WEEKEND EDITION
Umatilla County to vote on psilocybin businesses |
REGION, A3
JULY 9 – 10, 2022
146th Year, No. 86
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WINNER OF 16 ONPA AWARDS IN 2021
Editor’s Note: Readers
should be aware the following
stories depict issues of sexual
assault and violence.
By BRYCE DOLE AND
ZACK DEMARS
The Bulletin
M
Kathy Aney/For Underscore
Sarah Frank, who was raped as a 17-year-old while unconscious at a
party, fi nds comfort in her faith and attending services at Bethel Bap-
tist Church in Pendleton. Frank also found healing in advocating for
survivors and telling her story to perpetrators, hoping to spark change.
ISSION — No
one story can
encapsulate
the trauma that
Indigenous survivors of domes-
tic and sexual violence have
endured.
But taken together, the
stories of three Indigenous
survivors in Oregon show what
it means to forgive, to raise a
child in a painful world, to fi nd
the strength to keep fi ghting, to
Kola Shippentower-Thompson, who experienced rape at age 19 and violence at the hands of an ex-boyfriend
and ex-husband, says she found peace and healing when a friend fi rst took her to this spot near Grouse Mountain.
The mixed martial arts fi ghter helps other abuse survivors by training them in safety and self-defense techniques.
build a community and fi nd a
home.
Shaped in isolation by the
traumatic events they faced,
their stories are linked by one
woman who helped them fi nd
their voice and inspired them
not only to press on through
their pain but to bring other
survivors with them.
A growing body of research
shows that Native Americans
nationwide endure dispropor-
tionately high rates of violence.
The Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention says
nearly half of all Native Amer-
ican women have suffered
physical or sexual violence. A
separate Justice Department
report found that 1 in 3 Indige-
nous women have been raped or
experienced an attempted rape
— more than twice the national
average.
While the national research
indicates high rates of violence
on tribal land nationwide,
offi cial crime statistics from
authorities in Oregon paint a
murky picture at best. Federal
statistics obtained from the
FBI’s Summar y Repor t-
ing System contain violent
crime data from just one tribal
police department in Oregon
— Umatilla — prior to 2006.
Data is missing in the system
for one or more tribal police
departments for seven of the
last eight reporting years, and
more before that.
See Voices, Page A8
VOICES OF RESILIENCE: Indigenous women across the country
have endured disproportionately high rates of violence
stemming from systemic and cultural obstacles: mistrust,
limited policing, a lack of resources for support services and a
dizzying array of jurisdictional issues for crimes committed on
tribal land are all factors. In a two-part investigative project in
partnership with Underscore.news, a nonprofit publication
focused on Native American issues, the series will show how
those obstacles prompted Indigenous survivors to use their
stories of trauma to empower
others, initiatives encouraging
change and the policies shaping
the legal landscape.
Kathy Aney/For Underscore
Jessica Joaquin/Contributed Graphic
Indigenous assault survivor empowers others
Desireé Coyote recounts
abuse, assault, more on
her life’s journey
By ZACK DEMARS and
BRYCE DOLE
The Bulletin
MISSION — Desireé Coyote
endured struggles at nearly every
turn in her life that so many Indige-
nous women in Oregon have faced.
It could have led her to ruin. She
refused to let that happen.
Her determination and strength
to fi nd her voice, and help others fi nd
theirs have served as an inspiration.
Coyote’s story, told through hours of
interviews and documents, reveals
how years of trauma and systemic
failures drove her to fi ght for survi-
vors like her. To understand it, you
have to go back to the beginning.
Coyote grew up in Sweetwater, a
single-block, unincorporated town
on the Nez Perce Reservation in
North Idaho. The family moved into
a two-story home there when Coyote
was 3 years old, and when she and
her nine siblings arrived, the children
were thrilled to see a swing set and
merry-go-round in the backyard.
In school, a 2-mile walk away,
Coyote took up softball and wres-
tled on the boy’s team.
“Not that I could compete,” she
said, “but I could practice with
them.”
Though Sweetwater was on
reservation land, Coyote recalled
seeing few Native Americans like
her around town. She grew up learn-
ing little of the customs, traditions or
ceremonies of her people. Her father,
Cliff ord Allen Sr., a handsome war
veteran of many trades, worked
under Idaho Gov. Cecil Andrus. As
a member of a state-run committee
on education, his focus was revamp-
ing education around tribal nations
in Idaho, Coyote said. But during
childhood, he taught her: “It’s a
white man’s world, you gotta learn
the white man’s ways,” she said.
Her father eventually started a
relationship with Coyote’s aunt.
When Coyote was 3, her aunt
became her abuser, she said. When
Coyote was 7, her father kicked her
mother out of the house. It would
be nearly a decade before Coyote
would see her mom again.
Meanwhile, Coyote’s relation-
ship with her aunt soured. To avoid
her, Coyote began doing her chores
early in the morning and would stay
at school late after athletics.
“It wasn’t safe for me at home,
with her,” Coyote said.
One day when Coyote was 10, her
aunt stormed into her room, furious
that she had found blood in the bath-
room. She accused Coyote of being
on her period and scolded her for
making a mess. Coyote replied it
wasn’t her. She began hitting, punch-
ing, slapping and pushing Coyote.
For the first time, Coyote fought
back. Then, Coyote’s older sister
jumped off their bunk bed and “got
involved.” They never fought again.
See Coyote, Page A8