Monthly Archives: January 2017

This month on PBS, the film series Independent Lens features a documentary by Austin-based filmmaker Mat Hames—What Was Ours. Its something of a sequel to Lived History: The Story of the Wind River Virtual Museum (see my blog post entitled “Lived History”).

The film follows three members of the Shoshone/Arapaho community who live on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming as they try to repatriate objects of cultural patrimony. But, as with so many such cases,  their quest is framed by the larger question —who owns Native material culture collected by non-Indians in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries?

Jordan Dresser, the young Northern Arapaho man whose repatriation efforts are at the center of the documentary, begins his own personal quest to bring his culture back to its rightful home when he is assigned to fill the display cases in the lobby of the tribe’s new casino with local artifacts. Jordan soon finds that the objects he wants to display no longer belong to the tribe. When the last elder given the responsibility to watch over these things had passed on, the community ceded them back to the local Native Episcopal parish.

Jordan is joined by Philbert Mcleod, a Shoshone elder who was a helicopter door gunner in Viet Nam. When he returned from the war, Philbert never again left the reservation. “After I got shot down three times,” he remembers, “I told myself, ‘I’m never going to fly again.’” That all changes when Jordan arranges for community members to journey to the Field Museum in Chicago to examine the hundreds of items collected from Northern Shoshone and Arapaho people that are housed there. Holding a beaded medallion in his hands, one he credits with keeping him safe in Indochina, Philbert determines to make his first trip to the outside world in 40 years for the chance to once again hold  the kinds of things his grandmother who raised him used in her everyday life.

The group Jordan helps assemble for the Field Museum visit includes Mikala SunRhodes, who was at the time the reigning Denver March Powwow Princess. As the youngest member of the entourage, she is deeply affected by what she sees. While the elders encounter objects whose use they can recall, Mikala sees all that she has lost. At the museum, she comes face to face with row upon row of shelved parfleches, bandoliers, drums, and dresses in the Field’s storage facility. The sight of all those things hidden away from the tribe makes her cry. In the museum’s photographic collections, she studies the faces of Arapahos and Shoshones wearing the regalia that now sits unused on storeroom shelves and dedicates herself to matching their determined efforts to keep their cultures alive. She casts her memory back to her own family’s past and remembers that it, too, had its culture warriors.   Mikala’s grandfather, Robert SunRhodes, was the last keeper of the Episcopal collection on the reservation, going down to the stone, cabin-like museum and spending hours with the people who came there telling stories about the meaning of all they saw. When he passed on, the Diocese moved the items into storage, fearing for their safety as the old building fell into disrepair.

Splicing together landscape footage of the starkly beautiful Wind River Range encircling the reservation with interior shots of Arapaho and Shoshone families around their kitchen tables, director Mat Hames forges critical visual connections between the modern material culture of Native peoples and the objects of cultural patrimony housed in museums, deftly reinforcing the comments of his interviewees about their intimate relationship with them.

Each of the three protagonists in What Was Ours enjoys a special connection to a material object, and it is their lived experience with these modern-day elements of Shoshone and Arapaho culture that inspires Jordan and the others to seek the return of their ancestors’ belongings. The power of pipes and roaches and drums have not left Wind River, even if most of the old-time objects themselves are gone.

Arapaho Parfleche, ca. 1890. Similar to the parfleches shown in the film at the Field Museum, this beautiful example of women’s artistry was recently sold on the website of an art gallery in the U.S.

Hames’ deft editing brings the several strands of this repatriation story to a hopeful resolution, even as it never forecloses the possibility of more progress in the future. Jordan is off to graduate school in museum studies, after being given a beaded keepsake by a reservation friend. Mikala concludes her reign as Denver March Powwow princess and returns to Wind River to help raise her sister’s kids. We last see her making a dance outfit for her niece’s first trip to the powwow arena. Philbert Mcleod, who did not live to see the film completed, offers a fine coda to the story: “Those artifacts that we saw, they’re still with me.” One thing in particular stood out, an old, especially resonant drum. “Those things were made for something,” Philbert tells us. “The reason behind them was happiness . . . The drum made me feel safe . . . Playing the drum sure helped me out.”

Before  NAGPRA took effect in 1990, the Smithsonian had some 17, 000 skeletal remains in its possession. Yet, even though the museum did the right thing and repatriated those remains, along with related objects of cultural patrimony, Indian artifacts continue to be a big business. As recently as 2015, federal agents raided eight residences in Blanding, Utah, coming away with more than 40,000 artifacts, enough to fill a 2,300-square-foot warehouse.

As What Was Ours so eloquently explains, the marketing of a people’s heritage is wrong, and unnecessarily continues a colonialist practice whose time has come and gone. The drums are there to heal, the regalia to be danced. What is theirs, the Arapaho and Shoshone of Wind River tell us, is everything they need to keep going, on and on, into the future.

As many of us expected, President Trump has signed an executive order allowing work to resume on the Dakota Access Pipeline. Now, in the dead of winter, only a few hundred brave water protectors are on site to continue the struggle they began last year.

Screenshot of video shot at the Water Protectors camp in January, 2017.

This might be a good time to recall why we are fighting. First, as the Standing Rock Tribe has argued, the Army Corps of Engineers did not follow proper procedures in asking for tribal consultation. Theirs was a half- hearted effort, the Society of American Archaeologists made clear in a public letter opposing the pipeline:

After review of many documents associated with DAPL (see below), we conclude that there are unresolved questions regarding whether the USACE has fulfilled their Section 106 responsibilities in relation to the NHPA.

Second, the pipeline runs though land adjacent to the Standing Rock Reservation which was never ceded to the United States. As the historians Jeff Ostler and Nick Estes explained in their January 16th article in Indian Country Today,

There is no question about the accuracy of Standing Rock’s contention that the pipeline is being constructed across lands recognized as Sioux territory under the 1851 Treaty. That treaty stated that the northern boundary for Sioux territory was at the Heart River, north of the Dakota Access Pipeline route. At first glance, it may seem as though the Sioux ceded these lands under the 1868 Treaty. Article 2 of the 1868 Treaty established a “permanent reservation” for the Sioux with a northern boundary at the current border between the states of North and South Dakota, in other words, south of the Dakota Access Pipeline route. However, under Article 16 of the 1868 Treaty, lands north of the permanent reservation were designated as “unceded Indian territory.” According to the Indian Claims Commission (ICC), in a 1978 decision, the northern boundary of the unceded Article 16 lands was the Heart River—the same boundary recognized in the 1851 Treaty. http://www.indianz.com/News/2017/01/17/jeffrey-ostler-and-nick-estes-treaties-a.asp

In the current political climate, facts such as these may have little impact on the president’s position. They are, however, facts.

Moreover, the environmental dangers involved in tunneling under Lake Oahe, a source of drinking water, have never been fully addressed.  Just this week in Iowa, nearly 140, 000 gallons of diesel fuel spewed from the Magellan Midstream Partners pipeline near Hanlontown. This follows a spill of some 250, 000 gallons of oil from the Colonial Pipeline in Shelby County, Alabama. For many observers, question still remain as to why part of the pipeline’s route was moved from its initial easement north of the city of Bismarck. If it is safe, and its environmental impact minimal, why further disturb the Missouri drainage?

Aerial view of Lake Oahe.

Finally, there are long-term questions concerning the necessity of further oil pipeline construction. Industry experts believe that most U.S, oil producing regions have “ample, if not excessive takeaway”—that is, there are more pipes than oil https://www2.deloitte.com/content/dam/Deloitte/us/Documents/energy-resources/us-er-greg-armstrong-north-american-midstream-sector.pdf).

Even though the President divested his investments in Energy Transfer Partners and Phillips 66, two companies involved in the pipeline’s construction, Energy Transfer Partners’ owner, Kelcy Warren, “gave $100,000 to Trump’s joint fundraising effort with the Republican Party” ( http://heavy.com/news/2017/01/trump-dakota-access-pipeline-executive-order-dapl-standing-rock-no-keystone-investment-energy-transfer-partners-kelcy-warren-donation/ ) Until he divested, the President is believed to have had a much as  million dollars invested in the project’s sponsor companies.

This appearance of conflict of interest on the part of the President—when coupled with the legal and environmental problems surrounding the Dakota Access Pipeline itself—ought to be enough reason for fair-minded Americans to urge their leaders to stand down construction for the time being. Although many politicians have raised the specter of job losses and have dangled the promise of better economic times for the people of North Dakota once the pipeline is completed, the oil industry’s own prognosis does not suggest there will be another boom anytime soon. To add insult to injury, the fracturing methods commonly used to release this kind of oil (and much of the natural gas in other pipelines) is already causing earthquakes in Oklahoma and Texas. Once again, the earthquakes, like the pipelines, are wreaking havoc on Native communities, while their non-Native neighbors reap the benefits of lower energy costs and freedom from worry that the spills and quakes will every occur in their own communities.

Damage in Oklahoma earthquake of 2015.

As the Obama years wind down, it’s time to take stock of the president’s contributions to repatriation through his use of the 1906 Antiquities Act.

This legislation, signed into law by Theodore Roosevelt, came about as a result of the public’s growing awareness of America’s rich archaeological heritage (through venues like the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893) and  archaeologists’ concern over the looting of ancient sites by private dealers and collectors.

Theodore Roosevelt and John Muir, above Yosemite Falls.

The Antiquities Act provided for the then-significant fine of $500 for anyone who “shall appropriate, excavate, injure, or destroy any historic or prehistoric ruin or monument, or any object of antiquity, situated on lands owned or controlled by the Government of the United States . . . ” The law also specified that the legislative branch would be the final arbiter of any setting aside of public lands for the purposes of preservation: “the President of the United States is hereby authorized, in his discretion, to declare by public proclamation historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, and other objects of historic or scientific interest . . . to be national monuments, and may reserve as a part thereof parcels of land, the limits of which in all cases shall be confined to the smallest area compatible with proper care and management of the objects to be protected.“

During its first 75 years, the Act was invoked by presidents from both parties, with William Howard Taft and Jimmy Carter leading the charge, each setting aside more than 30 million acres of public lands for preservation. Since the Carter administration, however, such designations have fallen off sharply. Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush did nothing in this regard. It wasn’t until 1992 that Bill Clinton restarted the practice of presidential initiative in preservation, and he and his two successors have averaged several million acres each. To his credit, George W. Bush contributed more than 5 million acres to the public trust.

Chaco Canyon, “Pueblo Bonito.” National Parks Service. Theodore Roosevelt designated the area Chaco Canyon National Monument in 1907.

Even though the Antiquities Act arose from the archiving ideology we explored in a previous post (see “Indigenous Archives”)—the desire of non-Indians to collect, concentrate, and manage Native American cultural materials—it has evolved into a much more Native-centered mechanism for asserting cultural sovereignty. Under Barack Obama, the Antiquities Act has served the dual purpose of environmental protection and cultural preservation. President Obama has earmarked over 500 million acres of land as national treasures, making his the most proactive president in this area since the act was signed into law. At the end of his term, Obama designated 1.5 million acres around Bears Ears Buttes in southwestern Utah as off-limits to development. More importantly, Mr. Obama’s  actions will create a first-of-its-kind tribal commission of representatives from the five Native American tribes that live in the region. The commission will advise the monument’s federal managers.

Bears Ears Buttes. Utah Public Radio.

Russell Begaye, Tribal President of the Navajo Nation, explained the land’s cultural significance to reporters: “We have always looked to Bears Ears as a place of refuge, as a place where we can gather herbs and plants and as a place of sacredness,” he said. “It is a place of safety and fortitude. It is a place where our ancestors hid and survived from U.S. cavalry during the Long War.”

As with so many of Mr. Obama’s proposals, this designation has been characterized by some western politicians as a “federal land grab.” But as the history of the Antiquities Act demonstrates, it is actually very much in keeping with the vision of its originator, T.R. Like the idea of repatriation (see “Iowa’s Place in Repatriation”), cultural preservation got its start in Iowa when Congressman John F. Lacey, a Republican representative from Iowa, pushed to create the Antiquities Act. Republicans from Roosevelt to Lacey and Taft all saw that protection of western lands were a necessary part of legislating for “the greater good.” As Roosevelt said when he set aside parts of the Grand Canyon for protection: “I want to ask you to do one thing in connection with it in your own interest and in the interest of the country—to keep this great wonder of nature as it now is.”

Tribal communities and the Obama administration have been hard at work this past 8 years to answer Roosevelt’s call, but many Americans appear to know very little about their efforts. Perhaps only locals are aware of the Salish Sea, a transnational stretch of water that has been home to the Coast Salish peoples for thousands of years.

Designated the San Juan Islands National Monument by President Obama in 2013, the Salish Sea is home to important American and Canadian fisheries, wetlands, and places of cultural patrimony. As a “bioregional marine sanctuary,” The San Juan Islands National Monument  is being preserved as a collaborative endeavor between the U.S. and Canadian governments and those of the First Nations communities whose roots are in the area. It is an effort that has “brought together the 77 different Washington Tribes and BC First Nations . . . to participate in co-management of the resources of the Salish Sea. Co-management means that tribes work with non-Indians in an equal partnership on how resource decisions are made.”

Intertribal group piloting a traditional Coast Salish canoe in the Salish Sea.

The same is probably true of the Rio Grande del Norte National Monument, a designation of public lands in Taos County, New Mexico that preserves both the environmental complexity and scenic beauty of extensive volcanic fields and piñon forest and the petroglyphs, stone tools, projectile points and potsherds that  document human habitation there from the Archaic period through the modern era, when the Jicarilla Apache, Utes and the peoples of the Taos and Picuris Pueblos inhabited the area. Along with a diverse array of public places deemed worthy of protection—from the site of the Stonewall riots in New York City, to the Charles Young Buffalo Soldiers Monument in Wilberforce, Ohio, and as far west as the Honouliuli Internment Camp on O’ahu—the outgoing administration has developed a successful strategy for the assertion of Native sovereignty by partnering with local communities to preserve and protect public places where American history has been made and its ecological diversity has flourished. It is a model of federal and local cooperation that has worked well, as Theodore Roosevelt felt it should, “in the interests of the country.”

Sources

http://www.wwu.edu/salishsea/resources3.shtml

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rio_Grande_del_Norte_National_Monument

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:National_Monuments_designated_by_Barack_Obama

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/28/us/politics/obama-national-monument-bears-ears-utah-gold-butte.html

http://www.upi.com/Top_News/US/2016/02/13/Obama-expands-public-lands-more-than-any-US-president/1161455298784/

Late December is the time when our TV screens blow up with video collages of “the year in review.”

In this year-end post, I want to look back at 2016 in a different way. I’d like to think about the passage of time in somewhat the same way as the Lakotas of the nineteenth century did—as a record of the period from first snowfall to first snowfall, which might be summed up in a single image an elder could use as a starting point for narrating the history of his community.

Battiste Good Winter Count, 1880; Manuscript 2372: Box 12: F6, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution

The Lakotas called these records waniyetu wowapi, a phrase that combines the word for the span of time between winters, and wowapi, which “means anything that is marked on a flat surface and can be read or counted, such as a book, a letter, or a drawing.” In English, we call them Winter Counts.

Among the many interesting things about this way of taking stock of a year’s events is that it is usually made by a designated member of a tioyspaye, a Lakota kinship group, and thus often reflects very local concerns. For this reason, every Lakota Winter count will record the same image for any given year. But sometimes they do. The most famous case  is the Leonid Meteor Shower of 1833/34. Many waniyetu wowapi note this event.

American Horse Winter Count, 1879; Manuscript 2372: Box 12: F7, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution

This hand drawn copy of a Winter Count made  by American Horse in 1879 shows the year 1833 as a red central star surrounded by a flurry of smaller stars. Battiste Good’s Winter Count (above ) depicts the same winter as a tipi encircled by stars.

At  least one incident in 2016 was like the Leonid Meteor Showers. The protests against the Dakota Access Pipeline were a call to arms across Indian Country and, like the stars raining down in the night skies of North America in 1833, the efforts of the Standing Rock Sioux Nations soon grew to include Native peoples from across America and Canada. They called themselves Water Protectors when the media labeled them demonstrators, and they adopted a Lakota phrase for their motto: Mni Wiconi–Water is Life.

From other, local perspectives, however, many occurances are worthy of marking down on our informal winter count.

In Northeastern California, the Pit River Tribe (known in their own languages as  Hewisedawi) successfully defended their rights of sovereignty over Spirit Lake, a glacial-fed body of water over which the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) had claimed jurisdiction. Over on the coast, the Hupa Nation embarked on the restoration of its traditional salmon fisheries by restoring the Lower Trinity River watershed that supports them.

Many indigenous communities will remember this year for the passing of elders. The Fond du Lac Ojibwa community of Minnesota mourned the loss this year of one of their great writers and activists, Jim Northrup.

A Marine veteran of the Vietnam War, Mr. Northrup wrote an influential collection of stories called Walking the Rez Road in 1993, and produced a syndicated newspaper column, “The Fond du Lac Follies.”

In his youth, he was forced to attend boarding school, an experience he later regarded with some irony. He was punished for speaking his own language and beaten for minor infractions, yet he always felt that the school’s introduction of “formal English” taught him that “it was possible for an Anishinaabe to become a writer.” It came at a high cost. To learn to read and write this way meant giving up Anishinaabemowin—the idiom of his elders. As part of the healing process he embraced after Viet Nam, Northrup returned to study the language, and in his later years, regained much he had lost and embraced a more traditional way of life.

In the Blackfeet Nation of Montana, 2016 witnessed a renewed pride in the work of tribal member Elouise Cobell, as President Obama posthumously awarded her the Medal of Freedom.

In his remarks, President Obama said this about Ms. Cobell:

When Elouise Cobell first filed a lawsuit to recover lands and money for her people, she didn’t set out to be a hero  . . . .   She fought for almost 15 years — across three Presidents, seven trials, 10 appearances before a federal appeals court.  All the while, she traveled the country some 40 weeks a year, telling the story of her people.  And in the end, this graduate of a one-room schoolhouse became a MacArthur Genius . . .   Through sheer force of will and a belief that the truth will win out, Elouise Cobell overcame the longest odds, reminding us that fighting for what is right is always worth it.

But perhaps the most telling event of this time between the snowfalls was the passing over of Joseph Medicine Crow of the Crow Nation in April.

In 2009, President Barack Obama also awarded Medicine Crow the Presidential Medal of Freedom, recognizing his achievements as an historian of Native American history and his U.S. Army service during World War II.

“Wearing war paint beneath his uniform and a sacred feather beneath his helmet, Joseph Medicine Crow completed the four battlefield deeds that made him the last Crow war chief.” Obama said at the White House ceremony.

A few weeks ago, the New York Times published a slideshow featuring photographs of the rooms where the famous people who died during the year had spent much of their time. It is a fascinating gallery, wordlessly sketching the outlines of their inner selves. One picture stands out for me, and I’ll use it as my glyph to mark the winter of 2016. It is the garage office of Joseph Medicine Crow.

Photograph by Mitch Epstein.

Although the office is empty for now, there are others who will step up to take the historian’s place—not only in the Crow Nation, but across Indian Country. The thousands who emerged to protect the Missouri River watershed are energized and there is a new year ahead.

Sources

http://wintercounts.si.edu/html_version/html/index.htmlhttp://wintercounts.si.edu/index.html

In-Game Item Worth 50K

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/joseph-medicine-crow-last-crow-tribe-war-chief-dies-at-102/

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/12/21/magazine/the-lives-they-lived-photo-essay-spaces.html