Richard Monette on Native sovereignty, owning land and law

Richard Monette on Native sovereignty, owning land and law

FREDERICA FREYBERG:
Why are there so many non-tribal homeowners on the Lac du Flambeau reservation? Part of the answer goes back more than a century when in 1887, the federal Dawes General Allotment Act carved up Indigenous land for individual ownership. Marisa Wojcik speaks with Richard Monette, a UW-Madison professor of law and director of the Great Lakes Indigenous Law Center.

MARISA WOJCIK:
Generally, what did Indigenous lands look like before the Dawes General Allotment Act came into place?

RICHARD MONETTE:
They almost didn’t look like anything to the untrained eye. And that’s part of the problem with European Americans coming over, Europeans coming over and not seeing territory and not seeing property. Maybe territory defined a little differently, you know? Different nations shared territory, maybe seasonally, et cetera. They didn’t quite get that. There certainly was property, you know, different tribes, different families. Clans had fishing sites, had sugar bushes, had places where they did their ceremonies. They didn’t see all that. So long and short of it is there actually was territory and there actually was property at the time of contact. But otherwise it looked used, maybe it looked unused to the untrained eye again. But those lakes were very well maintained for wild rice. They were very well maintained for gathering roots of cattails. They were very well maintained for helping the deer, et cetera, make beds in the reeds and have small trees and then bigger trees, et cetera. You know people didn’t just go around on their hands and knees nibbling berries off the bush is what it seems like people think, right? This was thousands of years of roads, common ways, trails, paths to these places, to water, to food. So it looked a lot more like we would understand if our eyes were trained to understand that.

MARISA WOJCIK:
There weren’t these like hard, rigid boundaries like we see when we see maps today?

RICHARD MONETTE:
Almost never for territory or property. On the other hand, a lot of European land was the same way which was leading to a lot of wars about that time. So still even in that sense, not that different from what had gone on. And you know, we find in this country that there are pockets of immigrants that came to America just three, four generations ago and they have not always comported with the American property system as we know it either. So you can find a pocket in northern Wisconsin or northern Minnesota where you think, well, you see land being exchanged and they’re having arguments about probates and trusts and and things and it’s because they were not very technical about it, very formal about it, the way we kind of understand it today. So what’s clear is that the tribes had territory, they had property. It didn’t exactly look like ours but you know the property from Texas to Wisconsin doesn’t look the same. Guess which one has more rigid boundaries between their territories and properties? Not very hard, right? That Texas does. And Wisconsin is a little more loose ’cause we have a rather robust public trust. We really value people being able to get to the lakes and the rivers, et cetera. So property varies from polity to polity, from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, everywhere. And you just have to be trained to see it. And so it’s easy not to but it’s important to start to see that sort of thing.

MARISA WOJCIK:
And the Dawes General Allotment Act in the 1800s. What did that do?

RICHARD MONETTE:
In 1887, the Dawes Act named after the senator who was sponsoring it, otherwise known as the General Allotment Act, did what was actually in a few treaties before that, by the way. And there may have even been an act or two before that. Attempted to take what was the then legally recognized territory, usually because of a treaty of a tribe and divided up into property, divided into severalty. Generally from 40 acres to 160 acres, sometimes a little less, sometimes a little more depending on the numbers, reservation size, et cetera. But it was with the intent to, purportedly, to make farmers out of natives, make private property owners out of them. And one statement that was attributed to Teddy Roosevelt is the act is a great pulverizing engine to destroy the tribal mass. That’s what he said. So it did that. You know on many reservations like Lac du Flambeau, the federal government came in and drew lines in disregard of all those prior sugar bushes and fishing holes and what other places where families had relatively recognized quote unquote ownership. They came in with a ruler and a pen and divided up the reservations. Often, not always, but often along the American system of meets and bounds and township lines, section lines, et cetera. And individual Indians and families ended up with private property in the American sense of the word.

MARISA WOJCIK:
And they did this tribe by tribe, one at a time. Did tribes or individual people have any choice in the matter?

RICHARD MONETTE:
That was depending on tribe by tribe too? Sometimes the strength of the tribe, more often having to do with the value of the land or their relationship with perhaps their federal congressional delegation who may or may not have been supportive. Interestingly enough, the Wisconsin Legislature was rather supportive of the Chippewa tribes right about at that time in the history in the late 1880s when there were attempts by the federal government to remove them to Oklahoma, people of the state of Wisconsin including a significant part of the Wisconsin Legislature that convinced everybody to let the status quo be and leave the Chippewa here. So it’s a fascinating story but it did go from reservation to reservation. Many of them, not all of them, some of them were able to fend it off entirely. And nonetheless, on those reservations, people have homes and things. So in other words, the tribe is sort of maintaining a property system the way they did pre-contact. They’re keeping care of their people, their families, their clans, who holds what, who works what, just like they always did. But on a lot of reservations and including a few in Wisconsin, they were subjected to the Allotment Act. Sort of the key things about the act are really two main ones, let’s say. One is that the act imposed a trust, said the land would be held in trust for 25 years so it couldn’t be sold. And that was good and bad. It was good in that it couldn’t be sold. It was bad in that it made the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Secretary of the Interior the trustee. And so they started acting on behalf of the tribes and the tribal members as trustees do oftentimes unilaterally. And thus we find rights of ways and easements and/or the Bureau of Indian Affairs leasing their lands for gas and oil, for timber, for grazing and for roads, right? So that’s how we sort of fast forward to get to this. And then it’s important along that historical line to recognize that, well, that 25 year period expired and the tribes lost significant amounts of land through a variety of means, foreclosures by banks, by creditors, sheriff sales, forced, a fee patent exercises by the federal government and of course, intermarriage and offspring or grand offspring not meeting the tribe’s requirements for membership. So people are sometimes surprised they see the big square on the map and they say, “Well, that’s the reservation, “how did there get to be so many non-Indians in there?” This is largely how that occurred, was the allotment process. One little point, maybe not so relevant here, but a lot of tribes had more than enough land to be divided up by families and then they had a lot left over. And then those tribes cases, that land was surplussed, returned as they would say to the public domain and opened for homesteading to any American. So we ended up with significant populations of non-natives in reservations and that’s leads to sort of the issues with Lac du Flambeau. Now the number two though is that 25 year period was interrupted a couple of times but one main time Congress passed what was called the Burke Act in 1906, authorizing the Secretary of Interior to decide, determine if an Indian allottee was competent to deal with that allotment as a private citizen and they would remove the trust and hand the allotment over. And that just so happened to occur in some places more than others, usually where the land was valuable. Just so happened to occur at a place like Lac du Flambeau where there’s some beautiful land along a lake and lo and behold that Indian was deemed competent to sell it, right? And so a lot of those lands can be traced back to that exercise as well. You know, another one of the uglier things that happen in American history that leads natives to say that they’re hard pressed to find anything that America did that didn’t have as its objective to separate them from their land and their wealth and this was another one. So you can then quickly fast forward to all these easements and all the people living on some of the best land in the reservations including at like at Lac du Flambeau and that’s how we got here.

MARISA WOJCIK:
What was the cultural consequences of this on tribes and what was the impact on tribal sovereignty?

RICHARD MONETTE:
The impact has been huge. I mean, we can write books on the consequences of this but when you’re not in control of how land is used in a territory, your sovereignty is greatly undermined. I mean, in the world plain, we recognize sovereignty as territory of peoples and recognition. And in that territory is a subordinate, you know sort of, that’s where the peoples are and also divided into component property. And this was an outsider dividing the territory into property and then continuing to exercise it and work it. And so I said earlier about Texas and Wisconsin having different sort of lines in the sand in territory and property from each other. Well, it’s because the state of Texas, the collective people in Texas view their relationship with Texas citizens and their property differently than Wisconsin does. And why that’s important is you then can take a step back and say, well, maybe that is a facet of sovereignty to determine the relationship between Texas the state and the people, Wisconsin the state and the people. Lac du Flambeau the state, the tribe and the people. And that may be in fact one of the most discerning identity points of culture is the relationship they established between the whole, the tribe and the parts, the members, any state, any tribe. And so when an outside entity comes and does that sort of thing in one of the most central tenets of sovereignty territory, it’s obviously going to have a huge effect and it has. So we can fast forward today and ask specifically, for example, does Lac du Flambeau set the balance between the collective and the individuals there? And it’s finally getting back to that point where it’s doing it. It has not done it enough, it stepped away under force of the United States of America for a good deal of that time, the most powerful nation on the planet and so they stepped back. And then there’s also the relationship between Lac du Flambeau and the members and those who are not members, right? Generally, again, not the tribe’s fault but there are some nuances in there that make it difficult. So it’s had a very de devastating, almost incomprehensible, frankly, impact on the tribes.

MARISA WOJCIK:
Now eventually the Dawes Act did come to an end and the Indian Reorganization Act came into effect. What happened there?

RICHARD MONETTE:
Well, the Indian Reorganization Act said that land that was still in trust would have that trust extended, perhaps permanently to the extent that there was a lot of trust land left, maybe it started out at almost 150 million acres. And when the Dawes Act was passed, when the IRA was passed, maybe it was down to about 50 million acres so losing about two thirds of it. Nonetheless, a significant amount for it to stay in trust and no longer be allotted and not be lost through sheriff sales and not saying the owner is becoming a citizen and not saying their property has to now be recorded downtown in the county courthouse. That was a huge turn of events. But still land continued to be lost through family means and through intermarriage and blood quantum and all that. So it still was very difficult. But one of the things that we miss is the IRA, the Indian Reorganization Act was intended to facilitate a rebirth of tribal sovereignty and governance, right? Some self-determination. And to get to the specific point here, while they in fact resurrected their self-determination in a lot of arenas, when it came to governing property, they largely have not. And so you can get the codes like the Lac du Flambeau tribe and you peruse the code and you might see a sentence here about devising a house of a tribally owned or built home or a tribal member home even, perhaps. Or a sentence over here about something about roads. And a lot of these things, if they were put together would start to build a comprehensive code for governing private property. They’ve just not turned that corner yet. So that plays huge in what’s happening here on the reservation.

MARISA WOJCIK:
So we look at this history and we get an understanding of what is happening. There’s a lot of frustration from the non-tribal members that live on the reservation and the tribe is in a little bit of a defensive position, they’re trying to make this negotiation and it won’t go through. What do you think is gonna happen next?

RICHARD MONETTE:
Well, let’s fill in those blanks real quick from that history part. First, let’s make sure we’re saying there’s enough blame to go around and the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the state of Wisconsin, the town of Lac du Flambeau, abstract title companies, the tribe, there’s all kinds of blame to go around. From that historical perspective, the Bureau of Indian Affairs was probably the font of these leases in the first instance and largely to blame for them. They probably issued some of those leases rights of ways, et cetera, without any consultation or consent from the tribe. You know you fast forward 50 or 60 years and we supposedly get this policy of self-determination, self-governance and now the Bureau of Indian Affairs says we can’t do that without the tribe anymore. It’s not surprising I suppose, some of us perhaps don’t have a lot of sympathy for it but it’s not surprising that Americans kinda go, “Well, when we wanted it, our government just took it “and now all of a sudden our own government is telling us “they have to go consult with these natives to do this.” They’re a little flummoxed too. Again, it’s hard to feel sorry for that particular mindset but it is what it is across this entire country. So that’s an interesting one. And then you fast forward and these leases that the bureau had entered into started to run their course, the Bureau of Indian Affairs then maybe tells the tribe, interesting point maybe not, nonetheless, tells the landowners that the lease for the access to your property is running out. And so those land owners talk to each other. A few of them may be called the Bureau of Indian Affairs, maybe one or two called the tribe. Most of them called their own town and county and state, right? That’s who represents them. And when they did that, interestingly enough, you’ve probably heard the history up there but the town took the position, don’t worry, we’ll deal with it. And they sent them letters saying so and our attorney will deal with it. So the land owners kinda stepped back and I think it’s fair to say more than assumed ’cause I think it’s fair to say some discussions happened early on. But if they assumed anything, they assumed those discussions continued and they did not with any sort of substance at all. And so the Bureau of Indian Affairs probably should have pushed it harder at the time. The town probably just thought, “Well we’ll just let it lie and it’ll go away “just like those leases from 25 or 50 “or even 99 year leases,” which are common, “They’ll run out and the Indians will be gone, right?” Well, they ran out and they weren’t gone. And instead there’s a policy towards self-determination. So the Bureau in fact at that point goes to the tribe and the tribe is at the table. Who’s more to blame? Probably the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the whole history of the United States of America. But being a democracy, Americans are largely to blame for that, right? In general, now as far as the separate sort of component institutions like a county or a town of Lac du Flambeau, yeah, they’re things they could have done or things they didn’t need to do like send a letter like that saying they were going to take care of matters and then not do it. That was not helpful for anybody. People wanna blame the title companies which I’m not a real estate expert. I’m guessing though that title companies at least are charged with some sort of constructive obligation to ensure that the property they’re selling has ingress and egress, has access, right? So are they partly to blame? Yes they are. And so I see fingers pointing at them too. And the town and the BIA, all of that. Probably the trickiest one is the tribe and they will probably be upset with me for saying what I’m about to say so I’ll apologize up front. If the tribe wants to be a sovereign, they should act like it with this too. ‘Cause if the tribe had established a recording office, passed a recording law for property interest in their territory, that’s what sovereigns do. The title companies would know where to look. In fact, it would become incumbent on the title companies to look there or commit their own malpractice for not looking there. And in the meantime, the tribe could be be charging a fee to do that. I mean, they could have a privately owned title or abstract company or the tribe could own it, you know? However they wanted to do it. But that’s what sovereigns do. And that would’ve been such an easy thing to do here. And I’ve had to say this to multitudes of tribes in the last five years or so, when this kind of issue is happening at other places around the country increasingly. Somebody’s going to govern all of these territorially and property based events. Somebody’s gonna govern and if you want the Bureau of Indian Affairs to do it, have at it. That’s what they’ve been doing for 100 years, that’s why you’re here. If you want the state to have it and it subsumes your territory and your property, being a prong of sovereignty, it’s clear what you’ll be losing. And if they start to subsume your people too, you’re losing it all. So you know there is an easy decision, if you want this to be governed appropriately, you have to do it. And we hear some of them say, “Well, we don’t really believe in private property “the same way.” And my answer is, well, you don’t get to reach that conclusion unless you govern it. We don’t think that businesses should own land the same way. Well, you don’t get to reach that conclusion unless you govern it. The answer is govern it, right? Bring your culture to bear to the governance, make title companies come there and do a search on your reservation without saying, “Oh, we have to go to the BIA,” and we all know how that works, right? They’re just multi-billion dollar lawsuit ’cause the BIA a couldn’t keep track of these records, these exact kinds of records, right? So we all know how that works. We’re in 2023, there’s no reason for the tribes not to step forward and to fix this today. But that’ll be hard. So let me, I’ll finally get to your question, so here’s what I think will happen and maybe should happen. We are all collectively to blame, Americans in particular, Americans collective. And so it shouldn’t be surprising if the American government steps in or even has to step in. We’ve had these instances before where 99 year leases came up in the city of Salamanca in New York, Congress had to step in with hundreds of millions of dollars worth of settlement to take care of that. One of the more interesting ones was leases in Palm Springs, California with some of the people who lived in Palm Springs, you know Bob Hope, Walter Annenberg, wealthy, well-known people in our country. I’m not sure if their land was right on that land but actually I think it was or in part. So the 99 years, these Indians aren’t gonna be here. Well, 99 years later they were there knocking on the door, by the way, your lease is up, right? Congress had to step in again. This one isn’t as big as either one of those because of a city but as I said, in North Dakota this happened along Lake Sakakawea, non-natives owning homes along the lake inside the reservation. Yeah, Congress stepped in there too. I think that settlement was kept a little more quiet but the Congress had to step in. It’s appropriate for Congress to do that here. Everybody who’s to blame shouldn’t be let off the hook in one way or another. And frankly, we are getting to the stage in 2023 where Congress might say, “We will settle this out, “the trespassing for 10 years now, future cost, “we will pay a few millions to do that “but we will do that under a couple of conditions. “Tribe, you will establish a recording office “so that these kinds of interests “can be registered somewhere “so that title companies can find it. “And Bureau of Indian Affairs, you will provide “all the technical assistance they need to do that.” And that’s what should happen and could happen here if this is done correctly. And then this kinda thing won’t happen again and if it does, we know where the finger points.

MARISA WOJCIK:
Is that what’s leading to the discrepancy between how much money the tribe is asking for and how much money the title company is willing to offer?

RICHARD MONETTE:
Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, they’re trespass charges that title companies probably feel less responsible for. There would be some arguments for that. There would also be some arguments for them to be still part responsible. So absolutely and those are past damages. There will be present and future, what you might call damages or costs that somebody has to bear. The tribe knows that it has to bear some of those, not to mention the long term costs and perpetuity of this is another sort of glitch in their sovereignty that we’re just going to tell ’em, “Well, you have to live with now.” So unless we recognize that they will govern this whole system, they are losing a lot. And normally a sovereign will tax but we’ve made it very difficult if not impossible for them to tax so far anything; sales, land, property, income, anything. Although they’re getting to the point where they’re starting to figure it out. They might have a tax base, an economy, they might have enough people working, they’ve got now private property ownership. They may be turning that corner so that they can raise revenue, gain revenue through taxation which would be normally the way we would see this. So now it’s all those costs have to be couched in the terms of a lease. And so really in a lot of ways lease is the wrong term, right? I don’t know what the right term is but lease is not it ’cause lease has a meaning in our lexicon and this is not it. This lease is representing far more costs than a leasing of a private property parcel or private property interest. And so that’s why we get the different values and and really at loggerheads trying to understand them.

MARISA WOJCIK:
What do you think is most important, especially for a non-Indigenous audience to understand about this situation especially if they feel like already most of the finger pointing goes to the tribe?

RICHARD MONETTE:
Well, I think they have to understand all this, the difficult, terribly difficult history that people say, “Well, I wasn’t there, “I didn’t have anything to do with it.” Okay but you’re there now. And it very clearly derives from that and and we have to be honestly assess that and take some ownership of that. And I think that’s one of the more difficult things. And then understanding sovereignty which people don’t. Why do these Indians wanna be different? Well, how would we like it if Iowa came and took over Wisconsin, right? Well, why do we wanna be different, right? That’s their answers, whatever we can come up with, they can come up with the same ones and maybe even then some, right? So we just have to be honest about that history and that projected future into perpetuity and what it means for them. Some of them have to be honest with themselves. You know the turning point in the law is always knowledge. We expect people to act reasonably but we don’t expect people to reason about something they don’t know. We ask what people know all the time before we hold them responsible. Well, here’s the thing, right? Very few of those people can argue that they didn’t know that was an Indian reservation or that they didn’t know that there was an access road and a lease and/or some sort of right of way. Very few of them can honestly argue that as far as I can tell. And there’s not just the know, the subjective question of whether they knew, the reasonableness turns on the objective question whether they should have known. And that’s where we get to the title company but just as much to Americans, right? Imagine the feeling of irony if you’re a tribal member with this whole history of imposed American propertization, right? And then you’re looking at a bunch of non-natives telling you that they didn’t quite understand the property stuff at play here, right? It’s hard for them to buy. So there are a lot of difficult dynamics we just have to take some ownership of what we’ve done in this country. Now as far as the tribe, you know, well, equities are equities and they understand the relationship; they teach this, between the collective and the individual. They teach people to assess those things separately so you can see how they’re properly related and properly balanced. Well, these individual Americans, sure they’re Americans and they’re part of that whole ugly history but they’re also individual people and they have some equity at stake and the tribe and its people will need to recognize that too. And I wish they would do it before it gets imposed on them. And then after the fact they say, “Well, we recognized it ’cause we had to.” ‘Cause they will, either way. And so that kind of conversation can happen in the right way.

MARISA WOJCIK:
All right Professor, thank you very, very much.

RICHARD MONETTE:
You’re welcome very much.

Experts say 2 lawsuits pose greatest threat to tribal sovereignty in decades

Experts say 2 lawsuits pose greatest threat to tribal sovereignty in decades
Underscore News tribal sovereignty lawsuits tribes

Editor’s note: This story was produced through a collaboration between The Oregonian/OregonLive and Underscore News. The Data-Driven Reporting Project supported Underscore’s work on this story.

A lawsuit in Washington state and another case before the U.S. Supreme Court are part of a coordinated campaign that experts say is pushing once-fringe legal theories to the nation’s highest court and represents the most serious challenge to tribal sovereignty in over 50 years.

Maverick Gaming, which operates 19 card rooms in Washington and casinos in Nevada and Colorado, is challenging a 2020 law that allows sports betting only on tribal lands. The lawsuit, filed in federal court in Washington state, claims the law created a “discriminatory tribal gaming monopoly.”

But it goes further, arguing gaming compacts between Washington state and tribes are based on race and therefore discriminate unconstitutionally against people who run non-tribal casinos. The argument takes aim at the inherent right of tribal nations to govern themselves and at centuries of U.S. law that recognizes tribal governments’ political parity alongside their state and federal counterparts.

Advocates and legal experts say the Maverick case and others like it threaten a return to the Termination Era policies of the 1950s, when the U.S. government sought to end the political status of Indigenous tribes forever.

The most prominent of the cases, argued before the U.S. Supreme Court in November, focuses on the right of Native American families to have preference over non-Native families in the adoption placements of Native kids.

As in the Maverick case, the plaintiffs in Brackeen v. Haaland claim the preference is based on race, rather than the political sovereignty of tribal nations. A ruling in their favor could fundamentally rewrite the way the U.S. government regards tribal nations, casting policies created by treaty or agreements between sovereign nations in doubt.

“It could have really big impacts on basically every law Congress has passed that has to do with tribes and tribal citizens,” said Rebecca Nagle, a journalist, citizen of the Cherokee Nation and host of the “This Land” podcast, which explored the Brackeen case in detail. “It’s really the legal foundation for the rights of Indigenous nations in this country.”

The two cases share a set of underlying arguments based on the idea that federal laws that outline the U.S. government’s obligations to Indigenous nations, including the Indian Child Welfare Act and the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, violate the equal protection clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Those bringing the cases argue that such laws are racially discriminatory — against non-Indigenous people.

The political status of tribal nations is laid out in the Constitution and affirmed by hundreds of years of legal precedent. The U.S. government had to negotiate and, in nearly 400 cases, sign treaties with Native American tribes because of their political, cultural and military strength. Just as the federal government honors the treaties it has signed with France or Germany, it’s bound by those it has agreed to with sovereign Indigenous nations.

“You don’t make treaties with a race or an ethnic group,” said Daniel Lewerenz, an assistant law professor at the University of North Dakota and attorney with the Native American Rights Fund. “You make treaties with a political entity, with a sovereign.”

That relationship — one between political entities — has been the way U.S. and European leaders have negotiated with tribal nations since before the country’s founding, according to Lewerenz, a member of the Iowa tribe of Kansas and Nebraska.

Old arguments gain ground

The arguments in both the Maverick and Brackeen lawsuits echo claims made for decades by groups seeking to end tribal sovereignty.

One such group is the Citizens Equal Rights Alliance, which attacks tribal sovereignty on the basis that the federal laws enshrining it discriminate against everyone who isn’t a member of one of the 574 federally recognized Native American tribes in the United States.

“How does the federal government promote tribal sovereignty and not discriminate against the rest of us?” asked Lana Marcussen, CERA’s attorney for 25 years.

A 2018 report by the Montana Human Rights Network listed CERA as an anti-Indigenous hate group. (CERA rejects the label.) Travis McAdam, the researcher who authored that report and has been monitoring anti-Indigenous groups for decades, said CERA is the major national advocacy group for a dispersed anti-Indigenous movement mostly made up of small, local groups who focus on specific tribal sovereignty issues like water rights, casinos or hunting and fishing rights.

“Anywhere there is a local organization or community members that are opposing tribes on tribal sovereignty or basically anything, eventually CERA is going to show up,” McAdam said. “At its core, the anti-Indigenous movement is about destroying tribal sovereignty, getting rid of tribes and erasing tribal culture.”

In effect, CERA has for decades nurtured ideas long rejected by Congress, the courts and a succession of U.S. presidents. But within the current climate of rising extremism and white nationalism, McAdam worries a major ruling would bring them back into the mainstream.

“Anti-Indigenous groups have used those taking points for decades, but the idea that tribal sovereignty and treaty rights somehow penalize nonmembers — that argument fits into mainstream circles now much better than it did a decade ago,” McAdam said.

In the Termination Era beginning in the 1950s, the federal government enacted policies based on a viewpoint similar to the one espoused by CERA and Marcussen: that Indigenous people should assimilate into American society and give up their Indigenous identities, and that the rights negotiated in treaties and codified in federal laws were preventing them from doing so.

Congress quickly passed 46 laws terminating 109 tribes around the United States, including 62 in Oregon — more than any other state.

The result was disastrous for Native Americans.

Termination unilaterally dissolved tribal membership and ended the U.S. government’s obligations toward terminated tribes, including the services guaranteed in treaties in exchange for land. Termination policies also allowed the government to seize millions of acres of tribal lands rich with minerals and timber.

“The justification for termination was that the federal trust responsibility between the federal government and tribes was holding Native Americans back,” Nagle said. “It’s just kind of a rinse and repeat argument, that equality for Native people is treating Native people the same as everybody else. That’s a very coded way to talk about erasing the special trust relationship that the U.S. federal government has with tribes.”

Members of suddenly landless tribes scattered, with many moving from their former reservations to cities under federal relocation policies aimed at forcing assimilation. Termination caused dire social disarray and further impoverishment. For the leaders of terminated tribes, it also squashed the ability to prevent such harm.

All three branches of the U.S. government firmly repudiated termination policy in the 1960s and ‘70s, pushing proponents to the political sidelines. Two presidents from opposing parties refused to enforce termination, the courts reaffirmed treaty rights, and in 1975 Congress replaced it with the current federal tribal policy known as self-determination.

Indigenous leaders and activists pushed for more protections of their rights, and Congress soon passed more laws, including the Indian Child Welfare Act, the Indian Healthcare Improvement Act, and the American Indian Religious Freedom Act.

And after decades of work, many terminated tribes eventually won back federal recognition of their sovereignty — but not their land, in most cases.

So modern-day efforts to undermine tribal sovereignty ring familiar to people like Lewerenz, the Native American Rights Fund attorney.

“The people who have tried to get whatever it is that Indians have — whether that’s land or fish or children — have always done so by trying to claim the mantle of equality,” Lewerenz said.

[From 2022: ‘A historic milestone’: Alaska formally recognizes Native tribes]

Key cases share attorney

Maverick Gaming and Chad and Jennifer Brackeen are also backed by the same legal team.

The Brackeens are challenging ICWA, a 1978 law that requires caseworkers to give preference to Indigenous families in foster and adoption placements of children who are members of a federally recognized tribe.

The law was aimed at correcting centuries of injustice.

Between 1819 and 1969, the federal government took many thousands of Indigenous kids from their homes and forced them to attend brutal schools that employed “systematic militarized and identity-alteration methodologies,” according to a report released by the U.S. Department of the Interior in May.

After the federal government ended mandatory attendance at American Indian boarding schools, officials continued to remove overwhelming numbers of Indigenous kids from their families and place them in foster or adoptive care outside their communities.

When Congress passed ICWA in 1978, studies showed that state child welfare agencies and private adoption companies were taking between 25{c024931d10daf6b71b41321fa9ba9cd89123fb34a4039ac9f079a256e3c1e6e8} and 35{c024931d10daf6b71b41321fa9ba9cd89123fb34a4039ac9f079a256e3c1e6e8} of Native kids from their families. And 85{c024931d10daf6b71b41321fa9ba9cd89123fb34a4039ac9f079a256e3c1e6e8} of those children were placed with non-Indigenous families.

Native families are still four times as likely as white families to have kids removed from their homes, according to the National Indian Child Welfare Association.

But some private adoption companies and evangelical groups argue that the law gives preference to Indigenous people as a racial group and therefore violates the equal protection clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution.

The Brackeens, a white couple, sought to adopt a 4-year-old girl in foster care, the baby sister of a boy they had already adopted. Devout evangelical Christians, the Brackeens told The New York Times they saw adoption of foster kids as a way to “rectify their blessings.” The Navajo Nation wanted to place the girl, who is Cherokee and Navajo, with a Navajo family, as laid out by the Indian Child Welfare Act. But when that placement fell through, both Indigenous nations supported the Brackeens’ adoption.

Despite their happy ending, the Brackeens are the lead plaintiffs in a federal lawsuit claiming the act is based on a racial preference that unfairly prioritizes Indigenous families as adoptive parents.

For a child welfare dispute that started out in a small Texas family court, the Brackeen case draws unusual firepower.

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton intervened in the case on the couple’s behalf.

And Matthew McGill, an attorney with the high-powered firm Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher who argued the Citizens United case before the Supreme Court in 2010, took the Brackeens’ case pro bono. He argued on their behalf before the U.S. Supreme Court in November.

His law firm is also known for representing Chevron in the longstanding lawsuit filed by Indigenous communities in Ecuador, as well as Energy Transfer Partners, architect of the Dakota Access Pipeline. The latter proposal has drawn fierce opposition from the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, along with the Yankton Sioux, the Oglala Sioux and the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribes, who say the pipeline’s route under nearby Lake Oahe threatens their main source of drinking water and could pollute the waters they hold sacred.

McGill also successfully argued the Supreme Court case that led to the court’s 2018 ruling allowing states to legalize sports betting. The firm counts among its clients several major international casino operators.

Two years after McGill’s win in the sports betting case, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee signed a bill allowing sports betting only under Washington’s tribal-state gaming compacts, setting the stage for the Maverick lawsuit.

In January 2022, McGill filed the Maverick lawsuit, as well. He did not respond to requests for an interview.

On its surface, the case is connected to his litigation around betting and gaming. But the legal arguments parallel those of the Brackeen adoption case.

Lewerenz said both cases could result in rulings that cast tribes as “merely private associations of people with a common racial ancestry.”

“If that happens,” Lewerenz said, “then it’s hard to understand why they would have any governing power, any political power.”

Nagle said that power flows from tribes’ unique position as sovereign nations that predate the United States.

“What racial group in the United States has its own land?” she asked. “Its own water rights and environmental regulations? Its own police force, its own elections, its own government?”

Tribes fear they stand to lose almost everything: their right to self-governance, the resources to preserve their culture and traditions, and the main economic engine that provides for basic tribal services.

But for those with interests in the private casino industry, such a change could be a boon. The same goes for corporations looking to develop oil and gas leases without interference from Indigenous nations, whose right to co-manage the lands they stewarded for millennia is increasingly recognized by the federal government.

Gaming change could devastate tribes

The Washington State Legislature authorized gambling only for the state lottery, for tribes, for charitable and nonprofit gaming and, in a much more limited capacity, as a financial boost for bars.

But dozens of non-tribal, for-profit card rooms have expanded the category.

“Those food and beverage establishments have somehow become these massive mini casinos,” said Rebecca George, executive director of the Washington Indian Gaming Association.

That’s where Maverick stepped in.

Its CEO, Eric Persson, declined repeated requests for an interview. But in press releases and news articles about the lawsuit his company filed, Persson says he supports tribal sovereignty.

Underscore News tribal sovereignty lawsuits tribes

In fact, Persson is a member of the Shoalwater Bay Indian Tribe, a tiny community located an hour southwest of Hoquiam, Washington, where he grew up. The tribe gave Persson a partial scholarship every semester, according to his spokesman, from undergrad through law school at Georgetown University. Persson is one of over 100 members the tribe estimates it has helped send to college.

Now, the tribe says, his lawsuit could devastate the tribe’s ability to provide government services to its citizens — including its scholarship fund.

The Shoalwater Tribe is fighting for survival on several fronts. Its reservation is a tiny piece of land. The single square acre set aside by the U.S. government in 1866 is big enough to house the tribal headquarters and not much else. Rising sea levels caused by climate change have eaten into that territory as the ocean has slurped up houses on what used to be forested land above high tide.

“Half the reservation is underwater,” said Larry Kerns, the tribe’s chief financial officer.

Underscore News tribal sovereignty lawsuits tribes

The tribe is using gaming revenue to painstakingly buy back small chunks of its homelands, including areas atop nearby hills that would be a safer place to live. The tribe now owns nearly 5,000 acres.

“It’s our land and we want it back,” Kerns said. “Unfortunately, we have to buy it back. They stole it from us, and we have to buy it back.”

The Shoalwater tribal government made about $7 million last year in gaming revenue, according to Kerns. It pays for most of the tribe’s governmental services, including education, tribal housing, elders’ pensions, child welfare services, tribal policing and administration.

“Gaming income funds basically everything,” Kerns said. “Without it, we’d have to cut our programs by about 70{c024931d10daf6b71b41321fa9ba9cd89123fb34a4039ac9f079a256e3c1e6e8}.”

The Maverick case threatens it all.

Underscore News tribal sovereignty lawsuits tribes

In 2018, the company bought about half the card rooms in the state, adding to the casinos and card rooms it already owned in Nevada and Colorado. Persson immediately launched his campaign to allow sports betting in private clubs throughout the state. Maverick poured millions into a political action committee and lobbied lawmakers in support of a bill in the Washington State Legislature that would allow sports betting in his clubs.

After that bill failed, he tried again with a narrower model, which he said would “level the playing field” between tribal gaming operations and those that are privately owned by non-tribal entities. That bill also failed.

Lawmakers approved gambling in Washington in part to fund essential government services. Just like the state lottery raises money for education, tribal gaming raises money that tribes use to provide their citizens with education, healthcare, natural resources and behavioral health, George said.

“(Persson) has a bottom line that he wants to grow,” George said. “But for us, we want to get up to basic standards for our communities, and we still have a long way to go.”

Thirty years after the first tribal casino opened in Washington state, poverty rates among reservation communities there are improving, because of the jobs they create and the government services they fund. But annual incomes among tribal members living on reservations in Washington state average just $18,600, according to a recent report by the gaming association.

“Indian gaming has helped a lot,” George said. “But we’re still a good 50{c024931d10daf6b71b41321fa9ba9cd89123fb34a4039ac9f079a256e3c1e6e8} behind the state average for poverty. So there’s still a long way to go.”

Contact Karina Brown at Underscore News at [email protected].

Yale Law Journal – Navassa: Property, Sovereignty, and the Law of the Territories

Yale Law Journal – Navassa: Property, Sovereignty, and the Law of the Territories

abstract. The United States acquired its first overseas territory—Navassa Island, near Haiti—by conceptualizing it as a kind of property to be owned, rather than a piece of sovereign territory to be governed. The story of Navassa shows how competing conceptions of property and sovereignty are an important and underappreciated part of the law of the territories—a story that continued fifty years later in the Insular Cases, which described Puerto Rico as “belonging to” but not “part of” the United States.

Contemporary
scholars are drawn to the sovereignty framework and the public-law tools that
come along with it: arguments about rights and citizenship geared to show that
the territories should be
recognized as “part of” the United States. But it would be a mistake to
completely reject the language and tools of property and private law, which can
also play a role in dismantling the colonial structure—so long as it is clear
that the relevant entitlements lie with the people of the territories. Doing so can help conceptualize the
harms of colonialism in different ways (not only conquest, but unjust
enrichment), and can facilitate the creation of concrete solutions like
negotiated economic settlements, litigation against colonial powers, and the
possibility of auctions for sovereign control.

authors. Faculty at the law schools of Duke University
and the University of Virginia, respectively. For conversations about this
topic, we thank David Billington, Chris Buccafusco, Guy Charles, Jacqueline
Charles, Justin Desautels-Stein, Gio Fumei, Ira Kurzban, Christina Ponsa-Kraus,
and Mark Weidemaier. The editors of the Yale Law Journal, especially
Ethan Fairbanks, Alexis Kallen, Rekha Kennedy, Danny Li, and Bo Malin-Mayor,
provided excellent suggestions.

Introduction

The U.S. territories and the concepts with which scholars,
judges, and lawyers address them are suspended in a netherworld: the
unincorporated territories “belong[] to” but are not “part of” the United
States, as the Supreme Court held in the Insular
Cases
.
This legal no man’s land has
continuing consequences for the millions of Americans living in the
territories, and it also presents fundamental challenges for those attempting
to understand, let alone unwind, the United States’s colonial legacy.

What are the territories? The
contemporary debate proceeds in the language of public law, but federal
authority over the territories derives from the Property Clause.

What role might private law play in resolving their status?

In this Article, we show how the present state of affairs is
partially traceable to confusion and manipulation of the concepts of property (“belonging to”) and sovereignty (“part of”), and that
each has a potentially important role to play going forward. The trajectory of
debate about the territories’ status has moved from the former conception to
the latter, and for understandable reasons. Nations historically used property
concepts to justify conquest while avoiding the duties and obligations of
governance, as the case of the U.S. territories painfully illustrates.
The contemporary question is
thus seen as one of public law and governance, as are the suggested remedies:
arguments about citizenship, rights, and sovereignty. These arguments are
powerful and essential, but incomplete, because the property framework also
contains tools that can help clarify and resolve the territories’ legal status.
The challenge therefore is not to reject the tools of property—concepts like
ownership, economic incentive, transfer, and payment—but to reforge them for
the tasks at hand: self-determination, economic justice, negotiation, and
reparations.

Sovereignty and property are among the most contested and
ambiguous terms in legal thought, and we do not purport to offer new or certain
definitions of them here. But we do think that they invoke different broad
families of concepts, generally tracking the distinction—again, blurry and
contestable—between public and private law. As Martti Koskenniemi puts it, “Sovereignty
and property form a typical pair of legal opposites that while apparently
mutually exclusive and mutually delimiting, also completely depend on each
other. Their relationship greatly resembles the equally familiar contrast
between the ‘public’ and the ‘private,’ or ‘public law’ and ‘private law.’”
The division between private and
public law, in turn, can generally be thought of as “a naturalized law of
things on the one side and a politicized law of power on the other.”
Broadly speaking, our
argument is that the law of the territories—not unlike, say, takings law
or the debate over
reparations
—rewards close consideration of both
public- and private-law concepts. The language of property, for example, can
help recognize and even remedy political and social phenomena that might not immediately
register as private-law issues.

As we see it, the argument that a territory is entitled to statehood resonates
in public law;
an argument that damages are owed for
the wrongful taking of a territory, however, might resonate more in private-law
concepts like restitution and unjust enrichment.

To illustrate the significance of the property and
sovereignty frameworks and set the stage for evaluating them, we begin with the
story of a single overseas territory—the oldest of all the U.S. territories,
and in that sense the place where the
story of U.S. imperialism began: Navassa,
a sunbaked and
uninhabitable rock buried under a million tons of bird droppings, and located
roughly forty miles from Haiti,
which also claims the island. Beginning with an unoccupied and
seemingly minor territory helps us isolate and grasp conceptual threads that
run through the treatment of inhabited territories like Puerto Rico. Pulling on
those threads can unravel a lot of colonial fabric.

The United States acquired Navassa in 1857, pursuant to the
Guano Islands Act,

which gave the President power to recognize as appurtenances to the United
States any islands discovered and mined for guano by U.S. citizens.
The Act also explicitly provided that
the United States need not retain the islands once mining was
complete.
The underlying framework
was in that sense one familiar to property law: the incentive structure was
commercial, the mode of acquisition was Lockean,
and nothing in the Act
committed the United States to actually govern the islands. This approach might be contrasted with a
sovereignty-type framework in which new territory becomes part of a
nation-state whose borders are insulated from change.
In fact, the United States, like many
imperial powers at the time, often explicitly resisted sovereignty—in part because of the obligations that it
might entail.

The story of Navassa is thus in part a story of a colonial
power using the concepts of property and sovereignty to its advantage, and
thereby relegating the island—like Puerto Rico and the other unincorporated
territories—to the status of a “disembodied shade.”
But even as the dust was
settling on the Insular Cases and the
United States was fighting a war over the status of its largest territory (the
Philippines), U.S. legal scholars were exploring—and complicating—the
conceptual relationship between property and sovereignty.
That ongoing exploration and the law
of the territories have much to learn from each other.

Contemporaneously, international law was moving away from the
property framework, making it incumbent upon colonial powers to treat their
territories as something other than possessions to be conquered, exploited, or
bartered for economic gain.

By the middle of the nineteenth century, this development, combined with the
rise of the principle of self-determination, helped precipitate a wave of
decolonization worldwide.

But shifting to a public-law frame that treats sovereignty as
both an obligation and a given obscures other possible solutions. Governance
arrangements became more a product of status than of contract.
This reification of
sovereign territory is an implication of territorial sovereignty, and—with
limited and contestable exceptions for self-determination
or humanitarian intervention—it obscures the degree to which
borders and sovereign territory are man-made contingencies that can and
sometimes should be voluntarily changed.
Part of our goal here is to
unsettle those assumptions and to suggest how private-law concepts like
entitlement and transfer might be adapted to unwind the colonial structures
they were once used to build. For generations, Western powers used private-law
tools to exploit and profit from their colonies. Surely it requires some
justification now to tell those colonies that the same tools are unavailable to
them—that they, having enriched the metropoles, cannot pursue arguments of
unjust enrichment; or that they, having been treated like property, cannot now
choose to transfer or sell their territory. The conceptual and practical
obstacles are considerable, and we address some of them below,
but that is not reason
enough to reject the effort, especially considering that the tools of public
law have significant complications of their own.

In fact, powerful and wealthy nations continue to use
private-law tools to wring benefits from sovereign territories, for example by
entering into long-term leases for military bases,
or through large-scale
industrial and public-works projects that have the effect of projecting
sovereign authority abroad.

This private-law toolkit—including concepts like contract (only possible once
one has established entitlements) and damages—can be used to help the
territories as well. This would not mean treating territories as “belonging to”
the United States, subject to barter or trade as Congress sees fit.
That notion should be
rejected not because it
involves property, but because it gives the entitlement to the wrong party—to
the United States, rather than to the people of the territories.
If colonial powers could, and in some
ways still do, use sovereignty as a valuable asset, why can’t colonized people
do the same now that the asset is theirs?

Getting clear about this entitlement helps illuminate the
possibilities for what we have elsewhere described as a “market for sovereign
control.”
Sovereign control has been
ceded, traded, gifted, leased, and otherwise transferred between nations for
centuries. Sometimes those transfers have been coercive or exploitative; other
times they have been voluntary and welfare-enhancing. What is generally
missing, however, is a good legal mechanism for transfers of sovereignty beyond
the context of former colonies becoming independent (which, it should be noted,
many do not want).

Sir Hersch Lauterpacht noted that “[t]he part of international law upon which
private law has engrafted itself most deeply is that relating to acquisition of
sovereignty over land, sea, and territorial waters.”
But less attention has been
paid to the use of private law in divesting
territory.

One way to conceptualize the issue is as a question of
allocating a valued resource—sovereign control over physical territory. In
other contexts, the law assigns clear property rights, protects them, and lets
parties bargain their way to mutual advantage, with appropriate constraints.
Creating a market for
sovereign control, then, would mean assigning property rights in sovereign
control and permitting them to be traded. It would mean moving borders to fit
people, rather than people to fit borders,
subject to various
limitations.
But none of that is
possible without clarity regarding the underlying entitlements. That is the
focus of this Article.

Part I tells the story of Navassa, and how “the droppings of
birds played an important role in the history of U.S. imperialism.”
This historical account
serves not only to give Navassa the attention it deserves in the law of the
territories, but also to show how it—like the other unincorporated
territories—ended up being treated as both property and sovereign territory,
albeit without the benefits of either categorization.

Part II embeds this story in broader developments in legal
thought and international law, beginning with Morris Cohen’s observation that
seemingly obvious differences between property and sovereignty tend to blur the
more deeply one thinks about them.
In the case of the
territories, that ambiguity was central both to the Insular Cases and to the interpretations of State Department
lawyers. And yet, however blurry, the line remains significant, as
contemporaneous developments in international law demonstrate. In particular,
the move away from property-law
concepts—long a staple of international law, especially with regard to the
acquisition of territory
—and
toward an emphasis on sovereignty has tended to cement the status quo,
including existing colonial structures.

In Part III, using Navassa as an illustration, we argue that
some aspects of the property paradigm should be recovered, and that they stand
to help the U.S. territories and other colonial possessions. We explore three
specific implications: negotiated economic settlements, litigation against
colonial powers, and the possibility of auctions for sovereign control. The
last of these, in particular, means adapting the property framework from
uninhabited territories like Navassa to inhabited territories like Puerto Rico.
By focusing on a small, uninhabited, and seemingly minor island, rather than
mounting another attack on the Insular
Cases
, our goal is not to avoid the broader questions of democracy and the
law of the territories, but to isolate and develop one particular theme: the
use and potential promise of private-law concepts like property.