How an Ojibwe grandmother’s adoption fight in Minnesota ended up in the U.S. Supreme Court

For six years, a Native woman from the White Earth Band fought for custody of her granddaughter. In November, her struggle will be heard by the U.S. Supreme Court. The case, Brackeen v. Haaland, threatens the federal law protecting the bond between Native American children and their families and tribes.

 by Nancy Marie Spears October 20, 2022  SOURCE

This article is being co-published with The Imprint, a national nonprofit news outlet covering child welfare and youth justice.

Three white couples who sought to adopt Indigenous children will have their legal cases heard by the U.S. Supreme Court next month. Each of the foster families, including a couple from Minnesota, says the 1978 Indian Child Welfare Act discriminated against them because of their race.

The law, known as ICWA, ensures that tribes have a right to intervene when their members are involved in child welfare cases. And it requires that local governments make extra efforts to protect connections with Indigenous culture and kin. The outcome of the case challenging ICWA, Brackeen v. Haaland, has far-reaching implications: not only for the battle against family separation in Indian Country, but potentially for the foundational rights of tribes in relation to the U.S. government. 

Two of the couples—Jennifer Kay and Chad Everet Brackeen of Texas, and Heather Lynn and Frank Nicholas Libretti of Nevada—gained full custody of the Native children they wanted to adopt.

One of the three sets of plaintiffs in the Brackeen v. Haaland case did not. 

Like the other two couples, Danielle and Jason Clifford of Minnesota ran into laws enacted to address centuries of destructive government policies. Native children have historically been forced to attend abusive boarding schools and systematically placed for adoption into non-Native homes.

But the Cliffords also encountered Robyn Bradshaw. A member of the White Earth Band of the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe, Bradshaw refused to give up her granddaughter, named in court documents as P.S.

“She was the only person who was there for P.S. every single step of the way,” said Conor Tucker, Bradshaw’s attorney of record at the Supreme Court. “The judges changed. The lawyers changed. Sometimes people weren’t there. But Robyn was always, always there.”

After four years in foster care and six years of court hearings, P.S. is now back home with her White Earth community and her grandmother. The 11-year-old is a fan of bike riding and has learned to swim. In addition to sharing movie nights, cartoons, and coloring, Bradshaw has sought regalia so her granddaughter can attend powwows. She’s also introducing P.S. to the Ojibwe language.

The Hennepin County Juvenile Justice Center in downtown Minneapolis on October 14, 2022. Credit: Drew Arrieta | Sahan Journal

In granting the adoption in 2020, a Hennepin County trial court acknowledged the nearly two years P.S. had spent with the Cliffords as a positive foster care experience. But after a long legal battle, the Minneapolis couple did not meet the court’s approval to become her adoptive parents.

“The Cliffords can provide love, attachment, an active two-family household and extended family, and ample financial resources,” the court had ruled the year prior. But her grandmother can nurture her “connection to her tribe, to her Ojibwe culture, to her sister, and to both sides of her family in a way that the Cliffords cannot.” 

The adoption of P.S. through the Minnesota juvenile court is final and not in dispute. But the role ICWA played in hindering the Cliffords’ adoption efforts stands at the center of the larger argument now before the nation’s highest court.

The players in Brackeen v. Haaland

The Supreme Court is set to hear oral arguments in the Brackeen v. Haaland case on November 9. Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, a Laguna Pueblo member from New Mexico and the nation’s first Indigenous cabinet member, is a named defendant in the case because she represents the federal agency representing the tribes.

Interior Secretary Deb Haaland at Riverside Indian School in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in July 2022. Credit: Nick Oxford

The case was brought by the state of Texas, Louisiana, and Indiana, along with seven individual plaintiffs. They include three sets of foster parents and one biological mother: 

• the Cliffords, from Minnesota
• the Brackeens, who adopted a Navajo child in 2018 and are seeking to adopt the boy’s half-sister
• the Librettis, who adopted an Indigenous girl in 2018 
• Altagracia Socorro Hernandez, the biological mother of the child the Librettis adopted 

In completing their adoption, the Librettis overcame initial objections by the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo tribe in Texas. But according to court records, the biological father and Hernandez, the child’s mother, were fully supportive. Hernandez, who is non-Native, has stated ICWA was “interfering with her wishes to have the Librettis adopt her baby.” 

All three couples say prioritizing Native homes for Indigenous foster children, and providing additional support to the children’s parents, denies them equal protection. They also say states should not be forced to follow federal law, and that ICWA exceeds the authority of Congress. 

A total of 497 Indian tribes and 62 American Indian organizations, 87 members of Congress, 23 states and Washington, D.C., have filed briefs in opposition to the Brackeen plaintiffs. They detail a dire need to maintain the Indian Child Welfare Act, and to protect the integrity of Indigenous families and communities. Defenders of ICWA maintain that the federal law is not based on race, but on the rights of tribes as sovereign nations who have treaty relationships with the U.S. government. 

Bradshaw chose to speak through her attorneys and their amicus brief in the case. They say she did not intend to be a party to this case and simply wants to live peacefully with P.S. out of the limelight.

Yet her amicus brief now before the Supreme Court is described by the respected Turtle Talk Indigenous legal affairs blog as “unique,” among the dozens that have been filed in the case to date: “The Cliffords’ narrative of facts was allowed to go unchecked throughout the life of the case until now.” 

A child born with her grandmother close

Each of the three plaintiffs in the Brackeen case has a unique set of circumstances. But none can be divorced from history and the high stakes of the case. 

ICWA became law at a time when one in four Indigenous children were separated from their families. In contemporary Minnesota, Native children are more than 16 times more likely to enter foster care than white children. 

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services’ Children’s Bureau: “ICWA was enacted after Native American children were systematically removed—often without evidence of abuse or neglect that would be considered grounds for removal—and placed with non-Native families, with the intent to deprive them of their Native family or culture.”

Bradshaw’s granddaughter was among them. 

“P.S. was born on a warm, clear, and breezy day in July 2011,” a brief filed to the Supreme Court reads. 

“Ms. Bradshaw had bonded with P.S. in the womb and saw P.S.’s face for the first time moments after her birth—in the delivery room.”

P.S. and her mother lived with Bradshaw after the birth. And “for the next three years, P.S. was raised in a loving and stable home with Ms. Bradshaw and P.S.’s mother as active, full-time caregivers,” records show. “Ms. Bradshaw fed P.S., bathed her, dressed her, changed her diapers, played with her, sang to her, comforted her, cared for her, tucked her into bed, and woke up the next morning to do it all again.” 

But in 2014, Bradshaw’s daughter “fell into drug addiction and became unable to care for P.S. or to contribute to the household finances,” according to court filings. Bradshaw, taking on full responsibility for her granddaughter while her daughter fought to recover, had limited income and lost her home to eviction. 

Bradshaw and P.S. stayed with friends for a time. But she eventually left P.S. in the care of her father for two days, while finalizing permanent housing. He agreed, but then disappeared with the child, court records show. Bradshaw panicked. She called the police, who filed a CPS report with Hennepin County.

On August 7, Bradshaw learned her daughter and her grandaughter’s father had been arrested on drug-related charges with P.S. present, and the girl had been placed in emergency foster care.

“Ms. Bradshaw immediately called Hennepin County and asked when she could pick up P.S.,” court documents state. “The County told her she could not do so and gave her no further information.” 

Bradshaw had been taken from her home as a child and forced to attend a residential boarding school. So she was steadfast in her determination to reunite with P.S., records show. She “resolved that she would never abandon her granddaughter.”

A Minnesota trial court would later rule that Bradshaw “deeply loved” her granddaughter and the two shared “a strong bond and a secure attachment.”

 

#ICWA Champion Janice Lindstrom (White Earth Ojibwe) has passed on

Lindstrom helped tribes and counties across the nation to develop programs to ensure that federal law was followed and Indian children were not forcibly removed. 

 

By Chris Serres Star Tribune| May 26, 2021 

Janice L. Lindstrom spent much of her adult life pushing for stronger protections for American Indian children. She died on May 7 of cancer at age 75.

Janice L. Lindstrom, a social worker and champion of legal rights for American Indians, and who testified in Congress for stronger protections for Indian children and families, died of cancer May 7. She was 75.

Lindstrom helped tribes and counties across the nation to develop programs to ensure that federal law was followed and Indian children were not forcibly removed from Indian families.

Her work was made possible by the Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA), a landmark federal law passed in 1978 designed to end the practice of taking Indian children from their homes and placing them in boarding schools or foster care. The law gives tribes the right to intervene in adoptions in which Indian children are put up for adoption and placed with non-Indian families.

At the time, many Indian children were being removed from their birth parents not for abuse or neglect, but because of perceived or real poverty. Harsh living conditions prompted social workers to make unwarranted removals, and poverty made it difficult for Indians to qualify as adoptive parents. Before ICWA, 25% to 35% of Indian children were being removed from their homes; of these, 85% were placed outside of their families and communities — even when able and willing relatives were available.

A member of the White Earth Nation of Ojibwe, Lindstrom experienced this injustice firsthand. She watched as two of her younger sisters were placed in separate homes in Stillwater with non-Indian foster parents. Adding to the trauma of this separation, the family later discovered that one of Lindstrom's sisters had been sexually abused and underwent forced sterilization while in foster care.

"My mother could not stand the desecration of our families — the way they were breaking up our people — and she fought with tenacity to prevent it," said Lindstrom's daughter, Sheri Riemers, government and community relations director at the Ain Dah Yung Center, a St. Paul-based shelter for runaway and homeless youth.

Lindstrom was the oldest of five children born on the White Earth Indian Reservation in northwestern Minnesota. As a child, she went to live in nearby Park Rapids with her grandparents, who lived in a rustic wood cabin with an outhouse and wood-burning stove.

At 16, Lindstrom moved to the Twin Cities and did a series of odd jobs before being hired at the Minneapolis American Indian Center. The center's director, Frances Fairbanks, was impressed by Lindstrom's toughness and asked her in the early 1980s to coordinate a new program to monitor the state's compliance with ICWA and ensure that tribes were notified when Indian children were being removed from their homes.

Lindstrom and her team faced numerous barriers, including local social workers and judges who were not familiar with the new federal law and the unique status of tribes. But she persuaded counties in the metro area to allow her team to monitor court proceedings and to intervene in cases where Indian children were being removed or parental rights were being terminated. Tribes across the nation would adopt similar court-monitoring programs.

"Janice was tenacious," said Rose Robinson, a longtime friend and former director of the Minnesota Indian Women's Resource Center. "She understood that when you take a child away, then you are disconnecting that child from their community and their relationships."

For the past 17 years, Lindstrom was executive director of Juel Fairbanks Recovery Services, a treatment center in St. Paul for men with substance abuse disorders. She put the center on sounder financial footing while encouraging healing through Indigenous culture and traditions.

In her final days, Lindstrom continued to counsel residents. "They revered her like a mother," said Riemers, her daughter. "She took them under her wing like they were her own sons."

Chris Serres covers social services for the Star Tribune.