Central New York State may seem like an odd place for a war over the heart and soul of Indian country, but that is what is taking place on 32 acres known as the Oneida Indian Nation territory, where dozens of American Indians claim they were wrongfully expelled from their ancestral tribes.
In states from New York to California, individuals are being involuntarily dis-enrolled from their ancestral American Indian tribes, as tribal authorities rule that certain groups of people are not ethnically entitled to tribal membership. This has resulted in bitter disputes over ethnic heritage, and the definition of Native American.
“The Oneida people live in a state of fear that you can be disenfranchised at a whim,” says Vicky Schenandoah, 46, who lives on those 32 acres. Schenandoah accuses the tribe’s leadership of robbing her family of its birthright. “I am still a part of the confederacy. I still live on my ancestral homeland.”
Recently, the issue expanded to include African-Americans who claim membership in the Cherokee nation. Also at stake are hundreds of millions of dollars in casino gaming revenues. In a 2007 referendum vote, the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma asked its voters to decide whether descendants of black slaves could maintain citizenship in the tribe. Voters said no.
In California, former members of the Pechanga band of Luiseno Indians are fighting a 2004 decision to expel 130 adult members from the tribe’s census rolls. “It seems to be an epidemic,” says Laura Wass, head of the Fresno branch of the American Indian Movement, who wants the federal government to approve legislation establishing clear guidelines for tribal membership.
Advocate groups such as the American Indian Rights and Resources Organization (AIRRO), say there is a growing trend where Indians and non-Indians are being stripped of their status and denied member services such as health benefits, and income from gaming operations. Thousands nationwide were kicked out of their tribes, including more than 2,000 in California alone, according to group leaders.
AIRRO and other activists want to amend the 1968 Indian Civil Rights Act, so that Indians can appeal tribal rulings and disputes, to federal court if they feel their civil rights were violated.
In the case of the Oneida tribe, which runs a successful gaming resort and casino, tensions have grown since 1993, when the casino went into operation and the tribe’s leadership system was reorganized, and the power was concentrated into the hands of a few leaders, in place of the traditional Oneida tribal government, critics say.
About 50 people had lost their status by 1995, and dozens of other families, particularly members of the Wolf Clan, have complained of being denied their tribal rights without due process. Some complain of losing their heating assistance, as well as their quarterly distribution from casino operations.
Vicky Schenandoah’s sister, Danielle Schenandoah-Patterson, 36, says her trailer home was bulldozed by tribal leaders in 2004 because of the dispute.
Danielle Schenandoah-Patterson says she was removed from the tribe in 1995, after taking part in a protest against tribal leaders. “This has been going on since the casinos first came.”
In a statement, Mark Emery, director of media relations, says, “The Oneida Nation does not comment on the affairs of other Indian nations. In the case of the Schenandoah’s, it is a complex issue but they have not been dis-enrolled as members.” However, the Schenandoah family says the huge sums of money generated by Indian gaming have tainted the tribe. They claim the situation has gotten so bad that people have been dis-enrolled for simply voicing opposition to the tribal leadership.
“Disenfranchisement here is losing your voice. That means you can’t have any say in anything,” says Vicky Schenandoah, adding that “fear and intimidation” have replaced democracy in her tribe.
“In order to be reinstated you had to sign an allegiance note,” Schenandoah says. “There’s probably a core of us who have refused to sign an allegiance note, and I’m one of them.”
Indian tribes are considered sovereign nations under federal law. As such, they can set their own requirements and guidelines for membership. American Indians are U.S. citizens and citizens of their respective sovereign tribes.
Critics say some tribes are expelling long-standing members after subjecting them to complicated genealogical investigations and demanding that they provide birth, death and marriage certificates going back several generations. In the past, members could prove their heritage using wills, baptismal or land records.
Since each tribe is sovereign, the federal government can do little more than issue advisory opinions on the validity of the expulsions, according to the Bureau of Indian Affairs.
Gaming exists in 28 states with more than 200 tribes. In 1987, the U.S. Supreme Court confirmed the authority of tribal governments to establish gaming operations free of state regulation. A year later, Congress passed the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, which set up a framework for gaming with limited state involvement.
Revenue from tribal gaming grew from $6.3 billion in 1996 to $25 billion in 2006, according to data from the National Indian Gaming Commission.
The American Indian Movement’s, Laura Wass, believes the federal government must get involved in the controversy by setting basic standards for tribal membership to counter what she calls the “corrupting effect” of money on Indian country. She wrote legislation called the California Indian Legacy Act; which would establish tribal membership based on blood and lineage.
“Congress must get involved, and I believe that eventually they will get involved,” says Wass, who notes that the Bureau of Indian Affairs has detailed records on tribal ancestry that can help establish proper membership. “It’s easy to do. You show where you are from, and as long as you have full evidence that fixes your membership.”
Wass and others say the specter of hundreds to thousands of dollars a month in dividend checks from casino revenues has caused California tribes to remove hundreds of members from their rolls.
“Gaming has spurred this on. Especially here in California, where most of it is taking place, says Wass.
John Gomez, Jr., an AIRRO member, says he and his family were booted from the Pechanga after generations of inclusion. He says about 300 people have been removed from the Pechanga since 2004, and roughly 2,000 Indians across the state have been dis-enrolled since 2004.
Gomez says the tribes cite different reasons for their actions, such as a person having membership in another tribe or changes in enrollment standards.
“It happened just after California legalized tribal gaming, the tribes built large casinos, and they started giving out payments in per capita installments,” says Gomez. “All these tribes have casinos, and the fewer members you have, the more money is distributed.”
Gomez says membership disputes are arising because many Indians lack basic rights, something his group is trying to change. Gomez, who lives in southern California, near San Diego, says being denied by his tribal leadership generates mixed emotions.
“I was more sad, than anything else. I saw my grandmother and my uncle, who are in their 80s now, also dis-enrolled. It was just like knocking the wind out of you,” says Gomez. “[But] nobody can take away my identity, who I am, and where I come from.”
In statements on the disenrollment debate, the Pechanga band of Luiseno Indians says numerous courts have upheld the inherent right of tribal governments to determine their citizenship.
“It is a long-held fact that tribal law determines citizenship. Tribes throughout the country have followed this established tribal law for generations,” according to a statement. “For the people of Pechanga, this is about determining who is a rightful citizen, and who was enrolled under false pretenses. Knowing this and continuing to suggest that tribal citizenship issues surfaced only after gaming is ridiculous, irresponsible, and simply distorts the facts. Pechanga, for instance, took disenrollment actions years before a casino was even thought of.”
Sandra Avila, 61, a Pinoleville Pomo Nation member in Ukiah, CA, says her membership has been in limbo since 1994, when she stopped receiving tribal services, but never got a written declaration that she was no longer a member of the tribe. Avila, who lives in a trailer on property controlled by a tribal trust, previously earned about $25,000 a year as a hairdresser, but has been on disability for over a year, and must survive on an $893 monthly support check.
“They haven’t said I’m a member or not a member. I don’t get any services, I don’t get a penny of the gaming money,” says Avila. “I could really use the extra money from the gaming, even if it’s only $100 or $200.” Pinoleville officials did not return calls seeking comment.
In Latenville, CA, Gene Sloan says more than 20 members of his family were dis-enrolled by the Latenville Rancheria leadership in 1995. He claims it was in retaliation for raising questions about how revenues from tribal gaming were being spent.
Sloan says the official reason he was given was that his deceased father held membership in the Yurok Nation, a neighboring Northern California tribe, which invalidated them for membership in his mother’s Laytonville tribe. “That was the main reason — the casino. Since 1995, we haven’t had the right to vote on our tribal constitution,” says Sloan, 65. “During the first few years, there was a lot of anger. [Now] we just don’t associate with them.”
Sloan’s wife, Alice, says they and other family members cannot participate in tribal ceremonies, missed out on jobs, and scholarship aid. The family has hired a New Mexico-based attorney to appeal their status.
“Our daughters, who were working for the tribe, have lost their jobs. It’s just been a horrible situation,” says Alice Sloan, 52. “Tribes are supposed to provide for the members. [But] one granddaughter who was supposed to go to college couldn’t get any grants [while] another granddaughter, who was still a member, did get grants.”
The membership debate expanded in March 2007, when the Cherokee Nation voted to amend its constitution to clarify eligibility for Cherokee citizenship, approving changes that require the ability to trace one’s lineage to one Indian ancestor listed on the base roll of the Cherokee.
That act effectively removed some 2,800 so-called Cherokee freedmen from the tribe. The freedmen are descendants of slaves owned by Cherokee farmers — more than a thousand blacks walked the Trail of Tears along with the Cherokee. The Treaty of 1866 abolished slavery in Indian Territory and made the freedmen part of the Cherokee nation.
In response, California Congresswoman, Diane E. Watson, introduced an amendment to limit funds to the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, if the tribe fails to uphold the membership rights of the freedmen. The amendment was attached to a measure that provides housing assistance to American Indians and Alaska Natives.
Watson says the operation of seven gaming facilities nationwide have made the Cherokee leadership more concerned with profits than with the history and integrity of the nation.
“The Cherokees have become more of an industry than a tribe,” says Watson. “The [1866] treaty was a signed agreement between the United States and the Cherokee Nation.”
Cherokee records show about two percent of Cherokees held slaves before the emancipation of 1863. Tribal leaders say the March 2007 vote requiring Indian ancestry for citizenship had nothing to do with race and everything to do with who is a Cherokee.
Cherokee officials say the nation “embraces our mixed-race heritage,” and is proud of their thousands of members who share African-American, Latino, Asian, and other ancestry. They called Watson’s efforts a “misguided attempt” too deliberately harm Cherokee citizens for exercising their sovereign rights. Last November, the National Congress of American Indians passed a resolution opposing Watson’s measure.
“Indian Country sent a strong message today that is nothing less than a scorched earth assault on tribal sovereignty that threatens all Indian nations,” Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Chad Smith says. When the group condemned the bill, he called it a “slippery slope of congressional interference” with intra-tribal affairs, and the work of the courts.
Cherokee officials claim Watson’s measure would cut services for tribal members and eliminate 6,500 jobs in Oklahoma.
Wass says the Cherokee freedmen cases highlight the need for Congressional involvement in membership disputes. “These are full-blooded Indians and part-blooded Indians being severed,” says Wass. “The freedmen case is going to bring light to Congress.”
It is not clear whether tribal critics will succeed in convincing the federal government to get more involved in the debate over tribal membership. Advocates for the dis-enrolled say they have no plans to end their efforts.
Vicky Schenandoah says she and others will continue to challenge tribal leaders until reforms are enacted to make the tribe more democratic.
“I’m Oneida. I was born into my Clan [Wolf],” says Schenandoah, whose membership in the tribe was passed down through her mother’s line, as is the custom. “I’m still an Oneida Indian, even if I don’t get benefits.”
~Illustration by Richard Raney