I used to be three songs into an evening of karaoke with the household once I acquired the information alert that State Consultant Frank Chopp had handed away. It was startling. I paused to take it in and really feel the loss. His affect has been immense. Frank had a strong steadfastness in his dedication to creating change for his group. He discovered methods ahead even when it appeared inconceivable to serve probably the most weak. He was a continuing presence—unrelenting, at all times vigilant—reminding us that when one suffers, all of us undergo. He mentored us within the methods of justice and urged us to embrace “good bother.”
The burden of Frank’s passing hit me even more durable as a result of his perception in justice and group had performed such a pivotal function in my very own journey. I first met him in 2014, early in my profession as Government Director of Chief Seattle Membership. Our staff had gone deep into the info and realized that our unhoused Native family members—these within the system in search of housing—had been experiencing dismal outcomes. We had been making an attempt to achieve a system that didn’t perceive the precise cultural wants of Native individuals experiencing homelessness. That system didn’t account for the trauma of compelled elimination from conventional homelands, the legacy of boarding colleges, or the impacts of the Indian City Relocation period that introduced 1000’s of Native individuals to Seattle.
The opposite actuality was, and nonetheless is, that there isn’t sufficient inexpensive housing on this metropolis.
So, we determined to reclaim our proper to take care of our family members. We started exploring the concept of constructing our personal inexpensive housing. On the time, we had been a smaller nonprofit, and plenty of in each the nonprofit and authorities sectors thought we had been lower than the duty.
Somebody suggested us to speak to Frank Chopp—to share our concepts and get his ideas. Throughout our first dialog, I shortly walked him by the info and our imaginative and prescient for constructing housing that served our group. I nervously waited for his response.
He didn’t give me an inventory of explanation why we couldn’t do it. He regarded me within the eye and mentioned, “It’s a good suggestion. Let me know the way I can help you.”
That was a part of Frank’s magic—he believed in individuals. He believed in our ardour, our dedication, our righteous anger, and our deep love for our family members who had been sleeping exterior on the highest charges within the metropolis. Whereas others thought we had been naive, underfunded, or unrealistic, Frank thought we had been precisely the best individuals to construct housing that will work for our group. He threw himself into supporting our first challenge—providing concepts, considering by the funding, and leveraging his affect to make it occur.
As we acquired to know one another, he would encourage me to run for workplace, construct extra housing, and be extra concerned in shaping the methods that had been failing so many. When his title popped up on my cellphone, I knew it might be a fast hey after which straight to enterprise: Have you ever heard about this property? Have you considered how group schools might leverage their land? Are you able to meet me at Tutta Bella on Friday? I need you to fulfill somebody.
His vitality and enthusiasm for constructing inexpensive housing had been unmatched—and contagious.
Lately, I stepped into a brand new function as Interim Government Director on the Seattle Indian Companies Fee. Considered one of my most important duties is getting ready the Fee to construct culturally attuned inexpensive housing for Native households. Simply final month, I made an inventory of elected officers and housing advocates I wished to achieve out to—and Frank was on that listing. I am so unhappy that we can’t have that dialog.
I am additionally nervous about what his loss means for all of us. His perception in communities which have lengthy been ignored—or worse, harmed—by housing methods was transformational. He believed we should always not simply have a say in housing coverage—we should always lead it.
I had hoped to speak to him about what’s subsequent for inexpensive housing. I wished to listen to his ideas on the rising critique—that regardless of our greatest efforts, we’re nonetheless not constructing sufficient housing. That regulation and coverage bottlenecks are contributing to the disaster. I wished to listen to what Frank thought we might do higher, and the place we should always go from right here.
His passing leaves a void not simply within the legislature, however within the hearts of all those that fought beside him for justice. Frank wasn’t only a policymaker; he was a information, somebody who made you imagine that even within the face of insurmountable challenges, change was potential. His unwavering help of communities like mine—usually pushed apart by mainstream methods—was his life’s work. And now, together with his absence, we should carry that work ahead.
In my Higher Ahtna Athabascan household, we course of grief collectively in a potlatch (gathering) that lasts three days. We eat collectively, share our greatest tales concerning the one we’ve misplaced, pray, maintain formal providers—after which, we dance and sing. Some songs are unhappy, however by the final evening, we sang the glad ones, celebrating our family members with pleasure and gratitude.
As I write this, it has been three days since Frank’s passing.
To my beloved Seattle group, be part of me in singing the joyful, grieving songs for our good friend, brother, chief, and elder. Frank gave us his all. Now, we give our all in return—by songs of affection, gratitude, and motion. We proceed Frank’s tune as we pursue justice, freedom, and a future the place each particular person has housing, safety, and abundance.
Colleen Echohawk is a former mayoral candidate and revered civic chief with greater than twenty years of expertise championing Seattle’s Native populations.
