Graduation season is typically a time for celebrating the success of students making it through their education programs.

For some Indigenous students, part of that celebration includes having tribal regalia or objects of cultural significance as part of their cap and gown during the graduation ceremony.

In Arizona, Indigenous students are protected under state law. In 2021, then-Gov. Doug Ducey signed  into law, barring public schools from preventing Indigenous students from wearing traditional tribal regalia or objects of cultural significance at graduation ceremonies.

Not all states have similar laws to protect Indigenous students. , but it’s now unclear if that applies to a case garnering attention in Farmington, New Mexico.

On May 13, Genesis White Bull, a Hunkpapa Lakota of the Standing Rock Sioux tribe, was standing for the national anthem alongside her graduating class at the Farmington High School graduation ceremony when two unidentified school faculty members approached her to confiscate her graduation cap.

, White Bull is seen being instructed to remove her graduation cap, which was embellished with an eagle plume and beaded around the rim.

Brenda White Bull, Genesis’ mother, shared the experience with the Navajo Nation Council and reported that school officials later cut the plume from her daughter’s cap using scissors.

The Navajo Nation Council stated in a press release that Brenda emphasized the sacred significance of the plume, which symbolizes achievement and cultural identity, marking Genesis’ transition into new phases of her life.

The Arizona Mirror contacted the family for an interview, but the family did not respond before publication.

Navajo Nation Council Speaker Crystalyne Curley called Farmington High School’s actions “belittling, humiliating, and demeaning to the student and her family.

“There is no place for this type of behavior in our educational systems,” Curley said in a press release. “The school officials owe an apology to the student and her family.”

Farmington Municipal Schools, which oversees Farmington High School,  in response to the incident.

“During the event, a student’s beaded cap was exchanged for a plain one. The feather was returned intact to the family during the ceremony,” Farmington Municipal Schools wrote in the statement. “The beaded cap was returned after graduation concluded.”

Farmington Municipal Schools referred to the district’s protocols, which state that graduation caps and gowns can not be altered, per the .

The handbook does not contain policy language stating any exceptions to these rules. However, the school’s statement noted that students could choose their clothing attire, which included traditional attire to be worn under the graduation cap and gown, regalia, stoles, and feathers in their tassels.

“Students were informed throughout the school year and immediately before graduation of the protocol, including that beaded caps were not allowed,” the statement read. “This standard process helps us set student attire during graduations.”

“While the staff involved were following district guidelines, we acknowledge this could have been handled differently and better,” the statement read. “Moving forward, we will work to refine our processes at the school level.”

Farmington Municipal Schools stated that the district is also committed to exploring policies that allow for additional appropriate cultural elements in student attire. Indigenous students comprise nearly 34% of the school district’s population.

“School officials across the country need to be reminded who the first Americans are and whose land they inhabit,” Curley said in a press release. “No student in any school should be prohibited from wearing regalia that signifies their cultural and spiritual beliefs.”

New Mexico passed that might protect students against the Farmington schools district policy.

However, the legal pathway is unclear according to responses from spokespeople in the governor’s offices, state education department, and even lawmakers who wrote the recent law.

Each acknowledged that they were reviewing the law and could only give an official opinion once that was completed. Requests for comment were made to the New Mexico Department of Justice but were not returned in time for publication.

 (D-Albuquerque), who co-sponsored the law, said the legislation stemmed from the national Crown Act push that targeted to stop policies that discriminate against hair style and texture, with a significant tilt against African Americans.

New Mexico’s version was written from the views of the Native American cultures present throughout the state, Pope said, and the bill included .

“We wanted to make sure that we included cultural and religious headdresses to be even more inclusive than your hair alone,” he said. “And what I think is important in that language, when we look at Indigenous cultures, feathers are so cherished and protected and it is part of who they are.”

It’s unclear now if the law will provide White Bull support for any legal action she could take against Farmington Municipal Schools District.

‘It broke my heart’

After footage of White Bull’s graduation experience spread on social media, it sparked an outpouring of support from Indigenous people and communities across the country.

Navajo Nation leaders have voiced their support for White Bull and called for schools to support an Indigenous student’s right to wear regalia during their graduation ceremonies, saying denying it is a violation of their rights.

“It broke my heart,” Navajo Nation Council Delegate Amber Crotty told the Arizona Mirror when she learned what happened to the student.

Crotty said graduations are meant to be one of the happiest moments of a student’s life, and White Bull’s experience was tarnished by having something so important taken away from her.

“That’s so traumatic and not the best way to approach these situations when it comes to our Native students,” Crotty said. “In a day of celebration, just for her to be attacked like that.”

Crotty said the incident has been reported to the Nation Human Rights Commission, which investigates discrimination within border towns.

Farmington borders the Navajo Nation, and there is against Indigenous people living or visiting the city.

In April 1974, three white Farmington High School students brutally murdered four Navajo men as part of a practice locals called “Indian rolling.”

In response to the murders, Navajo and other Indigenous people held protests in the city of Farmington denouncing the pervasive racism and bigotry of the community.

Due to escalating tensions in Farmington, the New Mexico Advisory Committee to the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights launched a study of the relationships between the city, San Juan County and the Navajos living in the community and on the Navajo Nation.

The committee concluded that Indigenous people in almost every area suffer from injustice and maltreatment, . They recommended that city officials and San Juan County officials, in conjunction with Navajo leaders, work together to develop a plan of action to improve the treatment of Navajos living in the border areas of northwestern New Mexico.

The advisory committee conducted another report 30 years later and found that, while race relations may have somewhat improved in the area, racism is still an issue within the city of Farmington.

“There is a lack of understanding of how Native students identify themselves and celebrate themselves,” Crotty said.

She said that it is time to move beyond having conversations about cultural sensitivity for Native students, mainly because incidents like this keep occurring.

“That’s why we want to support mom and the family,” Crotty said. “She does want the school to be accountable, and she does want some sort of apology.”

Crotty said the staff’s actions at Farmington High School were inappropriate, and immediate action is needed rather than the school trying to justify what happened.

“The cultural identity of all Native American students attending Farmington High School are protected under the ,” she said, adding that what happened was a clear violation of the student’s rights.

“As we move forward in addressing this issue, we will be meeting with the school board and administration,” Crotty added.

In New Mexico, the law passed in 2021 is directed specifically to local school districts, but it does not allow the New Mexico Public Education Department to issue any statewide order on local issues, such as what students can wear at graduation ceremonies.

New Mexico’s 89 school districts decide on those policies, which is why other Indigenous students across the state have different experiences with graduation attire.

New Mexico’s Public Education Secretary, Dr. Aresenio Romero, offered support for White Bull but noted that the issue is the responsibility of the local district.

“I expect the Farmington Superintendent and school district to reevaluate their graduation policies,” Romero said. “I remain committed to promulgating tribal sovereignty and to respecting tribal cultural customs and practices.”

Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham issued a statement Friday saying that it was unacceptable that a student was reprimanded for representing their culture during a time of celebration.

“I appreciate that the Farmington schools acknowledge that they could have handled this situation better and that their policy may be too restrictive,” she added. “However, it shouldn’t have required the student raising this issue for a school to recognize its lack of inclusivity.”

Navajo Nation First Lady Jasmine Blackwater-Nygren released a statement supporting Indigenous graduating students who wear their cultural and traditional regalia during graduation.

“We stand with our Native graduates this graduation season and their decision to wear their traditional tribal regalia or objects of cultural significance, including eagle feathers, eagle plumes, and beaded graduation caps,” Blackwater-Nygren said in . “Our graduates and families take immense pride in what they choose to wear on graduation day.”

Blackwater Nygren was a guest speaker at the Farmington High School graduation, but she said she was unaware of what occurred until after the graduation.

“I am deeply disappointed that this happened at a school where we have many Navajo and Native graduates,” she said. “I hope the school learns from this experience and can take corrective measures.”

Blackwater-Nygren said that, for many Indigenous students, deciding what to wear goes far beyond simply deciding what color dress or shoes to wear. For some Indigenous students, it is a day for them to wear their traditional regalia proudly.

“Our regalia reminds us of how far we’ve come as a people; it shows our pride in our culture and how we chose to identify ourselves as Native people,” she said. “Some graduates are the first in their families to graduate or are only one of a few high school graduates in the family. A beaded cap further signifies this symbol of achievement, accomplishment and Native resilience.”

Blackwater-Nygren is familiar with this issue because, as an Arizona State Representative, she helped pass  through the legislature.

“As graduation season continues, I hope all schools will respect the decision of our Native students to wear their traditional regalia and objects of cultural significance,” Blackwater-Nygren said.

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Source New Mexico maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Shaun Griswold for questions: info@sourcenm.com. Follow Source New Mexico on and .

Born and raised on Navajo and Ojibwe reservations, three of endawnis Spears’s four grandparents were among the estimated hundreds of thousands of Native children separated from their families, their tribes and their traditions and forced to attend government-run Indian boarding schools.

A federal Bureau of Indian Affairs officer took Spears’s maternal grandmother at just 6 years old from Arizona to the Albuquerque Indian School in New Mexico. The agency threatened the young girl’s parents with possible jail time if they did not surrender her. 

Her paternal grandmother was sent across state lines from Minnesota to Kansas, where she was forced to attend Lawrence’s infamous Haskell Indian Training School, unable to return home for nearly a decade.

After hiding from federal officers for years, agents took her maternal grandfather at 14 to Fort Wingate, Arizona and forced him to cut his hair, pray to a Christian god and speak English, though Navajo was the only language he knew at the time. The teen repeatedly tried to run away, and staff punished him by forcing him to spend days on end in the school’s basement without food. Spears’s parents shared these stories with her over the years. 

“These legacies and these histories are so intimate to us as Native people,” said Spears, who now lives in Hopkinton, Rhode Island and serves as Brown University’s . “We carry them in our DNA.”

At least 500 Indigenous children died while attending federally operated Indian boarding schools, according to a May 11 . Just 19 facilities, a small fraction of the 408 government-supported schools identified, account for that tally — meaning the death total is likely a severe undercount.

For 150 years, up until the late 1960s, the U.S. government stole Indigenous youth from their communities, often without parents’ consent, and sent them to Indian boarding schools where they were forced to use English names, wear Americanized haircuts and perform military drills. Many children suffered and , and an unknown number died, often . 

The long-awaited report represents the first time the federal government has attempted a systematic accounting of the facts and consequences of the Indian boarding school system it perpetuated.

“I’m glad to see it on the news. I’m glad that there are people asking these questions because our Native families, our Indigenous families in this country carry these stories with them every day,” Spears told The 74. But the process is only beginning, she added. 

“We’re just learning the full scope of the truth. … People always want to jump to reconciliation and they want to skip over the truth-telling part. We need to sit in the truth for a while.”

The May report represents Volume I of an investigation that Interior Department Secretary Deb Haaland, a member of the Laguna Pueblo tribe and the agency’s first Indigenous head, unveiled in June 2021. The effort is intended to provide a basis through which the U.S. may reckon with past brutality by locating gravesites — many of them unmarked or — repatriating children’s remains and offering resources to affected families.

“It is my priority to not only give voice to the survivors and descendants of federal Indian boarding school policies, but also to address the lasting legacies of these policies so Indigenous peoples can continue to grow and heal,” said the secretary, who’s own grandparents were also subjected to the boarding school system.

Indigenous scholars underscore that this first report only conveys a small fraction of the violence wrought by these schools, scores of which were operated by the Catholic Church and various Protestant groups at the government’s behest. 

“Basically every school had a cemetery,” Preston McBride, an Indian boarding school historian and a Comanche descendent. “There are deaths at or deaths because of virtually every single boarding school.”

“The United States doesn’t even know how many Indian students went through these institutions, let alone how many actually died in them,” he added.

In his own research, he has documented over 1,000 child deaths at just four boarding schools. He estimates the toll over the entire system’s century and a half of operation may be .

The Department of Interior declined to comment on whether it believes that to be a plausible estimate, though the report’s authors note they expect “continued investigation will reveal the approximate number of Indian children who died at Federal Indian boarding schools to be in the thousands or tens of thousands.” 

“Each one of those individuals is a story, had a story, has a story. And each one of those individuals did not have the opportunity to continue their traditions, to continue their culture, their language, to have a family — to be able to pass down the knowledge, the practices, the language that they inherited from generations past,” Samuel Torres, deputy CEO of the National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition, told the 74 after the investigation was first launched.

Spears said her grandparents did not talk about witnessing deaths at the boarding schools, perhaps to protect their family from that horror. 

Amazingly, her grandfather, George Kirk, who suffered deprivation and torture at the hands of the U.S. government, later went on to help the country win World War II. Kirk became a famed , one of 29 U.S. Marines whose skill at transmitting over 800 messages without error in a coded version of their native tongue proved a critical advantage to Allied forces.

“The very language he was starved for speaking, later helped save this country,” Spears said.

To bring the boarding school history to light, the Interior Department’s research team is working through the review and electronic screening of roughly 500 million pages of documents held in the American Indian Records Repository in Lenexa, Kansas. 

Most of the staff who have worked on the report are themselves Indigenous, . 

“It’s been an exhausting and emotional effort for them to confront this horror on a daily basis to bring this information to you,” said Assistant Secretary Bryan Newland, who led the investigation and is a member of the Ojibwe nation. “This has left lasting scars for all Indigenous people. There’s not a single American Indian, Alaskan Native or Native Hawaiian in this country whose life hasn’t been affected by these schools.”

As the team continues its investigation, they hope to further clarify the U.S. government’s role in supporting the Indian boarding system, determine the location of more burial grounds associated with these schools and identify the names, ages and tribal affiliations of those buried there. They have already identified over 50 marked and unmarked gravesites.

The Interior’s investigation, the beginnings of what may become a public, centralized archive, will continue with

The report follows a similarly disturbing and builds on years of Native-led activism to unearth the truth behind U.S. boarding school policies. Since its founding in 2012, the Boarding School Healing Coalition has filed for the, conducted their own, supported survivors, and led in Eastern Pennsylvania. 

“I don’t think the impact [of the Investigation] can be underestimated. This is such a big part of American history that has not been talked about,” Jim Gerencser, a Dickinson College archivist who co-founded a, told The 74 last year. Many people have reached out to him looking for in-depth archives of boarding schools, family information or sources to incorporate in their . 

Carlisle has become one of the most studied U.S. boarding school sites, in part due to its size and founder’s infamous propaganda to “kill the Indian and save the man.” The site forcibly enrolled over 10,000 children from 142 Native nations over the course of 40 years.

Spears and her husband Cassius Spears Jr. — first councilman for the Narragansett tribe and nephew of former councilwoman, Tomaquag Museum leader and educator — have worked to reclaim many of their Native ways of life for their children. Her boys grow their hair out long and have pierced ears. They teach their kids about humans’ relationships with plants and non-human animals. They learn words and prayers in Native languages.

“I make decisions everyday to give my children what my grandparents couldn’t have,” said Spears.

Lede Image: Dan Romero or Walking Bird of the Ute Tribe encircles the graves of children with sage at Sherman Indian School Cemetery in Southern California. (Cindy Yamanaka/The Riverside Press-Enterprise via Getty Images)

“We’re not extinct,” the young student ventured, nervous about contradicting the lesson, but feeling she had to speak up. “I’m a Narragansett.”

No response came from her teacher or classmates, recalls the Chariho Regional School District alum, who graduated in 1986.

“It just didn’t matter,” she told The 74. “You were insignificant.”

Now, decades later, Baker has two children in the same school system who have navigated similar experiences of hurt and invisibility. Sometimes, the racism has been overt, like when a classmate muttered the N-word at her daughter in middle school. But more often, it comes in the form of quiet erasure and inaccurate tropes.

“In history class, it’s mostly the history of the colonizers,” said her daughter Nittaunis Baker, 19, who graduated from Chariho High School in spring 2021 and now attends the University of Rhode Island. 

“We didn’t really talk about Native people that much,” she told The 74.

Even now, as the topic of how to teach U.S. history in schools is receiving an unprecedented level of public attention, Indigenous parents say the debates still largely exclude lessons on Native people. 

“It’s [been] very Black/white centric,” said Samantha Cullen-Fry, a member of the Narragansett Indian Tribe who has two young children in the West Warwick School District. She agrees that highlighting the Black experience is important, especially in wake of the police murder of George Floyd. But efforts to diversify K-12 curricula are incomplete, she says, if they fail to accurately teach about Native people. 

When English colonists first came to New England in the 17th century, the Narragansett people had been living in the region for some 30,000 years — making the vast majority of North American history, chronologically speaking, Indigenous history. In the following centuries, Native people have continued to live in the region.

“There is no United States history, there is no Rhode Island history, without Indigenous history,” the West Warwick mother told The 74.

Across the country, fights over critical race theory have elevated conversations over social studies curricula to the central stage in many . CRT is not an ideology, but rather a scholarly framework that views racism and inequality as ingrained in law and society. Still, in Oklahoma, a bill to restrict its teaching led to the removal of classic books such as To Kill a Mockingbird and Raisin in the Sun from reading lists, according to a recent ACLU lawsuit. In Texas, the crackdown prompted a school administrator to . 

The Ocean State has emerged as a hotbed for the controversy. Over the summer, a South Kingstown mother made national headlines for filing more than investigating if the district taught terms like “systemic racism,” “white privilege” or the “1619 Project.” Education writer Erika Sanzi, a former Rhode Island teacher and school board member, has become and other curricular changes her group, Parents Defending Education, see as divisive.

And although Rhode Island was not one of the to enact laws restricting teaching on race and gender, a bill to do so was introduced by state legislators in spring 2021, though it failed to pass.

Its author, Rep. Patricia Morgan, did not respond to questions from The 74 asking whether topics such as the , which took place just miles outside the Chariho school system’s present day boundaries, would be among the “” that the bill sought to ban. In the event, 1,000 English colonial soldiers, joined by about 150 Pequot and Mohegan soldiers, attacked and burned a Narragansett stronghold, killing hundreds, including women and children. In late October, the Rhode Island Historical Society transferred the 5-acre South Kingstown site back to the Narragansett Indian Tribe, nearly three and half centuries after the deadly event.

In Chariho schools, where more than 9 in 10 students are white, alumni of the district who are Indigenous and graduated in recent decades have recounted experiences of being by their counselors. In nearby Narragansett Regional School District, Cullen-Fry had to spend a post-grad year doing unnecessary pre-college work, she said, because her counselor did not send in her paperwork, assuming she couldn’t afford higher education. The experience, she learned later at a high school reunion, was shared by numerous peers of color.

Chariho Assistant Superintendent Michael Comella said he was not aware of Indigenous students having had issues with the district’s college counselors in the past, but mentioned that the school system is working with local Narragansett leaders to improve school policy and providing professional development sessions on equity and inclusion for teachers. He said teachers typically cover the Great Swamp Massacre in fifth grade during lessons on King Philip’s War. 

“The district remains committed to ensur[ing] that we account for all important information and history as it relates to our tribal community,” he wrote in an email to The 74.

Though there is much more work to do, the elder Baker appreciates that the Chariho district has made some efforts to better serve its Native students. The high school has a on staff and, recently, has begun engaging in conversations with Indigenous parents about further improvements.

“This isn’t about bashing the Chariho school district,” she said. “This is about recognizing that there are issues that have affected past and present generations of Indigenous students who have attended this school system and they need to be addressed on behalf of present and future generations.”

Chariho has formed an that has been meeting since the fall of 2020 in pursuit of more equitable school policies, practices and curricula. Some residents, such as the Bakers, say that the changes are sorely needed, but others staunchly oppose them.

“I do not support, at this point, the anti-racism task force,” audience member Jim Sullivan said during public comment at a Nov. 9 . “I am concerned about their bringing racism into the Chariho system.”

“We are not domestic terrorists,” he added, referencing escalating tensions nationwide at board meetings that recently prompted the National School Boards Association to send a letter to the White House requesting increased support and security.

The pushback does not phase endawnis Spears, who recently joined the Chariho School Committee after a member’s resignation. Spears, who does not capitalize her first name, is a member of the Navajo Nation, with ties also to the Chocktaw, Chickasaw and Ojibwe people. Diverse perspectives, she believes, are necessary to the development of all children.

“I want to ensure that teachers have everything they need to prepare their students — all of their students — to be able to navigate citizenship in the United States,” she told The 74. “That includes Indigenous histories.”

“The lack of nuance around Indigenous histories also is a form of erasure,” she added. “It continues the process of erasing Native people from this landscape.”

Statewide, Lorén Spears, executive director of the Tomaquag Museum for Indigenous history, culture and arts in Exeter, Rhode Island and related to endawnis Spears by marriage, believes officials must work to better represent the state’s Native students.

“I think it’s been very teacher-by-teacher, the improvement, rather than the system of education improving,” she said on a of the Boston Globe’s Rhode Island Report podcast. “I would like to see, you know, the Department of Education really take an active role in ensuring that the history is inclusive and includes Native people.”

State social studies standards do not stipulate that schools teach specific aspects of Native history or culture, said the Rhode Island Department of Education, instead leaving those decisions up to districts.

“If materials [that districts] use presently from a publisher do not adequately address Indigenous representation, [the state education department] would strongly encourage school leaders to develop materials they can use to meet the standards,” Communications Director Victor Morente wrote in an email to The 74.

Accurately representing Native Rhode Islanders means addressing certain truths that may be difficult, said the younger Baker. But covering those facts in schools, rather than mythologized narratives of harmony between colonists and Native people, doesn’t mean placing blame on any students, she said.

“The establishment of this country was pretty much the murder of a lot of Indigenous people, including my ancestors,” she said. “I don’t think that [white] kids should feel ashamed because it’s not really them. It’s their ancestors.”

It’s only shameful when students shy away from those histories, she believes. “If they refuse to acknowledge that that happened, then you kind of become complicit in not recognizing the struggles that [Indigenous] people went through.”

In school, the only time she remembers a lesson on Indigenous people was a brief mention in fifth grade around Thanksgiving. She doesn’t recall any lessons on the Great Swamp Massacre. Additionally, in high school, outside of class, she had a teacher who held a reading group focused on Native sciences, which discussed a book written by a member of the Potawatomi Nation. She enjoyed the experience, and wishes there could be official courses devoted to such topics. 

“Even having a class just on the history of Indigenous peoples, like how they have classes on ancient Greek and Roman things, that would be really cool,” said the college freshman, who is studying marine biology. She receives free tuition at URI thanks to her status as a member of the Narragansett Indian Tribe.

Teachers can cater Indigenous history and culture to learners of any age, said Cullen-Fry, who works as an educator at the Tomaquag Museum. For example, many classes visit the museum in November, Native American Heritage Month. She corrects the youngsters’ misconceptions about Thanksgiving, teaching them that it’s traditional in many Indigenous cultures to celebrate 13 Thanksgivings, one for each of the year’s moon cycles.

States such as Oregon have moved in recent years to require that schools teach , and to bring tribal educators .

But until such shifts, large and small, are incorporated into Rhode Island schools, the Baker family will celebrate progress on a more personal level.

When Nittaunis walked across the graduation stage in May 2021, she was adorned with tribal jewelry and ornamentation, passed down from her ancestors. Her mother, after so many of her own personal experiences of feeling that her Indigenous identity was erased by the world around her, wanted people to know: Another Indigenous child just graduated from Chariho High School.

The proud message was simple.

“Society doesn’t think that we’re here,” the elder Baker said. “We are here.”