Sisters in the Wind(47)

“Weren’t there times you wanted to tell Daunis everything?” I ask.

“No, that wasn’t it,” he says. “I wanted to be the alias for real. I wanted to be Jamie Johnson instead of John Jameson. I wanted to be the Jamie who was her boyfriend and played hockey on her brother’s team. I wanted to live the lie because it was better than the truth.”



* * *



Each workday, I learn more about Jamie, ICWA, doing research, and social-work courses. The upcoming project with Raven Air Associates guest teaching in the Intro to Social Work course will include a visit to the local Native community, whether it’s an Indian reservation or an urban Indian center.

“It’s important for students to go into the Native community at the beginning of their master’s program—their first semester—before they adopt their professors’ biases,” Jamie says. “The trip to the community is planned for the beginning of the course, with the intention of sparking ongoing dialogue throughout the term.”

Jamie has a way of speaking that makes me want to hear more. It’s obvious that he cares so much about the subject matter. I try to think of the best word to describe his style of speech as he continues.

“When social workers don’t get trained specifically on ICWA, they miss opportunities to impact Native children’s lives because they aren’t challenged on their biases and assumptions.” Jamie walks around the room, gesturing and emphasizing key words. “Like, not asking whether ICWA applies because the child doesn’t ‘look’ Native to them. Or assuming that if a child isn’t enrolled in a tribe, ICWA doesn’t apply to them. The law applies to children who are enrolled and those who are eligible to be enrolled.”

Jamie is an engaging presenter. And when he talks about his future book, his enthusiasm is contagious. I’m glad when he wants me to read all the testimonials like Gimiwan’s that he’s collected so far. He wants me to focus on when ICWA works as intended.

I’m glad Gimiwan is growing up in a safe and loving environment.

Children need security and stability when their parents crash and burn in the chaos of their lives. Instead of being swept aside like ash, Native children—through ICWA—are placed with relatives, or people in their community, or even people from other tribal communities.

“Do you know what Gimiwan means?” I ask.

“It means ‘rain.’”

“You know Anishinaabemowin?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Anishinaabemowin is the language shared by the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi tribes. There are some differences, and many dialects, but some words translate well. When I found out that I’m Potawatomi, I began learning the language.”

“Is that the language you used on your business card?”

He nods. “Gaagaagi Noodin means Raven Air. It’s my Spirit name.” He repeats it slowly, so I get the correct pronunciation. “Gah-GAH-geh NO-din.”

“That’s really cool,” I tell him. Then I repeat his Spirit name aloud until it flows smoothly.

It’s so easy to talk with Jamie. Not two minutes later, I have another question.

“What’s different between a Native family and a family that isn’t Native?”

His back was momentarily turned, but he spins around, practically bursting with excitement.

“I’m glad you asked, Lucy.” He uses his arms like a game show host: Voila! “A Native social worker told me it’s the difference between peas and onions. Non-Native social workers and court personnel think of families as peas in a pod. They’re all lined up in the pea pod; they look the same. When you open the pod, the peas scatter.

“Native families are like onions—rough-looking on the outside. People want to peel the outer layers and toss them away, as if they have no value. But each layer is protecting the next, down to its innermost core. That green center, where the onion is sweetest, that’s the Native child. Surrounded by layers of family and community.”

“I like that,” I tell Jamie.



* * *



On Friday I finally ask Daunis if everything’s okay.

“All good,” she says breezily.

I tell her about the different tasks I do as a research assistant.

“That’s great,” she says.

“I’m not using the cane as much,” I say.

“Healing takes time, Lucy. Don’t rush yourself.”

Daunis usually talks more than Jamie and me combined. Now it’s like I’m trying to pull teeth, and she’s clamping her mouth shut.

“Jamie’s working on a book about the Indian Child Welfare Act,” I say. “Why it matters and how it changes kids’ lives when it’s followed.”

“Yes, that’s great. He told me about it. I’m glad you’re helping him.” She thumbs through a book: Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them by Al Franken.

Jamie returns with takeout for dinner.

“Sorry I took longer than I said,” he says. “Got into a fender bender—”

“Are you okay?” Daunis interrupts.

“Yeah. Nothing major. Got rear-ended. The other driver was a young woman following too closely behind me.” Jamie shakes his head. “Probably texting. She was worried about her parents taking her license away. Told her that everything looked okay on my rental car. She insisted we exchange phone numbers in case her dad wanted to talk with me.”