3 Henry Cloud’s Role in the Meriam Report, the Indian Reorganization Act, and the Haskell Institute

This chapter examines Henry Cloud’s involvement as the only Native American on Lewis Meriam’s ten-member survey team. Cloud and the other team members undertook and completed an exhaustive investigation of Indian affairs—the basis for a 1928 study of the socioeconomic conditions of Native Americans throughout the United States and the Indian Service. The Brookings Institution’s Institute for Government Research, a privately run research group based in Washington DC, commissioned the survey team’s efforts. In 1928 the survey results were made public and were commonly called the “Meriam Report” and officially titled “The Problem of Indian Administration.” This powerful report documented governmental neglect and inefficiency in the Indian Service and exposed extensive poverty, health issues, and bad conditions on reservations and in federal boarding schools.

As part of the survey team, Cloud was central to the investigation of Native conditions. Cloud wrote unfavorable reports, exposing the horrific conditions in the Rosebud and Yankton federal boarding schools. The Meriam Report’s release led to the passage of the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) in 1934. According to available evidence, Cloud assisted in drafting the IRA and encouraged tribes to agree to the act’s conditions.1 As a result of his involvement in the Meriam Report, Cloud was considered for the position of commissioner of Indian Affairs, but his colleagues blocked his nomination and potential appointment by portraying him as “puzzled” and emotionally weak—objections that point to racist assumptions.2 Cloud instead built on his Native-studies curriculum work at the American Indian Institute and advocated for Indigenous culture, history, and leadership training at Haskell federal boarding school and for Native cultural citizenship—the right for Natives to be different and belong in U.S. schools.

Cloud and the Meriam Report

Cloud played a major role on the survey-staff team of the Meriam Report. As a Yale-educated Ho-Chunk intellectual, principal of the American Indian Institute, and founder of SAI, he was perfectly positioned to serve on such a high-profile survey team. Cloud understood Native reality and conditions: he was born and raised on the Winnebago Reservation, attended Native federal boarding schools, was well connected to Native Americans across the United States, had traveled to many reservations, and had already conducted investigations of federal boarding schools.3 According to Meriam, Cloud was remarkably well versed in such fields as health, education, and community life and law. Meriam highlights Cloud’s noteworthy accomplishments as part of the survey team:

In all announcements of the arrival of the survey staff at a jurisdiction, the fact was featured that the staff included one Indian. What is commonly termed the Indian “grape vine telegraph” also worked. Add to these aids was the fact that Mr. Cloud has a wide acquaintanceship among the Indians of the United States and had been active for years in constructive work on their behalf. The result was the one hoped for, namely, that the Indians would come to him. Thus conferences with Indians and Indian councils became a regular part of the work of the survey.4

Because of Cloud’s involvement and presence, the survey staff was able to acquire essential information. Many Natives came to Cloud to discuss their particular problems.5 His involvement meant they could finally talk to a Native professional who understood their plight and had the power to improve conditions.

Cloud’s role in the survey team was far beyond, as Meriam describes, that of a contact person and mediator between white administrators and Native communities. In fact, Cloud’s perspective was crucial to the team’s understanding of Native conditions throughout Indian Country. Two highly critical reports of federal boarding schools, which Cloud wrote, had no dates in our Cloud family files. They expose the horrible abuses Indigenous children suffered. These reports could have been written as part of his work in the Meriam Commission or for other investigations of federal boarding schools he had previously conducted in 1914 and 1915.6 In his report of the Rosebud federal boarding school, he wrote,

One of the worst schools I have seen has been the Rosebud Boarding school at Mission, S.D. [South Dakota]. . . . Evidence of maladministration was on every hand,—in buildings, grounds, farm and in the character of the student body. The boys’ sitting room was shown me at one end of the basement playroom. Furniture strewn about everywhere. Coats and trousers in tangled heaps, covered the dust laden floor. The toilet arrangements were bad. . . . The floor of the laundry was dirty and the ceiling and the walls were literally black with soot. The four walls were covered with scratched names. This laundry is a shame to any institution.

The bakery and kitchen were also in poor condition. In the room where bread is made, coal is stoked into the stove so that the floor is covered with coal dust. . . . The kitchen is poorly equipped. Utensils were of the rudest sort and kept in very cramped quarters. Dishes had to be washed in the dining room. I stood throughout one meal in the school dining room. Everywhere the children would hold up their plate high in the air for more food.

The sheds in the barnyard were tumbling down and the fences were dilapidated. . . . More serious than the condition of the buildings is the moral atmosphere of the school that must have long prevailed before Supt. McGregor took charge. James Farmer, one of the present larger boys was a “tough” in the school. He smoked cigarettes and chewed tobacco constantly. In an altercation with the engineer of the school he knocked him down. According to Mr. McGregor, in eighteen years three boys froze to death by running away. This year three girls ran away. For such an offense as this under the former administration one girl was made to carry a ball and chain around her ankle, and push a wheel-barrow for hours in front of the whole school.7

Cloud exposes the shocking abuse and unhealthy conditions of the Rosebud boarding school. The buildings were poorly maintained, and the school was filthy, making it a dangerous, unsanitary, and unhealthy place for young Native children to live. The Native girl’s abusive punishment for running away—being shackled with a ball and chain around her leg and being forced to push a wheelbarrow for hours in front of the school—was similar to the punishments in prisons at that time, not the punishments in educational institutions. Cloud’s discussion of the moral environment of the school points to his training as a Christian Presbyterian minister, emphasizing that smoking and chewing tobacco is a moral failure, not just unhealthy behavior. Cloud also highlights how dangerous these federal boarding schools were for Natives’ safety, threatening Native children’s lives, by recounting how three boys froze to death after running away. This boarding school was such a terrible place for Native children to inhabit that these boys risked their very lives to escape the ghastly living conditions. Indeed, running away took much courage, as the winters are severe in the Dakotas. It was a valiant act of resistance to run away—a challenge to settler colonialism. And Cloud’s own searing critique of this boarding school is an extension of these Native children’s anticolonial resistance.

In the Cloud family files I found an additional undated report Cloud wrote regarding Yankton Indian School:

I cannot say very much that is favorable to the Yankton Indian School. The boy’s matron and the girl’s matron were both negligent in their duty. . . . The washroom was disorderly. The attempt to have the boys use the tooth brush was becoming a danger rather than a help. All tooth brushes were placed in pockets along the wall with no designation as to owners and every one was dirty and repulsive. The boy’s clothing, corduroys, coats, sweaters, etc., were all piled into a huge box indiscriminately. There were no separate places for each boy’s belongings.

On examining the girl’s dormitory, I was shown around by the boy’s matron. I stepped down into the basement to see the toilet and bath arrangements. It was pitch dark down in there although it was midday. I stumbled upon a heap of what seemed to be a big pile [of] rubbish. While I was thus groping about I heard the girl’s matron berating the boy’s matron for bringing me over to her quarters without first warning her. She said, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” I found that the thing I stumbled over was a tangled mass of girl’s dresses left upon a dirty basement floor.

The campus was strewn with papers everywhere. The wind blew the papers against the fence in front of the school so that it became a wall of rubbish and weeds.

When it rained, the water fell from the eaves, there being no down pipes. As the boys ran in and out and around the building, its immediate vicinity became a mire.

Close by, about eight yards, there was a large pig-pen. From this pen half a dozen sows roamed at large over the campus. The stench, when the wind blew from that direction, was strong.8

Cloud critiques the matrons as derelict in their duties and not providing a safe or healthy environment for Native children. He describes the unhealthy practice of dirty, communal toothbrushes, a ripe vector for the spread of disease to young children. The matrons did not even ensure Native children had access to clean clothing, and the clothing was not organized or separated for each child. Instead, their clothing was dirty and strewn across the floor. Cloud also discusses pigs wandering around the school premises—another vector for spreading diseases.

These two reports prove that these two federal boarding schools were filthy, unsanitary, abusive, and poorly run. Cloud’s description of the horrific environments of these schools was a microcosm of the entire federal boarding-school system and is a challenge to settler colonialism; federal boarding schools were a colonial apparatus developed to erase and eliminate Native children’s distinct cultural identities and allegiance to their tribal nations.9 Once Native children no longer felt an attachment to their tribes, they could then possibly become willing to give up their Native land to the federal government. Land dispossession is integral and central to settler colonialism.10 Cloud describes in depth the extreme punishment of a Native child he witnessed, revealing the suffering of children in these schools. Cloud’s exposure of the appalling abuse and unsanitary conditions at these two federal boarding schools demonstrates his anticolonial intellectual stance and ability to wage a powerful critique of the federal boarding schools and the Indian Service—a skill that must have shaped his contribution to the Meriam Report.

Survey Team and Commissioner of Indian Affairs Discussion

As a result of Cloud’s work on the Meriam Report survey team, his name was seriously considered as a candidate for the commissioner of Indian Affairs. Lewis Meriam, technical director of the survey team, believed that for the recommendations of the survey staff to impact Native Americans, the Indian Service needed to undergo extensive reform. In a 1928 letter to Edward Dale, professor of history at the University of Oklahoma and another member of the survey team, Meriam discusses that the country needed a commissioner of Indian Affairs who was an effective administrator and able to accomplish his goals and objectives. He praises Cloud’s work with the survey of Indian Affairs and deliberated on suggesting him for the high-level position of commissioner of Indian Affairs:

Henry might be awfully unhappy in that office [as commissioner of Indian Affairs]. I do not think any one of us ought to accept it unless we are positive that we shall have the active support of the President of the United States and that public opinion is sufficiently behind us so that we are going to have appropriations. Unless Henry were sure of this I do not think the position would bring anything but bitterness and disappointment. He would be subject to pressure and demands of a kind which he has not previously encountered and his experience would not furnish any guide as to how to handle them. I am not sure but that might be an asset rather than a liability but I fear that they would be the part of the job that would make life miserable unless they were counterbalanced by a feeling of real advancement and achievement. The job would be a deadly one, and particularly to Henry whose feeling of responsibility would be far greater than that of any of the rest of us because he would feel that tremendous responsibility to his own race.11

Meriam argues that Cloud was inexperienced and did not possess the thick skin necessary to execute this high-level position. He mentions Cloud’s race as one reason he is unfit to be commissioner: Henry would feel too much responsibility to his own race. This racialized reasoning is problematic since whites become administrators in the U.S. government and serve their own white constituencies, and their race is not held against them. Meriam’s evaluations of Cloud repeatedly point to racist assumptions. He views Natives as not equipped emotionally to handle the suffering of our own people. This problematic logic is discussed by Iris Marion Young, a feminist philosopher, who argues that people of color and women are assumed to be inferior to (rational) white men because they are unable to handle emotions appropriately, especially in the public sphere.12

In his response Dale confirmed Meriam’s analysis of Cloud’s potential efficacy as commissioner of Indian Affairs:

Frankly and confidentially, I do not think that Henry is the man for the job. I know you will not misunderstand this, for everyone in our group must know that I love Henry like a brother and have the highest admiration for his remarkable qualities of mind and heart. I do not believe, however that he is fitted either by temperament or training for such a task. I feel as you do that he might be unhappy in such a position and would undoubtedly be subject to pressure and demands that would be very puzzling to him. In addition, I do not think he knows much of governmental administration or of the organization and workings of such bureau as that of Indian Affairs.13

In this letter Dale evaluates Cloud as unfit, in terms of temperament and training, for the task of commissioner. His description of such a high-level position being “puzzling” to Cloud reveals Dale’s condescension toward Cloud and his abilities—a condescension that must be viewed through the lens of racism. The word “puzzling” implies Cloud, as a Native man, lacks an intellect, ability, or fortitude strong enough to weather the pressures of the job. This assumption is a curious one, since Cloud survived many immensely difficult pressures, such as an impoverished childhood on a reservation, being forcibly taken to and living within an abusive environment of a federal boarding school, and, as an adult, somehow excelling in the intense academic environment at Yale.

At the same time, Cloud, who most likely was not aware of the Meriam-Dale correspondence, had written to Meriam recommending that the survey staff catapult him into the position of commissioner of Indian Affairs.14 Meriam wrote an October 26, 1928, letter to Cloud, saying that he had long thought of the possibility of catapulting him into the position of commissioner. Meriam responded honestly to Cloud that the job was an impossible one, where he would “encounter so much inertia and active opposition that he will fall short of his goal.” In addition, Meriam argued that no “young or middle aged man who has his own way to make [should] take the position at this time. It is too likely to break his spirit if it does not discredit him.” Finally, Meriam highlighted that even though he would be “thrilled to see Henry Roe Cloud Commissioner, and I know others wound, but I don’t want to let my enthusiasm lead me into catapulting my friend into a martyr’s job.” He articulated to Cloud that he possibly will “render such great service in other ways that to put [him] in that office seems a needless sacrifice.”15

The same thoughts that E. E. Dale shared with Meriam were echoed to Cloud, who Dale thought was not “fitted either by temperament or training for this particular job.” Dale also wrote to Meriam, stating that it would be a wonderful thing to see Cloud reach his ambitions but that it would not be good for him personally to land the job.16 Later, in a letter of February 21, 1929, Dale wrote to Meriam, discussing why Cloud was not up to the job of commissioner of Indian Affairs:

Certainly, one of two things is going to happen, either we are doomed to have more years of Indian Service like the present one, improved and strengthened, of course, to a certain extent, our report and the publicity it has received, but essentially the same old system after all, or else we are going to have what we all hope—a rather complete change of viewpoint and somewhat wholesale reorganization of the Bureau along the lines we have suggested. If we are to have the first, Henry would be very unhappy in the job. He would find himself in a maze of technicalities and red tape for which he would have little understanding. He would see himself helpless to do the things that he wanted to do and would suffer very keenly when he saw the interests of helpless Indian children traded off for other things desired by members of Congress. He would find himself up against a brick wall without any power to make a single dint on it. On the other hand, if it is to be a far reaching organization, Henry is not the man to make it. He has not the training, the experience, nor the understanding of government and governmental affairs that would fit him to assume the leadership of such a work as reorganization. Of this, I am sure. I confess that the matter has not disturbed me, however, for I am frank to say that I do not think he has a ghost of a chance of ever securing that appointment.17

While some might argue that Lewis Meriam hoped to become the next commissioner of Indian Affairs, his letters demonstrate that he would not have accepted the position. Meriam wrote, “I fear that John Collier has included my name on the list of persons of his group [he] is considering for the commissionership. My own feeling is that I should be regarded as entirely out of it because I think I can do more good on the outside than I could possibly do on the inside [of the federal government].”18 While Meriam was not interested in the position, Dale gave Meriam his hearty endorsement as “the only man [on the survey staff] fitted for the position of Indian affairs”: “At the same time, I cannot help feeling that if there is to be a reorganization along the line suggested, you are the best qualified man in the United States to do the job. Your training, experiences, and knowledge of government and governmental problems plus your knowledge of Indian affairs and your keen interest in the problem would make you the ideal man for the place.”19

After reading these letters, my mother, Woesha Cloud North, argued that Dale was “apple polishing,” telling Meriam that he would make a good commissioner. She said, “So they would not endorse him [Cloud] in any way. . . . So my father did try for it [to be commissioner], and it’s true—you need to play the political game. And he had hoped his friend and [Yale] classmate, Bob Taft [son of former President William Taft], would throw some weight towards the nomination, but he just didn’t have enough political clout to do it, and if he couldn’t get his so-called friends that he worked with to back him . . . and you need all the political backing.”20

It is odd that Dale endorsed Meriam so strongly and discounted Cloud’s abilities and experience, arguing that Cloud was not fit for the position of commissioner. Donald Critchlow, a historian, portrays Meriam as an “efficiency expert,” who was less interested in changing current governmental Indian policies than in ensuring streamlining existing policies through a properly organized administration and well-trained specialists. The Meriam Report, Critchlow argues, called for an improvement in the administration of the Indian Service, but it did not look ahead to a “New Deal” for American Indians, a revamping of Native policy discussed by John Collier and others. John Collier and the critics of the Indian Service, on the other hand, pushed for a radical shift in policy—away from Natives’ individual land ownership and toward tribal incorporation of Indigenous land.21 In other words, Critchlow argues that Meriam and his supporters lacked innovative ideas that could contribute to Native policy reform—his lack of originality a detraction from his suitability for commissioner of Indian Affairs.

In the letters between Dale and Meriam, neither emphasizes Cloud’s unique expertise. Cloud had educational credentials equal if not superior to the other investigators. And because of his experiences with Native Americans as an investigator, missionary, and educator, he had more firsthand knowledge of Native peoples than the rest of the survey team. The only other member of the team with any real knowledge of Native Americans was Fayette A. McKenzie, another cofounder of the Society of American Indians. Also with a master’s degree from Yale, Cloud was the only trained anthropologist on the staff. Cloud’s education, experiences, knowledge, and perspective made him a valuable member of the survey team.22 But Cloud’s strengths are not reflected in these letters. Rather, he was judged as “puzzled” by bureaucracy. Cathleen Cahill, in her book Federal Fathers and Mothers, discusses how the opportunities for Native Americans working for the Indian Service were limited to tasks believed to be appropriate for their race. There was a glass ceiling that Native Americans could not rise above, due to the strong racist environment. Therefore, the position of commissioner of Indian Affairs was not a possibility for Cloud or other Natives at that time. Following Cahill, Dales’ and Meriam’s discussion of Cloud alludes to the underlying racist attitude that Native intelligence was inferior to that of whites.

Four or so years later, in February 1933, the Navajos wanted Cloud to become commissioner of Indian Affairs, but their political efforts never reached fruition.23 In the early twentieth century, the United States was not willing to have a Native American as head of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. It was not until the 1960s that a Native became commissioner of Indian Affairs.24

During the summer of 1927, once the fieldwork portion of the Meriam Report survey was finished, Cloud and our family found a place to stay in Kensington, Maryland, so he could assist in writing the report. Elizabeth’s sister, Emma, a registered nurse who worked at Hahnemann Hospital in Philadelphia, went with the Clouds to Maryland. Lewis Meriam had found a house for them close to where he lived. Every day Cloud traveled to the Indian Affairs survey headquarters in Washington DC to contribute to writing the report. Cloud’s daughters went swimming, rode bicycles on the street, or played croquet on the grassy lawn. And everyday Henry II somehow knew exactly when his father would arrive home and waited for him on the edge of the walkway.25

Death of “Little Henry”

After the report was written, the Clouds returned to Wichita and to running the American Indian Institute. The following year, 1929, was an incredibly painful one for our Cloud family. First, Cloud’s fervent desire to be the commissioner of Indian Affairs was never realized. Then the Cloud family suffered the death of Henry Roe Cloud II, their only son and brother, who died of pneumonia at three years old in Wichita, Kansas. Little Henry experienced heart problems, and his doctor had taken out his tonsils. The doctor, Henry, and Elizabeth were all afraid that “Little Henry” was going to suffer from acute ear infections. He stayed in the hospital for close to three months. On March 25, 1929, the day before his death, Little Henry played with stuffed animals and toys for the first time since entering the hospital. The doctor informed the Clouds that they were “through the crisis.” Then, at about four in the morning the phone woke up the Cloud family. It was Henry Sr. He told Marion, the eldest, “Instead of Uncle John [Hunter] taking you to school this morning, I want you and your sisters to come to the hospital. He’ll bring you down.” Marion answered, “Oh my, that doesn’t sound very good to me.” Henry responded, “Well, we’ll talk about it when you get here.”26

Little Henry’s sisters arrived at the hospital, and their dad took them by the hand one child at a time to be with their little brother. As Henry guided Marion down the hall, he started to cry. This was the very first instance that Marion had witnessed her dad cry. Henry told Marion, as she was the eldest, why he had asked for them to come to the hospital. Sadly, he wasn’t certain if their little brother would survive or not. He told her, “He just, all of a sudden, is worse.” First thing in the morning Little Henry could recognize his mom and dad. Unfortunately, when his sisters came, around ten o’clock, he couldn’t identify any of them. Even though he was awake, he was no longer able to recognize his family. Afterward he drifted off to sleep. His brief life ended at ten thirty, and our family’s intense and overwhelming grieving started.

Henry and Elizabeth created a memorial for their son. In the Cloud family home at the American Indian Institute, there was a huge fireplace. Etched in the dense marble was carved, “To the memory of ‘Little Henry’ and the glory of all childhood.” Below was the following engraving: “When the long shadows at eventide fall, to play, to love, to rest.”27

Cloud’s Impact on the Meriam Report

Despite the Cloud family’s great loss, the operation of the American Indian Institute continued, as did Henry’s intense and constant efforts to make the world a better place for Native Americans. The previous year the Meriam Report had been officially submitted to the secretary of the interior. Cloud’s indelible impact on the report can most clearly be seen in the section on education. The subsection “A Special Curriculum Opportunity” discusses the importance of bringing Native history into the schools and integrating it into the curriculum. The numerous references to Santee Indian Mission School, an institution only Cloud was familiar with, confirms his input. His contributions can also be seen in the reports of what worked at the American Indian Institute. Because Cloud was one of the few who remained in Washington DC, and he played a role in all phases of the investigation, I argue that he played a larger role in writing the Meriam Report than commonly recognized.28

My father, Robert North, discussed Cloud’s diminishing political influence with the change of presidential administrations from Herbert Hoover to Franklin D. Roosevelt and the increased involvement of John Collier, who was hired as the commissioner of Indian Affairs:

While he [Cloud] was under the Hoover administration with the Meriam Report where he apparently was a key figure, he was the tie of all of these eastern or Chicago intellectuals and academics with the Indian cultures, he was a key man on that committee. But as soon as Roosevelt came in, and Collier became the key thinker, he was immediately in trouble. I think it took no time at all for him to realize that. I don’t remember my chronology exactly now, I haven’t thought about these things for a long time, but when he was put in charge of Haskell, well that, they were getting him out of the way. It was the first step in a letdown, and they continued to use him, because he was—he could go into any reservation anywhere and immediately know people and be accepted. But he was also distrusted because in the eyes of many of these people on the reservations, he just represented the Bureau [of Indian Affairs].29

North describes Cloud as a “key figure” for the Meriam survey team and the link between East Coast intellectuals with Native cultures. North’s portrayal challenges Meriam’s and Dale’s patronizing depiction of Cloud’s abilities. Cloud’s position as a key figure would have made him an excellent candidate for commissioner of Indian Affairs. At the same time, Native Americans as a constituency were not as politically powerful as compared to John Collier’s political backing, and Cloud receiving the position was not feasible.30 Furthermore, as a member of the Republican Party (not a democrat like President Roosevelt), Cloud’s chances to be chosen to become commissioner of Indian Affairs were slim. North emphasizes that the federal government used Cloud because he could gain the trust of Natives. Therefore, Cloud, according to North, was being taken advantage of on two levels—his incredibly sharp intellectual ability and his identity as a Native man. But rather than receiving just reward for his hard work and intellectual prowess, according to North, Cloud was pushed “out of the way” with his placement as superintendent of Haskell. North also notes that Natives distrusted Cloud because he represented the arm of the federal government, a settler-colonial power.

Cloud, Superintendent of Haskell

In 1933 Cloud accepted the position of superintendent of Haskell, the federal government’s largest boarding school in the Midwest, while Elizabeth continued to work for the American Indian Institute. Cloud, according to his daughter, Marion Hughes, took the position with the understanding that he could make changes to the curriculum because, at the time, the federal boarding schools did not provide Natives adequate educational preparation.31

Despite the position not being his first choice, it was a prestigious one. Natives congratulated Cloud for his lofty appointment as superintendent of a federal Indian boarding school. For example, Samuel Anderson, a Haskell alumnus who had helped the Meriam survey team travel from Okmulgee to Seminole, congratulated Cloud for his appointment: “You have set a shining example of what an Indian can do, which is an inspiration to older Indians as well as to our younger Indians who have yet to decide what their objective is in life.” He said Cloud’s admirers wanted him to be considered for commissioner of Indian Affairs. He also wrote, “I attended Haskell for a short time in 1910 and during 1911 to 1912. I admit to you I was not a howling success so I silently slipped away one nite [sic], never to return.”32 In this congratulatory letter Anderson explains his decision to run away many years before Cloud became superintendent of Haskell, as a result of his not being a “howling success.” Running away was a common occurrence at Haskell Institute and many federal boarding schools, as these schools were extremely traumatic and abusive environments for Native students. Here we see another act of resistance and a warrior challenge to the oppressive, settler-colonial situation of a federal boarding school. Anderson fled an assimilationist environment that endeavored to stamp out Native identity and break the students’ attachment to their land.

Closing the Jail

When Cloud began his new appointment, the first thing he did at Haskell Institute was close the jail. Jails were common in federal boarding schools, and they were used to punish Native students for various infractions, including running away. Closing the jail, Cloud took a clear stance against the settler-colonial approach to punishing children. Before Cloud’s arrival Native children were treated similarly to today’s incarcerated people. When Native children ran away, these employees would work to capture runaways, issue alerts to authorities in the nearby towns, and ask sheriff departments to issue arrest warrants. As a punishment for running away, students were locked up in the school jail for two nights.33

White reformers founded Haskell federal boarding school in 1884, supporting a strict curriculum for Native students. They demanded total submission and assimilation to white culture. Settler colonialism occurred not only on the battlefields but also within the intimate places of homes and the public spaces of schools. These boarding schools offered an emotionally laden atmosphere where one group (white reformers, teachers, and missionaries) could coerce their own values on a subordinated group (Indigenous peoples) and force them into transforming their behavior and appearance.34 If colonial projects delineated racial classifications, Ann Stoler argues, then schools created an atmosphere “where relations between colonizer and colonized could powerfully confound or confirm the strictures of governance and categories of rule.”35 These relations are the “intimacies of empire.”36

Cloud worked to change Haskell for the better. During a commencement speech at Haskell, Cloud used Native-centric ideas to communicate to his Native audience and challenged settler colonialism. He discussed the oppressive influence of white teachers who tried to force Native children to abandon the culture and spirit of their ancestors. Cloud contests the colonial force of assimilation and instead argues for cultural pluralism and a modern Native identity, retaining important aspects of Native culture while becoming part of American society. In this way he argued for a Native cultural citizenship, the right to be different and belong in the American educational system. In his address Cloud alluded to Haskell’s shadows as a federal boarding school:

A conquered race must meet the fate of exploitation. The bulwarks of racial integrity have been broken down. Faith has been violated. The once great and glorious past of the race has been held up disparagingly by many white teachers thinking thereby to coerce the young Indian student to abandon this reigning spirit of his forefathers. Mistakenly teachers of the past believed that this was the only method left open for advancement into the white man’s civilization. Happily we are abandoning this ignorant method. We cannot afford to commit further social wrong in this fashion, we are to reinterpret to American society, Indian values. We are to save superlative values, attitudes, ways of life and preserve them for the achievement of the larger goal.

Cloud said, “Haskell Institute is definitely committed to the preservation of Indian race culture,” and he argued that no dominant race has the right to destroy the past of any people. He drove home the point that teaching Native American history helps us understand our present circumstances. He further argued that Haskell’s purpose was to develop Native leaders, and these future leaders needed to understand the government and critically analyze the operations of power. He said, “the student in these halls should know why kings ruled the masses in the days gone by, why millions of the common people supported these kings over long stretches of years, why intelligent men and scholars for decades were denied a share in government, why no voting had been permitted to the people.”37 Rather than encourage the students to learn only a trade, even though Haskell was a vocational school, Cloud motivated them to become leaders of their tribal communities, similar to the American Indian Institute. This stance departed radically from the subservience usually taught in federal boarding schools.

In another radical shift, Cloud implemented a policy of Indian hiring preference, as he did at the American Indian Institute, and argued that Native students were more willing to learn from Native instructors. For example, he hired Robert C. Starr, an Arapaho who had taught at the American Indian Institute.38 At Haskell Cloud also supported the use of Native languages, organized Native dances, and updated a reprinted book of Native American stories and legends. Cloud’s pedagogical approach at Haskell built on the one he used at the American Indian Institute, pushing the federal boarding school to become more Native-centric than before and supporting the incorporation of Native studies curriculum. Because of his involvement in the IRA, however, Cloud’s tenure at Haskell lasted only two years.

As superintendent of Haskell, Cloud used his position to brainstorm with E. C. Little, a member of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs, about ways to improve the dire health conditions for Native Americans in Kansas:

I recall with pleasure your visit with me the other day. At that time, I outlined to you many things which the Federation of Women’s Clubs could do for the Indians. . . . The health of the Indians in Northern Kansas, in the Mayetta jurisdiction where we have the Potawatomi, Kickapoo, Sac & Fox and Iowa Indians is in bad condition. What they need there is a general clinic to be held sometime, say in the next six months.

As to ways and means, I can get such of the Government doctors and nurses to cooperate as are already assigned to this jurisdiction, but the number is exceedingly limited and besides they are not experts along certain lines such as eye, ear, nose and throat; tuberculosis, trachoma, heart, etc. For these extra specialists we would need to seek outside medical help and such medical help must be paid for, as you know. One idea I have for raising money is to stage a football game between Haskell Institute and some other university, to be sponsored by the Kansas Federation of Women’s Clubs, the proceeds to be used for health work among the Indians of this jurisdiction. This game can only be a post-season game and the possibility of raising at least $2,000 and possibly considerably more from such a game is very attractive, indeed.

You probably know that no general clinic to any great extent has ever been carried out among any tribes in the United States. There have been clinics restricted to teeth, trachoma, and possibly including eye, ear and nose in other jurisdictions, but this plan for a general clinic grips my imagination and I believe with persistent effort and careful planning we would put it over and it would be a great piece of work which the Kansas Federation of Women’s Clubs can claim credit for.

The other possible method is to get some rich person or persons to contribute money to bring experts to such a clinic, but you know even the richest people in America are hard pressed in these times.39

In this quote Cloud shows his strong commitment to improving the health conditions of Native Americans, his thorough knowledge, and his creativity for finding money and resources from a Haskell football game and locating rich donors for a Native health clinic. Cloud demonstrates his political savvy by telling a representative of a mainstream women’s club that her organization could take credit for improving Native health conditions, while emphasizing the shocking reality that there was no general clinic available for Native Americans. Thus, Cloud works to improve health conditions of Native peoples and their right to live healthy lives—another act of Native cultural citizenship.

As the superintendent of Haskell and a member of the Winnebago Tribal Council, Cloud used his new government position to support and advocate for our tribe and address our peoples’ concerns with the federal government. In a letter to the commissioner of Indian Affairs on November 24, 1933, he wrote, “I have just received the enclosed list of complaints from members of the Winnebago tribe. I am passing it on to you because I really believe there is a great deal of truth about the complaints against this man Hess at Winnebago Agency. Searching investigation ought to be made of this man and he should be turned out if these complaints are well founded.”40 The letter Cloud received from three members of the Winnebago Tribal Council and other tribal members explained the overall issue and complaint. Elsie Ross rented Charles English’s allotment and had not paid for five years, meaning he owed a total of $666.21. The letter explained that Elsie Ross was a county commissioner and that agency employees favored him without regard to the federal government or the Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska. Farmer Hess was the agency official who was assigned the task to make sure the rent and taxes were paid.”41

On November 23, 1933, Cloud wrote to Albert Hensley, a fellow Ho-Chunk and Winnebago Tribal Council member, to discuss his actions in support of our tribe. Cloud had made an exhaustive report regarding the conditions of the Winnebago and Omaha Reservations, addressing their complaints and proposing possible solutions to the commissioner of Indian Affairs.42

Indian Reorganization Act of 1934

In February 1934 the commissioner of Indian Affairs, John Collier, asked Cloud to encourage tribes to accept the IRA, an act that marked the change in federal policy from assimilation to cultural pluralism. Cloud agreed. He must have been well aware that the Native landholdings had diminished from 138 million acres in 1880 to less than 48 million acres in 1934.43 During meetings with tribes Cloud attacked the Dawes Act, a settler-colonial tool to dispossess Natives of millions of acres of land. In a speech on the Pine Ridge Reservation, for example, he said,

I have been trying to show the Indians that there is a close relationship between that loss of land and the health and prosperity of the Indian people. Now, the sure result of losing lands is the high death rate among Indians. It has been estimated that the death rate among the Indian people is two to one with that of the whites. Where one white man dies among one thousand white men, two Indians die among a thousand of their population. That death rate is too high. One explanation is that the Indians have become poorer and poorer with the inevitable loss of the vast acreage they had at one time. When they become poor they have less to eat and less to wear and no shelter. Their children are being brought into this world with a poor start in life. Malnutrition and bad housing conditions tuberculosis and other diseases are killing the Indians.44

In this quote Cloud astutely links the dispossession of Natives’ land with a high death rate, emphasizing how our loss of connection to our land—and the resulting lack of food, clothing, and shelter—contributed to our people contracting diseases at alarming rates.45

In 1934 Cloud spoke at a meeting held in Wanblee, South Dakota, again condemning the impact of the Dawes Act on Native Americans and discussing how we lost our land:

What are we going to do when those of us who have this 20 million acres of good land left—when that’s all gone? . . . Now, we are going to lose that land in three or four ways. I’ll tell you how. When one of our fathers dies he leaves that land to his children. There may be three, four, five or six children. These children find that the land is divided in small pieces and they can’t farm it so they get together with the superintendent and sell it and spend the money. If one of the children had lots of money and could buy it all and farm it, that would be all right but usually we don’t have the money that way. There’s one thing we cannot do and that is to prevent the death of our fathers. When they get old they die. And another thing we can’t prevent and that is to keep his land from being split up because the law says that they shall all have equal shares of their father’s land. In my country when our fathers die and we inherit his land and we grow up and have children and on down, sometimes 200 people have an interest in a single piece of land. When the rental on that grandfather’s land is collected and they send me a check, I get 3 cents, the price of a stamp. That’s what I get for my grandfather’s land. So we all get together and say let’s sell my grandfather’s land. This 3 cents doesn’t do me much good. So we sell it and soon the white man gets it and it is gone. That’s one way we leave our land behind us and a white man comes and picks it up.

Now, the second way is to give an Indian a fee patent to his land and the next day or week he sells it to a white man.

I was looking at your map at the Pine Ridge Agency two or three days ago and there on that map are great red places all over it. The red places show the land that is sold. That is just like the young man who left his meat on the ground and the wolves got it. In this case the white man is getting it.

The third way the Indian loses that land is that: The Indians pay taxes on that fee patented land and by and by the tax collector comes around and the Indian hasn’t any money to pay and after awhile the country comes and takes it away from him. In my country on many reservations where I have been where the land is fee patented a good amount of it is being lost today.46

In this quote Cloud astutely analyzes the Dawes Allotment Act as a settler-colonial tool to dispossess Natives of our land by describing a map, including the checker boarding of reservations, where whites owned some pockets and Natives owned other pockets, as well as the continual dividing up of land, Natives’ inability to pay taxes, and the fee-patent policy. The Allotment Act divided Native land into 160 acres, 80 acres, and other parcels to Natives, making millions of acres available for white settlers. Fee patents, also known as certificates of competency, were “awarded” to Natives, who were determined to be “competent” (in other words, civilized enough) to sell, lease, or mortgage their land independently of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Furthermore, being considered competent meant the federal government removed one’s land from trust status, and then the competent Natives had to start paying taxes. In most cases we could not afford the taxes, and so our land was confiscated. Altogether, millions of acres of land were lost, as Natives sold their land or could not pay taxes.47 Cloud connects to his Native audience by telling stories about the extensive land dispossession from a Native perspective. He uses words such as “my country” and “our fathers” to emphasize that this land dispossession happened to him and his own Winnebago tribe. Cloud’s ability to connect to Native audiences and educate and advocate for the Indian Reorganization Act to tribes quite likely contributed to its successful enactment in 1934.

In a 1934 speech on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Cloud encouraged Natives to embrace economic development, which is for economic profit and requires that the entrepreneur use labor, capital, and resources.48 The Indian Reorganization Act, Cloud argued, was a chance for Native tribes to rebuild their lives and reclaim their manhood and sense of victory through economic development rather than remain stuck in inertia with no hope for improvement:

Now, when this situation takes place, you have the three things necessary to bring about industry among your people, namely: Land, labor and capital. The Government will give you the land, loan you the capital which you have the privilege of paying back in thirty years without interest, and you supply one, the labor. After you get started in this industry, some other things get started at the same time. You start the growth of your heart which means character. You start the growth of your mind which means education, and you start the growth of health which means good stamina, a good physical body. Having started all those things, you have developed your own personality. You have now reached a stage in your life where success appears on the horizon. Before that you had no land, you had no capital, no means of improvement. You simply woke up in the morning and passed the day and when night came on you went to sleep. You were making no progress. Now that you begin activity; you are wide awake, living, and resourceful. You have more initiative than you ever had and the sum total result is an Indian people who stand up like men with victory in their hearts. That is the way I see it. I hope you will be in favor of this Bill and that it will become a law.49

In this quote Cloud encourages Natives to embrace economic development by emphasizing how industry will strengthen their mind, heart, character, and personality. Cloud argues that the government will provide Natives with the land, while loaning the capital, and Indigenous peoples themselves can provide the labor, so Native men can “stand up like men with victory in their hearts.” Cloud alludes to the settler-colonial tactic of treating Native warriors, who were trained to be proud and defend their tribal nations, as nonmen and children. Instead, he encourages Native warriors to reclaim their manhood and rise up victorious and no longer suffer the pain of defeat, causing a lack of motivation and a sense of hopelessness. Cloud’s message of using land, labor, and capital encourages Natives to embrace a modern identity and become successful economically by entering the marketplace of capitalism.

Coauthorship of the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934

My mother, Woesha, always told me that her father, Henry, coauthored the Indian Reorganization Act. During a radio program, Northwest Neighbors, in 1945, he claimed coauthorship of the IRA. He said that he was one of the ten experts who developed the Meriam Survey “and later laid down the new policy for Indian Affairs for the Bureau of Indian Affairs.” He emphasized that the IRA—which radio host Art Kirkham called the Indian Bill of Rights—was his brainchild: “Yes, I drafted it. . . . Most of the things I outlined had been adopted. I wanted the Indians to stop selling their lands, and a two-million-dollar fund was established so they could buy back their land. There were a number of things, such as a $25,000 scholarship fund, increased to $250,000, for Indian youth for vocational education, but perhaps the most important was the opportunity for the Indians to become self-governing. By vote of their tribal councils they could adopt a constitution and become a self-governing body. About three-fourths of the Indians have accepted this.”50 The act had four parts: Title 1, Indian Self-Government, granted Indians the right to organize for local self-government and for economic activities. Title 2, Special Education for Indians, directed the promotion and financial support of the study of Indian civilization, including arts, crafts, and traditions. Title 3, Abolished the Allotment System, restored existing “surplus” lands to the tribe and appropriated $2 million per year for the purchase of new lands. And, finally, Title 4, Court of Indian Affairs, created a special court of Indian affairs, which would serve as a court of original jurisdiction for cases involving Indian communities and its members.51

Based on the available evidence, it makes sense that Cloud assisted in drafting the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934.52 Well before the act was passed in 1934, Cloud supported Native students’ Indigenous identities, languages, and cultures in the American Indian Institute. He co-authored the Meriam Report, which documented poor economic conditions throughout Indian Country, the loss of land caused by the Dawes Allotment Act of 1887, and the severe problems of the federal boarding schools and the Indian Service. He argued for the importance of Natives supporting themselves economically. These ideas are necessary precursors to current discussions of tribal self-determination and sovereignty. Cloud could have helped draft the different titles of the IRA.

The IRA, however, was a settler-colonial tool, creating tribal governments that mimicked white corporations rather than traditional political structures. As a result, it encouraged tribal governments to become inherently colonial and male-dominated. Indeed, Cloud had difficulties with the federal government’s tribal constitution-making process as part of the IRA. During a speech he delivered as a superintendent for the Umatilla Reservation at the Northwest, Inter-mountain, and Montana Superintendents’ Conference in Pendleton, Oregon, in September 1941, he said,

Herein lay a golden opportunity for the government to draw up constitutional forms of government consonant with natural concepts of [tribal] government reading back into the centuries. Being one of the appointed Field Agents or constitution makers, I drew up a form of government according to my tribal clan system and proudly showed it to visiting traveling officials from the Washington Office. I was promptly told to throw this into the wastebasket as they had just what was needed for our Winnebago Constitution. Then they handed me a long list of so-called “powers” and “land provisions,” filling several pages. The use of these definitive powers and land provisions was made mandatory then and there for every so-called “long constitution.” Not withstanding the fact that such insertions into every constitution would render them alike and subject to the charge of uniformity, we obeyed orders. Strange as it may seem, every field Agent was taken severely to task later for uniformity of Constitutions.53

Here Cloud critiques the top-down nature of the constitution-writing process and disparages government officials’ contradictory instructions. On the one hand, his supervisors threw his unique Ho-Chunk constitution in the wastebasket. On the other hand, the same government officials gave him specific powers and provisions to include, while reprimanding him and other field agents for developing uniform constitutions. In fact, Cloud’s astute criticism of the IRA’s constitution-making process is a pathbreaking intellectual insight elaborated in the 1980s by Native scholars, including Vine Deloria Jr.54

Native scholars argue that IRA constitutions (which are not based on tribal political structures) lessened the power of tribal governments rather than support and strengthen tribal sovereignty and self-rule. These constitutions involved limiting clauses, such as requiring a Bureau of Indian Affairs review or secretarial approval of tribal council actions. Therefore, many tribes who accepted IRA constitutions lost political power. Ironically, John Collier wrote, “it is imperative that we set the feet of our Indian friends on the path that leads to self-government,” when the Rosebud, Pine Ridge, and other tribes, according to Richmond Clow, already had tribal constitutions and the right to self-government.55 The so-called self-government of the IRA was steeped in paternalism and colonialism. The idea of the IRA “granting” Natives the right to self-government was based on the assumption that the settler-colonial state had that power, thus ignoring Natives’ inherent right to sovereignty.56 Cloud challenges settler colonialism by alluding to tribal nations’ vexed and complicated position of being “nations within a nation” and “domestic dependent nations.”57 Despite tribal nations’ preexisting political structures, the IRA instituted white, corporate political practices.

In 1944 Cloud waged his critique of the Indian Service to a room filled with white superintendents. He showed his strength, courage, and willingness to strongly advocate for his analysis and beliefs—while face-to-face with colonial power. In this meeting Cloud fulfilled his Ho-Chunk name as “War Chief.” According to my aunt Marion Hughes, because of Cloud’s continual criticism of the Indian Service, he was demoted and sent to work as an Indian agent on the Umatilla Reservation, suffering a major cut in pay.

Despite the IRA’s settler-colonial implications, it led to a number of positive changes: many federal boarding schools closed; policy shifted from assimilation to cultural pluralism; Native land bases were reestablished through the compulsory return of lost lands resulting from the Allotment Act; and statutory persecutions of most Native religious ceremonies ended.58 Cloud was the only person who was involved in so many aspects leading to the passage of the IRA, including investigating the Indian Service, co-writing the Meriam Report, and, according to available evidence, co-drafting the IRA and encouraging tribes to support the IRA.59 Cloud, however, was not recognized for his pivotal contribution with either a career promotion or further involvement on the national stage.

In September 1935 Henry Cloud was honored with the Indian Achievement Medal of the Indian Council Fire of Chicago. The committee selected Cloud from various nominees, representing twenty-five tribes, including John Collier; A. C. Monahan, assistant to the commissioner and acting director of Indian education; Roberta Campbell, president of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs; Dr. Charles Eastman; author Lew Sarett; Senator Lynn J. Frazier; ethnologist John N. B. Hewitt; Dr. B. D. Weeks of Bacone College; and Francis Densmore, a scholar of Native American music.60

After Haskell and his involvement in promoting the IRA to tribes, Cloud’s new job was supervisor of Indian education at large, and his duties included various tasks. In 1935 and 1936 he studied the history of Ho-Chunk land ownership in Wisconsin. He lived in Tomah, Wisconsin, at a small public-health hospital that included housing for government employees. Henry journeyed to different old homesteads and county seats. Harold Buchannan, a Ho-Chunk, was his driver. Robin Butterfield, my cousin, interviewed Buchannan, who shared how much he admired Cloud, describing his composure, humor, charisma, and other positive qualities that enabled him to fit into any situation. Buchannan said Cloud loved his Indianness. He told Buchannan that when he was away, he missed our people intensely. Cloud said, “You know, Harold, I get streaks of longing . . . for my people, especially their activities. The climax of this would be if I could only hear even a drum beat. I love to see them enjoy themselves. I went a lot as a child [to participate in various Ho-Chunk events].” Later Cloud returned with his family, including his four daughters and his wife, Elizabeth. Henry and Elizabeth enjoyed playing tennis and golf at the Tomah Country Club. They laughed and teased each other about who won and how they played sports. Elizabeth kidded Henry that he couldn’t get his second wind, so she could beat him.61

Years later, in 1949, Buchannan visited with Henry Cloud when he was invited to address graduating Mount Edgecumbe students at a large federal boarding school in Alaska (see chapter 1). Buchannan asked Cloud to have dinner with him. In 1953, after Henry died, Buchannan visited with Elizabeth Cloud, and she described Henry’s love of animals. He especially loved his horses. She discussed how, during the last weekend she shared with Henry before he passed away, they went to feed the horses, and he talked to the horse, saying, “Turn around! You know you are supposed to. . . . It is the other end, where your mouth is.” Elizabeth remembered Henry’s humor as fun, thought-provoking, and sharp.62

In sum, Cloud was the only Native member of the Meriam Report and played a pivotal role, co-writing the exhaustive survey of Native health, education, and welfare conditions throughout Indian Country. He also, according to available evidence, assisted in drafting the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934.63 His powerful reports criticizing federal boarding schools prove his power and courage as a Ho-Chunk intellectual and activist, exposing the abuse suffered by Native children. He was considered as a potential candidate for commissioner of Indian Affairs, but his colleagues, basing their opinions on racist assumptions, blocked his nomination. As a Ho-Chunk intellectual and activist, he used his position as superintendent of a federal boarding school, Haskell, to challenge settler colonialism, including closing the jail; incorporating a Native-studies curriculum, such as Native language arts, culture, history, and leadership training; and working toward Native cultural citizenship. Rather than be rewarded for his efforts to improve the Indian Service and change federal policy from assimilation to cultural pluralism, Cloud was transferred to become an Indian agent on the Umatilla Reservation in Oregon, another major let down from his prominence on the national stage.