Disenrollment!
By Emily Bazar, USA TODAY
Native American tribes are facing allegations of greed and racism as they purge
members from their rolls and deny the applications of others.
The expulsions have sent tremors through Indian country. Thousands of Native
Americans have lost their cultural identities and access to tribal benefits,
such as medical care, housing and education. Certain gaming tribes divide casino
profits among members, in some cases thousands of dollars a month per person.
Those expelled lose their cut. Tribal officials say they're protecting
legitimate members by making sure everyone in the tribe is qualified.
As sovereign nations, tribes have the final say in who can - and cannot - join.
Each tribe determines what degree of Indian blood is necessary for membership, a
requirement that varies among the 561 federally recognized tribes.
In California, at least 2,000 Native Americans have been taken off the rolls of
their tribes since 1999, says Laura Wass, executive director of the Many
Lightnings American Indian Legacy Center, an education and advocacy group in
Fresno. Disenrollments have surged with the rise of Indian casinos, she says.
Thousands of Native Americans elsewhere have lost, or may lose, their tribal
status. An upcoming vote at the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma could deny
citizenship to more than 1,000 of the tribe's 260,000 members. "The motive
varies from tribe to tribe," says Daniel Littlefield, director of the Sequoyah
Research Center at the University of Arkansas, Little Rock, an archive for
contemporary Native American issues. "I would say money is at the bottom
of a lot of it."
Mary Chapman of Fresno was disenrolled from the Picayune Rancheria of the
Chukchansi Indians last month, along with 20 members of her family.
About 250 members of the tribe have been disenrolled this year, Wass says, and
about 400 others have received letters questioning their status.
The 1,200-member tribe, which opened a casino in Coarsegold, Calif., in 2003,
expelled Chapman because she didn't meet the eligibility criteria in the tribe's
constitution, a complex set of categories based on ancestry, according to a
disenrollment letter sent to her by the tribe.
Mark Levitan, attorney for the tribe, wouldn't discuss numbers. There is a
moratorium on enrollment until the tribe completes an audit of every member's
eligibility, he says, and tribal leaders "are a government that's responsible
for following their own laws." 'Just kicked to the curb' Chapman, 69, says
she traces her Chukchansi lineage to her great-great-grandmother. She blames the
tribe's move on casino-related greed, which Levitan disputes.
He says the tribe does not yet distribute casino profits to members and has to
show it is meeting the needs of the tribe before it can do so. "As far as
they're concerned, I'm a non-Indian," Chapman says tearfully. "I feel totally
displaced, totally homeless. Just kicked to the curb." She feels helpless, she
says, because there's nothing she can do: "There's no way to fight it."
State and federal courts do not have jurisdiction over Native American
membership disputes, says Kevin Gover, law professor at Arizona State University
and former assistant secretary of the Interior for Indian affairs.
"Congress has not given individual Indians the right to sue their tribes," he
says.
Gover does not believe disenrollments are up because of gaming but says casino
profits raise the stakes. He thinks expulsions are most often related to feuding
families that form political factions. "The majority family will throw the
others out," he says. "It's clannish and unworthy of institutions that claim to
be nations."
Yvette Champlain told The Providence Journal that she and dozens of her
relatives were kicked out of the Narragansett Indian Tribe in Rhode Island this
year because she questioned how the tribe spent $1 million it received from
Harrah's Entertainment, which had been planning a casino with the tribe. "They
don't want real accountability," she told the newspaper.
The casino plan was rejected by Rhode Island voters this month. Tribal
councilman Randy Noka declined to discuss the specifics of Champlain's case but
says her allegations are false. Members must be able to document that
they're descendants of Narragansetts listed on a tribal roll from the 1880s,
Noka says. The tribe has about 2,500 people enrolled.
"It has nothing to do with personalities or politics," he says. "Tribes have a
responsibility to look out for their members. No one would expect to recognize
someone that isn't a member of their family as a family member.
"You don't want anybody who may be looking to benefit from opportunities, who don't deserve them, to take away from someone who truly is a member," Noka says. "If someone does have a definite interest in trying to prove themselves to be a member, and can prove it, they deserve every benefit other tribal members receive."
At the Cherokee Nation, a membership dispute centers on the Cherokee Freedmen,
who are descendants of former slaves owned by Cherokees or, in some cases,
descendants of free blacks who lived with the Cherokees. After the Civil War,
the Cherokees, who had sided with the Confederacy, signed a treaty with the
American government granting freedmen and their descendants tribal citizenship.
The tribe, which ratified a new constitution in 1976, has denied freedmen citizenship for much of the past three decades. The tribe's highest court ruled in March that freedmen could obtain citizenship. Since then, more than 1,500 have enrolled, tribe spokesman Mike Miller says.
The dispute didn't end there. After Cherokee citizens circulated a referendum
petition, Chief Chad Smith called a special election for February 2007 to
consider changing the constitution. The proposed amendment would limit
citizenship to those of Indian ancestry, based on membership rolls from the
early 20th century. Those whose ancestors were freedmen would not be eligible.
Marilyn Vann's membership hangs in the balance. "I've always considered myself a
Cherokee Native American with African blood," says Vann, who says she is
Cherokee, Chickasaw and black, and that being listed as a freedman means her
Indian ancestry is ignored.
Vann, a petroleum engineer in Oklahoma City, says she was shocked when her citizenship application was rejected in 2001. She reapplied after the court's ruling in March and is now a citizen. She wanted to join so she could vote and "have a voice in the affairs of the tribe," she says. "I did not come to my tribe to get something."
The Cherokees do not pay gaming profits to members. The money funds the
government, social services and job creation. Vann believes the tribe
fears the freedmen's voting power. Littlefield's assessment is more blunt: "It's
racism." Just action or greed? Some recently disenrolled members of the
Pechanga Band of Luiseņo Indians in California cite greed.
John Gomez Jr., 38, helped found the American Indian Rights and Resources
Organization last year to address civil rights issues. Gomez and about 130
adults in his family were disenrolled from the tribe in 2004. Another family of
about 90 adults was kicked out earlier this year.
"Both were large families that opposed the leadership," he says.The Pechanga
Indians run a lucrative casino in Temecula, Calif., and split the profits among
tribe members. Each member of Gomez's family used to get about $15,000 a month,
he says. Once they were disenrolled, the payments stopped and the money went to
remaining tribe members.
In an e-mailed statement, Pechanga Chairman Mark Macarro says courts have
consistently upheld tribes' sole responsibility for determining their
citizenship. He noted that a state court this month dismissed a suit brought by
disenrolled members. His tribe has 1,370 members. The allegation of
casino-related greed "is ridiculous, irresponsible and simply distorts the
facts," he says. "This is about determining who is a rightful citizen and who
was enrolled under false pretenses." Michael Madariaga lost his membership this
year.
The tribe had hired John Johnson, curator of anthropology at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History, to trace the family's lineage. Johnson determined that Madariaga's family can be traced to one of the original members of the tribe. "They did disregard my findings," Johnson says.
Madariaga, 43, and his family lost access to tribal benefits, including the
monthly casino payout and meals for the elderly, he says. He lost his job at the
casino. The children had to leave the reservation school. Madariaga's
89-year-old grandfather, Lawrence, has prostate cancer. After his health
insurance was cut off, he didn't take his medications for a few months,
Madariaga says. Now, he's dipping into his retirement to pay for them.
'Took a lot out
of' grandparents
Madariaga describes his grandfather as an integral member of the tribe who
helped upgrade the water system and bring electricity and phones to tribe
members. "He designed and helped build the health clinic," he says of his
grandfather.
Madariaga says disenrollment "took a lot out of" his grandfather and
grandmother, Sophia, 86. "The anger, the stress, that's not good at their
age and for their health," he says. "When they were cut off from the health
benefits, they were very stressed."
But the hardest part hasn't been losing benefits and casino payouts, Madariaga says.
"What matters is taking away our heritage," he says. "It's like taking
your family and wiping them out of history."
Submitted by Andre Cramblit, IndigenousNewsNetwork@topica.com