Heritage of Indians Questioned : Genealogists Cast Doubt on Background of Chumash Group

They are the most traditional-looking Indians in Santa Barbara County. Many wear their hair in braids and dress in full Indian regalia at public hearings. Some have assumed names such as White Bear and Mushu.

They have more political power, county officials say, and have made more money monitoring construction sites for Chumash artifacts than any other Indian group in the area.

But now there is some question whether the founders of their organization--the United Chumash Council--really are American Indians. Two genealogists and some prominent local Chumash Indians say that many are not. And, they say, even John Sespe, a United Chumash Council co-founder who has been appointed by Gov. George Deukmejian to the state Native American Heritage Commission, is not an American Indian.

Instead, genealogists say, the founders and many of the leaders are descendants of the Mexican soldiers who accompanied the Spanish missionaries and military troops who colonized Santa Barbara.

Sespe, who was appointed three years ago to the nine-member state commission, disagrees with the genealogists’ conclusions and said his grandparents told him he is part Chumash and “that’s good enough for me.” And Sespe said he knows of no family links to the soldiers who colonized Santa Barbara.

Other United Chumash Council founders have similar explanations and dismiss the genealogical research as white men meddling in Indian affairs. And, they say, the mission records that the genealogists have studied are inadequate.

But Ernestine McGovran, descendant of a Chumash chief, said she and many other local Indians have had no difficulty tracing their genealogy and proving their heritage. And, McGovran said, she “finds it particularly galling” that what she called the descendants of the “soldiers who ripped us off 200 years ago are still ripping us off.”

“They helped steal our land and now they’re going around in their headbands and beads, pretending to be Indians, and collecting all this money that should be ours,” said McGovran, whose mother was the last Indian who could speak the Chumash language. “The real Indians are confronted with a lot of problems, and this money could be used to solve some of them.”

The controversy has precipitated an acrimonious dispute in Santa Barbara County among rival Chumash Indian groups--the dominant tribe in the area. Millions of dollars of archeological site-monitoring fees--and how the money is dispersed--are at stake.

County regulations require that Indian monitors be present on all construction sites where artifacts are likely to be found. The monitors--who earn up to $25 an hour--ensure that sensitive burial sites are not disturbed and Indian relics are preserved.

Indian remains are still scattered throughout the area where an estimated 15,000 Chumash once lived--from the northern edge of San Luis Obispo County to Malibu, and from the Channel Islands inland to near Bakersfield. But after the Spanish missionaries arrived in the 18th Century--along with the soldiers--many Chumash died from diseases such as smallpox, tuberculosis, measles and even the common cold, against which they had no natural immunity. Others were taken into the missions, forced to tend row crops and construct buildings, and not permitted to leave. Their native heritage eventually was destroyed.

Now the Chumash have only 127 acres left, a small reservation of about 200 Indians in Santa Ynez, about 20 miles north of Santa Barbara. And anthropologists estimate that only about 3,000 people of Chumash descent remain.

The United Chumash Council founders say that during the last 200 years their Chumash ancestors were assimilated into the Anglo and Mexican cultures. During a time of heightened cultural awareness in the 1960s, those who now are the leaders of the United Chumash Council--most of whom are members of one extended family--became active in local Indian issues. Because the United Chumash Council was well organized and had more experience in activist issues than Indians on the reservation, they soon obtained the majority of monitoring contracts.

That caused conflict between the urban Indians and those on the Santa Ynez reservation, said Elaine Schneider, tribal resource coordinator for the reservation. So the Elders Council, which represents the reservation on monitoring issues, formed an “understanding” with the United Chumash Council and began dividing the work, Schneider said. Now members of the two groups share most of the monitoring in the county.

When asked if she believes the United Chumash Council members are of Chumash descent, Schneider said: “I don’t know. They feel they’re Chumash. . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

But Fred Herrera, president of a second group based on the reservation, the Kit Wo’N’Unio--which means to emerge and seek--calls the understanding to share the work a “sell-out.” The Elders Council cut the deal, he said, simply to get “a piece of the action.” And through the agreement, the United Chumash Council gained legitimacy by being affiliated with the reservation, according to Herrera.

The Kit Wo’N’Unio, which has about 70 supporters, has proposed a smaller wage for monitors with more of the money directed back into the Indian community. Now, Herrera contends, a handful of people are being paid off and when the monitoring money runs out “the Indian community won’t be any better off.”

The high school dropout rate at the reservation is more than 80%, Herrera said, and funds are desperately needed for tutoring and education programs. No Chumash today can speak the language and the culture is dying out. A portion of the monitoring fees, Herrera said, could be used to create a museum on the reservation where Chumash heritage could be preserved.

But the Elders Council and United Chumash Council members say their monitors cannot afford to give up any of their fees. And if the Kit Wo’N’Unio is interested in educational and cultural programs, they say, the organization should apply for federal grants.

“If we’re hungry we can’t just go out and kill a buffalo and drag it into the tepee,” said Margaret Cash, a member of the Elders Council. “Times have changed. We need money for food and clothing, just like everyone else. We’re not going to get rich off monitoring, but it helps pay some bills. They talk about using the money for education. I say education begins at home.”

And Cash denied that the agreement between the two groups has compromised the Elders Council. Cooperating with the United Chumash Council, she said, strengthens the position of both groups “so that the Chumash people will be better able to benefit from all opportunities.”

Some archeologists and county officials privately are sympathetic with the Kit Wo’N’Unio’s position, but because they frequently work with United Chumash Council members, they are reluctant to criticize the group. Even some members of the Elders Council have broken rank and disagree with the council’s position.

“They (the United Chumash Council) know they’re not Indians, but money talks so they say they don’t believe in genealogy,” said Juanita Centeno, a longtime member of the Elder’s Council and an expert on Chumash folk art. “Everything now is money, money, money. This image hurts all Indians. But with all the money that’s been paid by the big companies for monitoring, there’s nothing much to show for it.”

The genealogy controversy began in 1982 when John Johnson, now a curator at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History and an expert on mission records, traced the genealogy of United Chumash Council founders. A family member, who wanted to prove her ancestry, worked with the genealogist. Johnson studied the Santa Barbara Mission records and said he found no proof that the founders of the United Chumash Council had any Chumash ancestors.

Johnson’s research indicated that the founders’ ancestors “were from Baja California and Sonora, Mexico, and came up with the Spanish (in the late 18th Century.) They were (among) the soldiers who founded the forts and presidios in California. . . . They were really the colonizers of Santa Barbara.”

Speculation on Origins

Johnson and another genealogist interviewed say that the soldiers could have been of Mexican Indian origin, but they were not Chumash or from any other U.S. tribe.

When Johnson presented the evidence to the United Chumash Council founders, he said, “they chose not to believe it.” And the other genealogist, who requested anonymity, also traced the family’s lineage at the mission archives and “found no Chumash there.” But United Chumash Council members continue to dismiss these findings.

“John Johnson is a white man and who is he to tell an Indian person who is Indian and who isn’t?” responded John Ruiz, cultural resource coordinator for the United Chumash Council. “I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. And as far as I’m concerned, the mission records are 99% inaccurate.”

Developers who are trying to weaken the Indian community have planted the false rumors, Sespe said. Sespe--which he said means turtle in Chumash--changed his name from Gutierrez in 1976. But, Johnson said, Chumash dictionaries indicate that the name actually means kneecap.

“For 20 years we’ve worked very hard to preserve our culture and regain our religious ceremonies,” Sespe said. “Yet people just want to emphasize controversy. But we’re too busy working for our people to give all that much thought.”

Kevin Brett, spokesman for Deukmejian, who appointed Sespe to the Native American Advisory Board, said if the “allegations against Sespe (about his genealogy) appear to hold water” his position on the board will be reviewed.

“John Sespe indicated to us that he is an elder and spiritual leader of the Chumash tribe,” Brett said. “We do have a review process and I can assure you it is thorough. . . . But are we in the business of thoroughly checking genealogy? The answer is no.”

Backgrounds Studied

The United Chumash Council founders who are members of the extended family whose genealogy Johnson studied are Ruiz, White Bear, Sespe, now a United Chumash Council spiritual adviser; Darlene Hall, the field coordinator for monitoring; Kote Lotah, a spiritual leader, and Madeline Hall, an elder.

Other members of the extended family and a number of in-laws are also active in the United Chumash Council. Sespe said the United Chumash Council has a membership of about 100.

For years county officials, archeologists and Indian groups have been familiar with the findings of the genealogists. But in the 1970s, Indian monitors worked sporadically and few paid attention to their credentials. During the last few years, however, oil development has proliferated and large-scale excavations for pipelines and other projects have made monitoring lucrative.

Indian monitors in the county have been paid about $1.5 million during the last two years by oil companies--according to figures provided by oil company spokesmen--and more than $500,000 from other development projects in the county.

With monitoring now big business, the credentials of United Chumash Council leaders are being scrutinized. And archeologists and some local Indians are asking the county to institute stricter standards for monitors.

“The situation is appalling . . . ,” said Larry Wilcoxon, who owns a Santa Barbara archeological consulting firm. “The county needs to come up with some kind of guidelines and require a proof of descendancy.”

County officials say they are following state guidelines--which require only that monitors be associated with a “community or ethnic or social group”--and makes no mention of genealogy.

County Criticized

Santa Barbara is “sidestepping” the issue by following state law, said county archeologist David Stone. And because the Native American Heritage Commission has made a United Chumash Council leader a state commissioner, Stone said, the county is “deferring” to the commission’s judgment and recognizing the group.

The requirements for Indian monitoring vary in counties throughout California and the state guidelines are vague. But Santa Barbara County, which traditionally has been extremely sensitive to environmental concerns, has stringent regulations regarding the presence of monitors.

Many archeologists and developers have complained about the fees charged by Indians. The United Chumash Council and Elders Council monitors charge $18.75 an hour, with senior monitors making up to $25 an hour. Another fee is tacked on for administrative costs and the total, for one monitor, often is $250 a day. The Kit Wo’N’Unio charges considerably less.

“The fees have become totally exorbitant,” Wilcoxon said. “I have archeologists with master’s degrees working for me and they’re getting paid much less than the monitors. I can’t justify that.”

The expensive monitoring contracts have changed the priorities of many Indians, said Johnny Flynn, a Potawatomi Indian who works with the Kit Wo’N’Unio. Instead of being concerned about preserving important archeological sites--the original purpose of monitoring--many are obsessed with the lucrative monitoring contracts, he said.

“A hundred years ago it would have been a wagon load of whiskey and wormy biscuits that would have clouded Native American’s minds over what the true situation is,” said Flynn, a graduate student at the University of California, Santa Barbara, who has been active in local Indian issues for 12 years. “Now it’s the high pay for monitoring. With some of the people it’s like they’re being bought off. It’s hard to complain about a pipeline plowing up an important site when the oil company is paying you that kind of money.”

Sacred Site

A 26-mile Chevron pipeline, which cuts through Point Conception, is an example of “a buy-off,” Flynn contended. Point Conception is regarded by the Chumash as a sacred site--the Western Gate, where a person’s soul arrives at birth and leaves at death.

In 1979, a proposed liquefied natural gas terminal at Point Conception sparked numerous Indian protests, many involving United Chumash Council leaders, and the plant proposal eventually was dropped. Then last year Chevron began construction on the pipeline and the United Chumash Council did most of the monitoring.

John Ruiz denied that the United Chumash Council has made concessions to companies in exchange for monitoring fees. The first concern, he said, is preservation and protection of Chumash remains.

“We started monitoring years ago for free and we did it to protect our heritage,” Ruiz said. “It’s only the last few years that there’s been much money in it.”

And at Point Conception, Ruiz said, the United Chumash Council ensured that the pipeline was rerouted to avoid sacred spots. But, Flynn said, “the whole area is sacred--the most sacred site on the continent. . . . You can’t just avoid sacred spots. Now there is a giant scar running across it, and the United Chumash Council’s made a killing in monitoring fees. . . . And the real Indians--the people whose ancestors once lived on the site--didn’t make anything.”