Podcasts about red lake reservation

The head of Feeding our Future has been found guilty in the largest pandemic fraud scheme in the U.S. We get a recap on the trial full of twists and turns and learn how state lawmakers are working to prevent it from happening again.Friday marks 20 years since a shooting claimed the lives of 10 people on the Red Lake Reservation. We talk to a survivor who is working to memorialize the lives lost.Minnesota's winters are getting warmer. We look at this past winter and how it fits into climate trends.Thursday marks the first day of spring. We get some professional help to do spring cleaning.Plus, it's the middle of fish fry season. We go inside a church that is home to the Twin Cities largest fish fry.Today's Minnesota Music Minute was “Backseat” by Chastity Brown and “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes was the Song of the Day.

This week, a new novel called Rez Ball uses basketball to tell the story of an Ojibwe teen on the Red Lake Reservation. Reporter Emma Needham interviewed author Byron Graves about this coming-of-age book. Image: Author Byron Graves from Red Lake Nation. Photographer: Mike FinneyEN: The Red Lake Warriors Basketball is well known, but not because they are the best in Minnesota. The Warriors, and other tribal teams, are known for playing a specific type of basketball called Rez Ball. Rez Ball is also the title of a debut, young adult novel. Author Byron Graves explains what Rez Ball the sport is: BG: Rez Ball is poetry in motion. It's a Zen state of mind. It's not controlled, other brands of basketball, you're setting up a play, you're moving a certain way. You're doing things in Orthodox manner. Rez Ball is creating in the moment, it's like rep freestyle. So nobody knows what's going to hit up, hit them at any moment your opponent doesn't know. The novel Rez Ball was released on September 12th, and isn't just about Basketball. Author Byron Graves shares about the other experiences he wrote into his book. BG: It's a coming of age story of a Ojibwe teenager going into his sophomore year. He has big dreams of becoming the next big basketball star. His brother had recently passed away, and he was the best basketball player that the reservations ever seen. And everybody expected him to go to a D1 school, maybe even go to the NBA, they were all hoping he would be the one to lead them to their first state tournament. And his brother, unfortunately had passed away in a car accident about a year before. So the main character trait, he is navigating the grieving process, seeing his community and family and friends and teammates also mourn. And also just trying to be a teenager who's falling in love for the first time trying to figure out who he wants to be as a person and trying to fulfill his own Hoop Dreams. So he's navigating all of those different things as a 16 year old, and you end up rooting for this kid. So it's kind of just a beautiful story of working your way through the hardships of life, while also pursuing a dream.EN: Basketball holds a special place in the hearts of Native people nationwide. Graves shares why he chose basketball to tell this story. BG: Basketball amongst Indian country, if you will. I think that's like the thing we all can rally behind. We all so many of us, I say we all I know, a lot of us who love basketball.BG: I remember like several years back when the Schimmel sisters were making their final four runs, how exciting it was, for all of us across the country, to see them on TV, and they were just killing it. And I remember hearing even like some of the announcers saying, well, they play a style of basketball called red ball. And I know like it was both a beautiful moment and also kind of a cool, funny moment. You know how Indian humor is like, we can think something's like awesome and kind of be chuckling about it at the same time. So that's why I picked basketball to tell the story.EN: It's no secret that life on the Reservation differs from what most Minnesotans experience. Graves says he wanted his novel to express those experiences and help people heal. BG: I wanted to tell a story of what was different about trying to make it as an athlete, and a Native American athlete. I feel like we have our own unique trials and tribulations. And it's never just one thing, or one of us, you know, three of your teammates, positive, your teammates, all of your teammates are all going through things that can be some extreme hardship. And how does that then reflect on the court when you're playing a game against maybe, you know, different community that maybe has it a little bit better.Or how does that affect the way you train the way you play your mindset in a game. So I was trying to capture some of those unique challenges that Native American youth face when chasing their dreams.EN: Rez Ball is available at many local bookstores and most major retailers. There is also an audiobook available online. Graves says to watch for his next novel set to release in Fall 2024. For Minnesota Native News, I'm Emma Needham. 

About 60 years ago, a young man who grew up poor on the Red Lake Reservation revolutionized snowmobile design. While working at Polaris, Andy Wells — then just 20 years old — came up with a design to move the engine from the back of the sled to the front. “It just made sense,” he saidPolaris immortalized Wells' achievement by naming the snowmobile after him — the Lil Andy.  He could have had a big career with the company. Polaris management encouraged Wells to go back to school and return when he was finished. But Wells had other plans.  He left, first to become a teacher for a couple of decades, and then to start his own multimillion dollar business. Later Wells combined his two biggest passions — engineering and helping others — to create a free apprenticeship program for anyone who's Indigenous. Making a difference Before joining Wells Academy in Bemidji, Red Laker Lisa Butcher lost her job. Today she's operating one of the most sophisticated precision machines in the world that is worth millions and making high-end components. She's been with the program about a year.   “I have a love for learning and whenever I can prove myself to do something better than what I even thought I could do I'm there, I'm doing it, this has just been the perfect job for me,” Butcher said. “I needed something to support my family and it did that.” Beltrami County in northwest Minnesota is the second poorest county in the state. It's county seat — Bemidji — sits between three reservations. Growing up on Red Lake, Wells said he had help when he was young. “That's why I was able to go forward. Some of them didn't. And some of them had failed in the public systems. And they needed a second chance, I realized that I had the ability to maybe help at least a few of them,” he said. Wells Technology focused on making tools. By 2008, it had outgrown its humble two-stall garage where it started, to include 32 employees and $54 million in revenue. But early on, Wells noticed a growing problem. “We were getting a lot of applicants coming to our door, looking for work. And they really weren't qualified. They had dropped out of high school, and they didn't have any industrial skills,” Wells said. “A lot of them didn't even have transportation, they were riding with a friend or someone they knew. And it was a really difficult challenge.”Wells called them “employment-challenged applicants” and felt the hiring process was unfair to them. “In a competitive world, they had been turned down by other possible opportunities. And I kept feeling that maybe I could do something if I could see desire. And if I could see that they were trustworthy. Maybe I could do something about it,” Wells recalled. “And I began teaching them one by one.”Word gets outWells' mission worked — really well. Initially the company was only able to train one or two people a year, and Wells says it was expensive. But word got out.  “Other corporations liked what we were doing. And they said they would be willing to actually give us a small grant,” he said. “It was something that we had to do. We were training only one or two a year and with the help from some of the other corporations we were able to double that.”  He used the money to create the nonprofit Wells Academy and soon began training up to five workers a year. He said it works for everyone, including the financial supporters. “They can help humanity plus get some future employees,” he said. “So, we're trying to be a model.”Opening in Red Lake And then things went one step further: In November 2020, after years of dialogue with Red Lake Nation, Wells Academy opened an apprenticeship program on the reservation at the Oshkiimaajitahdah community center in Redby. Wells supplied the equipment needed to increase accessibility for those living on the reservation.  The center's executive director, Jerry Loud, said he admires Wells Technology because it doesn't give up on people regardless of their past. "Where other employers won't even take a look at them. Andy will take them on and give them a second chance. And that's really our mission here at Oshkiimaajitahdah is getting people on a new path, a new journey, because we all made mistakes, right?" said Loud. “We've been fronting part of it; Andy's been fronting part of it. But now we need partners to continue on and to grow this. So that's really what I would like to see.” More than just a certificate Assistant executive director Eugene Standing Cloud said the program is about more than just a certificate. “It's getting these individuals to understand that they can accomplish pretty much anything, getting them the confidence, getting them the organizational skills to show up every day, participate, ask questions, learn a new skill, a new career. And I think that's, that's really a huge goal,” Standing Cloud said. In Redby, students learn how to manufacture fasteners commonly found on medical equipment. Robert Altaha, 23, said he heard about the program from his sister. Before that he was doing child care. “I just decided to change my life. I got bored sitting at home doing nothing. Because sitting there with kids all day can get tiring and exhausting,” Altaha said. “I was sitting there with like, eight kids a day. And it would drive you crazy at times. But I had to figure something out, to do something new.” So far three classes of three students per class have finished the program at Oshkiimaajitahdah. From there, students transfer to the Bemidji location for the final 12-month training. Wells Academy has graduated a total of 105 students since it opened.   After the program is complete Wells will either hire the graduates or help them find work at a different company — even if it's a competitor. He said the metric for success is job placement. “I think that it just keeps the whole thing more fair. So it doesn't look like we're doing this just for us. We're really not,” Wells said. “I do it because it was my time in life to give back."  ‘Making life better for others'One of the people Wells has helped is Leech Laker Logan Cloud. He's the oldest of four boys. Cloud said his parents are in their 70s and are experiencing medical issues just as his brothers are transitioning into adulthood. Graduating from Wells Academy has given him the ability to support his family's needs. “That's something that really needs to be looked for in Native Country, is that understanding of a family dynamic, that we're not a 9-to-5 family, that whole dynamic is foreign to us,” Cloud said. “We're a unit, we're a lodge, we're not a picket fence with all that other crazy stuff that you see on TV, our family is completely different.”  Wells says the Red Lake funding is geared toward Indigenous prospects, but the apprentice program at Wells Academy in Bemidji is open to all. And that's the model he's trying to encourage businesses across the U.S. to take up. He says it's an approach that can help fight poverty while strengthening community.  “My motivation every day is to get up and make life better for other people. I think it's a very satisfying thing. It's a joyful thing to see that you've done something that makes other people's life a little better,” Wells said. “It's different than pleasure. Pleasure is kind of a central thing. You can take a boat ride or an airplane ride or go see a movie or something like that. That's just temporary pleasure, but happiness and joy are found in the heart.” 

You read that right, Father AND Doctor. It doesn't get any more Loyola than that. But how does a physician with a private practice in Dayton, Ohio find themselves being called to become a Jesuit Priest on the Red Lake Reservation in Northern Minnesota? Join Katherine as she sits down with the Stritch School of Medicine's much beloved Father Doctor David DeMarco as they discuss his childhood, dual calling, and reflective practice. Dr. Hardt said it best when he described Father Doctor David DeMarco as the ideal fit for Loyola because he is “kind, a good listener, highly intelligent, a skilled physician and a person of deep faith and humble disposition”. And you'll also hear this from patients and students alike. Episode recording date: August 29th, 2022 www.medicuspodcast.com | medicuspodcast@gmail.com | Donate: http://bit.ly/MedicusDonate --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/medicus/message

The final defendant pleaded guilty for her role in a 2019 homicide on the Red Lake Reservation; the inauguration ceremony for new BSU and NTC president Dr. John Hoffman is this Friday; Gov. Tim Walz and Senator Amy Klobuchar held a press conference about the possibility of the 2027 World Expo taking place in Minnesota; a 12-year-old boy was killed in a hunting accident near Motley; and Bemidji State will host three more honors lectures this semester.

For nearly a decade, Tiffany Kingbird went from jail to prison to jail, leaving a trail of charges mostly related to drugs and the property crimes she committed to pay for drugs.  “Your soul gets tired,” said Kingbird, 37, as she spoke recently of her years fighting addiction, and a resulting string of arrests and incarcerations. “Just that lifestyle, going in and out of jail and just having nothing, always having nothing. Just coming out and picking back up where you left off, because you didn't have nowhere to go.”  That downward spiral is deeply rooted in the historical poverty, generational trauma and persistent judicial system bias against Indigenous people in Minnesota. The data around Native women is especially startling. They make up less than 1 percent of Minnesota's overall population but are 20 percent of the state's female prison inmates. While many of the crimes that lead to jail or prison time are relatively small-time offenses — stealing, drug use, failure to show for a court date — the consequences of incarcerating Native women are enormous and cascading: children separated from mothers, metastasizing family poverty, financial and psychological costs that linger for generations. Monika Lawrence for MPR News Natasha Kingbird, right, is the lead coordinator of the Women's Reentry Program at the Northwest Indian Community Development Center in Bemidji and a vocal proponent of helping incarcerated women heal from trauma. In Bemidji, Kingbird and other Native women are part of a growing effort to share their stories and break the cycle. A pilot project intended to help women find their economic footing and reconnect to their families spiritual lives offers hope and shows promise. Safe housing is often the first need, and securing that can light the way. Observers worry permanent change won't come until Native people are no longer disproportionately caught up in the criminal justice system. That fact shows few signs of changing. In Beltrami County, near Minnesota's three most populous reservations, 70 percent of people arrested on an outstanding warrant over the past five years were American Indian. ‘Eventually, I just gave up' Themes surface in the stories of many Native women: youthful mistakes that morph into insurmountable hurdles, poverty that couldn't be overcome, family rifts that wouldn't heal, addiction and violence that fell on them and those they love. Tiffany Kingbird was raised mostly by her grandmother while her parents struggled with addiction. She recalls a “pretty good childhood” growing up on the Red Lake Reservation in northern Minnesota, going to school and traveling with family to powwows. Things changed in her late teens when a family member brought her cocaine, opening the door to a persistent drug habit. Her life was upended about 10 years ago, she said, by the death of her grandmother, the person she leaned on most. “When I lost her, everybody lost me,” Kingbird recalled. She survived violent relationships. She was homeless. Her drug addiction deepened. “I was pregnant with my baby. And I couldn't quit, so I did drugs through my pregnancy with my youngest one,” Kingbird said. “And they took her right from the hospital when I had her.” Reconnecting with her daughters, ages 18 and 10, has been a primary motivation for Kingbird to maintain sobriety for the past three years.  “The only time my kids ever heard from me is when I was locked up. And I was sick of saying the same shit, promising stuff that I wasn't gonna do,” she said. “So this last time around, I was like, ‘I'm gonna get out. And I'm just going to show them', and I'm still doing it.” Uprooted The 1950s plan to erase Indian Country Report Native American women, girls suffer more violence Billie Mountain's world changed in March 2005 when a teenager shot and killed seven people at the Red Lake High School where she worked.  Dan Gunderson | MPR News Billie Mountain is working to rebuild her life after drug and alcohol abuse led to incarceration. “I think it kind of broke me. I don't know, I've never talked about it,” said Mountain, 51, as she choked back tears during an interview.  Born in Minneapolis and raised on the Red Lake Reservation, she was “doing what was expected,” raising a family and working. Soon after the school shooting, she left Red Lake and moved to Bemidji, intending to return to college. Looking back, she believes she was just escaping the trauma of the school shooting.  After life on the isolated reservation, she wasn't prepared for life in a community where eight in 10 people are white. “It's only 30 miles, but you move to Bemidji and it's like you're in another world,” she said. “Like, ‘Oh, I gotta come to Bemidji and be white now.'” “It's intimidating,” she said. “And then you don't think you are good enough. Or you have to work extra hard to be able to get anywhere.” The stress led to increased alcohol use, she said, and her first arrest was for drunk driving. Then a new relationship brought her into a circle of people using and selling illegal prescription drugs. That led to more encounters with the justice system.   “I got my kids taken away from me, I lost my house, I lost my job, I had to go to court, and I ended up in jail,” said Mountain.  Mountain shares with other Native women a sense the system is stacked against them, that no one hears them when they ask for help. After getting out of jail, she struggled to get her kids back from foster care, unable to navigate a system she didn't understand.  “Depression, anxiety was to the roof,” she said. “And eventually, I just gave up. OK, I'll just go get high, because it's easier,” she said.  Mountain now has a job, her kids are back home, and she's sober, thanks to support from a local nonprofit organization.  “When I look back on my life, I know where it went wrong was when I was feeling weak, or hopeless, or lost,” she said. ‘We have to take you to jail' American Indians are often excluded from data comparing incarceration rates based on race. There are many reasons, including overlapping jurisdictions, differences between tribal justice systems and federal government policies that make data collection difficult, according to the National Institute of Justice. But available data shows the disproportionate incarceration of American Indians is striking across the justice system.   American Indians are just over one percent of Minnesota's population, but American Indian women make up about 20 percent of the inmates at Minnesota's only women's prison in Shakopee, and American Indian men make up about nine percent of the overall prison population in the state, according to DOC data.   The racial disparity is evident at an early age. Nearly half of the 62 incarcerated Native women interviewed through a project funded by a federal grant reported being arrested more than 10 times before age 18.  The Northwestern Minnesota Juvenile Center in Bemidji housed juveniles from 38 counties last year, but almost 60 percent came from Beltrami, Cass and Itasca, counties near reservations.   American Indian youth were 58 percent of the females and 44 percent of the males housed there, according to the center's annual report. Beltrami County is adjacent to three tribal nations located in northern Minnesota. The most recent census data shows about 22 percent of the county population is American Indian. They are disproportionately represented in the courts and the county jail. From 2017 to 2022, 70 percent of people arrested on an outstanding warrant in Beltrami County were American Indian, according to data collected by the sheriff's office. For the same five-year period, 53 percent of those arrested for non-warrant offenses were American Indian. Dan Gunderson | MPR News A corrections officer books an inmate at the Beltrami County Jail. While there is relatively little research on American Indians in the justice system, a recently published peer reviewed study found there is a financial cost for being Native in the Minnesota judicial system.  Researchers analyzed five years of court cases, examining the legal financial obligation imposed by criminal courts.  “We found that Native American defendants had the highest debt load per case, compared to any other racial group,” said University of Maryland assistant professor Robert Stewart.  Researchers found rural counties, and especially those in Indian Country, were more punitive.  “It is when they're in counties that overlap with reservations [or] that are in close proximity to reservations, that they actually receive the highest average fines and fees than any other group,” said Stewart.  Researchers wrote that the average outstanding legal debt for Native defendants was “more than 80 percent higher than the next highest racial group and more than four times higher than the average debt for white defendants.”  “The counties that really stick out, we're talking about Beltrami, we're talking about Becker, Mahnomen, Mille Lacs County, Cass County,” said Stewart. “These are all counties that have large reservations, or at least are in close proximity to large reservations.” University of Minnesota doctoral student Brieanna Watters was part of the research team, and heard the stories about the economic impact of legal debt when people have no way to pay. “What these cases demonstrate is just how compounding fines and fees are, especially for the marginalized people and the poor. They can be very devastating for people and entire communities,” said Watters.  American Indians have the highest poverty rate — 31 percent — of any racial group in Minnesota, according to the Minnesota Department of Health.  The researchers argue in their paper that disproportionate legal debt is an extension of previous government programs such as assimilation, relocation and boarding schools that were intended to break up Indigenous families and communities.    “There's an evolution from targeting the Native collective as a community, to targeting or subjugating individual Native people,” said Watters.  Researchers also interviewed defendants, judges, attorneys and probation officers about the legal, financial disparities they found.  “It was common for judges, prosecutors, and probation officers we interviewed to candidly assert that Native American defendants did not experience racialized disadvantage in the criminal legal system in their jurisdiction,” they wrote.  'I've never told anyone' Stories of life in Indian boarding schools A reckoning St. Benedict nuns apologize for Native boarding school Beltrami County Attorney David Hanson said his office doesn't track race data on those charged with crimes, and he rejects the idea the justice system is biased.   “I don't see direct evidence of explicit bias,” he said. “I'm going to prosecute each crime. To seek justice. That's what I do.” Hanson said he was not aware of disproportionate rates of incarceration for Native women, but he would not be surprised “given the demographics of the county” where American Indians make up about 22 percent of the population.  “However, if it is statistically unproportionate, or if there's some sort of underlying racial component that is driving it, well, then it would be concerning,” he said.  He sees reducing drug abuse as the key to reducing incarceration rates.  Hanson points to local efforts, including a recently created drug court, but those efforts are limited by lack of resources in one of the poorest counties in Minnesota. “You know, we're going to put every resource we have available at it, but we don't have a lot of the resources, so it becomes a larger societal question,” Hanson said. “What does the state of Minnesota want to do with this? We're all ears when it comes to solutions, we just need help to implement them.” Dan Gunderson | MPR News Beltrami County chief deputy Jarrett Walton stands for a photo in the county jail on March 18. Beltrami County Sheriff's Office chief deputy Jarrett Walton is very aware that American Indians are disproportionately represented in arrests. He compiled the data showing 70 percent of people arrested on an outstanding warrant in the county were American Indian. “A lot of times there's transportation issues, you know, you can't get to your court hearings. Thus, they issue a warrant for your arrest. If you have a warrant, of course, the court says we shall arrest you. So we have to take you to jail,” he said. Many of those arrests happen because of traffic stops for minor violations. A broken tail light, or a burned-out headlight. Poverty is an underlying factor, said Walton, and the county recently started a voucher program to help pay for minor repairs like a broken tail light, with the intent of reducing those traffic stops. Beltrami County recently started a program that has a social worker working in the jail, helping connect inmates with services that can help them be successful when they leave the jail.  “This reset program meets them exactly where they're at,” said jail administrator Calandra Allen.  “Some days, you know, if you were battling depression for six months, and you got out of bed and put one step in front of the other, that's a success for that person that day,” she said.  Walton, who's a candidate this year to succeed retiring Sheriff Ernie Beitel, hopes to expand that program, but funding remains a hurdle. “It comes down to the almighty dollar,” said Walton, who added that the county is looking for creative solutions to add another two or three social workers needed to meet demand in the jail.  “Just so we can provide [inmates] what they need on the outside and help them so they don't have to come back here (to jail),” he said. The county is also working to restart cultural programs, shuttered by COVID-19 restrictions, where volunteers provide cultural and spiritual counsel to Native American inmates.  County officials are in preliminary discussions about building a new jail, and tribal leaders are part of the steering committee. Walton said those discussions include the need for more space and programming for culturally specific activities.  ‘Give them back to the community' Dan Gunderson | MPR News Natasha Kingbird leads the initiative at the Northwest Indian Community Development Center in Bemidji to help women who have been incarcerated rebuild their lives. Natasha Kingbird has been in the place where hope is elusive, and she's using the experience to provide support for Native women trying to overcome the sense that no one cares. She leads the reentry program at the Northwest Indian Community Development Center in Bemidji where Billie Mountain, Tiffany Kingbird and other women come for support, and help navigating the system. The Kingbirds are relatives. “I've dedicated a lot of time to help women to be looked at as equal and not as ‘Oh they're just a criminal, they ain't going to amount to nothing,'” Natasha Kingbird said.  The 40-year-old knows about the struggles incarcerated women face. She recalls “a really nice life,” until at age 10 her great grandmother died and her parents split up.  She spent time in foster care, and the Northwest Juvenile Detention Center in Bemidji, where a disproportionate number of children in custody are American Indian. “I didn't know what I wanted, and I was lost,” she recalled. “I was a young girl trying to figure out what I wanted, not having any guidance and feeling like nobody cared.” She survived domestic abuse and spent time in jail. Reconnecting with her Anishinaabe culture gave her a new identity, focus and strength. Now she starts every day asking herself what she can do to help other Native women make the same connection. “You know, I've never experienced this sense of pride,” she said. “I can say that I'm really proud to be Anishinaabe and I'm proud to be a woman who has experienced the same stuff as all these other women. You know, we're smart, and we're gifted, and we just have to find it.” She's become a leading advocate for a unique project designed to help incarcerated Native women regain their place in the community.  Monika Lawrence for MPR News During the ongoing discussion about the outside space of the Healing House project, some women suggested a garden where sacred plants can grow but where they also can grow and process their own food. This month, a pilot project called the Healing House opened in a three bedroom home in Bemidji, and work is underway to raise funds for a much larger facility. The home is leased by the Minnesota Department of Corrections, but the program will be run by the local community.  Bemidji was selected for the pilot project because of its location near the three most populous reservations in the state, and the fact that 40 percent of the Native women incarcerated by the state return to northwestern Minnesota when they are released.   In 2017, the Minnesota Department of Corrections received a $900,000 federal grant to help address violence against women.   The agency collaborated with the Northwest Indian Community Development Center and other nonprofit groups to focus on examining how to help Native women who are disproportionately incarcerated, and more likely to be victims of domestic violence and sexual assault.  As part of the project, 62 women either in the Minnesota women's prison in Shakopee, or who had been incarcerated in the past five years, were interviewed in 2019 and 2020 before COVID-19 restrictions ended the interviews.  Nearly nine in 10 of the women said they were dependent on drugs or alcohol. Three-fourths reported mental illness, and 97 percent reported being victims of violence and abuse before they were incarcerated.  A long list of recommendations for change came out of the project. They include equal access to spiritual advisors and ceremonies in prison, helping women stay connected with children while they are incarcerated, and improved cultural training for prison staff.  But the top issue was safe, supportive housing after release from prison or jail and that's the first challenge to be addressed through the Healing House model, a concept based on Indigenous cultural and spiritual teachings.   While many correctional release programs focus on helping inmates find housing and get a job, the priority of this model is to help the women heal from trauma.  Monika Lawrence for MPR News Liz Richards with the Minnesota Department of Corrections talks about the Healing House project during a meeting in Bemidji on April 7. “That's the whole focus really, about the Healing House. If you can't address that trauma, then everything else is not going to be successful,” said Liz Richards, the corrections department's director of victim services and restorative justice.  “I am confident that it is going to be far and above more successful than previous models.” Richards said this model appears to be the first of its kind in the country.  If the program is successful, it might well be because the department is ceding control to the women who have lived the trauma they seek to heal.  That reflects a significant shift in thinking, according to Nikki Engel, policy and legal systems program manager with Violence Free Minnesota, a nonprofit that's part of the project.  Monika Lawrence for MPR News Nikki Engel with Violence Free Minnesota talked about how gratifying it is to see support for the Healing House during a meeting about the project in Bemidji. “Government can pay for things like this and they don't need to own them,” she said. “Give them back to the community because the community knows best what is needed to break these cycles and to support the people in their community.” The data showing disproportionate incarceration rates for Native women in Minnesota is not new. But the stories those 62 women told have shifted the narrative within the Department of Corrections, said Richards.  “Statistics are something that appeals to the head, the stories appeal to the heart. I can give you statistics all day long about disproportionality within the system. We all know those,” she said. “The difference is to hear those stories that really touch people's hearts. I think there are plenty of people who care and who have cared for a long time, but have not known what to do.” The Healing House project is a first small step toward building trust with Indigenous communities, said Richards.  Addressing the array of issues that contribute to the disproportionate incarceration rates will require a much broader long-term response.  ‘Feel like me again' Monika Lawrence for MPR News No decision about a site for the Healing House has been made yet. Ideally, according to the women who participated in the listening sessions, it will be on tribal land between Bemidji and Red Lake, not in an urban environment but with a lot of trees and walking areas. A group of women recently spent a few days meeting with architects in Bemidji, offering insights on what they would want from the Healing House model.   There's currently no funding in place to build the design they came up with, but Gov. Tim Walz has included money in his budget to fund a project manager for three years.  That funding still needs legislative approval. Community member Renee Gurneau told assembled local and state officials that just adding a cultural component to programs designed for non-Native people will not be successful.  “But what really works for us is having culture based [programs], rather than having a white system with some culture thrown at it,” she said, as women around the room nodded in agreement. “To really be who we were created to be is guaranteed success.” Northwest Indian Community Development Center administrator Martin Jennings urged local officials gathered to learn about the Healing House project to think of the formerly incarcerated women gathered around the table in the center of the room as valued community members.  “Think of the women we're trying to support here as our sisters, our aunties, our grandmothers and mothers. We've got to think differently about how we value and see each other in this community,” he said. Jennings is optimistic, he sees a new level of communication and collaboration with local officials in Bemidji and Beltrami County. At a recent Bemidji City Council meeting, council members and the mayor expressed support for the Healing House project.  That included Audrey Thayer, the first Native American woman elected to the Bemidji City Council. She's confident the Healing House will help women find a path that leads them away from the justice system's revolving door. She thinks the system continues to punish people long after they are released.  Monika Lawrence for MPR News Bemidji City Council member Audrey Thayer speaks during a conversation about the Healing House project in Bemidji on April 7. It's like the path now goes straight uphill,” she said.  “You paid for what happened in your life, you served some time, you made a mistake. When do we start looking at reconciliation and redemption of a human being in our society?” Thayer, a long-time community activist and an instructor at the Leech Lake Tribal College, said it's important to acknowledge the generations of trauma in Indian Country that need to be unraveled. “It's easier to explain it as a very serious dysfunction that the U.S. government did, trying to mold us into something we weren't by stripping us of who we were,” said Thayer.  “I think we have about three generations of really crazy behavior by the federal government,” she said. “Relocations, assimilation programs, boarding schools, and when you strip somebody of who they are, their values, and you take that all away, you have an empty shell.” To be successful Thayer believes, reentry programs need to restore those cultural values, filling the empty shell with a sense of identity and purpose. Tiffany Kingbird is now working at a chemical dependency treatment facility. She's also trying to rebuild her credit after amassing thousands of dollars in court fees and fines she couldn't pay.   She credits traditional ceremony and culture with rebuilding her sense of self after more than a decade spent sliding to the depths of addiction and despair. “I feel complete,” she said. “I don't know how to explain it. I just feel whole, like me again.”  Full series North Star Journey What should we cover next? Pass the Mic

This season we are moving through the state of Minnesota, looking at an interesting fact about each county and giving you a book prompt from that fact. We will share six book suggestions to meet that prompt, to get you started on reading new books. You can also take that prompt and find any other book to meet the challenge!   Today our prompt is inspired by Beltrami County! This county is located in the northern part of the state and includes the Red Lake Reservation. Our prompt comes from Giacomo Beltrami, Italian explorer who explored the northern reaches of the  Mississippi River in 1823; read a book set in Italy or with an Italian character.   We give you links to each of these books on our show notes page, taking you to Amazon.com. If you click on any of them, and buy anything at all - including a nice book - Amazon will send us a small percent of the profits they made on these sales. Thank you for supporting CMLE!

A law enforcement officer born and raised in Buffalo is shot dead in the line of duty on the Red Lake Reservation, as friends and family are left to mourn the loss of 37-year-old Ryan Bialke. One of the top local news happenings in 2021.

Title: Food For Thought- Bringing Back Indigenous Foods Marie Rock:The movement to rebuild Indigenous Food Sovereignty is getting help from many sources. I'm Marie Rock. This week on Minnesota Native News, reporter Emma Needham shares a story on  writers and community partnerships working to bring back Native food practices in Minnesota.Emma Needham: Anishinaabe writer Tashia Hart grew up on the Red Lake Reservation in Northern MN. She's authored children's books and novellas, as well as written poetry. However, her newest release is a new genre for her. Tashia Hart's The Good Berry Cookbook, comes out this week. Tashia shared with me how she got the idea for her cookbook. Tashia Hart:During one of my prayer sessions that I had received the direction that I should learn more about Manoomin, I've always grown up cooking and eating Manoomin. You know, when helping to like, winnow [prep] Manoomin, but I had never practiced Manoominike.[Harvesting Wild Rice] Emma Needham: Tashia explains that at first she didn't realize how much traditional knowledge she had. Like many native people, the unique skills she was taught growing up were a means for survival of culture and sustenance. Tashia Hart: ...most of the world doesn't look at things and talk about things and think about things, you know, like our plant relatives, like we do as Anishinaabes. And so I realized that, I was introduced to this term foraging in college, but before that I just grew up, you know, with people harvesting and everything, and we didn't call it that. Emma Needham: The Good Berry Cookbook: Harvesting and Cooking Wild Rice and Other Wild Foods is organized by season.  Tashia Hart:So within the seasons are common Minnesota Wild foods. So for instance, in Ziigwan [Spring], there's, you know, some sprouts, like leeks and fiddleheads. And maple sugar and stuff like that. And in summer, we have more of like the fruit, you know, wild berries. In the fall, there's Manoomin, of course, and hazelnuts... and see, we got rose hips, and squashes and then winter, I think I focus more on fish, and squashes and things like that, that can be stored and then utilized in the winter months. Emma Needham : In celebration of "The Good Berry Cookbook," several native community organizations in the Twin Cities came together to not only offer a book signing with the author, but also a Cooking Demo featuring recipes from the book. Leading the demonstration is Red Cliff Band of Ojibwe member Derek Nicholas. Derek's current position is Nutrition Program Coordinator at the Division of Indian Work. Derek Nicholas :I kind of label myself as a kitchen warrior but some people call me a chef... Each year, I just my passion grew more and more learning language and learning how the spirits of the food and the spirits of language are closely tied and then ended up writing an indigenous themed cookbook called "Eating with the Seasons: Anishinaabeg Great Lakes Region," which incorporates Anishinaabemowin Language and cultural lessons. Emma Needham: Derek offers an e-book of his cookbook for free online because he wants it to be as accessible as possible. He explains his work is not solely about cooking with Indigenous foods, but also the preservation of indigenous culture.Derek Nicholas: I guess the main thing that drives my work is the ideology of food sovereignty. I believe it's very important to provide healthy and culturally appropriate meals for everybody,  and then also do it in a sustainable way. And that really drives my passion and my work around working with traditional foods, native foods.Even if you've never had the food before, you may recognize the food because our ancestors have experienced that food in our historical DNA. We have to work with these foods, and eat these foods because they nourish us better than any other foods can.Emma Needham: The Good Berry Cook Book Release and Cooking Demo is a collaboration between the Native American Community Development Institute, the Indigenous Food Network, The Four Sisters Farmer's Market, Division of Indian Work and Dream of Wild Health. Author Tashia Hart says it's an important collaboration. Tashia Hart: ...we're just seeing people connect in such powerful and meaningful ways, it's a beautiful thing...Happy to be a small part.Emma Needham: You can order a copy of Tashia Hart's "The Good Berry Cookbook"  at most book sellers, or at her website, tashia hart dot com. If you're interested in Derek Nicholas' "Eating with the Seasons," you can order a paperback copy of the book or download the free e-book at blurb dot com. For Minnesota Native News, I'm Emma Needham. 

On March 21, 2001 Jeff Weise committed a shooting spree on the Red Lake Reservation in Red Lake Minnesota killing 9 others before turning a gun on himself. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

This week on Sporting Journal Radio, host Bret Amundson is welcoming new affiliates in Bismarck and Brookings! Outdoor videographer Max Barta, who’s from Bismarck but lives in Brookings now, joins us to talk about filming waterfowl and coyote shows. Darwin Sumner guides on the Red Lake Reservation and talks about a unique trout opportunity in […]

Nestled in the wilderness of Northern Minnesota, small, relatively untouched lakes provide opportunities to target rainbow and brook trout as well as walleye, pike, bass and crappie with guides on the Red Lake Reservation.  Darwin Sumner, owner and professional fishing guide at Dream Catchers' Adventures shares what this experience entails and how to get connected. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Solar Bear is a Native American owned solar installation company. Robert Blake of Solar Bear has a habit of mashing up two problems and coming up with a solution. His driving philosophy is “healing is in the environment.” Solar Bear is a Native American owned solar installation company. They train people on the Red Lake Indian Reservation to install solar power. “If we can do this in Red Lake, we can bring this out to other tribal nations,” Robert explains. “We’re going to see that solar energy can solve a human health crisis. On Native Nations and reservations, there is a high poverty rate, alcohol addiction, and drug addiction. What I’m hoping is, with this energy source, we can provide opportunities and give purpose to community members.” Solar Bear also works with the Department of Corrections, and the Willow River Correctional Facility to provide a solar installation workforce development program for the inmates. “The idea here is to battle mass incarceration with climate change,” Robert says. “Here in the United States, we are one of the leaders in incarcerating our citizens. We have this existential problem. Can we get individuals that are incarcerated to fight climate change? “I believe that healing is in the environment. If we can have these individuals work in the solar industry, be installers, maybe become electricians, this will be a way to heal and give back to society. “It’s a ripple effect. When these individuals come out of the correctional facilities and are doing solar, they are taking their families off of public assistance. They show their kids that they have a steady job, and that breaks the cycle.” Robert is also the executive director of Native Sun Community Power Development. Native promotes renewable energy, energy efficiency, and a just energy transition. They use education, workforce training, and demonstrations. One Native Sun project is creating a K -12 curriculum on climate change. In the pilot program on the Red Lake Reservation, they teach children about energy efficiency, renewable energy, recycling, and gardening. “Imagine a polar bear family that wear sunglasses. They’re solar bears,” Robert explains. “It’s going to be the kids who are going to have to deal with the aftereffects of climate change.” Another Native Sun project is to teach solar installation skills to military veterans. Learn More About Robert Blake, Solar Bear, and Native Sun: Robert Blake on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/robert-blake-b5b82543 Solar Bear: https://solarbear.earth Native Sun Community Power Development: https://www.nativesun.org

DEBWE MC is called in by the Tribal Chairman of the Tribal council to assist in protection of Red Lake Minneapolis' Assets during the unrest occurring across the cities.Read more about this story and others on www.bikerliberty.comBuy Black Dragon Merchandise, Mugs, Hats, T-Shirts Books: https://blackdragonsgear.comSupport our work on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/BlackDragonNP PayPal Donations Welcome. Click here: https://tinyurl.com/yxudso8z Help Support My Channel. Subscribe to our Second Channel “Think Tactical”: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-WnkPNJLZ2a1vfis013OAgSUBSCRIBE TO THIS YOUTUBE CHANNEL: https://tinyurl.com/y2xv69buKEEP UP ON SOCIAL MEDIA:Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/blackdragonbikertvTwitter: https://www.twitter.com/jbunchiiFacebook : https://www.facebook.com/blackdragonbiker

The order goes into effect on Friday at 5 p.m. MPR News update for April 2, 2020. Hosted by Cathy Wurzer.

For my inaugural 2020 episode. I would like to take you back in time to before there was a Scorecontracts or Govcon Giants. My original idea was to launch a podcast, not a YouTube channel. So I reached out to a few SBA award winners and the first person to ever email me back was Andy Wells III President of Wells Technology. Andy Wells is a member of the Red Lake Ojibwa Tribe where he still maintains his family farm on the Red Lake Reservation. As of the time of this interview the companies revenues were averaging upwards of $90 million annually. In today’s episode Andy shares some of his toughest time for the business, why he chose to resign from a 20 year teaching career, overcoming struggle and ideas for new upstart companies.

On November 21, 2011, the district court convicted appellant Misty Roy, a member of the Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians, of third-degree controlled-substance crime, imposed a stay of imposition of sentence, and placed her on probation for up to 20 years. On July 15, 2017, Roy was arrested on the Red Lake Reservation and charged in the Red Lake Court of Indian Offenses with two gross misdemeanors. She was later convicted. Roy served her sentence at the Red Lake Detention Center from October 22, 2017, to November 12, 2017, at which time she was released to Beltrami County on a pending probation violation in her Minnesota controlled-substance-crime case. Roy asked to execute her Minnesota sentence. Following a hearing, the district court revoked the stay of imposition and sentenced Roy to a presumptive sentence of 21 months in prison. The district court awarded Roy credit for time served at the Beltrami County Jail but denied her request for jail credit for time served at the Red Lake Detention Center. The court of appeals affirmed Roy’s sentence. On appeal to the supreme court, the issues presented are: (1) whether Roy is entitled to custody credit for the time she spent in the Red Lake Detention Center; and (2) whether it violates the Equal Protection Clause to deny Roy custody credit for time she spent in the Red Lake Detention Center. (Beltrami County)

What does it mean to “break the mold”? A hard-boiled lesbian detective breaks through the lavender ceiling, a Sudanese model refuses to lighten her skin to fit in and an Ojibwe rapper wants to be the spark that ignites the fire in his people. Nyakim Gatwech is the “queen of dark,” a Sudanese model in Minnesota with unapologetically dark skin. She has a major Instagram following, too. Ellen Hart is the author of a series of (24!) mystery novels about lesbian detective Jane Lawless. Her work on the series won her an Edgar Award in 2017. She is the first openly gay writer to receive the award. And Baby Shel, an Ojibwe rapper from the Red Lake Reservation, doesn’t care if he becomes the most popular rapper in the world—he just wants to open the door for people like him.

As part of March's fourth week episode of Lakeviews, Derek calls up Rez Rap's reigning rhymer, Baby Shel to find out his first headlining show of 2017, organizing an adult basketball program in the Red Lake Reservation and the Texas Chainsaw Manor. Plus an update on new music and more. And make sure to check out his show at the Nomad on 4/1.