As Monica Harvey watched, crowds flocked to a Sam’s Club in northern Arizona where she works, picking up clean shelves of toilet paper and canned goods. The Native American elders couldn’t move fast enough and Harvey saw their faces drop when they reached the empty shelves.
The Navajo woman wanted to help tribal elders get basic necessities without leaving their homes and risking exposure to COVID-19, so she started Defend Our Community, a group that provides supplies.
Tribes across the country are working to protect the elderly members who serve as honorable ties to customs passed down from generation to generation. Efforts to provide protective gear, meals and vaccines are not limited to saving lives. Ancient tribals often have a unique knowledge of the language and history which is all the more valuable as the tribes usually pass their traditions down orally. This means that losing elders to the virus could wipe out irreplaceable pieces of culture.
“When you lose an elder, you lose a part of yourself,” said Harvey, who lives in Leupp, Ariz., East of Flagstaff. “You lose a link with history, our stories, our culture, our traditions. “
Harvey remembers his own grandfather explaining the stories behind the Navajo songs and teaching him the Navajo lyrics to the songs. She would often listen to her grandparents speak Navajo while practicing the words under her breath.
In Oklahoma, the Cherokee Nation increased food distributions to seniors and offered financial assistance to those struggling to pay rent or utilities. Concern for the elders is also evident in the tribe’s plans to distribute the COVID-19 vaccine. Participants and workers of the Tribe Elders program are the first in line for the shots, along with hospital workers and first responders. Next are those whose mother tongue is Cherokee and others considered “tribal treasures,” an honor given to members who bring Cherokee art, language and other cultures to life through their work.
An effort among the Blackfoot in Montana is helping the tribe’s 600 plus members connect with elders in need of support. Connecticut’s Mashantucket Pequot Nation provides its citizens with masks and telemedicine, delivers meals to their doorsteps, and hosts home visits to get their flu shots.
“Seniors are like libraries. Losing one is like a burning library, ”said Loren Racine, creator of a Facebook page providing help to the Blackfeet community.
Roy Boney Jr., who runs a Cherokee language program, said the vast majority of Cherokee speakers are elders. They are a small group of people who the program relies on to teach the language it calls the “beating heart” of Cherokee identity.
“For decades our language has been taken away from us by forced assimilation,” Boney said. “Elders hold our history and our culture, but also our language. … Our elders are precious.
Almost half of the Cherokee who received treatment from the tribe’s health services but died from the coronavirus were fluent Cherokee speakers. Losing even a handful of speakers can be devastating for the preservation of the language and other cultural practices, Boney said.
“With them, a lot of information in terms of knowledge of the language, dialect, specialist knowledge of medicine and traditional practices,” he said. “All of these things that we’re trying to revitalize and save, they’re at the heart of it all.”
Mashantucket Pequot alumni have moved to a virtual format for intergenerational gatherings where they tell traditional stories. A council of elders also helps organize bingo nights in the pequot language and Schemitzun, the annual green corn festival.
“When we heard how COVID-19 was spreading, we were immediately worried about our elders and how their loss would affect the tribe, so we immediately started working to protect them,” the tribe’s chief medical officer said, Setu Vora.
The tribe has not experienced any COVID-19 deaths.
The ancient pequots play an important role in efforts to revive the language of the tribe, which is no longer widely spoken. The elders still remember parents who spoke the language and can check the definitions and context of certain words. A handful of the tribe’s 2,000 members become somewhat proficient in Pequot as they research and retrieve new words, Vora said.
Karen Ketcher was among 28 Cherokee Nation elders who died from the coronavirus. She was weeks before her 71st birthday and had decades of experience working for the tribe and the US Bureau of Indian Affairs. His knowledge was unmatched and invaluable, said his granddaughter, Taryn King.
“The stakes are so high when this virus hits our communities,” said King, 31, of Stilwell, Oklahoma. She described seniors as “the glue that binds our communities”.
At work, Ketcher affectionately called herself “Granny”. She was the go-to person for questions about Cherokee policies, tribal governance and how to apply for grants. She was also the first stop for snacks, to help patch holes in sweaters, or to ask questions about community relations.
A colleague, Kamisha Hair, walked into Ketcher’s office shortly before the tribe temporarily shut it down in March due to the pandemic. She assured Ketcher that everything would be fine and implored her to pray.
The two hugged and said they loved each other. Ketcher died in April.
Relatives organized a small outdoor service for her. Upon their return to town, other Cherokees lined the streets to pay their respects.
“Losing an elder like Granny is like losing part of your identity,” Hair said. “He dies with them and you can never get him back.”
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Associated Press editor Felicia Fonseca of Flagstaff, Ariz., Contributed. Fernando and Fonseca are members of AP’s Race and Ethnicity team. Follow Fernando on Twitter at https://twitter.com//christinetfern. Follow Fonseca on https://twitter.com/FonsecaAP
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