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Native peoples are especially impacted by the opiod crisis

From the U.S. to Central America

Native peoples  have the highest rates of opiod addiction in the United States. This is leading to high rates of incarceration, violence, broken families and children going from school to prison or committing suicide. 


Currently a  large influx of Indigenous people are coming to the United States from Central America. The results of opiod related devastation.


Men, women and children are fleeing opiod related persecution and corruption in their  homelands including Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua. They often walk the entire way carrying small children and eluding gangs and cartels, surviving extreme weather conditions and finally facing deplorable conditions when they arrive at the border seeking sanctuary.

Learn More


"In their eyes, I see the struggles, violence and despair they've struggled through in their homelands and along the way, including genocide in Guatemala....the sadness at leaving parents, grandparents and family they may never see again to try to make better lives for their children," -All Relations United's Managing Director Lorelei Marie




Learn how All Relations United is helping

all relations united is helping to save the next generation

Our Children Need Opportunities

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 And incentives to stay in school, get good grades, stay away from addiction and to create successful lives.

To be Welcomed and Given Sanctuary from persecution

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Many children are traveling alone from their homelands, having lost parents and family members to gangs and violence.

To Have Their Basic Human Needs Met

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Our relatives from the Southern lands of Central America have been traumatized by extreme poverty, extortion and threats to their lives and safety from gangs.

They Often Come With Only the Clothes on Their Backs

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And journey thousands of miles to reach safety in a foreign land where they are challenged further by language and culture as well as educational and job opportunities.

Every Child Deserves Hope and a Helping Hand

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And the means to live an inspired life. To have his individuality and culture respected. To be held in the highest esteem. The children are sacred.

Their Future Homes Should Not Be Jail Cells

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Our youth, especially those who have lost families and homelands, and are being impacted by the opiod crisis, need to be given help and opportunities to create good lives.

A Third World Country Exists in America

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The United States Is Only As Great As It's Native Peoples Are Treated

We are a country of immigrants. Many of our ancestors and immigrants today came here because of persecution  or poor living conditions in their homelands. Yet Native Americans have been persecuted, their land, way of life and culture destroyed despite many government treaties, all of which have been broken. Because of this the people live in appalling conditions with little hope for improvement.  


Please watch the following video to better understand present day conditions and their origins:  


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MS6ARB2CgLI&t=16s

Help is needed now!

We all need to be the change that we wish to see in this world.

How You Can Make A Difference

Please go to our Donate button on the home page and give any amount that you are able to. This will enable All Relations United to set up projects and address current needs among Native Americans in the most vulnerable areas. Your support will reach far and is  appreciated!

The REality- A rez Winter

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On the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation


In the night, a winter wind screams and howls around the plywood and tar paper shack that is their home near Wounded Knee.


Elders, two Lakota old ones  lay on their bed covered with blankets and one star quilt that was  given to them by their daughter who has moved to Rapid City.


 Shivering, Grandmother tries to console her thin sick husband of over 60  years by softly telling him that the storm will be over soon.


 A three day blizzard from the North creates drifts four feet deep while  a few flakes have found their way under the door as cold air snakes  across the room seeking out anything that is warm.

Cracked single  pane windows completely covered in frost and ice, the floor feels like a  frozen lake...a single light bulb on the ceiling flickers and then goes  out.


Must be the storm Grandma says quietly. In a little while  I'll get up and put more wood in the stove yet she knows the last of it  was burned away yesterday. The stove is cold and dark.


Our  Grandson will be here tomorrow won't he, Grandpa asks once again? I  heard him say that he was bringing commodities out for us.


I'm  sure he will be here, she answers....he is a good young man. 


She decides  against telling him that storm has made their Grandson two days late.

 Do you remember that hot summer day when we first met at powwow, she  asks? Do you remember how the sun warmed our skin and we were so happy?
 Yes, says Grandpa from under the blankets, I do. It was a good day, a  very good day. We were young and you were so pretty in your new jingle  dress.


I can still see the sunlight on your shiny black hair she said, and that sly wink you gave me in front of my Mother.He managed a weak smile even with his wrinkled lips stiff from the cold. Ha!, he said. She didn't like me very much then.


Thirty-five below zero with banshee winds that drive a deep cold into their home like spikes from a giant's hammer.Outside, horses and deer stand still with their tails to the bitter  wind, some nearly losing their grip on life as the temperature falls.


Neighbors, homes, only five hundred yards apart....in this storm they could just as well be miles away.

No smoke from the stove pipe, no light in the house, no way to stay warm. How does this happen?


Ice forms in a bucket used to melt snow for water and yesterday's morning coffee.

Old plastic stapled over the windows heaves in and out as the cold finds every opening, invading everywhere.

 The propane tank outside has been empty for a week...no one came. A  small wood burning stove has done it's best with pieces of wooden  pallets and half rotten corral poles.


Wolves of winter continue to claw and bite at the walls.

 It must be almost morning Grandma says to herself. Even in the darkened  room she can see her warm breath mix with cold heavy air.


Surely  Grandson will be here soon. Someone will come for us. In the old  squeaking bed she moves closer to her husband for warmth and pulls the  quilt up to her eyes.

Are you ok she asks him? Yes, he replies very slowly, but I am feeling colder...did you put more wood in the stove?


 Hesitating she whispers...yes, just a minute ago while you were  sleeping. It'll be warming up soon and in a few hours I will make you a  good breakfast. Go back to sleep now.


It all seems like a long  hazy dream...into sleep...no cold, waking up....the cold again. The roar  of a freezing wind that enters your soul and then cries for release.  Even in their dreams they hear it, there is no escape. 

Why are  we here alone at this time? Will we live through this? How are all the  animals doing? Is our family thinking of us? Are they as cold as we are?


 Time goes by so slowly, how much time?....Grandma can hear the ticking  of their old wind up clock nearby. Grandpa dreams of Sun Dance.


Then, in a glowing light they see each other and realize that they are warm and the wind has stopped.

 A day later the big yellow road grader fights it's way out to their  home. Behind, a propane truck and Grandson driving his old Ford pickup.


He breaks through the drifts and opens the door.....snow on the floor, quiet, cold, then fear.

Grandpa, Grandmother! Are you ok?


Silence...is all that greets him