Only 1 in 20 kids at the HeDog Elementary School can read at grade level. Can $590,000 and an emphasis on Native American culture save them from failure?

If you hit gravel on He Dog Road, you’ve gone too far.

Just before the pavement ends on the southwest-bound curve, there’s an unmarked turn where the road winds south, crosses Cut Meat Creek and ends in front of a red brick schoolhouse.

The cement steps leading to the door are so crumbled and worn they’re unusable. An auxiliary staircase leads to the creaking wooden floors inside. The Bureau of Indian Education has recommended the 90-year-old elementary school be condemned, but for now, it’s home to 155 students.

He Dog Elementary School Tuesday, Nov. 14, in Todd County, South Dakota. There is a set of wooden stairs off to the side of the original entrance because the original concrete stairs are unsafe for students to use. The teachers and students are holding classes in a condemned building. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

Most of these kids are behind academically. Only 1 in 20 can read at grade level, and 1 in 50 are proficient in math. All are close enough to the federal poverty line to qualify for free lunches.

The school is part of Todd County, which was ranked among the poorest in the nation in the last decade. It sits in the northwestern corner of the Rosebud Indian Reservation in South Dakota among the rolling plains south of Interstate 90.

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Students here could live their lives without riding a taxi or eating at a restaurant.

It’s not the kind of place you’d just stumble upon. The reservation is in the south-central part of the state, about a two-hour drive from the nearest town of more than 1,000 people. Interstate drivers can get from one edge of the state to the other without catching a glimpse of Rosebud.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Beyond Test Scores

Twenty miles east of He Dog Elementary, Karen Whitney sits working on the ordered files at her desk.

Glimpses of her teaching background peek through the square room with the children’s books on the shelf and the brightly colored inspirational posters with messages like “be-YOU-tiful” written in script. Photos on her desk show a life and family outside the four gray walls. Kids. Grandkids.

Todd County schools superintendent Karen Whitney talks about the future of the school and her future at Todd County Schools Wednesday, Nov. 15, in Todd County, South Dakota. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

A large desk surrounds the 57-year-old on three sides. As she sits behind it in a black mesh chair, she’s petite and soft-spoken, but her voice can fill the room when she needs it to. Behind the plastic rim of her glasses are the shrewd eyes of a woman who knows how to lead.

It’s her third year as superintendent of Todd County schools, a job she applied for on a whim and accepted before she’d had time to tell her husband. She arrived in a county that has endured a teacher shortage for decades. Many educators and administrators who land in Todd County leave within a few years.

Whitney is not Native American, but she’s the reason more kids on the Rosebud Indian Reservation are speaking Lakota.

She grew up in California and came to South Dakota, her husband’s home state, in 1995.

After 12 years teaching in Huron, she spent most of the last decade working to close the staggering achievement gaps for Native American kids in South Dakota. She earned her education doctorate in 2013 while working in Sisseton on the Lake Traverse Indian Reservation, and she wrote her dissertation on the impact of engaging Native American kids in learning by tying lessons to their culture.

In Todd County, Whitney gives more weight to culture than to state standardized test scores.

She knows students in her district aren’t going to do well when so few of them are learning at grade level. How can she ask them to excel in math and reading without addressing the more important stressors in their lives like addiction, trauma, broken homes and bullies?

“We’ve kind of been in panic mode with the test scores … it’s not in the best interest of the kids,” she said.

But the tide appears to be turning.

This year, teachers aren’t worried about teaching students what they’re supposed to know at each grade level. Instead, the district bought elementary curriculum for the middle schoolers and middle-school curriculum for high schoolers.

It’s too soon to tell if the new strategy is working, but in its first few months, some fifth graders in the district are already moving on from third- to fourth-grade math.

'A philosophy change'

At He Dog, the changes go far beyond curriculum as the school shifts to a different education model based on a charter school in Albuquerque, New Mexico that’s founded on a blend of rigorous academics and adding culture to all facets of learning.

The model, based on the Native American Community Academy, was started with the help of South Dakota native Duta Flying Earth, who grew up in Wakpala on the Standing Rock Indian Reservation.

Though he never moved back to South Dakota after high school, Flying Earth maintained connections in the state, including ties to a 22-member task force convened in 2015 with the goal of figuring out how to help Native American kids find success.

Todd County Middle Schooler Simone Iron Shell holds out her hand during a demonstration about friction in Kaelee Krege class Tuesday, Nov. 14, in Todd County, South Dakota. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

The task force was captivated by the success of the Albuquerque school, known as NACA. Since opening in 2006, NACA doubled its graduation rate, and last year more than 90 percent of the graduating class was accepted into college, according to a recent article by the Hechinger Report.

After a trip to Albuquerque and a handful of meetings with Flying Earth, task force members decided to bring NACA's curriculum to South Dakota.

“It’s not just a curriculum change, it’s an overall philosophy change,” said Mato Standing High, director of Indian Education and chair of the 2015 task force.

The model emphasizes localization, having communities find their own solutions.

“This is one of the first times I’ve seen in Indian education where the folks that are leading … are not only Native, but they’re from this reservation, these communities,” said Jonathan Santos Silva, South Dakota's education director for the NACA Inspired Schools Network.

For Whitney, that means more opportunity to think about the whole child, not just the test score. In past years, schools have put too much pressure on evaluation at the expense of helping kids socially and emotionally.

“I think we’re recognizing that and going back to meet their needs and trusting that the academics will come, too,” she said.

Anpetu Waste
In a sky blue trailer east of He Dog’s crumbling cement stairs, June Elk Looks Back greets each one of her third-grade students. They wear jeans and t-shirts, some of the girls with oblong beaded earrings like those their teacher and principal wear.

“Anpetu Waste.”

It means “good day” in Lakota, and Elk Looks Back repeats it over and over until each student has said it back to her in turn.

For the first 10 minutes of class, barely a word of English is spoken. Students recite the days of the week, weather, family members and the Sioux National Anthem all in Lakota.

If nothing changes, only half of them are projected to graduate high school.

Healing at He Dog

He Dog’s shift to include more culture is part of a 2016 law—a product of the yearlong task force—to give reservation schools leeway to try new ways of teaching. That law came with a special $590,000 Native American Achievement School Grant from the state.

The money is intended for closing the achievement gap, but so far spending isn’t directly tied to math or reading. Instead, the school is beginning by giving teachers mental health training and boosting its instruction of Lakota culture.

He Dog is experimenting with equine therapy, building a sweat lodge on campus, and integrating Lakota language and culture into day-to-day classroom work.

The school is also looking at options for curriculum specific to indigenous culture, ideally written by a South Dakotan.

A second school, Todd County Middle School, is using the grant to create a comfy, candlelit “recovery room” in lieu of in-school suspension and to add elective classes like quilting and community service.

While the grants are a team effort between the community, administrators and fellows from a national network of schools modeled after NACA, Whitney has been at the helm through all the changes.

She doesn’t like to take credit for her leadership, though.

“This isn’t my story," she said. "This is the school’s story.”

Coping with trauma

The girls are first to enter the corral, a November wind blowing through their dark plaited hair. They have to prove they’re calm before they can go near the horses, and once they’re up close, the equine therapy leaders help the girls bridle the horses, pet them and lead them in a circle before the boys calm themselves and prepare to take their turn.

Principal Vikki Eagle Bear brought equine therapy to He Dog’s campus through a community partnership with the Tiwahe Glu Kini Pi (“Bringing the Family Back to Life”) program, a local mental health therapy group. The goal is to give students another resource to process any trauma or mental illness they may be managing.

Eagle Bear, who has a background in student trauma, took over as principal in the fall.

“Suicide, domestic violence, sexual assault, all of those,” Eagle Bear said. “Unfortunately, some of the students on this reservation are from environments like that.”

Tokahe runs toward the horse during animal therapy at He Dog Elementary School Tuesday, Nov. 14, in Todd County, South Dakota. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

Her goal is to add as many supports as possible. The school doesn’t have a full-time counselor, only a part-time counselor twice a week.

But Eagle Bear is finding other ways. There are the horses, the recovery room, much like that at the middle school, and the extra mental health training for teachers, partly funded through the grant.

On a much more basic level, He Dog provides students with shoes, coats and other clothing in the school “store,” a small pink building next to the main school where kids can take what they need.

“We try to address those needs of significance and belonging and safety and even basic needs like food and clothing because we know kids will learn better if those are met first,” Whitney said.

'A lot of things have been tried'

It’s hard for Whitney to describe past efforts to close the achievement gap in Todd County because she’s only been in her role since 2015.

The superintendent before her stayed for only three years, as did the one before that, each bringing new ideas to help the struggling schools.

“Looking at the documents of what it was like before, it looks like a lot of things have been tried,” Whitney said. “A lot of good plans have been made, and a lot of things implemented that were very good but changed maybe rather quickly when we didn’t see movement in the test scores right away.”

Third grader Aubrianna Haukaas, from left, reads a book to kindergartener Emily Songer and state paraprofessional educator Katie Sayler Wednesday, Nov. 15, at Todd County Elementary School in Todd County, South Dakota. Todd County Elementary School third grade students spend reading time with younger students at the school. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

Those three-year spurts of new curriculum or other short-term changes also don’t summarize generations of education systems that have largely failed Native American students.

Statewide, Native American students face racism, poverty and high rates of suicide among other barriers outlined by the state task force. Additionally, today’s students are only a couple of generations removed from students who were forced into boarding schools where assimilation to white culture was the only option.

The $590,000 grant is the greatest stride South Dakota has taken in recent history to remove some of these barriers, but solutions won’t come overnight.

“There are no easy fixes,” Whitney said.

To see real progress in test scores, it might take a decade—a tall order for a grant meant to expire in 2020.

On the brink

At a quarterly meeting in mid-November, a group of about 30 parents, teachers, community members, administrators and students gather in the Todd County School District office

They split into groups to look at academics, social and emotional learning, spirituality, culture, and community partnerships, the key pillars of a new district-wide improvement plan. It’s a crowded room—the homemade turkey and dressing sit on a counter in the adjacent hallway, a pre-Thanksgiving treat to start the meeting.

The goal for the morning is to find one concrete step to take to reach goals determined at an earlier meeting.

Students in a multimedia class visit with students for a project they are working on titled "#IAmNative" at Todd County High School Wednesday, Nov. 15, in Todd County, South Dakota. (Photo: Briana Sanchez / Argus Leader)

Whitney mentions offhand that past work groups have been all talk and no action, but she’s got no time for that. She wants to hit the ground running.

Try something, and if it doesn’t work, try something else.

She works with a sense of urgency. She wants to make the most of the six months she has left leading Todd County schools.

Her contract is up in the spring, and she’s not coming back.

Too many sleepless nights worrying about her students have left weariness in her shrewd eyes. At a certain point, she says she has to think about her own health. She’s got grandkids she wants to spend time with, and working on the reservation has taken its toll.

Whitney doesn’t know what will happen after she leaves. She hopes the principals will carry on the momentum started by the grant, but if history is any indicator, they’ll all be gone in another year or two as well.

“It’s hard to leave the people, the dedicated people here,” Whitney said. “Because I feel like we are on the brink of doing something really good.”