There is one dark day in the lives of Indian children; the day when they are forcibly taken away from those who love and care for them, from those who speak their language. They are dragged, some screaming and weeping, others in silent terror, to a boarding school where they are to be remade into white kids.
I was five years old. My mother was crying, and they were taking us off and my sister Audrey, who also, you know, was like a second mother to me and a very close friend as a sister and my brother, Mark, they were very sad. Within two hours or so after the buses filled up and we’re down the road. This is the furthest I’ve ever been from my home in my life. And then of course it turns into evening and we arrive at this place.
— Dennis Banks, Chippewa