Education does not invest in Native resilience

RAPID CITY – In many circles, from media outlets to academia to activist platforms, a narrative of victimhood dominates the portrayal of Native American communities. While the harms of colonization and systemic inequities deserve acknowledgement, what risks arise when victimhood becomes the central identity promoted through education? Does it rob communities of agency and fail to produce professionals equipped to participate fully in contemporary society? Or does it meaningfully address intergenerational trauma and historical injustice?

There is growing concern that some Native-centered educational programming—and related activism— emphasizes grievance over growth. Comparing two leadership types identified among Aboriginal Australians—“being the victim” and “blaming the victim”—Dr. Chris Sarra warns that the former encourages passivity and the latter rebukes individuals for the structural constraints they cannot control. This dual trap exists in Native American contexts, where too often the focus is on historic victimization rather than on pathways forward.

Yet, a contrasting body of research centers Indigenous resilience— understanding it as a dynamic, intergenerational process derived from cultural continuity, shared experience, and identity rooted in traditional worldviews. A life course framework applied to American Indian and Alaska Native health shows resilience emerges not linearly, but collectively and cyclically, linked through storytelling, culture, and agency.

Empirical studies of Native youth consistently link resilience to academic success. In Nevada high schools, students with stronger resilience belief systems performed better academically than their peers. A community based initiative among urban Native youth built resilience through elders’ knowledge and relationships, offering strength based alternatives to trauma narratives.

Despite these strengths, a gap appears: many educational programs remain dominated by educators rather than diverse professionals. That gap reflects a bigger problem: curricula and conferences populated exclusively by educators perpetuate a cycle where Natives are educated about their deficits instead of supported toward professions like law, engineering, medicine, or business. Education conferences where no professionals like doctors, accountants, or police appear as speakers, underscores that risk.

When educational programming foregrounds grievance, it can foster a learned helplessness—framing Natives as historical victims rather than contemporary partners. But Indigenous rights advocates and resilient student leaders often pivot the narrative toward sovereignty, contribution, and service. Articles profiling Indigenous youth leaders in fields like STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics), law, and environmental justice illuminate this shift: youth committed to bridging culture and professional worlds, anchored in their identity yet not constrained by grievance.

Tribal colleges and universities (TCUs) also offer real-world proof of thriving resilience. During the pandemic, TCUs across the U.S.—despite chronic underfunding— quickly adapted to support students’ basic needs and academic continuity, embodying culturally grounded resilience and community care in action.

Moreover, culturally grounded education like land based learning and critical Indigenous pedagogy centers Indigenous knowledge, land, languages, and identity as assets— not victims—to be activated. These approaches foster agency and cultural sovereignty rather than pity or passive inclusion.

Clearly education should equip students with tangible social and economic tools. For many Indigenous learners, participation in STEM degrees, legal professions, health, or technical trades is a priority. Programs like Dreamstarter highlight teachers who integrate Native professionals, college representatives, and culturally affirming mentorship—not grievance festivals—to help students imagine futures beyond activism or victimhood.

That conferences and programs too often lack exposure to Native professionals—touches a deep structural issue: Native students may not see themselves as architects in law, engineering, medicine, or public service if those fields stay distant from education.

Strength based pedagogy—like the Circle of Courage, rooted in Indigenous child rearing models— emphasizes belonging, mastery, independence, and generosity. It moves beyond deficit framing and builds young people as agents of change and service.

Grievance mis-framing distorts history dramatically. A prime case is the Black Hills compensation settlement, in which many tribes were contractually locked into payment because of their attorney Arthur Lazarus. Only the Oglala Sioux (OST), under enrolled tribal member and OST attorney Mario Gonzalez’s legal action, had the power to nullify the deal and preserve the claim—highlights the distortion of historical narrative. Gonzalez discovered that Lazarus had not renewed his contract with OST and so the tribe was able to get out of the settlement. Once they could not be paid, no tribe could be paid, but Lazarus still collected his 10% of the settlement, over ten million dollars. That Gonzalez has been recast by some as villain, rather than strategist preserving sovereignty, shows how victimhood stories can erase leadership and reinforce grievance rather than truth.

This kind of narrative erasure matters. When educational materials perpetuate a single grievance mythology, they suppress stories of strategic, courageous resistance— and obscure the instilling of agency in younger generations. That appears to have happened in Indian Studies curricula at institutions like Black Hills State University, where the OST’s actual legal history is seldom discussed, even for graduates in Indigenous studies.

To fully educate themselves, communities must move beyond colonial victimhood framings to frameworks of empowerment and self-determination. Resilience research underscores this: strength-based, culturally grounded identity provides paths to healing and success—not endless recounting of suffering without transformation.

Indigenous scholarship urges educators to include counter-stories of resistance, reclamation, and resurgence alongside trauma histories, to offer students a full picture of sovereignty and choice.

Linking culture to modern agency also involves bolstering Native representation in leadership and professional roles. Featuring Native lawyers, engineers, scientists, and especially job creating entrepreneurs, at education forums—or mentoring students toward those fields—shifts the identity framing from victim toward professional citizen.

There is room for honoring historical injustices. Truth and reconciliation must include candid discussion of colonization, boarding schools, treaty violations, and ongoing educational disparities. But when that becomes the sole focus, it crowds out stories of strength, agency, and leadership. A victimhood centered identity can suppress initiative.

Resilience-based education— rooted in culture, stories, land, and intergenerational values—offers a more hopeful and effective alternative. It aligns with evidence: Native youth who engage in culturally relevant curricula and wraparound supports tend to stay in school, graduate, and contribute back to their communities by entering professional fields.

Native education should not be about rehearsing injury. It should be about teaching young people to stand tall, equipped with skills, rooted in identity, and ready to lead. That path invests in resilience— not resenting the past but processing it as empowerment to participate keenly in a modern world.

(James Giago Davies is an enrolled member of OST. Contact him at skindiesel@msn.com)

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