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SAN
FRANCISCO—Angelina Willis said that she knew her addiction
to crank—a powdered form of methamphetamine—had gotten
the best of her was when her 6-year old son caught her smoking the
drug at home with her friends.
"He saw me all blitzed out and got really confused," said
Willis, an attractive young Yurok American Indian woman with gleaming
brown hair down to her waist. "Later he told another adult
that he didn’t want his mommy to die from smoking."
Less than six months later, the 23-year old mother of three recited
an ancestral prayer beside a circle of men gently beating drums.
Then she thanked everyone there for helping her kick her 10-year
alcohol and drug habit.
"Because of you all, I learned to love my culture and myself,"
she said, looking out shyly at the beaming faces that surrounded
her in the sunny church courtyard.
Willis drove more than 200 miles from Paso Robles last week to attend
her graduation ceremony from Friendship House, a 29-bed culturally
based drug treatment center for Native Americans in San Francisco.
While the 1990 census reported 45,000 Native Americans living in
the Bay Area, the Friendship House is the only residential treatment
center in Northern California designed specifically to serve them.
Only three such facilities exist statewide, and there are just a
handful across the country.
A disproportionately high number of Native Americans in California
report they are addicted to alcohol and illegal drugs. Last year
alone, nearly 2,000 people out of a population of more than 300,000
Native Americans in California served time in state prison on drug-
and alcohol-related offenses, according to the Department of Corrections.
Experts say many more than that were held in county and local jails,
although exact figures are not available.
"Our community has been hit hard by incarceration," said
Peter Brokenleg, the clinical director at Friendship House. "Most
families have someone in state or federal prison."
Willis is just the kind of person Proposition 36, a state ballot
initiative, would allow to go to drug treatment rather than jail.
She has never been convicted for drug sales or a violent crime,
although at the height of her addiction Willis said she smoked crank
almost daily. She said that she suffered "many kinds of abuse"
as a girl, and started drinking heavily when she was 10.
If voted into effect this November, Proposition 36 would not put
"low-level offenders" like Willis behind bars unless they
fail more than twice to comply with the terms of their probation
and treatment.
But many of those working with substance abuse in the Native American
community are worried that the initiative, which would pump more
than $120 million over the next five and half years into state-certified
drug abuse programs, will overlook smaller, more specialized programs
like Friendship House.
Paul Lowry, the clinical director of an outpatient facility in Santa
Rosa, said he sees more than 10,000 clients annually, and sends
several to Friendship House for residential treatment. Although
he agrees in theory with Proposition 36, Lowry said he has no faith
that either state or county health agencies will allocate funds
to expand Native American programs, which he said are historically
underfunded and already strained.
"In the last five years we have lost nine out of 10 public
health programs for our people in this county," he said. "We
have no political pull."
Friendship House, which is state-certified and has an annual budget
of $3.4 million, gets most of its money from the federal government
and private funders, like Wells Fargo Bank and the Levi Strauss
Foundation. Lowry said that some Native American programs also get
a considerable boost from casino profits.
But that money is barely enough to cover expenses right now, according
to Helen Waukazoo, the executive director of Friendship House. If
Proposition 36 passes and many more Native Americans are referred
to treatment, she worries that there will be no space for them.
"Who will put up the money for all of the extra beds and staff
we are going to need?" she asked.
Whitney Taylor, the director of the Yes on 36 campaign, said that
Native American programs won’t necessarily be left out when
it comes time to divide up the additional state money for
treatment.
"If the state legislative analyst’s office looks at the
numbers and says, ‘Wow, this is the percentage of Native Americans
arrested and convicted for nonviolent drug possession,’ then
they will be considered for funding," Taylor said. "And
if there’s not enough money right now, we’ll go back and
ask the state for more. This is just the first step."
But Waukazoo said it won’t be so easy to come up with those
numbers because many Native Americans in the state have Spanish
surnames, or choose not identify their ethnicity on intake forms.
"There is so much paperwork involved to get any information
from jails or probation departments," she said. "It is
a huge hassle."
And substance abuse is a huge problem. In 1997, arrest rates among
American Indians for alcohol-related offenses were more than double
the overall rate, according to a recent Department of Justice study.
While the number of drug arrests among Native Americans was about
half that of blacks, public health experts say that most of those
incarcerated for alcohol-related crime also have a drug problem.
The reasons why are complex and rooted in a long history of displacement,
according to Brokenleg. As recently as the 1950s, Brokenleg said,
many American Indians moved to the Bay Area from reservations through
federal relocation programs promising jobs and housing in exchange
for tribal lands.
But the jobs never materialized for most Native Americans, and they
have remained consistently at the lowest income levels, Brokenleg
said. Poverty and separation from traditional tribal culture, according
to Brokenleg, led to a widespread use of alcohol and drugs.
The situation is not all bleak. Despite its small size, Friendship
House boasts a more than 40 percent non-recidivism rate, which is
much higher than the 20 to 30 percent most drug treatment programs
report.
Angelina Willis said she was able to stop her addiction because
of the traditional healing methods and spiritual education she received
in the program.
"I would go to sweats with the other women," Willis said,
referring to taking group saunas as part of a purification ritual.
"It was awesome. We would get in a circle in there and pray,
meditate and sing. You can feel the spirit of everyone in there
and it makes you strong."
Waukazoo said that for most Native Americans, connecting with cultural
values is the key to recovery.
"I’m really proud of what we do here," she said.
"We want our people to get their lives back together and be
healthy for future generations."
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