Comment by PH95VuimJjqBqy
1 year ago
I've not been following most of this thread of conversation, but this reply jumped out at me so let me throw my hat into the ring here.
I live in the US, but my mother went to what is known as a boarding school for native americans. They were beaten and raped, my mother got married at 15 just to get away from it all.
They would do things like lock the kids outside during the winter just for using their native language.
So while I don't know the specifics of this case, I also don't find it at all surprising.
And what makes it worse is that the man who ran that school got a humanitarian award years later. I remember it because it was announced a few weeks before one of our family reunions (I have a huge family, grandmother had 19 children) and the anger amongst all of the older family members was palpable. This man raped my mother.
I recently attended the funeral of an aunt (roughly 3 years ago) and met a woman who told me she tried to do research on the specific school my family went to. They've torn the school down and apparently you can hardly find any documentation on the school itself. The woman told me when she started trying to dig deeper into it she started getting death threats.
People who don't believe this kind of stuff happens don't live in reality (charmed life). I grew up hearing stories of them putting kids into communal showers, telling them to soap up, and then inspecting them. If they weren't white enough they'd get strapped while under the water.
I could go on and on with the stories I grew up with (not just from my mother either).
In a class on different cultures back in college, one of the texts for the class was American Indian Stories by Zitkala-Sa https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10376
The chapter "The Big Red Apples" (Apples are not native to North America - the sweet red apples were shown as a temptation of "out east, these grow everywhere") and the section "The School Days of an Indian Girl" doesn't describe a joyous parent sending their children away to schools. The promises that were made and the reality that was experienced were very far apart from each other. Some saw it as a debt to be paid as part of the exchange for land and living it on a reservation - but that would be exacted again upon the children that went to those schools.
... And as this was intended for children, reality was likely much harsher than described (though what is described and the outcome is bad enough in its own right).
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"Mother, ask them if little girls may have all the red apples they want, when they go East," I whispered aloud, in my excitement.
The interpreter heard me, and answered: "Yes, little girl, the nice red apples are for those who pick them; and you will have a ride on the iron horse if you go with these good people."
I had never seen a train, and he knew it.
"Mother, I am going East! I like big red apples, and I want to ride on the iron horse! Mother, say yes!" I pleaded.
My mother said nothing. The missionaries waited in silence; and my eyes began to blur with tears, though I struggled to choke them back. The corners of my mouth twitched, and my mother saw me.
"I am not ready to give you any word," she said to them. "Tomorrow I shall send you my answer by my son."
With this they left us. Alone with my mother, I yielded to my tears, and cried aloud, shaking my head so as not to hear what she was saying to me. This was the first time I had ever been so unwilling to give up my own desire that I refused to hearken to my mother's voice.
There was a solemn silence in our home that night. Before I went to bed I begged the Great Spirit to make my mother willing I should go with the missionaries.
The next morning came, and my mother called me to her side. "My daughter, do you still persist in wishing to leave your mother?" she asked.
"Oh, mother, it is not that I wish to leave you, but I want to see the wonderful Eastern land," I answered.
My dear old aunt came to our house that morning, and I heard her say, "Let her try it."
I hoped that, as usual, my aunt was pleading on my side. My brother Dawée came for mother's decision. I dropped my play, and crept close to my aunt.
"Yes, Dawée, my daughter, though she does not understand what it all means, is anxious to go. She will need an education when she is grown, for then there will be fewer real Dakotas, and many more palefaces. This tearing her away, so young, from her mother is necessary, if I would have her an educated woman. The palefaces, who owe us a large debt for stolen lands, have begun to pay a tardy justice in offering some education to our children. But I know my daughter must suffer keenly in this experiment. For her sake, I dread to tell you my reply to the missionaries. Go, tell them that they may take my little daughter, and that the Great Spirit shall not fail to reward them according to their hearts."
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From Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zitkala-Sa
> Zitkala-Ša attended the school for three years until 1887. She later wrote about this period in her work, The School Days of an Indian Girl. She described the deep misery of having her heritage stripped away when she was forced to pray as a Quaker and to cut her traditionally long hair. By contrast, she took joy in learning to read, write, and play the violin.
> In 1887, Zitkala-Ša returned to the Yankton Reservation to live with her mother. She spent three years there. She was dismayed to realize that, while she still longed for the native Yankton traditions, she no longer fully belonged to them. Besides, she thought that many on the reservation were conforming to the dominant white culture.
... and you have a first person account of the stripping away of cultural identity.