Tuesday, October 19, 2021


Don't blame Sharia for Islamic extremism -- blame colonialism


Mark Fathi Massoud, Professor of Politics and Legal Studies, University of California, Santa Cruz

Sun, October 17, 2021, 

Warning that Islamic extremists want to impose fundamentalist religious rule in American communities, right-wing lawmakers in dozens of U.S. states have tried banning Sharia, an Arabic term often understood to mean Islamic law.

These political debates – which cite terrorism and political violence in the Middle East to argue that Islam is incompatible with modern society – reinforce stereotypes that the Muslim world is uncivilized.

They also reflect ignorance of Sharia, which is not a strict legal code. Sharia means “path” or “way”: It is a broad set of values and ethical principles drawn from the Quran – Islam’s holy book – and the life of the Prophet Muhammad. As such, different people and governments may interpret Sharia differently.

Still, this is not the first time that the world has tried to figure out where Sharia fits into the global order.

In the 1950s and 1960s, when Great Britain, France and other European powers relinquished their colonies in the Middle East, Africa and Asia, leaders of newly sovereign Muslim-majority countries faced a decision of enormous consequence: Should they build their governments on Islamic religious values or embrace the European laws inherited from colonial rule?
The big debate

Invariably, my historical research shows, political leaders of these young countries chose to keep their colonial justice systems rather than impose religious law.

Newly independent Sudan, Nigeria, Pakistan and Somalia, among other places, all confined the application of Sharia to marital and inheritance disputes within Muslim families, just as their colonial administrators had done. The remainder of their legal systems would continue to be based on European law.


To understand why they chose this course, I researched the decision-making process in Sudan, the first sub-Saharan African country to gain independence from the British, in 1956.

In the national archives and libraries of the Sudanese capital Khartoum, and in interviews with Sudanese lawyers and officials, I discovered that leading judges, politicians and intellectuals actually pushed for Sudan to become a democratic Islamic state.

They envisioned a progressive legal system consistent with Islamic faith principles, one where all citizens – irrespective of religion, race or ethnicity – could practice their religious beliefs freely and openly.

“The People are equal like the teeth of a comb,” wrote Sudan’s soon-to-be Supreme Court Justice Hassan Muddathir in 1956, quoting the Prophet Muhammad, in an official memorandum I found archived in Khartoum’s Sudan Library. “An Arab is no better than a Persian, and the White is no better than the Black.”

Sudan’s post-colonial leadership, however, rejected those calls. They chose to keep the English common law tradition as the law of the land.
Why keep the laws of the oppressor?

My research identifies three reasons why early Sudan sidelined Sharia: politics, pragmatism and demography.

Rivalries between political parties in post-colonial Sudan led to parliamentary stalemate, which made it difficult to pass meaningful legislation. So Sudan simply maintained the colonial laws already on the books.

There were practical reasons for maintaining English common law, too.

Sudanese judges had been trained by British colonial officials. So they continued to apply English common law principles to the disputes they heard in their courtrooms.

Sudan’s founding fathers faced urgent challenges, such as creating the economy, establishing foreign trade and ending civil war. They felt it was simply not sensible to overhaul the rather smooth-running governance system in Khartoum.


The continued use of colonial law after independence also reflected Sudan’s ethnic, linguistic and religious diversity.

Then, as now, Sudanese citizens spoke many languages and belonged to dozens of ethnic groups. At the time of Sudan’s independence, people practicing Sunni and Sufi traditions of Islam lived largely in northern Sudan. Christianity was an important faith in southern Sudan.

Sudan’s diversity of faith communities meant that maintaining a foreign legal system – English common law – was less controversial than choosing whose version of Sharia to adopt.
Why extremists triumphed

My research uncovers how today’s instability across the Middle East and North Africa is, in part, a consequence of these post-colonial decisions to reject Sharia.

In maintaining colonial legal systems, Sudan and other Muslim-majority countries that followed a similar path appeased Western world powers, which were pushing their former colonies toward secularism.

But they avoided resolving tough questions about religious identity and the law. That created a disconnect between the people and their governments.

In the long run, that disconnect helped fuel unrest among some citizens of deep faith, leading to sectarian calls to unite religion and the state once and for all. In Iran, Saudi Arabia and parts of Somalia and Nigeria, these interpretations triumphed, imposing extremist versions of Sharia over millions of people.

In other words, Muslim-majority countries stunted the democratic potential of Sharia by rejecting it as a mainstream legal concept in the 1950s and 1960s, leaving Sharia in the hands of extremists.

But there is no inherent tension between Sharia, human rights and the rule of law. Like any use of religion in politics, Sharia’s application depends on who is using it – and why.

Leaders of places like Saudi Arabia and Brunei have chosen to restrict women’s freedom and minority rights. But many scholars of Islam and grassroots organizations interpret Sharia as a flexible, rights-oriented and equality-minded ethical order.
Religion and the law worldwide

Religion is woven into the legal fabric of many post-colonial nations, with varying consequences for democracy and stability.

After its 1948 founding, Israel debated the role of Jewish law in Israeli society. Ultimately, Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion and his allies opted for a mixed legal system that combined Jewish law with English common law.

In Latin America, the Catholicism imposed by Spanish conquistadors underpins laws restricting abortion, divorce and gay rights.

And throughout the 19th century, judges in the U.S. regularly invoked the legal maxim that “Christianity is part of the common law.” Legislators still routinely invoke their Christian faith when supporting or opposing a given law.

Political extremism and human rights abuses that occur in those places are rarely understood as inherent flaws of these religions.

When it comes to Muslim-majority countries, however, Sharia takes the blame for regressive laws – not the people who pass those policies in the name of religion.

Fundamentalism and violence, in other words, are a post-colonial problem – not a religious inevitability.

For the Muslim world, finding a system of government that reflects Islamic values while promoting democracy will not be easy after more than 50 years of failed secular rule. But building peace may demand it.

This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit news site dedicated to sharing ideas from academic experts. It was written by: Mark Fathi Massoud, University of California, Santa Cruz.


Read more:

What Sharia means: 5 questions answered

How Islamic law can take on ISIS

Trump’s travel ban is just one of many US policies that legalize discrimination against Muslims

Mark Fathi Massoud has received fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, the Carnegie Corporation of New York, the American Council of Learned Societies, the Andrew Mellon Foundation, Fulbright-Hays, and the University of California. Any views expressed here are the author's responsibility.

Trump said 'Ku Klux Klan-dressed protesters' who allege they were beaten by his bodyguards have 'no one to blame but themselves'


Trump said protesters who allege that they were beaten up by his security detail outside Trump Tower in 2015 had "no one to blame but themselves." The former president on Monday sat for a four-hour-long deposition about the case. 
Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Cheryl Teh
Mon, October 18, 2021

Former President Donald Trump sat for a four-hour deposition in regards to a 2015 lawsuit.

Protesters allege in the lawsuit that they were hit by members of Trump's security detail.


Trump said in the deposition the protesters have "no one to blame but themselves."


Former President Donald Trump said on Monday that protesters who alleged his bodyguards beat them had "no one to blame but themselves."

The former president made these comments after sitting for a four-hour-long deposition on October 18. He was asked to testify in a lawsuit brought by protesters who allege that his bodyguards beat them up outside Trump Tower during a 2015 demonstration.

The incident happened on September 3, 2015, when Trump was on the campaign trail. A crowd of demonstrators had gathered, some dressed in Ku Klux Klan robes and hoods, gathered outside Trump Tower to protest then-presidential candidate Trump's comments that Mexicans were "rapists" who were "bringing drugs" and "bringing crime" to America in June 2015.

Trump's security detail was then filmed approaching protesters and wrangling the placards they held from their hands. Five of the protesters filed a lawsuit on September 9, 2015, against Trump, the Trump Organization, the Trump 2016 campaign, and several members of Trump's security detail, alleging that they were beaten during the scuffle.

It is unclear if any of the five protesters who are suing Trump were wearing Klan robes.

"The Klu [sic] Klux Klan dressed protester case should have never been brought as the plaintiffs have no one to blame but themselves," wrote Trump in a statement posted to Twitter by his spokeswoman Liz Harrington on Monday. "Rather than protest peacefully, the plaintiffs intentionally sought to rile up a crowd by blocking the entrance to Trump Tower on 5th Avenue, in the middle of the day, wearing Klu Klux Klan [sic] robes and hoods."

Trump added that his security staff tried to "de-escalate the situation."

"After years of litigation, I was pleased to have had the opportunity to tell my side of this ridiculous story - Just one more example of baseless harassment of your favorite President," Trump said in the statement.

Trump avoided sitting for a deposition while president, arguing that he should receive immunity from testifying as president. But earlier this month, New York State Supreme Court Justice Doris Gonzalez ordered Trump to sit for a deposition regarding the case.

Trump also faces several other ongoing civil lawsuits, which are moving through the legal system more quickly now that he is out of office.


Trump Dodges Questions in Marathon Deposition Over Protest Violence, Lawyer Claims


Kate Briquelet, Lachlan Cartwright
Mon, October 18, 2021


David Dee Delgado/Getty

Donald Trump testified under oath for about four-and-a-half hours on Monday over his role in a 2015 incident where protesters allege they were assaulted by his security team outside Trump Tower.

The deposition took place at Trump Tower, from 10 a.m. to about 2:30 p.m., according to the activists’ lawyer, Benjamin Dictor, who claimed that there were a handful of questions Trump declined to answer. The attorney added that he planned to ask the judge in a civil suit stemming from the episode later this month whether the ex-commander in chief must respond to those queries.

Amanda Miller, a spokesperson for the Trump Organization, vigorously disputed the account of the proceedings.

“Mr. Dictor’s claim is completely false,” she said. “President Trump answered every single question that was asked of him at his deposition today. There was not a single question he did not answer. They were just not the answers Mr. Dictor was hoping for.”

Trump was joined by three or four Secret Service personnel and two lawyers, Dictor said, adding that the ex-president was presented with evidence, including documents and videos relevant to the case.

“This deposition was like any other deposition of an employer who was a defendant in a civil matter,” Dictor told The Daily Beast following the proceeding. (Dictor is a labor attorney who also represents the NewsGuild, a media workers’ union that represents staffers at many outlets, including The Daily Beast’s editorial union).

“Everything proceeded professionally,” Dictor added.

A video of the lengthy testimony will be played for a jury when the case heads to trial, which is likely to be scheduled during an Oct. 25 case conference.

“After years of litigation, I was pleased to have had the opportunity to tell my side of this ridiculous story—just one more example of baseless harassment of your favorite President,” Trump said in a statement to The Daily Beast.

Trump’s attorney, Jeffrey Goldman, who was present for the deposition, did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

As The Daily Beast previously reported, the reality TV maven turned president tried to quash a subpoena that would force him to testify in connection with the suit, but this year, a state appellate court dismissed Trump’s request.

HBO Exposes the Violent Chaos of Trump’s Jan. 6 Rioters in ‘Four Hours at the Capitol’

On Monday, the ex-president was expected to be questioned about whether he authorized or condoned his henchmen to manhandle protesters or otherwise remove activists from his events in general, as well as what role one particular guard—Keith Schiller—played in Trump’s inner circle.

Among the other potential subjects of inquiry on Monday was Matthew Calamari, the Trump Organization’s chief operating officer and former director of security who was present the day of the rally. Last month, sources told The Daily Beast that Calamari was under scrutiny by Manhattan prosecutors as part of a tax fraud probe into the business and its executives.

Since leaving office, Trump has continued to face a wave of litigation, including from his niece Mary Trump and Summer Zervos, who is suing Trump for defamation. Zervos, who was a contestant on The Apprentice, alleges Trump defamed her when he called her a liar after she accused him of sexual assault.

The protester case stems from a 2015 press conference, during which security guards allegedly roughed up a group of demonstrators who gathered outside the Fifth Avenue skyscraper to protest Trump’s notoriously racist outburst about Mexican immigrants. Months earlier, when announcing his candidacy, he said Mexico and other countries were “sending people” who were bringing drugs and crime to America. Trump also called immigrants “rapists.”

In response, Efrain Galicia and four other Mexican activists displayed a “Make America Racist Again” banner outside the building on Sept. 3, 2015. They also wore parody Ku Klux Klan costumes after Trump was endorsed by former KKK leader David Duke.

Days after the event, the activists filed a lawsuit in Bronx County Supreme Court alleging Trump’s security team attacked them and destroyed their property, and named Trump, his political campaign, the Trump Organization, and Schiller as defendants.

According to the complaint, Gary Uher, one of Trump’s guards, shoved a protester shortly after he put on his KKK costume. While a second activist filmed the incident, Trump security officer Edward Jon Deck Jr. allegedly shoved her, too, after ordering her to stop recording.

Galicia arrived with three protest signs soon after and set them against cement planters on the sidewalk. Uher and an unnamed guard approached the group and tossed Galicia’s banners to the ground, the lawsuit alleges. When Galicia went to reinstall his posters, Schiller “swiftly and menacingly approached Galicia” before ripping one banner in half and walking away with the other.

When Galicia followed Schiller to retrieve his property, the complaint alleges, Schiller “swung around and struck Galicia with a closed fist on the head with such force that it caused Galicia to stumble backwards.” Galicia says an unnamed guard then put him in a chokehold.

In a 2016 deposition of his own, Schiller testified that he clocked Galicia because he believed the protester was reaching for Schiller’s concealed firearm.

Schiller added, however, that he never discussed the Galicia incident with Trump. When asked if he always obeyed Trump’s orders to remove disruptive activists at events, Schiller replied, “Not always, no.”

“I’m not a robot,” Schiller testified. “It’s been times when it wasn’t appropriate and I didn’t do it.”

Meanwhile, in an affidavit, Uher said he “politely asked just one of the demonstrators (who was dressed in a Ku Klux Klan outfit) to move away from the main entrance” and that he “escorted this person a short distance so that pedestrian traffic in and out of the Premises would not be obstructed.” Uher, a former FBI agent, added, “Beyond this one very brief interaction, I had no other interactions with any of the many other demonstrators.”

Uher also said he was submitting a photo as an exhibit which showed him “gently guiding this individual down the sidewalk, without force…”

For his part, Deck also denied attacking any of the demonstrators. In a 2016 deposition, Deck said he saw someone “run after Mr. Schiller and jump on his back and grab him around the waist,” so he grabbed the person to protect the fellow guard.

“I saw somebody creating a very, very extremely dangerous situation of going for somebody’s gun on a waistband, underneath his—on his hip,” Deck testified.

“There is no other physical act that occurred which could give rise to any claim of an assault or battery,” Deck stated in a 2017 affidavit, “and I committed no such act.”

Read more at The Daily Beast.


COMMUNALIST VIOLENCE
Hindus denounce violence amid attacks in Bangladesh



Bangladesh Religion ProtestHundreds of Hindus protesting against attacks on temples and the killing of two Hindu devotees in another district shout slogans in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Monday, Oct.18, 2021. A viral social media image perceived as insulting to the country's Muslim majority last week triggered protests and incidents of vandalism at Hindu temples across Bangladesh. About 9% of Bangladesh’s 160 million are Hindus. (AP Photo/Mahmud Hossain Opu)

JULHAS ALAM
Mon, October 18, 2021, 5:40 AM·2 min read

DHAKA, Bangladesh (AP) — Protests continued Monday in Bangladesh’s capital to denounce a wave of violence against Hindus following an image posted on social media that was perceived as insulting to the country’s Muslim majority.

New attacks took place Sunday night in a northern village, where unidentified people burned up to 26 homes of Hindus despite a warning by the government that such attacks would be firmly punished.

The violence has prompted the United Nations to urge the government to take actions to stop it.

On Monday, the followers of the Hindu group International Society for Krishna Consciousness were joined by students and teachers from Dhaka University in blocking a major intersection in Dhaka to demand justice. Several other Hindu groups also joined the peaceful protest at the Shahbagh intersection.

Attacks on Hindu temples have intensified since last Wednesday after a photo was posted on social media showing a copy of Islam’s holy book, the Quran, at the feet of a statue at a Hindu temple in the eastern district of Cumilla.

Local media reported that six Hindus were killed in separate attacks, but the figures could not confirmed independently. Local media downplayed their coverage of the violence, apparently under pressure from the government to control any new attacks as Hindus celebrated their largest religious festival, Durga Puja, that ended Friday.

Muslims also held street protests after the images came out on social media, especially Facebook.

Mia Seppo, the U.N.'s resident coordinator in Bangladesh, said in a Twitter post on Monday that the attacks on Hindus are against the values of the Bangladesh constitution and need to stop.

“We call upon Government to ensure protection of minorities and an impartial probe,” Seppo said. “We call upon all to join hands to strengthen inclusive tolerant.”

Asif Hasan, chief government administrator of northern Rangpur district, said Monday that attackers torched the homes of Hindus in a fishing village on Sunday night. They also stole cash, cattle and other valuables during the attack, he said. Hasan said 42 people were arrested.

On Monday, the Ministry of Home Affairs transferred seven police officials from troubled areas for failing to control the violence.

About 9% of Bangladesh’s 160 million people are Hindu. Bangladesh follows a largely secular legal system based on British common law.
BOMBING CIVILIANS
Witnesses: Ethiopian military airstrikes hit Tigray capital



FILE - In this Thursday, May 6, 2021 file photo, the city of Mekele is seen through a bullet hole in a stairway window of the Ayder Referral Hospital, in the Tigray region of northern Ethiopia. Ethiopian military airstrikes have hit the capital of the country's Tigray region Monday, Oct. 18, 2021, according to witnesses. (AP Photo/Ben Curtis, File)

CARA ANNA
Mon, October 18, 2021, 6:13 AM·3 min read


NAIROBI, Kenya (AP) — Ethiopian military airstrikes hit the capital of the country’s Tigray region and killed at least three people, witnesses said Monday, returning the war abruptly to the city of Mekele after several months of peace.

The airstrikes came days after a new military offensive was launched against the Tigray forces who have been fighting Ethiopian and allied forces for nearly a year.

Mekele hasn't seen fighting since late June, when the Tigray forces retook much of the region and Ethiopian troops withdrew. Since then, Ethiopia's federal government has called all able citizens to crush the Tigray fighters who dominated the national government for 27 years before being sidelined by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed. What began as a political dispute in Africa's second-most populous country has now killed thousands of people.

The state-owned Ethiopian Press Agency, citing the air force, reported that “communication towers and equipment” were attacked and that “utmost care was made to avoid civilian casualties.”

One Mekele resident, Kindeya Gebrehiwot, a spokesman for the Tigray authorities, told The Associated Press that a market was bombed. Another resident, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, said the first airstrike occurred just outside the city and three children from the same family were killed. The resident said at least seven people were wounded in the second airstrike, which also damaged a hotel.

The Tigray region, along with the current areas of fighting in the neighboring Amhara and Afar regions, are under a communications blackout, making it challenging to verify information.

The Tigray forces have said they are trying to pressure Ethiopia's government to lift a deadly blockade imposed on the Tigray region since the dramatic turn in the war in June. But witnesses in the Amhara region have alleged door-to-door killings and other atrocities against civilians by the Tigray fighters — an echo of the atrocities that Tigrayans reported at the hands of Ethiopian and allied forces earlier in the war.

The new offensive rages despite pressure from the United Nations, the United States, the European Union and other African nations for a cease-fire, talks and humanitarian access. The U.S. a month ago threatened a new round of targeted sanctions if steps toward those goals weren't taken quickly.

Instead, the warring sides have shown no sign of stopping.

“The possibility for peaceful dialogue, which the people of Tigray had waited for, has no hope,” the Tigray forces said in a statement on Sunday.

U.N. spokesman Stephane Dujarric told reporters they were trying to verify details of Monday's airstrikes.

“What is clear is that civilians should never be targeted. Civilian infrastructure should never be targeted. Those are basic humanitarian principles,” he said.

The fighting is reducing U.N. aid operations during a time of growing need, Dujarric said, and the absence of essential supplies such as fuel in Tigray has led several humanitarian groups including the U.N. to reduce their presence in the region in the past week. He did not say how many U.N. staffers are in Mekele; there are several hundred in Tigray and about 1,300 humanitarian workers overall.

An Ethiopian Foreign Ministry statement on Monday said it was “absurd to expect unrestricted flow of humanitarian aid to the Tigray region while the (Tigray forces are) actively attacking neighboring areas.”

The last time the Ethiopian military carried out an airstrike near Mekele was in June, when a market in Togoga outside the city was hit and at least 64 civilians were killed. Soldiers for hours blocked medical teams from responding to victims.

___

Associated Press writer Edith M. Lederer at the United Nations contributed.


Tigray: Ethiopian government admits Mekelle airstrike


BBC
Mon, October 18, 2021

People within the city of Mekelle reported airstrikes on Monday
(stock image)

Ethiopia has admitted it was behind airstrikes in the capital of the conflict-riven Tigray region - hours after it denied it had carried out what rebels say were deadly raids.

The state-run news agency said the attacks had targeted rebel's communications and weapons facilities.

But media controlled by the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) said three civilians had been killed.

The rebel group is at war with Ethiopia's federal government.

The government initially denied the allegations it had struck targets in Tigray's capital, Mekelle.

"Why would the Ethiopian government attack its own city? Mekelle is an Ethiopian city," government spokesman Legesse Tulu asked.


EXPLAINER: Ethiopia's Tigray war - and how it erupted


ANALYSIS: Can Ethiopia be pulled back from the brink?


PROFILE: The Nobel Peace Prize winner who went to war

Ethiopia's Ministry of Foreign Affairs went on to accuse the TPLF of killing at least 30 civilians in recent attacks in Amhara and Afar regional states, which both border Tigray.

"Terrorists are the ones who attack cities with innocent civilians in them, not government," Mr Legesse added.

But hours afterwards, state media said it had carried out successful strikes with the aim of preventing civilian casualties.

The TPLF still says this is not the case, accusing the government of deliberately carrying out two strikes on market day.

Meanwhile, the TPLF, which regards itself as the legitimate authority in Tigray, has not responded to the allegations its forces were behind the deaths of any civilians.

It is difficult to independently confirm details as there is a communications blackout in the region.

The Ethiopian army took control of most of the northern region of Tigray in November 2020, after TPLF forces seized a military base.

Since then, the 11-month conflict has caused a humanitarian crisis, with the United Nations warning in July that about 400,000 people were living in famine-like conditions in Tigray.

Thousands of people have been killed in the conflict, and another two million have been forced to flee their homes.

In June 2021, the rebels recaptured Tigray in a surprise attack, and then moved into parts of neighbouring regions like Amhara.

Ethiopia has declared the TPLF a terrorist organisation, but the TPLF insists that it is the legitimate government in Tigray.

Tigray - the basics



Since 1994, Ethiopia has been divided into states, now numbering 10; they are defined on ethnic grounds by the constitution and described as largely autonomous, but with central institutions


In 2018, following anti-government protests, Abiy Ahmed took over as prime minister and introduced reforms


Powerful politicians from Tigray, Ethiopia's northernmost state, accused Mr Abiy of trying to increase federal power


Relations worsened and, after the government accused Tigrayan rebels of attacking military bases, the Ethiopian army moved in in November, backed by Eritrean troops


Mr Abiy declared the conflict over in late November, but fighting has continued



Joe Manchin is betraying West Virginia

Ryan Cooper, National correspondent
THE WEEK
Tue, October 19, 2021

Joe Manchin. Illustrated | Getty Images, iStock

Sen. Joe Manchin (D-W.Va.) has demanded President Biden excise the core of his climate policy. Manchin says he won't vote for the $150 billion Clean Electricity Performance Program, which would pay energy suppliers to move away from carbon power and impose penalties on those that don't.

Manchin's move is a terrible disaster for many reasons. This program is the main mechanism of Biden's climate plan — removing it would mean no significant American action on climate until 2030 or later. Moreover, if Manchin gets his way, the president will go to upcoming climate talks in Scotland with nothing in hand, which would seriously harm the meeting's prospect of success.

But beyond all that, in his capacity as a senator, Manchin's demand is a grotesque betrayal of the people of West Virginia.

It may not look that way on the surface. Manchin is doing this because there are quite a few coal jobs in his state (and because he is personally heavily invested in coal business). But even on that ground, it's a wretched decision. As historian Adam Tooze demonstrates, while coal is still relatively important to the West Virginia economy, it's declining fast, and the state has no rising industry to replace coal as a core social and economic prop. West Virginia's health care industry is growing because so many people are on Medicaid or hooked on opioids, but it can't take coal's place in the state's economy. The jobs Manchin is trying to save are doomed, and he should be focused on bringing in new energy work, not saving what can't be saved.

The demise of the coal industry is long since obvious. In 2007, the American electrical system hit a peak of 2,016 terawatt-hours produced from coal power plants. Since then it has fallen by 62 percent to 774 terawatt-hours in 2020. Even before 2007, West Virginia had shed most of its coal jobs thanks to heavy automation and new techniques like blowing whole mountains up to get at the coal (which causes cataclysmic environmental contamination) instead of digging it out.

Now, the biggest reason for coal's decline is cheap natural gas (up from 897 terawatt-hours in 2007 to 1,617 terawatt-hours in 2020), but the second-biggest reason is cheap renewable power. Utility-scale solar and wind power production have skyrocketed from 35 terawatt-hours in 2007 to 429 terawatt-hours in 2020 — a twelve-fold increase. That's largely because the price of wind power fell by 70 percent over the last decade, while the price of solar fell by 89 percent — but that of coal power barely budged. Those trends are expected to continue, and sooner or later renewables will out-compete both coal and natural gas (though not soon enough to ward off catastrophic climate change without government action).

Neither will exports save coal. Globally, other countries are laying plans to move away from coal as well — partly from price movements but also because it's a dirty, dangerous power source whose pollution kills millions annually. Whether or not Manchin kills his own party's climate plan, West Virginia's coal industry has maybe a decade of life left, at the outside.

West Virginia today is a poor, unhealthy state. That's significantly because nobody in Washington did anything when slanted trade deals destroyed about a third of its manufacturing jobs and energy innovation destroyed most of its coal jobs and, soon, the entire coal industry. As Tooze writes, coal wasn't just a source of jobs; it was a source of meaning — an image of a rugged society where strong men and women did the tough jobs necessary to keep the country on its feet. Without that fund of social cohesion, the state is seeing an epidemic of "deaths of despair" similar to what Russia experienced after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Compounding all these problems, West Virginia is among the states most vulnerable to climate change. Its steep, narrow valleys create ideal conditions for floods in the biblical downpours becoming ever more common, and its generally rugged terrain leaves little room for residents of those valleys to relocate. No "state in the contiguous United States is more exposed to flood damage than West Virginia," reports Christopher Flavelle at The New York Times, citing an analysis from the First Street Foundation. "Sixty-one percent of West Virginia's power stations are at risk, the highest nationwide and more than twice the average. West Virginia also leads in the share of its roads at risk of inundation, at 46 percent," he writes. Beyond being dangerous to mine and deadly to burn, coal contributes to the climate change that produces extreme flooding. No longer a major source of money or meaning, it has become bad for West Virginia in every way.

Digging the West Virginian economy out of its collapsed coal pit would be no small task. But we could imagine a new model based on green energy (West Virginia is one of the windiest states east of the Mississippi), tourism (it is spectacularly beautiful), and perhaps even some cutting-edge manufacturing. Better infrastructure links and high-speed internet; regulations and subsidies to induce domestic economic production; and a stronger national welfare state to increase the incomes of the state's residents would be a good start.

In other words, we're talking about the Biden agenda. Half the point of the Build Back Better plan, for all its flaws, is to kick-start just this kind of forward-looking economy in places like West Virginia so that hopeless and destructive industries like coal are replaced with something rather than nothing.

Naturally, in addition to killing Biden's climate policy, Manchin is also demanding Biden slash the rest of his agenda to the bone. He recently demanded cuts to Biden's child allowance so the poorest parents without jobs — a disproportionate number of whom live in West Virginia — get nothing. Manchin is ruining his state's prospects coming and going.

West Virginia doesn't have to stay an impoverished, backward mess, in thrall to a dying, filthy industry. But if the state can be helped into a better future, Manchin won't have anything to do with it.


Joe Manchin Hates Spending More Than He Loves Children

Max Burns
Mon, October 18, 2021

MICHAEL MATHES/AFP via Getty Images

The child tax credit represents one of the most effective youth anti-poverty efforts in modern history, a sweeping program that has fulfilled the too often made promise to lift all boats. Sen. Joe Manchin is trying to drown it in the Potomac.

For a few heady days last week, it looked like House Progressives and the Senate’s two conservative Democrats might actually find a consensus price tag for Joe Biden’s signature Build Back Better package.

But that was before Manchin tacked another hundred yards onto the football field Sunday with a new, GOP-approved demand that Democrats incorporate aggressive means testing and strict work requirements to keep a proposed expansion of the popular child tax credit as narrow as possible. While a broader credit would pay off children in West Virginia, the senator hates spending more than he cares about that.

McConnell Talks About Taking Down Biden’s Agenda—Manchin and the Moderates Are Doing It

The child tax credit itself isn’t new, but it has always been politically controversial even as it has proven its worth. Originally passed as part of the landmark Taxpayer Relief Act of 1997, the same law that gave us Roth IRAs and education savings accounts, the child tax credit offered $400 per child under age 17. The law was and is popular: Nearly six-in-10 American families support it, including 41 percent of Republicans. That’s why lawmakers juiced the credit to $2,000 in 2020 and again to $3,600 under Biden’s American Rescue Plan a year later.

Part of the child tax credit’s popularity comes from how broadly it distributes tangible gains to families in need. According to research by Reuters, the 10 states with the biggest average monthly payments all went with Trump, and nine of them have Republican governors. Just missing out on the top 10, with an average credit received of $431: West Virginia.

The child tax credit isn’t some directionless handout, as Manchin seems to think. It’s had a measurable impact on our fight to reduce poverty, especially in Manchin’s home state. The Brookings Institution projected Biden’s expanded child tax credit will slash child poverty nearly in half across all racial groups, from 14 percent to just 7.5 percent. They weren’t far off. In July, the first of Biden’s expanded tax credit payments lifted some 3 million American kids out of poverty, a 25 percent reduction, and moved millions of struggling families away from total financial collapse.

Those real benefits shouldn’t be lost on Manchin, who serves a state with the sixth-highest poverty rate even before COVID-19. Since the pandemic, West Virginia has tumbled further. Yet Manchin is now dead set on ensuring as few people as possible benefit from a tax credit designed to be utilized as a broad brush—even if his demands kill the entire Build Back Better agenda in the process.

Our most recent congressional crisis stems from the ongoing battle within the Democratic party between the House Progressive Caucus led by Rep. Pramila Jayapal, which is fighting for the passage of Biden’s full Build Back Better agenda at its original $3.5 trillion price tag, and Senate conservatives Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema, who are pointedly not advocating anything that can be considered “the Biden agenda.”

Biden was clear: The child tax credit should be applied as broadly as possible to expand on Democrats’ landmark poverty reduction victories. Manchin, on the other hand, insists the child tax credit only go to families earning under $60,000. The median household income in America is only about $63,000, and plenty of families making the median income will tell you it feels an awful lot like poverty. In a dozen states, the household median income is functional poverty.

If progressives were angry before, the chance of Biden once again compromising to his right is likely to send the caucus into a fury. Biden promoted his expanded Child Tax Credit on Twitter just last week. Now Jayapal and progressives worry that Biden’s desire to come away with something ahead of the looming midterm election cycle will mean stripping out everything that makes the Build Back Better agenda such a powerful legislative package.

If the past is any indication, Jayapal and the Progressive Caucus have reason to be worried. In a presidency defined by its compromises, almost all of Biden’s concessions have gone to mollify conservative holdouts Manchin and Sinema. To satisfy the two senators, Jayapal’s Progressive Caucus, which represents 96 lawmakers and aligns much more closely with Democratic voter preferences, is being asked to take one for the team.

Now Jayapal and the left are wondering: which team? Biden sacrificed $800 billion in progressive priorities to pass his bipartisan infrastructure deal. Last week, he cleared the way for nearly $2 trillion in possible compromise cuts for the Build Back Better package—all to gut core progressive spending policies Biden himself vocally supported. Meanwhile, centrist priorities are protected by presidential decree even when they run directly counter to Democratic Party values and run counter to the will of 66 percent of American voters

Manchin claims his position is “moderate,” but it risks leading Biden down a fraught and ultimately losing path built on the delusion that a single West Virginia senator knows the needs of an entire nation better than its own people. House progressives are right to protect the American people from Manchin’s hyper-partisan grasping, even if that means slamming the door on Manchin’s emaciated shadow of a spending package.

Chris Wallace Nails GOP Senator: Wouldn't Your State ‘Benefit From’ Biden’s Spending Bill?

Manchin’s demand would drop millions of families from the program and right back into financial peril, including tens of thousands in West Virginia. For Manchin, who holds forth on the Sunday talk shows about the importance of “moderate” governance, stripping millions of Americans off a popular and effective program represents a demand as radical and out-of-touch as any on the right. And in the case of neutering the child tax credit, Manchin goes even further than most Senate Republicans.

Manchin also thinks Americans have gotten lazier over the past year. Despite supporting Biden’s child tax credit in March with no work requirement, Manchin now demands any extension come with a firm rule that all recipients look for work. There’s just one problem: Work requirements have never actually worked. What’s lazy here isn’t families who could use the help, but Manchin’s thinking.

“Agencies that administer public benefit programs are ill-equipped to identify people who should not be subject to work requirements,” CBPP’s LaDonna Pavetti, Ph.D., wrote in 2018. “A study by Tennessee’s TANF agency, for example, found that about 30 percent of sanctions in the state were imposed in error.”

It should be no surprise that “work requirements” originated as a GOP attack on the "welfare state" in the 1990s, and The Century Foundation notes that work requirements have never actually been proven to work. At all. As Century Foundation Senior Fellow Jeff Madrick notes, that’s because most federal aid recipients are already likely to return to work within a year. There’s simply no proof a work requirement improves motivation—but it does prevent a lot of eligible people from seeking the help they need.

By pushing the Build Back Better plan ever further to the right, Manchin hopes to pin the package’s failure on progressives who refuse to support any plan hollowed out by GOP poison pills like means testing and work requirements.

But Manchin has picked a fight with one of the most popular elements of Biden’s American Rescue Plan. If Biden compromises now, he’ll be undercutting his single most significant domestic policy achievement, and possibly sink the whole deal. The public and the party are behind a robust child tax credit.

It’s time the White House learned that the better part of diplomacy is being able to reject a damaging, unserious offer. Manchin’s ego will recover. Struggling American families will not.

Read more at The Daily Beast.


West Virginia Leads U.S. in Flood Risk, Adding to Manchin's Climate Dilemma

Christopher Flavelle
Mon, October 18, 2021,

Mary Anne and Bob Marner in their basement of their Morgantown, W.Va. home on Oct. 5, 2021, which flooded twice recently, sending raw sewage into their house both times. (Erin Schaff/The New York Times)

FARMINGTON, W.Va. — In U.S. Sen. Joe Manchin’s hometown, a flood-prone hamlet of about 200 homes that hugs a curve on a shallow creek, the rain is getting worse.

Those storms swell the river, Buffalo Creek, inundating homes along its banks. They burst the streams that spill down the hills on either side of this former coal-mining town, pushing water into basements. They saturate the ground, seeping into Farmington’s aging pipes and overwhelming its sewage-treatment system.

Climate change is warming the air, allowing it to hold more moisture, which causes more frequent and intense rainfall. And no state in the contiguous United States is more exposed to flood damage than West Virginia, according to data released last week.

From the porch of his riverfront house, Jim Hall, who is married to Manchin’s cousin, recounted how rescue workers got him and his wife out of their house with a rope during a flood in 2017. He described helping his neighbors, Manchin’s sister and brother-in-law, clear out their basement when a storm would come. He calls local officials when he smells raw sewage in the river.

“These last few years here in West Virginia, we’ve had unbelievable amounts of rain,” Hall said. “We’ve seriously considered not staying.”

Manchin, a Democrat whose vote is crucial to passing his party’s climate legislation, is opposed to its most important provision that would compel utilities to stop burning oil, coal and gas and instead use solar, wind and nuclear energy, which do not emit the carbon dioxide that is heating the planet. Last week, the senator made his opposition clear to the Biden administration, which is now scrambling to come up with alternatives he would accept.

Manchin has rejected any plan to move the country away from fossil fuels because he said it would harm West Virginia, a top producer of coal and gas. Manchin’s own finances are tied to coal: He founded a family coal brokerage that paid him a half-million dollars in dividends last year.

But when it comes to climate, there’s also an economic toll from inaction.


The new data shows that Manchin’s constituents stand to suffer disproportionately as climate change intensifies. Unlike those in other flood-exposed states, most residents in mountainous West Virginia have little room to relocate from the waterways that increasingly threaten their safety.

Adding to the problem, West Virginia officials have struggled to better protect residents, despite a surge of federal money, experts say. They point to a reluctance among state officials to even talk about climate change and to housing that is not built for the challenge, leaving West Virginia less able than other parts of the country to adapt.

The measure that Manchin opposes, a clean electricity program, may be the last chance for Congress to reduce planet-warming emissions before the effects of climate change become catastrophic.

A clean electricity program would reward utilities that switch from burning oil, gas and coal to using wind, solar and nuclear energy, and penalize those that don’t. It is designed to get 80% of the country’s electricity from clean sources by 2030, up from 40% now.

A spokesperson for Manchin, Sam Runyon, said the senator “has long acknowledged the impacts of climate change in West Virginia. That is why he’s worked hard to find a path forward on important climate legislation that maintains American leadership in energy innovation and critical energy reliability.”

Others say that by blocking efforts to reduce coal and gas use, Manchin risks hurting his state.

“Not having a credible policy in the U.S. makes it nearly impossible to negotiate real change at a global scale,” said Evan Hansen, a Democratic state representative. “What that means is that West Virginians are going to continue to face greater and greater impacts from climate change.”

Schools, Power Stations and Businesses at Risk

The new flood data comes from the First Street Foundation, a nonprofit that uses more granular techniques to gauge flood risk than the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

First Street measures risk not only from rivers but also from smaller creeks and streams — the sort of waterways that expose towns such as Farmington to so much flooding yet are generally left off FEMA’s flood maps.

First Street calculated the portion of all kinds of infrastructure at risk of becoming inoperable because of a so-called 100-year flood — a flood that statistically has a 1% chance of happening in any given year. The group compared the results for every state except Alaska and Hawaii. In many cases, West Virginia topped the list.

Sixty-one percent of West Virginia’s power stations are at risk, the highest nationwide and more than twice the average. West Virginia also leads in the share of its roads at risk of inundation, at 46%.

The state also ranks highest for the share of fire stations (57%) and police stations (50%) exposed to a 100-year flood.

And West Virginia ties with Louisiana for the greatest share of schools (38%) and commercial properties (37%) at risk.

“The geography and topography of the state results in many homes, roads and pieces of critical infrastructure being built along rivers, around which we show extensive flooding,” said Michael Lopes, a spokesperson for First Street.

But topography isn’t all that raises West Virginia’s flood risk. Surface mining for coal has removed soil and vegetation that once absorbed rain before it reached creeks and rivers, and has pushed rocks and dirt into those waterways, making them less able to contain large volumes of water.

“As the stream corridors fill up with sediment and debris, there’s simply less storage capacity,” said Nicolas Zegre, director of the West Virginia University Mountain Hydrology Laboratory. “It takes less water to spill over.”

Flood, Repair, Repeat

The effects of increased flooding can be seen where Manchin built his political career.

Just northeast of Farmington is Morgantown, where houses perch on narrow streets that wiggle down hillsides, intersecting at erratic angles. Manchin represented the city in the state Senate; it’s also home to West Virginia University, his alma mater.

In June, Morgantown got more than 2 inches of rain in less than an hour, according to Damien Davis, city director of engineering and public works. It turned a main thoroughfare, Patteson Drive, into a river and reversed the flow of sewers, pushing waste into basements.

In July, it happened again: The city got more than 3 inches of rain in an hour, Patteson became a river, and raw sewage rushed into basements.

“We had never experienced anything like that,” Davis said.

Muhammet Ariturk owns a small restaurant, Istanbul, on Patteson Drive. He blocked his doors, but his restaurant flooded both times. “We started trying to stop the water coming here, but we couldn’t,” he said.

A mile north, Mary Anne Marner lives in a white bungalow near a creek. The first flood sent sewage into her basement, ruining her husband’s recliner, among other damage.

“The sewage came up out of the bathtub and out of the toilet,” she said. Marner and her husband replaced the recliner. Then the basement flooded again, and out went the new recliner.

State climatologist Kevin Law said research showed “an increase in extreme precipitation across West Virginia,” the result of a changing climate.

‘It Puts Nothing but Fear in You’


Twenty miles southeast is Tunnelton, where Dave Biggins owns a convenience store in a building constructed on top of an underground creek. Until recently, the creek rarely rose high enough to damage the foundation — maybe once a decade, Biggins guessed.

Then, two years ago, the equipment space under his store flooded three times in a single year. That was nothing compared with last month, when the remnants of Hurricane Ida left his store in knee-deep water, causing as much as $80,000 in damage.

“After this, every time it says it’s going to rain pretty hard, it puts nothing but fear in you,” said Biggins, who lacks flood insurance.

East of Tunnelton is Terra Alta, one of the highest towns in Preston County. In September, heavy rains put 3 inches of water inside Terra Alta’s town hall and flooded a handful of basements in town, according to Mayor James Tasker.

“It comes through the wall,” Tasker said. “It’s our drainage system, which we can’t afford to update.”

Half an hour south, Rowlesburg Mayor Eric Bautista is trying to find money to rebuild the town’s outdated stormwater system, which releases raw sewage into the Cheat River during downpours. “It’s a lousy system that is extra lousy when there’s any rain,” Bautista said.

The consequences reach beyond the county, according to Amanda Pitzer, executive director of Friends of the Cheat, an environmental nonprofit.

“This water goes to Pittsburgh,” Pitzer said, standing at the Cheat’s edge recently. “You have to think downstream.”

‘That’s The Risk We’re Willing to Take’


After West Virginia was hit by particularly severe flooding in June 2016, it created a state resiliency office to help protect against future flooding.

But this year, the head of that office left. He was replaced by his deputy, Robert Martin Jr., who during a hearing before state lawmakers last month compared the role to drinking from a fire hose.

He wants to update the state’s flood-protection plan. “It hadn’t been looked at in around 20 years,” Martin said. “A lot of the things were really antiquated in it.”

Martin didn’t respond to requests for comment. The state declined to make any officials involved with disaster recovery or resilience work available for an interview.

Stephen Baldwin, a Democratic state senator whose district was devastated by the 2016 floods, said the state has moved too slowly. The sluggishness reflects the political taint attached to global warming, he said.

“Nobody wants to talk about the real driving factor here, which is the climate,” Baldwin said.

As flooding gets worse, West Virginia’s leaders, including Manchin, should stop viewing the state’s identity as tied to coal, said Jamie Shinn, a geography professor at West Virginia University who focuses on adapting to climate change.

“I don’t think he’s defending the future economy and viability of this state,” Shinn said. “The state has so much potential beyond fossil fuels.”

That point of view remains a tough sell for many West Virginians, despite repeated disasters.

“I’m a big advocate for using the natural resources that we have,” said Hall, the Farmington resident and cousin-in-law of Manchin’s.

Forced to choose between burning less coal or suffering through worsening floods, he said worsening floods were the lesser danger.

“You can replace a house,” Hall said. “That’s the risk we’re willing to take.”

© 2021 The New York Times Company


NORTH AMERICAN FIRST NATIONS
Journalist unearths family history while reporting on boarding school trauma, family, cultural destruction



Sierra Clark, 
The Record-Eagle, Traverse City, Mich.
Sun, October 17, 2021

Oct. 17—TRAVERSE CITY — Ten names.

They stared back from the glowing screen of my laptop. I felt my shoulders drop, my jaw tighten.

Those 10 names gathered, among the thousands of others, confirmed family rumors that swirled since before I was born. Ten names buried in the 220-page roster of children funneled through the Mount Pleasant Indian Industrial Boarding School during the 40-plus years it operated.

Name, birth date, year enrolled, year discharged. All children as young as my own. All subjected to a brutal system that now has fallen under intense scrutiny after thousands of bodies — most of them children — were found in unmarked graves at sites of now-shuttered boarding schools.

The Mount Pleasant school was one of a fleet of 350 that once were spread across the U.S. and were funded by the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs, three of them located in Michigan. The often church-run, but government funded and regulated, facilities were part of a sweeping effort by governments both in the U.S. and Canada to erase Indigenous culture and practices, one generation at a time.

The horrors that unfolded at the schools have been long known and discussed in Indigenous communities, but garnered fresh attention from the mainstream media in May when Canadian officials announced that at least 200 unmarked gravesites were rediscovered on the grounds of a former residential boarding school in Kamloops, British Columbia. Inspections at other former boarding school sites have since pushed the number of unmarked graves discovered into the thousands.

For Indigenous communities of the U.S. and Canada, the nightmares were never forgotten. For decades, Native Americans have been calling for action on the behalf of our families.

I dug out those 220 pages because of my work as an Indigenous affairs journalist. I was assigned to document and explain the history of Indian boarding schools in Michigan.

The boarding schools — some which continued operating into the 1980s and 1990s — had a long-known and deep impact on my community, but I didn't expect to find my roots so intertwined with those institutions.

My first article on the schools published in early June, and a flood of emails followed from Anishinaabek all over Michigan.

People reached out to share their stories, their experiences with residential boarding schools.

I spent the months that followed driving to elders, and community members who reached out — many of their stories I haven't yet written about. Many I may not write about because I wasn't there to collect traumas for the sake an article, I wanted to listen to my community.

I am Kichi Wiikwedong Odawa first and I have a duty to my history and family.

The stories of residential boarding schools are complex and wide-ranging — unique and lasting impacts to each student, family, tribal nation, and administration — but they are a common thread that runs through nearly every Indigenous person, both in the U.S. and Canada.

I found myself traversing through collective trauma as a person both reporting on it, and hurting from it. It is simply not good enough to collect stories without listening.

Residential schools changed the course of my family devastatingly, but until now, I didn't know the magnitude. The phrase "it runs in the family," was consistent in explaining the colonial pain that followed us.

As I am called to do, I looked to my elders for guidance and answers.

On a sunny afternoon in late September, I pulled up to my uncle Tom Antoine's house, just down the road from where I grew up on the Peshawbestown reservation. Nestled in tall, overlooking pine trees, his house is a symbol of comfort and love for me — a place where we share laughs and a lot of love.

Inside I was greeted by the familiar smells of freshly lit cedar and sage. He sat in his recliner, a cup of coffee next to him, and greeted me with his usual, soft "hello."

The weight of stacked manila folders containing hundreds of pages of names escaped my arms as he hugged me.

My uncle Tom is tall and big as a grizzly bear, but his hands are gentle. He carefully opened the folders containing his father's, aunts', uncles', and grandparents' names and enrollment records. His eyes widened as I sat down and showed him what I found. They all attended the Mount Pleasant Indian Industrial Boarding School.

A lump crept into his throat as he read, he swallowed hard and said "I never knew this. He never spoke of it ... none of them did."

Growing up, Tom said that his father, Cletus, or aunts and uncles never mentioned the boarding schools. They seldom talked about their life growing up.

"I knew we were different, but I didn't understand back then," he said.

He began to tell stories of his childhood as I tried to make sense of where our family lost our traditions, and language.

It's then that I recalled my mother's stories of her growing up, and the fear that arose when unannounced visitors came to the door. That fear followed her from our uncle's time, he said when they were hidden as children when a knock was at the door. And somehow it presented itself when I was a child, being told to "go wait in our rooms," until my mother knew who was on the other side.

Until the 1978, Indigenous parents could be jailed for refusing a government agent's decision to take their children to the boarding schools.

Simple games like that take on darker meaning when you understand the fear from which they sprouted generations before.

My uncle Tom's mother, Helena Smith, and his grandmother, Della Smith, spoke our language.

He said he would hear the adults whispering it in the kitchen late at night, but they were quick to close their lips when children wandered within earshot. He asked his father if he could learn the language, too.

"He told me 'no,' that there was no need for it anymore because we were living in a white man's world," he said.

They never spoke of it after that.

Tom said he would catch pieces of our culture through small acts, like the red tea his grandmother Della would brew, made of red willow, a traditional medicine in our tribe.

Della would do "odd things," during certain times of the year, and make medicines, tinctures, and teas out of what he thought were weeds. Younger family members never understood fully what she was doing, he laughed.

Tom explained to me that it wasn't until adulthood, when he began seeking out our culture, that he understood more of what Della was doing.

"She knew our medicines," he said, she was the last traditional person in our family, and it's such a shame she never was able to show us that," he said.

He said the newfound records explain some of his memories of his parents hiding parts of their "Indigenity" from the outside world, why they never spoke of it and why our family was hurting so much.

As I listened to my uncle recall a childhood devoid of our traditions and culture, I realized my family lost our roots because of a need to endure in a world that wanted to "kill the Indian, save the man."

"They were surviving," Tom said. And the long-term impacts exist today in our family — trauma passed down that became ingrained in the bloodline, he explained.

I asked if he believed the residential boarding schools succeeded in assimilating our family.

"Yes, oh yes," he replied in a bleak tone.

The experiences he recounted and the anguish in his voice that afternoon mirrored what I heard from dozens of others during the past few months. That thread ties together Indigenous families and communities nationwide — legacy effects of federal boarding school policies and initiatives that carried on for more than 150 years.

In the post-Civil War era, BIA modeled many of the schools after the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania. That school was founded by Civil War Lt. Richard Henry Pratt, who embraced and popularized the motto "Kill the Indian, Save the Man."

Many of the facilities operated from the early 1800s through the 1980s and 1990s — the last residential school in Michigan, the one in Harbor Springs, didn't close until the 1980s.

The firsthand experiences retold to me by several elders who attended the schools are nothing short of horrific — vivid descriptions of a brutal system built to cleanse them of their culture.

On Sept. 30, the first national day of Remembrance for Indian Boarding Schools, "The Truth and Healing Commission on Indian Boarding School Policies in the U.S Act" was introduced by U.S. Sen. Elizabeth Warren.

The bill aims to create a special commission for the federal government to investigate, document, and address the generational trauma for Indigenous people affected by the schools.

The bill follows an announcement made earlier this year by Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland launching an effort to collect, document and preserve records from the schools. Many of the remaining records are held in private church archives maintained by the institutions that once ran the schools, including the Catholic Diocese of Gaylord.

In the spring, Warren Petoskey, an elder of the Waganakising Odawa and Minneconjou Lakotah tribes, shared his story with me to educate the public about how generational trauma inflicted by the boarding schools impacted him and his family.

"I am a blessed man to have survived the effects of generational trauma my family has faced," he said.

His father and aunts were separated and enrolled in boarding schools in Mount Pleasant and Carlise, Pennsylvania. Petoskey said as a child, his father wouldn't speak their language around him or engage with him in traditional practices.

Growing up, he didn't understand what "normal" family life looked like, and fighting with his alcoholic and abusive father was constant.

By age 14, Petoskey said due to the physical conflict with his father, he was placed in a foster care home, where he became a farm laborer. It wasn't until years later, after his father quit drinking, that the two reconciled their relationship.

Petoskey was an adult before his aunts explained the abuse they and his father endured at the schools. It was then that he began to realize how the trauma had reached beyond his father's generation.

His father was removed from his community, stripped of the language, culture, and denied a loving relationship from his own parents.

"He was hurting and in pain, and was medicating himself in alcohol," Petoskey said.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, American Indians and Alaska Natives are at six-times higher risk of developing an alcohol use disorder, three times higher risk of depression, and two times higher risk of suicide, than the general population.

Dr. Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart, an associate professor in the Department of Psychiatry and the director of Native American and Disparities Research at the University of New Mexico in the Center for Rural and Community Behavioral Health, said the result of centuries of genocide and anti-Indigenous policies has resulted in unresolved trauma that impacts Indigenous health in the 21st century.

In her research beginning in the early 1990s, Brave Heart focused on Indigenous collective trauma, grief and loss, historical trauma, healing intervention, and mental health in Indigenous populations.

She writes that the generational trauma documented in her research is "echoing through generations by symptoms of survivor guilt, anger, depression, self-destructive behaviors and a number of other disorders."

Petoskey said he has seen a positive shift in his community as older generations confront the legacy left by the schools.

Both Petoskey and his wife, Barbara, run Dawnland Native Ministries, which, he said offers programs to address historical trauma in impacted communities. They aim to heal younger and older generations collectively.

Petoskey said Indigenous communities working to heal and demanding accountability and action sparks hope. He sees it in younger generations taking back their culture, and language, and in the nation's boarding school history being pulled into conversations throughout communities.

When I last saw Petoskey at his home in Charlevoix, his family was preparing for a naming ceremony for his two younger nieces, an Anishinaabek tradition that can simply be summed up as a rite of passage.

He said it was monumental to witness the great courage of younger generations taking back what their ancestors were denied.

Being Odawa and a journalist has made reporting on residential boarding schools challenging. Finding my own history while scouring records for work was devastating.

Maybe that's why I found myself traveling to meet elders to hear their stories and guidance, and talking with community members doing the work to heal.

The notion weighs heavy that as I continue to do this work, each surfaced document, or story, brings the potential to unearth more of my own family history.

My uncle requested later that day we go down one of our normal dirt roads to visit his sage spot and collect cedar. The familiar bumps and curves of the two-track led to a small clearing between the trees that once held traditional ceremonies.

Now, only the skeletal remains of the lodge stand, mostly fallen and weathered, surrounded by little evidence that the lodge was once packed "shoulder to shoulder, with Anishinaabe from all over" my uncle recalled.

I spent the rest of my time with my uncle interweaving traditional knowledge about medicinal plants and stories of our family.

As I watched my uncle offering asemaa (tobacco) to the sage patch, I reached down to my own asemaa pouch. I smiled as I stared at in in my hands. My uncle taught me how to sew the deer-hide together with sinew. He gifted me the knowledge of how to properly take care of it, and the teachings that follow.

I pulled it open to take out a pinch of the medicine.

Maybe the residential schools were not so successful after all and maybe it is never too late to reclaim what was once denied to us.

Sierra Clark's reporting is supported by a partnership between the Traverse City Record-Eagle and Report for America. Go to www.record-eagle.com/RFA to support this and other work by RFA reporters in the Record-Eagle newsroom.