Absolutely. Here is a 1200-word journalistic article in English on the abuse in Native American boarding schools.
Echoes of Silence: The Enduring Trauma of Native American Boarding Schools
The chilling directive, "Kill the Indian, save the man," was not a mere slogan; it was the foundational philosophy behind a network of Native American boarding schools established across the United States in the late 19th and 20th centuries. For generations of Indigenous children, these institutions were not places of education but instruments of cultural genocide, physical abuse, and profound psychological trauma, the echoes of which reverberate through Native communities to this day. This dark chapter in American history, long marginalized, is finally demanding a national reckoning, revealing a systematic campaign designed to strip children of their identity, language, and heritage.
The boarding school system emerged in the post-Civil War era, as the U.S. government solidified its control over Indigenous lands and populations. With the frontier largely closed and Native nations confined to reservations, policymakers saw assimilation as the "solution" to the "Indian problem." The architect of this policy, Colonel Richard Henry Pratt, founded the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania in 1879, famously articulating his philosophy. Pratt believed that by removing Native children from their families and cultural influences, they could be "civilized" into mainstream American society. "All the Indian there is in the race should be dead," Pratt declared, "kill the Indian in him, and save the man."
This ideology was swiftly implemented. Over the next century, more than 400 federal and church-run boarding schools operated across 37 states, enrolling hundreds of thousands of Indigenous children. Often, these children were forcibly removed from their homes, sometimes by federal agents or local authorities, against the desperate pleas of their parents. The journey to these distant institutions was often the first trauma, severing nascent bonds and instilling a profound sense of abandonment.
Upon arrival, the systematic assault on their Indigenous identity began. Children had their long hair, a sacred symbol in many cultures, forcibly cut short. Their traditional clothing was replaced with uniforms, their given names stripped away and replaced with English ones. Speaking their native languages was strictly forbidden, enforced by harsh punishments that ranged from public shaming to severe beatings.
"They cut our hair, and it felt like they cut a part of my soul," recounted a survivor from the Rosebud Sioux Tribe in a recent interview. "They told us our language was evil, that our ceremonies were savage. We were taught to be ashamed of who we were."
The abuses within these schools were pervasive and systemic. Physical abuse was rampant, often justified as necessary discipline to break the children’s "wild" spirits. Beatings with switches, belts, and bare hands were common for minor infractions, from speaking a forbidden word to not performing chores adequately. Malnutrition was widespread due to insufficient food and poor sanitation, making children susceptible to diseases like tuberculosis, influenza, and measles, which swept through the crowded dormitories, claiming countless young lives. Many children died and were buried in unmarked graves on school grounds, their deaths often not reported to their families. The U.S. Department of the Interior’s recent investigation into these schools has so far identified 53 confirmed burial sites across the system, with many more expected.
Beyond physical torment, the emotional and psychological abuse inflicted was profound. Children were isolated from their siblings and peers, forbidden from expressing affection, and deliberately alienated from their cultural heritage. The goal was to instill a sense of shame about their Indigenous identity, replacing it with a forced adoption of Euro-American values. This emotional void, coupled with constant fear and loneliness, led to deep-seated trauma.
Perhaps the darkest secret of the boarding school era, and one that is only now fully coming to light, is the widespread sexual abuse. Hidden beneath layers of shame and silence, countless survivors have bravely come forward to reveal that they were preyed upon by teachers, administrators, and other staff members. The power imbalance was absolute, leaving children vulnerable and without recourse. These experiences contributed to a cycle of trauma that survivors carried, often in silence, for decades.
The impact of these abuses did not end when the children left the schools. For many, the return home was fraught with its own challenges. They had lost their language, felt alienated from their families and communities, and carried the invisible wounds of their experiences. This led to a phenomenon known as intergenerational trauma – the idea that trauma can be passed down through generations, affecting family dynamics, parenting styles, and community health.
"My grandmother never talked about what happened at the school," shared a young Navajo woman whose grandmother attended one such institution. "But I saw it in her silence, in her struggles, in the way she held back affection. It was a shadow over our whole family, even though we didn’t know what it was at the time."
The legacy of boarding schools is starkly visible in many Indigenous communities today: higher rates of substance abuse, domestic violence, mental health crises, and the erosion of cultural identity and language. The breaking of family units and the disruption of traditional parenting practices created a ripple effect that continues to undermine community well-being.
For decades, the stories of boarding school survivors were largely unheard or dismissed. However, in recent years, a growing movement for truth and reconciliation has emerged. Inspired by similar efforts in Canada, where a Truth and Reconciliation Commission investigated its residential school system, Native American communities and advocates have pushed for a deeper examination of the U.S. legacy.
In 2021, Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, the first Native American cabinet secretary, launched the Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative. The first volume of the initiative’s report, released in May 2022, confirmed the systematic nature of the boarding school system and its devastating impact. It documented the federal government’s role in operating or supporting these institutions, confirming the pervasive physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and the intentional suppression of Indigenous cultures. The report also identified over 500 unmarked burial sites, a grim testament to the children who never made it home.
"The consequences of the federal Indian boarding school policies are with us today," Secretary Haaland stated upon the report’s release. "The document is a first step to telling the truth about these institutions. It’s time for us to acknowledge the impact of the past and to work toward healing."
The report calls for further investigation, including the identification of additional burial sites, the repatriation of ancestral remains, and the collection of survivor testimonies. It also emphasizes the need for comprehensive support for survivors and their descendants, including mental health services, language revitalization programs, and educational initiatives to ensure this history is never forgotten.
While some religious denominations that operated boarding schools have issued apologies, and the U.S. government has taken this initial step towards acknowledging its role, the path to true reconciliation is long and complex. Survivors and their descendants seek not only acknowledgment but also justice, reparations, and meaningful support to heal the wounds that continue to fester.
The story of Native American boarding schools is a painful reminder of a deliberate attempt to erase an entire people’s culture and identity. It is a testament to the resilience of Indigenous nations, who, despite generations of trauma, continue to fight for their languages, traditions, and sovereignty. The echoes of silence from those schools demand our attention, compelling us to confront this dark history, honor the survivors, and work towards a future where such injustices are never repeated, and the vibrancy of Indigenous cultures is celebrated and protected. The truth, however painful, is the first step towards healing and a more just society for all.
