Band Member Voices

March Culture Column - GRIEF, ADDICTION, HOPE

By Nazhike, Mille Lacs Band Member

As Anishinaabe, we know that everything is connected — our bodies, our spirits, the land, and the manidoog that guide us. When we lose a loved one that connection can feel broken. Grief settles in like a thick fog making it hard to see any path forward. For those already caught in addiction, grief can feel unbearable, pushing them deeper into the cycle of use, further away from the people who love them. Watching this unfold as a family member is its own kind of pain — the sorrow of losing someone who is still alive.

Grief and addiction are closely tied. The National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA) reports that people struggling with sub stance use are more likely to increase their use after a major loss, using alcohol or drugs to try numbing their pain. But rather than easing the suffering, addiction only isolates them further, disconnecting them from their family, community, and the spirits that could help guide them through their grief. The very thing they turn to for relief is what traps them in deeper pain building a rut for themselves that makes it tougher to get out of.

We are taught that grief is not something to take lightly, it is something to be careful with, to carry, and to let go. Our ancestors left us the teachings that when a relative walks on, their journey is not over. Their spirit is still connected with us, watching, guiding, waiting for us to speak their names, to offer asemaa (tobacco), to remember them through story and ceremony. But when addiction takes hold, it becomes harder to hear them, harder to feel their presence. The connection weakens, not because the spirits have left, but because the pain and grief has drowned them out.

In times of grief, the manidoog are closest to us. We make many offerings and our families and ancestors have already made offerings for us. They come in dreams, in visions, and in the quiet moments when we least expect them. Our ancestors knew that to heal, we must acknowledge these signs and let the grief move past us like water over stones. But addiction numbs everything — it numbs grief, it numbs love, and it numbs the ability to receive love. It creates a false sense of relief while pulling a person further from the very things that could heal them. For those watching a loved one struggle, the grief is different but just as deep. It is the feeling of helplessness, of wondering if anything can bring them back, of fearing that the next call will bring the worst news. It is anger, sadness, frustration, and hopelessness tangled together. It is a different kind of grief to be grieving the person they used to be, the person they can be, the moments they have lost, the relative they can’t seem to reach.

The manidoog remind us that no one is beyond saving. Our ancestors faced impossible hardships — war, relocation, genocide, attempts to erase our language and culture — and yet we are still here. Just as our people reclaimed what was nearly lost, those struggling in addiction can also find their way back. The manidoog have not left us. Our loved ones have not given up.

There is still time to heal, there is still space for hope.

For those struggling, the way forward is not about walking alone, but it is about rebuilding the connections that were never truly broken. For those watching, it is about holding space for healing, while also protecting their own spirits. Addiction does not just harm one person, it spreads, affecting everyone around them. Love does not mean losing oneself in another’s suffering. It means offering guidance when they are ready, and standing f irm when they are not.

Grief and addiction may try to pull our loved ones away, but our ancestors remind us: no one is too lost to return, and no storm lasts forever. Healing is always possible. Even when the path is unclear, the spirits still walk with us, waiting to guide us to our purpose.

Miigwech.

GANAWENIDIZODAA AABAJITOODAA GAA-PI-MIINIGOOYANG — JOE’S THOUGHTS - RESERVATION BUSINESS COMMITTEE

GAA-TIBAAJIMOD (told by) JOE NAYQUONABE SR., WAABISHKIBINES GAA-TIBAAJIMOTAWAAJIN (transcribed by) JAMES CLARK, OZAAWAANAKWAD

This month’s article is how I understood the past to happen.

Growing up in the 50s and going to high school, I was not very knowledgeable about the government that existed on the Reservation. But as I grew up in the world, I heard things about our Chairman, for example, who was Sam Yankee at the time. He was the first chairman I knew about growing up.

I remember my mother applying for a house under the HUD program we had back then. To the best of my knowledge, we traveled to Leech Lake and spoke with an elected representative; they knew each other in some way. They spoke about getting my mom a house.

I remember that these were unpaid positions; from what I was told, the chairman and treasurer were given honorariums for attending meetings. I am still unsure if the district represen tatives were paid in some way. Most of them worked another job in addition.

I was about 12 or 13 years old when we went to a Tribal Executive Committee meeting to find out if she was going to get a house. What I remember about that meeting is that a couple of guys got into a very heated discussion. At the time, they had a sergeant at arms present. He was the one who kept the peace during the meeting. As a young man, I couldn’t wait until the meeting was over. I was excited to get a front row seat to the boxing match I thought would happen outside. But to my surprise, when they walked out the doors, the one asked, “So where we going to lunch?” I was so shocked and a little disappointed, aye. They left all the emotions in the meeting — they could leave all that behind. Perhaps that’s why the people elected them into those positions.

When I was older, I headed out on relocation and the military. When I came home, my mother was working as a home health aide. When I talked to my mom, she told me the home health aides did a lot more work with the Elders. They would go in and work for them: clean, cook, and socialize with them. They went to houses on a rotating basis. All of the Elders were very appreciative and welcoming, she said. I can’t remember the program that funded the home health aides; all I can re member around that time was the Community Action Program (CAP).

After that is when I was more plugged into tribal politics. At that time, Art Gahbow was Chairman, Maggie Sam was Secretary-Treasurer, and Albert Churchill was District III Representative. During that time, they had talked about bringing more programs to the Reservation. I didn’t get to many of those meetings. Also, I didn’t even vote in the tribal elections, but they did have meetings often. I could see where elections were turning people against each other, creating sides and barriers. Even though I was staying out of it and doing my own thing — but man, you could see it in people before and after an election.

One day, when I was working at the VA in St. Cloud, I got a call from the Tribal Chairman asking me if I could assist in developing a health plan for the Reservation. At the time, I thanked him for his offer, but my educational skills were limit ed. My work skills were good, but my education wasn’t there. He assured me that I would get a lot of assistance, and with that, I agreed.

I worked with a lady from Indian Health Services and one from the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe to put that health plan together. The biggest health issues were where they went for healthcare and whether they were currently satisfied with their healthcare. With all that information, we used public law 638 or self-determination to determine what was best for our peo ple. With this position, I was able to attend more RBC meetings, and I was starting to see the decision-making process, and they held a large majority of the power/decisions.

So, you could see where there was separation. Said power caused a lot of negative things within our communities that were not the way of the Anishinaabe. Something to note is that during that time, we all lacked formal education, and some of our decisions reflected that. When they came out with the tribal preference, I agreed with the stipulation as long as they were qualified and not just because they were a Band member. Both candidates for example, could have equal qualifications, and I would agree the Band member should be hired over the non-native person.

When we created our separation of powers government, we still have many of the same issues — the RBC had the is sues differently. A long time ago, they said man’s worst fear is an educated woman. Now you could say a non-native’s worst fear is an educated Anishinaabe. With Indian Health Services, we were at the negotiating table, but we weren’t educated enough to get all that we could have.

But then came Jay Kanassatega into the fold. He is a lawyer — an educated Anishinaabe — and he got things done that benefited the Band. IHS wasn’t a huge fan of having some one as smart as they were at the table. Jay fought tooth and nail to make sure that the Band’s resources were expanded for us. Finally, the Anishinaabe were reaching equal footing to the non-native people.

In addition, back in the day, Art would receive something from the Feds; instead of reading through it, he would call in Jay to his office. He told Jay to read through it and tell him what it says. Art, knowing he only had about an 8th grade education, had incredibly smart people around him. Jay would come back and tell him what it said without putting his own bias about what should be done. Whenever chairs of the Band ask me for advice, I always tell them unity. Then again, I don’t think it’ll happen because of different sides and barriers people put up against each other, and the grudges.

To unity in our communities.

Miigwech mii iw.