On May 29, over 100 members of the
Minneapolis American Indian community filled the hall of the Church
of Gichitwaa Kateri to hear from the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office
about an alarming rise in heroin and opioid-related deaths.
According to the Sheriff’s Office,
deaths have been on a rise throughout the county. Beginning in 2008,
there were only six deaths related to heroin and opioid overdose;
that figure climbed steadily to 56 in 2013; so far this year, there
have been 12, half of which, occurred in Little Earth of United
Tribes, the Native American housing complex in South Minneapolis. In
a prepared letter, read for the event, Little Earth president and CEO
Robert Lilligren (White Earth Ojibwe) stated, “It’s a grim way for
me to mark my time here.”
Hennepin County Sheriff Richard Stanek
moderated the Heroin Town Hall Forum and praised the work being down
between his office and Little Earth. However, he admitted that
addressing the issue didn’t rest in jail time. “Prevention and
treatment are essential. We can’t arrest our way out of this.”
Commander Bruce Folkens, Minneapolis
Police Department, detailed all prongs of attack from the law
enforcement side. “It’s a multi-faceted approach. We’ve got
undercover cops, precinct cops and uniformed officers.” Officers
from the city are also assigned to the Drug Enforcement Agency and
the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. “We try to hit it at
all levels, two officers follow up with every arrest. But we need
folks, such as yourselves to be our eyes and ears.”
Hennepin County Attorney Mike Freeman
echoed those sentiments, “Have the courage to come forward and
help. Call the police.” He sought to allay fears from community
members that his office may not differentiate between prosecuting
addicts and dealers. “We prosecute all adult cases, but there’s a
difference between a use who suffers from addiction and the dealer
who suffers from greed. Drug court works with small time dealers and
users.”
Gerald Cross, a community member in
recovery, gave his personal story on what led to his addictions to
heroin and crack. “What got me going is that I didn’t have no love,
my parents’ addiction to alcohol and we were in foster homes. We had
decent [foster] parents who were white but we knew we were different
and they made us feel different. So we ran away and stayed with
people who accepted us.”
Cross and his twin brother James then
set out on a path fraught with the struggle of fitting in and tangles
with the law. “I was jailed at age 11, that was my first
incarceration. I got into gang life, it was something to belong to.
Then I did nine-and-a-half years for a drive-by shooting.”
Through his incarcerations, Cross had
time to reflect on the causes of his addictions. “We didn’t have
any spirituality, we were empty inside. The drugs made us feel
better. I didn’t care about nothing. First, it was fun, then I needed
it.”
Eventually, Cross’s parole officer
recommended treatment, which led to his recovery and working with his
brother to help other addicts in the community. “We all got clean
and we got the family we all needed and wanted … we got love …
things are coming to us.”
As part of his recovery, Cross helps
facilitate a talking circle at Little Earth called Natives Against
Heroin that meets on Saturdays from 2 to 4 p.m. In the Neighborhood
Early Learning Center (2438 18th Ave. S., Minneapolis,
MN).
Heroin’s Youngest Victims
While the public safety aspect of drug
trafficking is well-documented in statistics, what is rarely
discussed is the effects of addiction, particularly on newborn Native
children. Aida Strom (Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate) is the American Indian
Patient Advocate at Hennepin County Medical Center and described the
impact of addiction on her youngest patients. “If you listen to the
people, they’ll tell you what’s wrong. There’s been a marked increase
in babies born at HCMC with addiction. Babies have the same
withdrawal effects, they can’t stop crying, they have tremors, tense
arms and legs, they experience vomiting and diarrhea.”
Lisa Skefjte (Red Lake Ojibwe),
Childrens Hospital American Indian Community Liaison, grew up in
Little Earth and for her, a solution lies in reclaiming cultural
practices. “Our community went up, pounded on the doors and said
‘you need to have this.’”
“The second day I was there, a
social worker contacted me and asked how to best serve Native mothers
with babies with NAS. I told them we need to get community into the
hospital, some moms might be left alone, and sometimes, mom is
struggling,” she said. “We have a family and volunteer cohort
coming in and comforting our babies. Traditionally, our aunties,
grandmas and moms used to comfort and swaddle our babies.”
The collective effort to engage
community and culture in recovering children addicted to heroin is
The First Gift. It’s a project through the the community, Native
American Community Development Institute and All My Relations Gallery
to make and bead baby moccasins for newborn infants affected by NAS.
Community Finding Solutions
Part of the forum’s community
inclusion was taking questions from community members that were
pre-written and answered by the panel. One question asked why
children born with NAS were returned to mothers suffering from
addiction.
Laura LaPlante, a licensed ICWA foster
mother for 20 years, answered the question from the crowd, defending
it as an act of putting cultural values and sovereignty above other
consideration. “We’ve taken all the NAS babies, the reason why they
go back is because the mother gave birth to the child. Do not pass
judgment on the mother. Judgment is reserved for the creator.” She
continued, “Under ICWA, mothers are entitled to that reunion, or we
will lose our children.”
Social Worker Matt Thornhill (Red Lake
Ojibwe), offered his perspective and said the best way of keeping
children safe was to engage in a tough-love approach. “I’ve been a
social worker for 20 years, I’ve seen this wave of opiates coming in
hard. This recent wave of heroin use is 10 times worse than meth use.
As a member of a the community, we have terrible stories of finding
people addicted, people who are leaving their kids with family
members – that’s neglect.”
He’s mindful of the realities of
addiction. “I work with adults who – I think in the back of my
mind – ‘who’s going to be with you when you overdose?’ The message
I want to bring is we can get victimized by our family members who
act like you’re victimizing them. Once you use opiates, you stop
being a rational, functioning adult.”
Stanek and others expounded on the
virtue of drug prevention programs in the community, which drew
comment from Nick Howard, a 16 year-old resident of Little Earth.
“I’ve never seen ads for drug prevention, where are they?”
Strom addressed the question, “This
[forum] is a programming. How many youth are in here? We used to
bring our kids to stuff. Let’s start doing that again. Grown up
meetings aren’t just for grown ups.”
Tammey Skinaway, another Little Earth
resident also pointed out a lack of diversion for children. “Kids
have nothing to do. We need dedicated money, dedicated people is what
we need. We’re trying to bridge with police so kids see police as
something strive to be, not something to run away from.”
PHOTO: Gerald Cross gives his personal
story of addiction to heroin and crack in front of a room filled with
Minneapolis American Indian Community members at the Church of
Gichitwaa Kateri on May 28. (Photo by Alfred Walking Bull)
