The picture is of my great-grandfather, Foster Decorah, with his brother Russius Decorah. Great kinships through these lines. 

A mind wandering day that started out with the Ho-Chunk Nation health board. They need representatives from each district (4), but hey, aren't there 5? I'm not Ho-Chunk because I live in MN?  See the above photo and search your history. We lived in WI, Illinois, Iowa, and, yes, MN. 

Then in the newspaper Indian Country Today, there was an article about Alaska and their identity situation. They have thought beyond BQ and embraced kinships. That is good, but some tribes are sticking with BQ; either way, you slice it, it seems that blood or genes need to be involved. What about people who have been careful to marry within the tribe but consider clans? Ought their attention to BQ be rewarded? Shouldn't tribes be able to consider the survival of their people? Some tribes lowering their BQ to 1/8.  Some say it is not our way to measure the amount of blood, uh; tell that to the number of metis or 1/2-bloods out there. Is blood or kinships the only connection to a tribe?

Every summer, my grandparents, Henry and Marie Decorah, visited their family in South Dakota, Nebraska, and Wisconsin. We went to powwows too. We went to ceremonies, birthday celebrations, funerals, and devotions. We lived in the Cities, but we were connected to our people, family, and tribe. My Choka's tribe and people knew him. My gram's tribe and people knew her. We attended inter-tribal events in the Cities as well. We were connected to our people. 

Tribes need to have the final say in who they acknowledge as tribal members. 

I work in a place where people have a faint connection with their tribe for monies only. This faint connection earned them college scholarships (no proof of ancestry required), jobs (no Indian status), and promotions. They have worked at this institution and have never helped our people until I started working there. I feel this is very hypocritical. These people don't know the lang, the culture, or the ways. Sad. I notice that these are the type of people that cry foul over BQ. 

Tribes know their people. They know the families that comprise their tribal membership. They know the sacrifices that families have made over the years to help the people. BQ or kinships, it's up to each tribal nation to determine who their tribal members are. 

 

Doty Island

                                                                       Doty Island.

I was asked to think about a holy place that I felt connected to in a very sacred way, and it is Doty Island. In 2012, I had the opportunity to travel to this place pursing my research regarding GOM. Jonathan Carver described coming up to an island, just off of the Fox River. He described the plush vegetation filled with fruits and vegetables of every kind. There was a village of about 200 strong, and there was a queen: GOM.

I stood on Doty Island, in a park with willow trees, and read Carver's account. I believe I was standing near where GOM stood as Carver circled the island. Very humbling. The experience still carries me today. Grateful to GOM's life and legacy. Grateful that Carver recounted his visited with this extraordinary woman. Pinagigi!

I have been very impressed with a black woman's post on FB regarding her Black Timeline.  All of her young life was spent justifying who she was to the Mormon church, her school through college, and now her employer. It breaks my heart. I was sad and then I realized that I too, had a timeline.  I will call it the Red Timeline.

The 1960s': It started when I was young growing up in St. Paul with neighbor kids doing war hoops when they knew my family was going to a powwow.  It hurt and I didn't know why.   My grandparents said that white people were ignorant of our ways, and no more was said.

The 1970s': My junior high school went crazy when MLK was assassinated, with the Viet Nam War, and other social injustices. I wasn't able to go to school one day because of expected riots. When I went to school the next day a friend of mine that I knew since elementary school said it was quiet at school and there were no problems. I told myself then that I would never be afraid of social unrest again. In my church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, there was a woman who came up to me after church services and said, "You won the pageant. My daughter Rowena was in that pageant and you won.  Look at you!  My daughter is beautiful and talented, and you..." I was shocked! I told my mom what this white lady said and my mom called the Bishop of our church, Thomas A. Holt. He apologized to our family on behalf of this unkind church member.  Obviously, I was prettier and more talented than her daughter, I won the pageant. Once I graduated from high school, I left the church.  I had enough of people's unkindness toward me and my family. Also, I was so confused because black men could not have the Priesthood.

The 1980s': My first taste of discrimination against native people that were darker than I was. I wondered why I had escaped discrimination. I reasoned it was because people were not educated and misunderstood people's intentions. I got scholarships and doors opened for me.  I attended college and did very well.  I got a full ride to UMD because I was native and interested in science. I struggled in college. My family was in constant need and in turmoil, which meant I was in turmoil as well.  It was hard to study and my people felt I was too good for them or that I was trying to be white by getting an education. I was following my grandparents' advice because they said, "Get all the education you can because that is the one thing the white man can't take away from you." I visited my grandparents quite often while in college.  They lived in Black River Falls, Wisconsin and I would go shopping for them.  It was there in these shops that I experienced racism in a small store there in that town. I was angry, left the store because they kept following me around. After I married my husband, I returned to the church, unsure if the racist attitudes had changed. It was okay but hard for my daughter.

The 1990s': I became a registered nurse and worked for a PHN agency in Beltrami County.  There, I heard so many off comments about Native Americans from nurses. "You don't have much hair on your arms."  "Native Americans don't get up until 11am, so I couldn't see my client this morning."  "You can take the patient with TB, right?" That was it. I filed a Human Rights Complaint against Beltrami County and won!  It was pretty evident that there were racist nurses within the ranks and I left. The director of nursing actually had my followed by her delusional husband who thought he was a private investigator.  I saw them on the street across from my neighbor, Sargeant Bob, and Jackie.  He was there with his daughter.  As I drove by them, I stared at them and smiled. I donated my award from the County to the Bemidji Area Race Relations County. The County Attorney actually said that people do these sorts of things to tailor their jobs or get money.  Please! As for my church, I had a lot of leadership positions and not being shy to comment about any issue, if there were any racists attitudes, I did not hear them.

The 2000s': I tolerated Church members' off comments and didn't know how to handle it.  Our doctrine states that we are all children of God.  It was at this time that I realized that some people are more special than others, especially within my own church. This hurt! There were so few POC in leadership positions.  Hard to see and experience. There had to be a better way. I remember pleading with Heavenly Father to help me understand why there was so much intolerance of native people and especially of black people in our church. I worked PT as a nurse and I was such a formidable force as a nurse and tried to brush off comments with humor and knowledge.

The 2010s': This is when it happened to me. I was not going to stay quiet, deflect racists comments any longer. I had three children in Rochester Public Schools and I was a mother bear. Teachers said that boarding schools were created for native people so that they could learn how to get along better with each other. My son had an assignment to make a poster to help draw newly arriving immigrants to his colony. What?  Instead, we made a poster about the 3 native tribes that were driven out of Pennsylvania.  The teacher wrote a simple note that said she was sorry that she had him do the assignment and the assignment he turned in was great. He got an A on it. Such ignorant comments made me so mad that I started the Indian Parent Education Committee during a site visit from the Education Commissioner, Consellius.  I said that I tried for years to work with the district and used my own money to help our children learn about their heritage. I wanted her help to learn how I could formally organize and get help for our children. She put me in touch with her assistant and today we have the American Indian Alaska Native Parent Committee and a school liaison.  We also have the right to wear eagle feathers at graduation.  I will forego the shouting match the superintendent and I had in the parking lot after the meeting with the commissioner. The Century Soccer Team, managed by a white teacher, Houghton, put my son on the B team.  He was such a good player. He had been playing since he was 3 years old and was tough. The kids said that he was placed on the B team because that was the "Brown" team.  Yup, it was true.  There were only white kids on the A team.  Kids could not even play well.  Mercy!  I had enough. I filed an OCR complaint and we now have a full-fledged investigation for 5 years to monitor discipline and other inequities. This was followed up with the MN DHR, which encouraged our district to enlist voluntarily in its program to help districts with poor track records regarding inequities.

Next, came the sad acts at my church against my sons, both brown and beautiful. The stake president and his counselors did all they could to hurt my oldest son who had ADD and RAD.  They followed him. They accused him of so many things. Even of breaking into the church, a charge that was levied by one of the daughters of the bishopric of my church. The seminary program was the worst.  There is much church history that is covert and whitewashed to protect the image of the church. A classic example is the Mountain Meadow Massacre. This was where members of the church dressed up as Indians to protect their own interests and pursue greed. To this day the church states that it was not only church members of the local tribe instigated the massacre.  This is false! I believe the tribe. When my son related the story of the massacre, the seminary teachers accused him of lying and starting trouble.  As luck would have it, the stake president asked us as parents to talk with our children about such matters to help their testimony.  I was doing just as the stake president asked and he turned on me and threw my son out of seminary. Where was the love? Where was the help from the Priesthood? It was horrible. The last straw is when the stake president's counselor Brian Cragun came to our house with the police and said my son was seen at the church over the weekend and he needed to stop trespassing. He had witnesses who saw my son!  Too bad Brian Cragun, we were out of town over the weekend, in fact, we were in Arizona! Time after time off comments kept coming. A general RS president said to our women's group, "Do you want to see a video about some Indians?" What?  Was I invisible?  I was there to get training from her?  Another stalwart family said that they wanted to string up Obama with a rope.  We invited this stalwart family to my son's BD party and she was holding the rope of the pinata.  The current stake president said in a conference that we were all immigrants to this country.  My daughter, who knows our creation stories, asked, "What about us? We have been born here and have always been here in this land."  Sad. There are no POC in leadership positions in this stake, and it's sad. Racists members of the church do exist and it's scary.  They hold leadership positions. They are stake presidents, bishops, RS presidents, seminary teachers, and so forth. Again, I prayed to Heavenly Father to understand why we, as native people, my family had to be subjected to this racism. The only answer I received is that these people have a responsibility to be in these positions.  They have to learn. Soon thereafter, two non-white apostles were called to lead the church as well, and it is my prayer that the church will seriously examine its practices and live up to the great charge we all have been given to be like the Savior.

2020s': Just when I thought I could no longer attend church, COVID 19 struck and we have been unable to attend church and instead have services in our home. Praise be!  Something good that came out of this terrible pandemic. I feel the Lord is giving us all a chance to live up to our covenants and help the leadership see how the church needs help with racist attitudes. His name be praised!

I now work at Mayo Clinic and there again, racist attitudes abound despite Mayo's attempt to have people live up to its values.  I believe the majority of the leadership in their lofty strongholds or offices believe and practice these values.  I know that at least one does, Jeff Bolton. He understands the native plight, but where I am, in the trenches with patients, we have a long way to go!!!  An attending physician actually said that he knew that native patients were very passive and cooperative.  He said this when he came upon a prosecuting attorney who was demanding to have a voice in their care. The nurses on 3 Domitilla actually tried to hold me accountable for a patient leaving AMA. Someone said some administrator that this was going to be another CNN story.  Just because I was native and the patient was native, I must have been in cahoots with the patient.  Honestly!  Reports were made.  Nothing was done. I was cleared of any wrongdoing, but no one was held accountable for the horrible treatment this poor patient received and the horrible treatment I received.  Another person, a SW told a patient to go and ask their tribe for help. Another person made fun of the sacred practice of smudging and laughed. A person actually told me that our designated room that we smudge it would never be used for such an act. On and on it goes.

There are many nurses and physicians (residents) who are genuinely concerned about my patients and their cultural practices and want to see them continue despite being hospitalized. These people give me such hope. Also, the leadership continues to give me hope, but I hope they get out of their strongholds and see what we in the trenches have to deal with. I continue to help make Mayo a culturally safe place to be, and it is because there are more that are not racists than those who are.

Now we have the death of George Floyd. So sad. Such a heinous crime by someone who is sworn to protect and serve. It's scary! I have to listen to people frame the protesters as terrible rioters and looters.  Some people have to scream to be heard.  I know that. Some people have to take a chance, stick their necks out, and sadly they get stepped on. People are drawn to the sins of George Floyd, but I am not. He was a human being, deserving of humanity, and compassion. He was given none by a group of 4 policemen who decided to be judge, jury, and executioner.

Today I was asked to be on some task force to address any racist concerns and how best to deal with the sadness and stress that we as POC feel about the horrible crime of murder against George Floyd, but to also deal with systemic racism.  Also, I was asked to attend a meeting for nurses of color to see how we can address the inequities regarding leadership positions at Mayo. There is hope and bravo to Mayo for attempting to cleanse its inner vessel.  It is hard to do.  I know this because I am trying to cleanse my inner vessel and it's hard and it hurts.

I feel that I have begun to address my sadness about the heinous crime against George Floyd.  My heart is a little lighter. I will still feel some fear when my son drives around our small town. Especially my Army Ranger. He won't take anything from anyone. I am afraid to call the police. I am afraid because we are POC. White fragility is real and only growing more intense.

At times like this, I think of my grandparents. They lived through assimilation, removals, and so much loss. They made their peace with so many injustices throughout their lives. They were such humble and giving people. Through their example, I have learned to be kind, compassionate, never back down from injustice, be willing to teach and learn, remember to help your people, and above all, worship the Creator. There is more to this life and we will return to live with Him again.

We are still here

It is out of sadness that write today, but I still have hope.

I attended a three day conference on Race and Racism. The Science Museum of MN catered teachings on racism to reflect our community in Rochester. It was a wonderful three days though it was hard and we had to confront our own biases and those of others.  During the conference, one morning the leaders of the seminar held a moment of silence for my people, whose land this once was.  It was a lovely gesture and it made me cry.  I remain committed to ending racism in Rochester and I remain true to my faith and my people.  I kept and journal during the conference as was required, and I will continue to keep a RACE journal going forward.  It will not always be posted as a blog like today, but I felt a yearning to write.

My people go back to Chief Thunder > Glory of the Morning (b.1620-30), on my grandfather's line and back 7 generations on Joseph Sabrevior Decaris's (b.1630) line.  All these have had their temple blessings  done as well, as I believe in the restoration of the church of Jesus Christ. At any rate, a proud people, here before time was, created in the image of the Creator > Heavenly Father.  This land, given to my people to safeguard and to be stewards of. This is my history.  Even Glory of the Morning fought for the survival of her people and so too it is with me, to bring the truth in the light and to move our people forward in hope, looking forward to the return of the Creator, Himself.

Our church is quite proud of their genealogy commitment.  I had my complete line all the way back to Chief Thunder, and suddenly one day it was gone.  Someone with the last name of SMITH completely changed my family history.  I was beyond shocked.  I was speechless.  It was as if a part of me was lost.  I can't even look on the site without crying.  I am looking into other sites, who do not do such heinous things to people's precious family trees.  Someone actually replaced Glory of the Morning with Mrs. DeCarrie.  It's still painful.  Yet their work has been completed and I need to move forward.

Now to today, which set me on a path to write, to rid myself of the pain and anguish which I feel.  Today in church, our stake president, a goodly man, in an attempt to help us see that we have more things in common than we do our differences asked all those who were first generation immigrants to raise their hand.  This continued until we got the the 7th generation of immigrants.  I waited to hear that only NA's should have their hands down, but alas nothing further was said.  Now this was done to help us as a church be less biased and to stop the racism in the church or our stake in Zion.  There it was, the perpetuation of the racism I face each day.  The racism my children face each day.  We are invisible.  We are not here.  We have been dealt with.  Just as the French and the British have done before; put us in our place and moved forward with their acts of genocide and greed.

At first I felt surprised and then I felt sad. This is my church, and again, I and my family were being ignored, disregarded, and forgotten.  It just keeps happening over and over again.  it happens at work, especially with the SW's, it happens in the community, especially with the Park Department, and now in what is to be my refuge. What more can HF ask of me?  I keep going despite the hardship. Do my children see?  Do they see that I acknowledge the injustices and see that I continue to rise above their fray and move forward, only side lined for a day or two, but always moving forward.

I hope my children can move forward, not color blind like so many ask us to be, by trying to white wash the situation and see everyone as white or colorless. Or I hope they try not to appease anyone by being politically correct never confronting racism.  I hope they rise above the efforts by the dominant society to silence us POC, through the termination of the discussion before it even begins by setting up their norms to LIGHTLY address biases.  I will not always be here and my children need to be strong.

Glory of the Morning did what she had to, to ensure her people's survival, so too it is with me. She survived two regimes, the ire of her people after she became a Chieftess, and the ever changing landscape of her homelands given to her by the Creator Himself. I do not believe I would have been so brave or resilient to do what she did. I need to be strong for my children and my people. We are still here even if others do not see it or acknowledge it. 

Beginning a new phase for GOM.  Sent my story/book  to the Minnesota Historical Society.  They will review in and get back to me in 6 weeks.  Very semi-exciting.

She was the first Ho-Chunk woman mentioned in writing at the WHS. 

In my query letter, I said that the WHS was a champion of GOM.  It's true and they are.  They are also very cognizant of our Ho-Chunk history.

On the downside, someone, with the last name of Smith, changed my ancestry on Family Search.  They complete took Glory of the Morning out of my family tree.  How dare they!  This person, undoubtedly NOT a DeCora or a descendant called her Mrs. Decarrie.  The nerve!  Family Search was NOT helpful at all.  They said I had to work it out with her.  What!!!??? I have spent YEARS doing my family history and someone named Smith changed it all.  They took out Joseph and Glory of the Morning's children, his parents, and her father.  This was more than I could bear.  I refuse to use Family Search again.  Such a facade!  I have to search for a new genealogy site to keep my records.   I know why Kathleen Schell said to watch what I put out there on the web regarding my family tree.  I didn't know anyone can go into Family Search and change MY family tree.  NEVER again!!!

Glory of the Morning was Joseph's wife, in Indian custom, pure and simple.  They did not need a minister, pastor or priest.  They were wed through Mauna and our sacred ceremonies.  Tired of the colonizers controlling our history.  Idle no more!

Life and living, then and now

Glory of the Morning.  A new phase for this blog.  I am ever amazed how GOM blazed her own path.  Despite being steeped in tradition, she married Joseph, had children, was a Chieftess, and lived to be 120.  She lived to see so many changes, many harmful to her people.  I remember my Choka, when he was praying, he was 94, and he said his prayer in English at first and caught himself and began again in Ho-Chunk.  He said that he was happy that he was living...I will never forget that. All he talked about was dying and going to be with Gram again, yet in his prayers he thanked HF for living. 

GOM, my Choka and Gram had the courage to live their lives.  It is what it takes to live our lives in this day.  So much hate and division.  Not unlike the French Regime and then the English Regime for GOM.  We adapted then and must do the same today. Grateful for her courage.  Grateful that she cared for her people and her family.

I finished my book about GOM.  I need to start sending it out to publishers.  I sent it to the WHS, but never heard back from Dr. Edmonds.  I told him he could have the first look at it.  Perhaps he was sad that it was not a piece of non fiction.  There were too many things that called to me to make it fiction.  Gordon Thunder said that it should be so, and I followed his counsel.  It's what you do when you ask an Elder for advice.  I am happy with it.  Glad to have written about GOM and her life.

Glory of the Morning: Who holds your fate?

Glory of the Morning: Who holds your fate?: This picture of Doty Island gives me strength.  I can still remember the first time I saw it and read Jonathan Carver's account of his...

Who holds your fate?

This picture of Doty Island gives me strength.  I can still remember the first time I saw it and read Jonathan Carver's account of his first encounter with Glory of the Morning and her people.  I believe I was standing right where the camp was, right by a very old enormous willow tree, and I could almost envision Carver coming around the bend.  I will never forget that feeling.

Today, there is much talk about the doom of the Trump Administration on Indians or Native Americans. When have we ever fared well with any POTUS and their administration???  We have persevered under the most dire circumstances, even Jackson.  My people survived and so did my gram's people and we will survive and thrive under Trump, because of OUR resilience, if we draw upon the strength of our ancestors and our Elders.  I have no doubt.  Mauna will be merciful to us.  He knows our plight, but he expects us to do our part.

I have written to every POTUS since Carter, and have asked for an apology from the US government for its treatment of its first inhabitants.  I have already done this with Trump.  I have even taken the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs to task and charged them with negligence of their oaths. Please.

On March 8th, there is a meeting of the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs, 838 Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, D.C. 20510, at 2:30pm.  I intend to write to this so called committee and ask them what they know about Indian Affairs.  What does Trump's priorities matter?  When were any of them on an Indian Reservation?

We need to stand more united and rely on our Elders for guidance.  What good is our rich culture if there are no people there to act upon prophecies, the teachings, the ways, and the language?  Trump or any president will never hold my fate in his hands.  It is Mauna that I put my trust in and will continue to do my part.

Glory of the Morning met with King Louis' assorted governors of France, met with British envoys, and other Chiefs, always presenting the cause of the Ho-Chunk.  We fared good and bad under these hapless white men, yet we are here.  Glory of the Morning never stopped and it continues to this day with President Cleveland.  Aho! 

GOM to 2016: Conscience subconscious

Even from GOM's time, the normalization of the maltreatment of Native Americans was beginning to set deep within the cortex of the immigrants brain.  

The French and English recognized GOM as a peace chief of her people at Doty Island, and recognized the Chiefs of other Nations, but still sought to rob and plunder our people and others of their lands and culture, while never understanding that we were a thriving people, complete with our own form of government, inter-tribal relations, and culture and traditions that provided every person with a purpose within their realm.  Every person understood their place in the universe.  They were placed here by the Creator himself, charged with specific responsibilities such that worship of the Creator was daily.

Yet, Native Americans were viewed as being incapable of realizing the full value of their land, minerals, and other resources.  Furthermore, we were not spiritual beings, because we did not pray or worship as the colonists.  This mindset was being carefully crafted as their consciences began to prick their hearts and such stories as being led by the hand of God; it is what brought them here, after all.  This narrative of Native Americans formed deep within their psyche, as it was needed to justify their inhumane and unconscionable actions. 

God isn't capable of lying, therefore, whatever we do to Native Americans is therefore sanctioned by a higher, divine power.  This doctrine of discovery attitude began to take root and embraced by all those who came here under duress, strife, hunger, and by whatever means brought them here.  They had a divine right to rob us, rape us, pillage, plunder, lie, steal, assimilate, kill, poison, drown, hang, and do whatever they can to us, because we were considered to be less than, because of the way we lived, dressed, looked and talked.

Today, the Dakota Access Pipe Line protestors and water protectors won their first victory when the Army Corps of Engineers refused to grant another illegal permit to the Oil Development Company from Texas, to continue its building of a pipe line that would run through the sacred lands of the Dakota, adjacent to their reservation, and possibly poison the water used by the people of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, which I feel was given to us because of our veterans or warriors.

Now comes the postmortem of the entire event.  The questions most supporters of the complete halt of the pipe line project is: Why didn't mainstream media cover the event in more detail?  Where was justice?  How could the local law enforcement water cannon, shoot rubber bullets and set attack dogs on the unarmed water protectors?  How could the armed white militants who overtook a federal facility get full media coverage and away with their actions, while local law enforcement turned a blind eye?

I think the answer to this is as old as the first invasion of the colonist on our land.  This is not a narrative that the US wants to hear about themselves.  The treatment of the water protectors stirs up old memories of the atrocities the immigrants committed against us long ago.  It stirs up remembrance of broken treaties, Chiefs made drunk, forced removals and assimilation to get gain and ease consciences.  Broken treaties and social injustices committed against a people once, twice conquered do not fit the US's view of itself.  The US and its immigrant people only want to hear stories that fit their narrative, stories that reaffirm their view of the US Nation, stories that are a part of the national conversation.  Injustices against the water protectors or Native Americans do not fit in the national conversation.

The cultural brutality that is happening in this country TODAY against Native Americans, as clearly and overtly demonstrated in Standing Rock, against an impoverished, voiceless group of people, stripped of all they had through deviant treaties and then repatriated back again through limiting acts of broken congress, just doesn't fit into the US Nation's view of itself.  No, it can't because it is deeply embedded within its conscience and  to its subconscious,  bubbling and oozing back and forth across the blood-brain barrier.

What is better to focus on by the water protectors is how to keep this rekindled Native American activism going.  How can we keep this united force of indigenous peoples going?  We need to wake up from our forced slumber and idle no more!  Let us continue to regain our sense of being, our sense of purpose and prepare the way for our people to take full and complete charge of our original responsibilities as keepers of this land.  We need to reach deep within our subconscious and remember who we were and then we can become who we were meant to be.

Glory of the Morning: Betrayal of GOM

Glory of the Morning: Betrayal of GOM: Today was a particularly difficult day.  The feeling of being alone is palpable.  I worked so hard to have an Indian Education Program her...

Betrayal of GOM

Today was a particularly difficult day.  The feeling of being alone is palpable.  I worked so hard to have an Indian Education Program here in Rochester.  I tussled with the superintendent, I was lied to by the district for 9 years, listened to them tell me that we had to have more Indian kids and then 20 parents, such humiliation.  Yet, nothing compares to today.  With my help, the Rochester Public Schools received 45K in Dayton monies and there will be more to follow once we get title  VII monies.  Once the district hired an Indian Student Liaison, Guthrie C., and that was it.  The bylaws I wrote were ignored, we couldn't hold elections, and I ended up signing an agreement that stated I approved of all that the district was doing.  After today, I feel duped.

I think I now know how my ancestors felt by signing a treaty, not fully realizing what lie ahead.  I have been betrayed.  

How?  The Indian Student Liaison failed to invite my family to the first celebration of our Indian kids in Rochester.  He invited all of the other families, except mine.  There was a news story in the paper with Betty and Shirley's picture in the paper, along with Guthrie, celebrating the student event that I had longed to see.  Their pictures were there as if they  had done all of the work to get the program started.  As if they made all of the sacrifices, took all of the heat, was yelled at by the super, lied to by the assist super and numerous other admins., contacted the state legislators and got the money for our kids.  Such betrayal.

I think I have a small inkling of how GOM felt when up to 1/2 the tribe left for the Lake Pepin area, because the General Council made her their peace Chief.  That must have been hard to live through.  It must have been lonely and scary to watch her tribe fight.  Today, even the clans that supported her have stopped talking about her.  It is as if they are ashamed of her.  They hide her legacy even though she is the most sought out woman at the Wisconsin Historical Society.  

I will try to take heart that she was bold enough to step up and assume the position she was asked to take. 

Glory of the Morning: We all need God's grace...

Glory of the Morning: We all need God's grace...: People often ask me what American Indians think about the Fourth of July.  I say in jest, I am not all American Indians so keep on asking.  ...

We all need God's grace...

People often ask me what American Indians think about the Fourth of July.  I say in jest, I am not all American Indians so keep on asking.  However, those that listen, I tell them that I have mixed feelings about the holiday, because while some were gaining their freedoms, we were slowly losing ours.

With this admission, some people feel that I am not "patriotic" and that is true, I am not a patriot.
I am Henook Pinga.  I am a Ho-Chunk woman. I am the grand daughter of Henry and Marie Decorah, daughter of Vera Kingbird.  I am a mother, a wife, a registered nurse, and so many other things, including a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and a member of the Bear Clan.  As a member of Jesus Christ's church, I am endowed with promises from on high, just as my ancestors were, if I remain true to all that Mauna has asked of me.  This sacred charge has been restored through the ordinances which the church holds.  As a member of the Bear Clan, I protect my own.

Alas, some people want to compare their "patriotism" with my mixed feelings, especially those in my church.  It matters very little to me what they think, but I am tired. One more time.

God did not scatter and kill our people.  No, it was the immigrants to this land, seeking asylum from their persecutions that ultimately ended up persecuting us, killing us, pillaging our lands, and taking away our God given freedoms.  Irony is a hard thing, but no, the end does not justify the means.  The papal bull did not grant anyone the freedom to try and annihilate another people.  The constitution, which did not include American Indians in the phrase "all men are created equal," did not give anyone permission to exterminate, commit genocide, rape, pillage, steal, or commit mass murder against its original inhabitants.

I think God allowed this to happen to our people to stand as a witness against those that committed these atrocities, and one day, all will be set to right.  Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, our people need not slumber any more.

With respect to our courage, bravery, integrity, and our God given charge to care of these lands which we love, my grandfather, Henry Decorah along with his father, Foster Decorah and his brothers and numerous cousins, all Ho-Chunk Warriors, volunteered for WWI to fight for our land and our God given freedoms, even though we were not considered citizens of the United States of America.  No, we were considered to be lower than the dust, yet these brave Ho-Chunk Warriors were part of the Red Arrow Division, who heroically pierced the Hindenburg Line.  A major turning point in WWI.

My great grandfather paid the ultimate sacrifice and is buried in Chateau de Thierry, France.

Furthermore, every one of my uncles and two of my aunts were in the Armed Forces.  Ho-Chunks, men and women, and other American Indians in general have the highest enlistment rate given their population density than any other race in these United States.  Ho-Chunks honor, even revere their Warriors, so do not speak to me about your "patriotism."

American Indians were given stewardship of these lands from the Creator Himself, and as far as I am aware, everyone of my ancestors paid the price of that responsibility over and over again, and are still paying for this sacred responsibility, yet take this charge very seriously.  So please, do not speak to me of your patriotism, unless you want to hear about our sacrifices, our stewardship, our love of land and family.

In an attempt to wrestle with these mixed emotions, a poem was penned.  It was set to the words of a song which causes great consternation within me as I think of all that our ancestors had to undergo, and the ramifications of which many of my people still struggle with today, while glorifying and overlooking the numerous atrocities committed in the name of God and freedom.


Awake From Our Slumber
(inspired by American the Beautiful {Bates} by Valerie DeCora Guimaraes)

Home of the free
  Thriving, dancing, praying
Land of the brave
  Taken from our cradles, slumbering
Pilgrim's feet
  Trampling across our ancestors, desecrating
A top purple mountain majesties
God shed his grace on thee.

Liberating strife
  Babes taken, shackled, removing
The banner of the free
  Assimilation, kinships, defiling
Thine alabaster cities gleam, gold
  Made drunken, lost, scattering
Undimmed by human suffering
God shed his grace on thee.

O beautiful for patriot dream
  Prayers ascend, our Elders, leading
Every gain divine
  Resilience in traditions, transforming
Who more than self, loved
  No more slumber, speaking
Crown thy goodness
God shed his grace on thee.

Can you write an article about the Ho-Chunk for the Mankato Free Press?

A Ho-Chunk with Dakota ancestry Musings

I have been asked to submit an article for the Mankato Free Press.  Mankato, hmm, I must think.  When I think of Mankato, though I have been to the Dakota 38 ride event in December, and to its recent powwows, what I most remember is the first time I went to Mankato was the first inter-tribal powwow that was held there in the 70s’, maybe a little earlier.  Such is the memory of a child.

I lived with my grandparents, Henry and Marie Decorah.  Henry or Choka, was a full-blood Ho-Chunk from Portage, Wisconsin and Marie Crow, was a full-blood Dakota from Santee, South Dakota.  I attended many powwows with my grandparents.  They were usually held on the reservations in Minnesota, Iowa, South Dakota, or near villages in Wisconsin, but the Mankato Powwow that year was the first powwow held in Mankato since the mass hanging of the Dakota 38, plus 2 (though some feel there was one or two Ho-Chunks hung in this heroic group of men and boys).

My grandmother was especially excited for this powwow.  I remember comments like, “It will be good for us to be there” and “It is going to be a special powwow and I want to be there.”  My grandfather was afraid of what the community might think, afterall there was that sign that still hung in the city.  What sign?  I clearly remember that I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I did understand that whatever they were talking about was serious, and I kept quiet and listened as we prepared to go to Mankato.

The powwow was, as I recall, was held in a ball field.  We camped in a tent near other families that we knew, mostly from St. Paul.  The surroundings were not familiar to me.  I had planned to dance fancy shawl, much to the dismay of my grandparents, but they supported me nonetheless.  A lost art of Indian parenting from the greatest generation, assimilation and all.  My Gram helped me to get ready.  My Choka put our chairs near the arena.  All seemed to go on as any other powwow we attended.

There were Dakota and Ho-Chunk people there.  Famlies that I knew who loved to dance and get together.  While we were dancing, the emcee, I don’t remember his name, said that there were eagles overhead.  Emcees announced many things, but this did not seem unusual.  The drumming and dancing continued.  Soon he said that there were several eagles overhead and urged us to look up.  I did.  I saw the eagles flying right over the arena.  We all kept dancing, but a swell of voices could be heard over the singing.

Soon the emcee started to count the eagles that flew over the dancing arena.  I remember he said, “...eleven, twelve” and then “twenty” and his voice cracked when he said, “thirty-one, thirty-two...”  Suddenly the drumming and dancing stopped.  The emcee, choking back tears, said, “There is one eagle for every man who was hung here in Mankato.”  I looked up and saw a large number of eagles flying right over the dancing arena.

Though I was a child, I knew that there was something special happening.  The emcee was crying, not something you see very often from a Dakota man or any Indian man.  I looked toward where my Gram was sitting, and she was crying.  I ran over to her and put my arms around her shoulder.  I asked her why she was crying.  She told me to look up and see what was going on and listen to the emcee. 

Soon after the eagles started to separate and fly away.

This is my memory of this day.  I don’t remember what the arena director said or what my grandparents said after this incident.  I do remember how I felt after we resumed dancing, I felt proud.  I felt that I had been a part of something very sacred and that I should remember what I had seen.

Much time has passed and I am no longer a child.  I know my Dakota and Ho-chunk history.  I have been angry about broken dubious treaties, evil bounties and discrimination. I have been saddened by health and educational disparities, alcoholism and suicide.  When I find it hard to continue I think about my grandparents.  I start to remember how much courage it took for them to simply live their lives after undergoing removals, genocidal tactics, assimilation, and relocation. 

I now know just how much attending that powwow in Mankato meant to my Gram.  I better understand the significance of the eagles flying overhead the dancing arena.  It was a sign from the Creator, from our ancestors to keep going and never forget.

GOM Legacy

Last week I met a nice young man whose last name was Decorah. Ah, a relative, right here in Rochester, MN.  He was a student, a freshman no less, at RCTC.  

I was there with Mr. Art Owen, to address the Native American Studies class, which was being taught by a white man, of course, such is Rochester's legacy.  When the class discussion turned to the Ghost Dance and the Sundance, well Art wanted me to investigate.  I did and now, there we were, in a small class, with students of every age, not talking about the Ghost Dance and sharing what we could about the Sundance.

After the class, the two Decorah's spotted one another.  Who are your parents and grandparents?  The "who are your people" test.  I knew his people, but he didn't know mine, which was age related.  I was considerably older than he was, and that is okay.  Neither of us would want to change places with the other.  As we spoke about our Ho-Chunk heritage and involvement in the tribe, he said something very odd.

"When you go to the General Council, you have to sit with your clans...we don't have a clan."

Ah, yes, it all started with Glory of the Morning and Joseph Sabrevior Decaris, I know.  He went on to explain what clan he thought he was and so did I.  He thought his dad said they were Thunder and I said my Choka told me that we were Eagle. 

There we stood, at RCTC in 2016, discussing if we had a clan or not.  I said that I was "issued" a clan by the enrollment office; Bear.  He was told that he was Bear too.  I told him what I knew, from the enrollment office tribal genealogist: when there is no Ho-Chunk father, then you have to go by the mother's clan.  Not a well-liked choice per the purest of the tribe, who all have Ho-Chunk fathers, as if Ho-Chunk mother's were a thing of naught.  Shame on you!  

Only one time in modern Ho-Chunk history did the Elders change the tradition.  This was after the harsh removal from Wisconsin during the 1800s', when many of the women were impregnated by white army officers.  A Council of Elders (not a General Council) was held and they decided to let these women keep their clans, so that their children would not be clan-less.    Another decision made under dire circumstances. Many Ho-Chunk families were affected by this decision and their clans remain in tact today.  I know their names.

Respectfully speaking, though to the point, well known Ho-Chunk families have clans even though their mother's, grandmother's and great-grandmother's were robbed of their virtue and their children do not have Ho-Chunk fathers, but Glory of the Morning who married outside of the tribe in the 1600s', can not have a clan.  Is this right? Shame on you!

From my research, Ho-Chunk women will do anything for their male relatives, children, families, and the tribe.  Early Ho-Chunk women were fierce.  They were not afraid to die or fight.  Such is the legacy of Ho-Chunk women, but what of Glory of the Morning?

As I have pondered her legacy, I realize that Glory of the Morning's legacy was not to leave her descendants without a clan, that was the subsequent tribal leadership who wielded their authority and made her a thing of naught.  As the tribe, and tribal leadership have struggled to be unified, clan assignments were made with best guesses per a scattered and somewhat assimilated Ho-Chunk membership.

No, Glory of the Morning's legacy was not to leave her descendants without a clan.  Per the sacred visit quest dream of her sons, we can have any clan we choose.  In essence, we can have them all!  After all, Joseph was adopted into the tribe and given a name and a clan.  Both of these individuals were real, courageous, and did what they could for their people and their children.  Joseph left the sons with Glory of the Morning, and he took the young girl to be raised by his family. It was their choice.

For me, Glory of the Morning's legacy was to have her descendants seek out their lineage and remember from whence they came.   We have come from fiercely individual, courageous, and purposeful stock.  Glory of the Morning was a Peace Chief who proved herself through heroic actions.  Such warrior-like actions of women who followed her,  as Yellow-headed Woman and countless other Ho-Chunk women who have served in the military.  Glory of the Morning chose to marry outside of the Ho-Chunk Nation to benefit her village and her people, and perhaps, out of love.  

This is my lineage: Glory of the Morning had two sons and a daughter with Joseph Decaris, Spoon, Buzzard and Henu.  We descend from Spoon>Shachipkaka>White Woman>Foster>Doctor>Choka>Vera>me.  My Ho-Chunk women are NOT a thing of naught!  And when and if I attend a General Council meeting, I will sit wherever I damn well please!!

Glory of the Morning's legacy was to show her descendants a way to live life despite its hardships.  She didn't make herself a Chief, that was the General Council's doing.  That was a decision that was made under extreme circumstances. Why should our people be ashamed of this?  She did what needed to be done.  Such is the characteristic of all Ho-Chunk women of Glory of the Morning's time and mine.  My Choka's uncle Russius Decorah's daughter, Adelia, is a perfect example of a strong, courageous, outspoken, and knowledgeable example of Glory of the Morning's legacy.

In time, I hope the legacy that I leave for my children is just as strong, courageous, and valiant as Glory of the Morning's, but as kind, loving, with a bit of defiance as my Gram's, Marie Edith Crow Decorah.

Tired...so very tired.

 Home / Currents / Retired National Park Service Employee to Plead Guilty to Stealing Indian Remains

Retired National Park Service Employee to Plead Guilty to Stealing Indian Remains

So very tired of this.  I am tired of this and so many things.  First, our remains, our artifacts, our culture and traditions treated as a thing of naught.  Treated as a thing of the past, not in line with anything of today, Ancient.  Drivel from the hunter and gather time period.  Taboo, voodoo, superstitious, and almost satanic.  As if we have or had no knowledge.  As if we are not still here!  What we had was pure, albeit misguided at times, but it was pure. We prayed.  We fasted.  We sang songs of worship to the Creator.  We offered up sacrifices for thanks.  Fools, who judged/judge us so harshly to be without God or spirituality, were/are pitifully, woefully, ignorantly and wrong.  Frankly, they are unChrist-like. Our initial teachings came from the Creator himself.  What was Columbus to teach us?  What were the priests to teach us?  If they were wise, they would have listened to us.  Counseled with us.  Learned about us before they killed, raped, robbed, and assimilated us.  Instead, to acknowledge, they toss us crumbs from the table.

In DMC, the Park Board of Rochester put a white man on a committee along with a host of other white people and refused to let us true natives speak about Indian Heights Park.  It was MY ancestors that worshiped there, yet they turned to each other and a white man for our point of view.  Scandalous.  As if we are not here.  After I wrote a pointed op ed, they tossed us a crumb and let us speak for 5 minutes before their meeting about our sacred place.  I took that crumb, and along with Leonard Wabasha, we made bread baby!  I spent that 5 minutes very well!  I showed how the white people of Olmsted County systematically and very intentionally plowed up our burial mounds.  The white people wanted proof of our existence here in DMC.  Please!  Indian Heights Park was preserved.  They could not deny the truth or those that had the TRUTH!

We are still here, yet our culture, values, spirituality, traditions, expressions of beliefs, songs and the like are stolen by those who exercise white privilege.  They adopt our ways or they are adopted by some well meaning Indian family and think they are automatically native.  Not so!  There is a group right here in DMC, the NAC of SE MN.  A legit group back in the day, but no more.  It is filled with wannabees and NO natives.  They host a Native American Art Expo every year, but there isn't any true native art.  How does this go on?  We are still here, yet our art is available for any wannabee to take and sell as ours. 

They say they can pray with our pipes and tobacco for healing and other ceremonies.  We are still here, yet our ways are taken by those hoping to make some mazz or dejope from our spiritual ways.  How can this happen? Our ways are protected by law.  I hope to make this very clear next week in a meeting with Mother Mayo and Mr. Art Owen.  We will help them understand that you cannot have just anyone conduct sacred ceremonies.  We are still here and we will address these issues as we deem necessary.

I am tired of people saying that I am playing the race card when I address these issues.  You are arrogant and self-righteous and you are exercising your white privilege when you say this to me. Did you know that? Well, you are!  I am still here and yet you talk as if I am not here.  As if I am not at church with you.  As if I am not in the same meeting as you are.  As if I do not know the laws relative to Human Rights, Education, health care, city ordinances, and so on.  Your laws were/are designed to oppress me. Did you know that?  Well they are!  I have researched these laws and know how to protect myself, but when I exercise my rights and my freedoms, I am playing the race card. I am so very tired.

 

So today I read about a white man, who was hired and paid to protect our natural and sacred spaces, who has been robbing our graves for over 15 years.  (Just as his ancestors before him I suspect).  This is so typical and the story of the USA.  Obviously, we are unable or incapable of managing our sacred spaces ourselves.  Isn't that their thinking?  We need the BIA, the Department of Interior, the IHS, the NPS, and the like to manage our sacred spaces and our selves. It is stories like this that help me realize just how tired I am.

I am tired, but while I have breath, I will continue to fight for my people and our rights.  Despite the people who desire that I fall in line, surrender, know my place, get over it, I will continue to raise the alarm, awareness, the flag, my voice, and my prayers to Mauna, for strength that He may lift me as if on eagles wings, for I am tired.

Glory of the Morning: My son Sam earned his Eagle Scout rank last wee...

Glory of the Morning:


My son Sam earned his Eagle Scout rank last wee...: My son Sam earned his Eagle Scout rank last week.  For his Eagle Scout Service Project, Sam collected and delivered 1046 pairs of shoes fo...

My son Sam earned his Eagle Scout rank last week.  For his Eagle Scout Service Project, Sam collected and delivered 1046 pairs of shoes for the good people of Crow Creek Indian Reservation in South Dakota.  I posted his picture with his sash of over 24 merit badges on FB.

Just yesterday a friend of mine posted a picture of a poor white boy wearing sad looking outfit with a fake feather bustle and the punchline was:  I made it in boy scouts.

This just hurt.

Several months ago, while searching for help with Sam's endless Eagle Scout application, I came across some disturbing images of little scrawny white boys wearing sad outfits, head dresses, war paint and the like.  These disturbing images were from some sub organization of the BSA; the order of the arrow.

This just hurt and made me mad.

After I witnessed these disturbing images, I sent a little to the BSA headquarters and also to my church, who STRONGLY supports the BSA.  I urged both entities to reconsider the shameless practices of mocking our sacred traditions, attire and the like, and reach out to Native American tribes for assistance and much needed EDUCATION.  I urged them to seek help from Indian leaders if they wanted to continue to use our heritage as a means to strengthen the organization.  No word from the BSA, but I have been chided by my church, sigh.

After my friend posted his picture of the sad little boys in sad little Native attire, I posted a comment, and again, no word, and it was removed, hence my blog today.

I am very proud of my sons for completing and earning their Eagle Scout rank.  I am very proud that both of my sons chose to honor and help the people of the Crow Creek Indian Reservation.  I am very pleased that they as native sons, looked beyond themselves and saw the needs of others and carried out a plan to help our people.

Crow Creek is part of our history.  My grandmother's people, their great-grandmother was a full-blood Dakota.  My grandfather's people, their great-grandfather was a full-blood Ho-Chunk.  Both of these great Nations were exiled from Minnesota in 1862, to the Crow Creek Indian Reservation.  Many people lost their lives in this forced removal for the want of food and for the treaties to be honored.

To my people I saw, if you don't like the way the BSA portrays us, speak up, stand up and reach out.  Speak up and write a little to your local council and to the head quarters of the BSA.  We cannot tolerate ignorance or cultural incompetency. 

Stand up and be counted.  Do you know about the Scouting Program?  If not, learn about it.  There are some excellent values that are being taught by very culturally competent leaders.  The scouting programs helps boys become well rounded men.  If you are Native, the BSA can compliment your teachings and our ways.

Reach out and volunteer to help the BSA learn to how respectfully treat our ways.  Help them to know that it is terribly offensive to see scrawny little white boys in head dresses and war paint.  Teach them that only true warriors or a a true Chief can wear head dresses.  Each of those feathers were earned in courageous ways. I would NOT let my sons participate in Scouts unless I taught the Indian Lore Badge.  They were taught well and true.

To the BSA and to my Church, if you want to continue to use our ways to convey a message of brotherhood and bonding within the BSA, this can be done without making a mockery and stereotyping out traditions and sacred ceremonies.  Please, please reach out to those who know and learn how we can work together for the good of young men and boys.

I am glad that my sons chose the best of both of their worlds and participated in BSA, and earned their Eagle Scout rank by helping our people in a good way.  Many thanks to their good Scout Master Brent Spencer.  You, and with the help of their father,  learned leadership skills and learned how to make and follow through with their goals.  In all this, my sons chose to honor their heritage and our people.  Waste!  Pinagigi!

Glory of the Morning: Glory of the Morning: Our ways are protected: A DM...

Glory of the Morning: Glory of the Morning: Our ways are protected: A DM...: Glory of the Morning: Our ways are protected: A DMC tale : Here is a marker tree located in the Indian Heights Park area.  I love this tree,...

Glory of the Morning: Our ways are protected: A DMC tale

Glory of the Morning: Our ways are protected: A DMC tale: Here is a marker tree located in the Indian Heights Park area.  I love this tree, because as much as Rochester tries to hide its Dakota ro...