On separating Veronica Brown from her Father Dusten Brown... (A letter to Dusten Brown)

I can't. I physically, emotionally, mentally haven't been able to write in the last few days about the Veronica Brown custody/ adoption situation. I've tried. I woke up at 3 in the morning and after I hugged my Indian baby daughter tight, kissed her on her forehead, tucked her tightly in to bed, hugged her again and smoothed her hair away from her face I went out to my porch and sat in the cold night air. The sky was filled with stars. I kept thinking I'd found new stars but they were mostly planes. I watched clouds move. I wondered why the guy across the way from me was awake with his lights on watching TV and reading a book. Maybe he was like me. Maybe he was too full to sleep. 

Full. I felt physically full. I had tried to dull the uneasy feeling in my stomach earlier that night with good food and fun and laughter and conversation, friends and family who would listen to me rant about this thing or that and then make a funny joke about it. Indian people are funny in the best of times, but we are hilarious in the worst of times. We had, among many other things, humor to help us survive the consistent and ever present injustice that came with settler colonialism, racism, prejudice, genocide, and Federal Indian Law. We continue to laugh. They take, they take, they kidnap, they maneuver, they disregard, they pain, they attempt destruction and assimilation, and we fight/ resist/ revitalize/ decolonize and we laugh. 

At dinner one of my friends said to me that she once got a call from someone at her job who said to her "I just found out that I am part Indian. I'm calling to see what I am entitled to." 

And we laughed. The misinformed assumptions of people who think they know anything about what Indians are "entitled to."  (And this- I could write epic entries about WHY this happens and the continued mis-education perpetuated about Native people, their history and their contemporary cultures.)

Coming so close to the Veronica Brown news of the day we laughed and my other friend said. "Tell him, oh so you're part Indian now and you want to know what you are entitled to? Well, you are entitled to have your children taken away from you." 

We continued on... you're entitled to be given land that is unable to actually grow anything, you are entitled to be removed from your home and walked hundreds of miles, you're entitled to be stolen from your family, put into boarding school and beaten for speaking your language, you're entitled to not be protected under the constitution, you're entitled to have violence committed against you 2.5X more than any other group in the United States, you are entitled to be disregarded as a real Indian because you don't look like Indians in the movies, you are entitled to be told to "get over" everything...

As I was sitting in my chair on my back porch I thought about laughter. I thought about how good it would feel to laugh instead of cry, or scream, or rage. I thought about  how I could laugh. I could laugh at the ridiculousness of this "adoptive couple." I could make jokes about their arrogance, their selfishness, their unconscionable execution of an illegal and immoral adoption. I could do it in my own "tongue in cheek" or "sassy" way (both words used to describe the blog... lately.)

I tried. I started writing. I typed furiously on my phone but as soon as I would start writing I would just... I can't. 

I can't. There was something about this, something about when I closed my eyes, how I could feel, from however many miles away (1,684, I google mapped it, 1,684) this incredible grief. Dusten Brown, a father who loves, cares for and is physically, emotionally, internally, deeply connected to his daughter... and his grief. 

How do you mourn the loss of a child? How? I couldn't imagine. The feeling overwhelmed me. I wouldn't be able to release her. I would never let my daughter go. How do you tear your insides out? How do you lay yourself across the fire? I couldn't. I typed, I erased, I paused, I grieved. 

I can't. 

In the middle of all of this my friend Brook joined me on the porch and we talked. And we laughed. I forgot for a moment this heavy feeling that comes with not knowing what to do next. I told her "I want to do what I know how to do, what calls to me. I want to write a story. In my story there is a man and his daughter. They come to take her, like they came before for many other Native children, and he runs. He runs with her and the story is about all the people that help him along the way so that he can escape with his child."

"How does it end?" she asked me. 

"He gets away. They live happily ever after. They are embraced by many people. Along the way they realize all of the people who will protect them. Maybe they move to a small house. She grows up and becomes an advocate for children. She changes the world." 

Dusten Brown is not my friend. I've never met him. I have seen pictures of him, I have heard him speak (rarely, not enough in my opinion) but I have never shaken his hand. But I grieve. I didn't quite know how to do this. I realize that the first thing I can do is try, in some small way, to reach out to him across this many miles (1,684) and tell him. So I decided I would start there... 

This is the first part of a multi-part series of what I have written about the current status of this ordeal. I thank you for reading...

Dear Dusten Brown: 

I never know where to begin. The truth is that I have started, re-started and changed this letter many, many times. And after much deliberation I always seem to start the same way. Dusten, I am sorry. 

I am sorry for every ignorant internet comment, every misinformed and lazy reporter, every single time I ever watched Dr. Phil (before and after he did that awful, biased show about your daughter). I am sorry for reporters not wanting to tell your story, for people who believe they have all the information without doing any research outside of their one-sided view from the adoptive couple. 

And I am sorry that I participated in this.  I am sorry that I tried to present this case as "complicated" when it is not complicated. I am sorry that I thought I had to be nice. I am sorry that I wrote that the adoptive couple were not "bad people" and that in my effort to be "reasoned" I erased their malevolent intent and continued attempts to perpetrate injustice. I am sorry that I believed in "justice" and "reason" and that I didn't immediately understand that your case was a call to action, not a call for support. 

I want to scream from the rooftops that people are completely misinformed about you, even though I don't know you. I have been told that I have chosen the wrong man to throw my support behind. I have been told that you are a deadbeat father who didn't want anything to do with his kid, until he did. I have been told that you were the one who made all the mistakes... four years ago. And that those mistakes created legal boundaries and now you have to live with them. What I find the most disheartening, or even, disingenuous, is how quickly they are willing to convict you of being a bad father because at some random point you signed a piece of paper, even though you immediately withdrew that piece of paper and contested the adoption. They find everything "hard to believe." That's what they say. "I find it hard to believe that..." and then they put something in there about how you must have been serious when you signed some piece of paper that you didn't want to be a father, and they "find it hard to believe" that you didn't mean it. They "find it hard to believe" that you want to be a father because other people have said you weren't "involved" in Veronica's life before she was born. (I know you tried. I believe you tried.) I don't know why you aren't allowed to change your mind, if that was the case, if any of their accusations are true. I don't know why you aren't allowed to be a father. I don't know why you have proven every second of every day from that point that you DO in fact want to be a father but it doesn't seem to matter. I don't know why the onus is on you to prove you are a father in some legal rigamaroo and not on that couple to LEGALLY adopt a child. 

They didn't follow a lot of rules either (we excuse them), they didn't follow the laws of Oklahoma (we excuse them), they didn't follow the Indian Child Welfare Act which is a federal law (we excuse them), they didn't follow the gag order for the case (we excuse them) and they didn't work for the best interest of your daughter (we excuse them). They should not be excused. Do not excuse them. 

So Dusten... fight. You may be exhausted. You may feel heavy. You may be grieving. But I say -- fight. Be the warrior. I will burn some root for you (in my tribe we burn root to bless, say prayers, offer thanks, prepare...) and I will sing for you and I will look up into the sky and I will send you my laughter, my tears, my strength and I will say "fight." Fight by telling your story. Go on every single talk show. Fight. Tell everyone your story. Talk until you cannot talk any more and when you cannot talk any more, write. Write Veronica letters every single day and post them. Compile them and publish them. She will find them. Dear Veronica, I love you. She will read them. Dear Veronica, I fought for you because I am your father. No, wait, I FIGHT (continue to) for you because I am your father. She will see you fight. Don't apologize for who you are, don't apologize for anything. Continue to fight this good fight. There are many who will stand with you. You were never in this fight alone, though you had to fight it without many of your supporters standing next to you. But we were there. We will continue to be there. And we will continue to fight. 

And tonight-- I will sing a song for you. In Hupa we sing the song three times- once for our K'ixinay, once for our community, and once for ourselves. Tonight I will sing it as a prayer (to our K'ixinay), as a blessing (to the community, including Veronica) and for you. 

With much respect and continued hope, 

Cutcha Risling Baldy

---

So now what? What do we do? I felt like this would be a good place for one of my lists-- off the top of my head. 

-- Write. Write about the many facets of this case and these continuing issues. Write short stories and nonfiction pieces, articles. Write, make videos, make vines, make websites. Send a copy of each and every one of them to CNN, Oprah, the Today Show and Rachel Maddow hoping that one of them listens, or maybe just learns something. 

--Teach. Part of this is helping students to understand the many facets of this case and to figure out how to understand how settler colonialism continues to disregard the rights of Indigenous people. This is why I teach Native American Studies... to help people understand this continuing struggle. 

--Change/Amend the Indian Child Welfare act to protect the rights of fathers and Indian families. Read the Supreme Court case findings, find the loopholes, help write the amendments and get it passed. Let's head off the continued chipping away at ICWA by making it stronger. Present it at the NCAI meeting and get tribes behind the change. Talk to everyone, politicians, policy makers and everyone and get it passed. Let's fight for our children. 

--When the time is right... and I hope one day it is... reach out to Dusten in your own way. Good thoughts, prayers, but also letters, blog entries, cards... smiles and handshakes.

-- Laugh. Yep. Laugh. There is a joke in here somewhere about entitled people like the "adoptive" couple suing Dusten Brown for legal fees. (UGH) Even I can't laugh at that one yet. But someday soon-- I will laugh. They will be left with a legacy of tearing a family apart because of their selfish entitled actions and we will laugh. We will heal. 

I know that it is just a start... I'm still looking for more suggestions. I'll update them as I can. Maybe we can all find many ways to do a little something...I will keep trying...

Part II of this multi part series should be coming soon.