Tag Archives: Pennsylvania

Pinkertons: Policing labor in the American West

Written December 2, 2015


Policing in the American West began as corporate security in the mid-1800s. The philosophies that shaped that initial endeavor were a powerful force in American policing nationally, through the 19020s and into the early 30s. The first big businesses in the West were the railroads, crossing wildernesses that, for their European-American owners, had no preexisting social structures with which to impose order on their workers. The only authority available in those wild places, was the authority of the company. Investors in the railroads had taken a great financial risk, and their relative lack of control over the men building their railroad agitated their concerns. As Frank Morn noted, “By the mid-1850s a few businessmen saw the need for greater control over their employees; their solution was to sponsor a private detective system. In February 1855, Allan Pinkerton, after consulting with six mid-western railroads, created such and agency in Chicago.”[1] The Pinkertons became a successful means of company control that ran under the guise of creating law and order. Private security for corporations was a lucrative business, even when the agencies came under scrutiny from the public and from the government. The conflict between the public, the government, and the Pinkertons was no small thing. “The emergence of private police … profoundly undermined the American legal order and the public order generally. It underscored the political untouchability and irresponsibility of big business in America.”[2]

Private police forces began in Chicago with the railroads and the Pinkertons, moving first farther west, then east, and proliferating into other industries.[3] Railroads supported all facets of the economies of growing cities.[4] The practices of labor control in railroads naturally moved from one interconnected industry to the next, due the close economic ties between these industries and to the general proliferation of an industrial culture which valued production over quality of life.

The inception of private security for the railroads has sometimes been described as a way of curtailing risk-taking behaviors such as gambling and drinking,[5] but the primary motivation was suppressing labor movements. Organized labor had the potential to be disastrous to the companies’ bottom lines. It could lead to demands for higher wages or better working conditions; it could lead to work stoppages if negotiation was avoided, or to paying higher wages if negotiation was not avoided. Policing the workers leveraged force to prohibit workers from bargaining collectively, which kept labor costs artificially low. It also increased or maintained productivity by circumventing the labor negotiation process. The Pinkertons[6] quickly expanded beyond their original six investors, earning a reputation for effectiveness that relied on their ruthlessness and vigilantism. The corporations that hired the Pinkertons did so because they believed the agency “would go to virtually any length in satisfying the desires of its major business clientele.”[7] The belief was well-founded. An early case, involving the infamous Jesse James, showed investors that the Pinkertons would not hesitate over legality, such that even blatant assassinations were not out of the question.[8]

Shortly before the James assassination, the Pinkertons were hired to “destroy” the Molly Maguires “and perhaps unionism in the coal fields more generally.”[9] The Molly Maguires were a group of Irish revolutionaries-turned-unionists, working in the coal mines in Pennsylvania. The Pinkerton agent assigned to this case, a man named James McParlan, acted as “a classic agent provocateur,”[10] participating in acts of violence as his undercover persona, a member of the Molly Maguires. The violence associated with the group was largely the work of McParlan and others like him, rather than actual members of the group. Bruce Johnson, in his study of policing in America, noted that, “Most of the violence surrounding American labor history was instigated by elites, business or governmental,” and, “Most worker violence in the United States, and there has not been much of it, has been a desperate response to elite violence.”[11] However, the agents’ work laid the foundation of anti-labor perceptions which painted unions as violent and dangerous in the public mind.[12]

The acts of organizing labor – picketing, striking, even joining a union – were illegal until 1935, when New Deal legislation reformed labor laws.[13] After the Homestead strike, a Pennsylvania judge declared that the strike had been treasonous.[14] Yet none of the strikebreaking done by the Pinkertons, at Homestead or elsewhere, was in any way a form of law enforcement. Their methods included nothing resembling due process of the law; their aim was to enforce the will of the corporations, regardless of the coincidence of law. Still, some of the media’s post-Homestead complaints about the Pinkertons centered on the idea that the private detectives were doing the government’s job. The concern was less that strikes were being broken, and more that they were being broken by private armies rather than by the government.[15] Certainly, the government had stepped in to support the interests of business against labor before, in Chicago during the 1877  railroad strike, and 47 more times following that, the National Guard was deployed “to protect the interests of business against those of unionized (or unionizing) workers.”[16] During World War I, local police and the Department of Justice arrested hundreds of members of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW, or “Wobblies”) across the nation.

For their part, government officials seemed relieved that someone else was taking care of the problem,[17] and encouraged the corporate practice of hiring private detectives to do ‘their work’ for them. The importance of improving communication and trade between the East and West coasts was such that the federal government contributed significantly to the financial success of the railroads.[18] Therefore the government, too, had a stake in the economic success of the railroads. The Pinkertons’ engagement in vigilantism removed fault from the government when anti-labor operations became violent or fell out of public favor in any way, while still increasing big business’ confidence. The government’s support of the Pinkertons was visible in the failure of government officials to fully investigate charges against the Pinkertons when charges were brought, or the failure to bring charges at all when the Pinkertons were found to have committed a crime.[19] Even the jeopardization of diplomatic relations with England by the Pinkertons resulted in zero government sanctions for the agency.[20] The implication is that because the elite social class of America included both corporate owners and elected officials, who might often be the same people, what benefitted big businesses would also benefit the individual elected officials, as well as the federal government as an entity.

The large gap between the classes – that is, between the corporate and government elite and the working class – was emphasized by a physical distance between those who were in charge and those who were doing the work.[21] That distance influenced the elites’ tendency to think of the workers in terms of their productivity as a group, rather than as individual people, making the Pinkertons a tools for the mechanisms of labor.

The Pinkertons’ own social distance from the workers of any given factory or railroad made them particularly useful. They, too, had no personal ties to the workers. The agency was hired for specific situations, brought agents from other locations, and did not encourage long-term retention of their agents in the given locale beyond their usefulness to the contracted task. Pinkerton agents’ status as social outsiders in their region of operation made them less likely to be recognized in their undercover operations. It also made the agents less likely to develop sympathy for the unions’ causes – a boon to the corporations in a time when public opinion often swung toward the plight of the unions.

In places where local police forces already existed, the corporations couldn’t always count on their support. For the 1894 Pullman Strike in Chicago[22] and the 1892 Homestead Strike in Pennsylvania, local police were unwilling to act as strikebreakers, and the companies involved hired the Pinkertons. Other strikes did not have so much local support; those organized by the International Workers of the World (IWW, or “Wobblies”) during World War I often aroused suspicions of treason,[23] and failed to garner local support. In those case, the public could be rallied, by and with Pinkertons, as ‘citizen deputies’ to literally remove the strikers from the town. Pinkertons were involved in at least 15 such events between 1912 and 1919.[24] Many more such deportations happened without the Pinkertons’ involvement.[25]

Local support or lack thereof influenced the manner in which corporate security was carried out, but not whether that security was designed and executed in the service of corporations. In every case, big business won, and labor lost. With rare exceptions, Harold Aurand’s analysis of the Molly Maguire case holds true for the war between labor and labor bosses: it was “one of the most astounding surrenders of sovereignty in American history. A private corporation initiated the investigation through a private detective agency; a private police force arrested the offenders; the … company attorneys prosecuted them. The state provided only the courtroom and the hangman.”[26]




Bailey, William F. “The Story of the Central Pacific,” The Pacific Monthly (January and February 1908).

Byrkit, James W. Forging the Copper Collar: Arizona’s Labor-Management War 1901-1921. Tucson, Arizona: The University of Arizona Press, 1982.

Cronon, William. Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991.

Painter, Nell Irvin. Standing at Armageddon: A Grassroots History of the Progressive Era. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2008.

Seven Wonders of the Industrial World. “The Line.” Episode 6. YouTube, 8:20, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3OM_UnnCNM, (accessed November 12, 2015).

Weiss Robert P. “Private Detective Agencies and Labour Discipline in the United States, 1855-1946.” The Historical Journal 29, no. 1 (March 1986).



[1] As quoted in Ward Churchill, “From the Pinkertons to the PATRIOT Act: The Trajectory of Political Policing in the United States, 1870 to Present,” The New Centennial Review 4, no. 1 (Spring 2004): 5.

[2] Bruce C. Johnson, “Taking Care of Labor: The Police in American Politics,” Theory and Society 3, no. 1 (Spring 1976): 95.

[3] Johnson, 94.

[4] William Cronon, Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991), 312.

[5] Seven Wonders of the Industrial World, “The Line,” episode 6, YouTube, 8:20, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3OM_UnnCNM, (accessed November 12, 2015).

[6] The Pinkerton Detective Agency was not the only private detective agency in operation at the time, but it was the most famous and is still the best documented. I will focus on the actions of the Pinkertons as representative of private police activities, as the relatively minute differences between the Pinkertons and their contemporaries is beyond the scope of this paper.

[7] Churchill, 6.

[8] While legends often depict Jesse James as being pursued by lawmen, in fact James was pursued by Pinkertons, who finally arranged for his assassination in 1882; Ibid., 11.

[9] Ibid., 13.

[10] Ibid., 14.

[11] Johnson, 96.

[12] Churchill, 16.

[13] Robert P. Weiss, “Private Detective Agencies and Labour Discipline in the United States, 1855-1946,” The Historical Journal 29, no. 1 (March 1986): 93; Johnson, 92, 96, 100.

[14] Weiss, 93.

[15] Ibid., 94

[16] Churchill, 16.

[17] Ibid., 8.

[18] William F. Bailey, “The Story of the Central Pacific,” The Pacific Monthly (January and February 1908).

[19] Churchill, 23.

[20] Ibid., 8.

[21] The men who ran the railroads in Chicago did so because “they had better access … to eastern capital.” Cronon, 66. Chicago produced almost “a quarter of a billion dollars’ worth of goods” in 1880. Cronon, 311. Although Chicago was generating these goods, much of that wealth and the industrial wealth produced nationally originated with eastern industry and the federal government. Investors were generally located far from the western frontier, where the railroad would actually be constructed.

[22] Johnson, 99.

[23] High levels of patriotism during American involvement with WWI made it easier to rally towns – especially company towns – against unions that were seen to have high ‘foreign’ memberships because patriotism was intensely linked with xenophobia and racism. During WWI, productivity was also linked to patriotism, and any slow in productivity was compared to treason. Nell Irvin Painter, Standing at Armageddon: A Grassroots History of the Progressive Era (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2008), 23-24.

[24] Churchill, 31-37.

[25] The most famous of these was the Bisbee Deportation of 1917, in which approximately 1200 men were rounded up by deputized citizens, loaded onto trains, and shipped out to New Mexico. James W. Byrkit, Forging the Copper Collar: Arizona’s Labor-Management War 1901-1921 (Tucson, Arizona: The University of Arizona Press, 1982).

[26] Harold Aurand, as quoted in Churchill, 15.

Context for Carlisle: Whiteness and Native Assimilation 1880-1900

Written November 7, 2015


It was the end of the Indian Wars. The buffalo were dead and the Indians were starving on their reservations[1]. The rations handed out on reservations by the federal government looked fiscally unsustainable. “After the conquest,” says historian Patricia Limerick, “Indians were a population in trouble, with massive unemployment and poor prospects for economic recovery.”[2] Meanwhile, attendees of the Lake Mohonk Conference of the Friends of the Indian, a group of Progressive-era reformers, decided that the only problem with Indians, was that they were so Indian: “[t]hey acted on the assumption that inside every Indian was a white American citizen and property holder waiting to be set free.”[3] If only they could separate the individual Indian from his tribalism,[4] they could be the heroes of these people whose culture was vanishing[5].

Why not save the vanishing culture along with its individual representatives? Native American culture was enticing, exotic and exciting, evidenced by its role as source material for Wild West shows, an incredibly popular form of entertainment at the time[6]. Native American culture had the nation’s attention. But not all attention is good attention: the culture was, in the eyes of the empowered white public, for entertainment only. It was a child’s game, a clever show in which the “good” guys – white cowboys – always won. It wasn’t real to the white show-goers and policy makers. Indian culture had become a nostalgic recreation, not a way of life that was in any way sustainable in their modern world. More consequentially, Native culture was seen as disabling to the individual Indian; it was a culture that was bound to disappear because in the whitewashed lens of social Darwinism,[7] Native culture was the lesser of two, and must cede the future to the ‘fitter’ white culture. Social Darwinism had reached its popular climax in American discourse; it fueled white arguments both for and against assimilation of Indians. Applied to cultures, Social Darwinism supported allowing the Native American culture to die away unaided; applied to individuals, it argued against ‘helping’ them move into the dominant culture. The reformers who conceived and supported the Indian Boarding Schools took a different stance – they wanted to save the individual Indian by hurrying the demise of Indian culture.

In Legacy of Conquest, historian Patricia Limerick described the Mohonk plan to ‘save’ the Indians, saying “once they had become assimilated, voting property holders themselves, Indians would be able to protect themselves as white Americans did.”[8] There are two key ideas here. First, to be empowered individual Indians had to be made white, not just stripped of their Native culture, because only white people could be the masters of their own destiny. Second, one had to own property and be a member of the electorate in order to protect oneself. Limerick suggests that humanitarians who thought white avarice had made Indians vulnerable were partially to blame for the urgency of the Mohonk reformers, quoting then-Secretary of the Interior Carl Schurz,[9] who said the government was “impotent to protect the Indians on their reservations, especially when held in common, from the encroachments of its own people.[10] But the government, throughout its history of Indian policy, had never shown an inclination to attempt, seriously, to keep settlers out of Indian territories. On the contrary, major events like President Jackson’s Indian Removal program[11] had encouraged the encroachment and outright theft by European-Americans of Native American lands. Furthermore, the Native Americans, like any group, had the best successes when they gathered in larger numbers. Thus the idea that communal lands weakened the stance of the Native Americans seems to fall flat, but for the value that white culture placed on individual property ownership. Private property ownership, or the pursuit of such, was thought by some contemporary philosophers to be one of the primary motivations of the developed human.[12] Living on communal land, then, further lessened the Native American in the eyes of white culture.

The Mohonk group set out to rescue Native Americans from Native culture, with Richard Henry Pratt at the helm with his Carlisle Indian Industrial Boarding School, to be funded and managed by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Pratt, who is the first person known to use the word ‘racism,’ was one of the Mohonk attendees.[13] His school, he believed, would help Native American children, by cutting their tribal ties, removing them from their cultural practices, and teaching them to be ‘civilized’ – which was code for ‘white’. American progressivism, says historian Christina Snyder, was “still shaped around ideas of whiteness,”[14] but ‘whiteness’ itself was a vaguely defined classification. For Pratt and his fellow Mohonks, whiteness was a culture to which Indians could be elevated, but the scientific community was in the grip of a different philosophy. For Daniel Brinton, the president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science in 1895, whiteness was an inescapably superior anatomical classification, reserved primarily for Anglo-Saxons.[15]

Brinton’s work gave a convenient rationale to the pervasive cultural chauvinism that defined race relations at the turn of the century, but for the majority of the white American population, from which the administrators and teachers of the boarding schools came, the culture of white authority was largely unconscious. It would be decades before science would verify the tendency of people in power to abuse that power,[16] yet Pratt shows a certain amount of naiveté in thinking that boarding schools would be conducted without abuse to Indian children. By the time the schools were investigated in the 1920s (six years after the close of the Carlisle School), it was clear that wasn’t the case. A 1928 report, titled The Meriam Report, said, “Punishments of the most harmful sort are bestowed in sheer ignorance, often in a sincere attempt to be of help.”[17] The intention to help seems to have been consistent. The experience of the intent varied considerably.

“Most unsettling is the experience of reading an Indian autobiography and finding in the details of the individual’s life no mention of the federal policies that were supposedly the key determinants of Indian life,” observed Limerick.[18] Indian boarding schools are a striking exception to that observation. Narratives of abuse at the hands of school administrators shape the theme of survivors’ stories; instances of kind treatment are harder to find. In Don’t Let the Sun Step Over You, Apache Eva Tulene Watt recalls her, her mother’s, and her siblings’ attendance at multiple boarding schools, including one Fransiscan school, St. John’s Indian School and Mission near Laveen, Arizona. Watt also details her family’s experiences at the government-run schools they attended, at Rice Station and San Carlos, Arizona, and Pratt’s own Carlisle school in Pennsylvania. The stories contained in Watt’s narrative frequently compare the schools. Some were thought to be “good” because the children had enough to eat while they were there (Carlisle) or they got beaten less often (St. John’s). Watt tells, too, of the “children catcher,” who caught her brothers one summer, and took them to the school at San Carlos without notifying their parents.[19] It must have been horrifying for the parents whose children simply didn’t come home from playing, but the rationale is clear. The boarding schools were mandatory; the parents and the parents’ culture were precisely what the policy sought to cut from the children. The Bureau of Indian Affairs wasn’t concerned with the consent of the vanishing race.

It’s easy to look back at Pratt and his Mohonk contemporaries and condemn their beliefs as culturally chauvinistic, describing as they did the failings of Indian culture compared to white culture, but there are aspects of their stance that are morally commendable, even by modern standards. At a time when many of the governing people wanted to outright murder the Indians, reformers like Pratt wanted – truly – to help. His arguments for assimilation countered popular science that would have made it easy to ignore the fate of Indians. Attempting to save the lives of the individual Native Americans was, in the context of the times, admirable, and perhaps the only effective way to help at all. One imagines that anyone advocating for simply treating Indian nations as we would have treated European nations – honoring borders and treaties, for instance – would have been chided into obscurity, accomplishing nothing. This was the age of Emerson, the abolitionist who firmly believed in the superiority of his mythical White Race, which for him described only people of English ancestry.[20] Was there any other option, any alternative to assimilation or annihilation that could have succeeded politically?

Pratt himself faced constant challenge from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, which was then largely populated by those who thought off-reservation boarding schools wasteful. The disagreement between Pratt and the Bureau of Indian Affairs’ administration was not just a friendly philosophical difference of opinions. In 1886 the Superintendent of Schools under the Bureau’s control, John H. Oberly, threatened “to have [Pratt’s] scalp.”[21]

Eventually, Pratt’s philosophy of assimilation lost the confidence of the legislature, and the school was closed. The heyday of Indian Boarding Schools was over, though most lingered much longer than Carlisle.[22] The loss of legislative support was not in response to abuses in the schools, nor was it a shift toward a more helpful approach to the difficulties of Native Americans. Rather, it was a response to the rising public fear of ‘race-mixing,’ a social response to white fear of black and immigrant integration[23] that spilled across all the races. Assimilation became frightening to the electorate, and the legislature could not support any endeavors associated with it.

The pressure on Native Americans to be assimilated reduced, and may have even reversed in some ways, but that generation’s ties to family and culture were already damaged beyond repair.[24] The Indian Boarding Schools that remain in use have evolved into places that preserve and encourage Native culture, but they are still controversial to those involved in them. For those not involved, the schools are part of history, assumed to be closed. The nation has turned its attention away from the Native American. “Told so often that the Indians were vanishing, many Americans… assumed that it was true.”[25]



Brinton, Daniel. “The Aims of Anthropology.” Science 2, no. 35 (1895): 241-52.

“Carl Schurz.” Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Schurz (accessed October 29, 2015).

“Carlisle Indian Industrial School.” Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlisle_Indian_Industrial_School (accessed October 29, 2015).

Cave, Alfred A. “Abuse of Power: Andrew Jackson and the Indian Removal Act of 1830.” The Historian 65, no. 6 (December 2003): 1330-1353.

Cronon, William. Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991.

Demby, Gene. “The Ugly, Fascinating History of the Word Racism.” NPR. http://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2014/01/05/260006815/the-ugly-fascinating-history-of-the-word-racism (accessed October 31, 2015).

“Historical Trauma.” About Healing and Justice. National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition. http://www.boardingschoolhealing.org/historical-trauma (accessed November 4, 2015).

Leonard, Thomas C. “Origins of the Myth of Social Darwinism: The Ambiguous Legacy of Richard Hofstadter’s Social Darwinism in American Thought.” Journal of Economic Behavior & Organization71 (2009): 37-51.

“Letter from Richard H. Pratt to Cornelius R. Agnew.” Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center. Dickinson College. http://carlisleindian.dickinson.edu/topics/mohonk-conference (accessed November 1, 2015).

Limerick, Patricia Nelson. The Legacy of Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1987.

Painter, Nell Irvin. The History of White People. New York: W.W. Norton, 2010.

Zimbardo, Philip. “Stanford Prison Experiment.” Social Psychology Network. http://www.prisonexp.org/ (accessed November 2, 2015).



[1] William Cronon, Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1991), 218.

[2] Patricia Nelson Limerick, The Legacy of Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1987), 210.

[3] Ibid., 196.

[4] Ibid., 196.

[5] “Carlisle Indian Industrial School,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlisle_Indian_Industrial_School (accessed October 29, 2015).

[6] Ibid.

[7] Thomas C. Leonard, “Origins of the Myth of Social Darwinism: The Ambiguous Legacy of Richard Hofstadter’s Social Darwinism in American Thought,” Journal of Economic Behavior & Organization 71 (2009): 37-51.

[8] Limerick, Legacy of Conquest, 197.

[9] Carl Schurz was the US Secretary of the Interior from 1876 to 1881; “Carl Schurz,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Schurz (accessed October 29, 2015).

[10] Limerick, Legacy of Conquest, 197.

[11] The Indian Removal Program under President Andrew Jackson is described in Alfred A. Cave, “Abuse Of Power: Andrew Jackson And The Indian Removal Act Of 1830,” The Historian 65, no. 6 (December 2003): 1330-53.

[12] This idea was repeated by anthropologist Daniel Brinton, and is a paraphrase of John Stuart Mill’s ideas of human motivation; for more, see Daniel Brinton, “The Aims of Anthropology.” Science 2, no. 35 (1895): 251.

[13] Pratt’s use of ‘racism’ would come to be seen as ironic, because he was speaking against racism while lobbying for Indian Boarding Schools; Gene Demby, “The Ugly, Fascinating History of the Word Racism,” NPR, http://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2014/01/05/260006815/the-ugly-fascinating-history-of-the-word-racism (accessed October 31, 2015).

[14] Ibid.

[15] Nell Irvin Painter, The History of White People (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010), 235-36.

[16] This was most famously demonstrated by the Stanford Prison experiment in 1971; for more, see Philip Zimbardo, “Stanford Prison Experiment,” Social Psychology Network, http://www.prisonexp.org/ (accessed November 2, 2015).

[17] The report was named after it’s supervisor, Lewis Meriam; Charla Bear, “American Indian Boarding Schools Haunt Many,” NPR, http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16516865 (accessed November 2, 2015).

[18] Limerick, Legacy of Conquest, 195.

[19] Eva Tulene Watt and Keith H. Basso, Don’t Let the Sun Step Over You: A White Mountain Apache Family Life, 1860-1975 (Tucson, Arizona: University of Arizona Press, 2004), 33-145.

[20] Painter, History of White People, 151-189.

[21] Pratt relayed this in a letter to his friend, Dr. Cornelius Agnew, dated March 27, 1886; Oberly was the Commissioner of the BIA from 1888 to 1889, but it’s unclear what years he was Superintendent of the School, except for his mention as that in Pratt’s letter. “Letter from Richard H. Pratt to Cornelius R. Agnew.” Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center, Dickinson College, http://carlisleindian.dickinson.edu/topics/mohonk-conference (accessed November 1, 2015).

[22] Carlisle closed in 1914 as more schools opened in the western states, closer and therefore more convenient to the reservations. The proximity was important to the Bureau of Indian Affairs because it reduced transportation costs. There are still some of these schools open today, but they are conducted under a vastly different philosophy, which includes retaining Indian culture. Charla Bear, “American Indian Boarding Schools Haunt Many,” NPR, http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16516865.

[23] Painter, History of White People, 301.

[24] “Historical Trauma,” About Healing and Justice, National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition, http://www.boardingschoolhealing.org/historical-trauma (accessed November 4, 2015).

[25] Limerick, Legacy of Conquest, 213.