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Title : Stories We Tell: Guest Post from Ernestine Saankalaxt' Hayes
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Stories We Tell: Guest Post from Ernestine Saankalaxt' Hayes

I am deeply honored to post this never-before published piece from Ernestine Saankalaxt’ Hayes, which touches on themes of domestic violence, colonialism, and their stark parallels.

Hayes is the Alaska State Writer Laureate (2017-2018) and the author of Blonde Indian and The Tao of Raven. She was born and raised in Juneau when Alaska was still a territory. After 25 years in California, Hayes returned home where she received her MFA in creative writing and literary arts from the University of Alaska Southeast, where she teaches. 

She belongs to the Kaagwaantaan clan of the Eagle side of the Lingit nation. She has four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Thank you, Professor Hayes, for entrusting your work to this space.

STORIES WE TELL 

From our very first meeting, he courted me like a windstorm. He tickled me with freshly cut blossoms; he sweetened me with candies. His kisses sparkled my lips. He labored to appear generous and charming to my dazzled family. I was captivated. “I will always love you,” he promised. “I’ll be everything to you.” He cuffed me gently on my willing chin. “I am the only friend you’ll ever need.”

From the Peace Treaty with Massasoit 1621

That neither he nor any of his should injure or do hurt to any of our people. … That if any of our tools were taken away when our people were at work, he should cause them to be restored; and if ours did any harm to any of his, we would do the like to them. If any did unjustly war against him, we would aid him; if any did war against us, he should aid us.

In the initial stage of an abusive relationship, the abuser is on his best behavior.

His first displeasure surprised me; we’d moved in together only the week before. He became impatient when I forgot where I left my keys. It delayed us by no more than a few minutes, but his annoyance unnerved me. After I found my keys where I’d dropped them at the doorstep, he apologized and swore his undying love.

Margin Notes to Delaware Treaty 1778

All offenses mutually forgiven. Peace and friendship perpetual. In case of war, each party to assist the other. … That all offences or acts of hostilities by one, or either of the contracting parties against the other, be mutually forgiven, and buried in the depth of oblivion, never more to be had in remembrance.

I misplaced my keys three more times before he took control of them. Now when I wanted the car, I had to check with him. Usually he told me to wait for him to drive me. Sometimes after questioning me, he retrieved the keys from the top dresser drawer where he kept his folded socks and smooth-flattened jockeys. “You’re lucky I let you drive my car at all,” he'd say with a firm smile. 

I had to agree.

Increasing stress sets in when the abuser begins to feel more confident in the relationship and more secure his strength. Disagreements occur more frequently. The abuser becomes more demanding, and he emphasizes the appearance of his own generosity. 

Margin Notes to Treaty with Six Nations 1784

Six hostages shall be immediately delivered to the commissioners by the said nations, to remain in possession of the United States, till all the prisoners, white and black, which were taken by the said Senecas, Mohawks, Onondagas and Cayugas, or by any of them, in the late war, from among the people of the United States, shall be delivered up.

The Commissioners of the United States, in consideration of the present circumstances of the Six Nations, and in execution of the humane and liberal views of the United States upon the signing of the above articles, will order goods to be delivered to the said Six Nations for their use and comfort.

I cooked one of his favorite dinners, creamed beef on toast. He liked it, he said, because it reminded him of his days in the navy. I’d used a different brand of chipped beef and didn’t realize I shouldn’t have added salt until he stood suddenly and kicked the chair to the floor. He tossed his meal onto the counter with a loud crack of the plate. “What the hell is this! What the hell is this!” he yelled, and burst out the door. 

When power and control have been achieved and the victim has been rendered subservient, equality has effectively been removed.

From the Quinault Treaty 1856

The said tribes and bands hereby cede, relinquish, and convey to the United States all their right, title, and interest in and to the lands and country occupied by them, bounded and described as follows: Commencing at a point on the Pacific coast, which is the southwest corner of the lands lately ceded by the Makah tribe of Indians to the United States, and running easterly with and along the southern boundary of the said Makah tribe to the middle of the coast range of mountains; thence southerly with said range of mountains to their intersection with the dividing ridge between the Chehalis and Quiniatl Rivers; thence westerly with said ridge to the Pacific coast; thence northerly along said coast to the place of beginning.

We made up. He came home hours later, gripping a supermarket bouquet of day-old flowers and steaming cartons of hot and sour shrimp with three-flavor soup in his virtuous fist. Months later, I supposed that was the night we’d conceived our first baby.

He teased me about my weight and encouraged me to quit my office job to be a stay-at-home mom. “I’ll keep working,” he said. “My paycheck is enough for everything.”

After our second child, he moved us into a lonely caretaker’s residence. “How do you expect me to support us unless I take a second job?” he yelled when I said I’d miss my family and my friends. “What do you do all day anyway? Fat lazy cow.” It was true. I'd gained too much weight with the babies, and I'd never lost those extra pounds. None of my old clothes fit; I wore only loose gray sweatpants and thrift shop housedresses. He compared me to our neighbors, to his mother and his ex-girlfriends. I wished I could be as slim and as smart.

From A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods by Robert Louis Stevenson

“Foreign Children”
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow
Little frosty Eskimo
Little Turk or Japanee
O! don’t you wish that you were me?

You have seen the scarlet trees
And the lions over seas
You have eaten ostrich eggs
And turned the turtles off their legs.

Such a life is very fine
But it’s not so nice as mine
You must often, as you trod
Have wearied, not to be abroad.

You have curious things to eat
I am fed on proper meat
You must dwell beyond the foam
But I am safe and live at home.

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow
Little frosty Eskimo
Little Turk or Japanee
O! don’t you wish that you were me?

I took the kids to Sunday school. It was my only day away from the house. Once in a while he came along. He always approved of the pastor’s message. The words rang from the pulpit: the husband is the head of the family just as Christ is the head of the church.

From Horace Greeley’s Letter 13, Lo, The Poor Indian, Overland Journey, from New York to San Francisco, in the Summer of 1859, 1860

As I passed over those magnificent bottoms of the Kansas which form the reservations of the Delaware, Potawatomies, etc., constituting the very best cornlands on earth, and saw their owners sitting around the doors of their lodges at the height of the planting season and in as good, bright planting weather as sun and soil ever made, I could not help saying, “These people must die out—there is no help for them. God has given this earth to those who will subdue and cultivate it, and it is vain to struggle against His righteous decree.”

He called gas and laundry money my “allowance” and made me ask him for it every week. “One, two, three, four ...” he counted out the dollars while I tried to ignore the image of myself hoping for favor, my hand receiving the worn paper, another baby balanced on my hip.

The abuser claims always to be right and insists on making all important decisions, often asserting that his authority comes from God. The abuser belittles the victim and trivializes her concerns. Treating the victim like a child is basic abusive behavior.

From Horace Greeley’s Letter 13, Lo, The Poor Indian, Overland Journey, from New York to San Francisco, in the Summer of 1859, 1860

But the Indians are children. Their arts, wars, treaties, alliances, habitations, crafts, properties, commerce, comforts, all belong to the very lowest and rudest ages of human existence. … Any band of schoolboys, from ten to fifteen years of age, are quite as capable of ruling their appetites, devising and upholding a public policy, constituting and conducting a state or community, as an average Indian tribe. And, unless they shall be treated as a truly Christian community would treat a band of orphan children providentially thrown on its hands, the aborigines of this country will be practically extinct within the next fifty years.

When the children displeased him, he blamed me. “Can’t you even keep them quiet!” he yelled. He slammed into the living room where I sat nursing the youngest child. “You stupid bitch, you can’t even teach them how to keep their room clean. They’re out there in the mud and you can’t even wash the dishes. This place is a pigsty!”

My palms had begun weeping out of tiny blisters, clear fluid that reminded me of tears. Now the weeping had become cracked and bleeding pus. At its worst, I could only bandage my hands and try to keep them dry.

He threw the window open. “Shut up!” he yelled at the boys playing outside. I could see the muscles on his jaw beginning to flex. I put the baby down and went into the kitchen. I rinsed the dishes and hoped the baby wouldn’t cry. I’d been stupid to hope he might help me so my hands might heal. He followed me into the kitchen, standing close to me while I rinsed the glasses and bowls.

“They’re nothing but a bunch of little shits,” he said with a controlled voice. “They’d be better off if I raised them by myself.”

From Congressional Appropriation Act of March 3, 1893

Hereafter the Secretary of the Interior may in his discretion withhold rations, clothing and other annuities from Indian parents or guardians who refuse or neglect to send and keep their children of proper school age in some school a reasonable portion of each year.

The first time he hit me hard enough so that I had to go to the emergency room, I knew it was my own fault. He’d been quiet all morning. He wouldn’t talk. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is something wrong?” He refused to answer. “What is it? Did I do something wrong? Tell me,” I insisted.

Ridicule, especially of appearance, beliefs, or mannerisms, together with threats of violence and threats to take the children, are common. Describing the victim as unfit, especially to raise children, are behaviors upon which abusers rely.

I followed him to the front door. “Tell me,” I screamed at the back of his head. “Tell me!” He hit me just as I leaned forward. He broke two of my teeth. My lip was cut through to the other side.

At the emergency room, the nurses raised their eyebrows but said they couldn’t do anything. I would have to go to the dentist. Later that week, I visited the dentist with a story about my own clumsiness. “It’s my own fault,” I said to his white smock. “I know I should be more careful.” A metal butterfly was clipped on my chin. I never raised my voice again.

From “Indian Country,” Peter Matthiessen's 1979 compilation of Indian history

As an Indian who has dedicated his life to what he calls “the Indian rebirth movement,” Craig disliked the sentimental idea that his people drink to blot out the grief, anger, and frustration caused by the loss of Indian country and the death of their culture. “That is also the cop-out of the drunken Indian. The Indian drinks because he likes to drink, and he can’t handle it because all his traditions go the other way.”

The abuser often minimizes conditions, denies responsibility, and blames the victim. It is not uncommon for the victim to participate by assuming a sense of blame.

With the baby, it felt impossible to get my own job. We had never married, so when we bought a house, he put it in his own name, explaining that his veteran’s mortgage allowed him no other choice. At Christmas, I spent the money I’d managed to save out of my weekly money on gifts for the children. Sometimes when he felt generous, or when he was sorry he’d hit me, he'd give me a few extra dollars.

I was always grateful.

Opening Statement of Thomas N. Slonaker, Special Trustee For American Indians before the Subcommittee On Interior And Related Agencies Committee On Appropriations U.S. House Of Representatives, March 21, 2001

Under the Dawes Act, tribal lands were divided into parcels and allotted to individual Indians. The United States was established as the trustee of the allotted lands for individuals, and individual accounts were set up for each Indian with a stake in the allotted lands to be managed for the allottees' benefit.

Economic control is an essential component of domestic abuse. Taking or withholding resources is prevalent among abusers. 

One day I drove more than two hundred miles to visit my mother. I left a note telling him where I went. I thought he’d be angry, but when I called, his voice was calm. “It was a good idea. I’m glad you went. But I miss you,” he said. When I came back home with the kids, he cooked fried chicken and salad. We made love. The next morning, he slid a wet finger near the gas cap of my blue Toyota and examined some tiny white crystals. He tasted it. “It’s sugar,” he said. “Somebody sugared your tank. You’d better not drive it until I get it fixed.” After that, I had to borrow his car for trips to the store and the laundromat.

On Sundays, we walked to church. 

From Andrew Jackson's Second Annual Message to the People of the United States, December 6, 1830

It gives me pleasure to announce to Congress that the benevolent policy of the Government, steadily pursued for nearly thirty years, in relation to the removal of the Indians beyond the white settlements is approaching to a happy consummation. Two important tribes have accepted the provision made for their removal at the last session of Congress, and it is believed that their example will induce the remaining tribes also to seek the same obvious advantages.

An important component of domestic abuse is the isolation of the victim. Power is maintained through intimidation: by threats, by use of force, and by physically preventing the victim’s movement. Destruction of the victim’s possessions is common.

I stopped telling the children old stories. I helped them memorize lessons from school and sat with them while they talked. When he came into the room, everyone stiffened. They listened strictly to his words. They followed everything he said.

I supposed this was probably the way it should be.

Act of the Forty-Ninth Congress—Second Session, 1887, 24 Stat., 388

And every Indian born within the territorial limits of the United States to whom allotments shall have been made under the provisions of this act, or under any law or treaty, and every Indian born within the territorial limits of the United States who has voluntarily taken up, within said limits, his residence separate and apart from any tribe of Indians therein, and has adopted the habits of civilized life, [and every Indian in Indian Territory,] is hereby declared to be a citizen of the United States.

In the absence of the right to construct their own world views, victims often assume the beliefs of their abuser. 

My daughter was the first to marry. I pretended to believe her when she said her bruises were from a fall. My younger son was the first to abuse alcohol and drugs. He dropped out of school at fifteen and left home at sixteen. He came back once in awhile asking for money, but his father never hit him anymore. He was bigger than his dad now. My youngest daughter had children one right after the other by three different men. They almost never came to visit.

I didn’t know what stories my daughter told to her children.

Remarks of Kevin Gover, Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs, September 8, 2000

This agency forbade the speaking of Indian languages, prohibited the conduct of traditional religious activities, outlawed traditional government, and made Indian people ashamed of who they were. Worst of all, the Bureau of Indian Affairs committed these acts against the children entrusted to its boarding schools, brutalizing them emotionally, psychologically, physically, and spiritually. … The trauma of shame, fear and anger has passed from one generation to the next, and manifests itself in the rampant alcoholism, drug abuse, and domestic violence that plague Indian country. Many of our people live lives of unrelenting tragedy as Indian families suffer the ruin of lives by alcoholism, suicides made of shame and despair, and violent death at the hands of one another.

Children of abuse inevitably exhibit emotional problems which can include weakened self-esteem, poor academic achievement, alcohol and drug abuse, apathy, helplessness, hopelessness, and suicide. 

We never spoke about the baby who died. I spent days sitting alone in my room, telling myself stories he probably thought I had forgotten.

From Leslie Silko's acclaimed novel, “Ceremony”

I will tell you something about stories, [he said] They aren't just for entertainment. Don't be fooled They are all we have, you see, all we have to fight off illness and death. You don't have anything if you don't have the stories. Their evil is mighty but it can't stand up to our stories. So they try to destroy the stories let the stories be confused or forgotten They would like that They would be happy Because we would be defenseless then.

He never admitted he'd done anything wrong.

In the wake of loss, shock is often characterized by emotional numbness. Deep depression occurs when the grief remains unresolved.

Tell this story: when the white man first came here, he was hungry and poor. He brought gifts and hoped for favors. He trembled and asked for friendship.

Tell this story: to those first hungry ones, Indians were not civilized human beings. But in the beginning, the white man kept his attitude well concealed.

Tell this story: after awhile, more and more of them came, and with increasing numbers came their swagger. They began to push and take. Friendship turned to contempt and then to conceit. From that time, Native people walked only on trails of the white man’s design.

Tell this story: the white man preached his own faith, which held above all the concept of his privilege and the superiority of his ways. He assured himself that it was his destiny to rid Native people of their power. He taught Native children that all these things were true.

Tell this story: in the end, the white man took everything that made Native people independent, all the things that had caused them to be proud.

Tell this story: a white man came into another’s home and took everything he wanted. He became a preacher to the world while inside his own house he kept another in broken pain.

He took everything he wanted.
He took everything he wanted.
He took everything he wanted.

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