FROM PAGE ONE
Saturday, July 16, 2022
RESILIENCE
Continued from Page A1
made Indian Country law-
less. Changes to laws giving
tribes more authority over
non-Native offenders started
in 2013. However, those
came with a caveat: finding
the resources, including jail
space, courts and court-ap-
pointed attorneys before
tribal courts could be autho-
rized to prosecute.
A ruling from the U.S.
Supreme Court last month
also could shake the legal
landscape by giving states
concurrent jurisdiction
with federal authorities
over crimes committed by
non-Natives on tribal land,
according to legal experts,
though others are hopeful
the ruling won’t make a big
difference in Oregon.
Despite painfully slow
progress and a growing
movement calling atten-
tion to missing and mur-
dered Indigenous women,
generations of survivors
like Coyote have suffered
decades of trauma with only
each other to turn to.
“The United States has
done a terrible thing for
Indigenous people and con-
tinues to do terrible things to
Indigenous people,” Coyote
said. “Left to our own ways
before boarding school,
before fur trappers, this
would not exist. Sexual vio-
lence would not exist here.”
cuted by the tribes,” said
Rep. Tawna D. Sanchez,
D-Portland.
Minimal funding has
hindered progress, how-
ever, officials said. Only
31 of 574 federally recog-
nized tribes in the U.S. have
been authorized to pros-
ecute non-Natives as of
May 2022, according to the
National Congress of Amer-
ican Indians. And only the
Confederated Tribes of the
Umatilla Indian Reservation
is authorized in Oregon.
Starting Oct. 1, tribal
courts legally will be able
to exercise their inherent
jurisdiction over non-Na-
tives for additional crimes,
including child violence,
sexual violence, stalking,
sex trafficking, assaults of
tribal justice personnel and
obstruction of justice.
Brent Leonhard, an
attorney for CTUIR, said
the reauthorization is
another step toward over-
turning the 1978 case
that has prevented tribes
from holding non-Natives
accountable.
“It’ll just show, once
again, those who have con-
cerns about Indian Country
exercising authority over
non-Indians that they’re just
wrong, that there isn’t any-
thing really to be concerned
about,” Leonhard said.
Still, before being able
to prosecute non-Native
offenders the tribes will
need resources — trained
law enforcement, devel-
oped tribal codes and robust
courts — to carry out
justice.
“A lot of tribes don’t
have their own financial
capacity to run this
program,” Sanchez said,
“and federal resources are
relatively thin.”
Since Oliphant v. Suqua-
Kathy aney/Underscore.news
In a field high above her home on the Umatilla Indian Reservation,
Merle Kirk wears a shirt that bears the image of her sister Mavis
Kirk-Greeley, who was allegedly murdered by her boyfriend in 2009.
Merle Kirk created the beadwork portrait of her sister, a symbol of the
Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement.
reservation boundaries are
more clearly defined than
in other states — will mean
the ruling won’t have a big
impact in Oregon.
“I think it’s a wait and
see thing, and we hope it
just stays simmering in the
background and doesn’t
explode into anything else,
that’s what I would hope,”
Johnson said in an interview
after the decision.
Finding a way forward
non-Natives were forwarded
to federal authorities.
But the threshold for
prosecuting these crimes
is high, tribal and legal
experts say. Between 2011
and 2019, the only years for
which data is available, fed-
eral figures show the U.S.
Attorney’s Office in Oregon
declined to prosecute nearly
25% of violent crime cases
forwarded by law enforce-
ment from tribal land, while
nationwide case declination
was around 35%. The U.S.
Attorney’s Office declined
to provide comparative data
about declined non-Indian
Country crimes, citing Jus-
tice Department policy.
The Violence Against
Women Act reauthorization
in 2013 gave tribal courts
authority to prosecute
non-Native offenders for
acts of domestic violence, if
certain conditions were met.
“Before, abusers could
do horrible things to their
wives, their partners, and
run free and nothing would
happen to them because
they couldn’t be prose-
mish Indian Tribe, the high
court earlier this month
placed limits on a 2020
decision recognizing a
large area of Oklahoma as
unceded Indian reserva-
tion land. This gives states
the authority to prosecute
non-Natives who commit
crimes against Native
Americans on tribal land.
While state officials in
some parts of the country
have applauded the ruling,
many tribal leaders say the
decision strikes a major
blow to nearly two centu-
ries of precedent and could
imperil tribal sovereignty
and further complicate law
enforcement on tribal lands.
Umatilla Tribal Court
Chief Judge William
Johnson said many tribal
leaders still are trying to
figure out what the ruling
could mean, but that it’s
a reversal of centuries of
policy and practice. Still,
he’s hopeful that Oregon’s
history — where state
authorities have had some
jurisdiction on tribal land
since the 1950s, and where
For families whose loved
ones’ cases were declined
by federal authorities, there
are unhealed wounds. Mavis
MayAnne Kirk of Warm
Springs, whose family lives
on the Warm Springs, Uma-
tilla and Yakama reserva-
tions, and in urban areas of
Oregon and Washington, is
among those cases and her
family has been repeatedly
struck by tragedy.
In 1957, a 32-year-old
family member, Mavis Jose-
phine McKay, was found
dead in an irrigation canal
in Washington, and a crim-
inal investigator said at the
time that there was “a strong
possibility she was mur-
dered,” as reported by the
Yakima Herald-Republic.
Forty years later, another
28-year-old family member,
Lisa Pearl Briseno, went
missing. She remains one of
the 11 missing Indigenous
people in Oregon, according
to a February report from
the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
The latest tragedy came
in 2009, when Mavis
MayAnne Kirk died after
she was hit by a car fol-
lowing a workplace
Christmas party on the
Warm Springs Indian Res-
ervation, said her sister,
Merle Kirk. Family mem-
bers at first did not suspect
foul play. But an autopsy
report indicated that Mavis
Kirk had been run over
twice, and the family later
learned that the driver —
Mavis Kirk’s boyfriend at
the time — asserted his
Fifth Amendment right to
remain silent in an inter-
view with authorities, Merle
Kirk said. That’s when the
family suspected Mavis
Kirk was murdered.
In less than a year, how-
ever, the U.S. Attorney’s
Office told the family they
would be dropping the case,
Kirk said. No one has been
prosecuted for Mavis Kirk’s
FRESH
Market in 2009. Then called
Fresh Exchange, the pro-
gram allows farmers market
patrons to double their
SNAP dollars and bring
home more fresh produce.
The Farmers Market
Fund took over the SNAP
program three years later,
and in 2019, the Oregon
State Legislature appropri-
ated $1.5 million in funds
to the organization. This
enabled the expansion of
the DUFB program to more
Oregon farmers markets,
farm share sites and grocery
stores.
Ryan Schoonover, the
grocery team manager for
the Double Up Food Bucks
program, noted that one of
the goals of expanding to
grocery stores is to increase
access to fresh, local pro-
duce for SNAP shoppers
who might not have vibrant
farmers markets nearby.
“It’s also an opportu-
nity to have the program
be available during months
of the year, like in winter,
when farmers markets are
typically not in season,” he
said.
As part of the program,
Market Place Fresh Foods
must commit to sourcing
Oregon-grown produce
during the peak growing
months, between May and
October. According to
Blake, approximately 10%
of the store’s produce is
locally grown: from peaches
and cherries to its corn and
spring mix.
Blake has seen the
amount of money going
back to the community
double since they started the
Double Up program. She’s
hopeful that more EBT
card users in La Grande
will have access to local
produce.
“We just want to make
sure that everyone in our
community knows about it,”
she said.
Changing laws
Critics tie the high rates
of violence on tribal land
in part to a 1978 ruling,
Oliphant v. Suquamish
Indian Tribe, when the U.S.
Supreme Court stripped
tribes of the authority to
prosecute non-Natives.
Instead, cases involving
“Before, abusers could do horrible
things to their wives, their partners,
and run free and nothing would
happen to them because they couldn’t
be prosecuted by the tribes.”
— Rep. Tawna D. Sanchez, D-Portland
Continued from Page A1
benefits. If a Market Place
customer uses $10 of
SNAP dollars to purchase
fresh produce, they earn
$10 in Double Up Food
Bucks, redeemable only
for fresh produce. Shop-
pers can save up their cou-
pons for later use and there
is no limit on how many
coupons can be redeemed
at once.
The La Grande Farmers
Market participates in the
DUFB program, but Market
Place Fresh Foods is the
only local grocery store
that offers Double Up Food
Buck benefits. Blake noted
that the store’s hours offer
shoppers flexibility.
“We have that option of
seven days a week, at your
convenience,” she said.
The DUFB program took
root at the Portland Farmers
death.
“They made it like
she didn’t matter,” Merle
Kirk said. “It hurts. She
matters.”
A spokesperson for the
U.S. Attorney’s Office said
in an email response to
questions about this case
that the office “cannot dis-
cuss the specifics of investi-
gations that do not result in
criminal charges.”
Merle Kirk remains
shaken. Every year, she
pins red ribbons on every
stop sign in the Warm
Springs community to
remind people of her sister.
This year, six days before
the anniversary of her sis-
ter’s death, Merle Kirk’s
daughter had a child.
She named her newborn
daughter Mavis.
Money for justice
Congress has passed two
pieces of landmark legis-
lation providing billions of
dollars in federal support
for crime victims: the Vic-
tims of Crime Act in 1984
and the Violence Against
Women Act in 1994. In
2001, Oregon also estab-
lished the Oregon Domestic
& Sexual Violence Services
tHE OBSErVEr — A3
Fund, which began funding
49 nonprofit organiza-
tions supporting victims
statewide.
Tribal victims services
programs rely heavily on
state and federal grant
awards that are funded
by these pieces of state
and federal legislation,
according to state and tribal
officials. But for years,
Oregon struggled to con-
nect these resources with
tribes across the state.
During listening sessions
with tribes in 2010, Diana
Fleming, program analyst
for the Oregon Department
of Justice Crime Victim
and Survivor Services Divi-
sion, and Coyote, who also
worked for the state, said
many tribes told them they
didn’t even know grant
funds through the state of
Oregon were available to
them.
“The bottom line is, yes,
we acknowledge that the
funding wasn’t getting to
tribal nations in the way
that we had thought it was,”
Fleming said.
It wasn’t until 2011 that
the nine federally recog-
nized tribes in Oregon
became eligible to receive
funding from the Oregon
Domestic & Sexual Vio-
lence Services Fund and the
Violence Against Women
Act. Two years later, seven
of the tribes could start
receiving these grant funds
for victim’s services —
$20,000 per year, per tribe.
In the following years,
state and federal grant
funds for tribal victim’s
services would continue
to increase. Now, tribes
in Oregon can receive
$120,000 per year from the
Oregon Domestic & Sexual
Violence Services Fund
and the Violence Against
Women Act, and eight of
the nine tribes in Oregon
can receive an additional
$125,000 per year from the
Victims of Crime Act.
But advocates say the
slow progress and meager
funds help explain why it is
such a challenge for victims
of crimes on tribal land
to get support. In Oregon,
there is one domestic vio-
lence shelter on tribal land.
Voice of resilience
In the decades since
Coyote reported the alleged
kidnapping to tribal police
in 1991, and the authorities
did not charge him, Cruz
has twice pleaded guilty in
federal court to child sex
crimes, the latest coming
in 2013, when he pleaded
guilty to two counts of
first-degree child molesta-
tion in Rhode Island. He
was sentenced to 15 years
in prison.
William Cruz declined
to comment for this story.
Coyote has shared her
story from that night near
Deadman Pass in north-
eastern Oregon countless
times. As an advocate for
Indigenous survivors of vio-
lence, she hoped to amplify
injustice and help survi-
vors feel less alone. And
yet, as she opened the red
and white envelope with the
police report in May, she
wondered if memory served
her right, or if perhaps it
had all been a bad dream.
She was silent as she read
the four-page report in her
office in the Nixyaawii
Governance Center in
Mission.
For years, she had said
that Cruz did not rape her,
that somehow she con-
vinced him to stop and
drive her home. But now,
the report told a different
story. A memory she had
long suppressed flooded
back.
“I think I chose not to
remember it,” she said.
“I do think it happened.
Because it wasn’t the only
time he raped me.”
No matter how many
years go by, she cannot
forget that night up near
Deadman Pass. But that
hillside has taken on a new
meaning. Each year, on
Memorial Day weekend,
Coyote returns to those
foothills near the Blue
Mountains. There, along-
side her daughter and
grandchildren, she picks
flowers and spreads them
on her mother’s grave.