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    Native American universities and colleges brace for crippling Trump cuts

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    While colleges and universities slow down during summer break, Ahniwake Rose is busy wondering what the fall semester will hold for the nation’s 37 tribal colleges and universities (TCUs) – and if they will be able to stay open much longer.As the president and CEO of the Indigenous non-profit American Indian Higher Education Consortium (AIHEC), Rose (Cherokee and Muscogee Creek) braces as the schools she represents face a potential nearly 90% reduction in funding starting in October. President Donald Trump’s fiscal year 2026 budget includes a proposal to slash operations funding from $183.3m to $22.1m for Bureau of Indian Education post-secondary programs – career and technical schools, community colleges, four-year colleges and universities. On 15 July, a House appropriations subcommittee approved legislation that allotted $1.5bn to the Bureau of Indian Education, though it did not specify how much would go toward post-secondary programs. Congress still needs to finish approving the budget for the Bureau of Indian Education, a subdivision of the Department of Interior.If approved, such cuts will further endanger a system that’s already undernourished. Congress currently underfunds the nation’s 37 tribal colleges and universities by $250m a year, according to a 2024 ProPublica report.TCUs are heavily reliant on federal funding, which accounts for about 75% of their revenue. Those monies cannot be replaced with endowments or alumni donations as other higher education institutions do due to low wealth in Indigenous communities, said Rose. “There is really no other option, if not to close,” she said, “than to severely reduce the way that our institutions are able to provide services to our students.” Rose added that “there is not one TCU that would be able to walk away unscathed”.While they are on summer recess, faculty and students have expressed concerns about their academic future as they fear that their schools will close next year.“The impact that this is having on the morale of our community and our students has been deeply troubling,” Rose said. Some students are reconsidering whether they will begin school or continue their coursework next year. “Would the staff want to sign a contract for an institution that might not be able to pay them next year or in a few months?”In anticipation of potential budget cuts, some schools have adjusted by canceling internships, fellowships and workforce study, said Rose. AIHEC is working with institutions to guarantee that the cancellations don’t affect students’ abilities to meet degree requirements and graduate. For students who relied on fellowships to support their education, the non-profit is partnering with the American Indian College Fund so that they can complete their education on time.When Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) student Breana Brave Heart (Oglala Lakota Sioux and Northern Cheyenne) learned that the Trump administration was seeking to eliminate her school’s funding, she saw it as a betrayal. “It felt like a direct attack on us as Native students – on our dreams, our cultures and our treaty rights,” Brave Heart said in a statement to the Guardian. “IAIA isn’t just a college; it’s a promise our ancestors secured for us through sacrifice and agreements with the US government.”Rose said that Brave Heart’s school was most vulnerable to a potential closure, since Trump’s 2026 discretionary budget request includes a plan to specifically eliminate funding for the school – without explanation. The four-year fine arts school that focuses on Alaska Native and Native American arts receives $13.5m in annual appropriations. That amount would be reduced to zero if the budget is approved by Congress.“If they were to defund us,” the IAIA president, Robert Martin, (Cherokee) said, “then what would happen to those 850 students? Where would they go at this point?” Native Americans make up 80% of the student population, with 92 federally recognized tribes represented at the school.View image in fullscreenFounded in 1962, IAIA has had an indelible influence on Indigenous arts, Martin said. Some of the most well-known alumni include the former US poet laureate Joy Harjo (Muscogee/Creek) and author Tommy Orange (Cheyenne and Arapaho of Oklahoma), a finalist for the Pulitzer prize for fiction.“With the pandemic and historical trauma to begin with, there’s always been mental health issues [for students], and this adds a little bit more stress to being a college student,” Martin said. “In terms of faculty and staff, they are stressed about their employment outlook in the future, and what that’s going to bring.”In the meantime, Martin is telling staff and students to expect to return to campus in the fall. School leadership has held town hall meetings for faculty and staff to allay their concerns, and they are preparing to increase their fundraising efforts.An obligation to educateMartin and Christopher Caldwell (Menominee), president at College of Menominee Nation in Wisconsin, hope that whenever a new budget passes, it will uphold the federal government’s promise to fund Indigenous education. The 1978 Tribally Controlled Colleges and Universities Assistance Act and about 150 treaties guaranteed federal funding to higher education, at a base amount of $8,000 per student adjusted for inflation.Since June, school leaders and their allies have lobbied congressional members to continue supporting TCUs so they remain open in the upcoming academic year. Continued funding of the schools, which provides economic vitality to the entire community also allows tribes to govern themselves, said Rose.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionView image in fullscreen“Our tribal colleges are a deep expression of self-determination and sovereignty. These education systems were created to support and build tribal leadership, to create education systems in which Native students can thrive and can build our economies,” Rose said. “Not only are the proposed cuts a direct attack against the trust and treaty responsibility that the federal government has to postsecondary institutions, it inhibits tribes’ ability to direct self-determination in our own education systems.” She added that her organization and the institutions were connecting with the current administration to underscore just how critical Department of Interior funding is to tribal colleges.The Institute of American Indian Arts has been in contact with New Mexico’s congressional delegation and members of the appropriations committee to ensure that they understand the significance of funding for TCUs. “We’ve had bipartisan support for our programs, and it’s all part of the trust responsibility of the federal government,” Martin said. “Our ancestors ceded millions of acres of land to the federal government in return for certain promises, and one of those was education.”Martin continued: “What we’re hearing from our donors and supporters is: ‘How can we help? And what can we do?’ We’re telling them to reach out to the congressional delegation immediately. But we also have to emphasize that we may have to experience some reduction in our funding, so we’re going to have to make that up in some way to continue to offer the quality of programs and really focus on student success.”Students are also part of the campaign to preserve tribal education. Brave Heart, the IAIA student, is working with her peers to reach out to Congress. “We deserve more than to see our futures reduced to a line item crossed out in a budget. We need our elected leaders to honor their commitments to Indigenous students and uphold these sacred obligations.”View image in fullscreenThe potential closures of schools will greatly affect tribal economies, particularly since TCUs are sometimes the largest employers in their locales, said Rose. The non-profit plans to release an analysis that looks at the overall economic impact of TCUs on the surrounding communities around the nation.Along with writing letters to congressional members, AIHEC is also helping the schools review their budgets and identify ways that they can cut costs. But for some institutions, the decreases are so steep it’s hard to plan.Caldwell, the College of Menominee Nation president, said that the school’s federal funding would be reduced from $1.5m to $181,000 if Congress passes the proposed budget.“How do you budget for the coming years when you see that kind of uncertainty?” Caldwell said. “We’re constantly weighing how much of these costs we are able to cover if the government suddenly stops paying their side of what they agreed to.”The school is refiguring their strategic plan for the upcoming academic year and examining whether their academic offerings align with workforce trends.In light of the financial hits that TCUs have faced since Trump entered office in January, including staff reductions at the Bureau of Indian Education, Caldwell said that the College of Menominee Nation had seen an increase in anonymous donations. “It demonstrated that there are people who support the work that we do in tribal nations and surrounding communities.” More

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      Can You Match These Canadian Novels to Their Locations?

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      A strong sense of place can deeply influence a story, and in some cases, the setting can even feel like a character itself. This week’s literary geography quiz highlights novels with settings in Canada. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. Links to the books will be listed at the end of the quiz if you’d like to do further reading. More

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      Trump Administration Opens Civil Rights Inquiry Into a Long Island Mascot Fight

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      President Donald Trump is weighing in on a school mascot dispute at Massapequa High School, where some parents are upset that a Chiefs mascot and logo must go under a state rule.Federal education officials said on Friday that they had opened a civil rights inquiry into whether New York State could withhold state money from a Long Island school district that has refused to follow a state requirement and drop its Native American mascot.The announcement came shortly after President Trump expressed his support for the district, in Massapequa, N.Y., in its fight against complying with a state Board of Regents requirement that all districts abandon mascots that appropriate Native American culture or risk losing state funding.The Massapequa district, whose “Chiefs” logo depicts an illustrated side profile of a Native American man in a feathered headdress, is one of several that have resisted making a change.The name of the town, a middle-class swath of the South Shore where most residents voted for Mr. Trump in the November election, was derived from the Native American word “Marspeag” or “Mashpeag,” which means “great water land.”In announcing the investigation, Linda McMahon, the education secretary, said that her department would “not stand by as the state of New York attempts to rewrite history and deny the town of Massapequa the right to celebrate its heritage in its schools.”JP O’Hare, a spokesman for the state Education Department, said in a statement that state education officials had not been contacted by the federal government about the matter.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Trump’s expulsions are jaw-droppingly cruel. But they’re part of an American tradition | Steven Hahn

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      The recent expulsion of Kilmar Armando Ábrego García, a protected legal resident who had committed no offense, is only the latest example of the Trump administration’s unbounded efforts to detain and rapidly expel any immigrant, undocumented or not, who may come into its grasp.Although expulsions – often known as deportations – of undocumented men, women and children have been regular features of life under Democratic as well as Republican presidents in recent years, those of the new administration have been jaw-dropping in their cruelty and utter defiance of federal law and judicial due process, in their heralded scale and in the lust with which they have been carried out. And we would be mistaken to believe that immigrants will be the only victims of what is in effect a widening campaign of political expulsion. After all, Trump has just requested a sixfold increase in funding for detention facilities.Unprecedented as they may appear, the expulsive policies that Trump and his supporters relish, in truth, have a very long and worrisome history in this country. Indeed, they have been integral to political and cultural life since the colonizing settlement of the early 17th century, almost always expressing the will of a self-designated “community” against those accused of threatening its security and integrity. Puritans had barely established the colony of Massachusetts Bay before they expelled Anne Hutchinson and Roger Williams for challenging their religious doctrine and civil authority. Others, of less notoriety, would follow them, not to mention the many women who suffered lethal expulsions owing to witchcraft accusations before the century was out.The enlightened republicanism of the 18th century offered little respite and, in some cases, further provocations. Thomas Jefferson expressed the belief that slavery could not be abolished unless the freed Black population, whom he regarded as inferior to the white, was expelled to some foreign territory. His perspective, soon sanitized as “colonization”, would be embraced by most white people in the antislavery movement, including Abraham Lincoln, until well into the civil war. During the revolutionary and constitutional periods, those holding objectionable political views could be treated to tar-and-featherings, ridings on the rail and other well-known rituals of humiliation and expulsion.The early republic and Jacksonian eras, when political democracy appeared to be on the march, were in fact awash with violence-laden expulsions. The targets included Catholics (long associated with “popery”), Mormons (not seen as Christian), abolitionists (accused of promoting miscegenation) and Masons (reviled for their political secrecy) as well as Native peoples who were subjected to the largest mass expulsion in all of our history, forcibly driven out of their homelands east of the Mississippi River to “Indian” territory in the west. Both Alexis de Tocqueville and Abraham Lincoln feared at the time that the tyranny of public opinion and the rule of the mob, found north and south, were eating at the vitals of the young United States, and threatened to turn the country into a despotism.Yet, over time, expulsions became more common and widespread, almost routine methods of resolving problems as communities – however large or small – saw them. For African Americans, expulsions came in the form of segregation, political disfranchisement, red-lining, the destruction of their settlements (think Greenwood, Oklahoma, and Rosewood, Florida), and the brutal treatment of those who attempted to find housing in white neighborhoods. For unwanted and politically radical immigrants, expulsions came in the form of deportations, vigilante violence and federal repression. And for the poor, expulsions have long come in the form of turning-outs, confinements to workhouses, the denial of political rights and housing, and arrests for vagrancy. At all events, expulsions depended on paramilitary enforcement, whether by armed patrols, the Ku Klux Klan, the American Legion, citizens’ associations or neighborhood watches.Mass incarceration is but the awful culmination of an expulsionism that has been at the heart of criminal punishment since the advent of the penitentiary in the early 19th century. Enlightenment-inspired social reformers had begun to insist that convicted offenders be removed from their communities rather than punished in public, apparently to the benefit of all. From the first, however, those incarcerated were disproportionately poor and Black (wherever they were held), and subject to close surveillance and coerced labor, even when slavery and involuntary servitude were under attack. Recall the “exception clause” of the 13th amendment, which allows for slavery or involuntary servitude as criminal punishment. Expulsive incarceration was deemed an appropriate solution to growing social disorder and was quickly embraced when racial unrest became of concern to politicians and policymakers, who then roused an easily frightened public with warnings about crime and demands for law and order. The expulsions were political as well as social, disenfranchising felons not only during their time of incarceration but often for years thereafter as they fulfilled parole requirements and attempted to repay debts contracted while they were locked up. The state of Florida now has nearly one million formerly incarcerated people who are still expelled from the arenas of American politics.Race-based gerrymandering, which denies the Black representation that a state’s population would have required, has enabled Republicans in some legislatures to in effect define themselves as a political community, set their own rules, establish rights that members could claim, and expel those who push back. In Tennessee, the general assembly recently expelled two duly elected Black legislators – and nearly expelled an “unruly” white female legislator – with some of the most explicitly racist language to be heard in public these days, clearly performances for their white Republican supporters. But they were only following politically expulsive traditions begun during the turbulent days of Reconstruction, when Black elected officials were expelled from their seats in legislatures, regularly run off after assuming local office, or murdered if they determined to stay in power.This long history helps us understand how easy it has been for Donald Trump to attract millions of supporters by offering expulsions – soon, perhaps, of political opponents as well – as a solution to their fears of economic decline, diminishing opportunities, racial replacement and social unrest. As was true in the past, Trump has described “communities” under siege from internal and external enemies alike, and has encouraged summary punishments for those who have “invaded”, either from within or without. And as was true in the past, these are ethnic and political cleansings that should warn us of the illiberal cast infusing our democracy and of the dangerous road to its possible collapse. First they came for those who could be declared “illegal” and were accused of “poisoning the blood of our country”. Then …It would be difficult to find a precedent for Trump’s expulsive policies in their potential reach and ambitions. Yet, frighteningly, in one form or another, they have happened before in America.

      Steven Hahn is professor of history at New York University and author, most recently, of Illiberal America: A History More

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      Amid Tension Around H.H.S. Cuts, Kennedy Meets With Tribal Leader

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      At the very moment that Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was set to take the stage, the governor of Gila River Indian Community was still standing at the podium, articulating his uneasiness around recent Trump administration moves.“Let me repeat that: We have spent a good part of this year providing education on why tribes have a political status that is not D.E.I.,” Gov. Stephen Roe Lewis said to a room of 1,200 people, who clapped and cheered.When it comes to cuts sought by what has been called the Department of Government Efficiency, “we need a scalpel and not a chain saw approach to making these changes,” he said. The Gila River Wild Horse Pass Resort and Casino in Chandler, Ariz., owned and operated by two tribes, was the latest stop on Mr. Kennedy’s Make American Healthy Again tour through three Southwestern states. Mr. Kennedy was set to host a “fireside chat” at the Tribal Self-Governance Conference, an event celebrating 50 years of tribal sovereignty under the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act.The act, passed by Congress in 1975, marked a shift away from federal government control, so that Native communities could run their own programs based on their unique cultural needs.Mr. Kennedy has long expressed a particular zeal for improving tribal health, citing his family’s long history of advocacy, his childhood trips to American Indian reservations, and parts of his own environmental career.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      RFK Jr. to Kick Off MAHA Tour on Fighting Chronic Disease

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      After a second measles death in West Texas, the health secretary is expected to begin a tour through the Southwest to showcase nutrition legislation, among other priorities.A day after attending the funeral of an unvaccinated child who died of measles, Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. will kick off a tour through Southwestern states on Monday, spotlighting initiatives that emphasize nutrition and lifestyle choices as tools for combating disease.The Make America Healthy Again tour, which will take Mr. Kennedy through parts of Utah, Arizona and New Mexico, is intended to draw attention to some of the secretary’s common-ground interests, but the first day is scheduled to end with a highly contentious one: a news conference to highlight Utah’s new law that bans adding fluoride to public drinking water supplies.The tour comes as questions grow about the federal government’s response to a measles outbreak in West Texas that has spread to other states. The death of an unvaccinated 8-year-old girl there last week was the second confirmed fatality from measles in a decade in the United States. Mr. Kennedy attended the girl’s funeral on Sunday and met with her family before continuing to Utah.Mr. Kennedy’s staff said that over the course of three days, he planned to visit multiple health centers, including a medical school’s “teaching kitchen” to train students on managing chronic disease using dietary choices. He is scheduled to meet with leaders of Navajo Nation to discuss the cultural and logistical challenges of providing high-quality health care to tribal groups and to visit a charter school in New Mexico that “integrates healthy eating and physical fitness into its daily student life.”During his first months in office, Mr. Kennedy’s policies have been unfurled with great brouhaha, but the secretary himself has been relatively low profile, particularly for an official with his degree of fame. The White House has encouraged Mr. Kennedy to take a more public-facing approach to his role, but the timing of his first major push out in the country will require toeing a careful line around the most conspicuous issue on the table.Public health experts say the measles outbreak that has now infected nearly 500 people in West Texas is driven by low vaccination rates. Mr. Kennedy, who is famously skeptical of vaccine safety, shifted his rhetoric after the little girl’s funeral, posting on X: “The most effective way to prevent the spread of measles is the MMR vaccine.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      How Indigenous basketball teams are preserving culture: ‘This is a healing process’

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      Long before Michael Jordan changed the sport of basketball, another Jordon transformed the National Basketball Association’s (NBA) history by breaking the league’s racial barrier as its first Native American player.In 1956, Phil “the Flash” Jordon, a descendant of the Wailaki and Nomlaki tribes, was drafted by the New York Knicks and played 10 seasons in the league. Though he may not carry the same cultural cache as other hoopers throughout professional basketball’s century-plus existence, Jordon embodies a longstanding Native American fixation on the sport – especially at the community level. Throughout the years, Native Americans have embraced basketball and made it their own. One way they’re doing so today is with “rez ball”, a lightning-fast style of basketball associated with Native American teams.Although the notion of Native Americans in basketball hasn’t fully permeated the mainstream sports consciousness (basketball gyms on reservations are still among the most overlooked in the country by talent scouts), the NBA, Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) and other basketball entities have begun to acknowledge native hoopers and their rich legacy more fully.Rez Ball, a LeBron James-produced film currently streaming on Netflix, is based on Canyon Dreams, an acclaimed book about a Navajo high school team in northern Arizona. The Toronto Raptors unveiled an alternate team logo designed by Native American artist Luke Swinson in honor of the franchise’s annual Indigenous Heritage Day; the illustration depicts two long-haired, brown-skinned hoopers flowing inside of a basketball silhouette, which doubles as an amber sunrise. And earlier this season, NBA superstar Kyrie Irving – whose family belongs to the Lakota tribe of the Standing Rock Sioux reservation in North Dakota – went viral for meeting with a group of Native American fans after a Dallas Mavericks game. The eight-time All-Star also debuted Chief Hélà, his pair of Indigenous-inspired sneakers, during the 2024 NBA finals last June.View image in fullscreenAs for the WNBA, the league boasts the only professional sports franchise owned by a Native American tribe. The Mohegan Tribe purchased the Connecticut Sun (formerly the Orlando Miracle) in 2003 and relocated the team to the Mohegan Sun arena in Uncasville, Connecticut.Still, there’s much left to be desired for Native American representation and their conservation of traditions and identity at large, both on and off the court. It’s something Native basketball players and coaches are hustling to retain and defend.“Imagine not being able to speak your language, that’s having your identity stolen,” says Adam Strom, a member of the Yakama tribe in Washington state. “I’m not fluent in Ichiskíin [a Yakama dialect]. I only know a few words. But there’s a big push in Indian country to preserve and hold on to your language. Basketball is a conduit for that.”For Strom and others invested in the Native American basketball community, the sport offers a chance to celebrate Native American history, retain Indigenous languages and provide an inviting, accessible space for intergenerational exchange.Strom is the head coach of the women’s basketball team at Haskell Indian Nations University – the only Native American institution in the country that offers a sanctioned four-year athletic program for Native Americans, and which Strom compares to an HBCU equivalent for Indigenous students. For that reason, it’s unlike any other campus in the nation.But Strom’s role – along with various staff positions at Haskell – have come under fire by the Trump administration’s budget cuts. The recent executive order has put the Native American institution directly at risk. After slashing tribal funds and attempting to revoke Native American birthright – a draconian move which a federal judge has deemed as “unconstitutional” – it’s an especially precarious moment for Haskell and its students. That hasn’t stopped Strom or his basketball program from trying to instill a winning mindset imbued with cultural awareness in the next generation of Native American community members. Despite formally losing his job, Strom – a 24-year veteran and son of the late basketball coach, Ted Strom – is leveraging his basketball prowess to proverbially level the playing field. Or, in his case, the hardwood court.“At Haskell, we play for Indian country,” Strom says, who is now working without pay as a volunteer due to Trump’s unprecedented firings. “Any time my players step on the court, they represent Native Americans throughout the United States. My recruiting pool is a sliver compared to those other universities we participate against. Players have to meet that bloodline. There’s a lot of pride in that.”View image in fullscreenAccording to the NCAA, only 544 student athletes out of 520,000 are Native Americans competing in Division I sports. As the least represented ethnic group in all of college sports, it speaks volumes that Native American women account for roughly 19% of all Native Americans in Division I competition. Players such as Jude and Shoni Schimmel, two Indigenous sisters who were raised on the Umatilla Indian Reservation in Oregon, are examples. The sisters went on to have successful careers at the University of Louisville, with Shoni becoming an All-American first-round draft pick of the Atlanta Dream in 2014.In a New York Timesarticle about the Schimmels, Jude referenced basketball as “‘medicine’ that ‘helps and heals’ Native Americans”. Shoni (who pleaded guilty to abusing her domestic partner in 2023) has since retired from the WNBA, while Jude, after playing overseas in Spain, is currently signed to Athletes Unlimited Pro Basketball.More than any institutional accolades or professional achievements, though, the Native American spirit for basketball is most visible at the grassroots level, where significant assists are being made to carry forth a vibrant legacy. For basketballers in Indian country, it’s a way to stay interconnected by passing generational knowledge on to the next player.“Without language you lose culture; without culture you lose your people. Kids from this community, their great-great-great-grandparents spoke [Indigenous] languages. So how do you count, pass, catch, run in that language?” says Mitch Thompson, co-founder of Bilingual Basketball and an assistant coach with the Seattle Storm.The program is designed to support marginalized communities by providing free basketball camps that utilize bilingualism and sociolinguistics as part of their core mission to reclaim historically overlooked spaces through basketball.Thompson, a basketball coach with experience working for NBA and WNBA organizations in the United States and Mexico, is a passionate advocate for social equity and cultural empowerment through the sport. Having grown up in northeastern Oregon, Thompson became familiar with rez ball through the nearby Yakama, Cayuse, Walla Walla and Umatilla reservations.View image in fullscreenHis vision for Bilingual Basketball came to life in 2021 after Adrian Romero, a Mexican American basketball player he had formerly coached, and their friend, Irma Solis, decided to offer the program to local youth. At the time, that meant serving a predominantly immigrant, Spanish-speaking demographic. To date, they’ve served around 2,000 participants, mostly in the Pacific north-west.Everything changed in 2024 when Thompson teamed up with his former colleague, Strom, to bring the program to Native American reservations for the first time – starting with the Yakama in White Swan, Washington.“Adam and I worked closely with the Yakama language department. I believe it was the first ever basketball camp offered in Ichiskíin,” says Thompson. “There are only around 100 conversational speakers of this language on earth. Everything needs to be approved by tribal elders. But if you can combine that identity and those nuanced cultural aspects with basketball, that’s powerful.”The weekend-long camp mixed English with Ichiskíin. The program offered Indigenous prayers, a “basketball powwow” (dances and songs used to pass down Native American traditions), and dribbling routines led by ceremonial drummers. It may be the first and only basketball camp of its kind, according to Thompson, who has extensive experience working with non-traditional basketball communities around North America.“This is culturally sensitive. These communities had boarding schools and the kids were stolen from their families and forced into spaces where only English was spoken,” says Thompson. “They had to practice Christianity [and] cut their hair. This is the opposite of that. We’re celebrating language. This is a healing process.”Bilingual Basketball followed up their Yakama camp by working with the Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation (PBPN) in Kansas – a tribe with even higher linguistic preservation needs. In 2019, the PBPN language and cultural department coordinator, Dawn LeClere, declared the Potawatomi language as nearly extinct, with only five known fluent speakers, a dwindling fraction of the estimated 10,000 that once flourished in the 1700s.Language preservation – outside of basketball – is a lifeline for North American tribes. To be sure, translating modern basketball jargon into an ancient language that isn’t fluently spoken isn’t easy. It requires tremendous creativity, and the phrases often don’t match on a 1:1 basis.There is no word in Ichiskíin for “basketball”, for example, so professional linguists and community members teamed up to invent a literal translation that combines the native words for basket and ball. For participants and coaches alike, it’s all a new experience.View image in fullscreen“We have learned so much working with the Yakama and Potawatomi nations,” says Romero, one of the program’s co-founders and directors. “The involvement from the language programs has been huge by providing translation of basketball terminology and everyday phrases. There have also been many volunteers to help teach the language throughout the duration of the camp. The kids got a chance to enhance their language skills and also learn cheers and cultural dances like Native American hoop dance.”As a bilingual speaker in English and Spanish, Romero learned new phrases including “kgiwigesēm” (“you all did good”) and “tuctu” (“let’s go”). If you try Googling those words, nothing appears. And that’s exactly the kind of gap that Strom and Bilingual Basketball are trying to bridge – rather than destroy – with basketball as their tool. While these native communities face persecution in other arenas outside of basketball, the 134-year-old recreational sport has offered an unlikely pathway towards cultural preservation. It’s something that Strom and the founders of Bilingual Basketball are committed to passing forward in real time.“There’s a sense of amnesia in American culture that [Indigenous] communities and people don’t exist anymore. They absolutely do,” says Thompson. “Their language and culture has persevered through genocide, boarding schools, and other intentional ways to keep them impoverished. Most Americans don’t have any real, interpersonal connection to tribal communities. Really connecting to the communities, going into the spaces. But they’re still there. It’s important for non-Indigenous Americans to realize it’s not just something of the past.” More

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      ‘Protect our future’: Alaskan Indigenous town fights ‘destructive’ uranium mine project

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      For generations, the people of Elim have subsisted off the forests and waters of north-west Alaska: hunting caribou and bearded seals in the late winter, gathering bird eggs and wild greens from the tundra in early spring, and fishing the salmon run in the late summer.The Iñupiat community of 350 people lives on one of the state’s most productive and biodiverse fisheries, an inlet of the Bering Sea called the Norton Sound. They refer to their land as Munaaquestevut, or “the one who cares for us”.“We depend on the land to put food on the table, to keep our tribe healthy. We have a subsistence economy with a cash overlay,” said Emily Murray, a resident of Elim and vice-president of Norton Bay Watershed Council, a non-profit tribal organization focused on regional water quality.“We’ve been doing this for generations upon generations.”Now, an intensifying global competition for critical minerals and the priorities of a new administration threaten to put their land, their fishery and their lives at risk, members of the community say.This summer, the Canadian mining company Panther Minerals is set to start exploration for a uranium mine at the headwaters of the Tubuktulik river, adjacent to Elim’s land. David Hedderly-Smith, a consultant to Panther and the owner of mining claims for the property, has said the site could become the “uranium capital of America”.The people of Elim have opposed the mine since last May, when Panther Minerals announced its intention to apply for exploration permits. In interviews, they said they feared for their health, and spoke of the cancer and contamination that followed uranium mining on Navajo land in the 1960s, 70s and 80s.View image in fullscreen“If [the river] becomes contaminated, it will have an impact on the whole Bering Sea. That’s the way I see it,” said Johnny Jemewouk, a resident of Elim.Last summer, Elim successfully pressured the Bureau of Land Management, which manages a small portion of the claim, to deny Panther Minerals’ exploration permit on the land. In December, a regional tribal consortium passed a resolution “categorically” opposing the mine.However, Alaska’s department of natural resources (DNR), which manages most of the land, has so far refused Elim’s requests for a consultation – and brushed aside over a hundred comments from the community over plans for the mine. In October, they granted Panther Minerals a four-year exploration permit, which will allow the company to start drilling wells and taking uranium core samples this June.Elim has appealed against the permit. But with time running out, the community has gone one step further, protesting against the mine using the largest international forum available to them: the Iditarod, Alaska’s grueling annual sled dog race, which passes through their village on its way to Nome.As musher Jesse Holmes approached Elim’s checkpoint and the 1,008th mile of the race, more than 70 students and community members waited for him in the Arctic night. They held signs saying “Protect our future”, and “Keep the uranium in the ground.”It was their chance to tell the world what their way of life means to them.“I want to protect our future,” said Paige Keith, an eighth-grader from Elim. “If they go through with this, it’s going to affect our animals and our water. I want to help try to stop the mine.”‘A race for resources’As global competition for critical minerals intensifies, the Trump administration is eyeing Alaska.An executive order issued on Trump’s first day in office calls on the US to “fully avail itself of Alaska’s vast lands and resources”. The order was applauded by the state’s mining industry.The order reversed a number of Biden-era protections for Alaskan land, opening oil and gas drilling in the Arctic national wildlife refuge and ending restrictions on logging.Several of these reversals put the administration at cross purposes with the Native communities that subsist off Alaska’s land. For example, one of them enables plans for a mining access road in Alaska’s Brooks Range, which a tribal network has called “one of the biggest and most destructive” projects in the state’s history.“We’re in an age of green transition. We’re looking for other forms of energy. And, with the new administration, there is this push to mine domestically,” said Jasmine Jemewouk, an activist from Elim.“It’s a race for resources and they’re looking at Alaska.”The coming years are likely to see continued conflicts between Alaska’s powerful mining industry and Native communities – especially as the US seeks to onshore its critical mineral supply chain. And while Panther Minerals’ exploration permit is up to the state of Alaska, and not the federal government, advocates and community members said the Trump administration may further embolden Alaska’s DNR to brush aside Elim’s concerns. Alaska’s governor, Mike Dunleavy, has welcomed Trump’s executive orders, saying: “Happy days are here again.”skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotion“The current administration in Alaska is very industrial extraction driven,” said Hal Shepherd, an attorney and water rights advocate based in Homer, Alaska. “Trump and Dunleavy basically are partners in developing Alaska.”“Our current governor is pretty much a typical Republican. If it ain’t nailed down, sell it,” said Robert Keith, president of the native village of Elim.Alaska’s DNR did not respond to multiple requests for comment.Lack of consultationIn interviews with local media, Hedderly-Smith, the project’s consultant, has said the people of Elim have “been misled and they’re spreading mistruths”, regarding the dangers of the uranium mine.Robert Birmingham, Panther Minerals’ president, did not respond to queries regarding Elim’s health concerns, saying the company had yet to finalize its mining plans and could not comment.“We are positive about the uranium opportunity in Alaska, as it has been underexplored,” he wrote, and said the company would “continue outreach and the conversation with the Elim community” once its plans were finalized.Hedderly-Smith has also said the company would “like to be friends” with Elim if it develops the mine. But while Birmingham said the company had made an attempt to contact Elim in early 2024, Keith, the president of Elim, said that Panther Minerals had never come to their village or attempted to contact the community since they first applied for the permit.For Elim, the plans for the mine raise a history of state and federal failures to safeguard native communities from the harms of mining. In 2008, the community successfully rallied against another Canadian company, Triex Minerals, which had started to explore for uranium near their village. While organizing their opposition, the students of Elim researched the effects of uranium mining elsewhere in the US.They taught the community about the example of the Navajo, and the cancer risks and health problems that came after they allowed uranium mines on their land.Should a mine be built in Elim, Panther Minerals has said it would probably use in situ leaching to extract uranium – a technique said to be less disruptive than conventional methods to mine the material, including those used on Navajo land. Shepherd and the community, however, have said that the project’s proposed use of groundwater threatens to contaminate the fishery and ecosystem.Keith said the community had a reason to be cautious about government promises. Closer to home, he gave the example of Moses Point, a fishing village next to Elim which hosted a military airfield during the second world war. The military had buried or left a lot of material at the site, he said, including thousands of drums of high-octane fuel.“Most of those people where the concentrations of drums were, including my mother – the majority of them survived or died of cancer,” he said. “So we’re kind of sensitive.”Jasmine Jemewouk, the activist, added: “What they’re not realizing is that the community bears the burden. Whatever they leave behind, whatever is contaminated in the process … We’re not being consulted at all.”Her grandfather, Johnny Jemewouk, agreed. He said the time to act is now.“People, the way I see it here, they don’t realize what the future holds for them once they start getting sick. Either they start getting sick, or the food they can’t eat, or the water they can’t play in,” he said.“When that starts taking effect, they’ll want to say, ‘let’s do something.’ But that’s too late.” More

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      Trump chose the wrong hill to DEI on | Stewart Lee

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      In the second world war, Navajo code talkers transmitted sensitive US military information in their own undocumented language. Which was nice of them, as their immediate ancestors had been dispossessed and destroyed by white settlers, and then had all their water poisoned with uranium. “Were it not for the Navajos,” concluded major Howard Connor, at the time, “the marines would never have taken Iwo Jima.” And that famous photo of the American soldiers raising a flag would just have shown some Japanese boy scouts letting off a party popper.But last month Trump’s defence secretary, Pete Hegseth, said: “I think the single dumbest phrase in military history is ‘our diversity is our strength’.” Predictably, some Navajo code talkers had to have bodyguards to protect them from white American servicemen who thought they were Japanese. Plus ça change, as they say over there in that Europe.The Navajos’ efforts went unrecognised. When the son of one of the code talkers got to live the American dream by opening a Burger King in Kayenta on Navajo lands in 1986, he made the building a partial museum of his father’s unit. I visited it 30 years ago, with the comedian Kevin Eldon (Narvi the dwarf smith in TV’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power), and it remains the most edifying fast food restaurant I ever ate in. It was even better than that KFC near Bletchley Park that does that delicious Alan Turing chicken strips and alphabetti spaghetti meal deal ™ ®.The Kayenta Burger King also has a more extensive archive of code talker artefacts than any official government repository. Especially since, last week, videos, photos and stories of the Navajo code talkers were temporarily removed online as part of Trump’s assault on diversity. A page commemorating corporal Ira Hayes, a Pima of the Gila River Indian Community, and one of the servicemen photographed raising that Stars and Stripes at Iwo Jima, also disappeared for a while in Trump’s thwarting of the woke. Boris Johnson must be delighted. But I wonder if Trump’s actions please the British daytime TV treasure Lorraine Kelly?Kelly’s interview in the Times on 14 March, culled from a book promotion appearance on Times Radio, seemed to suggest she believed gender and racial diversity are wrongly prioritised in the workplace at the expense of offering opportunities to the (presumably white) working class. The headline spoke for itself: “Lorraine Kelly: Diversity push is leaving working-class people behind.” Was our Lorraine an unexpected supporter of Trump’s anti-diversity agenda?Probably not. This is the rightwing press, or the press as I call it, that we’re talking about, and Kelly didn’t quite espouse the view the headline implies. Even the elements of the radio interview that the paper chose to transcribe show a Lorraine Kelly principally concerned about how the cost of living affects working-class access to media jobs, and she made explicit that she hoped to see diversity initiatives tackle exclusion on the basis of class in addition to concentrating on gender and race. It’s a subtly different position and an example of the nuanced thought that has made Kelly the Socrates of the sofa, while her competitor Richard Madeley stares out of his kitchen window at a donkey in a field while thinking about bread.But this is how papers work. For two decades I was lucky enough to review records (remember them?) for the Sunday Times. So when they asked me, 20 years back, to write an insider comedian’s view of attempts to boycott the Edinburgh comedy awards because the sponsor, Perrier, was owned by Nestlé, which pushed unsafe formula milk initiatives to the developing world, what could possibly go wrong? And the money didn’t hurt either!I wrote a balanced piece about how the boycott was morally the right thing to do, with the appended caveat that high-profile supporters were asking a lot of young broke performers to walk away from a cash bung of £10,000 that might shift at least some of their debts. The headline? “‘Emma Thompson needs to grow up’, says comedian Stewart Lee”, which wasn’t anything I said, but perhaps fitted the paper’s agenda better, and left me apologising, cap in hand, to the charity Baby Milk Action and Miss Thompson herself, who has conspicuously failed to cast me in any of her hit films since.Despite the fun-size fascism we’re seeing across the Atlantic, the woke folk panic still sells papers and farms online engagement. The Times got what it wanted out of massaging Kelly’s quotes, and in the US the fourth estate is finished, jeopardising democracy worldwide. Maybe it’s time for writers to work out what they believe and stand up for it. But the British press is staffed by a class of professionals happy to drift between the Times, the Telegraph, the New European and yes, even the last liberal papers, refining their opinions as required by their offshore billionaire employers. It’s as easy as changing the look of your byline photo from sensible suit and tie to a beatnik polar neck jumper and beard. And that’s just the women. These days.Ironically, some wag at the Times has chosen to illustrate Kelly’s interview with an old photo of her GMTV colleague, the black fitness expert Mr Motivator, holding her aloft on the roof of a building. Presumably there were dozens of more motivated white working-class Mr Motivators, but the woke agenda meant they never got the opportunity to lift a Scottish woman. Let’s see if we can’t see a white working-class TV fitness instructor raising Lorraine Kelly high above their head by the end of 2025, but ideally let’s do it without playing into the divisive playbook of Trump, Musk, Vance and Farage, apportioning blame to the disadvantaged, while consolidating their own chrome-plated futures. More