Chumash Face Fight for U.S. Tribal Status

Native American blood runs through their veins, and their Indian pride rivals that of any Navajo or Apache. But in the eyes of the federal government, most of the thousands of Chumash living in Southern California are without a tribe.

It is the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs that decides when a group of Native Americans is really a tribe, and over the years, the bureau has established government-to-government ties with hundreds of them--from the Cherokees to the Choctaws to the Paiutes.

But many other “tribes” are vying for inclusion on the official list, drawn by a blend of ethnic pride and the prospect of federal benefits and lucrative casino rights. Mounting the efforts are direct descendants of centuries-old chiefs, those suspected of fudging their genealogical lines and many in between.

“We’re tired of being out there in limbo,” said Ernestine Desoto, whom scholars say is the daughter of the last surviving Chumash to speak a native dialect. “We’re tired of defending our Indian-ness.”

The bureaucratic exercise, however, can be a frustrating one, often costing hundreds of thousands of dollars in consulting fees and sometimes prompting bitter feuding among rival groups.

The 1988 Indian Gaming Regulatory Act permits various types of gambling on tribal lands. Though the forms of gambling allowed vary from state to state, the law has turned official recognition into a high-stakes exercise--more so than the federal loans, health assistance, economic development funds and other aid to Native Americans that is stretched thin and being scaled back further in the current round of budget cuts.

There is a feeling of special urgency now, with some congressional critics calling for the government to decide once and for all which tribes are really tribes.

In all, there are 161 groups--about a quarter of them from California--that have petitioned the Bureau of Indian Affairs for official recognition, the first step in the long and difficult process.

Two area Chumash groups are among them, one of which filed its initial petition in 1983 and another that began its campaign for recognition last month. They say that visions of slot machines are not dancing in their heads, but that historical accuracy requires that the government acknowledge the many unrecognized Chumash.

With hundreds of members throughout the Santa Monica Mountains and beyond, both local groups say they are legitimate tribes, separate and distinct from the sole Chumash tribe recognized by the federal government--the 350 Indians who live on a small reservation at Santa Ynez.

But the two groups are bitter rivals who question the merits of each other’s claims. A decade ago, they were on opposite sides of a court battle over what to do with a Chumash burial site unearthed in a flood control channel near Point Mugu.

The Oakbrook Chumash People, of which Desoto is a member, touts its genealogical line as far more solid than that of the Coastal Band of the Chumash Nation, and scholars such as John Johnson of the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History agree.

However, the Coastal Band, an umbrella group for a handful of Chumash groups, contends that its members are far more in touch with Chumash culture and accuses its rivals of recently discovering their Native American blood.

“They have no sense of traditional value,” Cote Lotah, the outspoken vice chairman of the Coastal Band, said of the Oakbrook Chumash. “We have an edge on them because we are in touch with the culture.”

The Oakbrook Chumash People, which operates the Oakbrook Chumash Interpretive Center in Thousand Oaks, accuses Lotah, a self-described native doctor, and others of exaggerating their Chumash roots.

“Anybody who goes around shouting or chanting how Indian they are is probably not Indian,” Desoto said. “We don’t have Hollywood-style Indian names, but we do have historical documentation that we are descendants of the Chumash.”

Some members of the Coastal Band cannot trace their lineage to mission records in Ventura, Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties, which raises a red flag among scholars. Members of the Coastal Band, however, contend that some of their ancestors never lived in the Spanish missions, making precise documentation impossible.

The dissension among the Chumash stems in part from a long-simmering business dispute.

Both tribes run consulting firms that provide archeological monitoring at local construction sites as required by state law in areas of potential historical significance. The jobs can haul in $200 a day, and Cotah’s Owl Clan Consultants has aggressively sought to corner the market.

In an attempt to sidestep the sniping, the National Park Service recently commissioned a study of the local Chumash groups to determine which ones the federal government ought to contact in connection with the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, which requires consultation with tribes when ancient artifacts are uncovered.

The report, which is still in draft form, sides with the Oakbrook Chumash People, saying tribal leader Paul Varela and his followers can better trace their bloodline to original Chumash tribes. The Coastal Band dismisses what it has seen of the report as flawed.

“There is only one way the white man knows how to establish heritage and that’s through written records,” said Michael Khus-Zarate, a member of the Coastal Band. “There is a cultural divide here. Our history has been passed along orally.”

Recognition by Uncle Sam is a controversial notion within the tribal groups, with members disagreeing on whether it is worth the trouble.

“Personally, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t continue with our application,” said Aggie Garnica, tribal chairman for the Coastal Band. “We’ve survived and we’ve done it independently. I think that’s how we belong. Why do we need to become recognized? We’ve never been a part of any nation except our own.”

But Garnica says the tribal membership has voted to continue with the recognition process, forcing her to put her personal views aside. Although leaders first submitted the petition more than a decade ago, they have not followed up. Garnica predicts it will take at least another 10 years and $500,000 in legal and consultant fees to compile all the evidence the government requires. Even then, the government could ask for more proof or reject the application outright.

“We’re still at step one,” she acknowledged. “We still have a long way to go.”

The Oakbrook Chumash People filed its initial petition just last month. That first step consisted of nothing more than a short typewritten letter signed by the leadership saying: “The Oakbrook Chumash People, located in Ventura County, Calif., hereby petitions for federal acknowledgment as an Indian tribe under the laws of the United States of America.”

Next comes the real work of compiling the supporting data.

Aware of all the hurdles, the 57-year-old Desoto doubts that she will see recognition in her lifetime.

If either group ever completes the elaborate application procedure, its fate would hang on a ruling by an obscure office within the Department of the Interior called the Branch of Acknowledgment and Research. Its decisions, compiled by historians, anthropologists and genealogists and delivered in comprehensive reports that resemble scholarly texts, inevitably disappoint.

The burden of proof for unrecognized tribes is so high that only 10 have made the cut since 1978, when the formal acknowledgment process was created. And existing Native American groups are not thrilled about new tribes arriving on the scene and soaking up dwindling federal benefits.

It can sometimes take decades for a group to be acknowledged, with most of the time spent by the tribal group complying with all the hurdles. They must establish that their proposed tribe has been around since historical times, that it has maintained political influence over its members since then, and that its members can trace their lineage to original tribes.

The vagaries of history make this bureaucratic exercise especially difficult for California tribes like the Chumash, whose land was seized and whose tribal governments were wiped out when they were forced into the missions. The Chumash were really many tribes, speaking three distinct languages and scattered throughout about 150 towns in the region.

The Chumash already have ample archeological evidence on their side. Chumash burial sites have been unearthed throughout the area, documenting the lives of the Chumash and sometimes interrupting the lives of developers. For instance, construction of a 13-story condominium and office structure on Ventura Boulevard was delayed in 1985 when workers uncovered the “Lost Village of Encino,” a burial site for Chumash, Gabrieleno and Fernandeno Indians.

But archeological finds are not enough to show that today’s group of Native Americans is a modern-day offshoot of an original tribe.

Some critics in Congress want to scrap the existing acknowledgment process, saying it has become too cumbersome and has prompted some savvy groups to sidestep the formal route and have lawmakers vote them recognition. Bills introduced in the House and Senate would take decision-making authority away from the Bureau of Indian Affairs and give it to an independent commission, which would have 12 years to rule on all the existing cases.

When that time ran out, all cases would be closed.

The Clinton Administration has opposed tinkering with the system, saying that the acknowledgment office is working methodically to resolve these historical disputes.

“It’s not broken,” said Michael J. Anderson, deputy assistant secretary for Indian affairs. “It can be improved but there is no great alternative to the comprehensive reviews we are doing now.”

A coalition of unrecognized tribes from California, meanwhile, is lobbying for federal legislation that would ease the requirements for California tribes because of the difficulties they face in showing continual political leadership over all these years.

The last California tribe to be recognized through the formal process was the Death Valley Timbi-Sha Shoshone Band in 1983. Last year, the Bureau of Indian Affairs confirmed the status of a disputed tribe from California, the Ione Band of Miwok Indians.

“California is unique,” said Khus-Zarate, who is a representative on the Advisory Council on California Indian Policy. “We have a unique background and history. The bureaucrats want to see cold hard facts, but in some cases it’s tough to prove something that you know to be true.”

But Larry Myer of the California Native American Heritage Commission says existing Indian tribes do not want to see the system changed in a way in which “the floodgates are opened” and people who have small percentages of Native American blood and makeshift tribal groups are acknowledged as formal tribes.

The process itself, Myer said, has been a traumatic one for many and has raised the essential question of just what a tribe is in modern times.

“There are a lot of legitimate groups that act like Indian, walk like Indian and talk like Indian but are not recognized as Indian,” Myer said. “Then again, you have five or six relatives getting together and forming a tribe. In that case, do you have a real tribal group or just a family that may be seeking advantages?”

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Seeking Recognition

Here’s a sampling of some of the tribal groups from California that are seeking recognition from the federal government:

* Mono Lake Indian Community

* Washoe / Paiute of Antelope Valley

* Antelope Valley Paiute Tribe

* Wadatkuht Band of the Northern Paiutes of the Honey Lake Valley

* Fernandeno / Tataviam Tribe

* Chukchansi Yokotch Tribe of Mariposa

* Coastanoan Band of Carmel Mission Indians