Breaking cycles: Kalispel educator is helping her community heal

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Raised on the Kalispel reservation since the age of 2, Anna Armstrong remembers living in a tiny house on its south side with her mother, father and siblings.

They never had much, she said, but her father worked hard to make sure her and her siblings were taken care of and had all the necessities they needed.

Growing up, most of Armstrong’s friends lived on the north end of the reservation, while she lived on the south end. As a result, she grew up with her brothers and sisters, and in the summer camping, swimming in the river and visiting her cousins’ homes.

Her experience growing up was lucky, she said, at once better than many of her peers’ and also shaped in certain ways by the generational trauma her family had endured.

From the late 1800s to early 1900s, members of the Kalispel tribe were at risk of being relocated to the Colville reservation in Washington before an executive order of President Woodrow Wilson formally established a reservation in 1914 — although the reservation was only 4,600 acres, and about nine miles long.

“Some people definitely wanted to move us out, and they wanted the land,” she said. “We were very fortunate to be able to stay here.”

In the 1920s, the federal government divided the reservation into 40-acre parcels that were allotted to tribal members, supposedly to promote farming. But that physical divide also created a separation between families that had historically been part of a tight-knit community, Armstrong said.

Then in the 1950s, as men returned from war, many turned to drinking to try and deal with their experiences.

“They were broken, and hurting, and, you know, they were turning to alcohol for that relief of their pains and their worries,” she said. “It was a really tough place to be, and my dad saw a lot of that. So he really dedicated his life to not allowing his kids to see the same thing.”

Armstrong’s grandfather had been an alcoholic, she said, and became abusive when he drank.

“My dad talked about his mom hiding him,” she said. “I could not even imagine doing that, you know, hiding for somebody who's supposed to be taking care of me, that I would have to hide from them to be safe. And I was just very, very lucky. But a lot of my friends, a lot of my cousins, were going through that every day. Every weekend, they were hiding. They were taking care of their little brothers or sisters. They were taking care of their mother or their father.”

Her father carried those experiences with him, and promised he would never make his children experience the same thing. Still, Armstrong said, people didn’t talk about their struggles when she was growing up. Discussing mental health was taboo, and she never learned about addiction.

Her father, though careful to never drink or mistreat his children, hadn’t spoken to Armstrong about addiction, she said. With strict parents and a lack of understanding about the dangers of alcoholism, she fell into a similar trap as other family members had.

“I could never just enjoy a nice drink,” she said. “I always had to drink until I couldn't see straight or couldn't see. And I hurt people. I thankfully never hurt my children, but I hurt sisters and brothers-in-law and [my] husband.”

Eventually, Armstrong said, she was able to pull herself out of addiction — in large part, she said, because of her desire to be a better parent. Now in her 50s, the last time she drank was 30 years ago.

In her 20s, Armstrong moved to the Pacific Northwest to live with her first husband, a member of the Quinault Indian Nation. Unlike the home she was used to, members of her then-husband’s tribe lived in villages where houses were next to each other, and children could visit door to door.

That allowed for greater community, she said, but also meant she saw more children and teenagers getting into trouble — underage drinking, drugs, theft and violence were common.

In a way, that was a blessing in disguise, she said. Seeing youth who were struggling with those issues made her know what she didn’t want for her children, and see the importance of intervention.

She and her husband at the time spent much of their time in the community with children, she said, creating activities that didn’t focus on drugs or alcohol.

“My husband, (then), and I spent a lot of time working with youth. We coached baseball, Little League, fastpitch, basketball, and we were always busy with the kids,” she said. “We brought a lot of kids into our home, to stay the weekend and just do good positive things.”

During this time, Armstrong continued to work to provide for her family, as she had done since high school. She was 35 years old when she decided it was time for a change.

“I was in a job where I was at the very top of my salary. I wasn't going to get a raise ever again,” she said. “My new boss was 10 years younger, and I thought then and there, I need an education, I need to go back to school.”

Armstrong returned to the Kalispel reservation with her two youngest children, as it was then required for tribal members to reside on the reservation to apply for educational funding.

After a brief interlude working at the tribal casino, Armstrong started her studies at the Evergreen State College, in a reservation-based program where classes were taught on reservations and students met on certain dates throughout the term. She graduated in 2007, and by then had returned home for good.

“I spent 19 years on the coast, 19 years working for their community, working with their children,” Armstrong said. “I really wanted to be able to do that for my own, for my own community, I wanted to bring what I was doing there back home.”

Upon returning home, Armstrong took a job with the tribe’s Department of Education. Now the director of education, she’s always working to help young people in her tribe navigate new challenges, and educate the community at large.

A huge part of progress, Armstrong said, has been breaking down barriers for people to talk about their struggles. Historically, she said, her tribe was communal and took care of each other and the land they lived on. That’s something they’re returning to today, she said.

“We know that trauma is life altering. And if you don't deal with the traumas in your life, it's going to always be there you're always going to be the way you are,” she said. My biggest thing is giving kids — my kids, my grandkids, other people's kids — those tools. Because there's always going to be struggles, there's never going to be a perfect world. So how do we prepare our kids to live in that world and be successful and be safe?”

Not all of the challenges that children and teenagers face today are the same as in the past, she said. She’s seen less underage substance abuse, but many youths today are experiencing mental health struggles and depression. As society changes, so do the problems young people deal with.

To combat those issues, the tribe’s Department of Education keeps close ties with the tribe’s behavioral health and chemical dependency programs, she said. Tribal sovereignty also means they have certain freedoms not allowed to state or federal programs.

“It's great for us, because we are kind of like an extended family [to the students],” she said.

Although educators encourage parents to be involved, in some cases students' families are unable to provide the resources students need on their own. In those cases, educators are able to step in and fill in the gaps.

Children, regardless of whether they’re Native or not, need to have people to support them, and tell them they’re strong, and worthy to see their own potential, she said.

Many people her age were the victims of abuse brought on by those traumas, when they were children, she said. That’s work which her community is still working to undo.

“I feel bad that a lot of people don't have good memories of their childhood growing up,” Armstrong said. “But I believe that they're making those changes for their children. They're giving their children and grandchildren all the good memories that they didn’t get.”