,  the conquests and colonization,  the enslavement and the enforced labor, the land grabs and removals and displacement, the kidnapping of men, women, and children,  the incarceration, the policies of  assimilation, the racism and the denial of their humanity, the criminalization of their protests and resistance

These injustices are so deeply embedded in  the design, organization, and functioning of modern societies that their effects continue to systemically intrude on their lives – despite reforms to remove the most egregious abuses. Not surprisingly, a colonialized status quo is likely to persist without an inclusive policy paradigm that operates on the principle of mainstreaming indigeneity by indigenizing policymaking.

The world’s Indigenous peoples may be among the poorest and most vulnerable sectors of society. But Indigenous peoples around the world are also in the vanguard of re-constitutionalizing their relational status in society through struggles to preserve their communities, improve their socioeconomic status,  retain or regain their rights, and rebuild their nationhood on their terms (Anderson and Barnett 2006).  In response to the surge in Indigenous peoples politics, the politics of policymaking in countries like New Zealand or Canada have shifted accordingly, at least in theory if not always in practice. Rather than  contesting indigenous claims to land and nationhood as once the case, what has emerged instead are protocals for negotiating indigenous  rights alongside a growing perception that settling indigenous claims is less of a ‘cost’ and more of a capacity building ‘vehicle’ for addressing political, economic, social, and cultural concerns. The implications of this ‘bottom-up’ turn  is growing commitment to partner with indigenous communities in the hopes of constructively  engaging Indigenous peoples as co-participants in policymaking processes and outcomes.

A critique of top-down policymaking is predicated on simple yet powerful premise. Neither policy nor policy making are neutral or value free. Rather, as socially constructed conventions, policy and policymaking are infused with dominant values, Eurocentric ideals, institutionalized biases, and vested interests. So deeply embedded are racialized notions about what is normal, desirable, or acceptable with respect to policy design, underlying assumptions,  priorities and agenda, and process that policymakers are rarely aware of the systemic consequences that privileges some, disempower others (Wallis and Fleras 2008). Even evidence-based policymaking may prove systemically biasing when an uncritical commitment to ‘objectivity’ bolsters white Eurocentricity as the norm, while discrediting the legitimacy of Indigenous peoples knowledge and ways of knowing (also Kowal 2008). In challenging the myth of value neutral policy 4 the Kungarakany and First Australian scholar, Steve Larkin (2007:178), bristles with indignation when referring to the ….

    …systematic and racialised denial of Indigenous sovereignty in evidence-based processes of thinking about/doing things differently, and how things might be different from the way they are-how Indigenous issues are problematised and subsequently converted into discrete programs. White policy-makers and researchers need to become vigilant to how their whiteness shapes the production of research knowledge and their interpretation of what gets to count as evidence when considering Indigenous health policy.

The conclusion seems inescapable: In that settler/Eurocentric values continue to inform policy assumptions and processes (see Peters and Walker 2005), the value of a indigenous-centered policymaking approach  is both necessary and overdue.

This shift in policymaking focus from top-down to ‘from below’ is clearly consistent with developments at the United Nations. The promotion of collobarative policy frameworks for democratizing participation is premised on a human rights informed approach to policymaking (see also UN Workshop 2005).  A human rights approach acknowledges the centrality of indigeneity to successful policymaking, including the involvement of indigenous peoples as partners in shaping both the process and outcomes.  The UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues has long promoted the participatory policymaking principles of free prior and informed consent in all policy matters of concern to indigenous communities As noted above, Articles 18 and 19 of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples confirm this broader embrace of an indigeneity agenda by reinforcing the priority of free prior and informed consent as a principled means of operationalizing a human rights approach to policymaking. The Forum has also recommended incorporating the concerns and experiences of Indigenous women to augment their perspective and participation in creating an inclusive policymaking governance.

Indigeneity as Policy Agenda in Aotearoa New Zealand

Developments in Aotearoa  New Zealand are not exempt from the politics of indigeneity (Fleras and Spoonley 1999; Durie 2005; Smith 2007; O’Sullivan 2008). The politics of indigeneity  have proven pivotal in securing a Maori-centered perspective not only at the political level but also in the design and implementation of policy and programs. Admittedly, the New Zealand state has been slow in acknowledging the primacy of Maori indigeneity in accelerating a bi-national governance arrangement (Fleras 2009). Much of the reticence reflects a political unwillingness to provoke public anger over perceived Maori privilege for seemingly violating the meritocratic principle of equality and fairness (Durie 2004). Nevertheless, Maori policy development is increasingly animated by the dynamics of indigeneity as a principled approach to Maori-Crown relations. Three policy making catalysts are foregrounded, each of which is shown to have mainstreamed Maori indigeneity as policy lens, including:(a) a Maori presence in Parliament (including seven guaranteed seats, Maori lists in a Mixed Member Proportional systems, and emergence of a Maori Party), (b) an advisory and advocacy body with policymaking  influence to review Maori affairs legislation (Te Puni Kokiri) and (c) a commission of inquiry  (Waitangi Tribunal) for ‘righting historical wrongs’ over Crown breaches to Treaty principles.5

Te Puni Kokiri (TPK)

TPK or the Ministry of Maori Development was established in 1991 under the auspices of the  government’s mainstreaming policy phase. Under mainstreaming as policy, the delivery of  services and programs to Maori was conveyed through mainstream agencies that serve the general public, rather than direct service provisions by specific government department like the Maori Affairs Department (Levy 1999). Over time, the core functions of TPK have changed, although it remains the only Maori-focused government department. As an integrated policy Ministry that advocates on behalf Maori and Maori tribes (‘iwi’) and ‘subtribes’ (‘hapu’), TPK  serves as liaison with  other government  agencies for  improving Maori outcomes through more responsive mainstream institutions and services. Its mandate as instrument of Maori development strategically position TPK to bolster the prospect of Maori succeeding as Maori  by aspiring to a sustainable level of success as individuals, in organizations, and as collectivities.

TPK also represents a  principal advisor on Crown relationship with Maori  hapu and  iwi, in part by providing policy advice, in part by monitoring policy and legislation, in part by partnering Maori investment to advance Maori potential. For example, the current Realising Maori Potential program is predicated on the premise that significant potential exists among Maori, thus better positioning Maori to build upon and leverage off their collective resources, knowledge, skills and leadership capabilities (TPK 2008). In other words,  rather than delivering government policies as was the case in the past,  TPK is in the business of designing policy advice to the Minister of Maori Affairs. In bolstering its policymaking mandate by broadening its scope and reach, TPK also maintains interactive links with Maori iwi, hapu, and whanau (‘extended family’) through a network of ten regional offices.

The establishment of Whanau Ora Health Impact Assessment tool (WOHIA) operationalizes the emergence of  Maori-centered policy framework  (Ministry of Health 2007). In contrast to the past when policy makers lacked the requisite tools to identify policy impacts on Maori health, much less to incorporate these trajectories into the policy making process,  WOHIA provides a culturally sensitive methodology (‘tool’)  for identifying the potential health impact of government policies and sectoral  programs. WOHIA operates on the premise that  public policies of benefit to the general population at large can generate unintended negative effects  by inadvertently intensifying disparities on Maori health and wellbeing (Public Health Advisory Committee 2007). In taking steps to indigenize Maori health outcomes, WOHIA empowers policy makers with a checklist of questions pertaining to screening (what needs doing), scoping (identify key issues related to health determinants), appraisal,  and evaluation. Mindful that health impacts should be an explicit consideration in the design, implementation, and evaluation of all public policies, WOHIA also seeks to secure the input from a range of sectors and stakeholders  on grounds that  health is largely determined by decisions in other sectors.  In addition to intersectoral collaboration and community involvement,  Maori participation is actively solicited at each of these policymaking levels to ensure (a)  health needs as identified by Maori including a spiritual dimension and cultural focus  and (b) involvement of Maori  stakeholders in  attending to their health priorities, alongside a corresponding course of action for advancing Maori specific outcomes and indicators rather than upholding generic ideals (Durie et al 2002; Durie 1998).

Maori Parliamentary Seats and the Maori Party

Maori constitute one of the few peoples in the world with a guaranteed Parliamentary presence (Geddis 2007; Joseph 2008). The establishment of four separate Maori electorates in 1867 originated for a variety of reasons, ranging from the calculating to the expedient. The arrangement was intended to last five years or until the Maori land Court converted communal Maori land tenure into individual freehold, thus entitling Maori to enfranchisement under standard property owning qualifications (Joseph 2008). The political quo remained largely in tact until the introduction of Mixed Member Proportional in 1996.  Under MMP, the number of dedicated Maori seats was allowed to rise to seven (based an influx of Maori voters to the Maori roll rather than the General roll).  As well, a significant number of Maori have appeared as party list members whose placement is based on the proportion of popular vote captured by each political party. The end result is a formidable Maori presence in Parliament. In the 2008 elections, a total of 22 seats in a 121 strong Parliament were held by Maori, thus accounting for about 19 percent of the total in contrast to their proportion (around 15 %) of the total population.

A Maori Party has sat in Parliament since the exodus of Maori MPs from the Labour Party in 2005.  Controversy over a Labour government ruling that pre-empted Maori from exercising the right to claim ownership  of the seabeds and foreshore resulted in a split from the Labour ranks. As a party for, about, and by Maori, the goal of the Maori Party is “..to achieve self determination for whanau, hapu, and iwi within their own land, to bolster a strong, united, and independent voice, and live according to kaupapa and tikanga handed down by ancestors “(Maori Party 2008).  In the 2005 election, the Maori Party won four of the seven Labour-locked Maori  seats, including 2.19 percent of the national vote. In 2008, the Maori Party increased its popular vote to 2.39 percent, in addition to capturing another seat from Labour, in the process securing an independent and powerful Maori voice in Parliament (Winiata 2007). With the support of the Maori Party, the National Party formed the government, then promptly rewarded its coalition partner with two cabinet positions, including the Minister of Maori Affairs portfolio (Pita Sharples; co leader of the Maori party) and Minister for Community and Voluntary Sector (Tania Turia, co-leader of Maori Party) .

    • 1 Waitangi Tribunal: Treaty Principles as Maori Indigeneity

A restitutional process is currently in place to compensate Maori  peoples for historical wrongs. In securing a basis for resolving long standing Maori grievances in a principled way, the Labour government established the Waitangi Tribunal in 1975 as a Commission of Inquiry to (a) make recommendations on claims to past and present breaches to Treaty principles (b) consider which Crown actions disagreed with Treaty principles and (c) determine the “meaning and effect” of the Treaty by negotiating the differences between the English and Maori language versions. be.  A permanent commission of inquiry is in place – akin to a ‘truth and reconciliation’ forum in function (Waitangi Tribunal 2006) – that registers Maori claims or grievances over Crown breaches to the Treaty of Waitangi, processes them through a public forum that tests these claims for legitimacy and validity, publishes reports on the accuracy of the claims, and proposes solutions for righting Crown wrongs. Admittedly, its recommendations are neither binding (except in rare cases) nor do they have any legal standing in ruling on points of law over the return of land. Still, these recommendations provide input in mainstreaming the government’s Maori policy and Treaty settlements in ways scarcely conceivable even a generation ago.

In addition to ruling on specific Maori claims, the Tribunal has been charged with the responsibility of formulating the principles for living together differently. The Tribunal’s mandate rests in looking beyond strict legalities or literal interpretations. Its mission lies in a reading ‘between the lines’ of the Treaty, so to speak, in hopes of harmonizing the differences between the English version (with its kawanatanga (‘governorship’) commitment to state determination) and Maori versions (with their tino rangatiratanga (‘chiefly’) focus on indigenous self determining autonomy) (Maaka and Fleras 2008). Differences in Maori and English texts when applied to a Treaty reading of specific circumstances have generated four Treaty principles for guidance and justification, including:

  • The Overarching (Reciprocity-Exchange) Principle. According to the overarching principle, Maori ceded de jure sovereignty over the land (‘kawanatanga’) in exchange for reciprocal Crown guarantees of Maori self determining autonomy (de facto sovereignty or tino rangatiratanga’) over land, resources, and ‘things Maori’.
  • The Principle of Partnership: According to the partnership principles, Maori tribes and the Crown (or more generally, Pakeha) must be  seen as equal partners – that is, co-signatories to a political covenant – whose partnership is constructed around the sharing of power, resources, and privileges.
  • The Principle of Active Protection The Crown has a duty to actively protect  by way of positive action Maori rangatiratanga (self determining autonomy) rights as set out in Article Two.
  • The Principle of Autonomy Reference to self determining autonomy by way of tino rangatiratanga secures the ground for Maori control over domestic affairs though political arrangements that sharply curtail state jursidiction while solidifying Maori control over land, identity, and political voice.

To sum up: The evidence seems inescapable but subject to debate and resistance. Thanks to the politics of Maori indigeneity, New Zealand is cresting the wave of a transformation from within – at least in theory if not always in practice. A new constitutional governance is taking shape along two fronts: To one side are those  Treaty principles that secure the mainstreaming of Maori indigeneity as policymaking lens. To the other side is the emergence of numerous stakeholders in indigenizing  the policymaking process, including a powerful Maori dynamic in Parliament, the policy advisory platform of TPK, and the Waitangi Tribunal in crafting principles to live by. Of course, no is contending that New Zealand has discarded those foundational principles that continue to secure a neocolonial constitutional order. Nevertheless, a postcolonizing process is in progress (albeit a far from finished project) that promises to fundamentally realign  the interactional basis of Maori-Crown relations (Johnson 2008).

Indigenizing Aboriginal  Policymaking in Canada

Are the politics of indigeneity situation specific or generalizable? Can the Aotearoan insights of New Zealand be applied to Canada’s ‘policyscape‘ (Helin 2007; Quesnel 2008)? How feasible is an indigenous Maori perspective for policymaking in a Canada that lacks comparable power brokers within policymaking circles?   In some ways, not, given the differences between Canada and New Zealand with respect to history, geography, demographics, and politics. Consisting of the different tribes of varying and fluid sizes, Maori constitute about 16 percent of New Zealand’s population of 4 million, with the vast majority (about 83 percent) living in larger urban centres without necessarily abrogating linkages with their rural-tribal connections. Unlike  Aboriginal peoples  in Canada, Maori neither entered into land-for-benefits treaties (like the numbered treaties in Canada) nor experienced the realities of an imposed reserve regime or a centralized registration system. These differences complicate the process of making comparisons; after all, what works in one jurisdiction may not in another.

Yet differences are not the same as incompatibilities. Like Aboriginal peoples  in Canada, the status of  Maori in general reflect similar patterns of poverty and powerlessness, largely because of the institutional and systemic biases that inform a neo-colonial constitutional order (Maaka  and  Fleras 2008). Moreover, Canada like New Zealand is also in a position to endorse an indigenous-grounded analysis framework – partly because of indigeneity politics, partly because of a Crown duty to consult, and partly because of a precedent that already exists within government circles. In that the existence of a gender based analysis (GBA) framework provides a template for an indigeneity grounded analysis framework as a  principled prism   for  policymaking, there is room for optimism in mainstreaming indigeneity as basis for constructive and collaborative engagement.

.

Gender Based Analysis (GBA) as PolicyMaking Agenda

In  1995 the Government of Canada responded to the challenges emanating from the Beijing Platform to foster gender equality. GBA emerged as an action plan that compelled federal departments and agencies to conduct an impact assessment involving policies and legislation (where appropriate) of relevance to women (NWAC 2007).  By acknowledging significant differences between and within men and women –  in effect recognizing that policy cannot be separated from the social context –  GBA proposes to examine existing and proposed policies to ensure they are having an intended effect and producing fair results  (Annual Report, Immigration, 2008). Insofar as GBA is applied along all points of the policy making process rather than an add-on after the fact, it focuses  on outcomes, in addition to concepts, arguments, and language employed to justify putting gender back into the picture. In short, by assessing the potentially differential impact  of proposed policies on women and men, then responding with options and strategies,  GBA constitutes  a gender-sensitive tool for policy development.

Health Canada in 1999 formally incorporated the principles of GBA across the board.  A GBA framework in health sought to understand and correct how policy and programs biases within the health care system impacted on the health of women (and men).  With implementation of a dual-track GBA (one centered on women, the other on gender differences) to improve health impacts for women and men, Health Canada embarked on a principled approach for  developing policies, programs, and legislation; conducting research and data collection; and day to day planning and operations in the hopes of identifying those conditions, inequities, and experiences that affect women’s health status and their access to, and interaction with, the health system (Health Canada 2000).  For example, consider the case of gendered clinical trials. Prior to approval of a new drug in Canada, manufacturers must scientifically prove its safety through clinical trials. Yet, historically, clinical trials tended to incorporate only men, with results uncritically applied to women. Women were excluded in part to avoid risks, in part because of research complications related to reproductive biology.  This omission (or methodological bias)  not only put women at risk by virtue of generalizing male-only findings to women. It also revealed a gender bias in the approval of new drugs  through the uncritical incorporation of male bodies as the tacitly assumed norm for measuring  health research and treatment options. To offset any gendered (‘systemic’) bias against women’s unique experiences and biologies, Health Canada (2000) now insists on the inclusion of both genders in clinical trials (unless the drug is intended for one gender only), in the process securing  both a better science and safer treatment.

Towards an Indigenous Grounded Analysis (IGA) Policymaking Framework

Pressure is mounting to dislodge the primacy of Eurocentric policy models as grounds for framing Aboriginal peoples–Canada relations. A more flexible and principled approach is advocated that emphasizes negotiation over litigation, engagement over entitlement, relationships over rights, interdependence over opposition, co-operation over competition, reconciliation over restitution, and power-sharing over power conflict (Maaka and Fleras 2005). Several innovative routes have evolved for improving Indigenous peoples–state relations, including indigenization of policy and administration,  devolution of power, and decentralization of service delivery structures.  In particular is the incorporation of indigenous perspectives – including the core rubrics of representation, recognition, rights, and resources – within policymaking circles. Admittedly, many of the initiatives involve little more a bureaucratic/managerial exercise in offloading government responsibility to indigenous communities, with minimal transfer of power or authority (Posluns 2007). Nevertheless, indigenous-grounded policies not only work toward alleviating alienation and marginality; they also enhance the participation of  Indigenous peoples in the policy process, thus providing first hand knowledge of the complexities associated with policymaking (see also Karim 2009).

The implications are inescapable: In the same way GBA 6 is acknowledged as a principled way of neutralizing the gendered basis of policy and policymaking, so too should central authorities discard the Eurocentric policymaking conventions by endorsing an indigenous grounded analysis (IGA) model for indigenizing policymaking along the principled lines that parallel  a GBA model (Health Canada 2000). The benefits of an IGA policymaking framework include:

  • Acknowledges the value of democratizing the full participation of Indigenous peoples in decision making in matters of concern to them.
  • Recognizes the legitimacy of and equal weight to indigenous peoples knowledge and values, experiences and aspirations.
  • Promotes the following first principles as a prism for indigenizing policymaking, that is: indigenous difference, indigenous rights, indigenous sovereignty; indigenous belonging,  and indigenous spirituality (including traditional knowledge). 7
  • Concedes that a ‘one-size-fits-all’ policymaking approach may exert an unintentionally negative impact on those who differences must be taken seriously.
  • Admits that in a deeply divided society with competing rights and contested entitlements, difference is as important as commonalities, resulting in equal (the same) treatment as a matter of course, but treatment as equals (differently) when required.
  • Provides a channel for Indigenous peoples to identify their concerns and priorities in the design and implementation of policies, programs, and legislation.
  • Establishes grounds for better understanding the challenges and complexities in redefining Indigenous peoples-state relations.
  • Results in more effective interventions and initiatives by improving the capacity of government structures to coordinate, monitor, support, and make policy through constructive engagement (Working Group 2005; Maaka and Fleras 2005).
  • Contributes to the attainment of greater equity and cooperation through meaningful consultation, constructive engagement, and collaborative involvement.
  • Assesses the differential and systemic impacts of policy, programs, and legislation that when evenly and equally applied generates an exclusionary effect.
  • Confirms the status of indigenous peoples as ‘nations within’ who are sovereign yet sharing sovereignty with a corresponding right to self determining autonomy over land, identity, and political voice.

An IGA policymaking framework is anchored on the bedrock principle of a duty to consult and accommodate. The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples stipulates the necessity  for free, prior and informed consent  of indigenous stakeholders when introducing or implementing legislative, policy, and administrative measures that involve any development affecting traditional lands and resources or that impact on the health and wellbeing of indigenous communities (UN Workshop 2005). As well, both the Federal and provincial governments in Canada have a legal and constitutional duty to consult and accommodate Aboriginal and Treaty rights in a timely manner and in good faith in cases where Aboriginal rights and title have not yet been extinguished. The legal duty to consult arises from Section 35(1) of the 1982 Constitution Act  whose protective clause  seek to reconcile the existence of Aboriginal societies with the sovereignty of the Crown.  To ensure that Crown decisions do not constitute a unilateral exercise in absolute authority but are informed by aboriginal priorities, realities, and experiences, a duty to consult and accommodate constitutes an enforceable legal principle for facilitating a reconciliation between Aboriginal people and the Crown. The courts have also ruled that both First Nations and Metis communities possess a reciprocal onus to participate in the consultation process to secure mutually satisfying solutions. Government funds have been allocated specifically for this purpose. In Saskatchewan, for example, a $2 million Consultation Participation Fund exists to facilitate both First Nations and Metis participation in the consultations  (Morellato 2008;  Saskatchewan Ministry of Municipal Affairs 2007; Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations 2006).

The principle of a duty to consult and accommodate is taking practical effect. Consider the recent decision by the Walpole Island First Nations  to pass its own Consultation and Accommodation Protocal in hopes of incorporating culture, environmental respect, and certainty into all government policymaking and industry development across its territory (Press Release October 27, 2009). The territory of WIFN encompasses Sarnia and related areas that sit downstream and downwind from Chemical Valley and its pollutants– widely regarded as one of the most industrialized and toxic risk zones in all of Canada.  The Protocal lays out what WIFN expects from government policy decisions that impact on their homeland while clarifying the practical steps that companies must take if they intend to conduct business with them. The preamble makes this  abundantly clear:

    Purpose and Application: The Protocal sets out Walpole Island First Nation’s (WIFN’s) rules, under its laws and its understanding of respectful application of Canadian law, for the process and principles for consultation and accommodation between WIFN, the Crown and Proponents, about any Activity that is proposed to occur in WIFN’s Traditional Territory or that might cause an Impact to the Environment or Health therein or WIFN rights. WIFN expects the Crown and Proponents to respect this Protocal in all such interactions with WIFN.

In defending the legitimacy of this duty  to consult and accommodate, the Protocal touts its value for assisting the government and industry do the right thing in respecting WIFN rights and land, in addition to advancing positive relation-building by mainstreaming indigenous law and custom with those of non aboriginal neighbours.

Policymaking From Below:

Advancing Indigenous Self Determining Autonomy Models

Indigenous peoples are gradually breaking free of colonial structures and Eurocentric strictures (Xanthaki 2008; Cadena and Starn 2007).  In Aotearoa New Zealand the articulation of Treaty principles secures a Maori-centered framework for national governance, while in Canada, the Courts have articulated a series of enforceable legal principles that protect and promote Aboriginal and treaty rights (Morrelato 2008).  The politics of indigeneity/aboriginality in challenging and transforming a settler constitutional order have also proven critical in mainstreaming an indigenous policy making perspective (see also Marscheke et al 2008).  Moreover, an IGA framework enhances policymaking by assisting policymakers to engage collaboratively and constructively through the prism of  indigeneity-tinted spectacles.

But the politics of  mainstreaming an IGA policymaking framework is likely to encounter resistance and resentment. The potential for social friction is particularly ripe within the context of conflicting constitutional orders involving competing models of determination: state vs self (Maaka and Fleras 2008). State-centered models define self determination in ways that reflect, reinforce, and advance state interests over those of Indigenous peoples. Not unexpectedly, too much of what passes for state determination endorses policies, laws, and agendas that are no longer inappropriate for the postcolonizing realities of the 21st century. By contrast, indigenous models of self-determining autonomy challenge this arrangement by proposing a radical policymaking alternative.  Indigenous peoples demand the broadest interpretation of self-determination on the grounds that all other rights flow from it. Predictably, central authorities want to limit this discursive framework for precisely the same reason, namely, a fear that too expansive a recognition of self determining autonomy rights may prove corrosive  (Charters 2005).

State Determination Governance Models: Top-Down Policymaking

Models of  state determination are not what they claim to be. Internal contradictions pervade the logic of state determination, including incongruities between modernity (‘changing indigenous peoples to reduce inequality) and the culture of indigenous peoples (maintaining ‘difference’ to improve equality) (Kowal 2008).  A statist policy agenda promotes the self-sufficiency of Indigenous peoples, but only within the confines of an existing institutional framework. Such a policy agenda cannot allow any self determining arrangement to challenge the principles of territorial integrity and the final authority of the state as the supreme sovereignty over the land.  Central authorities prefer to micro-manage the policymaking discourse along those socio-economic dimensions that typically compress Indigenous peoples rights into state-defined programs (Humpage 2004; Cornell 2005). Sham consultations and cosmetic reform are established as well for  reducing social and economic disparities –  if only to paper over those colonial paradoxes with potentially subversive overtones (Wootten 2004). Tossed into the ‘too hard’ basket are any meaningful efforts that grapple with the complex task of balancing the often incompatible goals of socioeconomic equality with recognition of Indigenous peoples status as the ‘nations within’ (Fleras and Elliott 1992). Not surprisingly, as Stephen Cornell (and others Altman 2009) concludes, state determination discourses – from ‘capacity building’ to ‘closing the gaps’ – tend to conflate the politicized concerns of Indigenous Peoples with integrative agenda of immigrant populations.

The policymaking logic of state determination is animated by the collusion of national and vested interests. For the state, a one-size-fits-all policymaking approach is thought to ensure bureaucratic control, managerial efficiency, or administrative convenience (Cornell 2005).  However well intentioned or beneficial these initiatives, the state project of determination is deeply flawed conceptually and empirically by virtue of relying on state solutions (including social indicators that reflects dominant social norms) to solve deeply entrenched (often state created) problems (Altman 2009). Indigenous peoples concerns and aspirations are either ignored or suppressed; or, alternatively, they are refracted though the prism of a Eurocentric policymaking lens, thus negating how Indigenous peoples rights constitute a sui generis class of political rights in their own right. Their voices and philosophical perspectives are dismissed as well, despite  distinctive ways of understanding and responding to reality  (Maaka and Andersen 2006). And while this dismissal is costly (Will making indigenous peoples more equal make them less indigenous? (also Kowal 2008)), its opposite – inclusiveness – can also prove contradictory. Without an indigenous grounded policymaking framework, Indigenous peoples demands for self determining autonomy must be articulated within a policymaking framework that often reinforces those very  colonialist discourses under attack  (Turner 2006).

Indigenous Models of Self Determining Autonomy: Policymaking ‘From Below’

Opposing state-centric  models of ‘determination’ are indigenous models of self-determining autonomy. Indigenous peoples experiences continue to be defined and distorted by their forcible confinement within the liberal universalism of a neocolonialist framework. Proposed instead of a state determination model is a commitment to indigenous self determining autonomy approach to policymaking that entail (1) recognition of Indigenous peoples as possessing distinctive ways of looking at the world; (2) respect for indigenous difference and distinctiveness through its incorporation into policymaking; (3) an acknowledgement that they alone possess the right to decide for themselves what is best; and (4) endorsement of their status as sovereign in their own right, yet sharing in the sovereign of society at large (Fleras 2000). The challenge is unassailable. Indigenous peoples rights to constitutional status as original occupants and sovereign political communities conveys a corresponding right to shape the policymaking context  of which they are part, as well as the right to control land and resources that sets them apart (Cornell 2005).

The mainstreaming of indigenous self determining models for policymaking purposes appears to be paying dividends (Niezen 2003). The policymaking dimensions of indigenous self-determining autonomy models go beyond a commitment to moving over and making space.  The focus is on  challenging those  foundational principles that initially created the problem, first, by resisting the centralizing tendencies of top-down (‘one size fits all’) policymaking model, second, by advancing the principle of mainstreaming indigeneity by indigenizing policymaking as grounds for a new constitutional governance.  Such a transformative commitment stands in contrast to Eurocentric policy notions, understood as formal initiatives that are initiated and imposed from above in the ‘best interests’ of those defined as problem people or special interests (Poole 2008). To the contrary, policymaking must be rethought in a different register than that of  problem or interest, but in terms of a peoples who are actively redefining the landscape of both politics and policymaking.

In short, the policymaking models associated with the principle of indigenous self determining autonomy transcend a simple de-colonization in which the incumbents change places while  the rules of the game remain in tact. Little can be gained by simply changing the conventions referring to the rules, yet leaving untouched the rules that inform the conventions.  Advocated instead of a ‘business as usual’ syndrome is a fundamental rule-realigning change that acknowledges the centrality and salience of mainstreaming indigeneity by indigenizing policymaking along the lines of a IGA framework. At the core of  this transformation in mainstreaming indigeneity are the politics of power. In that the politics of power focus on indigenizing the policymaking principles of a yet to emerge post-colonial constitutional governance, no one should underestimate their potency in advancing an indigenous-centered approach for living together differently.

Footnotes

(1)Definitions of indigeneity are intensely political and sharply contested (Shaw 2008; Roach and Egan 2008; Adebanwi 2009). Indigeneity can take on different meanings, largely because indigeneity as a concept may be difficult to pin down across a bewildering range of contexts and concept. For example, does  indigeneity refer to those  peoples who first occupied the land (first occupancy) or to those  last peoples  prior to European contact and colonization (prior occupancy) (Waldron 2002). Others (Green 2009)  argue that with the addition of the suffix ‘eity’ to indigenous, indigeneity has joined ranks with equally vacant and essentially empty abstractions like nationality.Nevertheless, it remains important for legal purposes, self identification, and understanding social marginalization (Marschke et al 2008) . In general, indigeneity refers to the state of being indigenous. More specifically, it can refer to the distinct historical, cultural  and political realities of Indigenous peoples, in part because of  their unique experiences and relations with European settlers, in part because of their unique relationship to their homelands and their lands as sources of identity, belonging, and subsistence  (Turner and Simpson 2007).  References to  indigeneity as a relational identity can also embrace the idea of politicizing the status of original occupancy as a basis for challenge and change as well as recognition, rewards, and relationships (Maaka and Fleras 2005; Merlan 2007). Any  references to  indigeneity as marginalization, indigeneity as identification, and indigeneity as resistance  reflect dynamic and evolving processes that vary over time and across space (Marschke et al 2008).

(2) This paper uses the term Indigenous peoples as a widely accepted and universal category Having  acquired international legitimacy with the United Nations  passing of the International Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, the terms indigenous and indigeneity now have a life of their own, notwithstanding dictionary definitions. The term Aboriginal peoples is used when referring to Canada’s Indigenous peoples (as with Indigenous, Aboriginal is a loaded term  as well, since the prefix ab implies ‘taking away’ from or ‘negation’ of original peoples. The Greek term, autochthonous (meaning springing from the earth) peoples may be preferable, but there is difficulty envisioning narratives that embrace the politics of  autochthoneity  as discourse and practice, despite Indigenous peoples continuity to land (Xanthaki 2008).

(3) Colonialism possesses a physical and ideological dimension (Turner and Simpson 2007). It can refer to the expansion of one society into the territory of another.  Also included  those set of ideas and ideals that are used to justify this expansion and the fundamentally exploitative relationship that exists because of it.  Neo colonialism  refers to how the foundational structures and systemic biases  that inform  a contemporary constitutional order  constitute the basis for new forms of colonialism. Post colonialism  refers process by which the most egregious violations of colonialism are eliminated; including the exclusion of the colonized from positions of power , but it does not refer to the end of (neo)colonialism. More  accurately, post colonialism involves challenges to the existing patterns of  (neo) colonialism that continue to privilege Eurocentric notions of identity and belonging based on illegal possession of land and contested sovereignties. In that the politics of indigeneity is an ongoing and unfinished project rather than a fait accompli, it may be more useful to employ the term post colonizing to convey the contingent and continuing nature of the process over time and across space (Moreton-Robinson 2007; Kowal 2008).

4 Policy making continues to informed by a modernist approach  with its connotation of  rationality, planned intervention, binaries of right and wrong, and assumptions of progress and perceptions of  linear improvement as demonstrated by measurable performance indicators (Waters 2007; Altman 2009). This commitment would appear to be  inconsistent with fragmented, diverse,  discontinuities, changing, and contested world of indigeneity.

(5) A political covenant between Maori and the Crown signed  in 1840 by representatives of the Crown and nearly 500 Maori chiefs, the Treaty of Waitangi continues to define, inform, and guide Maori-Crown relations, despite the passage of time and shift in power. To be sure, no consensus prevails regarding its importance or scope, except that (a) the Crown has a duty to consult with Maori when required, (b) the Crown is responsible for righting historical wrongs,  and (c)  Crown actions cannot be inconsistent with Treaty principles (Palmer 2006). However, there is growing consensus that Treaty principles embraced a vision of dual sovereignty: a ‘hard’ sovereignty involving British governorship (kawanatanga) and the ‘soft’ sovereignty of Maori ownership of land and resources (Maaka and Fleras 2008). Admittedly, Treaty provisions are unenforceable unless explicitly incorporated into national statute or local law. Nevertheless, the Treaty is widely acknowledged as a constitutional blueprint and foundational document that not only codifies pre-existing indigenous Maori rights, but also secures those principles to live by (James 2004).

(6) Aboriginal groups have shown a lukewarm reaction to GBA as it stands. Aboriginal women have argued that by ignoring the legacy and impact of colonialism a GBA fails to address their needs or to reflect the realities of Canada’s Indigenous peoples. This omission also glosses over those  policymaking frameworks that reflect, reinforce, and advance existing neo-colonial structures – to the detriment of indigenous peoples, nations, and communities  (AWHHRG 2007).  A cultural relevant GBA is proposed that acknowledges the centrality of colonialism in terms of how gender impacts on indigenous identities (and vice versa).

(7) Aboriginal scholar, Peter Kulchyski (2007) proposes the following progressive changes for transcending the current policy paralysis by indigenizing the policymaking paradigm: (a) taking aboriginal rights seriously (b) removing colonial power structures (c) providing a base for ongoing financial support (d) sharing the land (e) encouraging urban communities, and (f)  developing culturally responsive social programs.  Others argue for the need to articulate indigeneity as an alternative worldview (Alfred  2005) while sensitizing core indigenous values (relationship, responsibility, reciprocity, and redistribution) to wider audiences and policy circles (Harris and Wasilewski 2004).

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The Impact of Indian Gaming on Indian Education in New Mexico

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 3:52 pm
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The Impact of Indian Gaming on Indian Education in New Mexico

Thaddieus W. Conner

(conner03@ou.edu)

455 W. Lindsey St.

Room 205

The University of Oklahoma

Norman, OK 73019-2001

405.325.6470

and

William A. Taggart

(witaggar@nmsu.edu)

Department of Government

Box 30001, Dept. 3BN

New Mexico State University

Las Cruces, NM  88003-0001

505.646.4935

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the 2009 annual meeting of the American Indian Studies Section of the Western Social Science Association, Albuquerque, NM, April 16-18.  Please direct all correspondence to the first author. The authors would like to thank Don Pepion, Diane Prindeville and Russ Winn for their many helpful ideas and suggestions during the conduct of this research.

Abstract

The Impact of Indian Gaming on Indian Education in New Mexico

Since passage of the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act in 1988, almost two-thirds of the tribes in the 48 contiguous states have participated in the establishment of over 400 casinos.  In 2006, Indian gaming generated net revenues exceeding $25 billion, with evidence suggesting the investment of gaming dollars into a broad array of social, economic and governmental programs (National Indian Gaming Association, 2009).  One area argued to be benefiting from the flow of Indian gaming revenues is Indian education.  The purpose of this paper is to explore the potential influence of gaming on Indian education through an analysis of schools in New Mexico identified as serving predominantly Indian students.  Our expectation is that schools serving students from gaming nations will demonstrate favorable differences compared to non-gaming schools in terms of school quality, retention, performance, and preparation for higher education.  The findings suggest that the presence of gaming is associated with positive educational differences in Indian education, as schools with students from gaming nations outperformed their non-gaming counterparts on more than three-fourths of the variables examined.  We supplement these results with survey data and an interview of a tribal education director to understand how gaming dollars are being used by one nation to meet the needs of their youth.  The paper concludes with a call for additional research in this area.

The Impact of Indian Gaming on Indian Education in New Mexico

In 2006, Indian gaming revenues reached an astounding $25.7 billion, representing more than half of all gaming dollars in the United States (National Indian Gaming Association [NIGA], 2009). Under the purview of the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act (IGRA) of 1988, which established the legal foundations of casino style gaming, Indian gaming was intended to improve the quality of life for native people by “promoting tribal economic development, self-sufficiency, and strong tribal governments” (e.g. Anders, 1998; Eadington, 2004; McCulloch, 1994).  Since the bill was signed into law, Indian gaming has surpassed the expectations of lawmakers and tribal leaders alike (Meister, 2007).   Today, according to Meister (2007), there are 227 tribes out of approximately 350 in the lower 48 states who participate in casino style gaming, offering a range of games from slot machines to bingo.  These gaming nations are found in 30 states and operate over 400 gaming facilities.

Although not all Indian gaming enterprises have been successful, tribal governments have come to view gaming dollars as a critical revenue stream necessary to support important public services (Taylor and Kalt, 2005). Surprisingly, little systematic research has explored the relationship between Indian gaming and the social and economic consequences on American Indian communities (see Gardner, Kalt, and Spilde, 2005).  There is, however, a mounting body of anecdotal evidence suggesting the large role of gaming revenues in supporting an array of tribal initiatives, including many geared to the improvement of Indian communities (e.g. NIGA, 2006).  More generally, in a recent annual report released by the National Indian Gaming Association (NIGA, 2006), six tribal government services were identified as being the primary recipients of gaming dollars.  Of these six, a “catch-all” category including education, child/elderly care, culture and charity, received the highest investment of gaming dollars, representing approximately 20% of all net gaming revenues in 2006; a pattern also evident in 2004 (NIGA, 2004).  While it is not possible to discern individual priorities within this category, this substantial investment begs the question – Beyond the economic impacts of Indian gaming, what social impacts is gaming having on tribal members of those native nations who pursue this option?

This paper attempts to address this question and improve our understanding of social impacts by exploring the role that gaming may be playing in shaping various aspects of Indian education in New Mexico.  The pueblos and tribes in New Mexico have opted not to engage in per capita payments and instead are investing in a broad range of social programs to enhance tribal communities, including multiple educational initiatives (Gallagher, 2005).  Nations are supporting such activities as after-school programs, scholarships and internships, and cultural restoration programs (Gallagher, 2005; Pojoaque, 2009; Sandia Pueblo, 2007).  To determine if these and other activities are making a difference, we explore potential impacts at secondary schools in New Mexico identified as serving predominantly American Indian students.  Our general expectation is that high schools serving students from gaming nations will demonstrate favorable differences compared to non-gaming schools across four distinct areas: school quality, student performance, retention, and student preparation for higher education.

The paper’s next section will provide a brief overview of the Indian gaming literature surrounding the impacts of gaming.  We then outline our basic research strategy for detecting possible impacts on Indian education, followed by a discussion of differences between high schools serving predominantly Indian populations in New Mexico from gaming and non-gaming nations. We also present additional evidence from a parent survey and case study that serves to buttress the argument of a positive linkage between gaming and educational differences. The last section concludes with a call for additional research, while emphasizing the limitations of our analysis and the importance of education as a mechanism of both economic and social change.

The Impact of Indian Gaming

The Emergence of Indian Gaming

The IGRA followed a well known Supreme Court case, California v. Cabazon (1987), pitting states rights against the rights of tribes as sovereigns to operate casino style gaming on tribal land.  Congress responded to the Supreme Court’s decision, which upheld the ability of tribes to offer gaming unencumbered by state interference if the state did not prohibit gaming, by passing one of the most significant laws in the history of federal Indian policy.  The goal of the IGRA was to “provide a statutory basis for the operation of gaming by Indian tribes as a means of promoting tribal economic development, self-sufficiency, and strong tribal governments,” as well as, “shield [tribal governments] from organized crime and other corrupting influences” (IGRA, 1988).  According to Section 11 of the IGRA (1988), the use of gaming revenues by Indian tribes is restricted to five specific activities:  (1) to fund tribal government operations or programs, (2) to provide for the general welfare of the Indian tribe and its members, (3) to promote tribal economic development, (4) to donate to charitable organizations, or (5) to help fund operations of local government agencies.  The primary expectation of Congress was that gaming would provide tribes with a viable revenue stream necessary for improving the quality of life in Indian Country (e.g. Anders 1998; Light and Rand 2005; McCulloch 1994).

Among other provisions, the IGRA provides explicit rules for the regulation of Indian gaming.  The IGRA identifies three classes of gaming: Class I, Class II, and Class III.  Gaming classified as Class I involves games of minimal value and typically are associated with the traditions or culture of a tribe (Light and Rand 2005).  The regulation of Class I gaming activities belongs to tribal authorities exclusively and is not subject to the requirements of the IGRA.  Class II gaming is primarily associated with bingo and certain kinds of other games (e.g. pull tabs), and is regulated by both tribal authorities and federal officials, but not subject to state involvement.  Class III, or Las Vegas style gaming, is the highest grossing form of gaming and includes slot machines, table games, and horse and dog racing.  Federal, state, and tribal authorities oversee the regulation of Class III gaming activities.

The pueblos and tribes in New Mexico were in the gaming business well before the signing of the IGRA, with Acoma and Sandia Pueblos operating bingo halls since the early 1980s (Mason, 2000; Mays and Taggart 2005).  As of 2009, 14 of the 22 tribes and pueblos in the state operate Las Vegas style casinos, and three additional Nations have signed compacts with the state in anticipation of opening gaming facilities.  The most recent compact, signed by nine of the 13 gaming nations as well as two non-gaming pueblos (Nambe and Picuris), extends gaming until the year 2037 (New Mexico Gaming Control Board, 2008).  In a January 2007 article by Jones in the Albuquerque Journal, the Governor of Tesuque and chairman of the New Mexico Indian Gaming Association (NMIGA), Charlie Dorame, commented on the importance of the gaming compacts to Native nations saying, “The extended term will provide tribes with long-term financial security for the foreseeable future.”

Measuring the Impacts of Indian Gaming

When reviewing investigations examining the impact of Indian gaming, a couple of observations can be made.  One is that researchers typically divide the effects of casino style gambling into two broad categories of economic and non-economic or social impacts.  Much of this work has viewed the economic and social variables as falling on two different sides of a spectrum (Center for Applied Research 1996; Collins and Lapsley, 2003).  On one side, scholarly work has identified economic impacts as desired benefits resulting from the adoption of gaming (e.g. Tiller and Chase, 1998).  On the other, social impacts such as compulsive gambling and crime have been calculated as costs associated with gaming (e.g. Thompson and Rickman, 1996).  This distorted cost-benefit analysis ignores potential positive social impacts (and negative economic effects) that may flow from gaming dollars, such as improvements to education, housing stocks, or health.  Instead, most studies focus on the perceived economic benefits of Indian gaming such as increased employment and lower rates of poverty, resulting in a simplified and incomplete analysis of gaming’s impacts on Indian and non-Indian communities (Light and Rand, 2005).

A handful of these investigations have offered measurable impacts on tribal communities, where researchers have attempted to examine differences between gaming and non-gaming Nations in regards to such economic dimensions as income levels, poverty, and unemployment (Conner and Taggart, 2009; Thompson 2005). These studies that have focused on tribal communities have also been more likely to consider the social benefits as opposed to just the social costs of gaming.  Both U.S. states and native nations have reported social gains in areas where Indian gaming has been established (i.e. Bangsund and Leistritz, 1997; Conner and Taggart, 2009; Taylor and Kalt, 2005; Thompson, Gazel, and Rickman, 1996).  Multiple examples of particularized social benefits across Native gaming communities dot the pages of NIGA reports.  Studies have focused on how tribal governments have allocated gaming dollars towards strengthening Indian communities through investments made in elderly and youth facilities (NIGA, 2006), improved housing stocks (Reeves and Associates, 1996), law enforcement (NIGA, 2006), and much needed infrastructure improvements (Anders, 1998).  Other studies have investigated how gaming revenues have funded cultural preservation and revitalization projects such as tribal history courses and language immersion programs (e.g. Spilde, Taylor, and Grant, 2002).

With a few exceptions, studies that focus on Indian gaming’s influence on education offer primarily anecdotal evidence.  The 2006 NIGA provides an abundance of case studies dedicated to showcasing several gaming nations across the U.S.  The report explains how various tribal communities are using gaming dollars to reach out to their youth through tutoring, after school programs, and the establishment of scholarships for qualified college bound graduates (NIGA, 2006).  In many instances, native nations are beginning to build their own schools directly on the reservation, giving them more control and authority over their children’s educational experience (Tiller, 2005).  All of these endeavors are designed to improve access to critical resources necessary for student success in the classroom and to improve the general quality of the education American Indian students receive.

Although anecdotal evidence would suggest that students from gaming Nations have an advantage over students from non-gaming nations in regards to educational resources, it is difficult to determine whether measurable differences truly exist.  Several issues, including the lack of reliable data, contribute to the limited amount of quantitative evidence to support impacts on education (Conner and Taggart, 2009).  Our objective is to take a more rigorous look at this issue though an analysis of schools and school districts serving students from gaming and non-gaming nations. Hoenack and Renz (1995), in a study examining the economic impacts of Indian gaming in rural Minnesota, suggest a number of areas of exploration to assess gaming’s influence, spanning academic progress and performance, school attendance, and test scores.  We now turn to a discussion of our research strategy to examine these and other aspects of education within the context of Indian gaming in New Mexico.

Methodology

Our goal is to discern if there is a relationship between the presence of Indian gaming and Indian education in the state of New Mexico across a series of measures including school quality, student performance, student retention, and student preparation for higher education.  Our research strategy involves comparing secondary public schools serving Indian students from gaming and nongaming nations on these different dimensions, with the expectation that schools linked to gaming will compare favorably to schools drawing students from nongaming nations.  These findings are buttressed by a parent survey that probes parents’ perception of the quality of their child’s school, as well as a case study of how one particular gaming nation in New Mexico is investing gaming revenues in education to put these differences into context.

With a couple exceptions as noted below, our unit of analysis will be high schools located in school districts identified by the Indian Education Division of the New Mexico Public Education Department (NMPED) as serving American Indian student populations from the 22 pueblos and tribes within the state.  By looking at the 9th through 12th grades, we strive to offer a more complete picture of Indian education, exploring more than students’ performance on tests, but also how prepared students are for higher education and whether issues identified in the literature, such as Native American student retention, have been positively or negatively affected in the wake of gaming (Rampey et. al., 2006).

The NMPED Indian Education Division identifies 23 out of a total of 89 school districts in the state as serving predominantly Native American students.  According to NMPED website, the Native American student population in New Mexico was 36,420 in the 2005-06 school year; approximately 11% of school age children in the state.  Of this group of students, 35,042 attend school in the 23 “native” districts identified by the Indian Education Division, or 97% of all Native American students in the state. The analysis consists of a total of 36 public schools, including 34 high schools serving grades nine through 12, and the 9th grades of two middle schools for three variables.  For purpose of analysis, private schools, charter schools, and schools in the Albuquerque and Santa Fe school districts were excluded for various reasons, including size, unique characteristics, and lack of data.

The next step was to match these 36 schools to one of the 22 pueblos and tribes in the state. We utilized information from three sources to match each school with a pueblo or tribe, including Indian Education Status Reports (NMPED, 2006; Werito, 2005), Tiller’s Guide to Indian County (Tiller, 2005), and Indian Policies and Procedures (IPP) agreements signed by the school district and a particular Indian nation.  In virtually every instance, these sources were in complete agreement regarding the matching of our 36 schools with a particular nation, while the rare exceptions were guided by the two sources in the majority.

Lastly, in light of these pairing, we then classified each of the 36 schools as serving students from either a gaming or nongaming nation.  The decision as to whether or not a tribe is gaming or nongaming is based upon the existence of an operating casino as of January 1, 2004, the earliest data point in the analysis.  There were a total of 13 tribes with active gaming operations and nine without.  This produced 13 gaming schools and 23 nongaming schools, representing 12 of the gaming nations and 5 of the nongaming.  Most of the gaming tribes and pueblos have engaged in gaming dating back to the early to mid 1990s under earlier compacts, allowing considerable time for possible impacts associated with gaming to manifest (Conner and Taggart, 2009; Mason, 2000).  We expect a gap to exist between the two groups, with the schools and students linked to gaming outperforming their nongaming counterparts across a number of education measures.

Table 1 provides a description of the variables used in our analysis spanning the four areas of Indian education including school quality, student performance, student retention, and preparation for higher education.  The data informing this study represent different school years between 2004-05 and 2006-07, and were drawn from multiple sources, including New Mexico District Report Cards as required under the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) of 2001, and materials compiled by the NMPED and the New Mexico Higher Education Department (NMHED).  The analysis consists of 12 indicators: two from State District Report Cards, seven from NMPED statistics and data file sets, and three from the NMHED.  All but one measure is available at the school level, with Advanced Placement (AP) enrollment measured at the district level.  If the information was available, a few variables have been averaged for two or three years in order to account for minor fluctuations from year to year.  In eight instances the information is examined for American Indian students only.

[Table 1 about here]

The method of analysis is relatively straightforward.  For variables measured at the interval level, we look at the distribution of cases and the difference of means between gaming and non-gaming schools.  We expect that the gaming group will demonstrate higher rates of proficiency, retention, and school quality than the non-gaming group.   For nominal and ordinal level measures, we look at the overall distribution of cases between the two sub-groups.  Tests of significance are not included as they serve no legitimate statistical purpose given the use of a non-random sample; nor will we seek to generalize our findings to a larger population.  To the extent that the data are reliable and valid, our results are reflective of true differences between the two groups of schools.  It is also the case for those wishing to evaluate such information that none of the differences reported herein achieved significance using a one-way ANOVA test of significance at conventional levels (p<.1), though a few were close.  Due to missing data spanning most of the variables, the analysis also report the number cases for each measure.

Indian Gaming and Educational Differences

Table 2 presents our findings concerning differences in school quality.  The first half of the table displays the percentage of schools in each gaming sub-group that met AYP standards in 2006-2007, while the second half presents the percentage of schools as of 2006-2007 who failed to meet AYP for three years or less and those who have failed to meet it for four years or more.  Perhaps what is most striking about the results found in Table 2 is the poor performance of all the schools under NCLB; almost two-thirds of the schools serving Indian students have failed to meet AYP for four years or more.  Although it is the case that a higher percentage of gaming schools met AYP in 2006-07 compared to nongaming schools, this comparison is based on just three schools.  Even still, the higher number of gaming schools meeting AYP in our analysis does reflect the ability of such schools to meet or exceed a number of state established benchmarks based on student attendance rates, proficiency, and other measures that we will examine more closely in the tables to follow.  However, of the gaming and nongaming schools who are failing to meet AYP, it would appear that the gaming schools who make up the smallest share are in the most distress, with a larger percentage of nongaming schools falling into the category of three years or less, working against our expectation regarding the performance of gaming schools. 

[Table 2 about here]

Table 3 presents the mean percentage of American Indian students that scored “proficient and above”  on five standardized tests administered throughout the state as part of NCLB.  Differences are reported between gaming and non-gaming schools on 9th grade science, math, and reading tests, as well as 11th grade math and reading tests in 2006-07.  Students at the schools associated with gaming outperformed their counterparts in four out of five instances, although once again the overall level of performance is disheartening.  At the 9th grade level, the gaming group shows the greatest difference on the math proficiency test, with a 3.12% higher percentage of students who scored proficient or above than the non-gaming group, which includes three schools that had percentages below that of the lowest gaming school.  The gaming group also showed more than a 2.73% favorable gap with the non-gaming group in regards to the 11th grade reading test and an even greater disparity of 5.66% over the non-gaming group on the 11th grade math proficiency test.  Such differences are far from trivial, and suggest that students from gaming nations are testing marginally better than students from non-gaming nations, an important finding as American Indian and other historically underrepresented groups attempt to close the test score and achievement gap that persists across the education system (Ortiz and HeavyRunner 2003).

[Table 3 about here]

Table 4 summarizes information concerning student retention, focusing on American Indian graduation and attendance rates between the two groups. Graduation rates are reported as a three year average between 2004-05 and 2006-07, while attendance rates are only available for the 2005-06 school year.  In examining the table, schools serving students from gaming nations demonstrated an almost 4% higher graduation rate for the three-year period than their counterparts.  Also worth noting is the fact that the gaming group saw an increase in the number of graduating American Indian students every year since 2004-05, while the non-gaming group actually witnessed lower graduation rates in 2006-07 compared to two years earlier.  Thus it would appear that schools with students from gaming nations are experiencing a higher degree of success in regards to American Indian student outcomes than their non-gaming counterparts, lending further evidence to the possible role of Indian gaming dollars in tribal education programs designed to help native students succeed (NIGA 2006). Although we hesitate to overstate the importance of Indian gaming revenues in the differences we see in the tables, identifying the source of such improvements is important to combating the high dropout rates in secondary education that persist among American Indian populations (NCES 2008).

With respect to attendance rates, the second measure in Table 4 shows little difference between the two groups, with the gaming schools displaying a marginally higher rate.  This may not be too surprising given that the national average high school attendance rate remains above 90%, even when looking across race and ethnic groups.  An analysis of more years would be beneficial but the NMPED has not explained its failure to release more data, including information for the most recent year. Even still, attendance is identified as an important measure of school quality with the NCLB that gaming schools appear to be performing marginally better at.

[Table 4 about here]

The last part of the analysis looks at differences in American Indian student preparation for higher education and is summarized in Table 5.  Preparation for higher education is measured using average student scores on the SAT and American Indian enrollment in Advanced Placement (AP) courses.  The first half of the table displays performance on the SAT.  SAT scores are reported for both the verbal and math sections, and calculated as a two-year average for school years 2004-05 and 2005-06.  As expected, the gaming group scored higher than the non-gaming group on both forms of the SAT.  More specifically, schools with students from gaming nations had an average SAT verbal score that was 46.86 points higher than schools with students from non-gaming nations, while the SAT math scores average a little more than 23 points higher. This is a very important difference between the two groups of schools because it demonstrates not only a difference in the K-12 experience of students, but also students’ intentions and preparation to pursue a college degree. Furthermore, such improvements as seen in the gaming group of this analysis can lead not only to better access to public universities, but access to higher quality institutions with better programs and services that can help students overcome barriers to success once in college (Bowen and Bok 1998).  It is important to point out, however, that the nongaming schools have a higher percentage of Indian students than those schools serving students from the gaming nations.

[Table 5 about here]

Regarding the second measure of preparedness, there does not appear to be a substantial difference between the two groups in regards to the percent of native students at the district level participating in Advanced Placement (AP) programs in 2006-07. For instance, the results in Table 5 would suggest a slight difference, with the gaming group having a marginal 0.45% higher enrollment in AP courses than their nongaming counterpart.

If one is willing to acknowledge the smallest of differences across the various indicators, then the gaming schools surpassed the nongaming schools on 10 of the 12 measures, representing each of the four areas of education considered.  None of these differences appear particularly dramatic, though even modest differences are not to be dismissed, especially when they emerge across so many dimensions related to education.  More specifically, the gaming schools had higher graduation and attendance rates, better scores on the verbal and math portions of the SAT, and higher percentages of American Indian students scoring proficient or above on four out of five standardized high school examinations.

It is also the case that care should be exercised in utilizing these findings by recognizing the limitations of our approach, despite our desire to introduce a more rigorous perspective to the analysis of the non-economic impacts of Indian gaming, which we believe has been achieved to some degree.  An important ingredient absent in the present effort is our inability to compare the schools and the students in these schools prior to the introduction of gaming.  Unfortunately, this information is simply unavailable which means it is not possible to establish a baseline by which to judge the observed differences.  Although indirect, Conner and Taggart (2009) report that in 1990, prior to any major expansion of gaming in New Mexico, the 22 pueblos and tribes shared similar socio-economic characteristics.  By 2000, as two groups of nations emerged, those adopting Class III gaming displayed greater improvements on a number of dimensions compared to those opting not to pursue gaming.  To the extent that socio-economic conditions are associated with educational performance (e.g. Pascarella et al. 2004; Robinson 2004; Scott et al. 2006), our findings are consistent with the expectation that one should observe positive improvements as the general situation in gaming country changes in favorable ways.

These observed differences suggest an emerging pattern between gaming and education that is also reflected in the perception of parents concerning the quality of their child’s school and educational experience.  Putting the observed differences between New Mexico public schools in a broader context, we now turn to some additional evidence provided by a parent survey and case study.  In a ten question survey administered by the NMPED in 2006-07, parents were asked, using a Likert scale, to report on their satisfaction with a number of aspects of their child’s education, spanning such dimensions as the quality of the facility, the performance of faculty and staff, and the ability of the school to meet the needs of their children.  On seven of the ten questions, the parents of children attending schools classified as serving gaming nations in our study were overwhelmingly more satisfied than the parents of the other schools, while for the remaining three questions the distribution of responses were marginally different between the two groups.

In addition, we supplemented these results with an interview of a tribal education leader to understand how gaming dollars are being used by one nation to meet the needs of their youth, a factor lacking elaboration in our assessment.  The person interviewed was chosen for the following reasons:  (1) extensive length of service as Director of the tribe’s Department of Education; (2) the number of years the tribe has been operating a casino; and (3) the accessibility of the tribe.  To say that the Department of Education of this particular nation is active in the lives of students and the community is an understatement.  They oversee an array of programs that begin as early as kindergarten and stretch all the way through adulthood.  The department is responsible for managing programs ranging from after-school to college prep to adult education.  They administer a library, offer courses on language and culture, and provide on-site job training at the tribe’s casino or local hotel.  The tribe is involved in every stage of a child’s development, with the department using home school liaisons to work with families to aid in the students’ academic development at each grade level.

The education programs offered by this nation, according to the Director, are funded primarily by the revenues generated by the tribe’s on-reservation casino.  Also important to note is that both gaming and the Department of Education were adopted by the tribe in the same year of 1995, and the services provided by the department have grown at what appears to be the same rate as the gaming operations.  The tribal representative claimed that without the ability of the tribe to operate a gaming facility, the Department of Education would not be what it is today; a far cry from what the tribe could offer students prior to the adoption of gaming.

The Director could also attest to improvements in student outcomes since the department’s founding over a decade ago.  According to the interviewee, the intimacy of the programs implemented at every level of the students’ academic career has translated into positive results in numerous areas.  For example, the tribe has seen improvements in student test scores, including reading and math proficiency, attributed to the Department’s intensive tutoring programs.  Also, student retention has improved through higher attendance rates and the number of graduating seniors from high school.  In regards to higher education, the Director reported that more of the tribe’s students were pursuing higher education and taking advantage of the scholarship programs available through the Department.

For this particular nation, gaming has played a critical role in allowing the tribe’s educational programs to develop.  The tribe has observed improvements spanning many of the areas considered in this study.  Although these are the experiences of a single gaming nation, they offer a compelling look at how gaming dollars are being invested in a variety of education initiatives as suggested by the NIGA (2006).  Furthermore, when taken in light of the differences observed in the quantitative analysis between high schools serving students from gaming nations and high schools serving students from nongaming nations, the experiences of the Director of Education suggest the effectiveness of these programs in meeting student needs and the important role gaming revenues play in supporting their development.

Conclusion

Efforts to understand the social consequences of Indian gaming on Native American communities have lagged behind investigations designed to document economic impacts for multiple and understandable reasons.  One of these, no doubt, is the complexity associated with the processes of social change as opposed to the more deterministic economic responses expected to follow after the introduction of gaming.  Certainly another factor explaining this preoccupation with economic impacts stems from the prominent place such matters assume in the justification of gaming; indeed, these direct economic influences are expected to gradually redefine the environment found in Indian communities, which in turn, will produce these more subtle but equally important social benefits.  But again, this is just one part of the story, and a more thorough understanding of the social impacts of Indian gaming is needed. For these reasons and others, it is also the case that delineating social consequences is hampered by a general lack of comparative data, inhibiting the use of strategies that would allow for greater research control.   Consequently, what is known about these other impacts is limited primarily to case materials and testimonials describing different non-economic initiatives associated with desirable community outcomes and funded by gaming.

Our objective has been to elevate the level of discussion regarding the non-economic impacts of Indian gaming by adopting a framework permitting a more systematic assessment of potential affects with respect to several dimensions of secondary education.  This was achieved by examining 12 indicators of school and student performance in the mid-2000s for public high schools serving Indian youth from either gaming or nongaming nations in New Mexico.  Due to the unavailability of this information prior to the introduction of Indian gaming in New Mexico, dating back to the mid-1990s, it is not possible to establish a baseline by which to evaluate any observed differences between these two groups of schools.   Although inherently limited, a dearth of research in this area suggests even modest efforts can begin to shed light on these matters and perhaps spur additional investigations utilizing more exacting controls that are simply not an option at this juncture. Even though the results were not particularly encouraging for either group, the findings suggest that the schools with students from gaming nations surpassed schools not associated with gaming.

Although the findings of this study are suggestive of gaming’s social benefits in regards to Indian education, more research is needed before reaching any definitive conclusions.  Stronger research designs, in particular, would greatly improve our understanding of the relationship between the investment of gaming revenues in tribal educational initiatives and improvements in Indian education.  Suggestions would be to include a greater number of cases, to explore the influence of gaming across a greater number of education indicators, and to identify data spanning back to before the introduction of gaming.  Many tribal Departments of Education keep their own statistics that may provide a more direct measure of student outcomes attributable to such education initiatives as scholarship programs or student support services.  Another area that deserves further attention in the debate over Indian gaming’s influence on Indian education is a broader understanding of how gaming revenues are being invested in the community, and into what types of programs. Future research may also want to include a larger series of interviews with tribal Education Directors at gaming nations that probe into issues related to departmental goals, design and impact of programs, and the role of gaming dollars in financing the tribe’s education initiatives.  Special attention should also be paid to the overall scope of programs administered by Education Departments of gaming nations, such as whether they are focused on the primary, secondary, and/or college level of education, as well as whether programs are designed to simply supplement the cost of education or target specific developmental issues through tutoring and other after-school programs that would allow for a more sophisticated understanding of how gaming nations are utilizing revenues in improving student outcomes.

Although gaming may not be a panacea for Indian education today, there is reason to believe based upon the quantitative and qualitative analysis, that gaming dollars may be helping provide important services necessary for American Indian youth to succeed.  The decision to engage in gaming does not guarantee student success, but it may prove to be a useful means of attaining the resources that do.   Entertaining this idea, gaming may perhaps be better viewed as an effective economic tool in taking down the barriers impeding student academic success.  Rethinking the role of gaming as a resource for tribal Departments of Education may serve to raise the quality of programs in other Native nations as well, and in effect improve retention, proficiency, and other aspects of American Indian educational achievement that has the potential to lead to more broad based economic and social change.

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Aboriginal Alcohol Addiction in Ontario Canada: A Look at the History and Current Healing Methods That Are Working In Breaking the Cycle of Abuse

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Aboriginal Alcohol Addiction in Ontario Canada: A Look at the History and Current Healing Methods That Are Working In Breaking the Cycle of Abuse

By: Christine Smillie-Adjarkwa

Introduction

According to Census Canada, in 2006 there were over one million individuals reporting Aboriginal identity in Canada. Of that estimate, 698,025 reported being of First Nations ancestry, 389,785 Métis, and 50,485 Inuit. In Ontario there are over 242, 490 people who identify as Aboriginal (Statistics Canada, 2006). This paper will attempt to address and explain some of the traditional Aboriginal healing methods used in the treatment of alcohol abuse for Aboriginal peoples in Ontario. It is important to recognize that the information provided in this paper is only a small portion of the many and extensive Aboriginal teachings that exist. Teachings vary from First Nations to First Nations, in the various Métis and Inuit communities and from one geographic region to another.  As well, Aboriginal people do not have a uniform approach to addiction program delivery; nor do they share one way of thinking.

As Duran (2006) states:

“Most of the problems that have led to high rates of alcohol and substance abuse among Aboriginal people are generational; problems set in motion several generations ago and unknowingly inherited by descendants. Consequently, emotional and spiritual deprivation, violence, poverty, alcohol and drug abuse and despair became predictable outcomes to systematic, multi-generational oppression”.

Currently, more than half the Aboriginal population is under twenty-five and the overall rate of growth of Aboriginal peoples is nearly twice that of the rest of the Canadian population (Statistics Canada, 2006). These population statistics are important because by recognizing the dramatic increase in the young Aboriginal population, measures can be taken to prevent high numbers of alcohol abusers in the future. By encouraging and promoting healing methods that work for Aboriginal individuals and communities, the next generations may not have to suffer as the previous ones have.

It has only been since the late 60’s and early 70s that Aboriginal people have been able to once again (after almost a hundred years) speak freely and openly practise traditional healing methods in their communities. This situation was due to government impositions outlawing Aboriginal religious and cultural ceremonies in Canada during the 1800s (McCormick and Wong, 2005). During the 1960s, the American Indian Movement (AIM), helped to establish a new sense of “Indian Pride” in North America. Also, at this time many Aboriginal people petitioned and fought to make it legal to openly practise religious ceremonies again. These measures created an influx of Aboriginal people who are taking part in traditional healing ceremonies and regaining pride in their heritage

(Arbogast, 1995).

Since the 1960s there has been a great insurgence of Aboriginal alcohol and substance abuse programs. By incorporating traditional healing methods, these programs have created communities that are 100% sober. The successfulness of these programs and their relevance in Aboriginal communities cannot be denied (Dickson-Gilmore, La Prairie, 2005).

Cultural and Historical Background

Using a Liberation Theory approach I will illustrate in the next section of this paper the history of alcoholism in Aboriginal communities in Ontario. It is important to know how and where these problems started in our communities so that we can understand and focus our thoughts and behaviours around alcoholism to assist in healing individuals and communities.

Before European people arrived in what is now known as Canada, Aboriginal peoples did not have a brewing tradition and had no experience with alcohol. As the Fur Trade developed, alcohol came to be used as a gift item as well as an item of trade at trading posts (Waldram, Herring, Young, 2000). Traders would use alcohol, especially rum and brandy to entice trappers away from rival company posts. As Hamer and Steinbring (1980) have noted, ‘Alcohol was used as an inducement to participate, as a medium of exchange, and as a standard of competitive access’.

Drinking for Aboriginal people often took the form of binging, occurring over a day or more until all the alcohol was gone. Some Aboriginal people engaged in binge drinking at the posts followed by long, even year-long periods of total abstinence.  Aboriginal women also engaged in alcohol consumption and intoxication, which sometimes lead to acts of jealous violence and neglect of children. Prostitution of Aboriginal women was also a product of this alcohol problem (Waldram, et al 2000).

It is important to stress that many Aboriginal people abstained from alcohol consumption altogether and recognized the social problems caused by it. Some trading captains requested that the traders not make alcohol available to band members. Some captains went as far as to restrain individuals who had consumed alcohol or hide their weapons (Dailey, 1968).

In 1821, when the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company amalgamated there was no longer a need to use alcohol to propagate trade with Aboriginal people (Fleming, 1940). Consequently, over the last part of the 19th century, alcohol supplies were harder to come by for Aboriginal people. This situation was due in part also to an Indian Act clause, which prohibited registered Indians from having alcohol in their possession. This law did not change until 1963. This situation caused many communities to make home brew, often referred to as ‘white lightening’ or ‘moose milk’. Supplies to make this home brew were readily available from local traders (Price, 1975).

According to Price, prohibition created a new class of legal offences, stimulated conflict with the police, led to financial exploitation by middlemen and ‘bootleggers,’ reinforced the pattern of binge drinking, and prevented the development of internal social controls.

By the mid-1700’s, the Fur Trade had declined to a point where Aboriginal people were no longer pivotal to the economic and physical (food and medicine) survival of European settlers. From the time of European arrival diseases such as smallpox and whooping cough had slowly spread among First Nations communities. At different periods of time epidemics caused massive losses, in some cases up to three quarters of community populations in a short period of time (Wright, 1992).

While colonial governments were seizing land and resources, First Nations were undergoing profound internal turmoil from forced removals and relocations to reserves, the Indian Act and Residential Schools (McCormick and Wong, 2005). The effect was to ultimately create social disruption, which has persisted to this day in many communities. Of course there is much more to this story but because of the length of this paper I will not go into detail about the political atrocities regarding land, treaties, etc. that occurred between First Nations and the colonial government. In early 1960s, on many reserves, alcohol was legalized again by the province of Ontario, after being outlawed for many years after the Fur Trade. Alcohol played havoc in many Aboriginal communities.

For many who had experienced the atrocities of residential schools, alcohol was a temporary escape from their painful existence. Due to the brainwashing in the Residential schools, which taught that Aboriginal culture was immoral, Elders were no longer sought for advice and healing as they once had been by the previous generations. Many Elders unable to cope with the new loneliness and uselessness of their existence, also turned to alcohol (Wright, 1992).

During the 1960s, in order to survive, many Aboriginal women in Ontario were forced to seek full-time employment in low-paying positions, often as domestic servants in White homes. They often came home exhausted only to have to complete their own domestic duties, which gave them little time or energy to care for and show affection to their children. Due to assimilation policies and alleged abuse, during the 1960s many children were stolen from their family homes and forced into foster homes. This era became known as the “60’s Scoop” (Aboriginal and Indigenous Social Work, 2003).

The phenomenon, called the “60’s Scoop”, is so named because the highest numbers of adoptions took place in the decade of the 1960s and because, in many instances, children were literally scooped from their homes and communities without the knowledge or consent of families and bands. Many First Nations charged that in many cases where consent was not given, that government authorities and social workers acted under the racist assumption that Aboriginal people were culturally inferior and unable to adequately provide for the needs of the children. This situation was due to the wide held belief among those of European descent that their beliefs and values were right and therefore superior to those of Aboriginal peoples. Many First Nations people believe that the forced removal of the children was a deliberate act of genocide (Kimelman, Judge,1985).

Statistics from the Department of Indian Affairs estimate that 11,132 status Indian children were adopted between the years of 1960 and 1990. However, it is believed by many Aboriginal peoples, that the numbers of children stolen from their families and communities are much higher (RCAP, 1996). Of these children who were adopted, 70% were placed in non-native homes. A substantial portion of these adoptees face cultural and identity confusion issues as the result of having been socialized and acculturated into a Euro-Canadian middle-class society (Hall, 1995).

As a result of confusion and loss of identity, many Aboriginal people who were part of the 60’s Scoop have turned to alcohol to help ease the pain of these issues. Understandably, many of the parents whose children were stolen from their lives also turned to alcohol abuse to deal with the anguish, pain and devastation of this horrible situation (Hall, 1995).

Institutionalized Racism

In this section I will discuss the topic of Institutionalized Racism in the context of the educational system in Canada. Historically, the education system has been used as a tool of assimilation by the government in regards to Aboriginal peoples in Canada. High drop-out rates in High School and a lack of Post-secondary graduates are a common occurrence in many Aboriginal communities. The lack of educational achievement of Aboriginal children in the Canadian school system is well documented (Stonechild, 2006).

Curriculum has been used in mainstream schools to describe what the students learn from the educational program, which is quickly forgotten within a short time after it is learned. However, this is only a small part of what children learn. The “hidden curriculum”, which consists of what children learn about their own identity and role in society; the identity and roles of others in the program; how others treat each other and their environment; and the attitudes, values and feelings that are encountered, these are not forgotten (Four Worlds Development Project, 1984).

The hidden curriculum is learned in the classroom, on the playground, and in the hallways. It is learned in how the teachers manage the student’s behaviour and from by the way the desks are arranged. It is learned from the attitudes of the parents and the other community members. These are the things that influence a person’s identity, sense of worth and view of the world. When a child is treated negatively in the public school system this treatment can lead to students dropping out or turning to alcohol or other substances to cope with this negative treatment and negative environment.

In the Canadian Penitentiary System, Aboriginal people make up a disproportionate percentage of people in Canadian prisons. A large percentage of Aboriginal people in prisons are there because of alcohol. Jim Mason, is an Aboriginal Elder in Toronto, Ontario, who has worked with many inmates over the years and has heard many tragic stories. He recounts the following:

“They all say it is because of the booze why they’re here. Some recall waking up one morning and not knowing where they are, all they see is bars and the guard going by. They think they’re in there for a drunk and then they learn they wasted someone the night before. All the toughness goes out of them and they just sit on the bed and bawl”.

Jim Mason attributes the reason that many Aboriginal people abuse alcohol to the destruction of families and the removal of children from their own cultural environment. Many people who abuse alcohol remember being frightened, abused and made to feel worthless because they were Aboriginal as children. These experiences happened in both residential schools and foster care (Gajic, 1997).

Bob Crawford, a former Police Officer and Director of Spirit of the People an organization he formed in Toronto saw the connection to alcohol and loss of culture. He formed Spirit of the People to help Aboriginal ex-offenders renew their lives when they leave prison. The organization uses traditional Aboriginal healing methods to help Aboriginal people heal from the effects of alcohol and drugs. He attributes the success of Spirit of the People to emphasis on Native family values, culture, traditions and language in helping Aboriginal ex-offenders overcome addictions and establish new lives after prison (Gajic, 1997).

There is considerable evidence that traditional healing practices have profound effects on the healing of Aboriginal peoples. For example, in a study of traditional healing with Aboriginal sex offenders in the prison system, therapists identified traditional practices as beneficial and noted changes in those who participated in them. “Among the key areas of change that therapists saw were a general increase in openness to treatment, a greater ability to accept feedback, an enhanced level of self-disclosure (general and offence-specific), a decrease in hostility and resentment, the development of trust and empathy and a greater sense of grounding or stability” (Solicitor General Canada, 1998).

I have demonstrated in this section that the educational system, effects Aboriginal people in their youth and has had a long history of oppression and abuse in Aboriginal communities. The prison system, has also had a long history of oppression towards Aboriginal people in Canada.

Traditional Aboriginal Healing Methods

In treatment programs where they have control, Aboriginal people in Canada are increasingly introducing a variety of spiritual and healing practices, asserting that embracing their culture assists in achieving sobriety. These programs assert Aboriginal identity, and stress traditional cultural beliefs and practices as a form of treatment in themselves (Brady, 1995).

The Aboriginal way of treating alcohol and substance abuse encompasses more than the biological and experiential explanation provided by mainstream medicine. Traditional healers perceive alcohol as a spirit  that has been destructive to Aboriginal ways of life. It is believed that the alcohol “spirits” continually wage war within the spiritual arena and this is where the healing needs to start (Duran, 2006). Most Elders and Healers would agree that reconnecting to culture, community and spirituality is the way for Aboriginal people to heal. Because alcohol and drug abuse conflicts with the traditional cultural beliefs about courage, humility, generosity, and family honour, cultural involvement and practices can serve as both a preventative and curing agent in alcohol and drug abuse treatment (Brady, 1995).

The Sweat Lodge

Most Aboriginal people would agree that the purpose of the Sweat Lodge ceremony is to purify the body, mind and spirit so that a new sense of self may be present. The Sweat Lodge ceremony is the most widely used ceremony of Aboriginal alcohol and drug treatment programs that focus on traditional Aboriginal healing methods.

While the Sweat Lodge itself is simple to describe, it is beyond this writer’s ability to adequately convey the ultimate culmination of spiritual, mystical and psychic expression of the Sweat Lodge ceremony. Sweat Lodge ceremonies can be a beneficial aid to alcohol and substance abuse treatments for Aboriginal people for four reasons. First the Sweat Lodge ceremony gives individuals a sense of who they are even if they no longer speak an Aboriginal language or are the products of years of residential schooling and Christian proselytizing, since Sweat Lodges are a symbol and cultural marker of being “Aboriginal”. Secondly, the physical sensation of undergoing a sweat is of detoxification and cleansing, which gives the participant a psychological and spiritual association with purification, renewal and a fresh start. Thirdly, participating in a Sweat Lodge ceremony is a tangible and decisive act, which requires mental and physical strength. When one emerges from the ceremony they may feel a sense of accomplishment, in this way the ceremony provides an atmosphere in which it may be easier for an addicted person to moderate or abstain from alcohol or drugs. Lastly, many people who conduct the Sweat Lodge ceremonies are also ex-drinkers and drug users and they provide alternate role models to the stereotype of the “drunken Indian” (Hall, 1986).

Combining Aboriginal Healing Methods with Mainstream Methods

Western medicine and Traditional Healing methods can work together in Aboriginal communities to combat addictions (Duran, 2006). By reclaiming their identity through Traditional Healing methods, many Aboriginal people have overcome alcoholism and have found serenity. By learning about their culture and being proud of whom they are, recovering addicts and alcoholics are much more able to resist the temptation of giving into their old habits.

It is important for Aboriginal people to learn and understand that the primary reason Aboriginal people are so afflicted with addictions, poverty, abuse, etc. is that the traditional way of life was taken from them. This experience instils a sense of hopelessness, and loss which leads to grieving (Arbogast, 1995).

“So many of us were the victims of those who wanted to destroy that identity by starving it of nourishment. That seed is the truth of our existence. It validates my Indian-ness. Indian forever. They couldn’t destroy my Indian-ness no matter what they did. It’s like that little seed is my spirit. You can trounce on it, starve it, beat it, humiliate it, degrade it, abuse it but you will never kill it or extinguish it. Even when I tried to stamp it out myself, it manifested itself as anxiety, panic attacks, depression, and alcoholism and drug addiction” (Arbogast, 1995).

If people in mainstream society really want to help Aboriginal people overcome their addictions, they have to learn about Aboriginal culture, and do things on Aboriginal peoples’ terms. One cannot learn about Aboriginal people or any group of people from a book, culture must be experienced and appreciated if one really wants to understand it.

Western medicine addresses the physiology of disease whereas Aboriginal Traditional Healing methods address the psyche, relating to the disease and disease touching the spirit and releasing the psycho-social hurts that chemical dependent environments produce (Arbogast, 1995).

Aboriginal models of AA, such as that offered at Toronto Council Fire Native Cultural Centre, usually incorporate elements of the medicine wheel, sweat lodge ceremony, and sacred pipe as healing methods. This form of AA healing takes on the values of the harmony ethos as opposed to the mainstream AA values, rooted in the protestant ethic.

Aboriginal AA Model Traditional Western AA Model

Uncritical attitude    Critical attitude

Cooperation     Competition

Sharing     Ownership

Humble presentation    Outgoing/Self-righteous

Happiness     Success

Honour Elders     Honour self

Silence      Verbalism

Tribal values     Individualism

Simplicity     Complexity

Tradition     Innovation

Spiritual values    Material values

Learning from Elders    Formal education

Few rules     Many rules

Mysticism     Empiricism

Smallness     Bigness

Natural Medicine    Synthetic drugs

Unity with nature    Separateness with nature

Accept others as they are   Change others

For Traditional Aboriginal Healing methods and Western approaches to work together to help people overcome alcohol and substance abuse addictions, both systems must be respected as separate entities each having viable approaches. Where the two overlap is where there is room for co-operation and co-existence.

Conclusion

For hundreds of years Canadian Aboriginal communities have experienced the abuse of Western imposition. Today, this abuse is still felt in many Aboriginal communities. The result of this abuse is a wide range of personal and social dysfunctions for many Aboriginal individuals and communities.

Since the 1960s, Aboriginal communities have been struggling with the challenge of healing. As a result, Aboriginal healing programs sprang up across the country addressing such issues as addictions, sexual abuse, parenting, family violence, depression, suicide, anger and rage and eventually the residential school syndrome (Mapping the Healing Journey, 2002).

Strategies to promote “healing,” such as residential treatment programs (based on a variety of treatment models), one-on-one therapeutic counselling programs, personal growth workshops, retreats and traditional ceremonies such as Sweat Lodges, healing ceremonies, fasting, prayers and the application of traditional teachings are used in treatment programs.

Although there are various programs and styles among various First Nations, Métis and Inuit communities, there seems to be an agreement that healing comes from within and the principle that the healing of individuals and the healing of communities must go hand-in-hand. Also, that healing means moving beyond hurt, pain, disease and dysfunction to establishing new patterns of living that produces sustainable well-being.

Two strong themes have emerged from my study of Aboriginal Healing Methods which involves both individuals and communities: 1) is healing as recovery, which involves moving away from the pain and suffering experienced by an individual or community in crisis and 2) healing as wellness, moving towards and maintaining healthy patterns of life.

The way that Traditional Healing methods work for Aboriginal people who are overcoming addictions is by guiding the patient to an honest and truthful self-discovery. This self-discovery is required for the initiation and continuation of self-healing, for it is only through self-healing – in contrast to “curing” – that patients can experience both permanent recovery and spiritual growth. The goals of Traditional Healing methods are the elimination of delusion and self-pity and the helping of patients to prioritize and focus their lives so that they can grow. It is the truth that heals. True healing goes deeper than symptoms. It involves getting clear about your real identity and purpose in life (Upledger, 1990).

The healing journey for Aboriginal people and communities in Ontario may take generations, which is understandable when you consider it took generations to internalize the pain and trauma. There is hope and healing is possible. By implementing these programs extensively now this will enable people to heal from their pain and suffering and learn skills for healthy living. Focus must be put on addressing the aftermath of residential schools, the 60s scoop, various forms of abuse and years of colonialism, which require intensive healing work. Hopefully, in time, the healing work can shift from recovery to rebuilding and sustaining new patterns of healthy lifestyles. Isn’t this ultimately what we all want?

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An Indigenous Perspective on the Standardisation of Restorative Justice in New Zealand and Canada

Filed under: IPJ Articles Fall09 — Editor @ 3:23 pm
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      • Title:  An Indigenous Perspective on the Standardisation of Restorative Justice in New Zealand and Canada

Author:  Juan Marcellus Tauri*

Abstract

The dramatic increase in restorative justice activity in western jurisdictions since the early 1990s has driven state officials, supported by some theorists and practitioners, to standardise the design and delivery of restorative justice programmes.  The purpose of this paper is to provide a critical indigenous examination of various rationale proffered in support of the standardisation process that is occurring in the neo-colonial jurisdictions of Canada and New Zealand. The paper ends with a call for Maori justice practitioners to develop their own standard for enhancing the delivery of restorative justice initiatives to Maori offenders, victims, families and communities.

Key Words

First nations, Maori, policy industry, restorative justice, standardisation.

Introduction

The development and implementation of restorative justice policies and initiatives has increased dramatically in western jurisdictions, including New Zealand and Canada, since the early 1990s (Jantzi, 2001). This rise in activity has instigated a drive by state officials, supported by some practitioners, to standardise the design and delivery of restorative justice initiatives (Cormier, 2002; Ministry of Justice, 2007; Roach, 2000).

The paper begins by looking at the (re)discovery of restorative justice in New Zealand and Canada1. This is followed by a critical examination of various rationale presented in support of the state-driven standardisation process that recently occurred in Canada, and is currently underway in New Zealand. The final section focuses on strategies that Maori practitioners and First Nations may consider for responding to the state’s standardisation programme. The call is made for Maori practitioners to develop their own standards, or tika (doing what is right) for enhancing the delivery of restorative justice initiatives to Maori offenders, victims, whanau (extended family) and communities.

The (re)discovery of restorative justice in neo-colonial jurisdictions

Justice systems around the world, particularly western jurisdictions, have recently (re)discovered restorative justice and are rapidly turning to it as a key component of the states response to criminal behaviour and victimisation (Braithwaite, 1996; Zehr, 2000). The reasons for this (re)discovery are complex, but can be linked to the following broad factors:

Rising costs of the penal system

Arguably, the most compelling factor behind the contemporary state’s increasing interest in restorative justice is the utilitarian need to reduce the fiscal costs of the rising number of court hearings and prison musters that impacted western jurisdictions throughout the 1970s and into the 1990s (Barlow et al, 2005; Zimring, 2001). The increase in costs prompted many jurisdictions to look at procedural innovations, such as family group conferencing, sentencing circles and community alternatives to incarceration such as electronic monitoring, to alleviate the growing fiscal burden.

Responding to the ideological challenge of the restorative justice industry

While dealing with the rising costs of an expanding penal system, western governments found themselves confronted by a rapidly growing, vocal, restorative justice industry, one that challenged the perceived punitiveness of the formal system of justice (Braithwaite, 1996). By the early to mid 1990s, in true Gramscian style, the state began to respond the counter-hegemonic potentiality of the restorative justice movement by implementing major policy programmes aimed at integrating restorative justice into formal justice processes (Tauri, 1998).

Responding to Indigenous activism and over-representation

In both New Zealand and Canada, the (re)discovery of restorative justice and its increasing use, was fuelled by concerns for the increasing overrepresentation of indigenous peoples in the criminal justice system, and the ideologically driven need to respond to their criticisms of the operations of the system, and with crime control policy generally.  In the New Zealand context, as with all other neo-colonial jurisdictions, the statistical profile of Maori engagement with the criminal justice system makes for bleak reading: Although only 14.5 percent of the total population at the last census (Statistics New Zealand 2007), Maori make up to 50 percent of the prison population (around 4,000 of the total of prison population of around 8,000 at the time of writing).   In 2005 Maori made up 45 percent of offenders serving community-based sentences, and in 2007 Maori made up between 40-45 percent of all police apprehensions (Bull, 2009).

In an historical context this picture of over-representation has been a ‘fact of life’  for Maori since the mid 1970s.  The period during which the rate of Maori over-representation in the courts and prison also saw the rise of the Maori cultural renaissance (see Walker, 1990) and the ‘radicalisation’ of Maori political activity (see Poata-Smith, 1996).  The radicalisation movement fuelled a sustained critical scrutiny of the operations of the criminal justice system in particular, along with the wider social policy sector more generally.  This critique saw its zenith with the release in 1988 of Moana Jackson’s report He Whaipaanga Hou: Maori and the Criminal Justice System.  While the need for brevity omits lengthy discussion of the range of findings and recommendations of the report, one theme was constant throughout: that the individualistic, state-centred, punitive nature of the Pakeha (European) justice system was a significant driver of Maori over-representation.  It was proposed that one way to alter this situation was to develop parallel or separate justice processes based on Maori philosophies and practices.

There was, of course, little chance of the state agreeing to extend to Maori the privilege of significant jurisdictional autonomy advocated by Jackson and the participants in his study (see Tauri, 1996).  However, the rise of the restorative justice movement in the late 1980s and early 1990s provided the state with an avenue through which to be seen to make meaningful responses to Maori concerns.  The (arguably) restorative bases of many historical and contemporary indigenous responses to incidents of social harm became the focus of restorative-style innovations in both jurisdictions. In New Zealand, the state’s response centred on the transformation of the youth justice system. This transformation was operationalised through family group conferencing, a process that many of its exponents believe is based on traditional Māori cultural philosophy and practice (Consedine, 1999; Maxwell and Morris, 2000). In Canada, the spread of restorative justice steadily increased from the mid-1990s (Roach, 2000), culminating in recently enacted legislation to entice provincial jurisdictions to implement restorative processes for youth offenders and their victims (Wilson et al, 2002).  It appears that restorative justice became a fashionable theoretical and policy vehicle for responding to the overrepresentation problem and indigenous activism (Tauri, 1998). Arguably, restorative justice became a significant tool for advancing the perception that the state-centred justice system was culturally sensitive and responsive to the needs of Indigenes (Tauri, 2004).

The contemporary recognition of indigenous justice processes in both countries is characterised by a process of indigenisation. During the initial stages of indigenisation, the state acknowledges that indigenous communities may benefit from having traditional ways of dealing crime returned to them via the state-centred jurisdiction. So it was in New Zealand in 1984, when the Department of Social Welfare published a report calling for a culturally appropriate way to deal with Maori youth offenders, later operationalised with the passing of the Children, Young Persons and their Families Act 1989 (Maxwell and Morris, 1992). Through indigenisation the state system begins to adopt, for its own use and control, ‘traditional’ justice approaches it once prohibited or restricted. Thus, the state incorporates indigenous approaches to social harm within the framework of a state-dominated process (Tauri, 2004).

The (re)discovery of restorative, communitarian responses to criminal behaviour by neo-colonial states appears ironic to some indigenous commentators (Palys and Victor, 2005 and Tauri, 2004).  After all, one of the key platforms of the introduction of restorative justice policies and initiatives is their comparability to traditional indigenous justice practice. The irony arises from the current situation developing in the neo-colonial jurisdictions of Canada, New Zealand and Australia, where the contemporary use of supposedly indigenous justice philosophies and practices is being driven by, or at the behest of, the very system that sought the eradication of these social control mechanisms throughout the colonisation process (Blagg, 1997; Cunneen, 1998 and Tauri, 1999). By all appearances, the states (re)discovery and utilisation of restorative justice signals that we are working in a similar policy environment to that observed during the initial stages of colonisation, where the state recognised the value of indigenous justice practices for enhancing formal responses to crime. However, the state’s largesse in this matter is generally restricted to indigenous philosophies and practices deemed culturally and jurisdictionally palatable (Tauri, 2004).

Standardising restorative justice practice

As more and more restorative justice programmes begin to develop and community demand for these processes grow, the state undertakes a policy-focused process of legitimation. First, requests from communities and practitioners for policy and financial support for their restorative justice processes are received by state officials. Second, state officials (those working in the system, such as court workers, probation officers, etc) demand that clarity and certainty about the place and function of restorative justice be provided (see Probation Officers Association of Ontario Inc, 2000). And third, the state provides policy direction and financial support, which in turn creates mechanisms for enveloping community-driven practice within the rubric of the formal justice system (Roach, 2002; Tie, 2002).

The policy process established in New Zealand takes the form of top-down managerialism, which applies the techniques of business accounting and ethics to the policy development process (Enteman, 1993). The central focus of this policy process is on fiscal responsibility, accountability and measurable outcomes (Dillow, 2007; Easton, 1997). Top-down managerialism as a policy technique does not have a positive history in criminal justice, particularly where indigenous peoples are concerned. The reasons for this are many, but broadly speaking it can be explained by the fact that indigenous justice is a component of a bottom-up social movement (tino rangatiratanga (sovereignty)) for which a key philosophical fundamental requires Maori (meaning hapu (sub-tribe), iwi (tribe) and urban authorities) to exercise power accountably (Tauri, 1999). In contrast, managerialist (restorative) justice is by definition a state-centred, top-down process, designed to ensure state control of programme design, delivery and funding.

It is within this managerialist, state-focused context that the process of the standardisation of restorative justice is occurring in many western jurisdictions. The federal government in Canada has developed a set of guidelines for restorative justice programmes based on the model guidelines developed by the United Nations but tailored to address Canadian concerns (Cormier, 2002). Central government in New Zealand is in the process of developing a range of tools that ensure the standardisation of programme design and delivery, training and accreditation (Ministry of Justice, 2003).

From a governmental perspective, the state-centred process of standardisation described above is an understandable response to the rise of communitarian restorative justice. After all, restorative practitioners are demanding access to state resources and tax payers’ money. In the New Zealand context funding and policy support is provided by the Department for Courts (now subsumed within the Ministry of Justice) and the Ministry of Justice’s Crime Prevention Unit. In Canada, requests have been routinely made to federal, provincial and territorial governments (Rudin, 2003). The more frequent these demands are made, the more the state is compelled to develop proscriptive policy frameworks that enable officials to make ‘standard’ policy and funding decisions that ensure fiscal accountability.

Rationale for supporting standardisation

One of the key ideological and supposed practice-based rationales of these proscriptive policy frameworks is the equality principle. The principle of equality, meaning equality in programme delivery (everyone gets treated the same), funding and expectations (like is compared to like), can be described as a fundamental meta-narrative2 of the criminal justice policy context in both New Zealand and Canada.

Equality with respect to programme delivery focuses primarily on the types of cases that are appropriate for restorative justice programmes. In this case, the equality concern is that the criminal justice system should treat everyone the same. After all, according to government rhetoric justice in New Zealand and Canada does not, or should not, differ from one place to the next, given that only one set of criminal code exists for each country. In the state’s view it would not be fair or equitable if a person charged with an offence in one region can avoid criminal liability by having their case diverted to a restorative justice process that was not available in other parts of the country. This potential outcome would be further exacerbated if restorative processes were open to dealing with serious offences. As such, standardisation considered by state officials as essential for ensuring that restorative justice programme are not dealing with crimes that are deemed beyond their capacity and capability (ibid).  It is an important process for ensuring that restorative justice practice does not cause political problems for government officials and Cabinet Ministers at some point in the future (e.g., serious offending by an offender previously dealt with via a community restorative justice programme) (Tauri, 2008).

In the Canadian context, standardisation is considered to be beneficial because it leads to enhanced bureaucratic efficiency through increased comparability of programme design and delivery. Theoretically, standardisation makes it easier to assess providers’ ability to meet specific goals and targets in comparison with other programmes (Cormier, 2002). In turn, comparability in design and service delivery enables officials to measure the impact of initiatives across a range of geographic locations. There is no reason to presume that the motivations of government officials in New Zealand are any different to that of Canada.

A more recent rationale for standardisation was to address the policy need to situate restorative justice models within the formal system. Work was required to define restorative justice, to identify what constituted a restorative justice programme (and therefore, what did not) and clarify how these approaches differ from other formal components of the criminal justice system. Each of the rationale will be critically examined below.

Critiquing the equality principle

The first rationale – that everyone should be treated the same by the system – suffer from two interrelated weaknesses. The first is that it compares an idealised version of the justice system with the reality of the operation of restorative justice in the community3. As Rudin argues (2003), a better comparison would be with the actual reality of justice as it is practiced on the ground, in different social contexts, rather than to a state-centred idealisation of how justice is performed.

On this basis, the equality principle collapses from the outset. Despite the fact criminal law is the same across Canada there is no uniformity in sentencing practice.  Both across and within provinces there are discrepancies in the way offences are handled. Especially when comparing neighbouring districts. Rudin (2003) also contends that crime tends to be treated with longer prison sentences in smaller communities than in larger metropolitan areas and cities.

Given the absence of provincial jurisdictions in New Zealand, there is theoretically less likely to be a similar degree of difference in judicial practice. Unfortunately, the historical lack of independent, critical research on the operations of the criminal justice system in New Zealand makes it difficult to talk about differences in sentencing patterns from one court to the next, and from one region to another. However, there is significant anecdotal evidence of variations in police and judicial response to different categories of offence and type of offender, in particular Māori and non-Māori offenders and victims and between street crime and corporate crime and white collar offences. All this puts the lie to the claim that, in a practical sense, there is equality of treatment of offenders, at all times and for all cases, in either jurisdiction.

The second problem with this principle is that it advocates a model of justice that is at odds with a key goal of all concerned with social harm, namely achieving quality, meaningful outcomes, such as reducing reoffending, victimisation and restoring communal harmony. The idea that equality is achieved by making sure everyone experiences a similar process and receives the same sentence for similar offences, is an argument for formal equality – equality of process (ibid). I submit that an alternative indigenous position would be to advocate for treating people differently in order to achieve the same result – social justice.

If the result we wish to achieve through the formal justice process is to deter offenders from committing crime and keeping communities safe, then we must recognise that there are many ways to accomplish this goal. This argument has received partial recognition in New Zealand with the inclusion of restorative justice provisions in the Sentencing Act 2002, in particular the principle whereby a Court must, when sentencing an offender ‘take into account any outcomes of restorative justice processes in the case’ (Ministry of Justice, 2002). Similarly, the Supreme Court of Canada has explicitly recommended that courts adopt a more restorative and thus a more individualised approach to sentencing (Rudin, 2003).

Problems with the bureaucratic process of defining restorative justice

The bureaucratic process of standardisation has the potential to create difficulties for Indigenes wanting to continue to design and deliver services to their own people. By standardising programme design, delivery and restricting the types of offences restorative justice initiatives can process, local creativity and the formulation of responses to social harm wedded to localised contexts, can be stifled (Tauri, 2004).

From a communitarian perspective, restorative justice processes develop in response to the needs of communities, and result from the collaborative efforts of individuals and whanau and hapu (Rudin, 2003; Tauri, 1999). This is true of indigenous responses as it is for any community of concern. These creative and innovative responses then influence other communities wanting to construct justice processes that empower their communities. Ironically, this growth then spurs the bureaucratised process of standardisation, thus prohibiting the very factors that made the programmes innovative and community-centred in the first place. It can be argued that this situation signals an extension of the historical contest of power, authority and survival between the coloniser and the colonised which has played itself out in numerous ways in the neo-colonial histories of New Zealand and Canada.

The continual centralising of power through bureaucratic projects like the standardisation of restorative justice creates specific problems for indigenous peoples, including constricting their ability to meaningful respond to issues in ways they consider appropriate (Tauri, 1999). A significant issue with the Canadian standardised guidelines is that they were heavily modelled on those developed by the United Nations, which favour one particular model of restorative justice – victim-offender reconciliation (Cormier, 2002). For victim-offender programmes, the guidelines have some utility, but equating restorative justice with victim-offender reconciliation ignores the range of community-centred restorative justice programmes, in particularly indigenous responses (Rudin, 2003).

The issue of defining restorative justice might appear largely semantic – who cares what the programme or preferred approach is called as long as it is delivering results? The difficulty with this position lies with the limited definition of restorative justice that forms the basis of bureaucratic standardised processes. There is a great danger that programmes that do not fit the proscribed, ‘standard’ model will find it difficult to obtain state support. Furthermore, even if existing programmes are exempt from a newly constructed standardised model, and continue to receive support, this development might well make it difficult for new programmes to grow if they do not conform to a constricted definition of restorative justice to continue. Compounding these issues for Māori is that past examples of standardisation and general policy development in the justice sector highlights the criminal justice sectors reliance on imported theories and interventions, upon which tikanga (customs and traditions) is added in order to make the programme culturally appropriate (Tauri, 1999). And, lastly, there is the issue of the truly independent providers and programmes: not seeking state assistance is no guarantee of their continued existence.  In all likelihood they will find their operations restricted because of the codified, legislated ideal of restorative justice developed by the policy industry.

The political economy of the state’s standardisation process

For indigenous communities, the development of justice programmes is part of the important process of reclaiming authority over the management of the systems for dealing with social harm.  Re-establishing control of our community-centred justice processes is important, given these same processes were explicitly targeted for eradication during the initial phases of colonisation (Ward, 1995). The development of justice programmes based on indigenous theories and practice, such as tikanga, is very much part of indigenous re-empowerment, through reasserting the importance, vitality and significance of indigenous communities taking responsibility for caring for their own (Tauri, 2004).

If, as both indigenous and non-indigenous practitioners and theorists argue, restorative justice is about empowering communities (see Lilles, 2002; White, 2003), then surely re-imposing the state to set standards of restorative justice shifts power back to the state (Rudin, 2003)? Given the part played by the state in both jurisdictions in the process of colonisation, it is eminently reasonable for Indigenes to be wary of the state’s insertion of itself into the restorative realm (Tauri, 2004).

The processes utilised by government officials to develop criminal justice policy, especially for Maori, evidences the need for Indigenes to be cautious in supporting state-sponsored standardisation of restorative justice policy. The past 20 years is littered with numerous examples of policy projects informed by inadequate and unethical consultation. Maori views on policy and initiatives are often sought long after they have been designed or implemented. Furthermore, policies and initiatives are often imported wholesale from North America or Great Britain with tikanga simply clipped on the end to make them culturally appropriate (Tauri, 2008).

Indigenous experience of policy development and standard setting in the criminal justice sector highlights the dangers for Indigenes in the state-dominated process of standardisation of restorative justice that is gathering pace in neo-colonial jurisdictions. These experiences, of indigenisation, incorporation and disempowerment are effectively summarised in the following quote from John Braithwaite (Professor of Law, Australian National University; cited in Rudin: 2003:6) who states that:

    [a]ccreditation for mediators that raises the spectre of a Western accreditation agency telling an Aboriginal elder that a centuries-old restorative practice does not comply with the accreditation standards is a profound worry.

What Braithwaite succinctly describes is a situation many Maori justice theorists and practitioners have experienced in their dealings with government agencies.

The situation described by Braithwaite is but one potential effect of the standardisation process.  Another we must contend with is the impact the process may have (and in some instances, is having) on the specific practices of various Maori providers and iwi.  Each iwi and hapu has developed over time the tikanga that provides the conceptual, philosophical and practice of programme design and delivery particular to Maori residing in a particular rohe, and sometimes to those living outside the tribal area.  Surface similarities exist across iwi in relation to the tikanga that underpins our dealings with social harm, but nevertheless each iwi, and even hapu will have established distinctive practices, with differences apparent in jurisprudence, protocols for running ‘social harm processes’ on marae, and responses to specific types of social harm.  To date there is little empirical research on the intricacies of iwi/provider specific practice.  However, there has been a number of ‘general studies’ that highlight differences between iwi Maori approaches to dealing with social harm, and those of the formal justice system, and even to mainstream (European) restorative responses (see Jackson, 1988; Tauri and Morris, 1998).

The concern for the current process of state-sponsored standardisation of restorative justice is based on almost three decades experience of this process being one of the foundational techniques for the development of crime control policy.  Our experience of this approach to policy making instructs us that standardisation of restorative justice will invariably mean our processes being codified within Eurocentric frameworks, with ‘room’ made available for ‘acceptable cultural practices’ (see Tauri, 1998).  Standardisation will ensure that Maori providers will be forced to tailor their programmes (their tikanga) to fit ‘standard design requirements’ enshrined in contracts for service delivery.  The standardisation process in New Zealand is of further concern to Maori practitioners because it envelopes the accreditation process.  In 2006 the Restorative Justice Centre was established at AUT University in Auckland.  The Centre derived significant financial, advisory and policy support from the Ministry of Justice.  The intention was to develop formalised, ‘best practice-based’, training and accreditation in restorative practice.  What is evident thus far is that the close relationship between the Centre and the Ministry has resulted in the focus of course design being wedded to the Ministry-driven standardisation process.  Maori practitioners have expressed concern directly to the author at the apparent lack of Maori input into the design of the accreditation process, and well they might be as the future of their programme funding may depend on them and their colleagues securing certification that does not recognise their processes of dealing with social harm.

What can we do?

Having critiqued the state-centred process of standardisation, I now want to pose a contradiction – standards are not all bad! As indigenous practitioners, theorists and researchers we should all be concerned with the quality of programme design and delivery. After all, there is such as thing as poor practice, which can be just as damaging as no practice.  Surely, we are all concerned with ensuring that tikanga is appropriately applied when dealing with the actions that have torn the social fabric of our communities? One limitation of the state-centred process is its use of the terms ‘standard’ and ‘standardisation’, both of which imply there is one way of doing things.  It may be more helpful and accurate for us to use the term tika in its broadest sense, meaning ‘doing what is right’. As Maori we know that there are many ways of doing ‘it’ right, as hapu and iwi determine their own tikanga.

If our programmes are based on tikanga, as they should be, then by their very nature they are based on standards defined by historical practice, underpinned by theories that explain the causes of social harm and how best to respond to those types of behaviours (see Jackson, 1990). The important difference is that they are our standards, practices and theories. One way of ensuring the survival of our practice is for Maori practitioners to develop their own standards or tika for guiding restorative justice practice in our communities.

It must be acknowledged that the majority of Māori practitioners cannot ignore the state’s standardisation process, as many are reliant on government funding to survive. Engagement with officials and the policies and legislation they generate, is unavoidable. However, engagement can take place in a variety of ways.  For example, we might choose to engage on the state’s terms, according to bureaucratic timeframes and processes. This form of engagement will invariably follow a top-down approach where Māori are asked to assist in identifying a few culturally relevant principles, etc, that are tagged to the end of pre-conceived Eurocentric frameworks (Tauri, 2004).

An alternative process would be for Maori to develop their own tika on restorative justice practice, separate from the state’s standardisation process. A full set of Maori designed standards would 1) underline the authority of tikanga as the basis for Maori practices for responding to social harm, 2) ensure/encourage discussion and debate of all relevant issues related to standardisation, as opposed to a small number of ‘cultural elements’ and 3) provide the basis for meaningful dialogue between the Treaty partners. This will focus attention on finding ways of empowering Maori to deliver appropriate services to their own, and (hopefully) move state officials away from the historic tendency to view Maori as passive recipients of state services. However, for this process to have meaning, state officials will have to be both willing and capable of engaging respectfully with Maori. In my experience, this will require a significant change in attitude and engagement methodology on the part of state officials.

End notes

  1. Activities in New Zealand and Canada are highlighted to emphasise the fact that standardisation is not confined to one jurisdiction, and that the issues faced by Maori are being experienced by other indigenes. The commentary is informed by PhD-related research comparing state responses to indigenous justice in New Zealand and Canada.
  1. Bull (2009) cautions that relying solely on crime-related statistics can provide a distorted or partial view of Maori over-representation.  Our tendency to focus on numbers often lead us to focus on individuals and the population group they represent, while ignoring the roles played by known criminogenic factors on individual or collective behaviour.  For example, Bull (ibid: 1-2) asks that “rather than compare the proportion of Maori apprehensions to the proportion of Maori in the general population, for example, we should examine whether the proportion of Maori who are young, male, unmarried, unemployed, uneducated, in substandard housing, is reflected in the apprehension statistics. Rates of recorded offending, and hence imprisonment, are well known to depend on a range of social development factors (Braithwaite, 1989), rather than raw population proportions”.
  2. My use of the term meta-narrative differs slightly from that of Lyotard (1984), who used it to describe ‘grand narratives’ or total philosophies of history which provide the ethical and political prescriptions for society. I use the term here in a more grounded, institutionalised manner, to refer to totalising or overarching ideological frameworks through which the criminal justice sector attempts to legitimise its operations. In relation to the arguments made in this paper, the equality principle is a key meta-narrative for the continued legitimation of the system; the idea that the criminal justice system is fair, balanced, unbiased and operates to protect the legal rights of all participants.
  1. Literature and research on the biased operations of western jurisdictions is plentiful, including numerous studies focused on ethnic minorities. The exception is New Zealand, which has a poor history of research on bias in the criminal justice system (Tauri, 2008).

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*  Juan Marcellus Tauri is a Criminologist, currently completing a PhD at Auckland University of Technology, Auckland, New Zealand. He is a member of the Ngati Porou First Nation, situated on the East Coast of New Zealand.  He can be reached at: marcellos2006@hotmail.com.

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