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Grandma Cele, her second
husband Herschel and their two sons James and Russell. (Photo
courtesy Mary Annette Pember)
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In praise of the bold, outspoken
and frequently overlooked Native women who fought for the vote
UPDATED: Cecelia Rabideaux's great niece, Lynn Bigboy of the Bad
River reservation is the current president-elect of the League of
Women Voters of Ashland and Bayfield Counties
As we recognize the centennial of the passage of the 19th Amendment,
giving women the right to vote, I think of my Grandma Cecelia Rabideaux,
known as Cele to family and friends.
Cele died in the 1950s before I was born; she was only 57 years
old. Part of my family's often vaguely shameful past, memories of
her are seldom spoken aloud.
Most commonly, I've heard her described as a loudmouth, a troublemaker
who used foul language and most certainly was not a lady as measured
by the oppressive standards of 1920s-era America. But somewhere
in between the lines of these scanty memories is a mysterious air
of grudging respect and even awe. That whiff of juicy backstory,
however, has remained elusive until this year.
I learned recently that Cele was one of the founders of the
country's first Indian League of Women Voters in 1924, the same
year in which Native Americans were declared citizens of the United
States.
Cele was an 18-year-old single mother in 1920 when women gained
suffrage. Educated by Catholic nuns at St. Mary's Indian boarding
school, her curriculum was surely imbued with civilization-era lessons
intended to assimilate Natives into mainstream society. During civics
class, she would have learned about the democratic process and citizens'
rights and duties to participate.
The crafters of the 1819
Civilization Act Fund intended that Native people abandon their
traditional ways for a hard-working servile role in America's new
society. Surely, given the racial and gender social norms of the
late 19th and early 20th centuries, White male politicians and leaders
in the federal government never envisioned the civilization policies
would inspire Native people, especially women, to rise up and claim
equal access to rights, citizenship and voting.
But as professor of American studies Brenda Child of the Red
Lake Ojibwe Nation notes, traditionally Ojibwe women inhabited a
world in which the Earth was gendered female. Prior to the arrival
of European settlers, Ojibwe women lived in a society that valued
an entire system of beliefs associated with women's work, not just
the product of their labor.
Early on, Native women influenced the women's rights and suffrage
movements. Although only recently acknowledged by writers of mainstream
history, Native women such as the Haudenosaunee inspired White women's
rights activists Matilda Joslyn Gage, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and
Lucretia Mott.
Traditionally Haudenosaunee women had a great deal of political
authority; they participated in all major decisions and had veto
power over declarations of war. It was women who chose the chiefs.
As described in the Washington
Post, Stanton had frequent contact with Haudenosaunee women
near her home in Seneca Falls, New York, the site of the now-famous
Seneca
Falls Convention, the first women's rights convention held in
1848.
"Indigenous women have had a political voice in their nations
long before White settlers arrived," Sally Roesch Wagner, one of
the first U.S. doctorates to work in women's studies, told the Washington
Post.
For Indigenous women, however, women's rights and voting rights
were tools to be used for survival and defending against the dispossession
of land and resources.
"For Native women, women's rights have never been separate from
Native rights," Child says.
Thus was the case with Grandma Cele. In 1926, a newly minted
U.S. citizen, voter and chairman of the first Indian League of Women
Voters at age 24, Cele used her officially recognized legal power
to advocate for her brother Paul Moore.
I stumbled across Grandma Cele's name completely by accident
as I pored over 1920s-era records of congressional hearings dealing
with misuse of Native trust and treaty funds and corruption within
the Bureau of Indian Affairs. My research was part of an investigative
journalism project examining the misuse of Native funds to pay for
tuition in Catholic
Indian boarding schools.
It was late at night and my eyes were burning from hours of
staring at the tiny print when the name "Cecelia Rabideaux" grabbed
my attention. Initially I thought my tired eyes were deceiving me.
Here was the name of the woman my mother hated, the bad mother who
abandoned her and her four siblings when my mother was a child.
Cele abandoned the family after her first husband, my grandpa
Joe, beat her nearly to death. With little in the way of legal,
economic or social protection for Native women in those days, Cele
was placed at an untenable moral impasse, physical survival or motherhood.
She chose survival; my mother never forgave her and seldom spoke
her name. Cele married a White man and started a new family.
I was surprised to see Cecelia Rabideaux, the long-vilified
woman of my family memories, described by James Frear, representative
for Wisconsin's 9th District, as a "responsible woman" and chairman
of the League of Women Voters. Frear read her notarized statement
before the 1926 Senate Committee on Indian Affairs as an example
of corrupt judicial practices by Bureau of Indian Affairs reservation
superintendents.
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My mother Bernice
and her brother Don, Bad River reservation circa 1983. (Photo
by Mary Annette Pember)
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She'd written to Frear for help, describing how her brother
Paul was arrested without warrant or due process and jailed 70 miles
away from the Bad River Reservation, on the Lac du Flambeau reservation.
Like many Native people during that era, Uncle Paul was arrested
and incarcerated at the whim of a reservation superintendent. Grandma
Cele took the train to Lac du Flambeau and confronted the superintendent,
insisting she be allowed to see Paul. She found him languishing
along with several other Native men and women in a tiny, filthy
jail cell with a ball and chain fastened to his ankle. Eventually
Wisconsin Gov. John Blaine carried Cele's protest all the way to
then-President Calvin Coolidge. Coolidge wired the superintendent
with the recommendation that Uncle Paul be "permitted to escape."
Uncle Paul finally walked free.
Greater surprises about Cele came later. According to the archives
of the Wisconsin League of Voters, the village of Odanah on the
Bad River Ojibwe Reservation is the birthplace of the first Indian
League of Women Voters, established in October 1924. Ellen Penwell,
membership and events manager of the League of Women Voters, forwarded
links to the organization's original newsletter, "Forward."
In November 1924, League president Belle Sherwin wrote in "Forward":
"Most stirring to the imagination is the recent report of
the formation of the first Indian League of Women Voters composed
of 86 women of the Odanah tribe of Wisconsin."
In the November 1929 issue of "Forward," the following appeared,
written by an uncredited author:
"There is little consideration by the Indian Bureau of what
is best for the future of the Indians. The Indian is a citizen
who can vote for national officers but has absolutely no control
over their own affairs.
In Odanah, there is a band of serious thoughtful women who
are just as interested in having everything right for their children
as we are for ours. They want the right to be heard in court on
the same terms as the white race. They want a doctor, a home for
the old people, They want a voice in the village government that
they might improve the condition under which they have to live."
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Students at the St.
Mary's Indian Mission School on the Bad River reservation
circa 1930 (Photo courtesy Bad River historical preservation
office)
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According to Cathleen Cahill, associate professor of history
at Penn State College, it was the work of Native women such as Cele
and members of the Indian League of Women Voters who aided in forwarding
the Wheeler-Howard Act of 1934, which ended federal allotment of
Native lands and stressed self-governance. Cahill is the author
of the upcoming book "Recasting the Vote: How Women of Color Transformed
the Suffrage Movement" and has written extensively about the history
of Native women in politics and government.
Like citizenship and voting rights for Native Americans, some
states were slow in ratifying the 19th Amendment. Wisconsin was
the first in 1920; Mississippi, however, didn't officially ratify
the 19th Amendment until 1984.
Although the Civil Rights Act of 1965 guarantees the right to
vote regardless of race, Native people continue to face efforts
to suppress their votes, such as the Ballot Interference Prevention
Act in Montana.
I was surprised to learn that after she married her second husband
and moved to Idaho in the early 1930s, Grandma Cele didn't pursue
her political activism.
My Uncle Russ, her one remaining son, has no recollection of
Cele expressing any interest in politics after the move to Idaho.
He does recall, however, that she always carried a hatchet under
the front seat of her 1934 Chevy Coupe in case anyone messed with
her.
Nearly 100 years later, as I learn more about Grandma Cele's
remarkable past, her life stands as an allegory for Native women's
ongoing battle and advocacy for family, land, resources and physical
survival.
Despite her mistakes, Cele never abandoned her stubborn belief
that Native people deserved better, that we too are entitled to
the benefits of the democratic process.
I like to think she passed along this burning conviction to
my mother, Bernice, who despite remaining estranged from Cele her
entire life, was fiercely involved in politics and voting rights
as a member of several Democratic women's groups.
"I'm sure there were many Native women like your grandma who
advocated for women's and voting rights whose history we may never
know," says Cahill.
Her upcoming
book includes the histories of more well-known Native suffragists
such as Gertrude Simmons Bonnin, also known as Zitkala-Sa of the
Yankton Sioux tribe and Marie Louise Bottineau Baldwin of the Turtle
Mountain Band of Chippewa, laudable women deserving of praise.
But, on this centennial of the passage of the 19th Amendment,
let us also praise all the obscure loudmouth Native women like Cele
who demanded justice and equity for their people. Although usually
overlooked by the White man's history books, they stand tall and
brave beyond belief. They blazed the trail for us all.
Mary Annette Pember, a citizen of the Red Cliff Ojibwe tribe,
is a national correspondent for Indian Country Today.
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