Post by Okwes on Oct 2, 2006 18:18:23 GMT -5
Prisoners' letters detail Labriola Center 's help with genealogy issues
“George” wants to prove that he is Apache so he can officially enroll in the tribe.
Problem is, he's doing time in a California prison for murder, and there's no one there who can help him with his quest.
“David” seeks to learn more about his Lakota heritage, so he can fill in the gaps of his cultural knowledge.
But “David,” too, has an obstacle to overcome: He's in a Pennsylvania prison for crimes related to a protest, or “speaking long and loud for his brothers,” as he put it.
Where do George, David (their names have been changed to protect their identities) and other Native American prisoners who are seeking cultural or spiritual knowledge turn for help?
Often it's ASU's Labriola National American Indian Data Center .
Over the past five years or so, numerous Native American prisoners incarcerated around the country have written to the Labriola Center asking for help with genealogies and information about tribal cultural, language and religious ceremonies.
Several prisoners have asked for help finding correspondence classes to take, while one hoped to find an Apache student as a pen pal to him help learn about his heritage. Another prisoner requested a picture of a tribal flag. Labriola Center staff members answer each letter and send materials, such as handouts on researching genealogy, when possible, but the center can't send books.
Most of the letters in the past few years were addressed to Patricia Etter, the center's recently retired curator. The letters were polite, and the writers seemed grateful for a contact with the outside world, even if it was just on paper. Some seemed lost, hoping that information about their tribes would help them find their place in the world.
A Yaqui/Mexican in a northern California prison wrote, for example, that he “has been in search of my identity for some time now. I wish to know more of my people.” “David,” whose Indian name is “Looks at Clouds,” said he is seeking knowledge about his heritage.
“I grew up an urban Indian, and I have a lot of holes in my knowledge of my own people's customs,” he wrote.
He concluded one letter to Etter by urging her to “walk softly on Mother Earth.”
Several prisoners have written more than one letter, such as “George,” who claims his great-grandfather rode with Geronimo. He says he is in prison for “29 to life” because of mistakes he made when he was young.
“Being in a street gang is what put me in this position,” he wrote. “I was young, lacking in intelligence.”
The most prolific letter writer to date is “Red Sleeve,” who is in a California prison on a drug conviction.
He has asked for books on the Apache language and the religious practices of Apaches, hoping to have “a more balanced walk with the creator and Mother Earth,” along with his “strong circle of brothers” in the prison.
In thanks for materials that Etter sent him, Red Sleeve wrote, “I have to say, Patricia, that although I know very little about you, I am quite sure you are a beautiful person. My mother taught me that it is a person's spirit that truly defines them. You undoubtedly have a kind spirit. All you have done for me and the other people you write to, or aid in other ways, is evidence of your kind spirit.”
Red Sleeve then seems to have second thoughts about what he is writing.
The letter continues: “I hope this short letter doesn't sound like some inmate making a play for a woman. I assure you it is not. But rather it is an extension of my hand to you in friendship and gratitude.”
To show his thanks, Red Sleeve made a pair of beaded earrings and a beaded necklace strung on doeskin, which are part of the Labriola collection and are on display in the center, on the second floor of Hayden Library.
Judith Smith, jps@asu.edu
(480) 965-4821
“George” wants to prove that he is Apache so he can officially enroll in the tribe.
Problem is, he's doing time in a California prison for murder, and there's no one there who can help him with his quest.
“David” seeks to learn more about his Lakota heritage, so he can fill in the gaps of his cultural knowledge.
But “David,” too, has an obstacle to overcome: He's in a Pennsylvania prison for crimes related to a protest, or “speaking long and loud for his brothers,” as he put it.
Where do George, David (their names have been changed to protect their identities) and other Native American prisoners who are seeking cultural or spiritual knowledge turn for help?
Often it's ASU's Labriola National American Indian Data Center .
Over the past five years or so, numerous Native American prisoners incarcerated around the country have written to the Labriola Center asking for help with genealogies and information about tribal cultural, language and religious ceremonies.
Several prisoners have asked for help finding correspondence classes to take, while one hoped to find an Apache student as a pen pal to him help learn about his heritage. Another prisoner requested a picture of a tribal flag. Labriola Center staff members answer each letter and send materials, such as handouts on researching genealogy, when possible, but the center can't send books.
Most of the letters in the past few years were addressed to Patricia Etter, the center's recently retired curator. The letters were polite, and the writers seemed grateful for a contact with the outside world, even if it was just on paper. Some seemed lost, hoping that information about their tribes would help them find their place in the world.
A Yaqui/Mexican in a northern California prison wrote, for example, that he “has been in search of my identity for some time now. I wish to know more of my people.” “David,” whose Indian name is “Looks at Clouds,” said he is seeking knowledge about his heritage.
“I grew up an urban Indian, and I have a lot of holes in my knowledge of my own people's customs,” he wrote.
He concluded one letter to Etter by urging her to “walk softly on Mother Earth.”
Several prisoners have written more than one letter, such as “George,” who claims his great-grandfather rode with Geronimo. He says he is in prison for “29 to life” because of mistakes he made when he was young.
“Being in a street gang is what put me in this position,” he wrote. “I was young, lacking in intelligence.”
The most prolific letter writer to date is “Red Sleeve,” who is in a California prison on a drug conviction.
He has asked for books on the Apache language and the religious practices of Apaches, hoping to have “a more balanced walk with the creator and Mother Earth,” along with his “strong circle of brothers” in the prison.
In thanks for materials that Etter sent him, Red Sleeve wrote, “I have to say, Patricia, that although I know very little about you, I am quite sure you are a beautiful person. My mother taught me that it is a person's spirit that truly defines them. You undoubtedly have a kind spirit. All you have done for me and the other people you write to, or aid in other ways, is evidence of your kind spirit.”
Red Sleeve then seems to have second thoughts about what he is writing.
The letter continues: “I hope this short letter doesn't sound like some inmate making a play for a woman. I assure you it is not. But rather it is an extension of my hand to you in friendship and gratitude.”
To show his thanks, Red Sleeve made a pair of beaded earrings and a beaded necklace strung on doeskin, which are part of the Labriola collection and are on display in the center, on the second floor of Hayden Library.
Judith Smith, jps@asu.edu
(480) 965-4821