The Southside Native community is pretty small in population and geographically, stretching from Franklin to Lake Street and Cedar to Chicago. There are so few resources in this part of the city. People suffer not just from family poverty, but from the community’s economic deficits. On top of historical trauma are the current traumatic experiences. There is not enough time to grieve one death before there is another. That is one part of why the graduation rate is so low. Having to get up everyday when you are grieving.
—Brenna Dep
Roots in Rural Wisconsin
I grew up in Lancaster Wisconsin, a town of 4000 people, 45 minutes from the Iowa border, where everyone identified as either a farm kid or a city kid.Growing up in Wisconsin, I knew I was on Native American land, but I did not know Native people. The Ho Chunk Community was nearby but we had no contact with them. My dad was my US history teacher. I remember learning about Columbus, the French and Indian War, how Native Americans were part of fur trading, and the Trail of Tears.
In college at UW La Crosse, I went out for cross country. It made college less overwhelming. It was the sports that led me to Albuquerque, New Mexico as a Vista Volunteer, working with a youth soccer program.
Youth Worker in New Mexico
New Mexico was a different planet. The landscape was brown, with few trees, lakes or rivers. It was the first time I wasn’t surrounded by White people. There was a lot of growing for me.
Vista volunteers are Jacks and Jills of all trades. They started me out writing grants for a Native soccer program within an Indigenous charter school. We were the underdog in the soccer league. The games were willy-nilly, and full of emotion. We hosted a Native soccer tournament at New Mexico State University. It wasn’t just soccer. There were daily cultural activities, workshops on life skills and college prep.
Part of my job was driving a barely-working short bus, bought for a dollar. When I drove it to the airport to pick up a friend, airport security wouldn’t allow me to sit with the other vehicles in the waiting area. During the many times the bus would break down around Albuquerque, we used my boss’s AAA membership for help. After a while, AAA would ask the “van” color. When I said yellow, they would refuse to come, saying a bus did not qualify. We had to improvise.
Once, driving to Gallop, New Mexico, with a group of boys, we were going up a never-ending hill. The wind was gusting. Everything in the bus was shaking. It was so loud I thought it might fall apart any minute. My friend Sharral sat on the bus door handle, the rattling stopped and we figured we were okay. The logic of a 24-year-old.
I grew up on that job, but I missed my family, so I applied to grad school in Minneapolis. Studying Public Health/ community health promotion. at the U of M was overwhelming at first. I started, quit, and started again.
Indigenous People’s Task Force
While in grad school, I got a part-time position working with the Indigenous People’s Task Force on an HIV education program for teens. Since 2012, I’ve worked there full time. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a teacher or a doctor. In a way I guess I became both.
The first year, I never knew if the kids would show up. Since then it has turned into a really effective and successful program. We interview kids now, and choose those we feel can gain the most from the months they are with us. The 12 -15 year olds in the program grow and gain from our activities and discussions. They stick with it. It is harder when they turn 16 and they want to see what a “real job,” at the Mall, or outside of the neighborhood.
I conduct a sexual health education program that has a theater action component. Youth gain so much from putting their messages on stage— speaking in front of people, building self-esteem. The first play we did with kids was called Wait, on teen pregnancy prevention. We worked with Pangea World Theater. There were eight kids. We had them interview their teachers, friends, parents, and Aunties, asking them: “What would you say if I told you I was pregnant?” The kids wrote poetry about these question prompts: What is love? How would it feel if I were a teen parent? Why does teen pregnancy happen? We had a lot of group discussions and role-plays.
The Liberating Power of Poem
I learned how powerful a poem could be. It is such an ideal model for developing self-esteem and delivering an honest message. It was a thrill to see kids connecting with an audience with their words; see the audience ask, “Who wrote this beautiful poetry?”
My coworker Kirby and I both had very little theater background. We were both into sports, so to motivate the kids, we used competition. The kids would try to perform the best skits during practice.
I’m 33 years old. The kids think I am younger, because they make me younger. I can’t help but want to win the icebreaker games, or get excited about the work they do in group.
We recreated a play written by youth in the 1990s called My Grandmother’s Love, about communicating with your family. The main character is a teenager skipping school and taking drugs. When it was first written, the focus was on educating kids about HIV. Revisiting it in 2015, we worked in other issues, like supporting your family members.
We are currently working on a play called We do it For the Water. My boss Sharon Day, wrote the script. She does water walks. This play is not only intended for teens, but for everyone to think about water. It has always been sacred for Native Americans, but it should be sacred for all of us, and respected, protected. We all need water to live.
In July, I had a baby. I just came back to work. I’m starting a new project called Keep the Fire Alive — a suicide and substance prevention program. I am learning some of the reasons why suicide is so prevalent among Native youth. There is a misconception that if you talk about suicide it plants the seed. Actually, it’s important to talk about it, let people know you care and what resources are available.
Cultural ceremonies and traditions are not as accessible as they used to be. This takes away the healing that was always part of the community. Now it’s harder to know where to turn when you need to heal. It contributes to feeling like you don’t fit it in. It makes it harder to survive the bullying, historical trauma. When you strip people of identity, that will have profound negative effects.
The amount of resources doesn’t come close to matching the need. The Southside Native community is pretty small in population and geographically, stretching from Franklin to Lake Street and Cedar to Chicago. There are kids and families that stay in that area most of their lives. There are so few resources in this part of the city. People suffer not just from family poverty, but from the community’s economic deficits. On top of historical trauma are the current traumatic experiences. There is not enough time to grieve one death before there is another. That is one part of why the graduation rate is so low. Having to get up everyday when you are grieving.
Traveling with the youth, I see a bit of what they deal with. When all ten of us walk in a restaurant, I feel everyone staring at us. I also see people who are trying to help, asking the wrong questions and making assumptions about what other people need. It sounds simple, but I think even on a small scale—paying attention—listening, would help. Exposure is essential, but at the same time it is easy for White people to take over. Indigenous communities need their own events. They need to not feel like minorities in their own space.
Economic, Racial Divides in South Minneapolis
I bike to work. On my current route I see women on the streets in the morning carrying their belongings, walking in shoes that hurt; people in pain who, if they had a place to go, would. If the larger community would just be aware! Understand, for example, what it is like to be kicked out of your place and have to charge your phone at an outdoor outlet when its cold and damp. We get caught up in our lives and act like some problems that have existed a long time aren’t really problems anymore. If the greater community knew, they would be more compassionate, give what they can give .
There are people who see drug addiction, homeless people and street walkers and think that it is their own fault. Seeing these social problems an individual level, you learn that no one would stay in that situation if they could help it. Kids who come from great homes and families will be homeless for a little bit or a while. You would never know it. Kids have to learn to hide a lot at a young age.
White middle class people have no idea what other communities deal with on a daily basis. Whether it’s grieving, homelessness, hunger, abuse, seeing drug use, not having their own bed. If they understood, they would be more accommodating and less judgmental. Instead of being angry and disappointed, they might see an opportunity to help. Even just explaining how some systems work.
I am emotionally connected to my work. I hear the stress of co-workers and youth about improving their community for their loved ones and people.I think about the youth I work with all the time. I’m at Home Depot, I see a pile of hand warmers and I think — I should get those to give out. I have learned that community relies on everyone working consistently against a big system, to create change.
Where I live in South Minneapolis, community is not in my consciousness. I guess that is one more part of privilege. Even though I work two miles from where I live, my neighborhood is a world away. I think very few of my neighbors are aware of cultural gatherings and community events happening two miles north of them.
I share with my friends if something out of the ordinary happens at work. But I also try to mentally leave work when I can. As a White person who works with Native people I can do that. I get a break. My Native colleagues don’t get a break. It is easier for me. I just need to remember that, but I don’t begrudge myself the break. My job involves helping sixteen year-olds make healthy choices. It helps me remember to seek health and balance in my own life. My family doesn’t understand what I do. My parents think I should be challenging myself more professionally in a different type of setting.
Multicultural Parenting
When I was pregnant, I didn’t fully understand how special and unique my tiny brand new boy would be, or that there are no breaks from being a mother. During this huge change in my life, I see my coworkers as family. When I brought my son to meet them, they embraced him with so much love and kindness. I am so thankful. He will grow up around cultures who are different from his. He won’t start from a place of unknowingness. If he asks questions I will explain. His high school will be very different from mine. He can decide what kind of person he will be.
Yes, I’m already worrying about him in high school. As a new parent, most of the things I worry about, I shouldn’t.
Universal Spiritual Needs
Working in the Native community, I have been invited to join tobacco and water ceremonies. I don’t want to compare these rituals to Catholic rites because of the negative role the Church has played in the Native community, but I do see many connections with my Methodist upbringing. So many universal things humans need that our spiritual practices provide us: community, forgiveness, love, and giving to others.
Minneapolis Interview Project.