May: white privilege will save Native kids from their cultures

George Washington was a warlord because enslaved people afforded him cannon, muskets, powder and ball. And, if they were alive today he and President Jefferson would be horrified to learn the US is operating on a manual written in the Eighteenth Century. But, blurring one line between church and state America's founders extolled the virtue of education as local schools were run both by christian sects and by local municipalities under the Tenth Amendment to the US Constitution. 

But it was not until 1867 and Reconstruction made public education a federal prerogative when President Andrew Johnson created a Department of Education as a proxy for race politics. Missionaries were hired then dispatched to the Deep South to provide schooling for whites and Negroes alike and Roman Catholics were enabled in the American West to assimilate Indigenous youth. Congress was incensed then demoted the Education Department after a year making it part of the Interior Department yet abuses continued. 

The concept of a charter school began in 1971 as a progressive movement but especially in red states has since been hijacked by the far white wing of the Republican Party to advance the New Apostolic Reformation. Dominion theology supposes christians must control the seven “mountains” of government, education, media, arts and entertainment, religion, family, and business in order to establish a global christianic theocracy and prepare the world for Jesus’ return. Many catholic schools are in the Hillsdale bubble because the curriculum ignores the church’s role in the Native American Genocide.

Today, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt would be putting American Indigenous in concentration camps arguing it’s for their own protection, the United States has become the Hamiltonian Empire Thomas Jefferson warned us about and resistance is futile. 

Liz May is a white christianic Earth hater who clearly ignores historical trauma and institutional racism but represents District 27 in South Dakota's demented legislature anyway. She blames the victims of Manifest Destiny for being part of the Fourth World.

We Protected the System. The Children Are Still Waiting. By Rep. Liz May, District 27 

SB 218 was not about policy theory. It was about children like the ones a teacher recently described to me — children most of us will never see inside our comfortable circles. “Almost every home is broken,” she said. “Nearly all have at least one addict parent. Some came to us suicidal.” 

These are kids who walk into classrooms carrying trauma most adults would struggle to survive. They are not worried about test scores. They are worried about whether there will be food at home, whether a parent will be sober, whether they are safe. 

I don’t read about this in reports. I live it. In many rural communities and on or near our reservations, geography alone limits opportunity. There are no specialized campuses down the road. No statewide autism centers within driving distance. No dyslexia intervention programs readily available. Families raising children with autism, dyslexia, or other learning disorders often face hours of travel for services — if services exist at all. In some areas, there is simply nothing beyond the traditional model. When your child needs specialized support and your zip code determines whether that help exists, “choice” is not theoretical — it is nonexistent. 

I grow weary of hearing that the problem is simply parenting. Yes, family instability is real. Addiction is real. Trauma is real. Poverty is real. But if we stop there, we are not diagnosing the problem — we are excusing ourselves from trying to break the cycle. Children do not choose the homes they are born into. They do not choose addiction. They do not choose instability. If anything, those realities make the role of education more urgent, not less. 

If generational cycles are the challenge, then education must be part of the solution. Otherwise, we are simply describing a cycle we have no intention of breaking. Every single session, we admit the system is not reaching every student. We file bills to carve out behavioral health exceptions. We create pilot programs for one county. We authorize limited alternative placements. We stand on the floor and acknowledge — again — that something is not working. But instead of confronting the structure itself, we patch around the edges. We build carve-outs because we are unwilling to question the foundation. If the model were truly working for all children, we would not need a steady stream of exceptions to keep it standing. 

This was not the first attempt at reform. Over several legislative sessions, proposals for expanding educational flexibility have been introduced. Each time, the response has followed the same pattern: narrow carve-outs are acceptable, but structural change is not. When reform begins to alter governance or funding authority, the establishment pushes back. Not because the need disappears — but because the structure is threatened. 

SB 218 would not have dismantled public education. It would have created structural flexibility. It would have allowed communities to design schools that fit their students — not force students to fit a single governance model. It would have made many of those yearly carve-outs unnecessary. 

The South Dakota Education Association, aligned with the national NEA, advocates for a district-centered system. Its affiliated political action committee, EPIC, supports candidates who share that priority. That is legal. That is transparent. And it is effective. When elections consistently reinforce protection of the existing structure, reform becomes harder — even when reform is aimed at the children who are struggling most. 

That is not conspiracy. It is politics. 

But politics does not sit in a classroom with a child who is suicidal. Politics does not walk into a home where addiction has hollowed out stability. Politics does not look into the eyes of a teacher who says, “Almost every home is broken.” 

That teacher was not asking to protect a governance model. She was asking for flexibility to save kids. 

Since SB 218 failed, I have not been able to shake it. We are a legislative body of 105 elected representatives and senators — one hundred and five adults entrusted with shaping the future of this state. And yet, year after year, we struggle to find either the courage or the consensus to create meaningful change for the children who need it most. 

Last night I went to bed thinking about our failure. I woke up this morning thinking about how much time we spend debating bills that will barely move the needle — while the hard conversations about structural change are delayed, diluted, or dismissed. We argue over technicalities. We protect turf. We preserve comfort. And in doing so, we avoid the deeper question: why can’t we figure out how to help the underserved children we all acknowledge are struggling? 

I do not feel better today about the state of education than I did before this vote. If anything, I feel a heavier responsibility. Because if we — as 105 elected officials — cannot summon the will to address structural limitations in a system we openly admit is not reaching every child, then what message are we sending to the families who are waiting for something different? Institutions naturally defend themselves. That is human nature. But legislatures are not elected to protect institutions — they are elected to protect children. Especially the ones with the least voice. Especially the ones who cannot move districts or write tuition checks. 

We just set aside hundreds of millions of dollars for a new prison. We call it planning for the future. But if we continue protecting a system that we admit — year after year — requires carve-outs to compensate for its limitations, then we are planning for failure long before we are planning for safety. 

SB 218 did not threaten children. It threatened control. 

When forced to choose between preserving a governance model and opening doors for underserved communities, we chose preservation. 

The system survived. 

But somewhere tonight, a child who needed a different door to open is still walking into the same one — carrying the same weight— because we chose to protect structure over courage. 

We protected the system. 

The children are still waiting.