T E X A R K A N A M A G A Z I N E
I wear a modern dress because we are still here. I wear shells to honor my ancestors. I wear squash blossom to honor my mother. I wear red in honor of all the missing and murdered Native American women.
Susan Warmack’s daughter, Jordan Evans, who is now CEO of the Native American Advancement Foundation (NAAF), with her great grandfather and her great uncle submitted photo
A Life with Reservations BY TERRI GRAVITT
“If not me, who? If not now, when?” This was the sage wisdom of Susan Warmack’s then first grade son, David; they were words meant to move her to action and lead her to start her foundation, The Native American Advancement Foundation (NAAF). The challenge was demanding, but Susan’s passion for her Native American community and for the place she was raised was and is still greater! “No longer should we wait on someone else to fix our problems,” Susan shared. Her mission for the Native American community is “for us to recognize the strength that is within us and to honor each other and our ancestors by uniting and building healthier and vibrant futures for our youth.” Susan Warmack was born in Arizona and raised on the Tohono O’odham Reservation in southern Arizona. It is the second largest reservation in Arizona, at 2.5 million acres with roughly 33,000 members. Susan grew up in a mud home without electricity and without running water or indoor plumbing. As early as she can remember, she hauled water seven miles once a week, using an old army water tank her grandfather had secured. If they wanted
hot water, they had to boil it on an open fire. Susan’s job when she was a child was to wash the dishes. She did this in a large metal pan over a wood-burning stove. She slept outside and reminisced about falling asleep “under the brilliant stars,” waking up early every morning to the smell of her grandmother making fresh tortillas and the sound of her grandfather chopping and stacking wood. Susan’s home was near the U.S.- Mexico border, and interaction between illegal immigration and U.S. Border Patrol was common. She had early exposure to navigating the complicated dynamics between meeting basic human needs, maintaining respect for all human life and dignity, and keeping the laws of the United States. “As a child,” she recalls, “I didn’t understand why things were so complicated.” Her home would often be the first that unauthorized immigrants would come to after crossing the Arizona- Mexico border through the Sonoran Desert. The immigrants would arrive dehydrated, starving and literally on death’s door. “I remember one Christmas Eve, a family arrived, and the mother had given birth in a
dry riverbed behind our house. Maybe I was in second grade, and I remember standing aside while everyone rushed around trying to gather towels, blankets and food.” The U.S. Border Patrol picked up the family the next day. Susan sadly shared, “I have read estimates that since 1994, about 10,000 people have died in their attempt to cross the Sonoran Desert.” In Susan’s home, the O’odham language was spoken by the adults, but English was spoken to the children. Because Susan’s mother had negative experiences in school from speaking her native language, it was important to her that her children spoke English well when it was time for them to go to school. School was 60 miles away from the family home and there were no school buses that would come. Susan recalls doing her homework sitting in the mud house and using a kerosene lantern for light. She attended schools on and off the reservation, commuting up to two and a half hours each way. Her parents’ desire was for Susan and her siblings to get a better education than what was available on the reservation, so beginning in seventh grade, Susan attended
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C O MM U N I T Y & C U L T U R E
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