Tribal leader training in SLC provides growth, opportunity

by KATHRYN JONES

One man has high hopes for the education of Native American people, and 90 tribal leaders from across the U.S. have supported his life changing efforts.

His name is Forrest Cuch.

The program? Empowerment training.

And no, Cuch didn’t always see life the way he sees it now. As an enrolled member of the Ute Indian Tribe and executive director of the Utah Division of Indian Affairs since 1997, he had to wade through years of his own fears and insecurities before he could help others tackle their own.

“We had a way of life that was good, but when I started hearing about Pilgrims the information was painful to me,” he says. “‘Oh, what about the Indians?'” he asked. “I didn’t feel good about school.”

Cuch admits he didn’t trust what he’d been taught by his parents and says he was confused about his heritage.

“Had the American Indians made no progress to society”? Did his people really kill those in wagon trains “without any provocation”? Were there historical inaccuracies that he should know about?

“I had to learn about my “own humanity,” he says, “my good side as well as my bad. My people enslaved [others]. I learned from that.”

Cuch also learned from a man named Mack Gift Ph.D., a non-Native American professor who taught him at Westminster College where he graduated in 1973 with a bachelor’s degree in behavioral science.

Twenty-nine years later, after Cuch had gained experience in Native American directing, planning and administration involving various endeavors, as well as becoming a department head and teacher in the social studies department at Wasatch Academy in Mt. Pleasant, Utah, Cuch and Gift came together once again.

The rest may even be history.

About 30 tribal leaders from across the country were invited to attend that first empowerment training in 2002 at the Embassy Suites Hotel in downtown Salt Lake City. Among other things, the experiential and lecture oriented training instructed Native American tribal leaders in history, community development, spirituality, government, business and physical and mental health.

The curriculum borrows from the Minnesota Model of “training and empowering disabled people under the National Governor’s Council for the Disabled program,” Cuch says. Passive/aggressive behavior as well as eye contact is a part of the agenda that helps to educate tribal leaders to improve their lives.

And the medium has proved a success.

Thirty tribal leaders were invited and spent one weekend a month for 10 months at the same location the following year. In 2005, 30 additional tribal leaders from various Native American tribes were selected, making a total of approximately 90 tribal leaders who would finish the program.

“There was no preaching,” Cuch says. The leaders were shown how to make a better life by contrast and by choice. Though education was given, it was up to the tribal leader to take it in and live it, he says.

“It was a respite for people, a respite for excellent learning,” Gift adds in a phone interview. “Each of the tribes learned to go beyond tribal identity. They found a commonality.”

Not surprisingly, with the training of tribal leaders came growth for others.

“Tribal leaders have shared it with other people,” Gift says.” It is a great program, but we are trying to get funding to go through it again.”

Currently, the Institute for Social Research at the University of Utah is evaluating Cuch’s program, which he said costs an average of $100,000 per training or about $3,300 per participant.

The research group was “pretty impressed with the program” Gift says. He has high hopes that, in time, the training will expand. Once it’s been established annually for Native American tribal leaders, Gift would like to involve as many Native Americans as possible.

“When we hear, ‘we’re ready to live now, we see clearly now,’ that makes us feel good,” Cuch says, speaking of the empowerment program his division provides. “We must use every medium possible, and it’s a very challenging thing to do. [But] the future hinges on the quality of education for all people.”

TEA of Utah

by JENNIFER MORGAN

Teinamarie Nelson and Rebecca Wilder were having lunch one day and discussing an issue they heard about from the media regarding transgender people that they thought was unfair. The two women wanted to do something to help transgender people and those who interact with them so they didn’t make the news the same way. They decided to form a nonprofit organization but, it wasn’t until Christopher Scuderi came on board that things started moving.

Transgender Education Advocates, or TEA (pronounced “T”), was established in 2003 as a volunteer organization. It is an affiliate program of the Utah Pride Center and its mission is “to educate the public on transgender issues for better understanding and awareness of discrimination towards the transgender population.”

TEA offers a Gender 101 class, which aims to make people aware of individuals who don’t fit the binary gender system. Scuderi said 50 percent of the classes they teach are requested while the other half are through TEA’s outreach efforts. Because TEA doesn’t have an office of its own, classes are offered in the Utah Pride Center or at the organization receiving the training.

One group that received the Gender 101 training recently was the Public Safety Liaison Committee. PSLC is a group of individuals in service-related professions, including firefighters, police officers and EMTs that aim to educate those in their field about LGBT issues. Rachel Hanson of the Utah Pride Center and Scuderi conducted the training for PSLC, which lasted about an hour and half. Hanson felt it was a success because people openly talked a lot about biases and other subjects that came up during the presentation. Another good gauge for determining whether the training went well, is if participants feel free to ask questions. “I can often tell when people feel comfortable because they ask questions without worrying about sounding dumb,” she said. “A lot of people don’t understand transgender people.”

Gary Horenkamp, PSLC’s co-chair, said the training was “a well-organized, well-presented learning activity” with useful information that he hadn’t heard anywhere before. Horenkamp also is the project leader for OUTreach Ogden, which supports the “personal growth, acceptance and equality” of LGBTQ people and serves Box Elder, Morgan, Weber and Davis Counties. Gender 101 classes are available throughout the year, but TEA also hosts special events.

During November, TEA hosted a number of events in recognition of Transgender Awareness Month. For 2007 it brought in two speakers to provide workshops for medical and legal students and professionals. TEA also observes the Day of Remembrance annually on Nov. 20 with a candlelight vigil. The memorial commemorates transgender people who have lost their lives due to hate-crime violence.

Although it wasn’t a hate crime, Scuderi tells of an individual who was involved in a car accident that died because of a lack of understanding. When paramedics arrived they had to cut away clothing and when they discovered the genitalia of the victim didn’t match the rest of their appearance they were shocked. Apparently they laughed and poked fun but never helped, which resulted in the victim’s death. Some people have a hard time seeking medical help because they don’t know how they will be treated.

In the Salt Lake City medical community there are four family doctors who advertise that they treat transgender patients, but only one, Dr. Nicola Riley, is still accepting new patients. The others had to stop because their practices were too large. Riley received TEA’s 2006 award for Individual of the Year, while Equality Utah was given the Organization of the Year award for its work. Riley received this award partly because of her willingness to continue accepting transgender patients.

If a transgender person decides to have gender reassignment surgery, or GRS, they may have a difficult time finding a surgeon as well. Scuderi estimates there are a dozen throughout the United States, but none are in Utah. The closest surgeons are in Colorado, California or Arizona. Outside of the country, Thailand has the most GRS surgeons because of its progressive views regarding gender.

TEA’s 2007 keynote speaker, Dr. Marci Bowers, has a waiting list of 150 people. Her practice is located in Trinidad, Colo., which is the “transgender capital of the world” according to the city welcome sign. Born Mark Bowers, she transitioned later in life after marrying and having children although she had thoughts about becoming a woman by the age of 5. Bowers has helped more than 500 patients through this process and is considered a world-renowned surgeon. She has been a guest on “Oprah” and “Larry King Live.”

Locating a surgeon is just one challenge facing individuals. Securing funding also can be problematic. Many people can only afford changes from the waist up and can feel incomplete because of it. A few insurance companies cover GRS, but it has to be written into the plan. For male-to-female surgery, Scuderi estimates the cost ranges from $8,000 to $22,000. Female-to-male surgery costs considerably more: $30,000 to $150,000.

Because the costs are out of reach for many, TEA established the Cans For Change program. Aluminum cans are collected for recycling and the money goes toward a scholarship. The scholarship fund was developed to help with a portion of general reassignment surgery costs for an individual on a need basis. You can e-mail TEA to arrange a pick up of clean cans any time. While it has yet to raise enough to consider applicants, TEA hopes to have $1,000 soon for this purpose.

Due to confidentiality and stigma, few statistics are available on the transgender population. But Scuderi and Rachel Hanson believe the transgender youth population is growing. They think this is partly due to the media. Films such as “Boys Don’t Cry” and Barbara Walter’s segment on “20/20” bring exposure to the transgender community. Also, the Internet provides a forum for youth to discuss their lives and issues in a safe environment.

Hanson is the youth director at the Utah Pride Center and facilitates the transgender youth group that meets weekly. She said many transgender people are not receiving support from family or friends so they are at a higher risk for suicide and other self-destructive behavior than gay and lesbian youth.

Utah law doesn’t allow the promotion of homosexuality in schools. Hanson says that when they have approached schools to educate them they often shy away from the training because they’re afraid it’ll fall under the “promotion” of alternative lifestyles.

Scuderi says TEA has had conversations with two school boards. “We’ve contacted most of them, but they’ve either declined or haven’t returned emails or phone calls.”

On campus and elsewhere, the most obvious place transgender people encounter problems is the bathrooms. If a female has male genitalia and goes into the boy’s bathroom she’s more likely to have a problem than using a girl’s restroom.

Another place that is high risk for transgender people is correctional facilities. Currently when someone is picked up they are placed in holding cells based on their genitalia. Because their outward appearance is generally different than those their holed up with, they become easy targets for harassment or worse. Horenkamp said there was a senior officer from SLCPD at the Gender 101 training and he felt it was well received.

Hispanic health care difficult for patients, doctors

by JEFF DUNN

It’s a typical Monday afternoon at Dr. John H. Newton’s downtown orthodontist office. Patients are flipping through entertainment magazines, checking their voice mail or engaging in light conversation. In an adjoining room, Newton is tightening wires and applying fresh rubber bands. Of the nine people waiting in the cushioned chairs, four are Hispanic. And they all have different stories to tell.

Cassandra Avila, 16, attends night school at Horizonte High School to make room for her busy work schedule. The teenager works as a Subway sandwich artist five days a week. She’s required to work to help her single mother cover expenses, particularly health care. (Her parents are still married; however her father resides in Pachuca, Mexico, after giving his immigration papers to his brother 20 years ago.)

“I have a job so I’m helping,” she said, speaking of health care costs. “I hardly have time for myself. I have to make time to come to the dentist.”

Though she knew about the cost of orthodontia when she began the treatment program, Avila said she wanted braces to help correct her severely crooked teeth.

“My teeth were really messed up. I had a tooth up here,” she said, pointing to her upper gums near her left nostril.

Avila’s teeth are nearly straight now, and she happily reports her braces will be off in a few months. She should be happy. She’s worked harder than most 16-year-olds for her movie star smile.

Anna Cataxinos, 41, has also sacrificed for her health coverage. She actually worked for a time in medical records at a local hospital. While working there, the daughter of Chilean immigrants said she often got requests from different departments to translate for Spanish-speaking patients.

“A lot of people needed help understanding simple things like changing rooms,” she said. “Learning a new medical system is difficult and complicated for them.”

Despite being fluent in Spanish, Cataxinos said she struggled with different dialects and confusing medical terminology.

“It’s the terms that are hard,” she said. “It took me awhile. I didn’t trust myself to remember.”

Cataxinos said she knew the patients needed as much medical information as possible, so she made a list of all the terms she needed to know so she could make sure she got everything correct.

Avila agreed that translating complicated procedures for family members or friends can be extremely taxing. Her aunt, for example, doesn’t speak English and therefore doesn’t feel comfortable going to the doctor’s office alone.

“Every time she goes, she gets me or my cousin to go with her,” Avila said. “There are some big words they use, like doctor language that I don’t get. I speak both languages fluently, but it’s hard for me to understand.”

More importantly, it’s hard for her aunt to understand. Avila said it often requires repeated, simplified translations before her father’s sister-in-law can grasp what’s going on.

“I let her know until she gets it, and then she’ll go, ‘Oh, okay,'” Avila said.

Explaining the financial side of health care is even more challenging, according to Cataxinos. She said many Latin Americans she has worked with are used to different payment plans and protocols.

“The system is so different in South America,” she said. “Here things work so differently. They have to learn a whole new system.”

Dr. Newton, who has worked as an orthodontist for three decades, estimated he sees Spanish-speaking patients once or twice a month. He said many times the Hispanics people are required to have their children translate for them, which makes things difficult.

“There’s a lot lost in translation,” he said. “[The kids] frequently don’t understand the financial aspects, and 12-year-olds have a hard time explaining.”

Though working with child translators is strenuous and time consuming, he said he’s happy to do it. However, he said he knows several orthodontists who aren’t as willing.

“There’s that attitude that, ‘Hey, this is America. You have to learn English, because we’re not going to learn Spanish,'” he said.

Erik Storheim, 35, can relate. Storheim is a local dentist fluent in Spanish, thanks to a two-year mission to Santiago, Chile, for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He said explaining dental terminology in a foreign language is a constant struggle.

“Even though I speak Spanish, there’s definitely a communication barrier,” he said. “It’s hard to go in-depth and explain procedures. I didn’t learn dental terms on my mission.”

Storheim used periodontal disease prevention as an example of a difficult concept to describe to his Latino patients.

“It’s hard enough to explain to someone who is a native English speaker,” he said. “When I try to explain it with my limited Spanish ability, it’s even harder to convey the importance.”

But the complications don’t stop at the dentist chair. Because no one else on Storheim’s staff speaks Spanish, he is required to handle all the scheduling and financial arrangments for his Hispanic patients. Managing the receptionist’s duties often causes delayed appointments for other patients, he said.

Still, Storheim said it’s not the delays and complications that bother him the most, it’s the lack of care created by the language barrier.

“I get frustrated communicating sometimes,” he said. “I feel like I can’t communicate adequately and educate my patients like I want to. I feel like they don’t get the care they need sometimes.”

Storheim said he genuinely cares about his patients’ well-being and didn’t go through the rigors of dental school just to punch a time card.

“I’m not a dentist just to fill cavities and pull teeth,” he said. “I want my patients to come away more educated about their dental health. I don’t feel that I can provide that service all the time.”

Newton said he has been working with Hispanic clients since he attended orthodontist school at the University of Illinois in the early 1970s. During his last two years, Newton accepted a summer job in Alamosa, Colo., helping undocumented Hispanic workers get adequate health care.

“A lot of people think Colorado’s main source of income is skiing, tourism and John Denver,” he said. “I learned that that’s not true. The main source of revenue for Colorado is agriculture. And of course, they need field hands to work the crop and prepare the fields.”

Newton was one of around 20 upper-class medical students who worked to provide medical attention to needy migrant workers. He described his experience as eye-opening and disheartening.

“It was very hard,” he said. “Many were seriously ill, but they didn’t have any money or medical insurance.”

He also added the experience gave him a better understanding of some workers’ conception of health care.

“It was fascinating to see their folk remedies that didn’t exactly [jibe] with western, traditional medicine,” he said.

Although the team of students and doctors did all they could to help the workers, Newton said they simply didn’t have the resources to take care of everyone.

“It was like trying to hold back the ocean with a broom sometimes,” he said.

The orthodontist said he doesn’t think the situation has improved in the last 30 years.

“They’re outside the system,” he said. “No one’s interested in helping them, because there are no political benefits.”

No one except for dentists like Erik Storheim. Though he has his own financial issues stemming from buying his own practice in January, he said he still tries to help out when he can.

“Sometimes I give people a good deal,” he said. “I’ll say, ‘Listen, this is just for you.’ I don’t want word to get out that I do free dentistry.”

Storheim said assisting others is his way of showing gratitude for all he’s been blessed with.

“Everyone deserves a break once in a while,” he said. “You can always give back.”

An hour has passed, and the waiting room crowd is starting to thin out. The magazines are read, the voice mail checked and the light conversation complete. Dr. Newton appears, motioning in another patient. His tired eyes require no translation.

Neither do theirs.