A path toward reconciliation and healing at Gustavus Adolphus College

In the last several years, the Minnesota college has been re-examining its painful settler history and building relationships with Dakota partners.

By Ursula Lindqvist

October 16, 2024 at 10:00PM
"In September 1862, in Red Wing, as war raged nearby, pastor Eric Norelius welcomed the inaugural class of a new college founded by Swedish Lutheran immigrants that would come to be called Gustavus Adolphus College," Ursula Lindqvist writes. (File photo)

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A colleague recently shared a concept she learned in social justice circles: “The gift is in the wound.” As a Finnish-Swedish settler on Dakota lands, I’m learning that revisiting points of wounding in our regional history is a fraught, messy process that demands vulnerability and commitment far beyond a one-day commemoration of Indigenous People’s Day. And yet, the day invites us to pause and reflect — particularly on the events of 1862, arguably the deepest wounding in Minnesota’s history.

In May 1862, Congress passed the Homestead Act, accelerating settlement of Native lands and displacement of Native people. That summer, the U.S.-Dakota War ravaged southwestern Minnesota, resulting in the deaths of 200 settlers — men, women and children — and relocation of about 10,000 others. Soldiers later rounded up thousands of Dakota — combatants and noncombatants alike — and marched them more than 100 miles on foot in wintry conditions from Morton to Fort Snelling. That December, 38 Dakota men, condemned for war crimes by President Abraham Lincoln, were hanged in a Mankato public square. Any remaining Dakota were hunted down and killed, imprisoned or exiled.

In September 1862, in Red Wing, as war raged nearby, pastor Eric Norelius welcomed the inaugural class of a new college founded by Swedish Lutheran immigrants that would come to be called Gustavus Adolphus College. Two of his students were from settler families displaced by the war. One of them, Jonas Magny, later recalled that his classmates “debated on the question: ‘What would be the best to do with Indians?’ One side held that it was best to civilize and Christianize them. The opposition said that approach was futile; it was better ‘to shoot them dead.’” This debate exemplifies the depth of the war’s wounds, which still fester 162 years later.

In 1876, Gustavus relocated to St. Peter. By then, no Dakota remained in the area, which had absorbed thousands of settler families displaced by the war, creating a cauldron for generational narratives of white settler trauma. Witness accounts ran in local newspapers on anniversaries of war-related events. Monuments arose for settler families who lost their lives. These observances condemned “Indian” savagery, with no Dakota voices permitted to tell their own stories of starvation, cultural annihilation and forced exile.

But now many Dakota have returned home. And it’s time for all of us to listen.

Since 2018, Native representatives have challenged Gustavus to explore our own history as a settler institution, an important step toward reconciliation with Native people. Working with students from our history and Scandinavian studies departments, we have conducted research on how and why we came to occupy these Dakota lands. In addition to the history above, we learned that the first private owner of the Dakota land on which Gustavus stands was a Southern slave owner, Britain S. Ware. President James Buchanan had granted him the land in 1858 as a reward for military service, a common practice until the 1860s. Further research revealed that Ware’s service consisted of “Cherokee removal” from Georgia. It became clear that our college’s own history as a settler institution is deeply embedded in the settler history of our entire nation.

Why does this matter? First, as an educational institution, our vocation is to seek often inconvenient truths. Only then can we manifest the Gustavus core values of excellence, community, service, justice and faith. Second, there are 28 Native children in our local K-12 schools, and even more Native families in our community who do not deserve to be stigmatized by one-sided histories of settler trauma. We exist in a community space and we must welcome the voices of all members of our community when we tell stories about this place.

Finally, by re-examining our own painful settler history, we stand on firmer ground to build relationships with Dakota partners. Dakota artist Marlena Myles was an artist-in-residence here, Dakota elder Joe Whitehawk has served as our elder-in-residence since 2023, and the number of students and staff who participate in programming around Indigenous relations and culture, such as the annual Mahkato Wacipi (powwow), grows every year. We are grateful to our Dakota partners for walking with us on a shared path toward reconciliation and healing.

Because the gift is in the wound.

Prof. Ursula Lindqvist is the Thorstensson, McKnight, Nordstrom Endowed Chair in Scandinavian Studies at Gustavus Adolphus College and was founding co-chair of the school’s President’s Council for Indigenous Relations.

about the writer

Ursula Lindqvist