Alright, so you know how sometimes politics and education mix in ways that get complicated? Well, pull up a chair, because what happened with a Native American studies class in Texas is a perfect example of how state policy, constitutional questions, and real people's lives bump right up against each other. It’s a story about legal fights, the power of state boards, and what exactly we want kids to learn in school. Imagine you're Savion Horn, a senior in high school, and you're seeing these old black-and-white pictures. Kids, much younger than you, first with their long hair and traditional clothes, then, after, with short haircuts, looking stiff in uniforms. This was part of his American Indian/Native Studies class – AINS, for short – at Grand Prairie High School. For Savion, who's a descendant of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, this was his first real lesson on the U.S. government's forced assimilation efforts, the Native American boarding schools. These schools, you see, were designed to strip away Native culture, language, and identity. It’s heavy stuff, and Savion described it as pretty emotional. He said they weren't allowed to speak their language or express themselves through art or music. This AINS class? It wasn't just pulled out of thin air. It started as a pilot program in Grand Prairie in 2021, but it took years of dedicated work by Indigenous parents and educators across Texas. They built the course materials from scratch. The idea actually began brewing in 2018 when the State Board of Education – that's our elected body that sets curriculum rules for public schools – asked for more ethnic studies classes, building on a successful Chicano/Mexican American studies class they’d approved earlier. Two years later, the board even certified AINS as an “innovative course,” meaning other districts could pick it up. Sounds good, right? But here’s where things get thorny, legally speaking. By 2025, when the AINS class came up for its regular five-year renewal – that’s just how innovative courses work – the political climate in Texas had shifted big time. Starting in 2021, the state really started cracking down on how schools teach about race, ethnicity, and gender. Governor Greg Abbott signed Senate Bill 3, which tries to limit what it calls “controversial issues” in classrooms. The law says teachers need to approach these topics “objectively and in a manner free from political bias.” Now, that sounds fine on paper, but in practice, figuring out what’s “controversial” or “biased” can feel like navigating a minefield for educators. Then, just last June, another bill, SB 12, passed. This one lets parents review and object to K-12 educational materials and bans policies, activities, or programs that “reference race, color, ethnicity, gender identity, or sexual orientation.” So, you've got these two big laws, both aimed at what's often called “anti-DEI” (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) or anti-CRT (Critical Race Theory) sentiments, creating a lot of uncertainty in schools. On top of that, federal executive orders from President Donald Trump were also calling for an end to DEI practices in public schools and colleges, adding another layer of pressure. Even the leadership of the Texas education board had changed, making the course review process much tougher. When the AINS class was on the chopping block, groups like the Ethnic Studies Network of Texas and Native-led nonprofits, such as the Society of Native Nations, really stepped up. They worked hard, making their case for the course's survival. Four different Native nations from Texas and Oklahoma even officially endorsed AINS, which carries significant weight given their unique sovereign status. This wasn't just about a class; it was about recognition and preserving identity, something that ties directly into the distinct political status of tribal nations. The board’s hearing in June got pretty heated. Most members supported the class, and they seemed to get why organizers were frustrated with the drawn-out renewal. But some board members had serious concerns. For instance, one argument was that discussing the role of Catholic churches in the mistreatment of Native students at boarding schools might make Christian students feel ashamed. Another board member questioned land acknowledgements, those statements recognizing Indigenous people as the original inhabitants of a specific area. This person suggested some land was traded, given to settlers, or simply unclaimed, making it unclear who the original owners really were. These concerns touch on religious freedom and historical interpretation, both tricky areas when it comes to curriculum. After two days of intense debate, the board finally voted 9-5 to renew the course. There was a bit of a compromise: they removed a specific passage in a reading about George Washington that some board members found objectionable. So, for now, the class gets another five years as an innovative course. Supporters see this as a big win, especially with all the anti-DEI efforts happening across the country. They hope it gives other states a blueprint for keeping or creating similar classes. Sarah B. Shear, a social studies and multicultural education professor, pointed out how important this win is. Her work shows that most K-12 social studies curriculum often leaves out the present-day contributions of Indigenous people. And you know, because of research like hers, a few other states and districts have started to expand Native studies. Washington state, for example, mandated tribal history, culture, and government in every school district way back in 2015, following Montana’s lead in 1999. California expanded its history lessons in 2025 to include more Native perspectives on the Gold Rush and Spanish colonial periods. And in Arizona, students have to take at least two social studies courses that include their state’s Native American history. Back in Texas, the creation of the AINS course was a real grassroots effort. Twenty-two people, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, came together over Zoom during the pandemic to develop the content. It covers everything from geography and arts to contemporary Indigenous achievements across the U.S. and Texas. What’s really interesting from a legal point of view is that the content also includes major Supreme Court cases on tribal affairs, the history of boarding schools, and even Stephen F. Austin’s policies targeting Native populations. They also talk about topics like mascots and Indigenous scholarship, bringing in a full range of issues that affect Native communities. Course creators even held training sessions for educators. Lanette Aguero, the social studies coordinator for Grand Prairie, was one of them. She brought the class to her district after an ethnic studies conference. Even though the Native American student population in Grand Prairie is small – about 120 in a district of 27,000 – the Dallas area has a significant Native American population. The class started with 12 students in 2021 and grew to 48 by 2024. Two other districts, Robstown and Crowley, adopted it last year too. Kimberly Rafalski, a social studies teacher at Grand Prairie and one of the first to teach AINS, admitted she often learned right alongside her students. They explored pre-contact histories and the ongoing stories of Indigenous peoples, content that’s usually missing from textbooks. She said some days were tough, like after discussing boarding schools, thinking about her own kids. But the class also celebrated Indigenous resilience through art. She put it plainly: “There’s a lot of things in this class. They’re hard topics to teach. There’s no sensationalizing any of it.” But, she added, they always balance the difficult parts with stories of perseverance. When the state education board first called for ethnic studies classes in 2018, there were differing ideas. Some members thought the content should be in separate courses, while others wanted it integrated into existing ones. Supporters pointed to research that shows including diverse representation in textbooks can actually improve student performance. Opponents worried that classes focused on specific ethnic groups might cause division. Ultimately, Texas approved a Mexican American studies course that year, a first for the state and a K-12 first for any state board of education. The Native studies class followed, and an Asian American studies class got the green light in 2024. Students who took the AINS class really liked it. About 97% of those surveyed by the Texas Education Agency said they felt more positive about Native American/Indigenous culture. One student said it helped them feel less afraid of who they are as a Native American. Walter Dougherty, a 10-year-old from the Conroe Independent School District, even testified for the course. He said his classes used to only talk about ancient civilizations, not today's Native Americans. He simply said, “People talk about us like we’re gone, but we’re not. I’m right here.” He wants people to know his Cherokee culture and history because it makes him proud. Cheyenne Rendon, a senior policy officer for the Society of Native Nations and a lifelong Texan, echoed this, saying she can’t imagine her son not learning about his ancestors. For her, AINS offers hope that Native cultures won’t be erased. Now, about those anti-DEI policies. During the renewal discussions, the big question kept coming up: Does this class break Texas's new laws? Orlando Lara, cofounder of the Ethnic Studies Network of Texas, stepped up to defend the course's legality. He pointed to an April 2025 letter from the federal Department of Education that explicitly states, “American Indian, Alaska Native, and Native Hawaiian history is not classified as diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) or critical race theory (CRT).” This is a super important legal distinction. The federal government recognizes Native Americans as having distinct political identities as members of sovereign tribal nations, not just as a racial or ethnic group. This means that laws targeting “race, color, ethnicity” for DEI purposes don’t apply in the same way to the unique legal and political status of tribal nations. But some board members still pressed Lara on the technical definitions of race and ethnicity, trying to figure out how to interpret the state's new laws. Lara later explained that the Texas Education Agency's lack of clear guidance on the 2021 “controversial issues” legislation left many districts in the dark about what was allowed. His group is now trying to get the word out: there’s no reason to be afraid of teaching this class. There were other points of contention, of course. State school board member Julie Pickren, a Republican from Pearland, claimed the course materials depicted “President George Washington as a terrorist” and accused Christian missions and churches of “kidnapping and sending kids to reeducation camps.” Pickren didn't respond to requests for an interview, but her comments about Washington likely referred to a resource describing his 1779 campaign against Iroquois villages. Washington’s orders to his army during that campaign included instructions “to rush on with the war-whoop and fixed bayonet” because nothing would “disconcert and terrify the Indians more than this.” While historical, the framing of such events is where educational policy and interpretations often clash. Audrey Young, another Republican board member representing the Houston area, shared similar concerns. She argued that the 2024 curriculum standards, which require “suitable” educational materials to promote patriotism and lawful activity, should apply to innovative courses like AINS. She wrote in an email that while suitability standards aren’t currently required for innovative courses, she believes “if courses are being taught to students, then they should have to follow ALL the laws.” This highlights a clear legal and policy disagreement on how state standards should apply across different types of curriculum offerings. Despite these objections, Pickren and Young were among the five who voted against the class, but the nine members who voted for it ultimately won. Supporters, like Gustavo Reveles, a Democrat representing El Paso, said the materials had already been thoroughly reviewed. He simply stated, “It is Texas history.” He pointed out that kids should see themselves represented in state and national history, not just through figures like Washington or Lincoln, but also through people who look and talk like them. This gets at the core of equitable representation in public education. While this approval is a big deal, it's just one step. The course is still vulnerable because it's only an “innovative course.” The folks who put this class together are now pushing to get its standards approved as Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills, or TEKS. If it becomes a TEKS course, it would be much more stable and less open to challenges during future reviews. As it stands, the class faces another board vote in 2030. Course organizers are also working to get more districts and educators to adopt the class, spreading its reach and making its long-term future more secure. Savion Horn, who sparked this conversation, graduated last spring and is now traveling with his family, organizing circuses. He said the class helped him connect with his Potawatomi Nation culture and family. He now hopes to get more involved with local Native communities and participate in the Texas powwow trail, a cultural celebration that happens in several Texas cities each year. For him, it’s about knowing where you're from and appreciating your community. And for Texas, it’s about grappling with what history we tell, who gets to tell it, and how state laws shape that crucial decision.