Coming back to D.C. from my Alternate Break, I had a little catching up to do concerning COVID-19 and its effects on my life. Keeping in constant contact with my parents, and being sure to communicate with my professors, the First Alaskans Institute, and Sen. Sullivan’s office, my immediate future seemed to be very much up in the air. My family, just returning to Alaska after traveling to New York, placed themselves in self-quarantine, working from home and unsure if they had contracted the coronavirus. At American, classes were canceled, university-wide, Monday and Tuesday, and were to be held online for the rest of the semester. My professors, reacting to the unexpected change disjointedly, canceled classes through the week, citing the need to change their syllabi, class structure, etc. For work, I was first furloughed with pay, before hearing that all internships were suspended till at least April 1st, with a weekly reconsideration following that date.
In the meantime, I was anxiously following Alaskan and national news outlets, afraid that domestic travel would be cut off as foreign travel had been, leaving travelers with no options moving forward. As I called my parents daily, I felt an instinctive urge to come home. I knew if I were to get sick, I would face fewer challenges at home. I would have more people to look after me. More capital to help keep me fed and safe. All alongside the security of knowing I could be there for my family if any of them got sick. That I wouldn’t need to worry about being stuck for an indefinite amount of time a continent away from them should travel be cut. For me, all signs but one pointed to going back home. In D.C., I had work. Or at least I had the potential of work. Work that pays. A fellowship that I love. With a group I love. Doing work I find meaningful. The prospect of giving up an opportunity I had worked so hard for, and that I held so much pride in, was not one I wanted to face. Knowing my position as the First Alaskans Institute’s Al Adams Young Political Leader Fellow, I felt I would be letting down not only my own dreams, but the possibility of serving my people. Of advocating their interests. Their perspectives. In considering my position, I can’t help but to take it seriously. Not to mention I was hoping to earn college credit through my participation in the Fellowship. As of that week, I needed to work only 48 more hours to satisfy American University’s internship requirement for the number of credits I had enrolled for. Though I was told I had the opportunity to make up those hours through alternate assignments, I much preferred the possibility to simply keep working through them. All things considered, I was left feeling a great deal of anxiety throughout the week. Not knowing if I would have work moving forward. If I would be able to stick it out in D.C. should travel be cut. Or what classes would look like for me. Everything was up in the air, and I could impact none of it. I could just stay inside. Isolate myself from groups larger than 10 people. Make sure I stayed away from touching my face. And pray that things might resolve themselves. Thankfully, they did. Everyone I talked to showed grace concerning my situation, from Ryan Ringel, the office’s preeminent decision maker on personnel, to Karla Booth at FAI, to my professors and parents, all of whom encouraged me to put health over anything else at this time of unprecedented need. To them I’m so very grateful, for they helped ensure I could (1) work remotely, using a work laptop and cell phone to continue serving the office, (2) fly home and work from Anchorage, and (3) do so in a timely manner. With their help, and the help of Marcus Gamble and Ella Tonuchuk, I’m happy to say I’m back home with my family safe and sound. I still am able to work and write blog posts. And though I’m in the midst of my 14-day quarantine, isolated away from my family in my room, the downstairs bathroom, and the family room directly adjacent to mine, I couldn’t be happier. Thank you so very much to everyone listed, and everyone unlisted. Please be safe throughout this tumultuous time we’re in. And know it’ll be okay. This past week has been a whirlwind. Leaving D.C. on Saturday for Maryville, TN, I’ve spent the past week in and around the Great Smokey Mountains, learning more about the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians and their relationships with the United States Federal Government than I ever thought I could learn. Spending the past week with my participants has been an amazing experience, marked with plenty of laughter, music, and adventuring. We’ve talked to elders, culture bearers, and tribal leaders about everything from the casino system to integrated systems of care for tribal members. We’ve learned some of the traditional idiosyncratic practices underlying communication between tribal members, ways in which the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians are trying to spur economic growth within the Qualla Boundary, and areas where certain factions of the Eastern Band are in conflict with one another.
Along the way, the participants and I worked to clear cultural heritage sites and provide fuel for residents. Through our direct interactions with a litany of community members, the participants were able to apply the information I taught them through the curriculum I created months before, sometimes catching our community partners off guard. In a conversation about the Major Crimes Act, Sen. Sullivan’s POWER Act, and the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA), I particularly remember a member of the EBCI’s Attorney General’s staff remarking “Wow, you guys really did your homework!”, something I took great pride in hearing. As a leader of the program, and one of its creators, I was thankful to finally see everything fall into place. Nothing made me quite as happy as falling asleep at the end of the day, secure in knowing my program was running smoothly, waking up excited to see what new relationships and ideas lay just over the horizon as a result of the program. However, excitement was soon tempered with reality. My faculty advisor, the director of all Alternate Break programs, daily would pull me aside to talk about COVID-19. Without reception on my phone, I had been flying blind as to the progression of the crisis, though his updates had me wary about the future of our program. He spoke of rising cases in Italy and then New York, of an outbreak in Washington State and potential travel closures all across the United States. Before we had come to Maryville he had been forced to cancel every other planned Alternate Break except for mine and Puerto Rico’s, twelve in total. I understood his position, and that of my family. That of every family of our participants, watching the same distressing news on the television, reading about it on their phones, seeing it break over social media. The instinctive urge to pull their children in, to call them back to their care, to watch over them and be supportive of them. As the numbers infected rose, and the number of deaths similarly rose, we were forced to pull the plug on our program, returning first thing Friday. Driving back to D.C., the mood was somber. Everyone wanted to stay and live freely for as long as possible, dreading quarantine a life away from their new found friends. I joined them in that feeling. Though I had a responsibility to keep everyone safe and look out for their best interests, I couldn’t help but to feel a bit greedy in my want to keep our group intact. I wanted to learn more. I wanted to laugh more. I wanted to show off a culture similar to my own. A people similar to my own. The thought of leaving everyone and everything left me a bit empty. As we neared D.C. and phones lit up and people split off, I was grateful to spend some more time with my (now) former participants. Pushing off the necessity of leaving just a bit longer, we stayed up talking and reflecting on all we had gone through. All we had learned. The ways in which we all had grown closer. The things we were surprised by and scared by. Times where we were frustrated and upset. The little moments of friendship building and love being shared. It was there, on Emily’s bed that Friday night, where I learned that while our trip may have ended a bit early, the bonds made would last forever. And the knowledge gained would too. |
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Photo used under Creative Commons from Mike Juvrud