Category: Native American

500 Years of Genocide

I went to listen to the senior seminar of a student that I’ve had the good fortune to work with over the past few months today.  Quinn will be graduating with a degree in psychology and was speaking to the problem of suicide in Native American communities in the U.S. and the connection to adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) and inter-generational trauma.

Her presentation was excellent overall and gave me something particularly new to think about.  I’ve heard the comparison over the years between the holocaust and Native genocide. Quinn pointed out a key difference.  Many of the survivors of the holocaust were able to leave the concentration camps when the war was over.  That’s not an option in this case, at  least not for the vast majority.

I am reminded of my old friend Walt Bresette. Walt was Anishinaabe from the Red Cliff Indian Reservation on the shores of Lake Superior.  He would often go around speaking to groups about mining and other environmental issues and he would tell these largely non-Native groups– We must come to recognize this place as our home. We don’t do that.  We tend to believe that if we don’t live here we can live there.  It’s not that way for the Anishanaabe.  For the Anishanaabe this place is home.  This was where the creator led them, to this place where the food grows on water, that food we call wild rice.

So, we look at the history of Native people in the U.S. forced into small corners of their home,  these corners we call reservations, as part of the torture.  So, on the reservation is the place of torture because it is what remains of the home and off the reservation is the place of torture because it is the part of the home that was stolen.

What do we do with that?

I’m thinking about all this not only because of Quinn’s presentation, but because I lost an old friend and mentor this past week.  He was shot.  His nephew shot him.  A middle-aged Indian had his brains blown out by a somewhat younger Indian.  Why? No one really knows.  I doubt the nephew really even fully knows why he pulled that trigger.

What I do keep thinking is that while that young man pulled the trigger, a whole society, a society of which I am a part, murdered my friend.

The stealing of land, the failure to tell the truth of history, the economic, environmental, and social acts of destruction aimed toward the Indigenous people of this land for the past 500+ years, told that young man who he is.  Those actions helped him define his own view of himself and determine his response to the world.  Every action leads somewhere.  Quinn spoke today of inter-generational trauma and ACEs impact on the high levels of suicide in Native American communities.  I suspect the same is true for acts of violence and for deaths due to drug and alcohol overdoses as well.

Until we, as a society, really deeply and sincerely address those underlying causes, until we speak the truth of the history,  mourn together, and change our actions, we are still engaging in genocide every day and every moment of each day.

The Boarding Schools Continue

I was a foster parent for a bit over a year before I moved to Morris.  It gave me an opportunity to learn quite a bit about the foster care system in Minnesota as well as to care pretty deeply about some profoundly hurt children.

The foster care system in Minnesota is a lot like that in other states.  It needs systemic change.  Wonderful, caring people work within the system.  They are overworked, under prepared for their roles, often lacking cultural competence for working with the groups that they interact with, and eventually just burned out.

There’s a piece though that troubles me most deeply about how the system works.  Here in Minnesota that piece goes back to 1871 with the opening of the White Earth Indian School.   The White Earth Indian School was one of sixteen boarding schools in Minnesota, the largest of which was on the campus where I now work.  The Morris Industrial School for Indians which was begun by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy and later run by the Federal Government had over 2000 students during its 22 year history from 1887 to 1909.  These schools were where Minnesota lived out that idea made famous by Capt. Richard H. Pratt, who founded the Carlisle School in Pennsylvania, “Kill the Indian. Save the man.”

Native children were kidnapped. Their hair was cut. They were denied their traditional diets and forced to speak only English.  They could no longer practice their own spiritual beliefs or learn from their elders.  Entire generations began to lose a sense of who they were.  We know now that this loss has fed into many of the challenges that our Native communities face today.  We understand that the destruction of the Native diet has led to diabetes, heart disease, depression, and other illnesses. We know that people need a sense of family and self to stay clean of drugs and to succeed economically and emotionally.  We know that many of the elders who lived through the boarding schools still carry the trauma and that those experiences are handed down one way or another.

Why does that matter?  Well, here in Minnesota 2% of the population is Native. Yet, over 20% of the children in foster care are Native.  In 1871, maybe the Federal government didn’t understand the culture of the Native people and how the community raised children.  Maybe they really thought they were doing something good.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that today we know better.  Today we know that it’s wrong to simply kidnap those children, cut their hair, take away their language and their beliefs, and feed them poison.  Yet we continue.

The system needs to change.  Stop putting Native kids in foster care at record rates.  Instead, feed them good food, bring back their languages, let them learn their history and their values, honor their communities.

The Red Dress

Image may contain: people standing and outdoor

Miigwetch to David Manuel or whoever took this photo.

 

I’ll start this by being clear.  My ancestors are from Luxembourg and surrounding countries.  Sometimes when I advocate that the people of the over 500 different tribal nations in the place now referred to as North America get treated with basic respect and dignity I am asked if I am Native. I’m not.  I was just raised to care for and respect my neighbor.  And, I’ve had the good fortune to count some great Indians among my dearest friends.

I saw the photo of the red dress this morning.  It made me think.  I have long believed that racism is an act of fear more than power.  Somewhere in our being white folks recognize that we’ve done wrong for these many generations and we’re afraid of retribution.  We’re afraid of what could happen if everyone else had homes, jobs, money, education, and a safe place to be, at the same level that we do.

I’m not talking about individual fear.  Some people individually have moved past it.  But, as a group, we’re afraid.

We women, we have to address that fear.  It’s our to address because we are strong.  I remember as a young activist standing on the steps of the Wisconsin State Capitol, listening to Frannie Van Zile from the Mole Lake Nation.  She was talking about the proposed Crandon mine.  She said “You women, you women out there, you are the keepers of the water.”  Those words changed my life.  In many Indigenous cultures women are respected and honored. They are recognized to carry an important power, that they are keepers of the water, bearers of life.

That red dress reminds me that Native women, in fact all women of color, are in great danger because fear attacks where power resides.  It also reminds me that, as a woman, I have a responsibility to my sisters to care for them, to mourn their loss, and to do what I am able to keep them safe.

 

Another Addict Is Gone

Another addict died this week.  Did it matter?

While more white people in Minnesota die of opioid abuse than any other population in the state, the tribes are some of the hardest hit by the epidemic. In 2016, 395 Minnesota residents died of overdoses. Native people in Minnesota die at a rate nearly 6x as high as whites. Yet there are no answers.

Native people are roughly 2% of the population of the state.  Why are they dying every day from addiction?

American Community Survey data suggests that Minnesota has a poverty rate of 10.8%. Native people, however in our state face a poverty rate of 31.4%. Native people are also less likely to make it through the educational system.

Still, after more than 200 years of attacks by European invaders and their descendants the tribes survive.  But, yet the attacks continue.

If white people were dying of opioid abuse at a rate 6x that of Native people, would we be responding differently?

Success in recovering from addiction requires hope and stability.  Right now that hope and stability doesn’t exist.  We need to change that. We can arrest as many dealers as we want and more will appear.  If we’re serious about ending the opioid epidemic, we need to address racism.  Here are a few steps to take.

  1. Learn about Native history and treaty rights
  2. Support local Native run businesses
  3. Be a vocal ally
  4. Support efforts to teach Native languages
  5. Encourage our schools to accurately teach about the history and cultures of tribes
  6. Help build a sustainable local economy
  7. Support young people by showing that you care in whatever ways that you can
  8. Listen to the elders and learn
  9. Stop and think
  10. Question the system

https://www.mprnews.org/story/2016/04/18/opioid-overdose-epidemic-explained

http://www.wctrib.com/opinion/editorials/4405297-tribune-opinion-minnesota-opioids-bill-brave-and-needed-proposal

http://bismarcktribune.com/news/state-and-regional/spaces-between-us-racial-disparities-persist-in-nd-minnesota/article_e72061be-01b3-56f9-95a9-5a16505501f2.html

 

Changing and Staying the Same: The Struggle Goes On

November 22nd, 2014
It’s been a long time.  A lot has changed and some things have stayed the same.  I suppose it’s time to write again.

When I last wrote on this blog I lived in Madison, Wisconsin.  I was in the middle of the progressive haven in the midst of the crushing regime of the man considered by many to be the worst governor in Wisconsin history, and I was tired of being an activist and organizer.  I was taking a break and mostly just being a pessimist and trying to get through a diagnosis of epilepsy.

I had to get away.  After months of searching I came across a position with the Toxic Taters Coalition in northern Minnesota.  I had been looking at Minnesota, but I hadn’t thought I’d move so far north.  Still, I was drawn to this group with the name that made me laugh.  I got the job and suddenly I found myself living less than an hour from Fargo.  Who would have ever thought I’d go to North Dakota when I need to go to a city?

I find myself organizing again and enjoying it again.  My work is bringing together Native and non-Native people in a fight to cut the use pesticides by RD Offutt, the largest potato producer in the world.  The work is growing by the day.  I love to see people who aren’t daunted by the idea of taking on a huge corporation.  They’re just doing what they need to do to keep living, quite literally.

My growth here is in bringing together people across the divides and understanding who I am.  I’ve worked with Native people for a long time, but until now I’ve always lived far away.  Now, my office is on the White Earth reservation and my home is about 13 miles away from the reservation boundary.  The racial divides are clear.

Generations of genocide have destroyed so much of the family/ community structure and created such a sense of despair.  I have met some very strong people who are working so hard to rebuild and foster the seeds.  There’s a lot to do.  I ask myself what role I play.  I am not Native.  I can’t be that nor do I want to.  I have my own history.  I do think I have a role as an ally to act as a bridge connecting people who otherwise do not meet and understand each other.  It is a role that requires both delicacy and strength and a lot of figuring out.

Which brings me back to Madison.  It was just a few weeks ago that the one who has been considered the worst governor in Wisconsin history won again and people started talking about leaving and moving to Minnesota or other more progressive places.   Yes, Minnesota’s government is currently more liberal than Wisconsin, that’s true.  I will give you that.  But,  I wonder, to what degree does it matter?   I’m working with people right now who are fighting for the air they breathe.  They’ve watched the insects, birds, and frogs die away.  They all know someone who is sick or they are sick themselves because of the pesticides.  The other night I went to a meeting and learned about elders heating their homes with their kitchen stoves.  I’ve heard many stories already of families struggling with addiction in their midst.   I wish my home state could have gotten rid of Walker.  I hope to god he doesn’t get any further in politics.  But, someone else in the governor’s office isn’t the answer.  I wish it were that easy.

Those are my thoughts for the moment.  I hope now that the winter is upon us that I might take up this writing assignment more consistently again.  I look forward to developing my thoughts through it and to reading yours.

peace,
amy

Musings After Fergusen

November 25th, 2014
We’ve all been listening to the stories about Ferguson. There are many conversations out there about what happened, what’s happening now, how we’ve gotten to this place, and why.  In my owner corner of the world I’m fairly insulated personally from the protests directly given that I now live in a rural area of northern Minnesota, but not from the realities of racism or from the conversation.  And, my heart still travels with all my friends who hit the streets in cities around the country with the message; Black lives matter.

I was looking at Facebook today, skimming messages, seeing a lot of sadness from my politically liberal, progressive, and radical friends about the decision in the case and more broadly around how it has been considered a reflection of how Blacks are demonized in the U.S. Then I saw a message that troubled me more.  It was from someone who I care about deeply and who generally doesn’t share my politically ideologies.  It was a picture of an African American police office (I think it was an actor, but I couldn’t remember the show) with the message “Instead of saying ‘fuck the police’ How about you stop breaking the fucking law.”

It troubled me more because I know this woman to be a loving mom with beautiful, smart kids, a caring person who is very involved in her community and church.  She’s someone who is thoughtful, politically engaged, and wants the best for the little ones that she is raising as well as herself and her husband, friends, and family.   Politically a conservative yes, but not so different from me or anyone else I know in her underlying human needs and wants, and someone who I love as family.

I had to decide what to do.  Should I ignore this post that bugged me and keep tension out of the family or do my job as an anti-racist activist and say something.  There was no choice there never is.  I made a comment.  I started it with letting her know that I love and respect her then went into just acknowledging that my experience and the first hand accounts I’ve heard in my years of work tell me that the systems (police, schools, healthcare, etc) treat People of Color whether they be African American, Latino, Native American, or any other group differently than they treat White folks and that there are no “bad guys” unless society pushes people into that behavior.  I opted not to get into how behaviors are looked at differently depending on who you are.  It was just a brief facebook post and I thought that would get too confusing for a first naming.  I did, however, suggest reading Howard Zinn’s  People’s History of the United States.  I don’t know, maybe she will.  She is a person who likes to learn and think.

As for me,  I continue to think about what brought me to this place.

Thinking about the stereotypes associated too often with African Americans; criminals, uneducated, low income, addicts, unwed moms, etc. reminded me of when my eyes were first being pried open as a student at UW-Stevens Point.  I think it was during the time that I was SOURCE director and working to ensure that the Black Student Union get a fair trial with the Student Government Association regarding some small issues with a member of the BSU who had been accused of taking some money at an event.  I understood that race was a huge factor in this case and that it would be difficult for the all Black group to get a fair hearing from nearly all white government.  I went to several mentors for advice.  It was somewhere in here that I learned about the struggles that Dr. Andrea Turner had finding housing when she’d first moved to town in the 1990’s.  The Affirmative Action Director for the University was having to deal with racist landlords!  What the heck!  She left Stevens Point after only a few years.

Another Point story for me was a diorama in Andy Gokee’s office.  Andy works in the Native American Center there.  The diorama was one he made with his daughter when she was in elementary school.  Her teacher was teaching the kids something about Native Americans and was having the kids make Indian teepees.  The Gokee family has a long and proud history in what is now Wisconsin and their tribe, the Anishanabe didn’t live in teepees.  Andy took his anger and funneled it into teaching and made a beautiful piece of work with his daughter that shows more accurately how her ancestors lived.

From there I go to the road,  I keep coming back to that Protect the Earth Walk from Red Cliff to Madison.  We walked to draw attention to the seventh generation amendment, the environment, social justice, and to ask people what they wanted for the seventh generation.  I still see it.  Walking down the road, Frank, Walt, and I and there’s an older man, a white man across the road looking at us.  We cross to go talk with him.  Frank who is white and middle aged starts up the conversation.  Walt who is unmistakably Native is standing next to him and I’m a step or two off to the side.  Frank explains what we’re doing and asks him his thoughts.  The older man responds as if Walt and I aren’t even there with a tirade about those “goddamn Indians and those goddamn Indian casinos.”  I realize he has the ability to choose not to see us.

There it is.  There’s privilege.  Those of us with privilege get to decide what to see, who to see, what to do with what we see.  Those without privilege had better see everything or they will be beaten and killed by whatever they miss in that one moment that they miss it.

I was hoping that I would come out of this free writing exercise with some great insight on moving forward.  I’m not sure that I have.  I only know that the toughest folks to confront are the ones you love and those are the ones you must confront. Do so lovingly.  And, that a whole lot of stuff has brought me here,  I am honored to have been given the gifts of these experiences though many have made me sad.  I am and continue to be amazed by the strength of those I have grown to know.

Keep on keeping on.

The Community Table

August 29th, 2013

I get to work often with groups who want to bring others to the table, wherever that table might be and whatever the people around that table might be doing. Usually the folks they want at the table are different from them in some notable way. They’re often younger. Maybe they have a smaller income. Many times the people with the table have pale skin and the people they’d like at the table have some shade of brown skin.

Increasingly, I’m challenged by that idea of bringing people to the table. I see a couple problems with it. First, it presumes that the people being invited don’t already have their own table that is just as good that you’ve just never seen. Secondly, it keeps the host in the host role. There’s no marriage of equals here. One person/group owns the table. The other is a guest.

We live in a world filled with unhealthy power dynamics around class, race and ethnicity, age, gender, and the list goes on. If we want our organizations and our organizing to not be a reflection of the sickness of the world, we have to do something different.

Step away from the table. Meet the people that you want to work with on shared turf. What are your shared needs and concerns? Know that you may be turned away for a myriad of reasons. Some of those reasons will have to do with your personal actions and some with all the stories of histories of oppression. Show respect. Show a willingness to learn. Show a willingness to fall and get back up again. Know that it will take a long time, maybe forever to build a trust.

Get a new table, one that isn’t yours or theirs, but instead that you fashioned together out of shared dreams. Know that this table will look different than your old one. Maybe it will be stronger and maybe it will be a little off balance. Who knows? It will be larger and have many carvings of great stories hard and beautiful.

How do you step away from your table? Here’s just a couple quick pointers that I’ve found helpful over the years:
1. Diversity of whatever sort isn’t a side issue. It is THE ISSUE. Being welcoming, supportive, and representative of all people that you want to be together at the table has to be central to everything you do.
2. Look at whatever you are working on from many angles. Why might others care about this same thing? Why do you care about it? What do you share with others?
3. Keep looking at yourself and your own actions. We are all products of history. We all need to hold ourselves accountable to act in ways the future can be proud of
4. We are all learners, teachers, and leaders. Allow yourself to be each of these with everyone.
5. Be there. When you are called to be supportive to those you want to work with and who are struggling in whatever way do so in whatever way you are able.

That’s a short clip, no where near the whole story. But, maybe there’s something there to consider. Mull it over and share. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Keeping it Cool

July 26th, 2013

I spent my noon hour today as I have often lately. I spent it singing with my friends. Today was a little different though, a return for me after spending most of the week away. The numbers of people in the Wisconsin capitol each noon hour are continuing to grow again. Hundreds of people filled the building again singing and standing in support of the singers and the people’s right to the capitol as a public forum.

Up north my friends are starting to get threats for their work against the proposed mine. Unsigned messages left out in the woods threatening the women with rape and all with death.

I keep hearing messages of sadness and the fascist state that Wisconsin has become. That makes me sad on some level. On a deeper level though I feel the strength growing. I see the people gathering. I’ve been organizing for over two decades and I’ve never seen the people claiming the space like they are today.

There is fear. There is anger. There are heartless beings who have lost their connection to this place and think that the land is something dead for their consumption. They will strike out.

One man at the capitol today was taken to the hospital in an ambulance after his arrest. He was struck by his own body. His heart failed him. It was not an action of billy clubs or tasers. Maybe the police were negligent in their care for him. I don’t know. The violence that injured the pastor today was that of his own body. Tomorrow that may not be true. Tomorrow’s violence may be external. It may be the police or perhaps those heartless beings who have forgotten our connections to each other and this place and think only in dollar signs.

We must be prepared.

I ask all those out there who call themselves activists or organizers or just people who care take the moment. Pause. Do what it is that you do. Call upon Allah. Set down tobacco. Pray in any of a million ways or just simply breathe.

It is time to do something different now. For generations those in power have shown us to meet violence with violence, to shoot faster and straighter. What has it gotten us but dead?

The Anishanabe tell the story of the seventh generation. We must hear that story. We must live it in each action. It’s not some far away fairy tale. It is real.

As you fall asleep tonight, as you wake in the morning, as you feel your rage rising within you, look inside. Look down that long tunnel and see the baby that is our future, that child who is the seventh generation. Ask yourself “will my words, will my actions or inactions today bring that child warmth, safety, food, and love?” Remember if your actions are right by that child they will be right today.

It is hard. It is the hardest thing you may ever do to choose not to strike blindly in anger but instead to listen and stand strong in rage and revolution instead.

What Is Strong? Holding Together

July 14, 2013

There’s some trouble going on in Northern Wisconsin. I’d say it all started when Gogebic Taconite showed up and tried to start mining, but it didn’t. It started generations ago when we forgot that we all come from around the same fire.

This latest round involved some direct action advocates who took action against the Gogebic crew and did some minor damage. They were apprehended and charged. Now folks are left to figure out how to move ahead. Some people supported the action and some didn’t and trust has been lost. Now, how is trust rebuilt? Wish I knew. If I knew I just tell folks what to do. They might try it. It might work. It might not work. They might be thankful. They might tell me what I’m full of.

Here’s what I do remember though. I remember a day many years ago standing out in the cold in a cemetery in Northern Wisconsin. My friend Walt’s body was being laid in ground. He was a veteran so the men were out there with the guns to do the salute. I had already committed to a life as a pacifist and to a belief in the use of direct action. I knew war was wrong. I knew violence was wrong. I knew direct action was right. I knew I would always stand for what was right no matter what.

There was a man there that day who without a word made me question all I knew about violence and nonviolence and direct action. He was standing to my left. When the gun salute went off I looked in his direction. He had the sadness in his eyes and that far away look that seems to see into another world. He was both a million miles away and right there with his cousin who was being laid in the ground at the same time. There was a power there that I did not know until that moment.

It was in that moment that I really understood something that only knew in my mind before. Now, I knew it deeper. That man who was standing next to me was Andy Gokee. He, like Walt and many of the other folks standing there that day had stood many times to protect treaty rights, the right to live as Native peoples according to the beliefs handed down to them for generations. One of the ways that they did that was through the spearfishing struggle of the 1980’s. When I heard those gunshots in that cemetery that day I understood in a different way that the folks I stood there with had their lives threatened. They’d been followed. They’d been shot at. They knew that their families could be killed because they were Indians or because they stood with Native people.

Today I had another of those experiences. I got a message from a Black woman that I know. She had gotten stopped by the cops in the Madison area because she looked “suspicious.” She was interrogated for half an hour for nothing, nothing other than driving while Black.

I don’t claim to know much. I know the stories go much deeper than I will ever know. What I understand is that sometimes there is a power much stronger than words that speaks to us all. There are powerful spirits among us and there are those who walk in fear as well.

It is alright to be afraid. In fact sometimes it may be the wisest thing to be. Fear can increase your consciousness of what is around you, give you the tools with which to act. To deny that fear is generally nothing more than lying and cockiness. Be afraid and keep walking through that fear. Learn the stories, listen deeply, and walk through the fear wisely. Acting for the sake of acting brings nothing. Acting with heart and spirit and mind in tune, brings justice and healing and change.

organizing as a learning tool– thinking about the anti mine fight in the 90’s and today.

 July 10, 2013
As I considered creating this blog as a means of moving toward developing a community organizing school,  I asked friends what I should write about and what they’d like to read.  One suggested to me writing about the anti-mining movement in Wisconsin in the 1990’s and that movement here today.  I was intrigued by that idea.  Today I’d like to take on just a little piece of it from my own perspective.

I’ve been thinking some about not just organizing training, but organizing as a means of education.  In the early 1990’s when I became involved in the anti-mining movement in Wisconsin,  I was a young and naive college student.   My understanding of the world was largely limited to my life growing up in rural southeastern Wisconsin.

When I got to college I started getting involved in environmental organizing as well as in some student rights issues.  I started to connect with other students and activists around the state and began going to meetings, events and rallies around the state.  Getting involved in statewide work and especially in the work around the Crandon mine started opening my mind and heart to the different experiences and lives of folks around the state.  Most notably I started to understand that Native peoples in Wisconsin weren’t just a story in my history book.  They were and are quite alive and some have much to share about understanding this place in which we live and who we all are.

I was at a rally against the mine one time on the capitol steps in Madison.  There was an Anishanabe woman,  Frannie VanZile I think her name was, speaking that day.  She stood up on those steps surrounded by girls and young women and her voice rang through the bullhorn.  “You women, you women out there.  You are the keepers of the water.”  Twenty some years later I can still hear her echoing in my ears.  Those words defined my course in life.  She taught me a central piece of who I am.

Somewhere along the way between then and now I went from being that young and naive college student to being the middle aged woman who gets to tell the tales of “back in the day” and I ask myself; “How do we teach?  How do we inspire? How do we hold the hands of young activists who will carry the fight for decades to come?”

Today Wisconsin is fighting to protect the water as we were back then.  This time the proposed mine is in the Penokee Hills in the northern part of the state.  A few weeks ago some young activists got in a bit of tangle with some folks on the mine site.   From all I’ve heard it doesn’t sound like any bigger of an action than one that my friends and I would have engaged in during the 90’s.  The response was different though.  A young woman, Katie, is facing a felony charge and Gogebic Taconite, the mining company, has hired mercenaries from Arizona to guard the site.

Two things float in my mind now about this incident.

The first is about violence and nonviolence.  I’ve been a proclaimed pacifist all of my adult life.  Yet the other day when I was reading Myles Horton’s autobiography I came across the idea that the question is not really about violence or nonviolence, but about what is the lesser violence?  Katie and her friends engaged in a direct action that some might have called violent.  In fact, the company is using that as their excuse to hire these guards.  My understanding is she threw a soda can and tried to take a cell phone away from someone who was filming.  Maybe that is violence, but armed guards to protect the company that will destroy the land and water,  bankrupt the economy, and devastate the cultures of the area is that not the greater violence?  How do we decide what is warranted?

The other is  how do we hold Katie’s hand and that of her friends as they grow as activists and leaders who will take this fight on for the decades to come?  When I started out in the 90’s there were a few of us young folks involved in more “radical” direct action organizations.  Our insights were largely welcomed.  We were pulled into the larger fight.  We got to stand with the elders who had fought for years before us and learn.  Some of us were sort of golden children, loved and cared for by some very wise people who knew we’d fight more effectively if we were stronger and that they could give us that strength.   I’m not always sure that’s happening today and I wonder how we make it happen.