By LaVerne Whitebear for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Kathleen Shannon for Greater Dakota News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

“Traditional games comprise the foundation of who we are as a people,” said Jeremy Red Eagle.

Red Eagle, ‘Mato Zi,’ is an enrolled member of the Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate of the Lake Traverse Reservation, located in North and South Dakota. In 2007, he began studying and working with the International Traditional Games Society. They are dedicated individuals working to recover, restore, and re-introduce games developed by Indigenous nations in North America.

“I wanted to work with Native youth because they are the future, and I wanted to do my part,” he said. His focus has been the origin and history of Plains Style archery and lacrosse and of the Dakota people, and how he can guide the transference of this knowledge to both young and old.

“The best way I could think of ‘how’ was to meet them [the youth] on their level, by utilizing play-based learning programs or traditional games—the Indigenous form of education,” added Red Eagle. 

However, the lack of information on traditional ways has posed difficulties. Due to the late 1800’s assimilation of the Dakota people and the boarding school era, much of the first-hand knowledge has been lost. And documentation is limited. 

Research has been key in this revitalization process. Various Dakota elders have shared some oral history. Visits to museums have provided a wealth of visual information. These include stylistic, geographical, functionality, and elemental distinctions used by various tribes throughout North America. 

“The way a bow is made is true beauty. The design elements we incorporate tell their own stories. How cool is that!” he said. 

Still, there is much to learn.

The purpose of traditional games was based on the continued life and survival of Indigenous nations. They were introduced to members at a young age. Red Eagle shared that some tribes even presented their infants with lacrosse sticks upon the celebration of their birth—exemplifying their cultural importance. 

Plains Style traditional games have classifications such as ‘games of chance and intuition’ and ‘games of skill and agility/endurance.’ Individual games are said to awaken and strengthen inherent human senses, increasing one’s chances of survival.

The use of Indigenous language plays a key role in learning and sharing mechanics of these games. It infuses a deeper meaning of their importance to dakod wichohan or the Dakota way of life. 

Red Eagle has studied and acquired the Dakota language as a second-language speaker. He uses it as part of his traditional games teaching method in hopes of its parallel revitalization. 

His families’ relocation to South Dakota in 2014 coincided with his first attempt in introducing traditional games on a larger scale. The formation of a lacrosse team, Susbeca Lacrosse, included young members from his home district, Enemy Swim or Toka Nuwan. Red Eagle took this as a chance to coach the team using his knowledge of the Dakota language.

Today, through local Native non-profit Nis’to Incorporated and other partnerships, youth of all ages practice lacrosse and archery weekly, hosted by the Sisseton-Wahpeton College. And Red Eagle is often present at these gatherings. He guides participants in the “rules” of play or in making “equipment” for traditional games from natural materials he has collected.

“Everything we need to make these games (happen) can be found right on the land we call home,” he said. 

The history of these games reminds us of the connection between language, culture, history, and land. They can reconnect Indigenous populations and people, in general, with the natural world. Most importantly, they bring communities together. 


LaVerne Whitebear wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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By Amy Felegy for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Judith Ruiz-Branch for Wisconsin News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Patty Loew attended five screenings of a new film this year. She wasn't joining box office masses at Wicked or Inside Out 2, but Bad River: A Story of Defiance.

The independent documentary, directed by Mary Mazzio and released in March, drew in masses of its own. AMC Theatres put it up on select big screens across the United States. Peacock started streaming it last month.

The documentary highlights longstanding issues facing the Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa in northern Wisconsin. Loew 'Waswaagonokwe' (Torch Light on the Water Woman) is a citizen.

She and other Band members are interviewed in the film, which explores tragic boarding school histories and how members of the Band have faced violence and racism.

The documentary heavily focuses on the Line 5 dispute between the Band and Canadian energy company Enbridge. Loew, who recently retired as director of the Center for Native American and Indigenous Research at Northwestern University (among many other titles), addresses it in the film.

"My little tribe is standing up and saying, 'We're protecting the water, not just for us. We're protecting water for the planet.'"

Behind the Struggle

As it stands, 12 miles of a crude oil and natural gas pipeline run through Bad River land, constructed in 1953. In 2017, Bad River's tribal council voted against renewing the company's rights to use their land. It led to years of protests and activism when Enbridge refused to leave. Last summer, a federal judge gave Enbridge three years to shut down the pipeline on the reservation.

That reservation includes just under 40 miles of Lake Superior shoreline, thousands of wetland acres, and hundreds of miles of streams, rivers, and tributaries.

The documentary shows its beauty. Think grandiose drone shots and stunning water imagery.

"Bad River is where I go when I need my batteries recharged, when I need time to reflect, when I just need to get back in touch with things that make me happy," Loew says.

Last month, the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources issued construction permits for Line 5 to reroute 41 miles south of the reservation and exit Bad River lands by 2026.

But Loew and other Band members who are interviewed in the film say that isn't enough to protect Mashiiziibii land and nearby areas from a potential pipeline burst. They want it shut down.

Enbridge lawyers and the U.S. government say they can't, citing a 1977 energy treaty with the Canadian government. But Bad River citizens say Ojibwe treaties, which established reservations and land rights, predate that by over 100 years.

"If such a rupture were to occur, nearly one million gallons of oil would spill into the river, flowing into Lake Superior and devastating the wild rice beds and fishing populations central to the Band's way of life," stated 30 Midwestern Native Nations in a letter to the White House in February.

There have been over 20 spills along the Line 5's 645-mile route since 1968, including over 14,000 gallons in Bad River land in 1972.

Despite the continued debate, Loew has hope.

"The right thing will eventually happen," she says.

"I think everyone-whether you live in a red or a blue state, or whether you are Native or non-Native-[wants] clean water and clean air, not just for themselves, but for their children and grandchildren."


Amy Felegy wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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Arizona State University has developed a new tool that they hope will help researchers analyze connections between illnesses and health determinants within Indigenous populations. The Indigenous Health Research Dashboard is an online repository of peer-reviewed, published studies that focus on medical conditions and diseases impacting Indigenous health since 2020.

Angela Gonzales, a member of the Hopi Tribe in Northern Arizona, and an ASU professor and director of the American Indian Studies Program, said it is important for her to be a part of an initiative that aims to move the needle for Indigenous health equity. She explains that she has seen firsthand the "devastating impacts" of limited access to health care in Native communities.

"By having it public available and accessible, when tribes are interested in trying to find out the latest research, for instance let's say on COVID-19 vaccinations, they have a one stop source to be able to access a lot of that information. You can search by keywords, can search by key topics, it breaks it down into regions," she said.

Gonzales added that the dashboard is what she calls 'bio-directional,' meaning it's an effort that is driven by what tribal partners have identified as major health concerns, and said the project has also allowed students to develop their research skills and learn to synthesize information. They are currently recruiting students to be a part of the team that will continue working on the initiative next year. She hopes they're able to capture a more 'holistic' and historical view of health trends and findings.

Gonzales says they're ramping up outreach efforts to ensure public health professionals and medical providers in Indigenous communities know about the useful resource. But she adds that Native communities have already expressed the need for such information.

"If you're a tribal health professional, the opportunity to do research, it takes away from your other responsibilities that are oftentimes more pressing. By having this dashboard available, they can go right to it," she continued.

Gonzales said that Indigenous health equity has been improving in recent years, but she says as an academic she hopes researchers do better to create a stronger 'knowledge bridge,' and develop resources that are use-inspired. She feels the dashboard is a step in that direction.


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The state of Washington is helping Native Americans access health care after decades of barriers.

Health insurers have made it difficult for tribal members to get care covered, despite state and federal laws that bar this.

Vicki Lowe is the executive director of the American Indian Health Commission, which has led efforts to remove hurdles for Native Americans.

She said health insurers would try to make tribal clinics charge out-of-network rates, and wouldn't honor their referrals.

However, the Washington State Office of the Insurance Commissioner has come out with guidance to prevent this.

"Not only will tribes have more money to help pay for services for their tribal members, tribal members will get care in a more timely manner," said Lowe. "So those two things just are really important, and insurance companies have been a barrier for that for decades."

Washington is among the first states to move forward with guidance for insurers and also enforcement of the law so that insurers will stop putting up roadblocks for tribal members to get care in the state.

Todd Dixon is the deputy commissioner for consumer protection and the tribal liaison for the Office of the Insurance Commissioner.

He said one reason for releasing the guidance was that the agency has seen an uptick in complaints - the number one compliant typically coming from billing managers at clinics.

"It says, 'Hey, we have an enrolled member. He or she was seen at our clinic. We billed the insurance company. They said we're out of network and so "we're only paying 60%." And then they send a bill to the enrolled member,'" said Dixon. "It's not how it works."

The Insurance Commissioner's office has been sending notices to insurers who violate protections for Native Americans.

Lowe said before they got involved, tribes fighting with insurers on their own were getting them nowhere. But it's different with the state backing them.

"Knowing that if somebody violates these laws that they're going to get that outreach from the insurance commissioner and that they have 15 days to respond," said Dixon. "Where if a tribe asked them, they would maybe not respond or respond in some convoluted way - it's a power shift to really have the state agency behind this."