“We have our health, why not?”

Story and photo by Jessica Calderwood

While many seniors are busy reliving old memories, Ivan and Faunda Danielson are continually creating new ones. The Danielsons, who both turned 80 this year, pass each other a knowing smile as they recount their travels and can’t conceal the gleam of anticipation in their eyes at the thought of their next adventure.

Faunda and Ivan Danielson happily dine on their Panama cruise in October 2004.

The Danielsons are not alone in their love for travel. Now, more than ever, retired couples are able to continue traveling well into their 80s with increased mobility, health and longevity.

“We’ve got our health, why not?” Ivan Danielson said.

According to a report released in 2007 by AARP and Focalyst, retired people are more likely to take long vacations of two weeks or more, vacation by recreational vehicle (RV), take a cruise and go on an organized tour.

Retirement may bring an excess of free time but not always an excess of funds.
Jeni Jones, travel agent at A Travel Center in Sandy, Utah, said, “Our older clients are definitely there for the last-minute travel deals,” which usually saves on airfare. Jones said retirees are able to drop everything at a much shorter notice.

It gets cheaper still if you have the right connections. For example, the Danielsons fly standby for free thanks to their son, who works for an airline. Flying standby requires flexibility and patience, both of which the Danielsons have in spades. The payoff is thousands of dollars saved on flights every year.

In spite of the endless possibilities flying for free gives them, the Danielsons said emphatically, and in unison, their favorite trip was, “our Panama cruise.” This would come as no surprise to Jones.

In her experience, her older clientele tend to prefer cruises and guided tours for their value and the peace of mind they offer. Customers like to know things are planned and taken care of for them. In the case of international travel, Jones said, it is especially important for older travelers to know they will have English-speaking tour guides. “Besides,” she added with a smile, “your room floats with you.”

This rings true with the Danielsons, who have been on seven cruises to date and plan to continue cruising in the future. Aside from their favorite Panamanian cruise in October 2004, they’ve visited the Caribbean, Hawaii and Mexico and seen Alaska three times.

Although a room on the waves is their favorite, a room on the road is the Danielsons most frequent travel option. They take great pride in their RV, which may have more miles on it than Forrest Gump’s sneakers.

It’s never a lonely road, though, as they are always accompanied by a coalition of longstanding travel comrades. Accumulated over the years, this group of friends and family began with Ivan Danielson’s fast friendship with a few members of his company in the U.S. Army Military Police. Tom Vincent and Wallace Berry and their wives were some of the first members of the travel group. Even after Berry died, the group still made it a point to include his widow, Marna, in their travel plans. On one trip, they met and adopted Dean and Dot Spackman, who soon will be celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary. Faunda brought in her twin sister, Frieda, and husband, Mel. Ivan invited his sister, Ina.

With each new member comes fresh ideas and unique interests. Together in their travels, they’ve performed the Swedish Polka, achieved the title of horseshoe champions and sat basking in the late afternoon sun in rural Tennessee in the company of an ill-behaved pet goat. The Danielsons’ photo albums proudly display their adventures from Death Valley to Montana to New York and Canada.

On such road adventures, they serve as their own tour guides. Make no mistake, they still have a detailed itinerary, carefully color-coded by Ivan’s brother-in-law, Chuck Iverson.

It’s true that retirement has granted them more time and freedom to travel, but the Danielsons have made it a point to travel throughout their lives. They have fond memories of cozying up in a tent with their four children in Yellowstone National Park. Faunda’s eyes widen as she recounts the time a bear got into their food.

It makes one travel weary just to page through one of the Danielsons’ albums, to which they respond, “You’re just getting started!”

Native American mixed-race relationships in Utah

by ALLISON JOHNSON 

Jonathan and Mandie Hansen are a typical married couple. They live in the suburbs, enjoy their weekly date nights and love going on vacations with their young son. However, one major difference separates them from other couples: race. Mandie is white and Jonathan is Native American.  

According to Jonathan, mixed-race relationships are a sensitive issue in Utah. 

“People want to pretend that you don’t exist,” he said. “They don’t want to deal with you.”

However, according to recent statistics, mixed-race relationships are steadily increasing with more and more people deciding to marry and date outside their race.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the number of interracial marriages has soared over the last 35 years. Overall, the Bureau calculates that more than 7 percent of America’s 59 million married couples in 2005 were interracial, compared to less than 2 percent in 1970.

Being an interracial couple is never easy.  Dealing with challenges including racism, cultural differences and raising biracial children in a largely white area can be taxing, no matter how strong a relationship is. Are the challenges associated with being an interracial couple worth it?

Marrying Other Ethnic Groups

Despite the increase in interracial marriages as a whole, mixed-race marriages involving Native Americans remain low. They account for less than 1 percent of interracial marriages in the United States.

Even though mixed-race marriages involving Native Americans are uncommon, Jonathan, 32, and Mandie Mortensen, 30, don’t consider their relationship unconventional. Not now, at least. 

When Mandie first announced to her conservative family, who reside in West Valley, that she was engaged to a Navajo man, they were less than enthusiastic.

“My family pretended that they were all right with me marrying Jonathan, but I knew better,” Mandie said. “[Because] of their hesitancy, it made me question our relationship as well. It took me a few months before I finally [decided] that I loved Jonathan and would marry him with or without my family’s approval.”

Jonathan and Mandie were married in 2002. After a lot of compromise, Mandie says her family has finally warmed up to Jonathan.

“They see that I love him and that [our] marriage is solid,” Mandie said. “I think they are happy because I’m happy.” 

Throughout the six years of their marriage, Mandie and Jonathan have learned to take things one day at a time. They have accepted the fact that being in an interracial marriage always comes with challenges. They will always have to deal with racism and cultural issues, but are trying to make understanding and cooperation the basis of their marriage.

“I’m not Navajo. I never will be,” Mandie said. “But I’m married to a wonderful man who is Navajo so I need to respect their traditions and way of life.”

Marrying Between Tribes

While many Native Americans are not marrying whites, Asians, or African Americans, many are marrying outside of their tribe. While these unions might not be “interracial” by traditional definitions, they can still bring up cultural issues.

When Dayna Jones, 27, a Navajo, started dating Chris Jorgensen, 31, a Ute, she was certain their relationship would never work. Dayna was concerned that because they were from different tribes, their values and beliefs would be too different.

“I was raised in a very traditional Navajo family,” Dayna said. “No one in my family has ever dated or married [someone] from a different tribe. How could I suddenly go against my upbringing and date a Ute?”

Much like Dayna, Chris was also hesitant about dating outside of his tribe.

“Even though we are both Native Americans, Utes and Navajos have different ways of doing things,” Chris said. “I thought dating a Navajo would simply mean too many compromises.”

Despite their initial reluctance to get involved with one another, love quickly bloomed between them.

“I couldn’t help that I fell in love with a Ute,” Dayna said. “Once I started to develop serious feelings for Chris, what tribe he was from didn’t seem to matter so much.”

Chris and Dayna have now been married for three years. They are the first to admit it has been challenging. One of the main issues they have had to deal with involves blending their families.

“When I first married Dayna, my mother did not approve of her,” Chris said. “She wanted me to marry a Ute and Dayna did not fit the mold. She is more accepting of her now that we are married, but I am positive there are still some feelings of resentment there.”

Chris and Dayna also frequently have disagreements about how to raise their 1-year-old daughter, Nicole. Because Nicole is both Navajo and Ute, they want her to feel connected with both tribes.

“We want [Nicole] to grow up with a strong sense of identity,” Dayna said. “Figuring out how to teach her both Navajo and Ute traditions is the complicated part. We don’t ever want her to think that one [tribe] is more important than the other.”

Even though marrying someone from a different Native American tribe has not been simple, Chris says he has no regrets.

“My [marriage] with Dayna is not perfect, but what marriage is?” Chris said. “I love her and that has always been the most important thing.”

Raising Biracial Children

Biracial children have become commonplace in modern society. More and more children are growing up with parents of different races, learning two or mote sets of traditions, values, even languages.

Mandie and Jonathan know firsthand that raising a biracial child is never easy. The couple says they have struggled teaching their 6-year-old son, Jack, about both his Navajo and white heritage.

“Teaching your child about two different heritages is a tough thing,” Jonathan said. “Jack seems confused about the fact that he is both white and Navajo. Hopefully that will become clearer to him as he gets older.”

Mandie and Jonathan have tried to incorporate both white and Native American traditions into everyday life so that Jack is constantly surrounded by his heritage.

“I try to cook traditional meals once in a while and have been teaching Jack some Navajo words,” Jonathan said. “We also make sure that we visit both sides of the family often so that he is exposed to both cultures. He definitely loves learning about both cultures.”

Even though Jack is only 5, Mandie and Jonathan are hopeful he will continue to relate to both his Navajo and white heritage as he gets older.

“Jack is already proud of his heritage,” Mandie said. “We think it will continue as he grows older if we [continue] to emphasize the importance of both cultures.”

Ultimately, the couple thinks the most important thing they can do is love their son and make sure he knows that the color of his skin is not the most important thing.

“We want our son to grow up and know that he is loved,” Jonathan said. “In our family, love is more important than race ever will be.”

Miss Utah Navajo

by CADE SORENSEN

  • See a slideshow of Hokti Miles (best viewed in full-screen mode)

Hokti Miles of Salt Lake City was born into a family where her mother is Navajo and her father is white. Her mother speaks both Navajo and English, but her father speaks only English. Because of this, Navajo was not spoken much at home. Consequently, Miles never learned the language. But, her mother did try to teach her what she knew about the traditional Navajo way of life and the culture.

Miles was crowned Miss Utah Navajo in September 2007 and passed on her crown to another young woman in September 2008. Winners of the Miss Utah Navajo pageant typically are full-blooded Navajos and speak the language. But, Miles’ experiences and blend of cultures helped her connect with younger Navajos who do not speak the language. Because of the respect that comes with the crown of Miss Utah Navajo, she was also able to help older people understand what they can do differently to help children learn the language and culture.

After being crowned, Miles met Jonathea Tso, the 2007 Miss Navajo Nation, at a Veterans Day event. Tso invited her to go to a leadership conference for Miss Navajo pageant winners where Tso and other Navajo Nation leaders taught the girls how to behave as representatives of the Navajo Nation.

“You’ve got to learn to be reserved and got to watch what you do and watch what you say,” Miles said. “You’ve just got to act with respect and dignity at all times.”

As Miss Utah Navajo, Miles participated in several programs representing the Navajo Nation. She taught about the culture, promoted good health and living, and the traditional Navajo way of life. She felt it was very important to inspire Navajo children and teenagers who do not know the language to start learning it because they can learn so much about themselves and their culture.

“I would stress the importance of knowing your elders, like your grandparents, before they pass on to another world,” Miles said. “And all the lessons that they can teach you, it’s just amazing. You can become such a good person just from learning from them.”

Sharee Varela, a graduate student in the University of Utah’s Department of Languages and Literature, who teaches Miles Navajo, said, “One of the Navajo philosophers who was one of my teachers back home on the tribal reservation…says that in order for the youth to regain their identity and self-respect again in society, in both western society and Navajo society, is to retain the language and the traditional teachings of Navajo.”

Since she holds this knowledge, Varela feels that it is her responsibility to pass it on to the kids. “Only if they want to learn it though,” she said. “I tell my kids, if you really want to know, if you really want to learn, I’ll teach you, but only when you are ready.”

During her reign, Miles felt the need to tell parents and grandparents they have a responsibility to teach their children the language and Navajo traditions. She often related to them her own experiences.

Her grandparents were never a major part of her life because they died when she was very young. “My mom didn’t teach me much Navajo and it is such a struggle now,” Miles said. “They look down on the younger generations because we don’t know Navajo, and yet it’s their fault that we don’t know Navajo.” When speaking to the elders she often encouraged them not to criticize young people, but to help them instead.

One experience Miles had where she felt criticized was at a charity event called Tip-A-Royalty. This is an event involving all eight royalties from the Navajo Nation. They served as waitresses at Earl’s Restaurant in Gallop, N.M., and all the tips they received were donated to help with the Special Olympics.

While waiting tables, a man asked her a question in Navajo. Miles said she understood bits and pieces of what he said but couldn’t quite comprehend everything. He asked her where she was from and when she told him he said, “Why don’t you know Navajo then? That area is full of culture!” Miles explained her situation, but the man replied, “You should still know.” Miles said in return, “I’m learning now, is that not enough?”

Miles said that was one of the worst experiences she had because she felt so bad afterward. “It was just rough to hear that from people,” she said.

Varela said the way this man spoke to her is appropriate in Navajo culture, especially if he is a close relative.

“An older person getting after you like that, culturally it’s appropriate, especially if they are related to you as an uncle. So, if he was related to her as an uncle he has every right to get after her like a father,” she said. “Navajo culture not only teaches respect but it also teaches you the roles you take in Navajo society. He took appropriate role as an uncle in going after her for whatever he felt he needed to say.” Varela said that culturally this is not being mean or rude. He is just telling her, in his own opinion, what she needs know.

Miles participated in several cultural events as Miss Utah Navajo, including: The Utah Navajo Fair, The Navajo Nation Parade and The Days of ’47 Parade. Some of her greatest experiences as Miss Utah Navajo came while speaking at different schools across the state. She said she loved going to elementary schools because the children all looked up to her. They respected her and would almost always sit quietly while she was speaking. Several have recognized her in other settings, such as while shopping. The children pull on their mother’s hand and whisper with a big smile, “That is Miss Utah Navajo.”

Before being crowned, Miles said she was not a very good person. She didn’t care much about her culture and traditions. But, because of her experiences with being Miss Utah Navajo she said she has became a much better person. She has more respect and love for her culture, language and people. She has also received the love and respect she felt she has needed from the older generations.

“A lot of the elders they would come up to me and call me ‘shideezhi,’” which means little sister in Navajo. “It just felt really great. It seemed like they really respected me for what I was doing,” Miles said. “I just wanted the other kids to know how great it felt to be loved by their elders and to be respected by them.”

Iraqi refugees in SLC find differences and similarities

by BRETT PERFILI

  • View a slideshow of the families and the Humanitarian Center (best viewed in full-screen mode)

In the spring of 2003, the U.S. government sent in troops to invade Iraq because it was believed the country held weapons of mass destruction. The invasion also aimed to put an end to Suddam Hussein’s support for terrorism and to free the Iraqi people.

Since then, the United States is still there fighting for the freedom of the Iraqi people. However, U.S. troops have been able to capture Iraq’s leader and also see him executed.

Many Iraqi people have fled from their country to avoid persecution, discrimination and even death. Some of the Iraqis who have fled their native country have come to Utah.

Mazen Hamoudi, 32, an Iraqi native, is a doctor in Salt Lake City. Hamoudi said when American troops first arrived in Iraq there were differing feelings toward the soldiers.

“When the American soldiers came during the first few months, most not all, most of the Iraqi people say hello,” Hamoudi said. “But, after three months people started to hate the American soldiers. Americans angered Iraqis because of their behavior.”

Hamoudi did not flee his country as a refugee; he came by choice. He can speak fluent English, which he was taught beginning in the fifth grade. Hamoudi received his medical degree from Baghdad University and decided to come to the United States to avoid the dangers of living in Iraq and also to seek more money.

In late December 2006 Hussein was hung at Camp Justice, an Iraqi army base in a neighborhood of Baghdad. And again, mixed emotions existed among the Iraqi people, Hamoudi said.

“It is difficult to express my emotion,” he said. “He killed people, so he had to be killed, but not by this behavior. I was not happy at the time.”

Hamoudi said he now finds it was the right thing to do, but will always feel that Hussein contributed many positives to his native country.

“I consider him the perpetrator of the Iraqi people,” he said.

Omar Shakir, 40, a patient of Hamoudi’s, feels the same about Hussein, but still is mourning over his execution. Shakir cried after the execution of the Iraqi leader.

Speaking in Arabic, Shakir said he was still very sad.

“Omar thinks as leader and Arabic leader,” said Hamoudi, who translated the conversation.

Before Hussein’s execution U.S. soldiers marched into Firdos Square in Baghdad and pulled down a tall concrete statue of the Iraqi.

This was also a devastating moment, Shakir said.

“From his [Shakir’s] perspective the falling down of the statue all of Iraq was falling down,” Hamoudi said. “I was happy because I did not see the falling of the country. When he fell down I considered Saddam falling down.”

Shakir said he feels the invasion of Iraq by the United States was not a smart move. But, now he fears if U.S. soldiers pull out, there will be a civil war. Shakir feels this would only create larger problems for his country.

Unlike Hamoudi, Shakir was forced from Iraq. He literally was chased out of his country with bullets being fired at him because of his religious beliefs.

Shakir has lived in Utah for four months. He has only recently begun earning a salary for income at the Deseret Industries through the LDS church.

Shakir said language is the biggest barrier for employment at this point. He finds life in the United States frustrating because in his country he was considered a rich man, and in Utah he is not. Shakir was a businessman in Iraq where he owned his own supermarket.

When Shakir arrived from Jordan he was able to bring his wife, Huda Shakir, 33, their son and daughter and his brother, Mahmoud, 32. They are all living in a Salt Lake City apartment on 309 E.  4500 South in the Cottonwood Creek Apartment Community.

Faris Ali, 45, is also a refugee from Iraq who has lived in Utah for four weeks. He lives in the east side of Salt Lake City in an apartment.

Ali has taken a different path to the United States than Shakir. He also holds dissimilar beliefs about Iraq, however, he does find some things in common.

Ali sided with the United States during the 2003 invasion, which is why he left Iraq to come to Utah.

“I was the first Iraqi to go for the United States when America raised for our help,” Ali said in a telephone interview. “I made a pledge to help this country through the good times and the bad times.”

In contrast to Shakir, Ali was not saddened by Hussein’s execution.

“I felt great on that day,” Ali said. “He killed lots of people. He was dangerous to all of the war. He was the biggest terrorist in the war.”

Like Hamoudi, Ali attended Baghdad University. He received a degree in mechanical engineering. He is seeking a job here that will allow him to use his skills. One problem he faces in finding a job with those skills is no social security in the United States.

Right now he is working temporarily as an interpreter at the International Rescue Committee in downtown Salt Lake City. The IRC is an organization helping refugees find housing, employment and medical care.

Ali never plans on returning to Iraq, He considers Utah his home now, he said.

“I forget about my birth country. This is my new one,” Ali said. “I don’t miss anything about my country.”

However, he is still waiting for the arrival of his family within the next year or two.

Shakir and Ali agree that people are very kind and nice in Utah. Neither one said they feel discriminated against because of where they come from.

“They are so friendly, so nice,” Ali said. “Everyone says hi. They are not like this in the Mideast.”

Shakir said in Arabic that the people are very understanding to his origin. One of his initial thoughts entering the United States was Americans would see his culture and religion from the wrong perspective, however, this was not the case.

Still, Shakir hopes to be able to return to Iraq one day.

“He considers his home and country everything,” Hamoudi said.

However, Shakir said there is a lot that needs to be changed before he can go back. If the security changed in Iraq he would go home tomorrow, but he can’t. He would be killed.

With the war still ongoing and Iraqis as well as Americans being killed every day both Shakir and Ali feel blessed to be where they are today. They have families, are able to practice their cultures and are doing everything they can to succeed in a new place.

Gallery creates a space for diversity

by STEPHANIE FERRER-CARTER

John F. Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States of America, stated, “If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him.”

During this year’s Pride at the U, artists of all sexual preferences found a venue for their visions.

“Art is a big part of queer culture,” said Bonnie Owens, 21, a senior at the University of Utah and an intern at the LGBT Resource Center on campus. “It’s a big part of any culture, so I thought it was important that it was included.”

The theme of the 2007 Pride Week held Oct. 15-20 was “Culture with a Q.” Owens was inspired by the theme, and chose to revamp the idea of an art gallery as part of Pride Week.

“In the past it’s never been successful, but I really wanted it to run well this year,” Owens said.

The art show was originally titled “Beautifully Obscene,” but was renamed “The Good Stuff” after some concern over what would be displayed in the gallery located in the U’s student lounge.

“The best thing about the gallery is that it crosses so many different boundaries,” Owens said. “We’ve got staff, faculty, alumni, community members and students all in here.”

Though it was labeled a LGBTQ art gallery, Owens said anyone could submit their art. Artists did not have to describe the subject matter, just the dimensions of their work.

“Something like this is so odd,” Owens said. “It’s so queer to have a gallery designed for queer students and faculty. So it’s very, very liberating for an artist that’s having a hard time finding their niche. It’s a good place to be.”

A variety of art was displayed in the gallery, including photography, drawings, oil, water color, mixed media and pottery.

While some works were more subdued, the gallery did feature a series of nudes painted by a former alumna who lives in Santa Quin County. Owens said the woman found out about the gallery through a culture article in the Salt Lake Tribune and was eager to show her work, not only because the county did not have a gallery that would display the nudes, but also because two of the woman’s children are gay.

The gallery became a canvas of emotion and statement for some.

Orbin Rockford, 27, submitted five pieces from a series of 25 Sharpie and acrylic paint drawings to the gallery. The dark images portrayed, both in color and tone, stood out starkly from their clean, white backgrounds.

The inspiration came from an emotional break-up that happened while Rockford was in college at a Boston art school.

“I was in a relationship that was totally messed up,” Rockford said. “It was my first real relationship with a guy.”

Drawing, Rockford said, is a form of therapy, what he calls “instinct art.”

“It’s a great outlet,” he said. “It’s been about coming to terms with myself.” 

But Rockford said he does not want his artwork to be defined only by his sexuality.

“It’s very much a part of my work, some pieces more than others,” he said.

Aside from putting the show together, Owens also submitted her own series of black and white photographs. Each one featured student leaders and activists from the U’s LGBTQ groups.

“They [Owens’ photographs] were designed to be shown, so they’re a little more apparent,” she said. “They’re something that you can look at them and say, why is this queer, what is going on here.”

The pieces were on display for the week, and the gallery full of artwork was proof of a goal accomplished, according to Owens.

“Pretty much everyone from different identities and cultures submitted something, which is something the resource center has had a hard time with in the past,” Owens said. “A lot of events this year cater to people who are often forgotten in programming like this, so people of color, transgender individuals, women, straight allies especially. So it’s great to see some of their work in this.”

For poverty-stricken Navajo Nation, a wrenching choice between development and the environment

by CHRIS MUMFORD

Elouise Brown stands at the edge of a rise in the middle of the New Mexico desert, pointing toward a barely distinguishable plot of land in the distance that has become the center of a battle in which her family and the entire Navajo Nation have become bitterly divided.

Brown is the head of Dooda Desert Rock (dooda means “no” in Navajo), an organization she formed to oppose the Desert Rock power plant that has been proposed for the nondescript stretch of earth a few miles away. She stands on the edge of the Dooda Desert Rock Camp, located an hour’s drive southwest of Farmington, N.M. 

The controversy over the plant is hardly new to the Navajo Nation and the broader Four Corners community of which it is part: The coal-fired facility would be the region’s third.

But this time things are different. This time the threat is not posed solely by outsiders who intend to plunder the area’s resources, offering a pittance in royalties for the mess they leave behind. Rather, the developers are members of Brown’s own family and tribe, acting with funds and official authorization from the Navajo Nation.

The company co-developing the project, Dine Power Authority (DPA), is an enterprise of the Navajo Nation. And the company’s general manager, Steven C. Begay, by dint of the complexities of Navajo clan structure, is considered Brown’s grandfather.

“He’s not in his right mind, I don’t think,” Brown said of Begay, noting that she treats him with customary familial respect but doesn’t receive the same treatment in return.

Taking a Stand

It’s the first day of Dooda Desert Rock’s (DDR) second annual four-day protest and Brown has returned from pointing out the construction site. She is now sitting in the camp’s central plywood shack, wearing a black Dooda Desert Rock T-shirt and a camouflage army jacket with her last name embroidered on the sleeve.

“We’re nothing to them, we’re nobody to them,” she says, speaking of DPA and its partner, Sithe Global. “They say we’re out in the middle of nowhere, but we don’t consider it the middle of nowhere.”

The walls of the shack are hung with news clippings and timelines that chronicle DDR’s efforts to kill the Desert Rock project. An illustration posted outside, near the entrance, depicts the plant in stark black, a skull and crossbones painted in red inside a column of noxious CO2 rising into the air.

“We don’t have a choice, we have to do this,” she says forcefully. “There’s nobody else doing this so we have to do it.”

But the involvement of DPA has added a unique wrinkle to the issue, one that has opened fault lines within Brown’s family and the broader Navajo Nation community.

With a 25 percent equity stake, the Navajo Nation Council could potentially generate desperately needed jobs and revenue for its 180,000 people, nearly half of whom are unemployed. Yet for Brown, whose activism has been central in stalling environmental approval for Desert Rock in court, the potential for economic benefits means little when the true costs are accounted for.

“It’s totally insignificant,” she said, in a telephone interview before the protest. “What’s more important, money or health?”

Health and the Environment

A passage from the invitation to the DDR protest makes plain Brown’s feelings about the involvement of the Navajo Nation’s government in the Desert Rock project: “Our Navajo leaders are forsaking Traditional Ways to take corporate money to poison our land, foul our air, and steal our waters. This abuse must STOP!”

By “Traditional Ways,” Brown explains that she means “care for everything and everybody.” She was raised by her parents, she says, to “take care of the whole cosmos.”

From the same vantage point where the Desert Rock site is visible, one can also see smoke billowing from the Four Corners power plant, leaving a brown-black streak along the horizon just above Farmington. And just a few miles east from there, barely beyond sight, is the San Juan power plant.

“The two combined are putting high levels of mercury particulates into the air and into the water, because they’re both using the San Juan River,” says Miles Lessen, a math coach for Navajo Nation schools who has lived in the nearby town of Shiprock for about a year, in an interview at the DDR protest. “So people who live down in Sanostee [a town west of Shiprock], this breaks my heart, they’re drinking the water from both plants that are coming through, so they’re getting a higher dosage than even I’m getting.”

For Brown, the health effects she believes were caused by this pollution catalyzed her efforts to block construction of a third coal-fired plant. 

“I’m not going to pinpoint this certain person with this certain ailment, but there’s a lot of cancer patients,” she says. “If you go to the cancer center in Farmington, there’s a lot of people. I’m not just speaking for the Navajo Nation, I’m speaking for all walks of life, all living species. There’s a lot of kids with asthma, respiratory problems of all sorts. There’s babies that were still-born. These don’t just happen constantly for no reason, there’ve got to be reasons behind it,” Brown continues, identifying chemicals, like mercury, released by the San Juan and Four Corners plants as the cause. 

“That’s how I got involved, I wanted to know ‘what can I do?'” she says.

Yet, when confronted with Brown’s dire claims, Desert Rock’s top officials react with a mixture of puzzlement and frustration.

“From a total impact standpoint, I think it’s going to get better before it gets worse. I don’t even see it getting worse, I just see it getting better,” said Nathan Plagens, vice president of Desert Rock LLC, in a telephone interview.

“We have an agreement with the Navajo Nation that for SO2 [sulfur dioxide], every time we emit, we will mitigate 110 percent by reducing SO2 emissions from another source,” he said in describing the first of a three-tier arrangement in which Desert Rock is contractually bound to reduce emissions not only from its own plant, but also from the two existing coal-fired facilities.

After SO2, Desert Rock has pledged to reduce nitrous oxide and acid rain using similar formulas at the contractually mandated second and third tiers respectively.

As for mercury, the plant wouldn’t use the San Juan River. Instead, its water would come from an aquifer located a mile below the surface of the land. And Desert Rock is classified as a non-discharge plant, meaning none of the water it uses will be re-released into the environment, Plagens said.

“The majority of the water that we’re using is basically for pollution control,” he said, with a hint of irony in his voice. “I don’t know where mercury can get in to come in contact with the water.”

But the real sticking point, from the standpoint of the courts and the Environmental Protection Agency, has been carbon dioxide (CO2) emissions. The gas is a major contributor to global warming, yet the EPA is not currently authorized to regulate it, according to Plagens. And a coalition of environmental groups, including DDR, has used the lack of CO2 regulations to appeal the EPA’s permit for the Desert Rock plant in court.

“The Environmental Appeals Board will say whether the EPA has to regulate CO2 permits,” said Plagens. “If they do have to regulate CO2, then a lot of things would be thrown on the table.”

At the DDR protest, Brown stresses the widespread consequences of allowing another coal-fired power plant to be built.

“Where are kids in their future generation going to go when the global warming gets worse? When there’s no more good air quality for them to breathe? What are they supposed to do?” she says.

And she’s not alone in her concern. “Unfortunately, every day, I’m losing my life expectancy. I eat healthy and I take care of myself, but I’m inhaling carcinogenic material,” Lessen says. “People down here, they’re getting it even worse.”

And while Sithe Global and DPA have promised to set aside funds generated by the plant to disassemble the facility and restore the environment after its resources are exhausted, there are currently no such plans for CO2 reduction.

Begay refers to the global warming claims of Brown and her associates as “nebulous.” “There are no rules the EPA can go by,” he said.

“It’s the same old garbage they’re coming up with that’s already been discussed,” he said.

The Promises

In forming DPA, the Navajo Nation set the standard for a broad paradigm shift currently taking place in Native American communities nationwide. Alongside tribes like the Crow and Blackfeet, the Navajo are pursuing a more active role in developing their own energy resources, including renewables like wind and solar in addition to traditional coal, oil and gas.

“The old-school is to lease the land, lease the resources,” said Begay, DPA’s general manager, in a telephone interview.

“We’re doing things under a new approach, with more participation and more equity,” he said.

Projections for the Desert Rock facility indicate that the equity Begay speaks of could translate into as much as $50 million in annual revenue for the Navajo Nation, whose yearly budget is $96 million, according to the 2000 census.

In testimony before the Committee on Indian Affairs on May 1, 2008, Begay emphasized the potential economic impact of the proposed plant.

“This project, which would create thousands of jobs during its four-year construction phase, 200 permanent, family-wage jobs in the power plant and another 200 well paying jobs in the adjacent Navajo mine during its lifespan, is absolutely critical to the economic future of the Navajo Nation, one of the most impoverished areas of the United States, with 50 percent unemployment,” he said, in a transcript of his testimony retrieved from the Department of the Interior’s Web site.

And, while already substantial, the revenues become all the more significant in the face of the potential closure of several plants that use Navajo-owned coal, which Desert Rock Vice President Plagens predicts could cost the Navajo Nation $40 million to $60 million per year in lost royalties.

The looming shortfall underscores the vagaries inherent in royalty schemes that have become a major force behind the push to take on a more active, management role in energy resource development.

“A lot of underhanded tactics have taken place in the past,” said Duane Matt, technology coordinator for the Office of Surface Mining, a division of the Department of the Interior. “I think [Native American tribes] need to have a personal, vested interest in what’s going on.”

In particular, Matt, who provides technology and training to Native American mining enterprises, referred to a recent lawsuit in which a Blackfoot woman sued the U.S. government for $47 billion in unpaid royalties.

Decided on Aug. 7, 2008, for 1 percent – $455 million – of the amount originally sought, the Cobell v. Kempthorne case exposed the flaws of the “old school” land-lease system of which Begay spoke. He said the case is partly responsible for a stipulation in agreements between DPA and Sithe Global requiring that all financial disputes be resolved in Navajo courts rather than in U.S. federal courts.

Royalty graft is likewise part of the checkered legacy left by the San Juan and Four Corners plants that has engendered deep mistrust among Brown and her supporters. But they remain unconvinced that the equity arrangement with Desert Rock will offer a significant improvement over the past.

“There were a lot of things promised that were not fulfilled – jobs, economic growth,” said Brown, adding later that the Navajo people would have to be “stupid to fall for this again.”

Miles Lessen, the math coach, points to inadequacies in the status quo to explain why he is pessimistic about the idea of things changing much under the Desert Rock model. “I think you talk to most people, stay around here for a while, talk to most people over in Sanostee and Shiprock and Gallup and all over and they’ll tell you there’s a lot of money that the tribe gets and most of the people here don’t see any of it,” he says.

Moreover, extravagant promises of economic development have a hollow ring to Brown and her supporters, who question whether the Navajo Nation will ultimately be able to raise the hundreds of millions of dollars necessary to purchase an equity stake in the project.

“If it’s projected as a 3.7-billion-dollar project and it’s not going to be built for another four or five years, I almost guarantee it’s going to be double that,” said Michael Eisenfeld, an environmentalist with the San Juan Citizens Alliance, an organization that opposes the plant.

“Where do they think they’re going to get the money for this?” he asked in a telephone interview.

Moved Yet Unmoved

At the Dooda Desert Rock Camp, Brown talks about being forced from her previous three protest campsites, which were located closer to the Desert Rock construction zone. Members of her own family even attempted to drive her off the current site, summoning grazing officials and Navajo rangers to expel her.

“We can’t trust anybody,” she says. “Everybody’s doing this for greed.”

For Brown and her supporters, who include major environmental groups like the Sierra Club in addition to concerned area residents, opposition to the plant is not a simple choice between economic rewards and environmental preservation. It is a rejection of the premise that money cures all ills and brings nothing but happiness.

“To me, money’s not everything,” Brown says. “Money can buy a lot of things, but when your relative’s going to die from cancer, you’re not going to take that money that you earned from the coal-burning power plant and go buy your relative back.”

Perhaps the most tragic fallacy of all, she says, is the notion that people can no longer live without the comforts of modern technology.

“We’ve done without electricity coming into our house, we’re doing fine,” she says. “We live as good as any of you, anybody out there. We’re living as well as DPA does, or Sithe. And we may be hauling water; I don’t see any faucet in here, do you? They don’t need it either, they’re just lazy.”

‘Faces from the Land’ depicts powwow dancers and regalia

by JESSICA DUNN

Painted black lips and a bright yellow jaw sit below a set of dark, piercing eyes. The beautiful array of a feathered headdress, buckskin fringes and a fan of feathers ceases to distract the viewer as the dark eyes pull them directly in. They show a strength and confidence, and they portray a pride in tradition and heritage that is honored at the powwows.

Travis Ike, of the Omaha Tribe, wearing his Native regalia is one of many powwow participants photographed by Ben Marra.

Ben and his wife, Linda Marra, of Seattle, Wash., have followed Native American powwows for 20 years. Their traveling documentary photo exhibit, Faces from the Land, features Ben’s portrait photography and personal statements from each of his subjects.

The Faces from the Land exhibit was at the Main Library in downtown Salt Lake City from Sept. 20 to Nov. 15, 2008. Ann Morris, a librarian there, estimated that about 30 people a day walked through the exhibit, the majority of those being adults.

The Marras attended their first powwow in 1988 when Ben was given an assignment to take a color photograph depicting the theme, “Celebrate Washington State.” Recently returned from photographing people in Nepal, Ben immediately discarded all the played-out Washington icons and came up with the idea of photographing Native Americans from the Northwest.

“At my first powwow, I saw beautiful imagery right here in our country,” Ben said. He wanted to photograph and share it.

After the photo assignment, the Marras continued to attend powwows across the United States and Canada, and the photography grew into a larger project for them.

“We did this on the side for fun, to take off for the weekends, but you keep learning of more powwows and seeing people you know,” Linda said.

The Marras became more dedicated to their photography project when they decided to use the images to strengthen or spark an interest in the Native American community. On their Web site, they write their hopes that the photos can teach people about the importance of tradition and family, and about beliefs associated with powwows, dances and native regalia. 

Due to a lack of education about Native Americans in school, neither of them knew much in the beginning and had no idea what to expect at a powwow.

Linda was surprised at how welcome they were. The Marras made sure to keep their word and treat everyone well so they weren’t seen as “ugly, white people.” Relationships have been very important to their success.

“This whole project has been based on relationships and we’ve been careful to form and nurture those relationships, and honor those promises made,” Linda said.

Their relationships with powwow dancers are also based on cultural respect. For example, if an elder asks individuals to dance, they have to. It is respectful and an honor for the invitation to be given and accepted. Linda and Ben have been asked to dance before and obliged, even though Linda said she is self-conscious and doesn’t dance. It wasn’t a real dance, Ben said. It was more of a two-step while circling around, something that anyone can pick up after a minute.

The Marras used to search for their subjects at the powwows. They would look for someone with a certain presence and a unique way of carrying themselves.

These days, though, powwow dancers seek them out and ask for their photo to be taken. The dancers come between songs and usually only have five or 10 minutes where Ben can create a few photographs.

“We make [the process] fast for them because they are here to be dancing,” Ben said. Sometimes during a shoot, someone will run in and tell the dancer that his song is next. They will run out, regardless of if Ben is done.

Linda meets the dancers before the shoot to take down their name and tribal affiliation. Then Ben tries to make them feel comfortable despite what setting they may be using. Whether it’s a school hallway or a portable trailer, they try to always create privacy so that it is just Ben and the dancer.

The dancer stands in front of the same brown cloth that the Marras have had since the beginning of the project. The lighting is also kept similar. This helps to keep the photos consistent with one another, so that a photo from 10 years go can be placed right alongside a photo from today.

Ben uses a color slide film to get the most vibrant colors. His color portraits are a unique and signature work. Few photographers have such an extensive portfolio of portraits. Ben’s color portraits have a different feel to them, especially when compared to the sepia-toned Native American images made by Edward S. Curtis in the late 1800s and early 1900s, said Morris, the Salt Lake City librarian.

Some of Curtis’ photographs appeared on a television alongside the exhibit. Native Americans have rarely been shown in traditional attire in color. Most of the historical pictures are black and white or sepia, which don’t allow for the full effect of their regalia to be seen.

Ben also photographs the dancing at powwows. He manages to get close up and has a knack for getting great action shots since he is familiar with the music.

“He’s been doing it for so long that he recognizes the dances and knows when they’re up in the air or when the last beat of the song is,” Linda said.

Every dancer who is photographed by Ben receives a copy, which is usually proudly displayed in their homes, Linda said.

The Marras have a book coming out in April 2009 called “Faces from the Land: 20 Years of Powwow Tradition.” The book will feature 150 of the best color portraits over their 20 years of following the powwows. A personal narrative will accompany each of the photos.

Native American designer finds home

by RITA TOTTEN

The definition of home is different for everyone. Some people consider home a place where family lives; others view home as where one feel the most at peace. For many, a simple definition of home is hard to construct.

Cal Nez, a successful Native American graphic designer, has struggled with the idea of home for as long as he can remember.

“Is home a physical location or inside me or Sandy, Utah?” Nez wondered during an  interview at the University of Utah.

As is tradition in the Navajo Nation, Nez was given to his grandparents to be raised at a young age. However, instead of being raised by his mother’s clan, which is considered to be dominant, Nez was raised by his father’s side. He never knew his mother and hardly knew his father. When he was about 5 years old he was forced, like so many Native Americans, by the federal government to attend boarding school.

Nez remembers his experience at boarding school as nothing short of hell and likens his time there to prison.

“I understand every aspect of confinement, abuse, of mental manipulation,” Nez said.

According to Amnesty International USA Magazine, beginning in 1869 with President Grant’s Peace Policy, more than 100,000 Native American children were taken from their families and forced into boarding schools in an attempt to “Americanize” the Native American population.

A scene he plays back in his head is one of a long, dark hallway at the boarding school in New Mexico. He is standing at one end and his grandmother is walking slowly down the hallway toward a tiny door, barely visible. Nez said he would never forget that image and the feeling he had of loneliness when his grandmother left him.

When Nez was a sophomore in high school he enrolled in the Latter-day Saints Indian Placement Program. The program placed Native American students with LDS families and Nez moved to Salt Lake City to attend South High School.

“I came to Salt Lake to learn what a normal family was,” Nez explained. But before he began his journey he had to deal with leaving his grandmother and the need to find himself. Nez vividly remembers leaving his family but telling them that he would remember who he was. He promised to come back for his grandmother.

This parallel in his life, first his grandmother leaving him and then leaving his grandmother would shape the ideas he has about family and belonging.

Nez moved to Salt Lake and attended Sough High School. While attending South, Nez felt the drive to succeed. He excelled in art and design and was the first Sterling Scholar in Art from South High. He remembers seeing the seniors graduate with honors and all the adornments. At that moment he realized he wanted to feel that sense of pride and accomplishment. He wanted to emulate the success he had seen the other students achieve.

Nez said he had always been able to duplicate and capture images and showed talent at a young age. At the boarding school he remembers doing one of his first drawings and his teacher, Ms. Beach, rewarded him with a one-dollar bill. The drawing was of Abraham Lincoln chopping wood.

With his natural ability to recreate designs and determination to “make it” Nez worked locally for a couple of advertising agencies. While working, however, he discovered he was missing something.

Nez decided he needed to take his talents and start his own business. “I quit. I packed up my stuff and left,” he recalled. Nez and his wife, Yolanda, were expecting their first child.

Armed with nothing more than his portfolio, Nez drove to Arizona to present his raw abilities in graphic design to the Chairman of the Navajo Nation, Peter MacDonald. Nez walked into MacDonald’s office and said: “I want to show you what I can do.” He walked out with two jobs.

One of the jobs MacDonald assigned him was for the Navajo Nation Fair in 1989. It is an original oil painting depicting a Navajo man wearing silver sunglasses and the scene of the fair can be seen in the reflection. Nez said this painting symbolizes the presence of the Native American.

The face of the man in the poster is made up of a collection of a few dozen different faces, one of which is his wife’s, Yolanda, grandfather.

Cal Nez Design, based out of Salt Lake City, is a 100 percent Native American graphic design and advertising agency. In October 2005 Nez was featured on the cover of Utah Business Magazine, when it highlighted minority business owners in Utah. Of the experience Nez says it was and is such a great honor. He said he just hopes he can be a good role model for other Native American business owners.

His philosophy about graphic design is that he tries to keep the integrity of the art. Each piece he works on and designs has his own personal touch. Nez believes the world of graphic design should move away from pre-made templates and generic work; he wants to return to the human aspect. “Every client is different,” he said. “Every message is different.”

Navajo rug sale supports American Indian elders

by JAMIE A. WELCH

Life on the Navajo reservation and in traditional hogans made people strong. Years of following sheep around the desert, watching children move away from their homes and weaving together strand after strand of coarse sheep’s wool to create hundreds of rugs in a single lifetime has given the elders at the 19th Annual Navajo Rug Show and Sale their dedication to each piece.

The rug show took place Nov. 7-9, 2008 in Deer Valley Resort’s Snow Park Lodge in Park City, Utah.

Rug weaving is a historic Navajo, or Diné, tradition and is honored in the show that was formed specifically to support the Adopt-A-Native Elder Program (ANE).

This program, created to benefit Navajo elders, began in the 1980s through the efforts of Linda Myers, a Park City woman who was impressed by an early display of Navajo rugs from elders in northern Arizona. Soon after that event, Myers got involved in collecting and distributing medical, food, and hygienic supplies to elders living on the Navajo reservation in southern Utah and northern Arizona.

A group of supporters eventually joined Myers and the Adopt-A-Native Elder Program was established. Mary Phillips, one of the many volunteers at the rug sale, said it is “an honor to work with Linda. The program’s success is truly inspiring and shows Linda’s devotion not only to the elders themselves, but to the Navajo tradition [of rug weaving.]”

According to the program’s Web site, there are more than 2,500 people involved in the program today. Most are from the United States but some are from other countries as well.

Rosita Van den Berg is one such volunteer. Rosita is from Holland and became interested in the program while visiting a fan site of American Indian actor Jay Tavare. 

Tavare, an avid supporter of ANE, has information regarding the program on his personal Web site and on his Facebook and MySpace pages. Van den Berg, who attended the event this year, created a painting to honor American Indian people and donated it to be auctioned off with its proceeds going to the program.

Tavare, known best for his roles in the TV miniseries “Into the West” and films “The Missing” and “Cold Mountain,” has supported ANE for seven years. He has attended the rug show for the past three years. “It definitely brings awareness about the culture of Native Americans,” he said. He hopes his support can act as “a symbol to reach across nations and get the message as far out as possible.”

Another supporter at the show was author Rose Johnson-Tsosie of “Finding Helen – A Navajo Miracle.” Tsosie was born on the Hopi reservation of northern Arizona in 1950 but she and her twin were taken from her biological mother at birth and were placed for adoption. The siblings were raised by a white family, Albert and Wilmont Johnson, in Cache Valley, Utah, where they grew up never learning much about their American Indian heritage. Tsosie said all she was aware of was that “growing up Navajo in a white society was different only because I knew my skin was different.”

In 1983, Tsosie reconnected with her biological mother, a Navajo, while serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Arizona Holbrook Mission. Through tears Tsosie said, “there are many exciting times in my life but this is the ultimate dream when I got to hold my mother and my mother got to hold me.”

Since then, Tsosie has been actively involved in the American Indian communities of California and Utah. She now travels around the country promoting her books and speaking about and on behalf of American Indians.

Attending the ANE rug show gave Tsosie a chance to show the reason she says she loves being Navajo: “learning the tradition of my heritage.” Tsosie also said, “I do respect my heritage. I am still learning about who I am, about where I am going and where I have been.”

About 28 weavers were featured in this year’s rug show. Their ages ranged from the early teens to nearly 100 years old.

Patrina and Diana Furcap, ages 13 and 12, are sisters. They learned to weave from their mother at about 6 years old. Each sold one hand-made rug on the first day of the show. “I think it’s important to keep the tradition going from one generation to the next. We shouldn’t lose it because it’s art,” Patrina said.

Most of the weavers present were women. However, four men also participated. William Whitehair, who has been weaving since he was 7, said gender differences might be rooted in history. When European settlers arrived, they brought with them their traditional form of household with women at home doing domestic activities and men outside working in farms. Although the American Indian way is matriarchal, many Native people adopted the European style and over time, weaving became primarily a female activity. Still, Whitehair said, he weaves because he’s “always enjoyed the art.”

At the show, rugs were sold at prices ranging anywhere from $150 to several thousand dollars. Prices are indicators of the quality of each rug and the amount of labor involved.

Linda Myers explained, “It’s not about the weaving itself. It’s about how when you go up and feel these rugs and you feel the hands of the weavers…that’s one of the gifts of purchasing the Navajo rugs all woven by hand. All these rugs carry that beautiful spirit of the weaver and their hands and the patterns.”

Designs range from the simplistic “Diamond” pattern (a single shape woven throughout a rug) to the intricate “Tree of Life.” This rug is a story, beginning with a “wedding basket.” At the bottom of the rug is the basket, usually woven in yellow or brown, which symbolizes the beginning of a family. From the basket grows a tall corn stalk with many branches growing from both sides. Birds of all colors are perched on the branches, each representing older generations of the family. There are also birds in flight on either side of the stalk, which stand for the younger generations. At the top is the “tassel” of the corn which holds the pollen. In Navajo tradition, corn pollen is offered with prayers, giving significance to the tassel being the tallest point on the Tree of Life. This rug can be woven in any color assortment ranging from rich dark colors to pastels.

Proceeds from the rug sales go to support the ANE program in buying food, firewood, and other items for Native elders. Individuals also could purchase balls of yarn in various shades to donate to elders for use in weaving. Some customers chose to sponsor a specific elder and invited him or her to choose the colors they liked the best. Additional donations can be made at the Web site.

The Adopt-A-Native Elder program has been a success for more than 20 years. One weaver has been a part of the program since its inception. Weaver Grace Smith-Yellowhammer of Teesto, Ariz., feels blessed to play a part in ANE and is proud of the international community involved. “We are all connected,” she said, “One voice, one prayer, one heart.”