Unknown Headstones: My Journey to Carlisle Indian Boarding School
I traveled to the east coast for the very first time recently: Philadelphia, Washington DC and New York City. I delighted in east coast attitude and vernacular. I observed the stark contrasts between immaculate buildings and urban decay, massive monuments and street art. Eventually I ended up in Mohnton, PA (which is Lenni Lenape [Delaware] territory occupied by mostly Amish and Mennonite communities) to spend Christmas with my partner’s family. The urban decay gave way to endless rolling green hills and farm lands when it dawned on me that Carlisle, PA was nearby. Carlisle is home to the very first Native American boarding school in the U.S. called Carlisle Indian Industrial School. It was founded by Richard Henry Pratt whose infamous motto proclaimed, “Kill the Indian, Save the Man.”
At first, I pondered, do I dare? What would happen if I were to visit? Did all of the pain and suffering that occurred there cause the ground to sour? If I stepped one foot on those grounds, would the ghosts of dead Indian children follow me home? If I burned a lot of sage and smudged myself afterwards, would that suffice? What would the Diné side of my family say, whose cultural practices dictate that it is taboo to be among the deceased? Maybe I had just seen too many horror movies that romanticized and stereotyped Indian burial grounds? In the end however, I decided to go with my gut and my heart. It seemed only appropriate to pay my respects.
My partner and I pulled up to what remained of Carlisle Indian Industrial School, which has since been converted into a US Army War College. Before passing through a blockade, we were patted down and our vehicle searched. Security guards explained to us that under no circumstances were we allowed to take pictures of anything other than the graveyard (full disclosure: I broke this rule).
Let’s talk some history real quick. Carlisle was the first of its kind, founded by Richard Henry Pratt under the authorization of the U.S. federal government. Indigenous children from all over Turtle Island were forcibly taken from their homes and placed in the school which had been previously used as a prison. Here the children’s hair was cut, traditional clothing removed and corporeal punishment used on those who spoke their Native tongue or didn’t follow rules accordingly. The ultimate goal was assimilation, to wipe out Native culture and thoroughly soak the children in Euro-American values and customs. The effectiveness of this experiment has been debated among many; personally, I find it appalling.
Despite the demands of assimilation, it wouldn’t change the fact that these children were still going to be treated as second class citizens, just like any other person of color living within the confines of the imposed US border at the time. Abuse and trauma went hand in hand in most boarding schools. And one can only imagine the condition these children were being sent home in after their schooling was complete. That is, if they even made it home at all.
Jim Thorpe was a Sac and Fox student at Carlisle who excelled in sports and is to this day considered one of the greatest athletes of all time. He went on to win the 1912 pentathlon and decathlon and played professional football, baseball and basketball. He was initially stripped of his medals because he violated rules of amateurism (although it is suspected that racism, and the fact that Natives were not considered US citizens until 1924, played a part in this decision) but they were reinstated in 1982. When he retired from sports, the Great Depression was just beginning to rear its ugly head, and Thorpe spent the latter part of his life working odd jobs, suffering from alcoholism and living in poverty despite his remarkable achievements.
The first stop my partner and I made was at Thorpe Hall. It is one of the only original buildings still left on the property and was built by the Native students themselves. It is a gym named after and dedicated to the great athlete Jim Thorpe.
After exploring Thorpe Hall, my partner and I decided to investigate the graveyard full of Native children. To my surprise, there were two placards, one of which acknowledged the “mixed” legacy that Carlisle left behind.
In the cemetery, I found that many of the tombstones belonged to either Sioux or Apache children. Lots and lots of Apache, which made the discovery of this Protect Oak Flat bandana that much more profound. For those who are unaware, Oak Flat is considered sacred land by the San Carlos Apache and surrounding tribes. It is located in Arizona and the San Carlos Apache have been working tirelessly to prevent Oak Flat from becoming a mining operation for a foreign company. To this day, government officials and corporations are still trying to swindle away Indigenous territory through corrupt measures and means.
The graveyard is easily viewable from the street. White headstones line up side by side, some with assigned Euro-American names and others simply labeled “Unknown”. Some tribes are working hard to have the bodies exhumed so that they can be buried on tribal grounds and family plots. Sadly though, it is a long and arduous process.
Upon leaving, my partner and I were informed that if we went to the U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center nearby, we could inspect their library and request books with old photos of Carlisle. We found what we were looking for, and browsed many pictures, including some of Geronimo when he visited the school. However, our visit was cut short when an older white man came up to me and scolded me for not making an appointment (because apparently that was an appointment-only day?) and for not putting my bag in a locker (although I wasn’t told to do this upon arrival). We left shortly after.
On the drive home, I felt heavy under the dark and cloudy sky. I looked at all of the rolling hills and the long stretch of road ahead of us and wondered what the scenery looked like before the land was colonized by white folks. And as we got closer to the city, I pondered all of the crumbling buildings, urban decay and dirty rivers. This is civilization? I thought. The land was removed from its original inhabitants, their cultures stamped out, for this? For these dilapidated buildings? For the extensive gap between those that have and those that have-not? To strip the land of its natural resources only to give nothing back to it in return? This is the “civilized” world?
I thought about all of the tombstones marked Unknown. Rows and rows of tombstones marked Unknown. The thing is though, these children were known to somebody, to their families, friends, loved ones, before they were taken away. They were somebody and then reduced to nothing more than an Unknown because of this boarding school. The experiences these children endured continue to be felt by Indigenous people to this day. The loss of tradition has left many generations feeling misplaced, abandoned or hopeless. By sharing this story, I am hoping to help Indigenous people understand where these feelings sometimes come from. That it is not any type of failure on our part, but only the residual effects of oppression that have been carried on through intergenerational trauma. But it is important to note that tradition and decolonization is calling us home. I want to take a moment to acknowledge the Carlisle Indian students here and honor their spirits. That by honoring their memories, they did not die in vain. And that we will continue, as Indigenous people, to push forward for them.
