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2009 Constructions of Place, Culture, and Identity in Historic Preservation: A Case Study of Hickory Ground, Alabama Samantha Earnest
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COLLEGE OF SOCIAL SCIENCES AND PUBLIC POLICY
CONSTRUCTIONS OF PLACE, CULTURE, AND IDENTITY IN HISTORIC
PRESERVATION: A CASE STUDY OF HICKORY GROUND, ALABAMA
By
SAMANTHA EARNEST
A Dissertation submitted to the Department of Geography in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
Degree Awarded: Summer Semester, 2009
The members of the committee approve the dissertation of Samantha Earnest defended on May 21, 2009.
______Philip Steinberg Professor Directing Dissertation
______Andrew Frank Outside Committee Member
______Ronald E. Doel Committee Member
______Jonathan Leib Committee Member
______Daniel Klooster Committee Member
The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members.
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This dissertation is dedicated to my mom who instilled in me a belief that higher education was just the natural course of things and to T.G. whose love and support make anything possible.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to acknowledge all of the people who helped me to achieve this goal. Thank you to the Poarch Band of Creek Indians and the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, as well as all of my individual interview subjects for agreeing to participate in this research. Thank you to the Alabama Historical Commission, the National Council for Historic Preservation, and the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission for generously allowing me access to your files regarding Hickory Ground. Thank you to Mac Brooms for introducing me to this topic, and for all of my archaeological training. Thank you to Bill Grantham – without you I would never have come so far. Thank you to Dan Klooster for my training in qualitative methods, and for imparting a critical awareness of the ways people use resources – “natural” or otherwise. Thank you to Jonathan Leib for encouraging my interest in the politics of race and identity. Thank you to Bruce Stiftel for introducing me to the argumentative turn in Urban Planning, and for serving on my committee at the proposal stage. Thank you to Ron Doel and Andrew Frank for agreeing to serve on my committee so late in the process, and for providing valuable insights. Finally, thank you many times over to Phil Steinberg, without a doubt the best academic advisor/major professor anyone could ask for.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
List of Figures...... vii
Abstract ...... viii
1. Introduction...... 1
“A Lesson in Preservation Planning” ...... 1 Social Constructivism...... 5 Discourse...... 7 Policy Narratives...... 9
2. Place, Identity, and Culture...... 15
Place ...... 15 Identity ...... 27 Culture ...... 36 Conclusion...... 43
3. Methodology ...... 45
Methods ...... 47 Pilot Study...... 50 Current Analysis...... 53
4. Heritage ...... 56
Hickory Ground...... 62 Conclusion...... 78
5. Sacredness ...... 81
Hickory Ground...... 87 Conclusion...... 115
6. Preservation...... 119
Hickory Ground...... 125 Conclusion...... 156
7. Indigeneity...... 161
Hickory Ground...... 180 Conclusion...... 207
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8. Sovereignty...... 211
Hickory Ground...... 224 Conclusion...... 240
9. Conclusion...... 242
Place, Identity, and Culture...... 242 Constructing the Significance of Place...... 243 Preserving Place, Preserving Culture...... 245 Power in Preservation...... 247 Practical Implications for Preservation...... 249 Avenues for Future Research...... 250
APPENDICES...... 253
A Photographs...... 253 B Human Subjects Approval Form...... 257 C List of Primary Documents ...... 260 D List of Interview Subject Affiliations...... 265 E List of Interview Questions ...... 266 F List of Newspaper Articles Used in Pilot Study...... 268
REFERENCES ...... 269
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH...... 296
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LIST OF FIGURES
1 A map of Alabama depicting prominent locations mentioned in the text...... 2
2 The location of Hickory Ground on the 1987 7.5’ USGS topographic map, Wetumpka quadrangle...... 3
3 Hickory Ground in 1979 after many years of agricultural cultivation, facing west toward the Coosa River...... 253
4 Hickory Ground is located at the confluence of the Coosa River and this small un-named creek...... 253
5 The Riverside Entertainment Center as it appeared in June, 2006...... 254
6 The parking garage under construction in June 2006 ...... 254
7 A view of the adjacent Riveroaks Apartment Complex, facing west from the entrance to the entertainment center...... 255
8 View of preparations for a permanent casino. Photo taken from the parking garage facing north-northwest...... 255
9 View of Hickory Ground facing west from across US Highway 231. The access road completed in 2007 is visible in the center of the photograph. The parking garage is visible on the left-hand side...... 256
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ABSTRACT
This dissertation demonstrates how social constructions are mobilized as discourse through arguments about the meanings of certain concepts, and how these arguments over meaning are themselves constitutive of social construction. In particular, it focuses on the interrelated constructions of place, culture, and identity made in land-use conflicts involving historic preservation, such as that surrounding the historic Hickory Ground site, located on tribal land near Wetumpka, Alabama. Methodologically, these constructions are revealed through the study of differential meanings given to the concepts of heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigineity, and sovereignty as they are employed in the Hickory Ground case, in original interviews, newspaper articles, and other documents by social actors with different positionalities and powers. This paper eschews analysis of the construction of place, culture, and identity, in favor of an understanding of power relations, and the ways particular discourses, and the constructions they represent, come to be dominant and affect the most material change: land-use management decisions that transform (or preserve) the Hickory Ground site. This understanding is essential for historic preservation policy analyses in which seeking the resolution of contentious disagreements over particular places is the goal, as any resolution must emerge from negotiations amongst multiple parties rather than top-down policy decisions made by appeal to historical “fact.”
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CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION
“A Lesson in Preservation Planning”
In August of 1980, Hickory Ground, or Ochepofau, site of a historic Creek Indian town, was deeded to the Poarch Band of Creek Indians. The actions that led to the return of ancestral homelands to a Native American tribe were heralded as “a lesson in preservation planning” (Cagle and Brooms 1982, p. 6) that demonstrated the value of cooperative problem-solving on the part of diverse stakeholders including, in this instance, the Alabama Historical Commission, the Poarch Band, two federal agencies (the Department of the Interior and the Internal Revenue Service), the City of Wetumpka, and the previous land owner. The sale was accomplished with a $165,000 matching grant from the Department of Interior’s Historic Preservation Discretionary Fund Grant program and tax credits for the balance of the asking price. It “represent[ed] the first voluntary action by the U.S. government to return Creek homelands” and was “the third largest award of its kind.” With the land transfer, the preservation of Hickory Ground was deemed “a success” and “a model for future efforts” (p. 6). Just twelve years later, the Alabama Historical Commission (AHC) and the Poarch were locked in a conflict that became one of the Federal government’s Advisory Council on Historic Preservation’s most prominent cases of the 1990s. Despite the efforts of the AHC and other opponents, a multi-million dollar gaming facility complete with what will be the second largest hotel in the State of Alabama is slated for construction at Hickory Ground. The “success” of the land sale is no longer touted by the state, and in the opinion of one Alabama preservationist, it will be “a cold day in southern parts before any kind of funding is ever done for this type of situation” again (Interview B). What went so wrong? How could a preservation project born out of so much communication and cooperation devolve into legal and media battles? On the other hand, did anything go wrong? The sale continues to be a success in many ways, though perhaps for different reasons than those first claimed by proponents of the 1980 land transfer. Whether one considers the sale to be a success or not depends, in part, on one’s definition of the place itself.
1 Figure 1. A map of Alabama depicting prominent locations mentioned in the text.
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Figure 2. The location of Hickory Ground on the 1987 7.5' USGS topographic map, Wetumpka quadrangle.
3 Different people have attached different meanings to the place known as Hickory Ground. Groups involved in this case include: the Poarch Band of Creek Indians (the only federally recognized tribe located in Alabama); the Muscogee (Creek) Nation (a federally recognized tribe located in Oklahoma); the Hickory Ground Tribal Town (a political unit within the larger Muscogee (Creek) Nation and descendent from the original Hickory Ground in Alabama); the federally recognized Thlopthlocco Tribal Town (once also part of the larger Muscogee confederacy); Hvsossv Tvllahasse (a Creek ceremonial group from Poarch); several Alabama state recognized tribes including: the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, the Echota Cherokee Tribe of Alabama, the Ma-Chis Lower Creek Indian Tribe of Alabama, and the MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians; and several intertribal groups including: the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission, the Northwest Florida Creek Indian Council, the Oklahoma City Commission on American Indian Affairs, the Inter-Tribal Sacred Land Trust, and the United South and Eastern Tribes, Inc. Federal, state, and local agencies involved in the case include: the Bureau of Indian Affairs; the National Council for Historic Preservation; the Alabama Historical Commission; the Alabama Preservation Alliance; the City of Wetumpka; and Elmore County. Individuals involved in the case are members of these groups, as well as private archaeologists and citizens of Wetumpka and the River Oaks neighborhood adjacent to Hickory Ground. To some, building a casino at Hickory Ground is a valid use of sovereign territory; to others, it is a desecration of shared cultural resources; still others have different views. To all, acceptable uses of the place are determined by the meanings attached to it. Yet, these place meanings are not simply created by existing groups of people. The groups themselves are made and re-made through their ties to place. As Graham (1998, p. 21) has noted, places are “arenas of political discourse and action in which cultures are continuously reproduced and contested.” Hence, constructions of place play important roles in efforts to validate and construct identities. Because historic preservation is at its root a discipline concerned with particular places (and peoples’ ties to them), understanding how these concepts are constructed is key to understanding preservation conflicts and evaluating their outcomes. Thus, the focus of this dissertation is on the interrelated social constructions of place, culture, and identity that are created and used within this particularly contentious historic preservation conflict, and the ways that these interactions have affected, and been affected by, the materiality of Hickory Ground. However, this focus also enables a larger examination of the
4 nature of social constructions and the ways that they interact. People construct place, culture, and identity in different ways, and because people have different amounts and types of power, their constructions do not interact with each other on equal footing, nor do they affect materiality equally. How, then, can these interactions best be described? Does one construction become hegemonic with opposing constructions best thought of as resistance to it? Or do multiple constructions interact dialogically with power relations worked out as part of the process? In the case of historic preservation, I argue that the latter framework best describes conflicts such as that over Hickory Ground. In this dissertation, constructions of place, culture, and identity are revealed through the study of differential meanings given to certain concepts as they are employed in original interviews, newspaper articles, and other documents by social actors attempting to position themselves as the person or group with the most power to affect Hickory Ground. What I hope to demonstrate is that constructions are mobilized as discourse through arguments about the meanings of these concepts, and that these arguments over meaning are themselves constitutive of social construction. In other words, rather than being fixed oppositional categories, constructions of place, culture, and identity, as well as the attendant power relations, are continuously being worked out as part of this conflict.
Social Constructivism
The idea that places, cultures, and identities are not pre-given, but are instead constructed, comes from a particular epistemology, or way of knowing, called social constructivism. In recent years, this epistemology has been applied to numerous lines of inquiry in geography and related disciplines. These range from topics such as race and nationality (Jackson and Penrose 1993) to social nature (Castree 2001). In fact, constructivism has been applied to a disparate range of things in a multitude of disciplines. Hacking (1999, p. 1) gives a laundry list of topics to which constructivism has been applied, including everything from “the child viewer of television” to “serial homicide.” Social constructivism, as an epistemology, is rooted in a fundamental distrust in the existence of Truth, especially as applied to the realm of the social. It is thus often juxtaposed with essentialism, the idea that things have essential elements, or that there are essential truths to be uncovered. Essentialists argue that things have real existences and properties outside of our
5 experiences of them, and thus our experiences take on a certain inevitability because we are limited to certain experiences by these preexisting properties. Strictly speaking, the opposing view of essentialism is “hyperconstructionism” (Castree 2001, p. 16), or the idea that things are nothing more than social constructions. In this conception, things have no material existence outside of our perception of them, and these perceptions can change; there is no inherent truth to them. Many critics treat the concept of social constructivism as though it is synonymous with hyperconstructivism, and are concerned that the epistemology promotes relativism. There is a longstanding debate on the merits of social constructivism within the social sciences, particularly in the realm of nature/society interactions. For example, many social scientists have questioned the nature/society dualism, concluding that concepts such as “nature” and “wilderness” are socially constructed (e.g. Cronon 1995). Such work has met with criticism from others concerned that these views are divorced from materiality, thus obscuring physical effects (Soule and Lease 1995, p. xv). They argue that with no basis on which to judge knowledge as true or false, positive or negative, what might otherwise be seen as negative effects to the environment may be all too easily justified. Despite, or perhaps because of, such criticism, most social constructivists take a middle approach that recognizes the social construction of knowledge as it affects an underlying materiality. For example, Castree writes that knowledges “express social power relations [i.e. they are based in something other than essential properties] and…these knowledges have material effects, insofar as people may believe and act according to them [i.e. they are not just social constructions]” (Castree, p. 13). To advance this perspective, Ian Hacking (1999) makes a point of asking, “the social construction of what?” By way of an answer, Hacking uses the example of women refugees. He argues that the “construction of women refugees” refers not to the women themselves, but to the category “women refugees” that is constructed in a particular social network (in this case, the Canadian political system). How this category is constructed obviously affects the women themselves a great deal, but it is not they who are being constructed; instead, it is the idea of them. Hacking’s distinction enables an examination of how constructions affect their subjects (and thus distinguishes constructions from pure ideology by acknowledging materiality), but not
6 all effects are equal. In addition to asking what is being constructed, scholars must also consider by whom constructions are made (i.e. issues of power) and how they are made (i.e. through what practices). This is the concern of Demeritt (1996) (p. 484) when he argues that the debate over social constructivism has become overly focused on “epistemological issues of representation” at the expense of “empirical studies of practice by which representations are produced.” Proctor (1998) would place Hacking’s distinction under the heading of “critical realism” and label Demeritt’s concern “pragmatism.” He suggests that a combination of critical realism and pragmatism is necessary to overcome the problem of relativism. In other words, the project of social constructivists should be to uncover the particular practices that produce and reproduce social constructions as well as the effects that they have on materiality. In this way, concern moves from whether or not a person’s view of place (for example) corresponds to place “as it really is” to issues of how his or her views affect place and how these views interact with those of others.
Discourse
How constructions interact is through the use of language, which is both an expression and component of discourse, or “regulated practices that account for a number of statements” (Foucault 1972, p. 80). In other words, people are incapable of talking about place, for example, without being regulated by their particular construction of place, which, in turn, is produced linguistically. Similarly, we cannot study someone’s particular construction of place without examining his or her statements about it. Methodologically, this requires that one concentrate on the specific words and rhetorical constructions used to frame a problem and argue for a solution. Analysis must focus on identifying “groupings of utterances which seem to be regulated in some way and which seem to have a coherence and a force to them in common” (Mills 1997, p. 6). Of course, for Foucault , power is inseparable from discourse. Indeed, the relationship between discourse and power is complex and has been theorized in several ways. Sharp et al.(2000) point out that the “orthodox” account of power is to equate it with domination (e.g. Bachrach and Baratz 1962, 1963; Dahl 1957; Dahl 1961). In this conception, all power is held by the dominant entity, with resistance pitted against this power. In contrast, Sharp et al. argue that power also resides in resistance, and that the powers of domination and resistance are deeply
7 entangled, echoing arguments made by post-development theorists that the development discourse is never formed in isolation from resistance to it (c.f. Rahnema and Bawtree 1997; Sachs 1992). Methodologically, either of these conceptions of power means that social constructivists study the ways a particular discourse becomes dominant – or hegemonic – as it is or is not met with resistance. However, this framework has been critiqued on several fronts (Kiely 1998). First, dominance is equated with the scale of the global, while resistance is equated with the local. Secondly, these local resistances are often romanticized, as though the dominant (global) discourse is always negative. Furthermore, it has been critiqued for reducing a complex process to the interaction between a singular discourse (the discourse with the most power to affect) and its antithesis. Differences of opinion are seen as resistance to a hegemonic norm rather than as coexisting, each having their own effects on each other (however slight). Additionally, it implies that constructions can be completed, such that dominant and resistant discourses are finished products that interact. A related issue is that of power itself. Sharp et al. (2000, p. 2-3) define dominating power as “that power which attempts to control or coerce others, impose its will upon others, or manipulate the consent of others,” and resisting power as “that power which attempts to set up situations, groupings and actions which resist the impositions of dominating power.” While this perspective is itself a critique of the view that power only lies in dominance, it may be critiqued for viewing power as a capacity rather than an effect. Following Mann (1986; 1993) and Allen (1997), power cannot be “held in reserve.” Power is “an effect produced through the actions of people or institutions pooling their resources to secure certain outcomes” (Allen 2003, p. 98, emphasis in original). The alternative to the dominance/resistance framework – that there are multiple discourses coexisting at any one time – advocates examining the dialogic interaction of discourses that produce power (Folch-Serra 1990; O'Reilly 2007, after Bakhtin 1981 (1930s)). In this view, the critical word in Hacking’s question “the social construction of what” is not “what”, but “the.” Social constructivists are thus not concerned with revealing the construction of anything, and instead examine constructions and how these different constructions interact through particular power relationships, as these power relationships themselves change.
8 I propose that historic preservation conflicts can best be understood using this latter model. For example, none of the arguments made in the Hickory Ground case have ever been completely dominant. Arguments are ongoing, and being made by people with differing levels or types of power. Some of these arguments have been made in the courtroom, and in agency recommendations, while others have been made by people with no access to the decision-making process in the legal sense. Beyond the judicial institutions, there are differences in power in social institutions like race, gender, and class, as well as historical and geographical relationships between groups. How any one discourse (and the constructions that underlie it) achieves more power than another is a complex process, and one that rarely leaves it unscathed. That is, concessions and alterations are made as the need arises throughout the interactive process.
Policy Narratives
If place meanings are constructed in different ways by different people, each meaning with its own implications for acceptable land use (or non-use), then what impact does this have on policy decisions? More specifically in this case, how might the historic preservation process have occurred less contentiously, with more people satisfied by the outcome? The issue of multiple constructions affecting (and being affected by) policy is one that urban and regional planners and other policy analysts have been dealing with for some time. In the late 1970s through the early 1980s, researchers in these areas began realizing that the quantitative cost- benefit analyses they offered as solutions to dilemmas were not always being accepted. Despite the belief of many policy analysts that these analyses were objective, best-possible solutions for all involved, many of these solutions were rejected by their intended recipients. Planners found that solutions were most likely to be accepted when participants already held that perspective, and solutions were most often rejected when participants already disagreed with the solution (Kaplan 1986). In other words, solutions developed by planners were unlikely to change anyone’s mind, regardless of how ‘scientific’ their methods or conclusions were. What did work, it turned out, was convincing storytelling (Eckstein and Throgmorton 2003; Kaplan 1986; Mandelbaum 1991; Roe 1994; Throgmorton 2003). This realization is indicative of the so-called argumentative turn in urban and regional planning theory (Fischer and Forester 1993). Paralleling discourse theory, the argumentative turn
9 has two main facets: first that the contestants in a case use stories to assert their positions, and second, planners and policy analysts also use stories when presenting alternatives. Each of these facets is examined here. “Contestants describe the world they know in crafted narratives with beginnings and endings, characters, plots, stages, and narrators” (Mandelbaum 1991, p. 210). Rarely are positions articulated as a set of discrete, bullet-pointed facts, and rarely is there a singular position based on a singular narrative. This situation makes it hard to find a common solution. “Whenever we argue about planning choices, we are bound to struggle with competing stories, seeking to resolve differences so as to mobilize resources and consent” (p. 211). Of course, not all cases involve multiple, competing narratives. In cases where there is a shared social goal, or a stated government objective, “it would be foolish not to judge alternative proposals on the basis of how well they are likely to achieve that goal” (Kaplan 1986, p. 762). However, in many cases, including Hickory Ground, the goal is precisely what is being contested, so the problem becomes establishing criteria for judging alternative courses of action. “In the absence of external criteria, stories…can integrate necessary considerations, explain the development of current dilemmas, and point the way to resolutions” (Kaplan p. 761). These resolutions must themselves be presented as a story in order to be taken seriously. Every argument must be presented in some way. This is rhetoric, or “the entire range of resources that human beings share for producing effects on one another” (Booth 2004, p. xi). Even the commonly accepted method of presenting something as scientific proof is using a form of rhetoric. Such an argument was likely chosen for its potential to be convincing because of accepted notions about science. In short, regardless of how we present solutions, we are already using stories. With this dissertation, I myself am telling a story about how language is used to produce and reproduce conceptions of place, culture, and identity in land-use conflicts. In so doing, I am constructing my own rhetorical arguments presenting evidence to back up generalizations, thereby producing a particular discursive ordering of the world. Recognizing and being forthright about this process is important; there are a number of problems that come with ignoring storytelling. Stories, also referred to as narratives, are a form of discourse and, as such, raise some of the same concerns. Because they are discourses, “the awful power of narratives [is] to create a
10 world that is so complete that it appears beyond our control: what was, what must have been; what must be, will be” (Mandelbaum, p. 210). Many researchers attempt to overcome this by showing how things ‘really’ are outside of discourse. “Theorizing and abstractions provide a relief from this fully scripted history, helping us believe in the feasibility of alternative pasts and futures” (p. 210). This often backfires, however. As discussed above, without a convincing reason to give up a particular narrative (or discourse), people are unlikely to do so. Additionally, researchers cannot escape using discourse themselves to get their point across. Thus, “the relief [that comes with theory and abstraction] often seems only temporary as stories close in on us, binding us to our roles and the dynamics of a script that seems unavoidable” (p. 210). Additionally, ignoring storytelling also ignores the effects that they have on communities, particularly those on the verge of tearing apart because of conflicting stories. “Communities are threatened when conflicting stories are incommensurable and can neither be forced into a disciplining mold nor synthesized without coercion or a serious loss of meaning” (p. 211). This is because stories about places, and the discourses they (re-)produce, are tied to cultural identity. A community with irreconcilable differences has the potential to sever into two or more groups with different identities based on different stories. Furthermore, “stories commonly used in describing and analyzing policy issues are a force in themselves, and must be considered explicitly in assessing policy options” (Roe 1994, p. 2). Ignoring stories ignores a major component of the conflict. As will be shown in this dissertation, stories do not simply describe the issue; they are themselves the issue. They not only limit room for debate; they often are the debate. For all of these reasons, it is necessary to recognize the importance of stories. Such recognition brings its own set of problems, however. “As members of overlapping communities within a pluralistic field, how do we preserve incommensurable meanings and accounts of the world when resolute action seems so often to demand that we settle on a single Truth? How do we control morally compelling but conflicting demands that threaten to enmesh us in double binds?” (Mandelbaum, p. 211). Mandelbaum offers five main strategies that policy analysts and others use to overcome these problems. These are: to focus on facts, to seek authoritative resolution, to strive for narrative synthesis, to disengage, and to preserve diversity. Each of these is examined in more detail below.
11 The first strategy employed is to focus on facts. This is the strategy most often used in traditional policy analysis. Traditional policy analysis “characteristically ignore[s] the narrative form within which most political arguments are couched, treating stories as only the raw materials from which arguments must be abstracted” (p. 210). Narratives are distilled down to a set of ‘facts’ that can be judged independently in order to arrive at a solution. The problem is that this, too, is a story, and one that many of the contestants are not likely to agree with for reasons given above. The second strategy employed is an appeal to authoritative resolution. This is related to the first strategy, in that a ‘correct’ version of events is sought – a version that therefore cannot be contested. This may take the form of an appeal to history, to research, to a court opinion, official mediation, or any other authoritative opinion. The problem here is the same as in the first strategy: authoritative solutions may be no more valid in the eyes of contestants than any other story. The third strategy of narrative synthesis accepts the importance of narrative and involves combining elements of different narratives to arrive at a new one that will hopefully be agreeable to everyone. This is the strategy that Roe (1994) calls narrative policy analysis, and it borrows heavily from the kind of dialectics often attributed to Hegel (1989 (1812)) in which thesis and antithesis are combined to reach synthesis. Narrative policy analysis involves defining narratives and counternarratives, and then comparing the two sets of narratives “in order to generate a metanarrative ‘told’ by the comparison” (p. 4). The final step for the analyst is then to determine how, or even if, the metanarrative offers a better solution. This strategy lends itself to scenarios in which there are two opposing views, as is the case in hegemony/resistance studies addressed above. A fourth strategy used is disengagement from the conflict. This involves reframing a policy issue as a modern one divorced from conflicting stories about the past. It is a difficult strategy to employ because it involves restructuring identities that may be deeply tied to one’s sense of historical position in a conflict. It can, however, be empowering - enabling people to move beyond notions of who they should be (notions that have heretofore been heavily influenced by the conflict) to become who they would like to be. The fifth and final strategy employed is the preservation of diversity. This strategy may also be thought of as an ‘agree to disagree’ approach. Within this strategy, pluralism is valued
12 over a manufactured consensus that may leave some parties’ concerns unaddressed (Sandercock 1998a, 1998b; Thomas 1994). It is this strategy that is most useful to the understanding and resolution of conflicts such as that over Hickory Ground. If what counts as truth is socially constructed, there can be no single ‘correct’ narrative to be used as in Mandelbaum’s first two strategies, and, in the absence of two discrete and opposing narratives, resolution cannot lie in a synthesized narrative as in the third strategy of narrative policy analysis advocated by Roe. Additionally, because historic preservation is so fundamentally about the past, reframing the conflict as one divorced from it would be an impossibility. Instead, multiple stories do and will continue to co-exist. Understanding of the conflict must come from examining the interaction of all of these stories. Furthermore, because resolution cannot come from appeal to an external truth, solutions must instead be judged on how well they meet the goals of each party, but to do that one must first understand what these goals are. Therefore, I am concerned to demonstrate the multiple narratives that affected, and continue to affect, decision making about Hickory Ground. Based on my research, narratives used in the Hickory Ground case alternately focus on one or more of five main themes: heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty. As will be shown, the meanings given to these terms (taken individually and as groups of meanings) are representative of particular discourses, which in turn represent (and contribute to) constructions of place, culture, and identity. Proceeding from here, Chapter Two takes the form of a literature review of place, culture, and identity, encompassing the larger theoretical debates surrounding how these topics come to be constructed. This is followed in Chapter Three by a more in-depth explanation of the methodology employed in this study. Beginning with Chapter Four, each of the five key narrative themes employed by various parties as they speak about Hickory Ground is introduced. Each chapter devoted to a particular theme has an introductory section investigating various meanings of the concept and a discussion of how one might expect that concept to be employed in a Native American land use/historic preservation dispute. This is followed by an analysis of how each was used in interviews, newspaper articles, and other documentary evidence. This analysis includes an examination of what differing uses of these concepts contribute to different constructions of place, culture, and identity. Finally, this dissertation concludes with a chapter
13 summarizing these constructions as revealed across the analysis chapters, and demonstrating the ways social constructions are produced and reproduced, how they interact, and ultimately affect materiality. Overall, this dissertation demonstrates how social constructions are mobilized as discourse through arguments about the meanings of certain concepts, and how these arguments over meaning are themselves constitutive of social construction. As such, it eschews analysis of the construction of place, culture, and identity, in favor of an understanding of power relations, and the ways particular discourses, and the constructions they represent, come to be dominant and affect the most material change. This understanding is essential for historic preservation (and indeed any) policy analysis in which seeking the resolution of contentious disagreements over particular places is the goal.
14 CHAPTER TWO PLACE, IDENTITY, AND CULTURE
This chapter is a review of the literature relative to the concepts of place, culture, and identity, highlighting the ways these concepts may be viewed with regard to the constructivism introduced in the previous chapter. A separate section is devoted to each term; however, culture, identity, and place are not constructed in isolation, but rather in relation to each other (Keith and Pile 1993). In fact, it is difficult to speak about any particular one of them without referencing the others. Places depend on people, and their ideas about themselves and each other, for their definition. Likewise, the delineation of culture is often tied to places (or movements relative to places), as well as the identifications of people. Finally, identities are often constructed in relation to cultural traits as well as to places. Some of the ways constructions of these concepts are interrelated in the Hickory Ground case will be revealed throughout this dissertation. With that in mind, what follows is a literature review of each of the three concepts separately.
Place
As Relph (1996, p. 906) notes, “Place is a simple enough concept until you begin to think about how places are experienced, and then there is very little about it which seems entirely clear or unambiguous.” Places are experienced in many different ways and for many different reasons. Because of this, place is one of the most contested concepts in human geography (Staeheli 2003). In common parlance, though, place is thought of as fixed and apolitical. Place is seen as a given – so obvious as to be almost beyond definition. Because of this perceived obviousness, this ‘non- definition’ is outside the purview of politics, and thus all the more powerful (Foucault 1980a). To demonstrate exactly how political ‘place’ can be, the rich history of the term is examined here. “In ordinary language, ‘place’ serves as a nebulous catch-all which refers to where something is regardless of scale or type of environment” (Relph, p. 907). In contrast, many geographers would assign to that definition the word ‘space’or ‘location,’ reserving ‘place’ for
15 those spaces that have been imbued with meaning (Cresswell 2004). While there are geographers who do not see it as clear-cut (Massey 2005), many do make use of a distinction in defining place against an opposite. Most often, place is conceived of as full of life, whereas space is a cold and empty abstraction. Space is “the encompassing volumetric void in which things (including human beings) are positioned” and place is “the immediate environment of [the] lived body – an arena of action that is at once physical and historical, social and cultural” (Casey 2001, p. 683). There is a sense that space exists on its own, while place is something created by the humans who live in it. “What begins as undifferentiated space becomes place as we get to know it better and endow it with value” (Tuan 1977, p. 6). “Places are not clear and obvious entities” (Urry 1995, p. 1); they depend on people for their definition. This idea is part of the humanist tradition in geography, which has its basis in the philosophy of phenomenology. “Phenomenology is a philosophical perspective which considers the world as it is directly experienced, so a phenomenological understanding regards places as tightly interconnected assemblages of buildings, landscapes, communities, activities, and meanings which are constituted in the diverse experiences of their inhabitants and visitors” (Relph, p. 907-8). Thus, a humanist views place as a “center of meaning [with] a focus on human emotional attachment” (Entrikin 1976, p. 616). Despite the fact that place definitions depend on individual experiences, these meanings are not seen as completely arbitrary because place meanings can be shared and make sense to others (Relph, p. 908). Place-meanings are not only created by people through their experiences; place-meanings can become entrenched and affect the experiences that individuals have. Places thus shape who we are and are central to how we construct our identities:
Our ordinary surroundings, built and natural alike, have an immediate and a continuing effect on the way we feel and act, and on our health and intelligence. These places have an impact on our sense of self, our sense of safety, the kind of work we get done, the ways we interact with other people, even our ability to function as citizens in a democracy. In short, the places where we spend our time affect the people we are and can become (Hiss 1990, p. 1).
16 This raises the question, however: how much do people affect place and how much does place affect people? This issue is part of a larger philosophical debate over structure versus agency. How much is the reality experienced by individuals ‘structured’ by outside entities like place, and how much agency do those individuals have in the process? The answer is somewhere between absolute determinism by structure and the total arbitrariness of individual agency. In The Betweenness of Place, Entrikin (1991) argues that “place represents both a context for action and a source of identity, poised precariously ‘in between’ subjective and objective realities” (cited in Jackson and Penrose 1993, p. 12). Place and people are both creators of and created by each other. Yet, even that is too simple. “Particular places take on their specific identities from the local incorporation of a range of processes operating at a much wider scale [than individual sense-of-place]” (Jackson and Penrose 1993, p. 12). The experiences people have in place are affected by a host of processes that exist beyond the scale of the local. For example, the world is becoming increasingly connected by the processes collectively known as globalization. This increasing interconnectedness has numerous consequences. As ideas, people, and physical things move with increasing ease between places, places lose their distinctiveness. Experiences from one place to the next are increasingly similar, undermining the notion of one place affecting one set of experiences and vice versa. As a reaction to what is perceived by many to be the increasing homogenization of place (and by correlation, the increasing homogenization of culture), some people actively construct distinctiveness in places. They do this in one of several ways. Today, “distinctiveness is given either by the self-consciously preserved or reconstructed fragments of old landscapes, by an emphasis on a selective social activity, or by particular combinations of uprooted and transported global fragments” (Relph, p. 918). People are trying to make places (and thereby themselves) more meaningful. This is one of the concerns in some forms of urban and regional planning (Hiss 1990). Other avenues of resistance to these processes of globalization take several forms, the first of which is NIMBYism – or the attitude of not-in-my-backyard (Shively 2007). People try to preserve the places they know from what they feel is adverse change. An example of NIMBYism in the Hickory Ground conflict may be the protests of members of the nearby homeowners association and citizens of Wetumpka in general who are opposed to the casino in
17 their community. These people cite noise, pollution, and traffic congestion as reasons why the casino should not be built. However, their concern likely is not so much with any impact that the proposed casino would have on the historic nature of Hickory Ground, but rather with negative impacts to their own neighborhood as a place of everyday life (and spatially fixed household financial investment). Other forms of resistance are those which “stress the need for personal sensitivity to places as a foundation for recovering something that is disappearing from the world” (Relph, p. 918). The idea is not so much to create a new distinction for a particular place, or to maintain whatever distinction it currently has, but to recover what is believed to be its original distinctiveness. In this view, the only true solution to the homogenizing forces of globalization is to recover an authentic past in which distinctiveness had not yet become ‘corrupted’. Some see the search for lost authenticity, long a concern in the humanist epistemology, as having its basis in larger reactions to modernity (Berman 1988). With modernity, and its emphasis on truth and rationality, much tradition has been assumed lost, and indeed even purposefully discarded. Without the moorings of tradition, however, people feel lost and disassociated. They depend on a sense of heritage, manifested in place, to define who they are. Others question that the recovery of an authentic history is really what is going on in the search for distinctiveness. As Basso (1996, p. 5) notes, place-making “involves multiple acts of remembering and imagining which inform each other in complex ways.” Memory is often selective; some elements of the past are chosen over others, or remembered in particular ways (Boym 2001). This has implications not only for the place, but for people as well. Instead of the existing history of a place defining an identity in a one-to-one relationship, people define their identities as they express their histories in and around places. Place making is “a way of constructing social traditions, and in the process, personal and social identities. We are, in a sense, the place-worlds we imagine” (Basso p. 4). Because of the close association of place with human identities, there is an element of social justice surrounding the return to place distinction. Modernity and other broad forces like those mentioned above negatively affect place meanings, and thus human identifications. Therefore, resistance to these forces can be a way to seek social justice. For example, organized opposition to development (or what is viewed as negative change) can be a form of
18 empowerment for communities that have historically been marginalized (Takahashi and Dear 1997, cited in Shively 2007). On the other hand, there are well-known fears about such an emphasis on particularism. Emphasizing local distinctiveness can be dangerous given that “all manner of archaic irrationalisms, benighted religiosities, and accursed traditions, not to mention just plain old- fashioned racism and bigotry, have barely been kept at bay,” even in an age of increased interconnectedness (Ramaswamy 2004, p. 18). This highlights one of the problems with humanistic perspectives of place that rarely address the negative aspects of place. This blind spot is exemplified by the concept of ‘topophilia’ (Tuan 1974), which literally means ‘love of place’. Topophilia implies that places are defined by our positive attachments to them. However, it also implies that all human experience in place is positive, when clearly that is not always the case. “A strong attachment to place does not invariably have pleasant consequences” (Relph, p. 921). Furthermore, the idea of topophilia “assumes that everything to do with place is good and placelessness is always bad” (p. 921). Despite these criticisms, however, some still see the need for social justice in place. Ramaswamy (2004) writes about place in a way familiar to humanist geographers; she writes in terms of loss and recovery. She notes that much that is lost in terms of tradition is not necessarily given up voluntarily, and recovery of that tradition is perhaps justifiable. Though she acknowledges the problems with particularism, she is concerned to show that not all particularism is bad. Indeed, it may be “productive, enabling, empowering, even obligatory.” It is in this sense that Ramaswamy writes to oppose, “both a master narrative of modernity which has primarily identified it with progress and gain, but also against a dominant diagnosis of the modern preoccupation with loss as inevitably and unequivocally regressive or reactionary” (p. 8). This is a point also discussed by Massey (1997). For her, it is unfortunate that seeking a sense of place has come to be seen as necessarily reactionary. She defines reactionary movements about place as having three main characteristics (as listed in Cresswell (2004)): first, a close connection between place and a singular form of identity; second, a desire to show how the place is authentically rooted in history; and finally, a need for a clear sense of boundaries around a place separating it from the world outside. In opposition, a progressive sense of place is characterized by viewing place as a process, rather than static; as being defined by the outside rather than the inside; as having multiple identities and histories, instead of just one. Thus, the
19 distinctiveness of a place comes from its interactions (without and within). There need not be anything particularly regressive about having a sense of place when viewed in this way, although even a vision of place-as-interaction may be reactionary for some (May 1996). Another criticism of humanistic geography is that, in focusing on local places, it neglects generalizable theories. The argument that a focus on the local produces description at the expense of theory has long been made in the discipline of geography. A recent example is a late 1980s debate that featured strong critiques of locality studies such as the CURS Initiative. The CURS (Changing Urban and Regional System in the United Kingdom) Initiative was sponsored by that country’s Economic and Social Research Council as a way to provide detailed profiles of the economic and social restructuring going on in various localities in Britain. Some geographers felt that this initiative marked a troubling turn toward empiricism. Smith (1987, p. 62) accused the CURS Initiative of being “primarily about the localities in and of themselves rather than an attempt to understand the dimensions of contemporary restructuring as revealed by the experiences of these localities.” In other words, it was mainly about describing individual places in isolation, rather than placing them in the context of Great Britain’s political economy. Smith saw this as being part of a broader backlash, occurring in all types of social research, against the “perceived conceptual rigidity…and overly structuralist perspective on social change” (p. 60) found in the Marxist epistemology that had held sway during much of the 1970s. According to Smith, this shift resulted in research moving “from a primary focus on the theoretical to an overwhelming concern for empirical research” (p. 60). In Cooke’s (1987) reply, he addresses Smith’s concerns as ‘misunderstandings’ of the CURS program and its goals (p. 69). Cooke’s response to the charges of empiricism centers on the argument that theory is important, but that it must be informed by empirical observations. As Cooke points out, Smith himself made reference to the problems in Marxism, namely that it “offered deterministic, thus preordained, explanation, one result of which was to make research results unsurprising and thus uninteresting” (p. 71). Cooke does not argue for doing away with theory all together. Instead, he argues that a focus on particular localities will yield theories about processes at the local level, as well as at scales beyond the local (p. 72). He proposes the methodology of clinical inference as a means to accomplish this. “The nature of clinical inference is to seek generalization not across but within cases.” These generalizations will then be compared with “generalizations drawn from within
20 other cases.” Finally, inter-case processes will ultimately be used to build upon existing theory (p. 77). Cox and Mair (1989) concur that the study of the local does not automatically preclude theory. They argue “that one of the core problems in [the localities studies] debate has been conceptual leakage from the abstract-concrete distinction to yet other dualisms-in particular, those that relate the necessary and the contingent, the social and the spatial, and the global and the local” (p. 121-2). Localities are not only the realm of the concrete; likewise, the global is not only the realm of the abstract. The dichotomy between the abstract and the concrete is false; as Cox and Mair argue, there is actually a continuum of multiple levels of abstraction, and studies of the local, global, or anything in between, can fall anywhere along that continuum. Thus, “a concern with the specificity or uniqueness of places in no way precludes theorization and…recognizing place specificity does not imply ignoring processes operating at a global scale” ("place" 2000). One attempt at a generalizable theory of place applicable to localities is Massey’s geologic metaphor (1979). Within this theory, place is seen as socially constructed through time. Place is not static; it is constantly made and remade by the actions of the people in that place. Using the metaphor of geology, place is made up of layers composed of both physical and social aspects that are lain down over time. Importantly, this conceptualization incorporates a sense of history and a tension between continuity and change, rather than the simplistic authentic past/inauthentic present dichotomy presented by humanism. However, there are several problems with the geologic metaphor of place. The association with a natural process - geology - can make the construction of place seem natural and inevitable. This ‘inevitability’ hinders people from seeing place differently. It therefore can affect the ways that people mobilize place in political action. This metaphor may also be misleading because it is not possible to peel away discrete layers of place to examine them individually. Instead, Staeheli (2003, p. 162) asserts, “the idea of place as socially constructed [should be] centrally concerned with interactions between ‘layers’ and with the uses and meanings attached to place as they influence political behavior.” Indeed, in her later work (2005), Massey continues the geologic metaphor but, in addition to stressing interaction between layers, she also stresses a place’s indeterminacy by extending the metaphor to the concept of plate tectonics. Without a stable reference point that can be measured
21 against a permanent background of space, places are mutable, mobile, and forever susceptible to ‘continental drift’. This perspective has its own problems, however, in that it implies that place exists only in the here and now, unfettered from the past or any other referent beyond its connections to other places at one particular moment. This further implies a certain arbitrariness to place; in this conception there is no room for someone actively seeking to create a place, or to maintain an existing one. An alternative perspective of place is place as landscape. Calling land ‘landscape’ is a way of acknowledging that it has been shaped and produced in a certain way (and not necessarily by individual sense-of-place as humanist geographers would have it). The term recalls manicured (landscaped) lawns and gardens. It also serves as a reminder that the land is seen in a certain way depending on the viewer. Land in a particular place is never simply land. Rather, it is landscape: produced, reproduced, and viewed for various ends. As Mitchell (2000) contends, landscape is produced through conflict. Landscapes are not only places over which conflicts occur; they are also places through which conflicts occur. “The important issue is…the degree to which [competing] groups have the power to instantiate their own image of the world on the ground… Landscapes, and landscape representations, are thus incorporations of power” (p.109). One of the tasks of geographers, then, is to examine the landscape and interpret from it the power relationships that both produce and reproduce it. Such an analysis not only reveals landscape (re)production, but also cultural (re)production. There are two main metaphors used when referring to landscape interpretation: landscape interpretation as iconography (Cosgrove and Daniels 1988) and landscape interpretation as reading a text (Barnes and Duncan 1992). The former derives from the discipline of art history, the latter from literary theory. Both metaphors are possible because a landscape, like an artistic image or a literary text, is socially constructed and produced. For Cosgrove and Daniels, the interpretation of landscape can be carried out in much the same way as early twentieth century art historians sought to interpret Renaissance paintings: “Iconographic study sought to probe meaning in a work of art by setting it in its historical context, and, in particular, to analyze the ideas implicated in its imagery….The iconographic approach consciously sought to conceptualize pictures as encoded texts to be deciphered by those cognizant of the culture as a whole in which they were produced” (p. 2). Because “a landscape is a cultural image, a pictorial way of representing, structuring or symbolizing
22 surroundings,” (p. 1) it can also be viewed as an ‘encoded text’ and the ways in which it was produced ‘deciphered.’ Barnes and Duncan turn to literary theory for the interpretation of landscape. Landscape is a ‘text’ that is read, and actively authored. They argue, “as geographers, the textualized behavior that concerns us is the production of landscapes; how they are constructed on the basis of a set of texts, how they are read, and how they act as a mediating influence, shaping behavior in the image of text,” and, perhaps most importantly, how the landscape naturalizes, and is naturalized by social reality (p. 120). Despite the two metaphors’ distinct origins, for practical purposes, when applied to landscape interpretation, they have much in common, a convergence that is signified in Cosgrove and Daniels’ call for “conceptualizing pictures as encoded texts.” Both describe an interpretation of the landscape that takes into account the ways that landscape is produced (i.e. it is drawn or written). The emphasis is on ‘deciphering the symbols’ or ‘reading the text’ in order to understand the interplay between landscape, culture, and individual agency. The point is that landscapes are authored and they are authored for particular reasons. Notwithstanding these similarities, the text metaphor adds an additional dimension to the politics of landscape construction by problematizing not just the writing, but also the reading of the landscape. Reading is important because each individual will read the landscape a little differently, and perhaps in ways unintended by the authors. Landscape (re)production thus becomes a recursive endeavor as readers interpret the authors, these interpretations become part of the landscape, these new landscapes are again interpreted, and so on. For example, the bingo hall landscape at Hickory Ground was produced by the Poarch in part to symbolize their tribal sovereignty. Other Creek readers of the landscape interpreted it as a burial ground desecration. Still other readers may interpret the landscape as a landscape of conflict. The Poarch can then react to the conflict reading, and so on. These interpretations/readings become recursive, each one feeding off the one before. This recursive process is not the only way that landscapes change. It is not just a matter of changes in interpretation. Landscapes “may be changed physically [as well as] reinterpreted to reflect challenges to the dominant value system” (Barnes and Duncan, p. 125). These physical changes may be very dramatic (as in the construction of a bingo hall on a former burial ground) or they may be subtler changes in the way people use a landscape (as in people adjusting their
23 everyday walking routes so as to avoid trespassing a sacred burial ground). This final example demonstrates how the meanings of landscapes accrue not just from symbolisms and histories that individuals consciously attribute to place, but also from the spatial practices through which individuals interact with the place. In addition, changes that produce landscapes frequently also destroy them, leading Mitchell (2003) to argue that contemporary processes of landscape destruction deserve more attention from geographers. While Mitchell’s point is well taken, merely shifting one’s analytical focus from landscape production to landscape destruction misses the fact that both concepts are relevant to practically any situation and that the privileging of one concept over another is an ideological choice (made by stakeholders and/or researchers). In the case of Hickory Ground, discourses of both landscape production and landscape destruction are deployed by various stakeholders in the conflict, and this study will focus on how specific stakeholders choose to frame an act of landscape modification as either one or the other. While considering landscape modification as both production and destruction helps to broaden one’s understanding of how cultures transform landscapes, it is also important to examine landscapes for the ways that they produce/transform cultures by stabilizing the environments within which individuals undergo their everyday lives. As Mitchell writes, “[Landscapes] are made to actively represent who has power, certainly, but also to reinforce that power by creating a constant and unrelenting symbol of it” (2000, p. 109). The Poarch erected the bingo hall as a way to represent their tribal sovereignty in the landscape. As people patronize the bingo hall, they reproduce the landscape and the power of the Poarch to operate a bingo hall on the land. Although not employing the concept of landscape, Agnew (1987), like the landscape theorists reviewed above, argues that place must not be seen either purely as a social outcome or as a pre-existing unit. Instead, in order to conceive of place as an ongoing process, he proposes a typology wherein each place is divided into three constitutive elements: locale, location, and sense-of-place. Locale is “the setting in which social relations are constituted”; location is the “geographic area encompassing the settings for social interactions as defined by social and economic process operating at a wider scale”; and sense-of-place is the local “structure of feeling” (p. 28).
24 Agnew argues that geographers in the past have often proposed definitions of place centering on one or two of these three elements rather than viewing them as interconnected. Yet, it is imperative that all three elements of place be accounted for. For instance, the conflict surrounding Hickory Ground cannot adequately be appreciated unless one acknowledges the site’s iconic status to some Native Americans (sense-of-place), its importance as a site of everyday life (locale), and its proximity to other cultural sites in the area (location). Alternatively, the proposed casino at Hickory Ground can be thought of as an environment of excitement for ever-hopeful gamblers (sense-of-place), a focal point effecting economic livelihoods and decisions elsewhere in the City of Wetumpka (locale), and in terms of its proximity to potential casino patrons in Montgomery, Birmingham, and Atlanta (location). Put together, these elements constitute very different definitions of Hickory Ground as a place. As this example demonstrates, there may be multiple definitions of the same place. Through these competing definitions, place becomes both an object and an arena of political struggle. Following Lefebvre (1991), to understand a conflict over place, it is not enough to simply acknowledge that conflicts occur in place; conflicts over place involve “conflicts over the control of place and about what should be in place” (Staeheli 2003, p. 164). Therefore, it is relevant to examine the ways that place is involved in political conflicts. Staeheli lists four: politics about place, politics in place, politics in the construction of place, and politics that deploy or transgress place. The first of these, politics about place, include conflicts involving NIMBYism as discussed earlier. Politics about place seek to preserve place as a physical location. NIMBYism is often viewed as negative and reactionary, but it may also serve positive functions depending on the agenda. The second set of conflicts involves politics in place, or those conflicts that reference the definition of place as context. Place provides people with resources to make political decisions in their daily lives. Politics in place are those politics by which individuals seek to express differences within groups. Although there may be one commonplace identity shared by all who are in a particular place, problems emerge when one extrapolates from place identity to social identity because social differences are ignored. Such extrapolation ignores differences of opinion and affinity to place within groups, as well as material differences such as class and gender that may result in different members of the same group having very different attachments to the same
25 place. On the other hand, “politics in place can be a way of highlighting the common interests that residents share” (Kemmis 1990, cited in Staeheli 2003). Thus, members of various interest groups in the Hickory Ground case may be presented as uniform in their relationships to the place, despite possible internal divisions. The third type of conflict is that which involves politics as the construction of place. These are “struggles over meaning and the ways in which place is constructed over time” (Staeheli, p. 166). Whereas politics in place are focused in the private sphere, politics as the construction of place operate at the interface of the private and the public spheres, and work to create both categories. This is the realm of politics that creates nationalistic, or other group, identifications of place. At Hickory Ground, the Poarch have physically constructed the place as an acceptable casino location by placing the bingo hall, building an access road, and paying to widen the highway leading into the area. They have socially constructed the place by presenting themselves as the rightful inheritors of the place and in the news media by presenting the conflict as one over casino gambling rather than the development itself. The Hickory Ground Tribal Town has not physically constructed the place, but socially its leaders have constructed it as a sacred burial ground and ceremonial site. One of the ways that the tribe has done this is by submitting the site to ‘sacred sites in peril’ lists and by participating in prayer days devoted to saving endangered Native American sites. The fourth role of place in politics is politics deploying place. This involves “a conscious effort at transgression” in order to make a political argument (Staeheli, p. 167), when one uses or accesses a particular place in a normally non-accepted manner. The concept of transgression is explicated in detail by Cresswell (1996). In this work, he gives several examples of the transgression of the accepted uses of particular places to achieve political goals. The daily picket-sign protests of a group of local citizens when the Hickory Ground bingo hall first opened is an example of such transgression. Each of the conceptions of place outlined above contributes to an understanding of the way place is ultimately produced. In the humanistic perspective, places are perceived. This means places are not pre-given; they are dependent upon humans for their definition. The landscape perspective and the typology put forth by Agnew come out of an understanding that perceptions of place vary; any two people may have very different perceptions of the same place.
26 Thus places can be contested, and at the same time provide a context for conflict. Finally, Staeheli’s typology lists the various ways in which conflict can occur in and over place. Taken together, these conceptions mirror ideas about constructions in general. They indicate that politics surrounding place is complex (Lefebvre 1992; Staeheli 2003), undermining a straightforward dominance/resistance dualism. For some, places are constructed in resistance to larger dominant forces such as modernity and globalization (Relph 1996; Berman 1998), and there is similar criticism of over-romanticizing this resistance (Ramaswamy 2004), as well as criticism that place constructions are too often viewed as negatively reactive (Massey 1997). Furthermore, there are those who point out that conflicts involving place must be understood with reference to the material landscape, not just ideas about it (Barnes and Duncan 1992; Cosgrove and Daniels 1998; Mitchell 2000). Thus, these conceptions indicate that the character of a place is never given but is always being contested amidst a complex web of place significations, functions, and structures. A demonstration of this complexity is one of the goals of this paper.
Identity
Though none of the conceptions of place discussed above directly deals with issues of human identity, put together they do provide some corollaries. In any conflict (by definition), people become opponents or allies, and become, at least in part, defined by their positions on the issue. Because places are so important to people in defining who they are (and who they were), when a conflict is about place, it becomes inseparable from conflict over identity. Identities “ground our understanding of who we are, as well as our knowledge claims” ("subject formation" 2000). Such formations can be thought of as individual or collective; however, it is perhaps more helpful to think of them as a mixture of the two. Individual identities are formed within society, and most individuals identify with at least one social group. Identification with a group that is implicitly differentiated from other groups can be a positive thing; such identification contributes to “the stimulation and survival value of a diverse human species, and the encouragement of popular participation in governance” (Woehrle and Coy 2000, p. 7). On the other hand, it may also yield “ethnocentrism, xenophobia, discrimination, torture, and genocide” (p. 7).
27 These negative outcomes can be difficult to combat because identities appear to be natural and unchanging aspects of life. Conflicts between groups can seem intractable in the face of such static identities. This belies the ways identities can be used, even actively created, to achieve certain goals. There is an inherent tension between these two ideas: that identities are given or that identities are made. Over the years, scholars have attempted to accurately address this tension, arriving at many different conceptualizations of identity. Early explorers and social researchers were most often concerned with cataloging and understanding existing groups as they were found. In recent years, sociologists, psychologists, anthropologists, and geographers, among others, have become increasingly interested in exposing the ways that group identities change in response to internal and external circumstances. Cornell and Hartman (1998) refer to the perspective informing the former practice as ‘primordialism’ and the latter as ‘circumstantialism,’ terms that closely parallel the concepts of essentialism and constructivism discussed in Chapter One of this paper. Primordialism is the idea that a person is born into an ethnic or racial group and that identity is ingrained in the individual’s psyche from birth. Individual people cannot escape the identities they were born with. The theory is also applied to entire groups, as if group characteristics were natural and unchanging. Circumstantialism stands in contrast to primordialism in that it assumes that identities derive solely from “the circumstances and contexts in which ethnic and racial groups [find] themselves” (Cornell and Hartmann 1998, p. 56). Identities are things that are called upon when needed in response to particular circumstances and may be cast aside when no longer needed. In their extreme forms, both perspectives, like those of essentialism or hyperconstructivism, are problematic. Primordialism cannot explain people with multiple identities or people whose ethnic identities are secondary to other types of identity such as occupation or gender. Nor can it address change and variation. On the other hand, “the circumstantialist account has difficulty dealing with ethnicity in and of itself. It attributes the resilience of ethnicity to something outside the realm of the ethnic, to some other set of forces, such as economic or political interests” (p. 65, emphasis added). Thus, primordialism suffers from viewing identity as too fixed, and circumstantialism from viewing identity as too fluid. Another main division in theories of identity is that between structure and agency. Some theories of identity are part of the structuralist tradition in which “deep” structures are thought to
28 order life. These structures are thought to exist largely outside of the consciousness of most people. For some Marxists, capitalism is such a structure; for some anthropologists, culture is – and so on. Both the concepts of primordialism and circumstantialism may be viewed as part of this tradition. In primordialism, individuals have no control over identity; instead, identity is seen as a structure that governs people’s lives. In circumstantialism, identity may be viewed as an ongoing process, but a process constrained by the structural environment encountered in life. The idea that human beings act as a result of structures beyond their control, or even knowledge, has led to a reaction against structuralism that argues for a renewed focus on human agency. The humanist epistemology mentioned in the previous section is one such reaction. Humanistic attempts to theorize identity, by their very definition, focus on human agency; however, humanism’s emphasis on authenticity (Buttimer 1976; Tuan 1975) implies a primordial identity that has been corrupted by change. Similarly, geographers working in the field of identity politics have broadened the range of identities studied and the politics used by each, but still often treat these identities as given ("subject formation" 2000). A stronger attempt to find a middle ground in theories of identity, and on questions of agency as a whole, is structuration theory (Giddens 1979). Giddens distinguishes between three types of consciousness: discursive, practical, and unconscious. The discursive consciousness is that which can be articulated; the unconscious is that which we are unaware of. Giddens’s structuration theory introduced the concept of the practical consciousness in which our practices become routinized into the unconscious and out of the discursive consciousness. Thus, identities are discursively produced, but through use over time they become part of the unconscious. Structuration theory is an important contribution to the debate of agency versus structure, but most recent conceptualizations of identity have been post-structuralist contributions. Post- structuralism is differentiated from structuration theory in that it offers a more politicized view of the ways the discursive consciousness moves into the unconscious; identity is formed as a result of power relations. Another key element of post-structural theories of identity is that identity is formed through processes of disidentification. Each of these ideas is examined below. The movement of identity from the discursive consciousness to the unconscious may not be simply a result of continued practice as a result of circumstance, but an active choice. In other words, people may not merely experience their identities as primordial as a result of rote
29 practice; they may also actively assert such an identity for a range of strategic purposes (while still experiencing that identity as lived). The idea that essential identities can be deployed strategically is what Appadurai (1990, p. 2) calls “the paradox of constructed primordialism.”1 They may be deployed to achieve a variety of ends; they “can be deployed effectively in the service of idealist and materialist, progressive and reactionary, mythologizing and resistive discourses” (Fuss 1989, p. xii). Thus, instead of dismissing essential identities as artificial, it is important “to examine how and why essentialist arguments are deployed, by whom and for what purpose” (Jackson and Penrose, p. 16). Many post-structuralist theories of identity examine the ways essentialist arguments are deployed at the scale of the nation (though most of the same ideas can be applied to other group identities). In these conceptualizations, identity is the result of the negotiation of a nationalist discourse that is produced by those in power, and opposition to that discourse by those who are not. Though they acknowledge that identities are constructed within discourses, and that those discourses tend to work best when people are not aware of them, post-structuralists generally take care to distance themselves from conceptualizations of discourse-as-structure. Nationalist identities are not determined by an existing discourse. Rather, Doty (1996, p. 125) suggests that we think of nations this way: “The people are on the one hand the pre-given parts of a body politic and the historical objects that give nationalist discourse its power and authority. On the other hand, the people are the effect of a complex rhetorical strategy of social reference in which the claim to be representative provokes a crisis with the process of signification.” In order to maintain nationalist identity, there are certain ways that discourses are deployed. A key way that nations do this is through the laws that they pass (Gilroy 1987; Gramsci 1985, cited in Doty 1996). For example, immigration laws explicitly determine who can or cannot be included in the nation, and, as noted in Chapter One, even create in-between categories like that of ‘refugee’, though other laws may work less overtly. Every law expresses what things are important to the nation. Another way to maintain a national identity is through memorialization. The parts of the past that are deemed important can be memorialized or
1 Brow (1990, p. 2) suggests the term “primordialization” to “describe the process whereby certain kinds of communal relations are promoted and experienced as if they possessed an original and natural inevitability.” Alonso (1988) offers the terms “naturalization,” “departicularization” (or “universalization”), and “idealization” to describe aspects of the same process.
30 preserved to unify the people around a common heritage. In fact, there are any number of ways nationalist discourses may be deployed, but identities are not entirely the product of what those in power intend them to be. Part of this has to do with the way nation is (often problematically) defined. “Nations are imagined as natural objects or things in the real world…defined by reference to precise spatial, temporal, and cultural boundaries” (Handler 1994, p. 29). Nations tend to be defined by events in time, usually events memorialized as “historic” and looked to as points of origin for the group. Nations are expected to be internally homogenous, although “internal diversity…may be recognized – even celebrated as indicative of the nation’s complexity and rich heritage” (p. 29). Finally, nations are viewed as spatially bounded and different from one another. “Thus on ‘political’ maps of the world, each nation, enclosed by an unbroken dark line, is uniformly colored, and the colors of adjoining nations are always different” (p. 29). These assumptions are, of course, rarely valid to make. The nation may present itself as temporally, culturally, and spatially bounded, but those boundaries are very much constructed. A nation’s origin stories are deployed and memorialized precisely for the purpose of uniting the group with a common past. Nations are not internally homogenous and national identities may be fractured along regional, gender, ethnic, and class lines (p. 29). Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, nations are rarely uniformly spatially bounded. “The nation-state is only one among several (perhaps many) geographies generated within the horizon of the modern political imaginary” (Biolsi 2005, p. 254). Nations, in the sense of groups of people who identify with one another as a community, may be spread out in disparate locations around the world. An example of such a national geography that differs from the nation-state is that of diaspora. In the traditional sense diaspora refers to “displaced communities of people who have been dislocated from their native homeland through the movements of migration, immigration, or exile” (Braziel and Mannur 2003, p. 1). The identities of such peoples are typically more tied to their experience of travel than relations to a particular place or a desire to return to it (Clifford 1992; Gilroy 1993), although many groups do have such ties and desires. However, for some, there may not be any place to be tied to. For these people, “there is no possibility of staying at [or returning] home in the conventional sense – that is, the world has changed to the point that those domestic, national, or marked spaces no longer exist” (Kaplan 1996, p. 7).
31 Diaspora offers an interesting arena in which to study identity formation given that identity is traditionally thought to form as a result of state action (e.g. passing certain laws, memorializing certain things). The identities of diasporic nations are not necessarily solely affected by the machinations of any particular, singular state. In fact, “diasporic subjects are marked by hybridity and heterogeneity” (Braziel and Mannur 2003, p. 5) that comes from interacting between and among multiple locations. Additionally, diasporic movement may occur over long periods of time – years, even centuries. This negates the idea that nations are bounded by a particular temporal event to be memorialized. Instead, the act of travel itself may have occurred at different times and for different reasons by different members of the same diaspora. Thus, the migration itself (set outside of time) may be the thing memorialized to unify the nation.2 Such may be the case with many Native American groups affected by the Trail of Tears, including those associated with Hickory Ground. For example, members of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma have no intention of returning to the Hickory Ground in Alabama, but they still feel very strongly about what happens to it as part of their identity. Furthermore, many Native geographies differ from the nation-state model to begin with. Identity is often traced to migration histories in which places involved in the people’s creation and subsequent migration to their current (or pre-removal) locations are considered key. Such identities are tied to these elements of the landscape in a way that is stronger than ties to the particular bounded territory of the group’s current location. A second key contribution of post-structuralist theories of identity is the concept of disidentification. Disidentification means that people not only know who they are, but who they are not. In fact, the argument goes, identification is not possible without disidentification. The concept of ‘us’ requires a concept of ‘them’ (Said 1978). Said’s work on Western conceptions of an Eastern ‘Other’ demonstrates this idea. He argues that Europeans could not have conceptualized themselves as mature, developed, democratic, industrial, powerful, and superior without viewing the people of their colonies as immature, undeveloped, despotic, backward, weak, and inferior. This act of ‘Othering’ has been uncovered in examinations of particular places such as the British hill country in India (Kenney 1995), and textual representations such as the French Description de l’Egypte (Gregory 1995).
2 This is not to imply that a diaspora could not occur all at once as the result of a singular historic event.
32 Yet, one problem with such conceptualizations of Othering is that little or no room is left for resistance to it. As a reaction to this, Bhabha (1994) uses the concept of “ambivalence” to make the argument that the process of disidentification is ongoing. Although he is writing specifically about the relationship between colonizers and the colonized, this concept can be applied to almost any group engaged in the processes of disidentification. One definition of ambivalence ("ambivalence" 1985) is “simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings (as attraction and repulsion) toward an object, person, or action”; another is, “a continual fluctuation (as between one thing and its opposite).” For Bhabha, the term is thus an excellent descriptor for identity formation. The first definition is relevant because two groups forming their identities through disidentification with one another are locked in a relationship in which each is repulsed (pushed away from) the other while at the same time attracted to the other as the basis for their identity. The second definition is relevant because the processes of identification and disidentification are reciprocal between two or more groups. Each has the power to affect, and is in turn affected by, the identity formations of the other. Therefore, in order to maintain their own identities, each group must attempt to ‘fix’ the identity of the other in such as way as to have a ‘stable’ disidentifier. For Bhabha, this is where stereotypes come from. They are “a form of knowledge and identification that vacillates between what is always ‘in place,’ already known, and something that must be anxiously repeated” (1994, p. 66). Repetition of stereotypes is necessary to fix the identity of the other, and thus fix one’s own identity. However, their constant reiteration suggests that such a fixity is impossible (Papoulias 2004, p. 53). Therefore, the process of disidentification is never stable. Though few argue that the idea of the Other is central to the entire concept of identity, there remains a debate as to which comes first, identification or disidentification. Said argues that identity is not possible without awareness of an Other. Douglas argues that identity exists first as a process of “expressing and experiencing communal membership.” Through that process “awareness will develop of the Other,” and “recognition of Otherness will help reinforce self- identity” (1997, quoted in Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge 2000, p. 19). Nonetheless, whether disidentification creates identification or simply reinforces it, disidentification is a key part of identification. Probably every individual is part of at least one group from which others are excluded.
33 Othering can take many forms. Identity “embraces a range of human attributes, including language, religion, ethnicity, nationalism and shared interpretations of the past and constructs these into discourses of inclusion and exclusion” (Graham et al., p. 18). ‘We’ are who we are because ‘we’ speak a different language, practice a different religion, are a different ethnicity, are a different nationality, and have a different heritage than ‘them’. Following Gramsci and Gilroy, laws can also be used to demonstrate that ‘we’ are not like ‘them’ – ‘we’ have laws that guarantee freedoms that ‘they’ do not have; our laws make ‘us’ more civilized than ‘them’. Lowenthal reiterates the importance of heritage in Othering: “to forge identity and buttress self- esteem, each people vaunts or invents a distinctive legacy. Many assert their heritage’s moral or military, mental or material superiority” over that of others’ (1994, p. 46). Although identities are continually constructed as a result of the conflict between such opposing groups, the notion of conflict should not be seen as a completely negative concept. “Most conflicts are marked by a combination of constructive and destructive effects located somewhere along a continuum” (Woehrle and Coy 2000, p. 1). The destructive effects of conflict are well known, but conflict may also be considered positive. “People create conflict as part of the search for meaning, as part of their definition of themselves and of the groups to which they belong, and to achieve what they need to survive and develop” (p. 2). Positive or negative, “social conflicts are framed by their disputants in particular ways to achieve specific goals” (Woehrle and Coy 2000, p. 4). Groups must portray themselves as the party deserving of their desired outcome. To achieve this, they “will not only appeal to but also intentionally manipulate collective identities to garner support among their [members]” (p. 4). On the other hand, being left out of the negotiation process in a conflict also has an effect on identity. “The perception of being disenfranchised or excluded [can serve] to create strong group identification” (p. 4). Conflicts also affect ascribed identity. Sometimes conflict negotiation “seems to encourage one party to assure the collective identity of its adversary so that [they] can focus on negotiating in only one direction and on fewer issues” (p. 4). Formerly disparate groups may find themselves lumped together as ‘the opposition,’ and may or may not find such an association useful on their own terms. Another aspect of conflict-based identity ascription is stereotyping and negative labeling of the adversary. “At times labels are applied to establish or undermine the credibility of participants. These stereotyping processes are used by adversaries to determine
34 who is legitimately welcome at the negotiating table” (p. 8). In cases where a group is determined not to be legitimate or credible, “cultural identities [may be] stimulated by their denial” (Niezen 2003, p. 6) such that through processes of assertion, the group forces its way to the table. These practices, intended to generate a positive outcome for the party doing the ascription, may have unintended negative consequences. The idea of opposition may become entrenched. Once “the conflict becomes part of disputant self-understanding and part of how they are viewed by other parties…this dynamic is a significant contributor to identity-based conflicts becoming intractable” (Woehrle and Coy, p. 6). Ireland and Israel are two well-known examples of such a phenomenon. This aspect of ascription demonstrates that essentialism may be constructed, but it is not always strategic or beneficial on the part of those asserting an identity. Identity is not as simple as primordialism versus circumstantialism, nor is it as simple as ‘strategic essentialisms.’ Identity is inseparable from power relations that are tied to processes of disidentification, and involve processes of assertion and ascription. Post-structuralist theories of identity address more complexity than primordialism, circumstantialism, or even structuration theory allows. Yet, while post-structuralist conceptualizations of identity currently hold sway, they have not escaped criticism. Some scholars argue that identity is written about as the very type of structure post-structuralists eschew. Authors like Gillis (1994) and Handler (1994) point out that theories of the complex political origin of identity are at fault for still reifying that concept. ‘Identity’ as such does not really exist at all. Identities “are not things we think about, but things we think with. As such they have no existence beyond our politics, our social relations, and our histories” (Gillis, p. 5). Particular identities may be constructed, but identity itself is treated “as something that can be lost as well as found” (p. 3). Handler wonders if the concept of identity is not simply a Western conception that has erroneously been applied to other peoples around the world. “Even discussions of the construction of identity tend to presuppose that identity, though continually changing, is nonetheless relevant to people everywhere” (p. 30). He recognizes that people the world over now make use of the discourse of identity, but thinks that this “testifies more to the rapid spread of hegemonic ideas about modernity and ethnicity than it does to the universality of collective concerns about identity” (p. 38). However, he then goes on to note, “to distance ourselves
35 epistemologically from ideologies of identity is a politically delicate task, for many of the claimants to collective identity whose cultural philosophy we may dispute are nonetheless peoples whose struggles for social justice we support” (p. 38). These criticisms address in a broader sense the ideas of strategic essentialisms and essentialized ascriptions discussed above. Instead of applying these ideas to particular identities, however, they are applied to the concept of identity itself. The very concept of identity is a discourse that can be deployed for certain purposes. Therefore, returning to Jackson and Penrose’s statement about essentialist arguments, now slightly modified, it is important “to examine how and why [discourses of identity] are deployed, by whom and for what purpose” (1993, p. 16). For example, in the Hickory Ground case, some of the debate centers on which of the involved Native American groups has the most legitimate claim to the land. Others argue that the land most directly ‘belongs to’ the community of Wetumpka, not a Native American group at all. Who gets categorized as ‘local’ (i.e. who is most directly of the place) is contested, yet not in any way that could be construed as false. People genuinely believe their claims to legitimacy as ‘true’ locals. As this example demonstrates, identity is variable and contested; it is dynamic, but it is also lived as though it were essential. And, identities are not necessarily formed as dominant or resistant to a singular ‘other’; there can be many ‘others’ whose significance to identity formation waxes or wanes over time. Thus, contestations of identity have many parallels and interconnectedness with contestations of place, a concept that is itself variable, contested, dynamic, and lived. They are also tied to ideas of culture; in this case, for example, claims to an identity as indigenous to Hickory Ground are often made with appeal to cultural traits.
Culture
The terms identity and culture are not synonymous, but do overlap in many ways. Culture may be one of multiple traits used in identity formation in the same way as ethnicity, economic class, or occupation. It is possible for a person’s culture to be only a small part of his or her overall identity. On the other hand, by some definitions, identity may represent only a small portion of culture. Culture may also include a host of other behaviors, traits, beliefs, and material
36 artifacts, though some have begun to question defining culture in this way. In short, culture is something less than identity, yet, at the same time, something more. This section attempts to explain this seeming paradox. Anthropology is the academic discipline tasked most directly with concerns of culture, and the history of anthropological research is littered with definitions of the term. Some textbook definitions of culture include: “a shared way of life that includes material products, values, beliefs, and norms that are transmitted within a particular society from generation to generation” Scupin and DeCorse (1995, p. 183), “a learned system of beliefs, feelings, and rules for living, around which a group of people organize their lives; a way of life of a particular society” Crapo (1996, p. 17), and “a total way of life held in common by a group of people, including such learned features as speech, ideology, behavior, livelihood, technology, and government” Jordan- Bychkov and Domosh (1999, p. 4). Several things are implied by these definitions: culture is something that is shared by everyone in the group, it is passed on (i.e. learned from others), and it is generally accepted (i.e. not struggled over). These definitions do not account for resistance and conflict, and therefore change, within culture. The implications of such definitions have increasingly led some anthropologists to question the concept of culture. Indeed, some anthropologists have gone so far as to “write against” the concept altogether (Abu-Lughod 1991). The late nineteen eighties and early nineties saw the development of the “fashionable idea that there is nothing usefully called ‘a culture’” (Sahlins 1994, p. 386). This idea has caught on in many disciplines beyond anthropology, including geography (Mitchell 1995). All of these critiques arise from a concern that “the concept [of culture] suggests boundedness, homogeneity, coherence, stability, and structure whereas social reality is characterized by variability, inconsistencies, conflict, change, and individual agency” (Brumann 1999, p. S1). The concern over presenting the concept in this way is that it “almost irresistibly leads us into reification and essentialism” (Keesing 1994, p. 302). Culture becomes “a physical substance [that] begins to smack of any variety of biologisms” (Appadurai 1996, p. 12). Thus, reification and essentialism “brings the concept of culture uncomfortably close to ideas such as race that originally it did a great deal to transcend” (Brumann 1999, p. S2). In addition, it magnifies the differences between anthropologists (and others who study culture) and the people they study (p.
37 S2), opening the door to possible injustices. It is for these reasons and more, some argue, that “the culture concept has served its time” (Clifford 1988, p. 274). While, some suggest doing away with the concept outright (Abu-Lughod 1999), others suggest that eradicating the use of the noun form of culture, while retaining the adjective form, may solve some of the problems. “If culture as a noun seems to carry associations with some sort of substance in ways that appear to conceal more than they reveal, cultural the adjective moves one into a realm of difference, contrasts, and comparisons that is more helpful” (Appadurai 1996, p. 12). Whatever their specific argument, it seems that “a profound doubt about the validity of the culture concept, justified in terms of the many misleading associations it is presumed to carry, has undoubtedly become an important trope in current anthropological discourse” (Brumann 1999, p. S3). Countering this, Brumann (p. S1) argues that “what is being addressed by the critics is certain usages of the culture concept rather than the concept itself, and…it is possible to disentangle the concept from such misapplications.” He argues that while conceptualizations like the textbook definitions mentioned above may imply certain things about culture, they do not actually state them. “No mention is made of boundaries, universal sharing, immunity to change, or culture’s being a thing, an essence, or a living being” (p. S3). The question then becomes where such notions come from. Brumann notes that today’s critics seem to associate culture’s bad connotations with ‘classic’ definitions of the term, yet they contain no mention of these things either. By way of example, he lists the ‘classic’ definitions of early anthropologists Tylor, Boas, Linton, and Mead. Perhaps the most important3 of these is Tylor’s (1871, p. 1): “Culture…is that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, law, morals, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society.” While Brumann points out that, “except for the occasional use of an outmoded word and for male bias, these definitions do not deviate fundamentally from the modern ones” (p. S4), he challenges those who hold that these definitions cannot be separated from the context in which they appeared and were used (e.g. Abu-Lughod 1999; Gingrich 1999). Take, for example, Boas’s formulation: “culture embraces all the manifestations of social habits of a community, the reactions of the individual as affected by the habits of the group in
3 It is, after all, “the only one most anthropologists can quote correctly” (Bohannan and Glazer 1988).
38 which he lives, and the products of human activities as determined by these habits” (Boas 1930, p. 79). As discussed by Wimmer (1999, p. S20), this definition “was intimately linked to the idea of a clearly definable society. It was a society, group of people, community, etc., that could be characterized by a certain culture.” Thus, there is a certain boundedness of culture implied by what we know of Boas’s ideas about community. Another aspect of ‘classic’ anthropology that makes it suspect is the methodology employed by its practitioners. As Clifford (1992) notes, many early anthropologists went into ‘the field’ and pitched tent in the village they were studying. In nearly every case, the village was the unit of study and informants were interviewed as natives of the village. Most of these studies failed to take into account the movement between villages and thus “relegat[ed] to the margins a ‘culture’s’ external relations and displacements” (p. 100). Thus, in the context of classic anthropological methodology, cultures were viewed as if they possessed closed boundaries. Brumann acknowledges these charges but argues that it is not “unduly idealistic to distinguish between a concept and its usage, especially when that concept has been explicitly defined and can therefore be tested against what is being made of it” (p. S22). In other words, the uses of a concept may change and accrue certain associated (and, in this case, undesirable) connotations, but that is not necessarily a reason to do away with the concept altogether. A comparable argument can be made about the concept of place. The definition of place has changed over time and, like ‘culture’, at times has been used in negative ways and for negative purposes, yet it seems absurd to suggest doing away with the concept. And, just as cultures are, places are often discussed as if they are bounded, homogeneous, coherent, and stable when geographers know them to be the opposite. Brumann gives the further examples of art styles, forests, crowds, and cities. He notes that it is still possible to speak of these things “in spite of the disagreement that often arises over whether these terms really apply to the specific body of art works, concentration of trees, gathering of people, or settlement that is so designated or where precisely their boundaries are located in a given place” (p. S6). As Clifford (1992, p. 97) notes, “some strategy of localization is inevitable if significantly different ways of life are to be represented.” Nonetheless, the debate over just how to delineate a culture knowing that there cannot be clear boundaries, homogeneity, coherence, or stability has been a source of contention among anthropologists. As already discussed, some argue that culture does not exist precisely because
39 these things cannot be obtained. Abu-Lughod (1999, p. S13) developed her “argument for writing against culture” as a result of trying to “write an ethnography of a Bedouin community that did justice to the complexity, uncertainty, and contestations of everyday life and to the individuality of its members.” Instead of analyzing the Bedouin culture, she chose to place emphasis on individuals and their actions within “social fields of power and national ideologies” (p. S14). As a result of this work, she sees the concept of culture with its “inevitable generalizations and typifications [as being] a central component of…distancing and othering” (p. S14), rather than something with valid explanatory properties. This view is shared by Mitchell (2000). He also sees culture as nothing more (though this is no small thing) than “a struggled-over set of social relations, relations shot through with structures of power” (p. xv). For Mitchell (p. 12) culture is “what could be called an empty abstraction – an abstraction that has no referent in the material world. People do not “have” culture. Nor do “cultures” simply and autonomously exist, as something real, solid, and permanent.” As mentioned above, Brumann (1999) recognizes the problems with some uses of the term culture, but does not think that these problems necessarily lead to the conclusion that culture does not exist. He agrees that, “there will always be more than one way to cut out cultures from the fuzzy-edged clusters of habits that we observe,” but that does not mean “there are no such clusters of habits and that the distribution of cognitive, emotive, and behavioral routines among humans is [random]” (p. S7). To paraphrase Tyler, there are still complex groupings of knowledge, belief, art, law, morals, custom, and other capabilities and habits acquired by humans as members of society to be studied, however porous their boundaries. Appaduari (1990, p. 32) acknowledges that there is some stability of culture, but “the warp of these stabilities is everywhere shot through with the woof of human motion.” Therefore, accepting that there are groupings that might still be called culture, perhaps what is needed to keep us safe from the old traps of reification and boundedness is a new metaphor. Appadurai suggests that cultures should be viewed as “polythetic fractals in a state of chaos” (p. 20). He chooses the metaphor of fractals to indicate that cultures possess no “Euclidean boundaries, structures, or regularities.” These fractal forms are polythetic in the biological4 sense of overlapping. Finally, these polythetic fractals should be studied in terms of chaos theory because
4 The use of the biological term “polythetic” is not meant to imply that culture is itself in any way biological.
40 they are not stable. “That is, we will need to ask how these complex, overlapping, fractal shapes constitute not a simple, stable system, but to ask what its dynamics are.” This, of course, still requires that one examine a particular culture, however complex, chaotic, or irregularly bounded. This brings the discussion to the issue of methodology. As Cerroni-Long (1999, p. S15) points out, the way anthropologists conduct research, “is fundamentally based upon the assumption that there is a particular form of human organization – called “culture” - that can be described and analyzed through participant observation, collection of documentary materials, and interviewing.” The scholars advocating the abandonment of the culture concept “have not been able to suggest – let alone implement – one single, miniscule, peripheral research method that differs in any substantive way from those developed around foundational disciplinary assumptions.” If there is no such thing as fixed culture to study, methodologies aiming to study fixed cultures cannot work. Yet, as Peet argues, “something that does not exist as a real (objective) entity can still be an important social force” (p. 331) with explanatory power. In the absence of fixed culture, then, the methodology for studying culture becomes studying the processes by which culture difference is asserted. The concern lies in determining precisely how cultures are delineated and differentiated from one another. Put another way, “how is significant difference politically articulated, and challenged?” (Clifford 1992, p. 97). Mitchell’s answer to this questions is power. Culture only comes into being when it is needed to serve certain interests. “When someone has the power to stop the infinite regress of culture, to say ‘this is what culture is’; and to make that meaning stick, then ‘culture’ as an incredibly powerful idea is made real, as real as any other exercise of power” (2000, p. 76). Thus, cultural boundaries that are porous, if they exist at all, are made to seem solid. Indeed, in a seeming paradox, “the solidifying of cultural boundaries is predicated upon the malleability of cultures – on the ability, especially by those with power, to reshape cultural properties and attachments, sometimes to make them fit more comfortably with political interests” (Niezen 2003, p. 6). In short, there is “intentionality behind the deployment of the idea of culture” (Mitchell, p. 79). This is not to say that either Mitchell or Neizen believe that somebody, somewhere creates culture from scratch based solely on his or her needs at the moment. Rather, culture is actively created and used, much like identity, in response to particular circumstances, albeit typically within a framework of what has come before.
41 For many theorists these circumstances take the form of some type of conflict. “Moments of disruption and, in general, occasions of conflict provide lenses into the key principles of the social and cultural order” (Appadurai 1981, p. 33). For Geertz (1973, p. 144), such conflict occurs in the interaction between culture’s two parts: “On the one level there is the framework of beliefs, expressive symbols, and values in terms of which individuals define their world, express their feelings, and make their judgments; on the other level there is the ongoing process of interactive behavior, whose persistent form we call social structure.” The framework that people use to live and their actual actions in life are constantly in tension. “Because the particular form one of them takes does not directly influence the form the other will take, there is an inherent incongruity and tension between the two” (p. 145). An individual may take action based on his or her own cultural framework, or some other factor. Enough actions that differ from the framework ultimately affect its ability to say what is acceptable. The framework changes in response, and goes on to influence new actions. This conceptualization allows for change in culture whether through internal human agency, outside influence through interaction with others, or some combination thereof. Levi-Strauss (1967), in his refutation of synchronic functionalism, offers an unintentional refinement of Geertz’s theory. Levi-Strauss distinguishes between primary and secondary functions of things in society. The primary function “corresponds to a present need of the social body.” The secondary function “survives only because the group resists giving up a habit” (p. 13). Not every aspect of the cultural framework Geertz speaks of has a modern function for society. Some things are left over from an earlier time when perhaps they did serve a purpose. Modern individuals going about making daily choices may choose to ignore those portions of the cultural framework they see as no longer relevant to the current society. On the other hand, there may be powerful nostalgic forces at work maintaining the old ways as part of current identification. Either way, it is important to note that the interaction between the cultural framework and individual’s actions do not always determine each other along the lines of what is best for society today based on the current circumstances. Instead, there is a continual legacy of what has come before. Cultural identities are formed in response to current circumstances, but within a framework tied to the past. While this theory explains how cultural change occurs internally, Bhabha (1994) focuses on the in-between spaces or borderlands between two cultures. For him, it is only in these spaces
42 that culture for either group is created. Culture is thus necessarily hybridized because influences from each culture affect the other in their interactions. This presupposes the existence of multiple cultures that must exist in order to interact. In contrast, Latour (1987, p. 201, quoted in Mitchell 2000) focuses on internal borderlands, arguing that, “it is only when there is a dispute, as long as it lasts, and depending on the strength exerted by dissenters that words such as ‘culture’…receive a precise meaning…In other words, no one lives in a ‘culture’…before he or she clashes with others.” Mitchell (2000, p. 77) reiterates this claim: “The empty, meaningless abstraction of ‘culture’ is filled with meaning and made concrete, not in the working of culture itself, but in the process of defining culture.” For Mitchell, cultures are only defined as part of ‘culture wars.’ Culture does not exist prior to conflict. This echoes the debates about construction introduced in Chapter One. As is asked of place and identity, is culture constructed through the interaction of two pre-existing and opposing norms, one dominant and one resistant? Or is culture created through the interaction of a multitude of sources, with opponents defined during the process? This study attempts to answer these questions. Furthermore, as with place and identity, the concept of culture cannot be divorced from materiality, meaning that it cannot be constructed from nothing. Culture exists as a construction that occurs within, and replicates, a field of power, but for that construction to have power, it must build upon actual traits and identities. The construction is not itself a thing, but rather it affects things (as well as people). So, for this study, more specific questions are how and why the idea of culture is produced and asserted, and who does the asserting – questions similar to those asked about place and identity.
Conclusion
Any discussion of the concepts of place, culture, and identity ultimately revolves around considerations of conflict and power; they are both deployed in conflict and defined through it. Because they involve groups of people contesting the appropriate use of places, land-use conflicts are particularly suited to understanding the ways these concepts are constructed. Likewise, they are important concepts in understanding a land-use conflict.
43 While I have treated place, culture, and identity as three distinct concepts in this chapter, in fact, conceptualizations of one almost always rely on conceptualizations of the others. Indeed, that is how discourses work: they assign meanings to several contested concepts at once so that there is no easy entry point for challenging an edifice of understanding. In treating the three separately, I am not arguing that they are really distinct, but rather, I am establishing a groundwork for a methodology with which I can investigate how each of these concepts are constructed through the ways in which individuals argue for a specific disposition of Hickory Ground. In Chapters Four through Eight, I examine the ways individuals use the concepts of heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty to define Hickory Ground as a place and to define themselves and each other in relation to it. The following chapter explains my methodology for doing so.
44 CHAPTER THREE METHODOLOGY
Place, culture, and identity are socially constructed, and these constructions are often highly contested. As the previous chapters have indicated, the study of a land-use conflict is ultimately a study of these different constructions. Rarely, however, does anyone speak of how he or she ‘constructs’ a place or an identity; instead, he or she talks about those things as if they are given. What people typically do when discussing or describing a place, for instance, is employ terms focusing on function, use, and/or meaning. Put simply, they define it, and, since a word cannot be used in its own definition, other words must be used. Thus, documenting the ways place, identity, and culture are constructed by participants in the Hickory Ground debate can only be done by documenting the concepts used to describe/define them. How does someone describe Hickory Ground and his- or herself in relation to it? What concepts form their definitions? Through a process of iterative coding, described later in this chapter, I identified five central concepts that are consistently used to frame arguments. Analysis of these concepts – heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty – and how they were defined and deployed by various actors was central to my research. Furthermore, these concepts are themselves argued over. For example, two people may both make use of the concept of sovereignty in defining Hickory Ground, but they may disagree about what the concept means. Likewise, two people may speak about preserving Hickory Ground, but differ on what aspect of it (e.g. artifacts, ceremonial use, physical landscape) they wish to preserve. Thus, it is not that place, identity, and culture are being defined in different terms; often, different individuals use the same concepts to define these ideas, but in different ways. The descriptors used to define place, identity, and culture in this case may thus be termed “keywords” in the sense introduced by Williams (1976) in his volume by the same name. Williams begins this work with a rumination on the phrase, “they just don’t speak the same language.” arguing that when people use this phrase, they do not mean that others use different words; the words used are by and large the same. Instead, “when we come to say ‘we just don’t speak the same language’ we mean something more general: that we have different
45 immediate values or different kinds of valuation, or that we are aware, often intangibly, of different formations and distributions of energy and interest” (p. 9). In this sense, the contestants over Hickory Ground do not speak the same language when they talk about concepts like heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, or sovereignty. They may use the same vocabulary, but they use it to construct different definitions of place, culture, and identity. For Williams, ‘keywords’ are “significant, binding words in certain activities and their interpretation,” and “they are significant, indicative words in certain forms of thought” (p. 13). These are words with multiple, often conflicting uses, with a particular use indicating a “form of thought.” For example, a particular use of the concept of preservation indicates a particular form of thought (i.e. a construction) about place, identity, and culture. Thus, the problems of conflicting meanings are inextricably bound up with the problems they are being used to discuss (p. 13). Therefore, my methodology involves analyzing the ways these keywords are defined by interested parties, and how these definitions are deployed as discourse in a manner that is both reflective of and contributes to specific constructions of place, identity, and/or culture relative to Hickory Ground. The point of this research is not to arrive at ‘correct’ definitions of these keywords, or ‘correct’ discourses, but rather to determine how this conflict is produced by actors using multiple definitions. Following Williams, I do not “share the optimism or the theories which underlie it…which suppose that clarification of difficult words would help in the resolution of disputes” (p. 21). First of all, there is no clarification to make; there is no correct definition. In a dispute, “no single group is ‘wrong’ by any linguistic criterion, though a temporarily dominant group may try to enforce its own uses as ‘correct’” (p. 9). Attempts by different contestants to fix a particular definition as correct are simultaneously attempts “to appropriate a meaning which fit[s] the argument and to exclude those meanings which [are] inconvenient to it but which some benighted person had been so foolish as to use…For [words] which involve ideas and values, [clarifying a correct definition] is not only an impossible but an irrelevant procedure” (p. 15). It is the range of meanings that matter. “Indeed they have often, as variations, to be insisted upon, just because they embody different experiences and readings of experience” (p. 21). Williams proposes that, “what can really be contributed is not resolution but perhaps, at times, just that extra edge of consciousness…In a social history in which many crucial meanings have been shaped by a dominant class, and by particular professions operated to a large extent
46 within its terms [e.g. historic preservation], the sense of edge is appropriate” (p. 21, parenthetical added). Just as Williams struggled with a way to present his keywords in a meaningful order without obscuring connections5, I feel it is important to note that the presentation of my keywords is not meant to be seen as a linear narrative. Each of the terms is connected to the other in multiple ways. In this case, I have chosen to begin with heritage largely because this conflict is so tied to the history of Hickory Ground and what that history means to people. A closely related aspect of the conflict is tied to perceptions of Hickory Ground’s importance as a sacred place and what that means to people. Both of these terms are key to notions of preservation, a concept that may refer to history, sacredness, or to people themselves. Another related concept is that of indigeneity; who gets categorized as ‘native’ (and who does not) is an important factor in ideas about preservation and the reasons for it. Indigeneity is in turn also related to sovereignty; demonstrating indigeneity to Hickory Ground is one way to argue for control over it. Keeping in mind the interconnectedness of each term, they are presented in subsequent chapters in the order discussed above. Each chapter contains a summary of the academic literature relevant to each term in order to demonstrate how the differing definitions employed by contestants over the fate of Hickory Ground fit into, or deviate from, the range of definitions offered here. Each chapter then also contains a chronologically arranged summary of the uses of each term as gleaned from the research data. This is followed by an analysis of how each of these concepts relates to constructions of place, identity, and culture.
Methods
The main method used in this study is textual analysis. Data for this analysis consists of transcripts produced from sixteen semi-structured interviews conducted specifically for this research, as well as secondary source documents and newspaper articles. Secondary source documents examined in this case include Congressional testimony, official government and group resolutions, correspondence, and online postings. Many of these documents are publicly available and easily accessible through various websites. Additionally, documentation was
5 He ultimately chose to use alphabetical order.
47 obtained from the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP), the Alabama Historical Commission (AHC) and the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission (AIAC). In addition to the kinds of documents listed above, this set of documentation includes records of various legal actions and correspondence involving these agencies. The AHC holdings also include various technical archaeological reports. A complete list of documents is included as Appendix C. These documents are particularly important to this study because they are part of the strategies their authors use to express and legitimate constructions of place, identity, and culture. In addition to these, other secondary source documents consulted include newspaper, newsletter, and website articles in which mention is made about the gaming development. These are important to this study because they provide information regarding the ways the conflict is represented in the media. These representations are the ones most often encountered by the general public and can be themselves strategic interventions used to legitimate particular meanings. Some of these articles were obtained from online repositories like LexusNexus Academic and through web search engines such as Google. However, the best source of secondary documents were back issues of The Wetumpka Herald, The Montgomery Advertiser, The Birmingham News, and The Mobile Press-Register. These are the main newspapers providing coverage of the area, with the last three being some of the larger papers published in the state of Alabama. The Wetumpka Herald does not have nearly as wide a readership, but, being the local paper, often contained more detailed information about events surrounding Hickory Ground. All four newspapers were found to have carried numerous articles dealing with the conflict. Each was systematically searched by issue within the date range of 1979 (the year before the deed to Hickory Ground was transferred to the Poarch Band) to 2008 (the present date). A total of 126 news articles were obtained for this research, with the majority coming from the four papers listed above. A small number of articles were found in other papers using coarser Internet searches. In order to obtain more individual opinions, sixteen semi-structured interviews were conducted. After first obtaining approval from the FSU Human Subjects Committee6, a wide variety of stakeholders with an interest in the fate of the Hickory Ground site were contacted and asked if they would participate in this research. The names of potential interview subjects were
6 A copy of the Human Subjects Committee approval for this research is included as Appendix B.
48 primarily gleaned from secondary documents, with some names suggested by other interviewees. Interview subjects were located in Muscogee, Oklahoma; Poarch, Alabama; and the Montgomery/Hickory Ground/Wetumpka area of Alabama, as well as other parts of Alabama and North Florida. As required by law, the tribal governments of the Muscogee Nation of Creek Indians and the Poarch Band of Creek Indians were contacted directly for permission to conduct interviews. Both tribal governments provided me with letters granting permission. These letters contained specific contact information for tribal representatives. In both cases, the representatives’ opinions were intended to represent the official opinion of the tribe. As sovereign nations, Native American tribes reserve the right to determine what is a representative sample for themselves (see for example, Bureau of Applied Research in Anthropology 1998). However, in both cases, the tribal governments also gave permission for me to seek out other individual tribal members as I would any other non-tribal citizen of the United States (meaning obtaining consent from the individuals themselves). Including the official representatives, three people associated with the Muscogee Nation and three people associated with the Poarch Band were interviewed. Additionally, two people of Creek descent associated with state (but not federally) recognized tribes were interviewed. Interviews in the Montgomery/Hickory Ground/Wetumpka area included three current and former archaeologists and staff members with the Alabama Historical Commission (AHC), although in all three cases the opinions expressed in these interviews were those of the individual rather than the official opinion of the agency. Additionally, three archaeologists who have at various times been contracted by the Poarch Band to conduct excavations at Hickory Ground were interviewed. One Wetumpka area church leader and one Wetumpka business owner were also interviewed. Several members of the nearby homeowners association were contacted, but none was willing to consent to formal interviews. Similarly, government officials with the City of Wetumpka did not grant consent to be interviewed. However, the opinions of both groups through the years are well documented in the media. A full list of interview subjects, names and identifying information omitted, is included as Appendix D. As in any qualitative analysis, the question arises of how to verify the validity of the results. “For claims about the world to constitute knowledge, they need to be justified in some way” (Graham 1999, p. 7). Furthermore, “it must be possible for research to be evaluated”
49 (Bradshaw and Stratford 2000, p. 46). Bradshaw and Stratford (p. 47) cite four main ways to incorporate checking into research. These are: multiple sources, methods, investigators, and theories. The proposed methodology of conducting textual analysis using the multiple sources of both existing documents and interview transcripts is geared toward providing rigor in the research. Because I interviewed people who had had direct involvement in the Hickory Ground case in one way or another, my interview population is heavily skewed toward the Native American and preservationist communities. As mentioned previously, Wetumpka city officials and residents of the River Oaks Subdivision were contacted, but no one consented to be interviewed. I did not seek interviews with members of the general public in the Wetumpka area, both because a representative sample of “the public” would have been difficult to obtain, and because public opinion was well represented in secondary data sources. Nonetheless, this underscores the importance of using multiple sources and methods of obtaining data. Using secondary data allowed me to incorporate the views of those who I was unable to interview directly, and interview data provided depth lacking in the secondary data. The use of both enabled comparison, if not always verification, of the ideas expressed in each. As a further check on validity, each interviewee, if he or she desired, was provided with a copy of the transcript from his or her interview and an opportunity to comment and/or make additions. Four interview subjects chose to do so, with three approving their transcripts and a fourth ultimately choosing to withdraw her statements after reviewing her transcript7. This “hermeneutic circle” (Kincheloe and McLaren 2003) provided a way to check that the data reflect what the interviewees view as important about the Hickory Ground conflict. Sample interview questions are listed in Appendix E, though all interviews were conducted semi-formally. I transcribed each interview, and these transcriptions as well as the full text of all documentary resources were entered into the QSR N6 program to facilitate qualitative analysis. The overarching methodology was described in the previous section; what follows is a more detailed description of the particular methods used. Pilot Study In order to test the efficacy of the proposed methodology, and in order to gain an idea of the issues that were likely to emerge as important in the current study, a small pilot study was
7 This interviewee is not included in the final count of sixteen interviews conducted.
50 conducted in the spring of 2003 consisting of one semi-structured interview and the textual analysis of sixteen documents. The semi-structured interview was conducted with a person who identified himself as a Native American male, and who is not a member of the Poarch Band or the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. This person was chosen for his accessibility and proximity. Prior to the interview, he was informed that his testimony would not be used in publication and was only for the purposes of writing a proposal for further research. He was since contacted for permission to use his interview in this study. The sixteen documents chosen were largely selected based on their ready availability. These were all articles that mentioned ‘Hickory Ground’ found during an online search of the Google search engine, NewsBank InfoWeb, and LexisNexis Academic. Of these articles, two came from Tribal news sources, seven from the Associated Press news wire (AP), five from The Birmingham News, one from the Mobile Press-Register, and one from the Montgomery Advertiser. A list of articles used in the pilot study is included as Appendix F. The interviewee was asked general questions about what had occurred at Hickory Ground and what he felt about it. He stated that he was not opposed to the Poarch building a casino; the issue was the place in which they are choosing to do so. He did not feel that economic development should take precedence over the preservation of culture: “There’s nothing wrong with pursuing the economic venture, but not at the expense of your own past.” The interviewee viewed the preservation of Hickory Ground, and other traditional tribal towns, to be extremely important. Tribal towns are “how you establish your identity.” They are the “political equivalent of a household, or family.” If the Poarch casino were not to be built, he would like to see “all of the traditional tribal town properties…brought into some kind of tribal oversight and be used for compatible public purposes…as long as they don’t compromise the archaeological, historical and traditional resources of the tribal town.” Throughout the interview, the interviewee made several statements emphasizing the legitimacy of himself and his opposition to the casino development. He also made comments regarding the illegitimacy of those who are in favor of the development. Regarding his own legitimacy, he identified himself by Tribal affiliation, and as a person with prestige within that group. He also allied himself to the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma and, in particular, to people with prestige within that group.
51 The concept of tradition figured heavily in his expressions of the legitimacy of the Oklahoma tribe and opposition to the casino. He considered himself and the leaders of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town to be traditional. In contrast, he considered the Poarch to be acculturated, lacking tradition and cultural continuity: “Poarch was always a mixed-blood community without a traditional fire and without traditional leadership.” Based on statements such as this and additional anecdotal evidence, I hypothesized that the legitimacy of the Poarch tribe would be a frequent topic in the media; however, this turned out not to be the case. Six references to the Poarch being “nontraditional” were made in a single article, the “Muscogee Burials” article found on the Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch website (2002b). This article has been reprinted several times in at least three other Native American news outlets. On the other hand, none of the non-Tribal news outlets, whether local or national, made mention of any question of the Poarch’s legitimacy as a tribe. Seven of the sixteen documents did, however, include statements indicating the Poarch’s ownership of the land. The typical statement was that the Poarch are “the only federally recognized tribe in Alabama.” The implication that they are thus the rightful owners of the land seems taken for granted. This idea was brought out more directly by Eddie Tullis, the Poarch Tribal Chairman. In Chandler (2002), Tullis said, “others have a right to their opinions, but the Poarch Creeks are the rightful owners of the land and the state’s only federally recognized tribe.” Thus, it appeared that, in the mainstream media at least, federal recognition is enough to garner legitimacy as ‘real’ Indians, and in-state location seems to be the requirement for legitimacy as to ownership. That said, seven documents did mention that the original purpose of deeding the land to the Poarch Band was to build a cultural center or museum, not a casino. In the articles that such comments appeared in, it seemed that the Alabama Historical Commission made the most use of this aspect of the conflict in presenting the Poarch to the media. Though not directly stated, the implication is that ‘real’ Indians with a concern for their heritage would not have acted this way. On the other hand, three of the Birmingham News articles and the Mobile Press-Register article were all more concerned with the issue of gambling in Alabama than they were with any other issue of the casino’s location. Other aspects of the controversy such as the presence of burials or artifacts were mentioned as supporting evidence for the case against a casino, but the main argument of these particular articles was that gambling should not be allowed in Alabama.
52 This underscored differences between articles from Native American sources, and those from non-Native sources. Though only two of the articles were published in Native American news outlets, as mentioned above, both were reprinted in more than one newspaper. These articles focused almost entirely on the presence of burials and referred repeatedly to the “desecration” of the site. The word desecration appeared four times in the two articles and did not appear in any of the other articles. Likewise, words like sacred (3 times), ancestral (2 times), and ceremonial (4 times) appeared in these articles and not in the others. Current Analysis Preliminary analysis of this pilot study led me to conclude that, in addition to obvious differences over the historicity of Hickory Ground, sacredness, tradition, cultural legitimacy, and gambling were key components in this controversy, and many of my questions were framed accordingly. Despite this framing, however, my first question was always, “If someone had never heard of Hickory Ground and asked you what it was, what would you tell them?” More often then not, this question was enough to get the interviewees talking without much prodding from me. Many times, I found that they were touching on other questions on my list, such that I did not have to ask. Other times, when I asked a previously un-addressed question, it would be brushed aside as unimportant. The issue of gambling was one of these. The majority (though not all) of my interviewees had no problem with gambling whatsoever, and for those to whom it did matter, it typically was not the main issue. This was not the case in the newspaper articles that reference Hickory Ground. Many of them mentioned strong community and state opposition to gambling in and of itself, but in the course of my analysis, I ultimately combined these statements with others referencing the preservation of a way of life, and, to a much larger degree, with sovereignty. Similarly, statements about tradition and cultural legitimacy were folded into a larger concept of indigeneity. To arrive at the five keywords used in the methodology, I teased out the most important concepts (in terms of frequency of use) and combined them into larger and larger categories until combining them further would create the categories of place, identity, and culture (which is where this research concludes). This was done by qualitative analysis, facilitated by use of the QSR N6 program. This program allows users to code by three types of text unit: line, sentence,
53 or paragraph, though more than one of each may be selected at a time (i.e. two lines at a time). For this research, I chose to code by line, as that enabled me to choose more precisely where a coding should start and stop. Lines, and groups of lines, were coded by overall subject (i.e. what was it about?). For example, the following sentence from a news article (Williams 1988a) was coded ‘history: campground’: “The site was once a Creek Indian Nation campgrounds, which was used for a short period during the flooding of Little Tallassee.” The statement was about a particular historical use of Hickory Ground, in this case as a campground. The word campground is meant to signify a short-term habitation with no permanent structures, thus underplaying the site’s significance, and its history as a long-established town. Many statements were made regarding Hickory Ground’s history and were coded in a similar manner (i.e. history:______). Eventually, there were enough codes regarding some aspect of history and what those aspects mean to people to combine them into one category that I labeled ‘heritage.’ This is not surprising given that the controversy over Hickory Ground is a well-known historic preservation conflict. Arguments over what history, why it is important, and to whom, are key to this case. As coding proceeded, certain other concepts emerged as also being prominent in this case. Often, statements about the significance of Hickory Ground were not related to history, per se. There were also many statements referencing Hickory Ground’s sacredness. In most cases, these statements referenced the negative impacts of bingo hall/casino development. Examples of the terms used in addition to ‘sacred’ and ‘ceremonial’, were ‘desecrate’, ‘desecration’, ‘destroy’, ‘destroyed’, ‘defile’, ‘disrespect’, and so on. These terms relate a general feeling of sacredness that is being, or has been, harmed in some way. Another interesting phenomenon was the semi-frequent use of analogies comparing Hickory Ground to some other well-known Christian or Muslim religious sites (e.g. Westminster Abbey, the Dome of the Rock). At this point, it is important to note that statements could be, and often were, cross-coded (i.e. a particular statement could be coded with more than one meaning). For instance, a statement about Hickory Ground being important historically because of its past as a key ceremonial center could be coded under both history and sacredness. Another key area seemingly related to history, but deviating from it, were statements relating to ‘preservation’. In other words, even in cases where people might agree on the level of significance of Hickory Ground, there were conflicting statements about what to do about it.
54 References were made to a wide variety of options including: a ‘museum’, a ‘cultural center’, a ‘youth heritage education center’, total ‘preservation as is,’ ‘archaeological excavation,’ etc. These statements belie an underlying disagreement over what is being preserved – the place itself, the archaeological site, the artifacts, the culture, the history, a memory, or a current way of life. A subtler category involved what it means to be ‘indigenous’ to Hickory Ground. These statements were about whom Hickory Ground most belongs to, and who most belongs to Hickory Ground. In cases where Hickory Ground was acknowledged to be a Native American site, these statements thus centered on what it means to be a Native American. Other statements involved Hickory Ground being part of modern-day Wetumpka and thus centered on what it means to be part of the ‘local’ community. Statements about ‘sovereignty’, ‘self-government’, ‘our rights’, ‘our land’, etc., were eventually merged into one category called ‘sovereignty.’ Views on this topic were just as likely to be expressed by citizens and government officials in the City of Wetumpka, and the State of Alabama, as by Poarch Creek tribal officials and were all included in this category. This category tended to grade from the previous category of ‘indigeneity’. To be considered ‘indigenous’ to Hickory Ground implies ownership, which in turn implies sovereignty over it. At the conclusion of coding, I had thus arrived at five keywords that represented the most important concepts discussed and employed by participants in this conflict: heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty. A separate chapter of this dissertation is devoted to each keyword in the order given above. Within each chapter, the coded data is presented as a chronological narrative to demonstrate how uses changed over time and interacted with each other. The conclusion to each chapter is an analysis of how these uses relate to various constructions of place, identity, and culture. While each keyword is examined in its own chapter, arguments over the definitions of these words did not occur separately from each other. Thus, the uses of all of the keywords are recombined and summarized in the final chapter of this paper to synthesize the ways constructions of place, identity, and culture interacted across time. It concludes with a reflection on how policy analysts (in historic preservation or otherwise) can make use of such an understanding in this and similar land use conflicts.
55 CHAPTER FOUR HERITAGE
One of the main ways to define place, identity, and culture is by reference to the past. A place may be where significant events occurred, or someone important lived; identity may be defined by these events and therefore tied to that place; and culture may be defined by traits that exist because of particular events, and the spread of these traits relative to place. However, there are several situations that may arise when referencing the past to define people and places. At the most basic level, people may disagree about what occurred in the past. They could each interpret memory and the written or archaeological records differently. Alternatively, people may agree on what happened, but disagree about the significance of those events. Finally, they may agree about both the chain of events and the significance of them, but disagree on what that means for present use of the location. The first two situations are discussed here, while the last is evaluated more in depth in Chapter Six on Preservation. Arguably, the first situation, a disagreement over what occurred, is a disagreement over history, while the second situation, a disagreement over what the event means, is a disagreement over heritage. Graham, et al. (2000, p. 2) define the past as “all that has ever happened”; history as “the attempts of successive presents to relate and explain selected aspects of a past”; and heritage as “the ways in which we use the past now.” Yet, attempts to relate and explain aspects of the past are not value-free; they serve some purpose for the present, indicating that history and heritage are not so easily separated. While geographical literature on the topic tends to focus on the differences between history and heritage (e.g. Lowenthal 1998), there is a separate literature that examines the differences between history and memory. Although the two are not entirely interchangeable, the term memory as differentiated from history is conceptually very similar to the use of the term heritage. Like heritage, memory implies something not necessarily based in fact, whereas history can be ‘proven’ by appeal to an external source8. To clarify the distinction, there are three main ways in which the concepts of memory and heritage are generally discussed (Johnson 1999a). These are: heritage/memory as inauthentic
8 On the other hand, memories may be used as historical evidence, so here too the distinction is not always clear-cut.
56 history, heritage/memory as a tool of tourism and consumption, and heritage as the active cultivation of social memory. Each of these categories is examined in turn below, with the majority of the text focusing on the last. From one perspective, memory can be seen as inauthentic, or at least unverified, history, with oral traditions and testimony less valid than written or photographic evidence. Likewise, heritage (particularly that of other groups) can be viewed as “partial, pastiche, [and] contrived” when compared to history (Lowenthal 1994). Heritage has been labeled, “false, deceitful, sleazy, presentist, chauvinist, [and] self-serving…on the mistaken assumption that heritage is ‘bad’ history” (Lowenthal 1998, p. x). However, historians have long recognized the complex relationship between history and memory (Koch 2006; Novick 1988). As Wallace (1996, p. 24) notes, there is “no such thing as ‘the past.’ All history is a production – a deliberate selection, ordering, and evaluation of past events, experiences, and processes.” For Portelli (1991, p. 26), “the discrepancy between fact and memory is not caused by faulty recollections, but actively and creatively generated by memory and imagination in an effort to make sense of crucial events and of history in general.” For some historians, there are approaches to history more likely to come closer to the ideal of objectivity than others. In some cases, memory can be used to create controversial and politically driven historical narratives, but memory also allows scholars to compare narratives in such a way that can be revealing. Memory “allow[s] us to recognize the interests of the tellers, and the dreams and desires beneath them” (Portelli, p. 2). From this perspective, “the focus of historical analysis shifts from the notion of memory as either ‘true’ or ‘mistaken,’ to an emphasis on memory as process, and how to understand its motivation and meaning” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003a, p. 4). Thus, instead of focusing on the accuracy of heritage relative to history, “the more interesting questions for geographers relate to examining the ways in which the spaces of heritage translate complex cultural, political and symbolic processes into the popular imagination” (Johnson 1999a, p. 178). The next two categories, heritage/memory as a tool of tourism and consumption, and heritage as the active cultivation of social memory, reflect attempts to answer these questions. As Johnson (p. 171) notes, some view heritage as “primarily a part of a process of tourism expansion and post-modern patterns of consumption.” An example of this is the recent discovery of some high-profile ancient burials in Peru (Silverman 2005). While archaeological
57 evidence has revealed some clues as to the identities of the buried individuals, elaborate stories about their lives have emerged that have only partial basis in the evidence. These stories serve to link the past with modern inhabitants of the area and provide them with a basis for tourism advertisement. Silverman (p. 141) demonstrates how the “the narrational packaging of the past for tourism” is a cultural and political phenomenon facilitating identity formation, but also how the assertion of that identity facilitates tourism. This case is hardly unusual. Heritage can be very profitable. As Graham, et al. (2000, p. 6) point out, heritage has “emerged as a primary economic good in tourism, now the world’s largest service industry.” For example, the State of Florida (2003) reports that heritage tourism in the state generates approximately $3.7 billion a year. A survey mentioned in the same report found that an estimated 61% of visitors to Florida participate in some history-based activities while vacationing in the state. Furthermore, people who travel to Florida for the purpose of visiting a historic location stay in the state on average one day longer than other travelers. These numbers can be a strong incentive for state and local governments to actively engage in historic preservation for the purpose of encouraging heritage tourism. They are also an incentive to some American Indian Tribes, who, in addition to fostering heritage tourism as a source of revenue may also view tourism as a way to promote awareness of their existence and reinforce or introduce ideas about sovereignty. In some cases, they may use the draw of casinos to achieve this goal. An example of this is the Foxwoods casino operated by the Mashantuckett Pequot Tribe in Connecticut. Casino revenue has enabled the tribe to open a large cultural museum that attracts tourism in its own right. Indeed, the Poarch Band stated early on that the gaming development was being built for the purpose of paying for a cultural museum, and a museum remains part of the development plans (Mueller 1988a, Interview H 2006). Nonetheless, heritage is not merely a product for tourist consumption; in most cases (including several of those mentioned above), heritage is an important part of identity formation and social cohesion. This leads to the third common categorization of heritage: heritage as the active cultivation of social memory9. The concept of social memory owes much to the work of sociologist Maurice Halbwachs. Halbwachs’s seminal work The Collective Memory (1992) was unfinished at the time of his death. Nonetheless, it remains extremely influential. Halbwachs
9 In this paper, the terms social memory and collective memory are used interchangeably, with respect to the individual author being cited.
58 noted that, while individuals do the remembering, those individuals are situated in a social context. He recalled being “astonished when reading psychological treatises that deal with memory to find that people are considered there as isolated beings…Yet it is in society that people normally acquire their memories” (p. 38). The concept of collective memory for Halbwachs led him to believe that ideas about the past served social functions for the present day society. “Everything seems to indicate that the past is not preserved but is reconstructed on the basis of the present” (p. 39-40). Social theorists since Halbwachs’s time have expanded upon his ideas. The term collective memory now “usually refers to the making of a group memory so that it becomes an expression of identity, and accepted by that group as the ‘truth’ of experience” (Hamilton 2003, p. 142). Such a social memory is often actively cultivated in any number of ways. There are two main reasons why social memory may be actively cultivated by a society. These are anxiety over a sense of loss of the past, and a need for greater group cohesion. The first of these, anxiety, is a widespread phenomenon, albeit with distinctive expressions. As Gertrude Stein once wrote, “everything destroys itself in the twentieth century and nothing continues” (quoted in Koshar 1994, p. 215). Koshar sees this statement as a “fitting aphorism in discussing why modern public life so often consists of an anxious call for memory” (p. 215). In pre-modern (or traditional) societies heritage and memory were a large part of everyday life (Gillis 1994; Lowenthal 1994; Nora 1989). With the onset of modernity, there has been an “acceleration of history” that Nora (1989, p. 7) defines as “an increasingly rapid slippage of the present into a historical past that is gone for good, a general perception that anything and everything may disappear.” He suggests that, “we speak so much of memory because there is so little of it left” (p. 7). The anxiety over this loss of memory results in increased calls for historic preservation (Koshar 1994, p. 215). People feel concerned with the loss of objects and places, “the stuff of memory which…has power to represent or stand in for the past” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003a, p. 11). The destruction of these objects and places “must be fended off” (p. 11); they must be preserved. In an example of this phenomenon, the Alabama Historical Commission maintains an annual “Places in Peril” list in an attempt to call attention to the ten historic sites most threatened by destruction or neglect in that year – a list on which Hickory Ground has appeared more than once (Estes 2000).
59 Closely related to the anxiety over loss of material artifacts is anxiety over loss of the people who possess particular memories. Oral history and memory recordings have become increasingly popular, “as if the inevitable moment when there is no longer anyone left alive who remembers the nineteenth century, or the First World War, must be deferred as long as possible, if not somehow prevented altogether” (Hodgkin and Radstone, p. 10). There seems to be a pervasive sense that as memories and artifacts slip away, so too will the past. The collective memory must be actively cultivated to keep this from happening. A separate, but related, cause of anxiety is a fear that the past will not be remembered ‘correctly’ by future generations. The fear is that, once all of the people who experienced an event are gone, along with all associated artifacts, the event will no longer be remembered at all, or perhaps it will not be remembered in the way the current generation would wish it to be. Such anxiety is not new. “The increasing tendency in the nineteenth century to construct memory in physical monuments – to inscribe it on the landscape itself – seems symptomatic of an increasing anxiety about memory left to its own devices” (Savage 1994, p. 130). In addition to anxiety about the loss of the past (or loss of control over the past), social memory is actively cultivated as a means to achieve group cohesion. Heritage provides a basis for group identity, which in turn factors into individual identities. “The meanings and narratives of the past that we live with are of critical importance in establishing our sense of ourselves and our cultures” (Hodgkin and Radstone, p. 5). This sense of cohesion is also important for establishing the existence of a group for legal purposes, as with federal acknowledgment for Indian tribes (Geertz 1973). Another key aspect of identity is a sense that while there are many people who belong to the group, there are also many people who do not. As discussed in Chapter Two, the process of othering is important to identity construction, and heritage is often employed in that process. “Heritage is now that with which we all individually or collectively identify. It is considered the rightful legacy of every distinct people” (Lowenthal 1994, p. 41). Thus, groups of people are distinguished from one another by their unique heritages. To keep group identities distinct, then, heritages must be guarded carefully. “Whatever feels distinctive to any group becomes a jealously unshared possession. Were it open to others it would forfeit its value as an emblem of solidarity” (p. 48-9). An example of this is the frequent unwillingness of most Native American tribes to divulge any information regarding their religious practices (Gulliford 2000).
60 Heritages also work by instilling a sense of pride in the group’s past. “We may be modest about what we are, but rarely about what we were. Even a shameful past may earn self- admiration for facing up to it” (Lowenthal 1994, p. 46, emphasis in original). Particularly when there is conflict between groups over an aspect of heritage, this sense of pride may facilitate a sense of privilege, that our past is better than theirs. While there are multiple scales at which people identify themselves, perhaps the epitome of group identification, particularly with relation to heritage, is the nation. One definition of a nation is a “community of people whose members are bound together by a sense of solidarity rooted in an historic attachment to a homeland and a common culture, and by a consciousness of being different from other nations” ("Nation" 2000). As pointed out by Anderson (1983), nations are “imagined” in that no one could possibly know every other member of the nation, yet each member can imagine that every other member thinks and feels as he or she does. If nations are the community, then nationalism may be characterized as “the ideology of belongingness” (Hall 1995 quoted in Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge 2000, p. 12). The main way individuals feel they belong to the nation is through a shared heritage. As Vali notes, “no ideology needs history so much as nationalism”(Vali 1996). “Heritage is a primary instrument in the ‘discovery’ or creation and subsequent nurturing of a national identity” (Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge, p. 12). Nations are tied to particular places that, more often than not, are perceived as historic homelands. “The solidarity that a nationalist desires is based on the possession of the land: not any land, but the historic land; the land of past generations” (Smith 1979, p. 3). National heritage, then, describes “an identity forged in a specified landscape, inseparable from it” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003b, p. 169). Indeed, identity, at any scale, “is often located in a specific physical landscape, and through the changes in that landscape, the memory of times when it was different, changes in the self may be perceived and registered” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003a, p. 12). Nations tend to work best if they are presented as existing from time immemorial, regardless of their actual age. “While the nation-state’s origins may be relatively recent, the national state is based on the assumption that this group identity derives from a collective cultural inheritance that spans centuries” (Johnson 1999a, p. 171). Thus, heritage is fundamental to national identity, and not just in the sense of ‘actual’ pasts. Although they are usually
61 portrayed as ancient, nations are constantly in a process of becoming. In fact, “nation-building” is an excellent metaphor, because the process is very akin to construction (Mazrui 1972). Nations are actively built, by people who are aware of what they are doing. It makes sense, then, that historic preservation “has become in most countries a near-monopoly of national governments” (Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge 2000, p. 12). Social cohesion benefits the government, and a shared heritage maintains, and can even create, that status. Of course there are many other scales at which identities are located. Many groups of differing sizes exist within (and across) nations, yet nations imply homogeneity. “To construct a narrative of the nation implies a large task of suppression and denial of incongruous or undesirable elements” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003b, p. 170). The point of using heritage is “to stress the sameness of individuals who, because they are engaged in multiple social relations, are in fact marked by difference” (Koshar 1994, p. 216). This can be done not only by including certain historical elements, but also by excluding those elements of history perceived to threaten solidarity. This does not go uncontested, yet it would be inaccurate to characterize opposition as existing solely between a “subordinate truth” and a “dominant lie” (Hodgkin and Radstone 2003a, p. 5). As discussed in Chapter One, there may be numerous ‘truths’ existing in opposition. Thus, “the idea of memory as a tool with which to contest ‘official’ versions of the past shifts…to a concern with the ways in which particular versions of an event may be at various times and for various reasons promoted, reformulated, or silenced” (2003b, p.5). Therefore, while statements about heritage fit into one of the three categories given above (heritage as inauthentic history, as a tool of tourism and consumption, or as the active cultivation of social memory), my analysis goes beyond simple categorization. Instead, I examine how such statements are made by particular people, at particular scales, and for particular reasons.
Hickory Ground
The history of Hickory Ground has been presented in a variety of ways in correspondence, in news media, and in official historic preservation documents such as its National Register of Historic Places nomination form and preservation grant applications. The nomination form and the grant application that resulted in funding for the purchase of Hickory
62 Ground by the Poarch Band contain relatively detailed, if summarized, histories of the place. On the other hand, news media have presented relatively simplified versions of history, often giving few details, and occasionally simply referring to Hickory Ground as “historic” without offering any details at all. Correspondence referencing history tends to be focused on one or two main points, typically stated as evidence for why development should not be allowed. It is not my intent in this paper to describe the ‘actual’ history of Hickory Ground, as though there is an objective reality with which to compare the ideas expressed by those in this case. What is important to this study is what people say is historically significant about Hickory Ground, not what is historically significant about it (as some kind of objective truth). Indeed, for my purposes here, there is no fundamental difference. In all presentations of the history of Hickory Ground analyzed for this research, that history has been condensed to a statement of significance (i.e. why Hickory Ground is important or not). This is no different from the way any other historic place is spoken of, and it underscores the inseparability of history from heritage. The history of Hickory Ground, in the sense of its overall past, is unimportant; the only things that matter are those aspects of its past that make it historically significant. Statements of significance imply heritage, or its importance to someone. It is these statements that are examined here – beginning with official historic preservation documents. Hickory Ground was officially listed in the National Register of Historic Places on March 10, 1980. To be listed in the National Register, a property must first be nominated for listing, and the nomination form is typically (though not necessarily) completed by the individual state’s Historic Preservation Office. A National Register of Historic Places Inventory Nomination Form for Hickory Ground was completed and submitted to the National Park Service by the Alabama Historical Commission in February of 1980. Item number 8 of the form is a section titled “Statement of Significance” in which the history of Hickory Ground is described. The introductory paragraph of this statement reads:
Hickory Ground or Ocheopofau is primarily significant as the last capital (1802- 1814) of the National Council of the Creek Nation in the Creek’s original homeland. Additionally, it is one of the few Creek Indian sites known to have been inhabited as late as 1832 and one of the few remaining such sites which has not been extensively disturbed or destroyed.
63
The first sentence relates to Criterion A of the National Register Criteria for Evaluation, or “association with events that have made a significant contribution to the broad patterns of our history.” The second sentence relates to Criterion D, or that a place “has yielded, or may be likely to yield, information important in prehistory or history,” and to the overall criteria that a site possess integrity of location, setting, feeling, and association. Each of these “areas of significance” is then further elaborated. The statement of significance mentions that during the late 1790s, famed Indian agent Benjamin Hawkins visited Hickory Ground numerous times. The village itself was established in the late 1790s, and thereafter “it became customary for the Chief of Ocheopofau [Hickory Ground] to direct the installation of the principal Creek Chief of the Nation.” In July or August of 1802, Chief Ifa Hadsho transferred the National Council of the Creek Nation to Hickory Ground. During the Creek Indian War (1813-14), many Hickory Ground residents who were not fighting the war elsewhere were held in confinement two miles south of the town at Fort Jackson (today the Fort Toulouse-Fort Jackson State Historic Park). After the war, they were allowed to resettle Hickory Ground and remained there until their removal to Oklahoma in 1832. After this brief expansion of Hickory Ground’s merits under Criterion A, the statement of significance moves into a similar expansion of Criterion D:
The site offers an opportunity to establish a database on cultural materials for the terminal phase of the Creek habitation in Alabama and to provide answers to questions concerning the late Creek ceramic complex in the Southeast, late Creek house patterns and architectural components of planned town squares. Additionally, it has the potential for establishing an archaeological model for providing information on the cultural relationship between American settlers and Creek Indians between 1815- 1832. The site is associated with the nearby, but as yet unlocated, plantation of Creek leader Alexander McGillivray, a known slave-owner. Consequently, Hickory Ground may contain afro-colono-indian ware and would provide data related to the acculturation of Negro slaves into Creek
64 society. No evidence of African ceramic patterns associated with the Creeks has been found in Alabama to date.
While Hickory Ground would likely have been eligible for listing in the National Register anyway, the stated purpose for the listing in 1980 was the procurement of funds from the U.S. Department of Interior’s Historic Preservation Discretionary Fund Grant-in-Aid program. These funds are only available to projects involving listed properties. A grant for $165,000 was awarded in April of 1980 (Hyde 1980), indicating that the grant application was likely being prepared in tandem with the National Register nomination. The official letter of application was written by the Poarch Band of Creeks (then incorporated under the name Creek Nation East of the Mississippi) and forwarded through the Alabama Historical Commission (AHC) to the Department of the Interior. Because it is a grant application, much of the document is written to explain how the money would be used and what would be done with Hickory Ground if it were acquired. A little less than one page in the four- page document is devoted to the history of Hickory Ground, once again emphasizing those points of Hickory Ground’s history deemed most significant. These points differ from those given on the National Register nomination form in several ways. In the grant application, the history of Hickory Ground is given in reference to individuals rather than particular events, which were emphasized in the National Register nomination. The introductory paragraph of the grant application reads:
Hickory Ground is of major importance in the history of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. It has supplied many of the important leaders in Creek history. One of particular note was Alexander McGillvray.
The statement goes on to note that Alexander McGillvray’s parents, Lachland McGillvray and Sehoy Marchand, were married in Hickory Ground in 1745 and established a trading house there. Alexander continued the trading business, establishing a special trade relationship with the Panton Leslie and Company trading house in Pensacola, and his residence is noted as having been the “center of Spanish, French, British and American intrigue.” Hickory
65 Ground was loyal to the British during the revolutionary war, and Alexander McGillvray was invited by President Washington to come to New York for treaty negotiations. The emphasis on this time period is in marked contrast to the National Register nomination form that begins its history of Hickory Ground in the late 1790s, and mentions Alexander McGillvray’s plantation as being near Hickory Ground. It seems likely that if the Creek town of Hickory Ground was first established in the late 1790s, it was established at that location precisely because Alexander McGillvray’s operations were there. This echoes comments made by one informant who stated that the political importance of Hickory Ground was directly correlated to its economic importance in trading (Interview I, 2007). Thus, the importance of Hickory Ground to the Creek authors of the grant application begins with its association to one of their well-known leaders at a time when Creek leadership was involved in international political intrigue, while its importance to Alabama preservation officials begins with its political status during the “terminal phase of Creek habitation.” In the grant application, Hickory Ground is remembered as a vibrant place with importance while still occupied, rather than a place important merely for being the last - the last capital and the last such town site left. Like the National Register nomination, the grant application letter mentions the multiple visits of Benjamin Hawkins and Hickory Ground’s involvement with the Creek War, but does so in more detail. The letter notes Tecumseh’s visit to Hickory Ground to enlist followers, and Hickory Ground’s strategic importance to Andrew Jackson in his military decisions. The letter goes on to conclude that, “it is apparent that Hickory Ground was involved in nearly all the major historic events in the southeast before the removal of Creeks from Alabama in 1836.” Also like the National Register nomination, the grant letter discusses the importance of Hickory Ground today for its potential to yield knowledge:
With the proper techniques and data recovery methods Creek involvement in these events can be studied. More importantly the effects of these activities upon the Creek Nation can be understood. Hickory Ground has the potential of measuring changes in the political, social, and economic structures of the Creek people in pre-removal times.
66 This statement again stands in contrast to similar statements in the National Register nomination. Here, the potential for data recovery is presented as important to an understanding of larger processes involving Creek people, and goes beyond the technical concerns of ceramic types and house patterns. Thus, the grant application differs from the National Register nomination in the way that heritage is employed. In the NR nomination, the past is something to be documented precisely because it is no longer a part of modern life, while in the grant application connections to the past are used to build modern identity. These differences reflect differing ideas about place as a concept. In the NR nomination, place is viewed as a representation of a fixed point in time, while in the grant application place is dynamic, and its importance lies in the connections it provides across time. This pattern of different parties employing heritage for different ends was repeated outside official documents, in public statements and in comments made during interviews. The first public announcement of Hickory Ground’s rediscovery appeared in a January 11, 1980 article in the Montgomery Advertiser (Duvall 1980). The primary source for the article appears to be the Alabama Historical Commission, as the state archaeologist is quoted throughout. In the article, he categorizes Hickory Ground in much the same way as the National Register nomination submitted a month later. Hickory Ground is said to be “remains of the Creek culture existing during the time period of the late 1700s to the early 1800s.” Its status as the capital is touted, and Andrew Jackson is mentioned as a historical frame of reference. The remainder of the article is largely a history of the Creek Indians in Alabama, without direct reference to Hickory Ground. A second article appeared in the Alabama Journal on April 15, 1980 (Hyde 1980) announcing the grant awarded to the Poarch Band. In this article, the significance of Hickory Ground is emphasized much more in explanation of why a federal grant was warranted. It is referred to as “the site of the Creek capital that flourished more than 100 years ago,” and as “the Creek capital mentioned in historic documents by Indian Agent Benjamin Hawkins in the early 1800s.” The use of the word ‘flourished’ here calls to mind lost civilizations, while the mention of ‘historic documents’ is meant to lend authenticity. This article also concludes with a summation of general Creek Indian history:
67 In its heyday, Hickory Ground flourished with the settled agricultural people who inhabited river and creek areas (hence the tribe’s name given by white settlers) throughout Alabama and Georgia. They were defeated in the battle of Horseshoe Bend by Andrew Jackson’s troops in 1814. The Creek survivors were transported to Indian territories in Texas and Oklahoma, where many descendants still live.
Both articles appear to place historic focus on the Creek people themselves and their association with Hickory Ground rather than on any particular event that occurred there. This is an example of appealing to general public interest in Native Americans. After these initial articles in 1980, the news media was largely silent on the subject of Hickory Ground until 1988 when plans for the bingo hall were publicly announced. Twelve articles appeared during that year, and in most it is possible to distinguish separate lines of argument regarding Hickory Ground’s historic significance. In an article published April 16, Hickory Ground is described as being a village once inhabited by “several thousand Creeks.” It is also described as the last capital of the Creek Nation (Mueller 1988a). One month later, it is described as “a Creek Indian Nation campground” (Williams 1988c), a phrase that implies short term occupation at best, and by correlation historic insignificance. This disparity continues in later articles. On May 24, Hickory Ground was described as “the ceremonial gathering place for thousands of Creek Indians prior to 1830,” and a “very important historic and cultural site [that] may give history-seekers a view into the traditions of the Creek Indians” (Mueller 1988b). Here, in addition to being significant in its own right, Hickory Ground is presented as significant for its ability to provide information. Yet, this was followed the next week by an article describing the site as “a Creek Indian Nation campgrounds which was used for a short period during the flooding of [nearby] Little Tallassee,” again implying insignificance (Williams 1988a). In the articles that mention Hickory Ground’s history as a capital and as a large village, the speakers are representatives from either the Alabama Historical Commission or from the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. In the articles that refer to Hickory Ground as a short-term campsite, the speaker is Eddie Tullis, then Chairman of the Poarch Band of Creeks. As I was later told by a member of the Poarch Band (Interview G, 2006), the disparity in description came largely from a perceived lack of archaeological evidence at the time. While the AHC relied heavily on historical
68 data, the Poarch Band cast doubt on their claims by pointing to the relative paucity of archaeological research. In a June 11 article (Mueller 1988e), it is reported that Mr. Tullis “downplayed the area’s historic significance” at a Wetumpka City Council meeting, stating that “Hickory Ground never was a capital of the Creek nation.” In the same article, Mac Brooms with the AHC countered that Hickory Ground was indeed the last capital of the Creek Nation. “It was the capital until about 1830, serving as a gathering place for Indian religious and non-religious events.” Also cited in this article are Craig Sheldon and John Cottier, archaeologists hired by the Poarch to conduct archaeological investigations of Hickory Ground the previous summer:
From history books and their own observations, Sheldon and Cottier determined that the Hickory Ground area, along the west bank of the Coosa River, dates back to at least 1799. That is the earliest year they have found written history of the area. and: Surveys…concluded that most areas tested at Hickory Ground held artifacts including one stone hearth and the burial site of a human infant, all dating to Creek activity from the middle to late 18th century.
These statements indicate an attempt to navigate a middle ground based on ‘the evidence’ without offering opinions as to the significance of these findings. As for the effect this public argument was having on the surrounding community, an editorial appeared in the Montgomery Advertiser on June 14th. The editorial calls Hickory Ground “the capital of a sovereign nation the year that George Washington died, and the site of significant Creek Indian settlement until the 1830s, when the federal government ordered the Indians uprooted and shipped to Oklahoma” (1988). The purpose of the editorial was to oppose bingo at the site and to draw attention to the reasons why Hickory Ground was purchased (i.e. for preservation). The editor emphasizes the age (and thus associated importance) of the site by comparing it to a time period in American history that readers would easily associate with historic significance – the time of George Washington. The second half of this statement seems
69 to imply an obligation to preserve a site that might still be a significant settlement, or at least have lasted longer, had removal not occurred. Also in June of 1988, a meeting took place between representatives from Hvsossv Tvllahassee (East Tallahassee – a Creek ceremonial group from Poarch) and Wetumpka area church leaders. The Hvsossv Tvllahassee members were opposed to the bingo plans and met with church leaders to show their support. With respect to the history of Hickory Ground, one member is quoted as saying that it was “a location where a lot of very influential leaders lived. The Spanish, British, and Americans, as well as Creeks, have influenced Hickory Ground, Ft. Toulouse, and the entire City of Wetumpka” ("Atmore Group, Wetumpkians Meet to Discuss Reasons for Opposing Bingo Hall, Museum" 1988). This statement attempts to relate the history of Hickory Ground to Wetumpka as a whole, and presumably get Wetumpka citizens involved in opposing development. Protests by members of these religious groups were not unique. In 1988, many individuals and tribal groups were galvanized to write letters of protest to the Alabama Historical Commission, the Governor of Alabama, and/or the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Nearly all of these reference Hickory Ground’s “historical significance” as the reason why bingo should not be allowed (for example, Davenport 1988a). The Hvsossv Tvllahassee group was also very active in building opposition within the Poarch Band itself. The group publicly opposed the bingo plans in its newsletter. While I was unable to locate a copy of that newsletter, the Alabama Historical Commission records contain a copy of the tribal government’s response to the publication. Former Chairman Eddie Tullis authored the response on behalf of the Tribal Council (1988). In this statement, he takes four main stances. First, he argues that the development location is not Hickory Ground at all, or that it only covers a portion of the entire 35.8 acres owned by the tribe. He accuses the newsletter of “stating falsely that the proposed development site is indeed Hickory Grounds” without archaeological evidence to support that claim. He goes on to state that, “tribal sponsored archaeological surveys on the development site have produced no cultural material of significance.” What evidence was uncovered is categorized as “merely trash pits.” This is his second line of argument – that archaeological evidence does not substantiate the identification of the site as Hickory Ground. He argues that
70 because “no scientific studies were made on the remains,” a burial found on the property with Indian trade beads “is likely the remains of a non-Indian burial.” He then goes on to explain that even if the property is Hickory Ground, development is still acceptable because it is no different than any other location:
The authors of the East Tallahassee Newsletter state that this property holds special pre-removal significance to the Tribe. We submit that all lands of the Creek nation pre and post-removal times, are of historical significance to our Tribe. However, we cannot claim or place a special sacred bond on all the property inhabited by the Creek Indians. After all, the Indians have lived on almost every inch of the United States at some time in history.
Finally, Tullis argues that even if the property is Hickory Ground, and could have been considered significant at some point in the past, it is not significant anymore because “the fact that a Hickory Grounds is located in Oklahoma reinforces the probability the Creek Indians living in Alabama took the time to remove their sacred objects and carried them to Oklahoma.” Several of these claims stand in contrast to the content of an archaeological report released that year by the archaeologists hired by the Poarch Band. Archaeological investigations conducted by Sheldon, Cottier, and Waselkov (1988) found evidence of five different cultural occupations, dating to the Early Archaic (8000-6000 BC) and Mid-Late Archaic (6000-1000 BC) Periods, the Calloway (200-700 AD) and Autauga (900-1100 AD) phases of the Woodland Period, and the Historic Creek Period. Results of the archaeological investigations “demonstrated that human occupations and activities were common at this location, more so than at many other places in the near vicinity. Additionally, the existence of defined and well preserved cultural remains which are still intact below the existing plow zone, indicates a significant cultural resource which cannot be ignored” (p. 11). Furthermore, “in terms of artifacts and undisturbed features, the historic Creek component at 1EE89 [Hickory Ground] has the greatest potential. The present archaeological data corresponds closely with the ethnohistorical information, and suggests a modest sized Creek community occupied from the mid-eighteenth century to the early nineteenth century” (p. 12). Evidence used to support this is the absence of French trade goods associated with Fort
71 Toulouse, and the presence of pearlwares and other European ceramics that indicate trading practices predating the establishment of the city of Montgomery. If the archaeologists had any doubt about the property being Hickory Ground, there is no evidence of it in their report. In fact, five pages of “ethnohistory” appear in the report detailing every mention of Hickory Ground in historical documents (p. 5-8). The history begins with the first appearance of Hickory Ground on a map in 1763. It proceeds through various journals and travel writings that mention visits to the plantation of Alexandar McGillivray in the late 1700s, and notes that Hickory Ground was the site of several national council meetings at the end of the 1700s/early 1800s. The report lists several other events of note that took place there. Hickory Ground was the location chosen for an American blacksmith to fulfill a treaty obligation to provide framing implements and firearms to the Creeks in 1809, indicating its importance within the nation. At the end of the 1813-14 Creek Indian War, Andrew Jackson anticipated Hickory Ground to be the final battle of the war, and constructed Fort Jackson, the eventual site of treaty negotiations, about a mile away. While the battle did not happen, Hickory Ground was indeed important in the treaty negotiations. The so-called ‘Friendly Creeks’ who allied with the Americans were awarded land reservations there. Hickory Ground was subsequently slowly abandoned, but was used one final time as a rallying point for Creek volunteers to fight for the Americans in the 1836 Second Seminole War in Florida. Despite this report, little of this information appeared in the media. Instead, as indicated above, Hickory Ground was as likely to be presented as a relatively insignificant temporary habitation as it was to be presented as anything else. By the end of 1988, the proposed bingo plans had become increasingly controversial, and consultation between the Poarch Band and the Alabama Historical Commission was ongoing and contentious. In 1992, negotiations between the Poarch Band and the State of Alabama had become intractable and the federal Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP) was asked to prepare a termination of consultation report. As part of completing this report, a public comment session was held in Montgomery, Alabama on April 12, 1992. At this meeting, Bill S. Fife, the Principal Chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, entered a statement regarding Hickory Ground and its importance to his tribe:
72 The people of Hickory Ground occupied this site in the half-century immediately before their removal. The site itself almost certainly includes the ceremonial square ground, which was not only the location for religious ceremonies, but also was the seat of government for the town and the site of public meetings, including several meetings of the tribe’s National Council immediately before Removal. It has been called the ‘Last Capitol of the Creek Nation’ in Alabama.
He also indicates its ongoing importance to the tribe, by tying it to the continuation of history at Hickory Ground in Oklahoma, including its prominence as the headquarters of Chitto Harjo during the Crazy Snake rebellion in the early 1900s. The ACHP’s report was released later that month, and primarily detailed the preservation activities concerning Hickory Ground. As such, it does not devote much attention to the historical importance of the site. Instead, it introduces Hickory Ground as “a cultural property of great significance included in the National Register of Historic Places” (p. 1). Here, the site’s National Register status becomes shorthand for its historical significance. In other words, Hickory Ground could not have been placed on the National Register if it were not historically important, and further detail is unnecessary. Nonetheless, the report does give two paragraphs of historical background information, in which Hickory Ground is characterized as having been “extremely important politically,” and “a leader in the political and economic affairs of the Upper Creek Nation” (p. 5). Just as Hickory Ground’s historical significance is presented as a given, so too is its location. As stated in the report, “this particular location in Wetumpka has long been accepted as the site of Hickory Ground” (p. 5). This claim is then backed up by archaeological evidence. “In 1980, limited archaeological investigations confirmed that the site contained a historic Creek component with sufficient material to justify nomination to the National Register of Historic Places” (p.5). The 1988-89 archaeological investigations again “confirmed a significant Late Historic Creek occupation over most of the site” (p. 5), and revealed an even greater complexity of archaeological resources than expected. The Advisory Council’s report was submitted to the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Department of the Interior for a final decision on whether development should be allowed to proceed at Hickory Ground. Meanwhile, in internal documents, the BIA had a very different
73 view of Hickory Ground from that of the Advisory Council. In an internal memorandum to the Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs (1992), B.D. Ott, the Director of the Bureau’s Eastern Area Office, addresses the “Significance of Hickory Ground” thusly:
The Council concludes that Hickory Ground is of signal importance to the Creek Nation as a whole, is the last location in the East for the sacred fire and, as the final resting place for many Creeks, is a place of significant traditional cultural value to the Creek Nation. Unfortunately, the known facts do not comport with such a glossed view. Hickory Ground’s principal historic value is that it served as a marshalling point for removal of the Creeks to Oklahoma for a relatively short period of time and is, thus, a pivotal point in the conduct of Indian affairs as opposed to a long-term, cultural location for the Creek Nation.
Regarding archaeological investigations, he states that, “based upon the extensive archaeological work performed to date, the Bureau is not so sanguine about the significance of the resources” (p. 1). Furthermore, there has been no “evidence presented to demonstrate periodic or recurring cultural events at the site prior to the period from 1812 to 1832 when it was used as a staging point for removal actions” (p. 2). The BIA’s opinions presented here are based upon the opinions of their own federal archaeologist who was sent to Wetumpka. However, in the opinion of some, he “knew nothing about the archaeological site,” did not coordinate with the previous archaeologists, and ultimately produced a report with numerous inaccuracies, including maps with the proposed bingo hall drawn in the wrong location (Interview M). The Advisory Council expressed concerns over the BIA’s conclusions to the Secretary of the Interior (Stephenson 1992), but the decision was made to allow development of the site based largely on this view of Hickory Ground’s significance (Brown 1992). In November 1992, a weeklong series of articles profiling the Poarch Band appeared in the Mobile Register. In the third of these (Hodges 1992a), Hickory Ground is categorized as having “great archaeological value” to the Alabama Affairs Commission, the state attorney general, the Alabama Historical Commission, and the Creek Indians of Oklahoma. However, it goes on to state that Chairman Tullis “has hired his own archaeologists and thinks otherwise.”
74 In the fourth article (Hardy 1992), Tullis introduces another line of argument. He asserts that only a portion of the land transferred to the Poarch Band was intended to be placed on the National Register, and that the entire property was placed on it by mistake. Furthermore, “a tribe archaeologist found little of significance on the acreage where the bingo hall was to be built.” Thus, he concedes that Hickory Ground is a significant site, but argues that not all of the 35 acres owned by the Poarch Band contains significant remains. An opposing point of view was presented in the fifth and final article of the series (Hardy and Hodges 1992), which includes interviews with members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. In this article, Hickory Ground is categorized as “the last eastern capital of the Creek Nation,” and the probability of numerous burials being located throughout the property is mentioned. Tullis replies by again equating historic significance with archaeological evidence; he states that “evidence of additional human remains does not exist,” and that two previously discovered gravesites are not “significant enough to deter development.” Although other events involving Hickory Ground occurred after 1992, this was the last prominent mention of its historical significance in the media until 2000 when protective covenants placed on the original deed expired and a temporary bingo parlor was placed on the property. With the issuance of the ACHP’s official opinion and the Department of the Interior’s ruling, the official preservation fight had concluded. Thus, renewed efforts to stop the development shifted from official preservation channels towards public involvement and local government action. Numerous articles appeared in local newspapers surrounding the covenant expiration. One prominent article published in May of 2000 (Lackeos) features an extensive interview with Craig Sheldon, then the chairman of the Alabama Historical Commission. The article calls Hickory Ground “a historically significant piece of Alabama’s past,” emphasizing the site as important to Alabama as a whole, rather than just to Creek history. Such a move is important to garner local support in opposition to the development. Indeed, much of Sheldon’s explanation of Hickory Ground follows this perspective. He views the importance of Hickory Ground as being a representative part of the larger history of the area, and, as there are so few relatively undamaged sites left, it is our best chance to learn about that history. However, as various attempts at the local and state levels were made to stop development, the issue of gambling began to take precedence in the media, and the history of
75 Hickory Ground was presented in a less and less detailed manner. Furthermore, its significance was increasingly downplayed. If historic significance equates to heritage – or what history means to people – it is clear that the history of Hickory Ground became less important to the Wetumpka area community relative to gaming. In September 2001, a series of articles appeared regarding the City of Wetumpka’s offer to purchase the land from the Poarch Band. In these articles, gaming was the predominant focus, and the historic significance of Hickory Ground was presented as a supporting argument. At the city council meeting approving the offer, council members were informed that members of other Creek tribes oppose the bingo hall “because the land was a prominent Creek site.” It is further categorized as “an ancient village” and “a rich archaeological site” (Lackeos 2001b). No additional detail describing what made it prominent is provided, leaving the impression that Hickory Ground is indistinguishable from any other archaeological site. Around the same time, Poarch Chairman Tullis proposed to abandon gaming development in Wetumpka if the governor allowed the tribe to open a full-fledged casino on reservation land in Atmore. In an article that appeared in the Montgomery Advertiser detailing this offer, the Wetumpka location was referred to as “the site of an 18th century Creek village” (again downplaying the site’s significance), but the main reason given for the proposal was opposition to gaming from the Wetumpka community (Lackeos 2001m). Conversely, in the Mobile Register’s coverage of the same story (Schrenk 2001), the controversy surrounding the historic nature of Hickory Ground was given as the main reason why alternatives to development at the site were being offered. However, in this article the case is perhaps overstated. Hickory Ground is called “one of the largest Creek settlements in Alabama in the 1700s and early 1800s.” The size of the settlement had never been mentioned in previous statements of significance. This may again be an attempt to garner public support in terms that many people would understand – a place’s importance being relative to its size. In the beginning of October 2001, a small group of Native Americans from various tribes began picketing the bingo hall. Media coverage presented their motivation as opposition to building on a burial ground (Lackeos 2001c). In response, Tullis replied that there were no burials where the bingo hall and parking lot were built. Again, the historical significance is downplayed, and the case was portrayed as though the burials themselves are the only concern. A similar argument appeared in a November 15 article in the Native American Times (Murg
76 2001). Just as the controversy shifted from official preservation channels to a battle of public opinion (often geared toward gaming), this focus on burials is indicative of a concurrent shift from historic preservation to concerns over sacredness, a topic that will be discussed in the next chapter. Despite coverage of these protests, the historic nature of Hickory Ground continued to be relegated to the status of an afterthought in coverage of the city’s offer to purchase the property. In another October article, the land is once again called the “site of an 18th century Creek village” (Lackeos 2001d). This statement appears as a descriptive clause in one sentence, while the rest of the article discussed the city’s concerns that a casino would one day replace the bingo hall. References to the historic nature of Hickory Ground continued to decrease after this time. After 2001, it is common to see articles referring to the site simply as ‘historic’ with no further detail. In the twenty-seven news articles regarding Hickory Ground that appeared from 1980, when the site was placed on the National Register, to 1992, when formal preservation consultations ceased, sixteen (well over half) referred to the site as a former capital of the Creek Nation. In the forty-eight articles that appeared from 1993-2005, only three did. This shift in focus away from historic significance was addressed in a letter written by Craig Sheldon to the Mayor of the City of Wetumpka (2001). In this letter, written after the City of Wetumpka agreed to a deal with the Poarch Band for street improvements and cooperation in law enforcement, Sheldon bemoaned the fact that news articles covering the deal did not mention “the archaeological resources, the priceless historic Creek Indian heritage, and the remaining human burials at the Hickory Ground site.” He questioned Wetumpka’s “commitment to the community’s historical and cultural heritage,” and was troubled by “the failure of any city official to express any feeling of regret over the loss of so important a part of our community’s past.” Here again Hickory Ground is presented as just as important to the local community’s history as to Creek history. Despite this letter, with the exception of three brief mentions in 2002 (Associated Press 2002; Bailey 2002; Chandler 2002), the history of Hickory Ground ceased to be cited in the media until May of 2006, when plans to construct a memorial garden at the site were announced (Mosely 2006). The memorial garden has been planned as a final burial place for repatriated American Indian remains belonging to any tribe that would like to make use of the facility. In
77 this context, the Poarch Band touted Hickory Ground’s status as “the last capital of the Creek Nation” as reinforcement that it is a special enough place to locate such a repatriation site. However, the memorial garden will be only one part of the proposed development complex that will also include a casino, hotel, and museum. Others continue to oppose the casino and hotel aspects of the development on the basis of Hickory Ground’s history. After a visit to the site by a group of representatives from the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, one of the visitors wrote an article for Indian Country Today, bemoaning then ongoing archaeological excavations and the proposed development plans (Harjo 2006a). To the author, Hickory Ground’s historic significance is inseparable from the lives of modern descendents.
The historic Hickory Ground is a place where babies were born, children became adults and real life happened. Ceremonies were held, stickball and other religious and social games were played, medicines were used and the sacred fire burned. It is also a place where Muscogee and other people have been buried for millennia.
Thus, the history that is important is the everyday life that occurred there rather than special events or notable visitors. This lends the air of a history that is not dead and gone, but rather ongoing as part of everyday life.
Conclusion
In a sense, the history of a place is all that ever occurred there, but only particular elements of that past are chosen to describe it. These elements are chosen to be descriptive of its historic significance, or why it is important to people today. As a place becomes more or less important to people, different aspects of its history may be highlighted, downplayed, or altogether ignored (Boym 2001). In this case, the history of Hickory Ground was at first described in detail, and in terms of association with regional and world events and notable people. Its significance in these terms was deemed enough for the location to be placed on the National Register and for a federal grant to be obtained for its preservation. At the time, Hickory Ground was defined in these terms in order to save it from development. Later, as the Poarch Band developed plans for a bingo hall,
78 and eventually a casino, tribal leadership expressed various opposing arguments regarding the relative insignificance of all or part of the site. Heritage claims made by others were often presented as ‘false history’ in the sense introduced earlier in this chapter (e.g. Lowenthal 1994), and many significant claims were dismissed for a lack of evidence. After the official preservation battle was over, opposition to development continued, but the historic significance of Hickory Ground receded in the media as the issue of gaming came to prominence in local opposition. The Wetumpka city government may have used gaming as its main rationale for opposing development because local sentiment leaned that way, or it may have chosen to do so because official preservation channels were closed. In other words, if the city government could not stop development of the land on the basis of its historic significance, perhaps it could stop development by opposing gaming. Still, it seems likely that if another type of business had been proposed for the location, the city would not have been as adamant in opposing it. The most probable scenario is that the city opposed gaming, and made reference to the older preservation controversy to bolster its argument. Thus, the appeal to ever more generalized statements of historic significance is indicative of the relative unimportance of a more detailed history to either the Poarch Band or the Wetumpka/Montgomery area community’s respective goals. It also indicates that historic significance can change depending on the needs of today. Throughout the conflict, the concept of heritage has been employed in multiple ways. For some, heritage has referred to material remains, both human burials and artifacts; for others it has referred to specific historical events; and for still others it has referred to everyday life. A further distinction can be made about who heritage is seen to belong to: does it belong to everyone or only to a specific group or groups? If heritage functions to provide social cohesion (Hodgkin and Radstone, 2003a), how large of a social unit does it apply to? For the Native American tribes involved in the case, heritage is presented as specific to them on the basis of continued connections to place. But the view of the archaeological community in Alabama was that history is important to us all; it is a part of our heritage as a state or as a country (or local community for that matter). Thus, heritage does not delineate us into separate groups with distinct identities; it is part of our collective past, and serves to stress our “sameness” (Koshar 1994). Yet, this type of heritage is not the same as the lived heritage referenced by many Native Americans involved in this case; the past is instead something that is
79 long gone and needs to be rediscovered, so that modern people can understand what life was like for people with whom they may or may not have a direct connection. Education about heritage is thereby used to forge a connection – for everyone – such that social unity is again reinforced. Heritage is thus, as Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge (2000, p. 12) write, “a primary instrument in…the creation and subsequent nurturing of a national identity.” This is a different perspective from one in which material remains, and indeed the place itself, are part of the shared experiences that comprise an existing culture, distinct from others. For one group, heritage is inclusive of everyone, while for others it is exclusive, and this very difference itself delineates groups from one another. These perspectives also reveal different constructions of place. In the first case, preservation of place is important because of the potential to yield knowledge through study of physical remains. The place in and of itself is only important insofar as it serves as a repository for those remains, and is seen as representative of a fixed point in time. For others, connections to the people and events of the past are very much direct, current, and ongoing. Rather than fixed in time, place is seen as dynamic and representative of connections across time. To some, this means that place must be preserved as a repository of a living past – of sacred traditions and everyday activities. For others, it means that preservation of place is not important since a connection to the past already exists, and the use of a place can change to meet current needs. Returning to Massey (1997), the first perspective possesses the three characteristics she identifies as a “reactionary” sense of place: a close connection between place and a singular form of identity (albeit a unified identity); a desire to show how the place is authentically rooted in history; and a need for a clear sense of boundaries around a place separating it from the world outside. The other perspectives represent a partially progressive sense of place characterized by viewing place as a process, rather than static, and as being defined by the outside rather than the inside. However, they do not contain Massey’s third element of a progressive sense of place, that place has multiple identities and histories, instead of just one. In that sense, these perspectives may also be seen as partially reactionary. That all of these senses of place may be termed at least partially reactionary is to be expected. As people construct place, their ideas interact with and react to those of others – and these in turn affect materiality. What is of note for this study is that these ideas are not necessarily reactive to a singular dominant idea about the history of Hickory Ground, but rather reactive to each other as groups seek to make their ideas dominant.
80 CHAPTER FIVE SACREDNESS
While the previous chapter examined historic significance, this chapter is concerned with the religious significance of place. As with all of the keywords examined in this study, these two (heritage and sacredness) are closely related. As discussed previously, historic significance is equivalent to heritage – or what history means to people. In referencing the history of a place, a speaker is making claims about what that place means to him or her, and the same is true when referencing sacredness. Yet, despite their interrelatedness, the two concepts can be distinguished from one another. For example, some may feel a religious connection to a place without concern for its secular history, and certainly some may care a great deal about the history of a place without necessarily feeling a religious connection to it. However, a sense of sacredness is often tied to a history of sacredness. A person may feel a particular church is sacred today, but that feeling may be inseparable from the knowledge that the church has been viewed, and used, as a sacred location for many years. To the extent that historical events or persons were associated with this sacred location in the past, those associations may serve to accentuate feelings of sacredness, but may or may not be viewed as significant from a secular viewpoint. From another perspective, secular history can take on the characteristics of religion, particularly when tied to the nation. Bellah (1967) uses the term “civil religion” (borrowed from Rousseau) to describe this phenomenon. For example, the US Capitol Building, the Statue of Liberty, the American flag, and the Declaration of Independence may all be viewed as sacred places or objects to the nation of the United States. Hickory Ground may be viewed in this manner: if viewed as the last capital in the east, and as a place of central importance to the time of removal, it may be seen as embodying the Creek nation. Thus, the term sacredness can have a variety of meanings. “Sacred” can mean “dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of deity,” or it may mean “entitled to reverence and respect” ("sacred" 1985). Therefore, both places associated with deities and places revered for their association with the nation may be deemed sacred. Likewise, to “desecrate” may mean either “to violate the sanctity of” or “to treat irreverently or contemptuously” ("desecrate" 1985).
81 A related question to what is meant by the term sacred is: how does a place come to be viewed as sacred? Is a place sacred because of some property inherent to it, or is it made to be sacred by continual production and reproduction? Does the memorialization of a place commemorate existing sacredness or produce it? Chidester and Linenthal distinguish between these two perspectives on sacredness and refer to them as “the situational and substantial sacred” (1995, p. 5). Closely paralleling the concepts of primordialism and hyperconstructivism discussed in Chapter One of this paper, the substantial sacred is that which is seen as essentially, or primordially, sacred, while situational sacredness is always assigned by humans (p. 6). The substantial sacred cannot be created by people, but must occur beyond the realm of the natural world. For Eliade (1957), the essential character of a sacred place is a result of hierophanies, or revelations, that occur in that place causing it to be separated from a pre-existing world of the profane. In this view, the world is experienced as a profane, homogenous plane punctuated by places in which the sacred has “irrupted.” Although not specifically addressed by Eliade, for civil religious sites, these “hierophanies” may be viewed as the historic events that occurred there. For indigenous peoples, there are many different types of sacred sites. There are “transformer sites, spirit residences, ceremonial areas, traditional landmarks, questing sites, legendary and mythological places, burial sites and traditional resource areas” (Carmichael, Hubert and Reeves 1994, p. 4-5). Many of these places are viewed as substantially sacred, while others require an element of human participation in their creation. However, sacredness is considered no less real as a result of this participation. Similar concepts of sacredness are held in mainstream Western and Eastern religions. On the other hand, from a perspective of situational sacredness, a place is sacred “because humans perceive it is sacred” (Carmichael, Hubert and Reeves 1994, p. 7). Thus, “what confers sacredness is not an array of geographical or geological features per se, but rather what a particular culture has decided to make of them” (Saunders 1994, p. 172). Kong (2001) identifies three major strands of geographic research that serve as examples for the ways sacredness is assigned. First, secular forces, such as urban planning policies, may dictate the officially sacred. That is, sacred places such as new churches may be assigned locations and permitted by official secular entities. The second strand of research focuses on the relationships between majority and
82 minority groups in society and the ways that the majority can dictate the sacred landscape. For example, in much of the United States, Christian churches dominate the landscape in comparison to other religious places of worship. Such a situation often limits available spaces for minority groups to call and use as sacred. Finally, a third strand focuses on the influence of religious schools and education systems in influencing thought about what is sacred. In none of these strands of research is a sacred place considered ‘substantially sacred.’ In each, sacredness is situationally assigned. The concept of situational sacredness also applies to ‘civil’ sacred sites. For these sites, some note the importance that commemoration and monumentation play in transforming historic locations into sacred locations. Knauer and Walkowitz (2004, p. 13) refer to this process as “site sacralization.” In this process, “historical actors designate locations as significant” and impart “a quasi-religious sense of reverence” (p. 13) in efforts to commemorate them, often either with the placement of a new monument or the preservation of existing structures. Here, monumentation or preservation is seen to create sacredness rather than commemorate something that already exists. However, within this process the situational sacred is intended to be seen as substantial. Because one of the definitions of the word sacred is “inviolable” ("sacred" 1985), invocation of the sacred in reference to monuments is intended to make them “last, unchanged, forever” (Savage 1997, p. 4). This feeling of permanence gets extended into the past so that after a time the monument seems to have always been there, and the place always sacred. Thus, similar to nations themselves, monuments have the “curious power to erase their own political origins” and thereby become even more sacrosanct as a result of their seeming permanence (Savage, p. 7). Although such permanence is the intent, the actual experience of the monument, and the place it commemorates, is never impervious to time and change. “New generations visit memorials under new circumstances and invest them with new meanings. The result is an evolution in the memorial’s significance, generated in the new times and company in which it finds itself” (Young 1993, p. 3). Commemoration is reciprocal; a monument manufactures a public united in the heritage it represents, but the public has its own opinions about the monument and what gets commemorated (Savage 1997, p. 7). “Ultimately, it is the viewer, standing before the monument, who completes the memorial process” (Dabakis, p. 5). In some cases, the monument itself may yield importance to the ways it is used. “At some point, it may
83 even be the activity of remembering together that becomes the shared memory,” rather than anything once inherent in the monument (Young 1993, p. 7). Very similar processes occur in the memorialization of religious sites. Bowman’s work on the Palestinian/Israeli conflict in particular demonstrates “how holy sites serve as monuments to imaginings of community and how such monuments prove to be as labile as are those communities themselves” (1993, p. 433). And, just as with other types of monuments, religious monuments may become representative as much for the ways they are used as for what they were originally established. As a result, many authors focus on the work, or ritualization, that goes into making a place sacred (Chidester and Linenthal 1995; Hume 1998). This ritualization is not just a one-time occurrence, done to establish a place as sacred; it is a long-term process. Indeed, according to Grimes (1992, p. 423), sacredness is “a function of ritual use, not just of form or of reference.” In other words, ritual is fundamental to sacredness rather than any inherent property of the place itself. Such ritual need not be currently ongoing, however. In cases where a place is no longer accessible, it may still be viewed as sacred through the memory of past ritual use. In any event, the importance of ritual indicates that sacredness is a property imbued by people rather than supernaturally given. In response to both of these views, the substantial and the situational sacred, Lane (1988) warns against going too far in either direction. Sacred places are not “geographical Shrouds of Turin” that can be used “to authenticate genuine religious experiences,” nor are they reducible to “a complex system of cultural interactions alone.” Lane is interested in studying “the messiness, ambiguity, and mystery of people’s deeply personal experience of places, as this works its way through the cultural grid that they inevitably bring to it” (p. 5-6). Yet, he acknowledges that a sacred place is more than the sum of individual experiences of it, however culturally emplaced those experiences are (p. 3); there is also the physical place itself.
Those who rightly insist on the cultural construction of all placed experience too often ignore the web of interconnectedness that extends deeply into the natural world. On the other hand, those who would emphasize the autonomous, even magical qualities of places that reveal the sacred too easily disregard the social,
84 economic, and political forces that inevitably determine negotiations about their use (p. 5).
It is these negotiations about the use of sacred places where the substantial and the situational intersect. Defining how a sacred place may be properly used is as important as defining why it is sacred. “What is known as a sacred site carries with it a whole range of rules and regulations regarding people’s behavior in relation to it” (Carmichael, Hubert and Reeves 1994, p. 3). Some of these rules and regulations arise from deeply held beliefs, and others are more politically motivated. When these rules and regulations are at odds with the rules and regulations held by other peoples for the use of the same place, complex and sometimes intractable negotiations arise. As Kong (2001, p. 215) notes, “the politics surrounding meaning investment in religious places take various forms; tensions between secular and sacred meanings, inter-religious contestations in multireligious communities, politics between nations, intrareligious conflicts, and gender, class and race politics.” In some cases, many or all of these politics are combined in defining a sacred place. Thus, it is not one substantial or situational experience of the sacred, but many that are constantly negotiated to produce what is considered a sacred place. As the list above indicates, much of the politics surrounding sacred places closely mirrors politics over identity. This is no accident as sacred sites (both religious and civil religious) are intimately tied to cultural identity. “The construction and maintenance of boundaries which sustain religious identities and communities are often critically dependent on the control over religious places” (Kong, p. 223). That this is true may be evidenced by the experiences of those who lose control or access to a sacred place all together. “The loss of a piece of land is perceived not only as a material loss, but as a spiritual deprivation” (Carmichael, Hubert and Reeves 1994, p. 5), which can be not only the loss of an essential part of the individual, but also the loss of an essential part of the community. This relationship between sacred places and identity is also evidenced by the ways that the (mis-)treatment of a sacred site can devolve into accusations of cultural inauthenticity. As will be discussed in Chapter Seven on indigeneity, traditional communities as commonly conceived by others are “form[s] of idealization” (Kong, p. 222). Partly because of this, and partly as a response to the American Indian Movement of the 1960s, in recent decades there has
85 been a surge in interest in Native American religions by non-Indians. Many people feel that Native American sacred sites are not only substantially sacred, but also in need of urgent protection. Yet, when these sites are threatened by development, developers often portray them as situationally sacred – as unimportant until they were endangered. In other words, sacredness, and by extension indigeneity, is not asserted until it serves a purpose. Of course, indigenous communities may play many roles in this process, including that of developer, while others advocate for a place’s protection. Another indication of the close relationship between sacred places and identity is that preservation movements are not only concerned with the preservation of historical heritage, but also of sacred places. Blain and Wallis (2004), writing about the Pagan movements in the United Kingdom, note that people who hold particular places to be sacred are increasingly agitating for the preservation of these sites by their respective governmental preservation bodies, and once they are so protected, further agitating for access and use rights to those places. However, the preservation of sacred, as opposed to purely historical, places is not as widely practiced. To demonstrate, it is worth noting the contrasting ideas of historic preservation in the UK with those of the United States. In the US, the movement is commonly referred to as historic preservation, whereas in the UK, the term is heritage management. The US terminology indicates that the discipline is primarily about the preservation of a scholarly idea of history. In fact, as a rule, places of worship are not generally considered eligible for the National Register of Historic Places unless they possess some other distinguishing characteristic (Tyler 2000). Meanwhile in the UK, the discipline is about the management of a heritage, implying the active use of a place by the people to whom it has meaning. Ultimately, the preservation of a place is a political process involving arguments about those characteristics of sacredness or historicity deemed to be “significant.” What gets preserved, in what ways, and which uses are promoted for those places is the subject of Chapter Six, but as this and the preceding chapters have shown, there are very different discourses used when it comes to describing the sacredness or historicity of the same place. These discourses constantly interact with each other, resulting in particular outcomes that perhaps no one person would have previously advocated. The subject of the remainder of this chapter is an examination of the shifting discourses of sacredness that have been used in discussing Hickory Ground.
86 Hickory Ground
The focus of early preservation efforts regarding Hickory Ground was entirely on the site’s historic value. Neither the National Register application nor the historic preservation grant application mentions the sacred or religious nature of Hickory Ground in any way. There is no mention of its once having been a ceremonial center or a site of religious activities. These documents purely discuss (secular) historical events and notable people associated with them. The same is true of early media coverage of the National Register listing and land transfer in 1980 (Duvall 1980; Hyde 1980). It was not until bingo plans were announced in 1988 that coverage began to incorporate the religious nature of the site. In an April 16th article, McDonald Brooms, Alabama state archaeologist with the historical commission, referred to Hickory Ground as, among other things, “a gathering place for religious and other Indian events” (Mueller 1988a). However, the same article depicted the commission as being primarily concerned that development would “destroy the archaeological and historical value” of Hickory Ground. That this is the primary concern indicates that its status as a gathering place for religious events was referenced as an aspect of its history, and not particularly for its importance to current religious beliefs and practices. Furthermore, the highlighting of it as a “place for…events” suggests that its significance is as a location (Agnew 1987) – as a point in space where something occurs – rather than as a locale with its own meaning and significance. On May 10, 1988, the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group issued a press release titled “No Bingo on Sacred Ground” detailing its concerns. The statement reads in part:
Hvsossv Tvllahasse (East Tallahassee), a cultural and traditional group from the Poarch area, is opposed to the establishment of a Bingo Hall on Hickory Ground. Hickory Ground is a sacred, historically important Creek ceremonial and religious site near Wetumpka, Alabama. The building of a Bingo Hall and any other construction is viewed by Hvsossv Tvllahasse as desecrating the sanctity of the Creek ceremony and religion (Hvsossv Tvllahasse 1988a).
87 This is the first explicit mention in the media of Hickory Ground’s importance as a sacred location. It is also the first assertion that building construction would not only destroy the historic significance and/or archaeological remains, but also its religious sanctity. Furthermore, while the bingo hall is expressly mentioned, it would appear that any construction would be viewed as a desecration, regardless of what was built. On May 23, the group wrote a letter to the editor10, further explicating its views (Hvsossv Tvllahasse 1988b). In this letter, the members of the group stated that they:
feel the cultural and traditional values of the Creek way of life is [sic] worth more than the dollars that can be made from a new Bingo Hall. Construction will destroy the richness and importance of the site. It will no longer be Hickory Ground Ceremonial Ground; it will instead become Hickory Ground Bingo Palace.
Here, the group more clearly associates unacceptable use with the bingo hall. It notes that the nature of the place will change from ceremonial to commercial, and it also references the impact that this will have on cultural and traditional values. After these two statements were issued, the idea of sacredness was increasingly incorporated into the discourse used by the Alabama Historical Commission. In a May 24th article, Larry Oaks, director of the AHC, called Hickory Ground a “ceremonial gathering place for thousands of Creek Indians,” and stated that Hickory Ground was a “twin city” to Wetumpka “because so many of the Creek Indians gathered there for religious and other functions” (Mueller 1988b). This new concern with the religious nature of Hickory Ground is striking when compared with the earlier preservation documents that do not mention it at all. However, in addition to the statements made by the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group, the AHC was being inundated with petitions and letters opposing the bingo plans, many of which also made reference to sacredness. Copies of a series of petitions are on file at the Alabama Historical Commission. These petitions are all dated May 1988 (and are referenced in the May 24th article above). Three
10 The Hvssov Tvllahasse press release and letter to the editor were both found on file at the Alabama Historical Commission. It is unclear to which media outlet these were sent, or if either were ever run.
88 separate groups of petitions were signed, one by “members of the general council of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians,” one by “citizens of the state of Alabama,” and one by “Indians and/or citizens of Oklahoma.” The petitions all say in part: “To protect the historical and traditional values of Hickory Ground, we the undersigned feel that it is a dishonor to the Creek people to build a Bingo Hall or any other type of construction on this sacred ground.” The petitions signed by “citizens of the state of Alabama” appear to have been circulated within Wetumpka/Elmore County area churches, because many of the names listed are those of people who appear in other documents. This is interesting because church members are, in effect, acknowledging that places can be sacred without being associated with Christianity. However, the concern about a bingo hall is not particularly for the place itself, but more for what it will do to the Creek people and for what it will do to the environment in which non-Creek Alabamians live and worship. Also throughout the month of May, 50 letters were sent to the AHC, all postmarked from Atmore11. Every letter is an identical copy of the following typewritten text: “This is to inform you that I am against a Bingo Hall or any other type of construction on Hickory Ground. I feel that Hickory Ground is the last piece of sacred Creek ground in Alabama. As such, it needs to be treated with dignity and respect.” Below the typewritten text, several people wrote handwritten additions relaying that they were Poarch tribal members and some even included their tribal ID numbers as proof. Several wrote that they were “regular bingo players” but that they “oppose this.” Of note is that Hickory Ground is presented as sacred Creek ground, as opposed to being more generally sacred, and it is also presented as particularly sacred because it is the last. Once again, any type of construction would be viewed as desecration, but the construction of a bingo hall is considered particularly onerous. On May 26, 1988, a letter was written to The Wetumpka Herald by Ernest Armstrong, a private citizen of Montgomery12 (Armstrong 1988b). This letter includes the first of what would eventually become many metaphors used to describe the proposed development: “Permitting the Creek Indians to construct a bingo palace on their sacred grounds would be similar to building a hot dog concession in a wing of Westminster Abbey.” The effect of this metaphor is to equate
11 The Alabama Historical Commission has these letters in its own folder with each envelope stapled to the letter. 12 I could not find any evidence that the letter was published.
89 the sacredness of Hickory Ground with a historically significant Christian sacred site, thus encouraging Christians to view it in the same light. Until this point, the sacredness of Hickory Ground was described in largely nebulous terms, or in terms of something similar to a church. However, it was not long before sacredness began to be referenced in terms of burials. For example, the following statement appears in a May 26th news article: “Some archaeologists and historians with the state commission believe the Creeks cannot build anything on the property without desecrating Indian burial grounds that may be on the land”(Mueller 1988d). This indicates a shift toward a more stereotypical idea of Native American sacredness that emphasizes the presence of burials over ceremonial use. However, opposition to the proposed plans as expressed by state recognized tribes tends to reference both aspects. In a May 30, 1988 letter to the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission13, the Chief of the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks wrote, “Please let me advise you now that we are absolutely opposed to the use of this land in the manner in which it is now being proposed. I do not need to remind you how strongly our people feel about the abuse of our sacred lands and burial grounds” (Davenport 1988b). This statement not only maintains a distinction between sacred lands and burial grounds, but it maintains that the proposed use for gaming is unacceptable. The same sentiments were expressed by the Star Clan in a letter sent the same day to then Alabama governor Guy Hunt: “Indian people all over this nation have fought hard and long to preserve our sacred lands and burial sites, and Alabama, which has a rich Indian heritage, is not an exception. Please let us urge you to do all you can to stop this misuse of Odshi Apofa (Hickory Grounds)” (Davenport 1988a). Other groups followed suit. At a July 10, 1988 meeting, the Northwest Florida Creek Indian Council (a Florida entity similar to the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission) voted unanimously to contact the Alabama Historical Commission regarding Hickory Ground. On July 21, the council sent a letter to the AHC, stating that, “We strongly feel that any construction on this trust property would constitute desecration of the archaeological sites and burial grounds” (Williams 1988d). The reference to archaeological sites here implies a sense that the sacredness is a function of past use rather than current sentiment.
13 The Alabama Indian Affairs Commission was created by an Alabama Legislative Act in 1984. The official function of the commission is as liaison/advocate between Alabama’s tribal communities and Alabama state government (http://www.aiac.state.al.us).
90 On June 1, the Hvossv Tvllahasse group sent a letter to the Alabama Historical Commission (Linam 1988). The author claims to represent multiple groups of people, including “Poarch Band of Creek Tribal Members, members of Creek Ceremonial Grounds in Oklahoma, and others opposed to the Poarch Band of Creek Indians establishing a Bingo Hall on sacred Creek land in Elmore County Alabama.” He states that, “This land has been identified as Hickory Ground, an important Creek historical and ceremonial site on the National Register of Historic Places. As a ceremonial site it was the location of traditional Creek religion and ceremonial activity before their removal from Alabama to Oklahoma.” However, the location was not placed on the National Register because it was a ceremonial site; in fact, as mentioned above, no reference to this aspect of Hickory Ground was made in the National Register application, something the Alabama Historical Commission would have known. This is an attempt to redefine, in terms of sacredness, Hickory Ground’s significance as a National Register-worthy place, and to let the AHC know why these groups consider the place important. The letter further details this importance:
The land has been made sacred by the religious leaders who chose the place for their ceremonial ground in the very early days. When they established the ceremonial fire they placed certain items within the ground that were to remain for the proper conduct of the ceremonies. In all likelihood, during removal the leaders were not able to remove these items. Therefore, they remain and the ground remains sacred to the people who practice the traditional Creek religion.
This level of sacred significance was refuted by Poarch Chairman Tullis. In an article that appeared June 2 in the Wetumpka Herald (Williams 1988a), Chairman Tullis argues that Hickory Ground was not particularly significant and was in fact only a temporary campsite. Shortly thereafter, Tullis replied to the Hvossv Tvllahasse group in a public letter on file at the Alabama Historical Commission (the letter is undated). Tullis states, “There is no evidence presented that even suggests this property was a Creek Indian Tribal Square. If there was a Creek Tribal Square and a sacred fire was at this site in Alabama, the fact that a Hickory Grounds is located in Oklahoma reinforces the probability the Creek Indians living in Alabama took time to remove
91 their sacred objects and carried them to Oklahoma” (Tullis 1988). This disagreement over whether or not the sacred objects were removed would recur throughout discussions of Hickory Ground for years to come14. Meanwhile in 1988, the objections of state recognized tribes and the Hvossv Tvllahasse group began to be picked up by the media. In a June 14 article (Mueller 1988c), Tommie Davenport, Chief of the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks is quoted as saying, “That’s sacred ground. We got [sic] people buried there. They’re our ancestors.” In this instance, the idea of sacredness is once again tied to burials. In other cases, however, sacredness is tied to ceremonialism or to Christian conceptions of sacredness and desecration. In June 16 coverage of a meeting between five members of the East Tallahassee group and eleven Wetumpka area religious leaders ("Atmore Group, Wetumpkians Meet to Discuss Reasons for Opposing Bingo Hall, Museum" 1988), Larry Haikey, an Hvossv Tvllahasse member and author of the original Hickory Ground grant application, references Hickory Ground’s “position within the ceremonial system of the Creek Nation,” and calls it “a holy place to the people that lived there.” Similarly, in a July 11 letter to the Alabama Historical Commission, Ernest Armstrong (1988a) wrote, “Construction of a bingo palace on this ground held sacred by the Creek Nation borders on the sacrilegious.” However, in an August 7 news article, the controversy over Hickory Ground is portrayed solely in terms of archaeological resources and historic significance. No mention of sacredness is made until the end of the article with the statement, “And while the issue of a bingo parlor – on sacred land or not – is a hot one in Wetumpka, it doesn’t concern the players at the state’s first bingo palace more than 100 miles away”(Wood 1988). Because the controversy was not portrayed in terms of “sacred or not” in the rest of the article, it seems that an assumption is made that an archaeological site associated with Indians is always sacred. There was a lull in activity, and mentions of sacredness, until the beginning of 1991, when the Poarch Band began negotiations with Governor Hunt for a Class III gaming compact. In response, several Alabama state-recognized tribes passed resolutions and wrote letters to the Governor expressing opposition.
14 Ultimately, a council house and square ground were uncovered during archaeological investigations, but were not excavated.
92 On February 22, 1991, the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks passed a resolution officially opposing the casino plans. This resolution makes several statements about sacredness, including, “the Creek Indian lands at Odshi Apofa or Hickory Grounds have always been recognized as of central religious importance by the Creek people of Alabama and Oklahoma,” and, “the Poarch Band of Creek Indians have announced plans to construct a hotel and to conduct games of chance on the lands at Odshi Apofa or Hickory Grounds, thereby desecrating the sanctity of the lands” (Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks 1991a). On March 7, 1991, the Star Clan acted on the authority of this resolution and sent a letter to Governor Hunt stating, “If this proposal is signed, we feel this would be a complete desecration of this memorial as well as cultural destruction” (Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks 1991b). Also on March 7, the Ma-Chis Lower Creek Indian Tribe sent a letter to Governor Hunt stating, “We join together to ask that you do all within your power to stop this proposed desecration of Hickory Ground. Please do not enter into any gaming compact which would allow such desecration and cultural destruction” (Wright 1991). On March 8, the MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians15 wrote a letter to Governor Hunt stating, “This land was the site of a great Creek Indian town and is a monument and reminder of the great Indian nations that once peopled Alabama. The recent proposal by the Poarch Band of Creek's to construct a motel, restaurant and commercial gaming operation on or near this site is extremely offensive. Please do not enter into any gaming compact which would allow such desecration and cultural destruction” (1991). All of these letters contain a fair amount of overlap in wording, such as the phrase “desecration and cultural destruction.” This and the close timeframe in which the letters were sent indicate a level of coordination between the groups. The language used in these letters defines Hickory Ground both as a religious site and as a memorial to the Creek people – something more akin to a civil religious site. The duplicated phrase “desecration and cultural destruction” further establishes the connection between sacredness and identity. As a result of its members’ comments, on March 10 the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission passed its own resolution opposing development, stating in part, “the Creek Indian
15 The MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians is located in extreme southwest Alabama, in some of the same counties covered by the Poarch tribal service area. There is a recent history of animosity between the two. The MOWA wrote a letter of support for the Poarch application for federal recognition in the early 1980s. At the time, the Poarch promised to reciprocate on behalf of the MOWA application, but have since withdrawn their support, allegedly over fears of gaming competition ("New Ways to Recognize Tribes Split Indians" 1991).
93 lands at Hickory Grounds are sacred to the Creek people of Alabama and Oklahoma because of their central place in the cultural and ceremonial life of the Muscogee people prior to Indian removal” (Alabama Indian Affairs Commission 1991). Again, sacredness is attributed not only to ceremonial (religious) use, but also to cultural history. As these comments were being made surrounding the attempt to seek a gaming compact, a separate but related controversy emerged regarding archaeology at Hickory Ground. On March 21, archaeologists hired by the Poarch Band were accused by the Alabama Historical Commission of conducting excavations without the proper federal permits. A newspaper article discussing the controversy states that Alabama Attorney General Jimmy Evans contacted U.S. Secretary of the Interior Manuel Lujan “to stop the Creeks from allegedly digging up and desecrating historic Indian sites near Wetumpka.” Attorney General Evans is quoted as saying of the reason he stepped in, “This excavation has progressed to the point of the actual removal of human remains from the site” (Prince 1991a). Here, it appears that the alleged desecration is largely associated with burial disturbance, but others viewed it in broader terms. Until this time, the official government of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation in Oklahoma had not publicly commented on the plans for Hickory Ground. On March 28, Kenneth Childers, the Speaker of the National Council of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, wrote a letter to the Alabama Historical Commission stating, “I, as an elected official of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation in Oklahoma, encourage economic development for the Poarch people, but not at the expense of desecrating and building on an area of sacred ground still respected as such by the Hickory Ground descendants, whose ceremonial ground is located here in Oklahoma” (Childers 1991). A meeting was held at Hickory Ground on March 29 to address the issue of illegal excavations that included “representatives of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Alabama Historical Commission, Alabama’s Poarch Band of Creek Indians and other groups.” Several members of these other groups spoke at the meeting in opposition to development. Joseph B. Mahan, of the Yuchi Tribe of Creek Indians in Sapulpa, Oklahoma, stated that, “the Yuchis were considered the priest tribe of the Creeks and the burial ground has special significance to them” (Prince 1991b). This statement serves to more definitively tie religious ceremonialism to burials, which at the time were known to exist on the property whereas other elements of ceremonialism such as the ceremonial ground itself had yet to be located.
94 Also at the meeting, Ron Ethridge Sr., a member of the Star Clan, continued the tradition of using metaphor to explain sacredness. He stated, “I do not believe that you can have that type of activity [referencing bingo] on holy ground just as you could not set this piece of property in the middle of Las Vegas or Atlantic City” (Prince 1991b). Again, this is a statement that is as much about what the acceptable uses of a sacred place are as how and why Hickory Ground is considered to be sacred. It attempts to relate Hickory Ground to well-known places that are often viewed as the antithesis of sacred, particularly the so-called “sin cities” of Las Vegas and Atlantic City, implying that to gamble on Hickory Ground is sacrilegious. In addition to Mr. Mahan and Mr. Ethridge, Larry Haikey, described as “a Creek archaeologist from Oklahoma who once worked for the Poarch Band and wrote the grant that allowed the Poarch Band to acquire Hickory Ground,” said, “Hickory Ground is a place that has been touched by the hand of God. It disturbs me that a place that has had such an important role in Creek history is being destroyed so systematically” (Hughes 1991a). This statement is a return to the idea that Hickory Ground is important ceremonially, but it also has importance historically, with the historical significance somewhat inseparable from the religious. And in another example of metaphor, Mr. Haikey also commented of the proposed development plans: “It looked to us like there was going to be a Disneyland there.” The comparison to Disneyland implies both commercialization and secularization of the site, two things which may be seen as desecration. As of March 30 (ibid), the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) notified the Poarch Band that no further developments were to occur until the situation could be sorted out. As a result, little else happened in 1991 with the exception that on May 18, 1991, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation passed an official resolution in opposition to the proposed development plans. This resolution reads in part: “The Micco (Chief) of the Hickory Ground Ceremonial Ground in Oklahoma, which is descended from Hickory Ground in Alabama, has stated his objections opposing desecrating endeavors on the Sacred Site,” and “it is the intent of this resolution to implement oppositions necessary to halt desecration of the said Sacred site in order to preserve the archaeological integrity of Hickory Ground in Alabama” (Muscogee (Creek) National Council 1991). The Creek Nation has always been a confederation of tribal towns, one of which is Hickory Ground. The resolution indicates that while the Muscogee (Creek) Nation was acting as a whole, the impetus for the action was the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. Again,
95 even though the tribal town was moved to Oklahoma, the current residents still viewed the Hickory Ground site in Alabama as sacred. The use of the term “archaeological integrity” also stands out, because archaeological remains are not typically associated with sacredness. This may be referencing not only burials but also the location of the council house and ceremonial grounds rather than artifacts per se. As indicated in arguments above, the remains of these things are central to discussions of Hickory Ground’s sacredness. During the following months, there was little public comment regarding Hickory Ground. No new archaeological investigations or developments of the property were proposed, and talk of a Class III gaming covenant with Alabama subsided for the moment. Nonetheless, a resurgence was imminent as the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) prepared to issue a decision as to whether or not the Poarch Band could proceed with development plans and what, if any, associated preservation efforts were necessary. As the lead federal agency under Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act, the BIA had the ultimate say in ensuring that cultural resources were adequately taken into account in the Hickory Ground case. The Alabama Historical Commission and the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation were to advise the BIA in this process. Because consultation between the Historical Commission and the Poarch Band had been unsuccessful, the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation was asked to issue final termination of consultation comments to the BIA. In order to do this, the ACHP requested comments from all interested parties, and held a public panel hearing in Montgomery in April 1992. Although this panel hearing was part of the formal historic preservation process, and was technically meant to address concerns about history, it was depicted in the media as a meeting “considering a proposal to build a 1,800-seat bingo hall on a sacred Indian site in Wetumpka” (Morse 1992). Statements from the meeting quoted in the news media similarly favored sacredness over history. For example, Larry Haikey is quoted as saying, “It is a place that has been touched by the hand of God” (ibid). Jon Griswold, described as “a direct descendant of Red Eagle, the famous Creek leader,” is also quoted. He uses yet another religious metaphor: “To see a casino built on the gravesites of our ancestors gives us the same reaction that I’m sure you would have if someone wished to build a casino on Arlington National Cemetery” (ibid). In this case, Hickory Ground is related to
96 a civil religious site, this time with an emphasis on burials, again reflecting what was then known about the site archaeologically. The media was not inaccurate in depicting the meeting primarily in terms of sacredness. Even though this was a meeting about historic preservation, many of the official comments referenced sacredness. Indeed, this meeting offers some of the best opportunities to examine views of sacredness relative to Hickory Ground because many of the comments made at the meeting or submitted as part of the official comment period are in-depth accounts. For example, Bill Fife, Chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, submitted written comments to the ACHP meeting that extensively discuss the sacred nature of Hickory Ground:
The religious character of this site should be discussed openly. The religion practiced at this site is still practiced by many of our tribal members to this day. These people believe in a single Creator. They believe that they have been instructed in the ceremonies and rituals required to keep their people on a path of purity and morality. They have a strong moral code, wherein the highest objective is the achievement of inner peace, and their rituals and "medicines" are all for this one purpose. Excavation of this site, for any purpose, cannot be recommended. The site was not arbitrarily chosen: the leaders of each town, after long fasting, were led to their sites by their Creator. Special rituals were performed to preserve the sanctity of each site. Objects were buried around the site to be removed only under strict circumstances. Because of the military Removal of the Creeks in 1836, it is doubtful that there was time for the religious leaders to obtain these objects. Many of these objects may have decayed and might not be identifiable, but our traditional people teach that the objects are still there, that they still protect this site and its sacred nature, and that to disturb these objects will bring horrible sickness upon not only the persons who remove them, but also upon the surrounding community. Most of these objects would be unrecognizable to an archaeologist, and our traditional people believe it is not proper to share any information about the precise nature of these objects (Fife 1992).
97 These comments indicate a great deal about a particular conception of traditional Creek religion, but also Hickory Ground’s place in that practice. For Fife, Creek religion (as are most religions) is strongly based in a moral code. This moral code is upheld through the proper conduct of particular ceremonies and rituals – many of which presumably occurred at Hickory Ground during its use. The religion and its moral code are strong elements of the identities of its practitioners, and places in which this moral code is enacted are thus central to this identity. Hickory Ground’s sacredness is also depicted as substantially sacred, in that its location is said to have been chosen by supernatural forces. Yet, there is a ritual element too in that certain activities had to occur and certain objects had to be placed for the sacredness to be maintained. As indicated previously in this chapter, the question of whether or not religious leaders had time to remove these sacred objects prior to their own removal to Oklahoma has been contested by others. These comments indicate that the objects are still there – indeed, they must be because they still protect Hickory Ground’s sacredness. Disturbance of these objects would cause illness presumably because a disturbance of the moral code is a disturbance in the fabric of the individual, and the society as a whole. Therefore, the maintenance of Hickory Ground, and other ceremonial grounds like it, is important to the maintenance of the people. Opposition in Oklahoma went beyond the Hickory Ground Tribal Town and even the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. On April 14, just after the ACHP panel meeting, but still within the official comment period, the Oklahoma City Commission on American Indian Affairs submitted the following statement:
On behalf of the 34 organizations of the Commission on American Indian Affairs, we are deeply concerned that consideration is being given to approve contracts to construct a bingo hall-community center at Wetumpka, Alabama, construction which will further lead to the desecration of a sacred site. The excavation of Hickory Ground in 1991 and the removal of remains of Creek people is a disgrace not only to the Muscogee Creek people but to all Indian people. If it has not been done, the remains and artifacts should be returned. It is the position of the Oklahoma City Commission on American Indian Affairs, representing an American Indian population of over 24,000 to voice our opposition and respectfully ask that all means necessary be implemented to halt
98 the further desecration, the development and or construction of any facility that is for the purpose of gaming on the site of Hickory Ground in Alabama (Long 1992).
Like others before, these comments indicate a strong sense of the appropriate use of a sacred place – and what is inappropriate. They also indicate that the inappropriate use of Hickory Ground would not only harm the place, but “Indian people” as a whole. These large-scale comments may be contrasted with personal comments from people more directly associated with Hickory Ground. On April 16, George Thompson, Micco (Chief) of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma wrote to the Advisory Council:
Hickory Ground in Oklahoma is a direct descendent from Hickory Ground in Alabama. There is history behind our ceremonial ground and today it still remains alive. I'm proud to say that we're carrying on the traditions and ceremonies that were brought here by our ancestors from Alabama. All the ceremonial grounds are sacred and our feelings is [sic] that any further desecration endeavors should be halted. The tribal Chairman of the Poarch Band must recognize our strong ties with Hickory Ground in Alabama. Furthermore, the Chairman is only speaking for the Poarch Band and not for all the Creeks. In closing, I would like, someday, to be able to gaze out over the sacred land, in its original state, and tell my children and others that our Ceremonial Ground originated from this sacred site (Thompson 1992).
When the majority of the Creek communities making up the Creek confederacy was removed to Oklahoma, the tribal organization of towns remained for the most part intact. Many of the Creek towns in Oklahoma have counterparts in Alabama, and Hickory Ground is one such town. Mr. Thompson indicates in his comments that the modern Hickory Ground is not only descendent historically, but has maintained the ceremonial practices to the present day. As such, he feels an unbroken association with Hickory Ground in Alabama. Thus, impacts to the site are impacts to the modern town. His closing comments indicate that he would like to have the site remain as a memorial to where he and his people came from. This is no
99 different from the reasons why many memorials are constructed – to pass on a particular definition of who people are to future generations. In the Advisory Council report that synthesized all of these comments and summarized the preservation controversy to date, there was a section titled, “Impacts to the traditional cultural value of Hickory Ground.” This section stated, “Less tangible [than impacts to the archaeological remains] but of even greater concern are the consequences the development holds for the traditional cultural value of Hickory Ground.” Hickory Ground’s “strong associations” with the time period of forced removal, “together with the site’s sacred value as the final resting place for many Creeks, make Hickory Ground a place of transcendent importance” (Advisory Council on Historic Preservation 1992). This report of the ACHP’s findings was submitted to the BIA to facilitate its decision on the proposed development of Hickory Ground. An internal BIA memorandum in which the ACHP report is reviewed said: “Unfortunately, the known facts do not comport with such as glossed view [as that presented in the ACHP report]. Hickory Ground’s principal historic value is that it served as a marshalling point for removal of the Creeks to Oklahoma for a relatively short period of time and is, thus, a pivotal point in the conduct of Indian affairs as opposed to a long-term cultural location for the Creek Nation” (Ott 1992). Based on this view, it could not have been particularly sacred since it was never associated with any significant religious activities. Thus, while the rescripting of opposition to development in terms of sacredness may have been initially beneficial to the movement to preserve Hickory Ground since it resonated with commonly held views about the importance of Native sites, it ultimately made the site’s significance easier to contest. Because sacredness (when viewed from a situational perspective) is more subjective than historicity, sacredness is more easily refuted, and thus so too is the need to preserve Hickory Ground. The BIA’s ultimate decision was to allow bingo development to proceed, and the state and federal government’s preservation options were at an end. However, a twenty-year restrictive covenant was still in place on the property until the year 2000. Therefore, the Poarch Band could do little but prepare for the eventual construction of a bingo hall once the covenant ended, including continuing to seek a Class III gaming compact in the interim. Later in 1992, the Mobile Register ran a profile of the Poarch Band and the existence of bingo in Alabama (Hardy 1992). The article mainly focuses on the existing gaming center in
100 Atmore, but also mentioned Hickory Ground, specifically in reference to opposition at that location while there had been little or no opposition in Atmore. Opposition is again categorized largely in terms of sacredness. For example, Jane Weeks, executive director of the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission was quoted as saying, “We’re opposed to any desecration to the land known as Hickory Ground.” This was followed in the next issue of the newspaper by a deeper analysis of the controversy. The article referenced the Muscogee Resolution opposing “potential desecration of land sacred to the tribe.” Robert Trepp, a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, referred to Hickory Ground as the site of a ceremonial ground where a sacred flame was kept. He was quoted as saying, “You can’t see the flame, but to the Creeks there’s still a fire” (Hardy and Hodges 1992). Here again, Hickory Ground remains a sacred place even though the town was relocated to Oklahoma. As mentioned previously, the Poarch Band continued to try to get a gaming compact with the state of Alabama. Because the restrictive covenant on Hickory Ground would not run out until 2000 however, such a compact would have primarily impacted gaming operations in Atmore, but would eventually impact Hickory Ground. From 1992 to 2000, most mentions of Hickory Ground in the media have to do with attempts to negotiate a compact. In 1993, The Birmingham News ran an article detailing hopes for casinos at both Atmore and Hickory Ground, and the impacts this would have on other existing privately operated gaming interests such as the VictoryLand dog track (Archibald and Blalock 1993). Hickory Ground is categorized as “not just historically significant,” but also “sacred ground” to the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. Thomas P. Berryhill, a member of the National Council of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, was quoted extensively in this article. Although he did mention the presence of a “townplace,” he almost exclusively referenced sacredness relative to burials. He stated, “There are a lot of bodies there. A tribal townplace was there. We would not like to see that desecrated.” He continued, “I understand Mr. Tullis is trying to do something great in economic development, increasing what the tribes are able to do. It’s just the land he’s using. We have to protect the sanctity of the bones of our people.”
101 Berryhill then went on to discuss the Native American identity of the Poarch Band in detail16. Relative to sacredness, he characterized the tribe as un-Indian-like. “They have no spiritual sensitivity to what an Indian is. They don’t place any kind of importance on what is sacred.” In other words, the conflict goes beyond a difference of opinion about sacredness, and instead underscores perceived fundamental differences in identity. In the same article, Chairman Tullis responded that his plans would take sacredness into account. “We’re addressing all of their concerns,” he said. “We’ll have an archaeologist on site to make sure that we mitigate anything that is found there. That’s included in the plan.” In this conception, adequately excavating the site was considered enough to address impacts to its sacredness. Later in 1993, Alabama Democratic Senator Howell Heflin visited a publicity event at the Wetumpka YMCA. While there, several people told him about the Poarch Band’s plans for Hickory Ground. He agreed to set aside time to listen to those who wanted to block gaming. John Griswold, a member of the Star Clan of Creek Indians, was one such person. He was quoted as saying, “Hickory Ground is sacred to my people. To us it would be the same as if a gambling casino was being built in the middle of Arlington National Cemetery. That land is sacred to us because our blood was shed there…(and) because the bones of my ancestors lie interred there” (Associated Press 1993a). As noted above, the metaphor of Arlington National Cemetery had been used before. Here, the burials are not only sacred from a religious perspective, but the use of the phrases “our blood” and “my ancestors” indicate a deep identification with the site that makes the metaphor of a civil religious site such as Arlington relevant. Despite plans to develop the site, this identification was articulated by some members of the Poarch Band as well. In 1996, The Birmingham News ran a story about internal divisions within the Poarch Band regarding casino plans. Many people interviewed for the story were not opposed to having a casino, but were opposed to having one at Hickory Ground. Tonya Rolin, a tribal member in her 30s, said, “If it [a casino] would benefit the people of the tribe, I’d be for it. [But] I don’t think it should be on sacred burial grounds. In my opinion, it’s not right to dig up our ancestors to put in a gambling casino” (DeMonia 1996). However, shortly after this article was published, an official tribal vote was held on whether or not to move forward with casino plans, and the plans were ultimately approved
16 Most of his comments in this regard are examined in further detail in Chapter 7.
102 despite opposition. After the vote, there was a lull in discussion of Hickory Ground in the media and in available documents until the year 2000. As the covenant expiration date in July of that year approached, a resurgence of activity occurred. In the spring of 2000, Mr. Tullis notified then Alabama Historical Commission head Lee Warner that construction on a gaming facility was intended for that summer once the covenant expired. This prompted the AHC to issue statements to The Montgomery Advertiser expressing its opposition. This opposition included concerns about both historic and sacred aspects of the site. Tom Maher, state archaeologist, said, “This land was an important Creek Indian site (in the early 19th century)…It was a Creek village and it was also a seat of political power and religious power” (Lackeos 2000e). Also in response to the Poarch Band’s announcement, the City of Wetumpka announced it would fight the proposed development. The city council voted to contact the Alabama Historical Commission for help. However, as discussed previously, the majority of the state’s official preservation options were expended in 1992. In response, the city tried a new tack, raising the issue of burial disturbance. But as Craig Sheldon, an AHC board member, noted, “Alabama has very strict laws in dealing with the desecration of graves, Indian or non-Indian. The problem is the Creek nation is a sovereign nation, and state law does not apply to them” (Roney and Cox 2000). Later in May, The Montgomery Advertiser ran an article detailing the controversy, largely in terms of sacredness. The article cites “preservationists and an Indian tribal leader” in saying, “if the steel blades of bulldozers slice through the land along the Coosa River owned by the Poarch Band of Creek Indians, they would desecrate what was once a thriving religious and social center for Native Americans.” Erma Lois Davenport, chief of the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, was quoted as saying, “I don’t have a problem with the Poarch Band of the Creeks and Eddie Tullis building a casino. I only have a problem with where they want to put it. I feel like Hickory Ground is a sacred place. I feel like it is wrong to build a casino on the property” (Lackeos 2000d). Also in May of 2000, the Alabama Preservation Alliance17 placed Hickory Ground on its annual ‘Places in Peril’ list. Brandon Brazil of that organization said of the listing, “Our concern
17 The Alabama Preservation Alliance is today called the Alabama Trust for Historic Preservation, and is the state partner of the National Trust for Historic Preservation. www.alabamatrust.info/index.php
103 for Hickory Ground doesn’t relate to the gambling issue. The site is considered sacred ground by Creeks today who are descendants of the ancient Creeks whose remains are still buried at the site” (Lackeos 2000b). Despite these opposition efforts, when the covenant expired on July 28, 2000, the Poarch Band proceeded with plans to construct a temporary bingo hall. This involved the placement of fill material on top of the existing ground to protect archaeological remains, and ground disturbance for parking and an access road in areas that had already been archaeologically excavated. In October 2001, as the Poarch Band was proceeding with construction, The Montgomery Advertiser ran coverage of protests at the construction site (Lackeos 2001c). These protests were presented as being primarily related to the presence of burials. Three Native Americans were picketing the site daily, including Milton Meads, characterized as “a Cherokee from northeast Alabama.” Mr. Meads was quoted as saying, “We don’t want anything built on this sacred ground, because it’s the site of an Indian burial ground.” Margie Paulk, a Wetumpka-area resident said, “I sympathize with them. They shouldn’t build it right on top of the burial ground. I’m not against bingo if they can keep it off the burial ground.” Poarch Chairman Eddie Tullis countered that the bingo hall would not disturb any of the burials identified by archaeologists. In this article, his argument was that so long as the burial area was properly delineated, building elsewhere on the property was fine. These ideas were reiterated later in the year after the bingo hall opened. He spoke of having 20 acres for expanding parking without disturbing burials (Associated Press 2001a). Tullis also argued, though, that many graves had already been destroyed by construction of the surrounding residential development of River Oaks, and that no one protested then (Lackeos 2001c). Thus, people should not be so concerned about this development, particularly since proper archaeological investigations had been done in advance. These arguments seem to acknowledge the importance of burials, but do not necessarily attach the concept of sacredness to them. For example, they do not take into account the idea that the site as a whole may be considered sacred because of the presence of burials. These sentiments prompted a November 2001 article that appeared in the Native American Times newspaper detailing Muscogee (Creek) Nation opposition to the development of Hickory Ground (Murg 2001). The article states in part: “Eddie L. Tullis, the Chairman of the
104 Poarch Creek Indians in Alabama, is accused of building a Bingo Hall on the ancestral ceremonial and burial ground of the Creek Nation, the Hickory Ground in Wetumpka, Alabama. The Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, the Mayor of Wetumpka, and the Alabama Historical Commission have all attempted to stop the desecration of the burial site, along with Principal Chief R. Perry Beaver of the Muscogee (Creek) Nations.” This article is somewhat incendiary and at times less than factual. It is noteworthy firstly because it accuses Chairman Tullis of desecration rather than the Poarch Band as a whole, despite the aforementioned tribal vote approving casino development. Secondly, it refers to Hickory Ground as “the” instead of merely “an” ancestral ceremonial and burial ground of the Creek Nation, which perhaps overstates its importance. Thirdly, the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, the Mayor of Wetumpka, and the Alabama Historical Commission are all presented as having tried to stop “desecration of the burial site” when their actions were often as much or more about preservation of historic resources, or opposition to the casino itself. Finally, the focus on burials excludes other conceptions of sacredness, or historic value, including Hickory Ground’s history as a ceremonial ground. The exception to this is that Principal Chief Beaver is quoted as saying, “We have an ordinance that specifies that the Hickory Ground is one of our old grounds, and we are asking them to reconsider because it is a sacred ground to our people.” Nonetheless, this article heralds a period of more combative statements about sacredness and opposition to development. In July of 2002, the United States Senate Committee on Indian Affairs held a session on “The Protection of Native American Sacred Places.” Robert Trepp, of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation provided testimony at this session (Trepp 2002). His testimony reads in part:
The leaders of Hickory Ground cannot be here today because of their responsibilities for their annual ceremonies, but their position is still that they are disturbed by the situation because they have not been consulted. They feel a responsibility for the burials of their people, which far exceeds the standards of the American culture. Participating in the consultation process is an unfunded federal mandate. Our tribal government has limited resources, and officers and executive staff are usually more concerned about replacing someone's roof or finding funding for
105 someone's chemotherapy than they are about problems with cultural sites 700 miles and 160 years behind us. But to the average tribal member, protecting these sites and their burials is a matter of plain human dignity and being accepted as members of the human race.
This last comment in particular implies that anyone who would not protect these sites and their burials is not dignified and should not be accepted as a member of the human race. This returns to the idea of sacred sites being fundamental to religious identity, in which the improper treatment of such sites by others reveals differences in identity. The following month, largely in response to an announcement that the Poarch Band signed a deal with Harrah’s to develop a full-fledged casino resort at Hickory Ground, an article was published to the Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch website decrying the situation (Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch 2002a). The article purports to present Muscogee (Creek) Nation opinions, although it does not quote or cite anyone directly. The article uses a metaphor to describe the opinions of some Muscogee (Creek) Nation members: “Comparing it to the Taliban’s use of explosives to destroy ancient statues of Buddha, they claim the Poarch Band does not understand the ancient culture of the Muscogee people or share the common tribal belief that, once a burial is made, it is a sacred place not to be disturbed by human beings.” Hickory Ground was thus compared to historically important relics on the order of world monuments, indicating a broad conception of Hickory Ground’s sacred significance. The development of Hickory Ground was compared to deliberate destruction such at that carried out by terrorist groups. This conception of the Poarch Band was contrasted with people living in Oklahoma. “The Hickory Ground people in Oklahoma are a very traditional Muscogee community, maintaining a ceremonial ground and the strict traditional rules required to keep it sacred for future generations.” In other words, the Poarch Band was not considered traditional and was thought not to know the proper rules regarding the treatment of sacred places. Thus, knowledge of the sacred serves to identify those who are more native (i.e. more indigenous) to the site. The article goes on to state that members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation viewed the “continuing desecration of the Hickory Ground site” as “a hate crime” perpetrated in retaliation
106 for long held animosities dating to the Creek Indian War in 1813. In this view, then, there was not a difference of opinion on sacredness; the Poarch Band was seen as aware that the site is sacred and was accused of purposefully desecrating the site as a hate crime. The article also mentions the Congressional testimony given by Mr. Trepp the month before. It says of him: “When asked by a journalist if this was about money, he responded that, no, this was about protecting burials that these people had been forcibly removed from in violation of a federal treaty, and that a monetary settlement was out of the question.” Again, the Hickory Ground people were considered to be the true stewards of the site and its sacredness. On September 10, Hickory Ground was the subject of that day’s Native America Calling radio show hosted by Harlan McKosato (Native America Calling 1992). The title of the episode was “Gambling on Hickory Ground,” and the featured guests were Chairman Tullis of the Poarch Band and Robert Trepp of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. After introducing Hickory Ground as a sacred location, Mr. McKosato began by asking Chairman Tullis why he supported development of the casino at Hickory Ground. Tullis replied, “The property is not a sacred site other than…a very small footprint.” He went on to say that extensive archaeological work had been done and that “we are convinced that the establishment of the casino on this footprint that we are proposing to develop will not infringe upon the historic significance of this piece of property.” These comments attempt to limit Hickory Ground’s significance in two ways: by emphasizing that only a small portion of the site is significant, and by limiting that significance to history without reference to its ongoing religious function. Mr. Trepp was then asked why he was opposed to the development of a casino. He responded, “Although the site may not be sacred in the sense that a lot of people may think – the Muscogee people don’t have vision quests and sacred sites of that nature – we consider the burials on that site to be permanent, last, resting places and not to be disturbed. In that sense, the site is sacred because every burial in the site is sacred.” These comments served to distance him from the stereotypical view that Native Americans consider all land as mystically sacred. He took care to give a specific reason why he considers Hickory Ground sacred, perhaps feeling as though the Poarch wrongly assume his concerns about sacredness were of the stereotypical variety. His statement, then, served to legitimize his concerns and his expression of them. It also speaks directly to the idea that sacredness is as much about current practices as it is about anything frozen in the past.
107 In November, the Intertribal Sacred Land Trust helped to draft a letter on behalf of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma to both the Poarch Band and the Bureau of Indian Affairs (Thompson, Thompson and Soweka 2002). This letter responded to the argument that portions of the site might be sacred, but that others are acceptable to build on:
One the one hand, the heart of the Cultural Property claimed is the ceremonial ground (sometimes called by scholars a square ground, or, by casual observers, a stomp ground), which is of primary cultural importance to the people of Hickory Ground Tribal Town because of its historical significance to our self-government and to the principal religion of many of the Hickory Ground people; however, on the other hand, the ceremonial ground was only the center of the community, and every other location within the Cultural Property is significant because of its relative location in comparison to the ceremonial ground.
Here, Hickory Ground was regarded as sacred because of its significance as a ceremonial ground and its centrality to the rest of the community. The presence of burials was secondary to this significance. However, the letter did go on to address burial disturbance at length:
Furthermore, Hickory Ground Tribal Town objects in the strongest terms to the facts displayed in the written record that not less than three (3) sets of human remains have been excavated and removed from the property without prior consultation with Hickory Ground Tribal Town. We cannot stress enough the cultural and religious ramifications that these actions have had upon us. There is nothing in our culture which is more reprehensible than the opening of a grave, unless it is the removal of the burial and its associated items offered in mourning. It is a central precept of our culture that we believe that this action exposes not only the perpetrator and their associates but also our people, here at Hickory Ground, to danger and disease. If we had been consulted we could have warned the Poarch Band that this should never take place, and, worse, that if it were to happen that our people have no ceremonies for the re-burial of our dead, such
108 events being outside the experience of this generation and those who came before who have taught us.
In expressing rules about the proper treatment of burials, this passage demonstrates the ways groups assign rules of use for sacred locations. Furthermore, the fact that not following the rules will affect the group as a whole reinforces the idea that identity is tied to places such as this. Likely in response to these activities relative to sacredness, the Morning Star Institute and the National Congress of American Indians identified Hickory Ground as a “ceremonial and burial ground” and a “sacred place…under attack now”. (Harjo 2002) The designation was extended again in 2003 at a prayer day held in Washington D.C. and in 2006 in the news media (Harjo 2003, 2006b; The Morning Star Institute 2003). Sacredness in regards to Hickory Ground was not mentioned in documents or the media again until 2006 when plans for a memorial garden at the site were announced. The architect who designed the facility used architecture from Creek villages to design the layout of the buildings and grounds for the memorial. It was envisioned as complimentary to the cultural museum also planned as part of the casino complex. Thus, the architect stated, “After we prepare your mind (at the cultural center), we hope to prepare your spirit on the path leading to the reinterment memorial.” Bronze statues, artifacts, an eternal flame and a reflection pool are some of the features that were said to be used to “create a sacred and serene environment” (Mosely 2006). While some would see it as ironic that a sacred environment had to be created where so many saw one to begin with, this may be seen as an example of a group addressing sacredness on its own terms, particularly if one views sacredness as situational. Even though archaeological excavations have all but been completed and construction of a permanent gaming facility has begun, strong opposition still exists. In May 2006, a group from the Muscogee Nation traveled to Hickory Ground for a tour of the site, and to view development plans. Figure 4 depicts the landscape as it was at the time of this visit18. According to several people whom I interviewed for this paper, this meeting was viewed as a step toward reconciliation between the two groups. Not long after the meeting, however,
18 This photograph was taken by me in June 2006, shortly after the referenced visit by members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation.
109 Susan Shown Harjo, one of the attendees from Oklahoma, published an article about the proceedings in Indian Country Today that was considered highly inflammatory by many of the people I interviewed (Harjo 2006a). I was shown copies of the article by three of my interviewees and a number more cited it in our conversations unprompted. Although the article shows general disdain for the development plans and the treatment of Hickory Ground to date, by far the most inflammatory insinuation was that the late Poarch Band Tribal Chairman Fred McGhee died nine days after the meeting (of heart failure) as a result of the desecration of Hickory Ground. Harjo wrote:
Medicine is powerful. It protects, but it also can turn against the vulnerable. That's what old tribal people say. Lots of old people in lots of tribes. That's almost what was said by a Muscogee man from Hickory Ground in Oklahoma to a leader of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians in Wetumpka, Ala., on May 9: ‘That fire is powerful. That fire will get you.’ Nine days later, Poarch Band Tribal Chairman Fred L. McGhee died. He was 56.
This harkens back to the warnings of impending harm that would be caused by the improper treatment of Hickory Ground, and the burials in particular. Some of the people I spoke with felt that such things do happen in principal but were unwilling to go so far as to say that it happened in this case. Others were simply shocked by the insinuation. Everyone was concerned that the article and their opinions about it not cause any further rift between the two groups. In addition to the views expressed about this article, my interviewees had a number of other things to say about sacredness relative to Hickory Ground. Their comments demonstrate that views of sacredness in this case range from the substantial to the situational, sometimes for the same individual. Within views of substantial sacredness, interviewees spoke about both religious sacredness and civil religion. Views of situational sacredness ranged from complete secularization to concessions of some form of contingent sacredness. In the category of substantial sacredness, many interviewees referred to a feeling that there is “something there.” A member of an Alabama state recognized tribe said:
110 I know that a lot of people who go down there have very strong feelings there. So even though [some] consider Hickory Ground a dead ground because [they] believe that once the sacred fire has been removed, the ground is dead and it doesn’t matter what happens to it after that, I can tell you that when I visited Hickory Ground, I didn’t feel like it was dead. I felt like it was very much alive. I just wish that this [development] wouldn’t happen (Interview L).
Beyond indicating a belief in the substantial sacredness of Hickory Ground, this statement also contributes to the argument over whether or not the sacredness had been moved to Oklahoma with the ceremonial ground. By this account, it had not. In another argument referencing substantial sacredness, a member of the Poarch Band said:
When I first went out to Hickory Ground…I walked around on that property by myself and I felt like all these people were around me. I could feel the presence of all those people and there was one message that came to me. It wasn’t a feeling of chaos; it wasn’t a feeling of disruption and upsetness. I heard a very simple phrase, ‘do right by us’ (Interview H).
While seemingly similar to the first statement in reference to the feeling of a presence at Hickory Ground, this statement differs in intent. The first interviewee felt regret that the development would occur in a place where she felt such strong feelings of sacredness. This interviewee felt that development is an acceptable use of the site, so long as certain sacred attributes (such as burials) are properly addressed. One member of the Muscogee Nation whom I interviewed would likely disagree with that sentiment. He had a partially situational view of sacredness in that he acknowledged that different groups of people could have different feelings associated with a sacred place. However, he plainly believed that there are correct feelings to have and incorrect ones, with the proposed casino plans representing incorrect feelings toward sacredness (Interview J). While also revealing a view of sacredness as substantial, another of my interviewees with ties to a state recognized tribe was more contemplative on the subject. He engaged me in a
111 prolonged discussion of the nature of sacredness, questioning whether a place is sacred, or if it is the space in which the place is located19.
Take Jerusalem for example. The Dome of the Rock area, even if you are not religious, I don’t think you can possibly go to that place and not have some sense of its spiritual importance. I mean, it’s kind of a strange feeling. If there were ever any place on the earth that I felt like you could truly just ascend straight up into heaven, it’s there. There is something about that place that affects you even if you are not religious. Now, would it still be the same if it were all bulldozed away? (Interview K).
Speculating that perhaps it would still be sacred even if the place as it exists now were bulldozed, he acknowledged that such a view has implications for opponents of development. When asked would it matter if a casino was built at Hickory Ground if such an activity would not affect its sacredness, he responded: “Well, that’s a good point. I don’t know. Maybe it’s sacred anyway. Maybe if they build a casino there, a tornado will come and blow it away. Who knows?” In other words, it is possible to alter a sacred place without damaging its sacredness, but such alterations could not occur without repercussions. This returns to the idea that strict rules must be followed in sacred places and not doing so could potentially bring harm. Although not expressly brought up in the interview, these comments also imply that movement of the ceremonial ground to Oklahoma did not diminish Hickory Ground’s sacredness. For those interviewees who referenced civil religion, sacredness was no less obvious and substantial. For them, Hickory Ground is substantially sacred because of the historical events that have occurred there. As stated by a former archaeologist with the AHC:
Personally, I believe that the site is basically a sacred site to Creek Indians both in Alabama and Oklahoma and should have remained so...I mean, what would you consider to be – you know Ellis Island, let’s just tear everything down and build a bingo parlor or a gambling house there. There are some places that in the
19 Space and place are the interviewee’s terms, and were not prompted by me.
112 hearts of certain groups are sacred. I think to the Oklahoma Creeks, Hickory Ground would be a sacred place, an important place in their heritage and a sacred place. I think to some Poarch Creeks, they feel the same way. Their leadership just didn’t feel that way (Interview A).
The reference to Ellis Island might be in response to the charge made by the Bureau of Indian Affairs that Hickory Ground was simply a gathering place for removal. Even if that were its only historic significance, the reference to Ellis Island indicates that just because its main function was as a place that people went through does not mean that it is not worth preserving. Places can be important for more than just fixed events. The comparison to Ellis Island and reference to heritage also indicates a feeling of civil sacredness. There is a sense in these comments that Hickory Ground’s importance to civil heritage makes its destruction worse than the destruction of a ceremonial site, presumably because it affects all members of the nation rather than just religious believers. From another perspective, responding to the idea that the ceremonial ground’s movement to Oklahoma diminished the sacredness of the Alabama site, one interviewee said, “It’s the last sacred fire in Alabama, so regardless of there “being nothing there” it’s still a sacred site to the Indian people” (Interview L). In other words, even if the religious sacredness is gone, it remains sacred due to its historical significance as a religious site. Comments from one of my interviewees indicate that there are strong feelings of civil sacredness within the Poarch Band as well (Interview I). “I think for all the Creeks…it is a commemorative place. The argument [for obtaining it in the first place] was that it was a historic site important to Creek history. The officialdom of the tribe regards it as sacred in that sense.” This type of regard for civil religious sites is not unusual within the tribe. “The extreme poverty and discrimination and abandonment by the federal government that the Poarch Creeks experienced, has brought something near sacred to the view of many places important in recovering from that.” On the other hand, there are feelings of religious sacredness about certain places, but those sentiments may be a bit different. “I think clearly even those who are not members of the ceremonial ground or do not take part frequently in ceremonial activities, they recognize for the people who are believers that there is a sense of sacredness about the ceremonial ground that
113 would not be immediately obvious to somebody else. [However, I don’t have] any sense about permanent sanctity…The same place might be used for baptizing people, washing quilts, swimming in the summer time, and actually washing automobiles. Sacredness is like a moveable feast through space as well as through time.” These comments indicate a view of sacredness as both substantial and situational. There is a sense of substantial civil religion, but also of situational sacredness in reference to religion. Such a view helps to explain why the development of Hickory Ground might be seen as acceptable. If the significant historic portions are set aside, other portions of the site are fine to build on. There is no sense of the site in its totality being sacred from a ceremonial standpoint. In the category of situational sacredness, one of the archaeologists I interviewed sees sacredness entirely as a cultural construct (Interview D). He was quick to note that he respects views about sacredness, but that they have little place in his own view of Hickory Ground. For him, archaeology is a science and, as a discipline, does not have a definition of sacredness. As he said, “The only time religion came into [archaeology] was when we had to use that to explain the behavior of people, and say, ‘Well this is probably a religious activity, burying people in the ground with goods [for example]’.” As for his analysis of archaeological evidence for the past religious use of the site, he stated: “[At Hickory Ground] the Creeks don’t have a separate cemetery area, so you could say this is sacred and this is not, because the Creeks buried their dead under the floor of their domestic houses. And you’ve got [the council house] which was the heart and core of the Creek community and that was more like the civic center or church.” What portion of the site is ‘sacred’, whether it is the council house area or the whole site, inclusive of the domestic houses, is for him a cultural determination that archaeology cannot make. On the other hand, one member of the Poarch Band has a view of civil sacredness, while conceding that others may have a different view, but notes that secular concerns must be considered alongside sacredness (Interview G). During our interview, he noted that they intend to avoid what he referred to as the government complex at Hickory Ground. As for the argument that the entire site is sacred and should remain untouched, he responded by implying that in order to have money to spend on cultural projects such as the planned museum and reinterment area, a portion of the site has to be used to generate funds.
114 Another member of the Poarch Band made a similar argument (Interview H). “Many of the traditional Muscogee Creeks view the entire site as sacred. They say it’s sacred because it was the last capital. They say it was sacred because there are burials in there. And they also say it was sacred because the last ceremonial fire was there.” While he respects that view, he noted, “Our tribe’s view was not that the whole site was sacred, but …upon discovery of the square ground and the council house, our tribe did set that aside.” He does not believe that Hickory Ground has been desecrated. “If we were going to desecrate that site, we would have just run out there and bulldozed it. The horrible irony of it is, if we hadn’t have gotten that site, it would have been bulldozed.” Therefore, according this view, in light of secular economic concerns and decisions made in the past, the current disposition of the site is likely the best outcome.
Conclusion
This data revealed multiple ways in which sacredness was thought about and deployed in the conflict over Hickory Ground. As stated in the introduction to this chapter, whether beliefs about sacredness are situational or substantial is not as relevant as the way those beliefs interact. Each group develops and presents its own beliefs about sacredness situationally, but in most cases those beliefs are no less substantial to them. For this analysis, how particular beliefs came to be originally is not as important as the way these beliefs have changed as a result of interaction. Such interaction is key. The current physical configuration of Hickory Ground is not simply attributable to the will of the group in power. While it is true that the Poarch Band was deeded the land in 1980 and has had the most control over it, its journey to develop Hickory Ground has been contested almost from the beginning. The interaction of beliefs about sacredness as a result of this contestation has led to multiple changes in perspective, and in tactics, over the years. From comments made early on, it is clear that the Poarch leadership did not consider the place to be particularly significant in terms of sacredness (or history for that matter), instead referring to it as a temporary campground. Because of the National Register application and grant proposal, they were aware of “Hickory Ground’s” historical significance in the written record; the issue was more that they were unconvinced that the particular portion of land now in
115 their possession archaeologically supported those significance claims. Similarly, there was no hard evidence that the portion of land in question was ever a ceremonial site. Thus, early claims that it was important ceremonially were met with skepticism born of having no “proof”. In many ways, it seems to me that this remained the situation throughout the conflict. Burials did not become a concern until burials were actually found. The presence of the ceremonial ground and council house was refuted until they were archaeologically uncovered. The Poarch leadership had to have hard evidence, but in obtaining such evidence the site was completely excavated. Furthermore, their reactions to discoveries such as the council house were more about what to do with that evidence in the context of the existing development plans, rather than altering their perception of the site as a whole. On the question of why the views of others were not considered, I feel that, while never outright stated, there was probably a fair amount of disdain for the beliefs of state recognized tribes who were some of the more vocal opponents early on. I believe that the opinions of members of the Muscogee Nation were respected; however, overall the impression I am left with is that concerns about sacredness were dismissed as part of the pan-Indian, all-land-is-sacred stereotype. And, in some cases, the media did tend to present the case that way. As a result, several of the opposition groups went out of their way to express very detailed reasons for their opposition. However, in a way, the focus on specific concerns limited the response. For example, the Poarch leadership appears to feel that the tribe addressed sacredness concerns with the designation of a reinterment area and the preservation of the ceremonial ground/council house. As for narratives of sacredness used by others, initially the property was obtained because of its historic significance and no reference to sacredness (including civil religion) was made. Most presumed that the site would be preserved, and such an outcome was acceptable. Preservation was not a violation of their rules and regulations regarding the use of sacred places. Thus, no comments about sacredness were needed. It was only when there was a perceived threat to the site that such statements became necessary. For the most part, these statements about sacredness remained the same across time: “Hickory Ground is sacred and should be preserved.” Statements did however differ in emphasis. In documents and correspondence, statements were detailed, giving depth and credence to their concerns. In the media, however, the emphasis was most often placed on a general concept of an “Indian burial ground,” or even more broadly, a “sacred site.” This was most likely an attempt to
116 garner favorable opinion from a public for whom such concepts are part of the popular culture. The Alabama Historical Commission and various politicians made use of such statements to earn further support for their own oppositions regarding history and gambling, respectively, although particularly in the AHC’s case they also had opposition on the basis of sacredness. All of these perspectives on sacredness are tied to identities and attempts to root those identities in place. For example, many of the metaphors used to describe the development of Hickory Ground imply strong connections to the site. The proposed bingo parlor/casino plans have been variously compared to: bulldozing the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to put up a McDonald’s (Interview K), building a hot dog concession in a wing of Westminster Abbey (Armstrong 1988b), building a casino on Arlington National Cemetery (Associated Press 1993a), and the demolition of the Buddha statues by the Taliban (Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch 2002a). Not only do these comparisons reveal strong views in opposition to the development, they also demonstrate a range of associations from churches to civil religious sites. However, the significance of the religious sites chosen for comparison demonstrates how views of religious importance are not necessarily separable from civil importance. The sites chosen for comparison are significant national, as well as religious, symbols in the countries in which they are located, implying that Hickory Ground is also a significant civil religious site and thus important to the identity of the speaker. Additionally, as various perspectives on sacredness are presented, so too are various group identifications. Hickory Ground has been variously called simply ‘sacred,’ ‘sacred to Native Americans,’ ‘sacred to Creek Indians,’ and sacred to various individual tribes and/or portions of tribes, both federally and state recognized. Which group is used in any one statement depends on the intent of that statement. A statement that appeals to a general sacredness is intended to make the public feel as if the site is sacred to them too, and thus they should support opposition to development plans. Statements about sacredness for all Native Americans or all Creek Indians seek to unite a coalition of those groups. These broad statements of sacredness are attempts to gather as many people together as possible to oppose the casino development. As suggested above, statements that reference individual groups tend to be more detailed explanations of sacredness and are attempts to enhance the quality of opposition over quantity.
117 Any statement that the site is particularly sacred to one group over another also serves to reinforce the delineation of that group as distinct from others. References to burials, particularly those in which the burials are presented as those of direct ancestors, tie that group to a distinct lineage of which others are not a part, and tie them to the place in which the burials are located in a way in which others are not. Other comments of being descended from the ceremonial ground and having practiced the religion unbroken from that time serve the same purpose of defining a lineage from which others are excluded. Finally, statements regarding the proper treatment of a sacred site such as Hickory Ground imply knowledge possessed by one group that is not possessed by others. All of these aspects define ‘us’ versus ‘them,’ and justify ‘us’ having the greater say in what happens to Hickory Ground. Yet, conceptions of sacredness are not just about the nature of a place or how connections to a place produce and reflect identity; they are also (re-)produced through culturally specific rituals and practices. Of course, culture is inseparable from place and identity, as, for example, many rituals must occur in particular orientations at particular places, and distinct cultural practices further serve to delineate groups of people. However, culture is not reducible to place and identity; cultural practices have material effects on place and those tied to it. The belief that sacred objects should not be disturbed promotes a different outcome for the physical landscape and for economic interests than a belief that sacred objects can be moved and reinterred elsewhere with the proper ceremonies. On the other hand, cultural ideas about sacredness do not exist as fixed notions prior to constructions of place and identity. As this chapter has shown, in this case arguments about sacredness evolved over time dialogically, underscoring the way culture is constructed. And, because ideas about sacredness are so tied to place and identity, it also illustrates the ways culture, place, and identity are constructed in relation to one another.
118 CHAPTER SIX PRESERVATION
As discussed in Chapter Four, changes in the landscape, and thus changes in the self, may be a source of anxiety leading to calls for maintenance of the past. Yet, the ‘past’ cannot be maintained in its entirety. The parts deemed most important to the present, for reasons of both heritage and sacredness, are chosen to symbolize the whole. In this way, the past is distilled into “icons of identity” (Lowenthal 1994, p. 43). Such icons may be made concrete with the construction of a new monument or through the preservation of an existing location. Of course, “decisions about which sites deserve to be memorialized implicitly contain decisions about other sites that are left unmarked” (Knauer and Walkowitz 2004, p. 5). Furthermore, once an element of the past is deemed important, different levels of memorialization may be acceptable. For example, it may be satisfactory to tear down an old building and construct a new one, as long as a monument is placed to memorialize the old one. In other cases, only the old building will do. Even so, there may be differences of opinion as to whether the building can be adaptively reused or if it must remain as is. Many factors, cultural, political, and economic, affect these decisions, and the actual physical outcome is more often than not determined by the interaction of multiple perspectives. Unfortunately, this has not always been reflected in the history of the practice of preservation. While the tradition of memorializing through the placement of newly built monuments has been long practiced, the history of memorializing through preservation of existing structures or landscapes is comparatively recent. American preservation history as narrated in textbooks such as Tyler (2000) and the oft-cited Hosmer (1965) emphasize two major sea change events in its development: the preservation of Mount Vernon and the failure to save Penn Station. The history of American historic preservation begins with the story of Mount Vernon and a group of upper class women who led the first successful preservation movement in 1853. Thereafter follow the stories of famous American elites like Henry Ford and Thomas Edison who collected historic structures and artifacts at their respective estates. Next, the histories trace the development of preservation law from the American Antiquities Act in 1906 to the National
119 Historic Preservation Act of 1966 (NHPA). The failure to save Penn Station was the impetus for tougher preservation laws that ultimately led to the NHPA, seen as the culmination of preservation law to date. The problem with this narrative is, “such stories are so familiar, they seem to tell us all we need to know about preservation: it is a battle of good and evil, where sometimes preservation prevails, and more often development wins out” (Page and Mason 2004, p. 7). Moreover, it tells us that preservation is something done by the elites of society, if not through personal effort, then through the passage of federal laws. “This institutionalized history, focusing on the deployment of state power as the ultimate test of successful preservation, skips lightly over vast social and cultural shifts that shaped historic preservation,” including the shifting ways we experience place (p. 7). To turn the classic example on its head, this history of preservation does not explain why efforts to save Mount Vernon were successful. It does not explain, for instance, how social ideas about the role of women in the mid-1850s, particularly upper class women, enabled the group to be successful. It does not explain what shifts in perspective about the role of George Washington in national identity may have occurred to facilitate success. There are many social and cultural elements that are relevant to the case, but they are not typically examined in such histories. Events such as the saving of Mount Vernon are given as discrete steps in a linear development of historic preservation. Page and Mason (p. 8) view such an “overwhelmingly linear narrative of preservation’s history, a sense that today’s ideas are the logical and positive culmination of the developments of earlier years,” as misleading. As they point out, “preservation has waxed and waned, with ideas coming back and falling out of favor, with as many disappointments and dead ends as victories and achievements.” They see preservation in the first half of the twentieth century as “hark[ing] to the time when the inherent historical values of old buildings, and the material integrity of those artifacts, were seen as sufficient foundations for the field” (p. 9). Page and Mason argue that today’s foundations have changed. The focus has shifted since the 1960s to “the political values of preservation, and its value in shaping personal, social-group, and national identity.” Furthermore, “economic interests, once banished as the enemy, play an ever-greater role in preservation.”
120 However, the constraints of the NHPA, and in particular the National Register of Historic Places criteria20, continue to limit the practice of preservation in fundamental ways. There are four criteria, labeled A-D, to which preservationists may appeal when attempting to get a place listed on the Register. To be deemed significant under Criterion A, a place (more often referred to as a “property”) must be “associated with events that have made a significant contribution to the broad patterns of American history.” For Criterion B, a property must be “associated with the life of a significant person in the American past.” To meet Criterion C, a property must “embody distinctive features of type, period, method of construction, or high artistic values.” Finally, for Criterion D, a property must “yield or be likely to yield, important information in history or prehistory” (Tyler 2000: 93-4). These can be colloquially thought of as the criteria of: famous events, famous people, exemplary architecture, and scholarly value. It is this final criterion through which most prehistoric sites enter the Register. Rarely are prehistoric sites associated with famous or well-known events or people, since by definition they are pre-historic. With some notable exceptions, most prehistoric sites are not architectural in nature; most are not even visible above ground. This leaves Criterion D, the potential to yield important information. The problem is, once that knowledge has been obtained, the place no longer holds any particular value for preservation. In day-to-day preservation practice, adverse impacts to archaeological sites are routinely ‘mitigated’ by the scholarly knowledge gained through excavation. The critique of this mindset is exemplified by Thomas King (2002; 2003) who, along with Patricia Parker, authored National Register Bulletin 38 (1990), introducing the concept of traditional cultural properties to historic preservation. This critique calls for an emphasis on the significance of prehistoric and indigenous sites beyond whatever knowledge they might produce for scholars. It acknowledges that some places in general can be vitally significant to people for more reasons than the four criteria given above. Even without a written record of a famous event having occurred there, or of a famous person having once lived there, a place can still be important to a group’s history – particularly in the case of Native Americans. Acknowledging this, Bulletin 38 (p. 1) defines a traditional cultural property as:
20 The National Historic Preservation Act, among other things, created the National Register of Historic Places as “part of a national program to coordinate and support public and private efforts to identify, evaluate, and protect our historic and archeological resources.” The National Register is “the Nation’s official list of cultural resources worthy of preservation” (www.nps.gov/nr).
121
One that is eligible for inclusion in the National Register because of its association with cultural practices or beliefs of a living community that (a) are rooted in that community’s identity, and (b) are important in maintaining the continuing cultural identity of the community.
This links place with identity in a way that the four NR criteria do not. If a place is important to a community, impacts to that place should be considered, regardless of its research value, King argues. Furthermore, communities should be given more of a voice in official determinations of significance. This stems from a related critique of historic preservation that the determination of a place’s significance is often far removed from the community members to whom the place matters: “It’s outrageous to extend consideration in planning only to places that the Keeper [of the National Register] or the local board is willing to admit to an official list. I think it’s elitist, antidemocratic, and contrary to what [preservation] really ought to be about” (King 2002, p. xv). Nonetheless, this is often what preservation is about. Because the National Register (NR) is a national list of significant historic places, only places of particular significance are listed. While state and local properties can be listed alongside nationally significant places, such properties must be representative of their state or local communities in such a way that they contribute to American history as a whole. There are many places that are considered historic at the local or state level, but are ineligible for the National Register. However, such places are typically not afforded the same consideration as those listed on the NR. National Register listed properties receive special consideration because they are federally protected as required in Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act. Section 106 states:
The head of any Federal agency having direct or indirect jurisdiction over a proposed Federal or federally assisted undertaking in any State and the head of any Federal department or independent agency having authority to license any undertaking shall, prior to the approval of the expenditure of any Federal funds on the undertaking or prior to the issuance of any license, as the case may be,
122 take into account the effect of the undertaking on any district, site building, structure, or object that is included in or eligible for inclusion in the National Register. The head of any such Federal agency shall afford the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation established under Title II of this Act a reasonable opportunity to comment with regard to such undertaking.
Simply stated, any undertaking conducted, financed, licensed, or permitted by a federal agency must take historic resources listed or eligible for listing in the National Register into account. The first step in doing so is to determine if any NR listed or eligible properties will be affected by the undertaking. If so, the second step is to determine whether or not the undertaking will have an adverse effect. If the undertaking will adversely affect an historic property, the federal agency must work to avoid such effects if possible, and, if not, it must develop a plan to mitigate the effects. While the ultimate decision as to whether or not the effects to historic properties have been adequately taken into account rests with the federal agency in question, it may be up to other entities to navigate the Section 106 process. These entities may include private citizens, businesses, or state and local governments who are to be the recipients of federal money, licensing, or permits. These groups consult with the State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO) or Tribal Historic Preservation Office (THPO) of the state or tribal area in which the undertaking will occur. The offices offer opinions at each step of the Section 106 process as listed above. However, these entities are under no obligation to concur with the SHPO or THPO opinions. They typically do, though, because the federal agency may refuse to release funding or to issue a permit if concurrence with the state or tribal historic preservation office is not obtained. If, however, it is the federal agency itself that does not concur with the recommendations of the SHPO or THPO, either party may ask the federal Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP) to issue comments. The ACHP conducts a thorough review of the consultation process to date and seeks comments from all interested parties before issuing a final report. If the federal agency disagrees with the findings of this report, it is free to proceed as it wishes. While it may seem that the Section 106 process has no teeth when it comes to enforcement, the political and economic nature of the process tends to be self-policing. It is
123 comparatively rare for a federal agency or other entity to expend the time and money to carry on protracted negotiations. Furthermore, in most cases consultation with the SHPO, THPO, or ACHP results in comment from the public or other interested parties. If the majority of these comments are made in opposition to the undertaking, they tend to favor swift resolution. For example, a business corporation going through the process because it needs a construction permit from a federal agency would ordinarily view it as bad business practice to go against the wishes of the public it seeks to court as customers. In the Hickory Ground case, the official preservation process was unsuccessful in halting development. In the 1980s, the Poarch Band of Creek Indians consulted with the Alabama SHPO regarding its development plans. The Alabama SHPO determined that the plans would have an adverse effect on Hickory Ground and recommended preservation. The Poarch Band was unwilling to preserve the entire site unused, and instead pushed for mitigation of the adverse effects through archaeology. The controlling federal agency in this case was the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA). The BIA met with both parties, but when no resolution could be reached the ACHP was asked for comment. As discussed previously in Chapter Five, the ACHP issued a final report with which the BIA did not concur, allowing the Poarch Band to proceed with archaeological mitigation. This case thus provides an opportunity to examine the biases inherent in preservation as it is generally practiced today. Outcomes are heavily dependent on the official preservation process, and in particular the National Historic Preservation Act. After all, no matter how important Hickory Ground was or is to people, if it were not listed on the National Register it would not have received as much consideration as it did. That it received such consideration is also a function of the fact that the Poarch Band did not have a tribal historic preservation office at the time. If it had, the tribe would have been able to present its findings regarding effects directly to the BIA without outside comment. Thus, groups of people have had varying degrees of access to the preservation process, with the potential for there to have been an even wider disparity. The process as it occurred in this case provided a limited course of action to those outside of the state government for whom Hickory Ground is a significant place worth preserving. While it is true that they were able to comment directly to the Poarch Band and to the Alabama SHPO, and were later asked for
124 official comments by the ACHP, it appears that these comments were not heeded as part of the BIA’s ultimate decision of what to do. With the BIA’s decision in 1992 the ‘official’ preservation process regarding Hickory Ground came to an end. While there are those who disagree (as will be discussed further), the Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 and the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act do not apply to this case because the activities occurring on tribal lands have been carried out by, or with the consent of, the tribe itself. Similarly, Alabama state preservation laws do not apply to tribal land. Yet, despite the lack of legal recourse, efforts to preserve Hickory Ground continued long after 1992, and had a definite impact. This case thus reveals the ways preservation efforts go beyond the official process. Indeed, the official process is just one of many tools used in these efforts. The remainder of this chapter examines the multiple discourses of preservation used both within the official preservation process and outside of it. Discourses regarding the appropriate use of the physical landscape of Hickory Ground include that it should be preserved with no development of any kind, that it should be preserved with the addition of a small museum/interpretive center, and that portions of the site should be preserved with others developed commercially. Ultimately, these answers to the question of how to preserve depend on discourses about what should be preserved: a site for its own sake (because it is materially important), or a culture. Yet, these two discourses do not correspond one-to-one to specific policies. For example, preserving a culture could correspond to a policy of providing income opportunities or it could correspond to a policy of building a museum and education center. Thus, many different discourses about “preservation” have been employed in this conflict, with specific meanings of the term being associated with specific interpretations of “culture” and specific policy recommendations.
Hickory Ground
The location of Hickory Ground was (re-)identified and recorded in the Alabama State Site File in 1968. At the time, the site was under no immediate threat by development. It had been in agricultural cultivation for approximately 100 years and remained so through the 1970s (Figure 3). As stated in Cagle and Brooms (1982), there was no real impetus to nominate the site
125 for the National Register at that time, and, it was felt, to do so would endanger the site by making its location more widely known. The circumstances leading to its eventual listing are slightly unclear. According to two of the archaeologists associated with the Alabama Historical Commission, the process was triggered by the proposed building of either a Wal-Mart (Interview A) or a K-Mart (Interview B). However, accounts given in Cagle and Brooms (ibid) and the Advisory Council’s final report (1992) mention a low-income housing apartment complex. This complex was proposed in 1979 and was to be either funded or permitted by the Farmers Home Administration. When announced, the plans met with a fair amount of opposition from homeowners in the surrounding subdivision who were concerned with the idea of low-income housing being located nearby. According to Cagle and Brooms, the preservation community was consulted to see if there was any ‘historic’ value to the property that could be used as ammunition to halt the development. From this perspective, preservation of Hickory Ground was sought as a way to ‘preserve’ the character of the local community. It appears that the AHC nominated Hickory Ground to the National Register as part of the resolution to the apartment complex controversy – a resolution that included plans to purchase the property on behalf of the Creek Indians. A member of the Poarch Band elaborated that Hickory Ground was nominated to the National Register as a provision for obtaining the grant money ultimately used to purchase the property (Interview H). It is important to note that nomination to the National Register is not a guarantee that it will be listed. For that to occur, the Keeper of the National Register must concur with the property’s significance. As stated previously, there are strict standards for obtaining such status. Had Hickory Ground’s nomination been turned down, development would likely have proceeded. As it was, plans to develop the property for housing were scuttled. The ACHP report states that it was at this point that Wal-Mart proposed developing the site. However, coverage appearing in the Wetumpka Herald at the time the apartment complex was announced indicates that it was in fact a K-Mart, and that the store was part of the original plans and not a separate development ("City Council Denies Second Land Rezoning" 1980). Regardless, the store was a private endeavor and was not subject to Section 106 review because there was no federal
126 involvement. Therefore, it did not matter that Hickory Ground was an historic site, or that it was listed on the National Register. Nonetheless, no Wal-Mart or K-Mart was ever built. According to a former archaeologist with the AHC, Wal-Mart backed out of the deal for fear of public disapproval (Interview A). According to the ACHP report, the landowner decided not to finalize the sale to Wal-Mart after the AHC and the Poarch Band approached him with a separate offer. The Cagle and Brooms article does not mention a K-Mart or Wal-Mart at all. In their telling, the decision to purchase the land on behalf of the Poarch Band came directly after the apartment complex deal fell through. Whatever the circumstances, the ultimate outcome was that the landowner agreed to sell the land to the State of Alabama which then deeded it to the Poarch Band of Creek Indians21 (then known as the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc.). This purchase was accomplished with a $165,000 grant obtained through the Department of the Interior’s Historic Preservation Discretionary Fund Grant program. The grant was applied for as a Category #1 project, “assisting the preservation of historic districts associated with minorities, Native Americans, and ethnic groups which have maintained a cultural heritage contributing to the nation’s history, and also supporting the direct participation of Native American groups in historic preservation of their own cultural resources.” As part of the application, the landowner agreed to take less than the asking price, using the balance as a match to the federal grant funds. As the letter that accompanied the grant application shows, Hickory Ground was never intended to be preserved untouched. The letter reads: “Hickory Ground was involved in nearly all the major historic events in the southeast before the removal of Creeks from Alabama in 1836. With the proper techniques and data recovery methods, Creek involvement in these events can be studied.” Thus, archaeological work at the site was planned from the beginning. As noted above, such data recovery is well within historic preservation standards. However, data recovery was not the only reason given for the proposed purchase. The purchase was also intended to “provide protection for a particularly important site in Creek history, while providing a foundation for innovative educational programs. Hickory Ground may also be a place where Creeks from Oklahoma may return and visit their ancestral home.” Thus,
21 The manner in which the land was transferred to the Poarch Band as opposed to any other tribal group is examined in Chapter Seven on Indigeneity.
127 given the willingness to conduct archaeological excavations, preservation of the archaeological resources may not have been as important as the preservation of other aspects of the site, including the ability to maintain and pass on heritage. Regarding plans to develop the site for other purposes, the letter reads: “Acquisition of the property is principally a protection measure. Acquisition will prevent development on the property…It is evident that the site itself is prime development land and may very well be bulldozed and cleared soon.” However, it goes on to read: “Prior to any type of development of the property a scientifically sound archaeological program will be conducted to mitigate or minimize effects upon the historic resources.” This statement would seem to indicate that some form of development was intended, but the specifics are not given. The letter does not mention plans for a museum or an interpretive center (although it does mention plans for interpretive activities), and it does not mention plans for any specific commercial development. The acquisition of the property by the Poarch Band was widely viewed as a success in the preservation community. In their summation of events, Cagle and Brooms call the case “a lesson in preservation planning” (p. 6). Similarly, Barnes (1981) cites Hickory Ground as an example of the successful use of Historic Preservation Fund grants in preservation. In a letter written to the author of the grant application letter, AHC state archaeologist Macdonald Brooms wrote: “I’ve about got my courage up to try the whole process over again with another site. I think Hickory Ground has set a precedent and I believe that more of our funds will go into acquisition of endangered sites” (Brooms 1980). Publicity surrounding the sale was similarly enthusiastic. A January 11, 1980 article appearing in The Montgomery Advertiser mentions that both the AHC and the Poarch Band had been in contact with the landowner regarding preserving the site until financing could be obtained. The landowner was indirectly quoted as saying that he agreed the land was “very important from a historical standpoint” and that he was willing “to forgo any development in the area to save the land for the Indians.” Macdonald Brooms was quoted as saying the Poarch would establish “a sort of landmark site,” and that, “they might also establish a historical park there” (Duvall 1980). In the article detailing the grant (Hyde 1980), Tom Taylor with the Department of the Interior was quoted as saying: “The timing of this grant was perfect. Without the funds to purchase the land, important archaeological and historic information would have been lost…the
128 land would be apartments now.” This indicates that the funds were specifically intended for preservation of information. However, Macdonald Brooms was quoted as saying of plans for the site: “The plans so far include keeping most of the area a preserve and adding an educational facility for Creek youth, who can study their heritage.” This indicates a concern for the preservation of heritage and use-rights as well. On August 16, 1980, a ceremony was held at the Ft. Toulouse Historic Park to commemorate the actual land transfer ("Creek Indians Regain Ownership of Land" 1980). The landowner, W.D. DeBardelaben, was quoted as saying that he was “proud to have a role in the preservation of the Hickory Grounds.” Poarch Chairman Tullis “promised that the Creeks [would] preserve and develop the historic acreage.” While he does not specify how the acreage will be developed, the article stated, “The Creeks plan to use the property to develop a culture center and historic preserve where Creek descendants can study their heritage.” The deed transferred in 1980 was accompanied by a 20-year preservation covenant, a source of contention in years to come22. The covenant stated: “The owner, Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc., agrees to assume the cost of continued maintenance and repair of the property so as to preserve the historical and archaeological integrity of the property for 20 years in order to protect and enhance those qualities that made the property eligible for listing in the National Register of Historic Places.” As part of the covenant, the Poarch Band also agreed to “provide public access to the site no less than 12 days a year” (for which entry fees could be charged), to “ensure the protection of the site against willful damage or vandalism,” and to “assure that any archaeological data and material recovered will be placed on permanent loan with an institution that will care for the recovered data in the manner described in 36 CFR 1210” (part of the National Historic Preservation Act). However, the covenant also stated, “Nothing in this agreement prohibits the owner from developing the site in such a manner that will not threaten or damage the archaeological resource.” It is this statement in particular that was the source of so much contention over the subsequent 20 years. From 1980 to 1988 there was little or no controversy over the site. Then, on April 16, 1988, plans for a proposed bingo hall were publicly announced (Mueller 1988a). The Alabama Historical Commission was immediately concerned that plans for a bingo hall went against the intent of the preservation covenant. In news coverage of the announcement,
22 The twenty-year covenant commenced July 3, 1980 and ended July 3, 2000.
129 Alabama State Historic Preservation Officer Larry Oaks was quoted as saying, “This is an important cultural piece of land. We’ve wanted to develop a tribal museum for several years, but we have to be sensitive that the development would not adversely affect the archaeological resources” (Mueller 1988a). But, Poarch Chairman Tullis was also characterized as being concerned about preservation. He was quoted as saying, “Those people [the Historical Commission] aren’t as concerned about that as my people are. We know how to build a bingo hall, but we want to build a quality museum also. We want something that’s going to be here from now on.” In order to have such a quality museum, Tullis claimed that the Poarch Band needed revenue and that the best source of revenue was a bingo parlor. Construction of a bingo parlor was not considered to be at odds with the preservation covenant because, according to Chairman Tullis, “almost half of the land that was put on the historic register in 1980 is not the Hickory Grounds burial place and therefore can be used for any developmental purpose.” The announcement of bingo plans also raised concerns about preservation within the local Wetumpka community. Local church ministers in particular were concerned about what a bingo hall would do to their town. In a news article appearing in April 1988, Rev. Tommy Carlisle of Grace Baptist Church in Wetumpka stated, “It just looks like it would not bring in the kind of people you want in your town” (Fleming 1988). He was particularly concerned that a bingo hall could bring excessive drinking and prostitution, both of which would alter the community for the negative. The announcement also caused concerns within the Poarch Band as well as other tribal groups in Alabama. As mentioned in Chapter Five, during the month of May approximately fifty letters from Poarch tribal members were sent to the AHC opposing the bingo parlor. Also that month, the Hvsossv Tvllahasse ceremonial group issued a press release and wrote a letter to the editor attempting to get press coverage of their opposition. While it is unclear if either of these comments were ever run in an off-reservation media outlet, both releases made it into the AHC files regarding Hickory Ground. The letter to the editor in particular details the group’s views on preservation. Members were strongly opposed to bingo at Hickory Ground and feared the loss of one of “the last ties” to the Creek culture of the past (Hvsossv Tvllahasse 1988b). Thus, it was not development of the site per se that was opposed, but the type of development, because it would not facilitate the preservation of heritage.
130 All of this prompted the Historical Commission to write to the Poarch Band encouraging museum plans as long as “construction would not impact any archaeological remains” (Oaks 1988). The letter also stated that “a bingo hall would not be appropriate for Hickory Ground and its construction would be detrimental to the archaeological remains at the site.” In this case the AHC argued that the construction of a small museum could be undertaken with minimal impact to archaeological remains, but a bingo hall and associated traffic could not. Consistent with rationale given in the National Register nomination, preservation of archaeological information is paramount. In a May 24 news article, members of the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group attempted to “bring [their opposition] to people’s attention.” The article mentions a petition that was being circulated to oppose development (Mueller 1988b). It appears that multiple versions of this petition were circulated amongst various groups including the Poarch Band, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation in Oklahoma, and Wetumpka area churches. Copies of some of these petitions were sent to the Alabama Historical Commission where they remain on file. In a May 26 article, Chairman Tullis attempted to combat this publicity. He was quoted as saying, “We have no intentions of destroying the archaeological artifacts that are there. Those are my ancestors there, and I’m interested in having them stay there” (Mueller 1988d). He furthered this argument on June 2 by saying the tribe had contracted with architects whose task it was to demonstrate “how the buildings can be constructed without any major destruction to archaeological remains” (Williams 1988a). That the Poarch leadership was concerned with archaeological remains is further supported by comments made in a June 9 article. Some of the Wetumpka area pastors questioned why bingo was chosen as opposed to another type of economic activity. One of the pastors raised the idea of a smelting plant, a proposal that had evidently been considered previously. Chairman Tullis replied, “We declined the idea of building a smelting plant because that would require more land than 35.8 acres and would totally consume Hickory Ground. We also want to build something that will not disturb a great deal of the artifacts that might be found on this property” (Williams 1988b). However, despite these reassurances, the proposed bingo plans prompted several other tribal and non-tribal groups to take action. The Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, an Alabama state recognized tribe, wrote to both the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission (AIAC) and then-
131 Alabama Governor Hunt (Davenport 1988a, 1988b). Another Alabama state recognized tribe, the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe, also wrote to the AIAC (Wright 1988). One of the Wetumpka area church leaders contacted the Bureau of Indian Affairs directly (Ott 1988). Additionally, the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group, the Northwest Florida Creek Indian Council, and private citizens of Montgomery and Wetumpka all contacted the Alabama Historical Commission (Armstrong 1988a; Linam 1988; Williams 1988d). All of these groups sought to make their opposition to the development of a bingo parlor known, and argued that Hickory Ground should be preserved as is. Similarly despite Tullis’s reassurances, it appears that the message received by the public was that archaeological remains would be disturbed by a bingo parlor. A June 14 editorial appearing in The Montgomery Advertiser reads in part:
It is doubtful that anyone who worked in 1979 and 1980 to get this property into Indian hands believed that Native Americans would threaten its destruction. But a large bingo hall and necessary parking facilities would cover a significant portion of Hickory Ground and the historically significant relics which may lie under it…This property was not saved from development to ensure the preservation of bingo. No development should be allowed at Hickory Ground until a comprehensive archaeological study of the entire site is done (Editorial 1988).
These concerns were echoed at a meeting between Hvsossv Tvllahasse group members and Wetumpka religious leaders ("Atmore Group, Wetumpkians Meet to Discuss Reasons for Opposing Bingo Hall, Museum" 1988). The groups acknowledged that their reasons for opposing bingo were different, but their goals were similar. While many of the church leaders were opposed to gambling on religious grounds, Mr. Gordon Fay of the Hvsossv Tvllahassee group stated, “I am personally not opposed to bingo, but I’m not necessarily for it. Our objective is against construction of ANY kind, including a museum, on the Hickory Ground site.” How they felt about archaeological excavations for research purposes is unclear. The National Register and grant applications were both framed in terms of archaeological research, yet many groups, including the Alabama Historical Commission, were opposed to a
132 bingo hall even if the land was excavated in advance of construction. In an August 7 article, Chairman Tullis pointed out this inconsistency. “They (the commission) have been saying they want to save the area so in the future archaeologists will have Indian bones to dig up” (Wood 1988). While the mention of digging up graves was purposefully antagonistic, this statement was not totally inaccurate; one of the stated purposes of preservation was for future research. However, as noted above, there were other concurrent reasons for preservation including heritage and ceremonial importance. Because the preservation covenant was still in place, no building construction could occur, and little else happened regarding Hickory Ground until the beginning of 1991. On February 18 of that year, the Wetumpka City Council passed a resolution in response to notification that the Poarch Band was seeking a gaming compact with the State of Alabama (Wetumpka City Council 1991). This resolution reads in part:
The Wetumpka community was led to believe that the purpose for this property was to keep that ‘last fragment of Creek tradition and culture the Poarch Band of Creeks have left’ by the building of a Creek Indian Museum, [but] it is now understood that a ‘Gaming’ building is being suggested that will include any and all types of gambling including casino gambling…this ‘high stakes’ gambling cannot, in our opinion, help the progress of our community or be in the best interest of the historical preservation of the Creeks that once lived in this area.
This resolution contains elements of preservation regarding both the Wetumpka community and Creek heritage. In terms of preservation efforts, the resolution authorized the city to contact Chairman Tullis to ask him to reconsider the development plans, and to contact both the Alabama Historical Commission and the Governor of Alabama to ask them to do everything within their power to stop the development. In news coverage of the resolution (Hughes 1991c), Dr. Wayne Flint, then chairman of the AHC, said the commission “is willing to work with the Poarch Band so long as this very rich site is preserved so that the Creek people don’t lose part of their heritage.” This marks a shift in comments made by AHC members away from concerns about archaeological resources towards concerns about heritage.
133 News that the Poarch Band was seeking a gaming compact motivated numerous groups to take renewed action. On February 22, the Star Clan of Muscogee Creek Indians passed its own resolution opposing casino development, largely on the basis that it would “desecrate the sanctity of the lands” (Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks 1991a). Thus, their concern was for the preservation of the sacred aspects of Hickory Ground. Copies of this resolution were sent to the governor and the Alabama Attorney General. On March 6, the Echota Cherokee Tribe (also an Alabama state recognized tribe) wrote to the Alabama Attorney General, asking that “no permission be given for any land usage other than historical preservation” (Lucas 1991). Likewise, the Cherokees of Southeast Alabama wrote to the governor, “this land is and was historically significant and should be preserved” (Wallace 1991). On the 7th and 8th, the Star Clan, the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe, and the MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians each wrote letters to the governor (MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians 1991; Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks 1991b; Wright 1991). The content of the letters varies somewhat but all contain a statement similar to: “Our tribal council is opposed to casino gaming, bingo or any other use of Hickory Ground which does not enhance and compliment its historic concept.” Both the Echota and Cherokees of Southeast Alabama letters mention their support for the Star Clan and MaChis Creeks, indicating a fair amount of coordination amongst the state recognized tribes regarding preservation efforts. All of this led the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission to pass its own resolution opposing gaming development (Alabama Indian Affairs Commission 1991). The AIAC noted that as an organization it “has a responsibility to support and encourage the maintenance and protection of Indian culture, and particularly of places that serve as hallmarks of our cultural history.” As such, it strongly opposed the proposed development, and pled with the Poarch Band to “cease the development of any gaming facilities…at Hickory Ground.” Copies of this resolution were sent to the Governor of Alabama, the Lieutenant Governor of Alabama, the Speaker of the House of Representatives of the State of Alabama, the Attorney General of Alabama, the Assistant Secretary of Interior for Indian Affairs, the Mayor of Wetumpka, the Representative of the Third Congressional District of Alabama to the United States Congress, and the Tribal Council of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians. Later in the month, a new controversy emerged when archaeologists hired by the Poarch Band were accused by the Alabama Historical Commission of excavating without proper federal
134 permits. This controversy erupted in the media, accompanied by accusations on both sides (Hughes 1991b). Chairman Tullis argued that the Historical Commission’s objection to the excavation was “a continuation of Larry Oaks’s [the Alabama SHPO] attempt to prevent the Creeks’ history being told from the Creeks’ point of view.” This implies firstly that the objections are Mr. Oaks’s personal objections, rather than those of the Historical Commission as a whole, and secondly that there was no problem with the excavations other than the fact that state archaeologists did not get to conduct them. Mr. Oaks responded by reframing the AHC’s objections in terms of the excavation results. He stated that, “Significant archaeological resources were dug and destroyed…[and] the remains of two humans were removed from the site.” These comments insinuate a rather cavalier treatment of the archaeological resources. Although it was the case that the excavations were conducted without the proper federal permit, they were conducted by a professional archaeologist affiliated with a major university, and it is unlikely that the resources were mistreated. As a result of the excavation, a meeting was planned between the two groups and representatives of the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. Chairman Tullis argued that, “he had tried for a year and a half to arrange such a meeting, but that Mr. Oaks refused to cooperate.” He stated that, “Mr. Oaks agreed to a meeting only after he learned of the excavation site.” Mr. Oaks responded, “They [the Poarch Band] continue to cast us as delaying their project, but they have been unwilling to consider any alternatives that are sensitive to the site” (Hughes 1991b). In another article covering the story (Prince 1991a), Chairman Tullis alleged that Mr. Oaks was trying to stop gaming development because “he wants the state to display artifacts and remains removed during construction.” Tullis stated, “It is my personal feelings that he does not want the Creeks to have their own museum to display their own artifacts…There has been such a poor presentation of the history of my people, and my tribe is going to do something about it.” As a result of the controversy, Alabama Attorney General Evans wrote to U.S. Secretary of the Interior Lujan asking him to step in. Chairman Tullis accused Mr. Oaks of pressing Attorney General Evans to send the letter because “a quality Creek museum would give the tribe first choice on displaying the artifacts instead of the state.” In response, Mr. Oaks said that the
135 AHC “has no interest whatsoever in controlling artifacts and remains at the site…We just want a sensitive development of the site. We are not even opposed to development of the site.” This last statement prompted a March 28 editorial in The Montgomery Advertiser (Editorial 1991). The editorial summarizes the arguments being made by both sides more or less as laid out above, and then continues, “no one with the state appears to be maintaining that the Poarch Band can’t eventually build a bingo parlor in Wetumpka, only that the artifacts and remains there should be explored and protected first.” Thus, in effect, both the Poarch Band and the AHC were concerned with preserving artifacts and not preserving culture. The editor pointed out that culture should be more of a concern. “Tribal leaders should not let visions of dollar signs rush them into destroying or damaging a significant national and Native American heritage. First the heritage; then the bingo. The two are not mutually exclusive, but that must be the state’s, and should be the tribal band’s, order of priority.” The controversy also prompted the Muscogee (Creek) Nation and the Hickory Ground Tribal Town to contact the AHC with similar comments (Childers 1991; Thompson 1991). The meeting between the Poarch Band, the AHC, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation took place on March 29. The meeting also drew other concerned parties, including members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation and the Star Clan of Creek Indians (Prince 1991b). Many of these attendees spoke about damage to religious aspects of the site, and expressed concerns that it be preserved (Hughes 1991a). The meeting ended with an agreement to conduct no further excavations or begin construction until a plan was agreed upon with the BIA. The next step in this process was for the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation to issue comments intended to assist the BIA in determining a course of action. The ACHP held a panel hearing in Montgomery on April 16, 1992 to give interested parties an opportunity to comment. In anticipation of this meeting, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, the City of Wetumpka, and Elmore County (in which Wetumpka is located) all passed resolutions opposing the development (City of Wetumpka 1992; Elmore County Commission 1992; Muscogee (Creek) National Council 1991). In addition to establishing official positions regarding the issue, these resolutions also enabled members of these groups to attend the meeting or send more individualized comments.
136 Twenty-four speakers, representing numerous interest groups, attended the meeting. The majority of these speakers were present in opposition to the proposed development, with a handful speaking in favor of it. One of those who spoke in favor was Bobby McGhee, a member of the Poarch Band’s Tribal Council. He suggested that a bingo hall and museum would bring the site more into the public awareness, thereby increasing the dissemination of knowledge, and that the site would benefit from the added protection that would come with increased security (Morse 1992). Many of the official comments made at this meeting in opposition to the development, and others submitted before and after the fact, are on file at the Alabama Historical Commission. These include letters written to the ACHP by Leah Harjo Ware, the Attorney General of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation (Ware 1992), Earnest Long, Chairman of the Oklahoma City Commission on American Indian Affairs (Long 1992), and George Thompson, Micco of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town (Thompson 1992), as well as the transcribed testimony of Bill S. Fife, the Principal Chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation (Fife 1992). The majority of these comments emphasize the importance of having something left of the place to pass on. For example, in his letter, Chairman Long wrote, “Although we understand the need for economic development…we must be aware of our culture, and our past and the need to preserve and protect what is left so that it can be passed on to generations to come.” Similarly, Mr. Thompson wrote, “I would like, someday, to be able to gaze out over the sacred land, in its original state, and tell my children and others that our Ceremonial Ground originated from this sacred site.” Finally, the testimony of Principal Chief Fife detailed the historical and sacred importance of Hickory Ground, before asserting that, “the most important characteristic of this site is its survival. Its historical significance is that it is still identifiable.” He goes on to urge the Advisory Council “to recommend that this site be preserved and protected, with a passive interpretive center as included within the covenants.” After thoroughly summarizing the preservation activities to date and detailing the significance of Hickory Ground, the Advisory Council’s final report made the following determinations:
Though a museum and community facility or other non profit facility could be developed in such a manner that would respect the site’s cultural value,
137 commercial development poses a far greater difficultly…The essentially nondescript architectural character of the building, the extensive surface parking with attendant vehicular and bus traffic, and the overtly secular nature of the for- profit bingo operation will impose a presence that is wholly incompatible with Hickory Ground’s cultural value and importance (Advisory Council on Historic Preservation 1992).
As such, the ACHP made seven recommendations, summarized here: 1. The BIA should deny approval for the gaming development. 2. The State of Alabama should work to find an alternative location for the gaming development. 3. If such an alternative location were found, the BIA should agree to take that location into trust. 4. The Department of the Interior (DOI) should determine which tribal group has the closest tribal affiliation to the remains at Hickory Ground for purposes of applying the Native American Graves and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA). 5. The Alabama Historical Commission should assist the Poarch Band in developing a plan for “the interpretation and educational use of Hickory Ground,” including providing help in seeking funding. 6. The AHC should further assist the Poarch Band in stabilizing the archaeological resources at Hickory Ground that have already been impacted. 7. Based on the determination of the DOI, the disposition of archaeological resources and human remains that have already been disturbed should be the subject of consultation with the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. Despite the Advisory Council’s recommendations, the Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs wrote to the Advisory Council stating, “I do not believe that further delay in review or reconsideration of tribal plans to proceed in an orderly way to develop a portion of Hickory Ground is warranted. Accordingly, I have accepted the Bureau’s immediate recommendation to issue a mitigation permit” (Brown 1992). This determination was made after a review of the Advisory Council’s report by B.D. Ott, Eastern Area Director of the BIA (Ott 1992). In this review, Mr. Ott wrote that Hickory Ground was not as significant a site as the Advisory Council
138 suggested that it was, either archaeologically or as a traditional cultural property. As such, archaeological mitigation and curation by qualified archaeologists would be sufficient treatment of the site in advance of development. After the BIA’s determination was made, the Alabama Historical Commission and other groups opposed to the excavations and the development ran out of formal options. However, this did not stop these groups from continuing to oppose the development publicly. In a November 26, 1992 newspaper article, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation is presented as being in a “feud” with the Poarch Band over the preservation of Hickory Ground, primarily over “desecration of the site” (Hardy and Hodges 1992). The Alabama Historical Commission, Alabama Indian Affairs Commission, and National Trust for Historic Preservation were all also depicted as being primarily opposed to development for “archaeological reasons.” However, Chairman Tullis was characterized as being bothered the most by the Muscogee opposition. He was quoted as saying, “It bothers me bad – but the thing of it is, they’ve been provided a lot of misinformation. We intend, when we complete this and all, to go out (to Oklahoma) and make a presentation of all the research.” The implication was that archaeological research would be enough to mitigate impacts to the site, and that once the Muscogee (Creek) Nation had seen the research their concerns would be alleviated. In the article, Tullis claimed there was always an understanding that the property would be developed as long as archaeology was done in advance. This statement does not distinguish between different types of development - a distinction Larry Oaks with the AHC alludes to in his response. He stated, “There was never one iota ever said about gaming or commercial activity in 1980. What has happened is the Bureau of Indian Affairs has said that in the interest of economic development for the tribe, the Poarch Creeks should be allowed to develop it after they mitigate the site.” However, he went on to say, “Their mitigation is to dig up the site, which actually destroys the site.” This statement also failed to distinguish between different types of development, or different types of archaeological work. As discussed above, archaeology for research purposes was part of the original agreement, and presumably would have been acceptable in advance of museum construction. In fact, Chairman Tullis stated that a museum was always an important component of the development plans, and that the income from the proposed bingo hall was necessary to build a
139 “first-rate” museum. In this sense, the proposed development may be seen as a type of preservation – only instead of preserving the place or artifacts as is, the information gleaned through archaeology would be preserved and shared in a museum. Furthermore, the profits from gaming would enable the tribe to attain increased self-sufficiency, thereby preserving the group as a whole (Baggett 1992). In the summer of 1993, Chairman Tullis met with Alabama Governor Folsom to initiate negotiations regarding a gaming compact with the goal of expanding the tribe’s existing Atmore facility and constructing a new casino at Hickory Ground. Tullis argued that tribal members were losing “irreplaceable, desperately needed money” to larger facilities in Mississippi. Folsom was told that casino gambling could generate anywhere from $100 million to $200 million for the state operating budget, and could add 1,000 jobs to the state’s economy. Tullis claimed that expansion of the Poarch Band’s facilities would “stop some of the flow of capital to Mississippi.” Thus, the proposed development of Hickory Ground was presented as not only necessary to the preservation of the tribe’s economic well-being, but that of the State of Alabama as well (Lindley 1993). On the other hand, several members of the Wetumpka City government met with U.S. Senator Howell Heflin to express their opposition to a casino being located in their city (Associated Press 1993a). City Councilman David Haynes stated, “The people in this city will never be able to adapt to the kind of life that gambling will bring here,” indicating that a way of life needed to be preserved. By early 1995, bingo profits from the Atmore facility were down by 70 percent and the tribe was reportedly barely breaking even, largely as a result of competition from the Mississippi casinos (Reese 1995). Gaming was presented in the media as “the economic life blood for a tribe of Indians desperately trying to find a respectable niche in modern-day society,” implying that without it the tribe would face dire consequences. For example, Chairman Tullis stated that in 1982, the average education level amongst tribal members was the sixth grade, but that the tribe then had more students in college than had graduated high school ten years prior. Without gaming profits, these strides could not have been made, and gaming expansion to compete with Mississippi casinos was necessary both to maintain them and to keep moving forward. Nonetheless, no gaming compact with the state was approved. After this attempt failed, no major developments occurred until May of 2000 as the covenant expiration approached. In a
140 news article appearing May 7, the AHC publicized its notification by the Poarch Band that a gaming complex would be constructed beginning in July (Lackeos 2000e). Reaction to the news in Wetumpka was depicted as “mixed,” but many of those interviewed were concerned that it would be detrimental to their quality of life. This is particularly true for residents of the neighborhood adjacent to Hickory Ground who attempted to refocus the need for preservation to their neighborhood. Kimberly Martinez, a resident of the River Oaks Apartment complex, was quoted as saying she would be against anything that would ruin the country-like setting. Similarly, Nicole Hurley, another apartment complex resident, was quoted as saying she would not mind a casino “as long as it doesn’t spoil her view of the river” (Lackeos 2000a). Buddy Fletcher, president of the River Oaks Home Owners Association, also spoke about his concerns with a casino: “You just don’t want that kind of environment near your neighborhood where you are raising your children,” he said. Wetumpka city leadership quickly followed suit with comments of their own (Roney and Cox 2000). In a May 8 article, Wetumpka Mayor Jo Glenn and several city council members were cited as believing the casino would “have an adverse effect on Wetumpka.” Councilman Benson was quoted as saying, “In my opinion, it would destroy our city.” Similarly, Councilman Thames said, “I don’t want to see it in my hometown. I don’t want us to have that kind of atmosphere,” and Councilman Bruce Jetton said, “I’m 1,000 percent against it…I just think it would be detrimental to Wetumpka.” On May 17, several members of the historic preservation community were interviewed about the controversy (Lackeos 2000d). In the associated article, the casino was depicted as having the potential to “erase a historically significant piece of Alabama’s past,” and to “desecrate what was once a thriving religious and social center for Native Americans.” Brandon Brazil of the Alabama Preservation Alliance presented the situation in terms of violation without mentioning the planned excavations of the site. “The preservation community feels this land was given to the tribe for their long-term stewardship. It is a breach of public trust for them to endanger significant archaeological and cultural resources.” On the other hand, Craig Sheldon, Chairman of the Alabama Historical Commission, presented it as a case of missed opportunity. “There are not a lot of sites left. This is the least damaged site (and thus may provide new information). We want to bank it for the future.” Here,
141 he made a stronger case for the idea that archaeology for research over the long-term is better than archaeology for data recovery in advance of development. Thus, it was the ability to refine and test hypotheses over time that would be lost as a result of the proposed plans. On May 19 the Alabama Preservation Alliance, in conjunction with the Alabama Historical Commission, placed Hickory Ground on its annual Places in Peril List. Brandon Brazil was quoted at the time as saying, “The fact that these places are all still here means that they represent an opportunity to encourage the community to find a way to protect them before it's too late. We want to be able to say ‘Yes, I helped save it,’ rather than, ‘Yes, I remember when it was still there’” (Estes 2000). Thus, archaeology was not the issue; it was the fact that the historic site would no longer be there if it were developed into a casino. It appears that this controversy had some measure of effect on the Poarch Band’s internal politics. On June 16, it was reported that Fred McGhee had been elected as tribal chairman over Eddie Tullis, who had been tribal chairman for 23 years. However, Tullis remained on the tribal council (and in charge of the gaming arm), and the council agreed to press forward on gaming expansion. This expansion was unlikely to be abandoned all together, since the tribe also had plans to upgrade the Atmore bingo hall to a full casino – plans that met with little or no opposition from within the tribe or the Atmore community. McGhee said at the time, though, that the tribe would “work to make sure [Hickory Ground’s] integrity is preserved” (Sznajderman 2000). Despite this reassurance, as the covenant expiration deadline approached, two Alabama Congressional Representatives, Terry Everett and Bob Riley, asked Governor Siegelman to file an injunction to stop the project and to issue an executive order barring Alabama from entering into any agreement that would facilitate the project. Representative Riley said, “We have a legal and moral obligation to keep this illegal casino from being built. I don't want my grandchildren to think of Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and Wetumpka as one and the same” (Brumas 2000). His concerns appear to have been about the preservation of a state-wide morality, beyond just the preservation of the Wetumpka community. Their efforts were successful; on July 1, it was reported that Governor Siegelman issued an order preventing any state department or agency from issuing a contractor's license or construction permit for the site (Lackeos and Owen 2000).
142 The expiration of the covenant on July 3 prompted a letter from the Thlopthloco Tribal Town23 in Oklahoma to the Alabama Historical Commission(2000). The letter read in part, “Hickory Ground is about to be destroyed…we plead with you not to allow this to happen.” As detailed above, however, the AHC had little or no legal say in allowing or disallowing it because the Section 106 consultation process had long been concluded. Meanwhile, others continued to make efforts toward stopping the development. On October 18, Reps. Everett and Riley introduced a bill in Washington that would “force the Creeks to use the property only for historic preservation and would prohibit casino gambling on the property” (Hodges 2000). The representatives knew the bill would not get passed because it was introduced so late in the session, but they expressed hope that it would at least get the issue “on the agenda” for future efforts. Despite the controversy in 2000, development of a bingo hall was not immediate because the archaeological work was not completed. In fact, construction on a temporary facility did not begin until October of the following year. It was immediately prior to the start of this construction that a new round of preservation efforts took place – efforts largely centered on the preservation of the Wetumpka community. At a September 24 City Council meeting, the council voted to authorize Wetumpka Mayor R. Scott Golden to offer to purchase Hickory Ground for up to $20,000 an acre. The council also authorized an alternative proposal – to build a Creek Indian museum at the city’s expense if the Poarch Band agreed to abandon gaming plans on the property (Lackeos 2001b). Opposition also gained momentum within the River Oaks Homeowners Association. One resident of the subdivision, Lisa Finley, expressed concern that the bingo hall would adversely affect the neighborhood. “I’m not willing or wanting to move somewhere else. We’re fighting for our neighborhood, our children and our homes” (Lackeos 2001m). In reaction to the local opposition, Eddie Tullis announced that the Poarch Band would abandon gaming plans in Wetumpka if Governor Siegelman would allow the tribe to build a Class III casino in Atmore. He stated, “The people of Wetumpka have made an emotional decision that they’re going to be overrun by a horde of prostitutes if the bingo parlor is built. I would be totally flabbergasted if there was any organized opposition in Atmore” (Schrenk 2001).
23 The Thlopthloco Tribal Town was once a tribal town within the larger Creek Nation, but sought and obtained federal recognition as a distinct entity.
143 When clearing of the land for construction began at the beginning of October, several people began picketing the site with a permit from Wetumpka City Hall. There were three primary protestors occasionally joined by others. The three were characterized in the media as: Milton Meads, a Cherokee Indian who lives in Clay County, Sonia Landers, an Onondaga Indian from Goodwater in Coosa County, and her husband, Charles Landers, a Creek Indian, also of Goodwater (Lackeos 2001c). They were primarily concerned that nothing be built on top of burials. Eddie Tullis responded that the proposed construction would not be atop any burials, and further countered that many burials had been impacted or destroyed during construction of the River Oaks Subdivision. Furthermore, Chairman Tullis stated several times in various media outlets that gaming was essential to create jobs for tribal members and that a museum alone would not generate enough revenue for the types of education scholarships and improved health care services the tribe wished to provide its citizens (Lackeos 2001f, 2001j, 2001m). In fact, gaming would be necessary for the tribe to have sufficient resources to build a museum of the necessary “magnitude” in the first place (Lackeos 2001h). These comments indicated a concern for the preservation and maintenance of culture rather than any fixed aspect of place. On October 3, it was reported that the City of Wetumpka had filed a civil suit in U.S. District Court in Montgomery seeking to halt construction of the bingo hall based on the claim that the construction was in violation of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (Lackeos 2001d). However, the city agreed to temporarily delay the lawsuit until after a meeting could take place with the Poarch Band. For its part, the Poarch Band agreed to halt construction until that time. Eddie Tullis said he would arrange a meeting for Mayor Golden to address the tribal council with the city’s offer to buy the land. However, he did point out that even if the council were to agree to the deal, federal regulations would prohibit the sale without an act of Congress. On October 9, Mayor Golden made his presentation to the council offering to buy the land. He offered to buy either all 50 acres24 of the Poarch Band’s land for $900,000 or the 35 trust acres for $704,000 (Lackeos 2001f). The hour-long meeting was contentious because of comments Mayor Golden made relative to the Poarch Band’s sovereignty – comments examined
24 The tribe’s total holdings in Wetumpka include approximately 35.5 acres of land held in trust and 14.5 acres of fee simple property purchased by the tribe over the years.
144 further in Chapter Eight. At any rate, on October 18, the tribal council met and voted unanimously to turn down the city’s offer (Lackeos 2001g). Once that decision was made, the city decided to proceed with the civil suit. At a city council meeting, the council authorized Mayor Golden to spend up to $20,000 in legal fees on the suit. According to the media, the attorney for the Poarch Band, Mays Jemison, laughed when he learned of the $20,000 limit. Mays stated that if the judge were to grant the city’s request for a temporary injunction, it would stop progress on the bingo hall until a judge could hear both sides in the case and make a ruling. If that occurred, Mays would ask the judge to require Wetumpka to put up a bond for $2 to $3 million. If the judge were to rule in favor of the Poarch Band, the bond money would be awarded to the tribe as compensation for lost revenue during the months the bingo hall would not be in operation (Lackeos 2001h). Perhaps in an attempt to combat this financial disparity, at their October 31 meeting, the Alabama Historical Commission voted to join the City of Wetumpka in the lawsuit. The meeting minutes indicate that the AHC authorized the state attorney general to intervene on its behalf in the case. Furthermore, in an effort to support their case, the AHC requested that the Secretary of Interior conduct a formal archaeological survey pursuant to the Historic Archaeological Data Protection Act (Noles and Satterfield 2001). This move was publicized the next day (Associated Press 2001b). In response, Tullis said that archaeologists had already identified the graves located at Hickory Ground, and that they would not be damaged during construction. Tullis again argued that “he heard no outcry” from archaeologists, the Alabama Historical Commission or Wetumpka officials when other portions of the site were being developed into the River Oaks Subdivision (Lackeos 2001j). The situation remained at a stalemate for several weeks until November 20, when it was announced that the City of Wetumpka had agreed to drop their lawsuit in return for a promise by the Poarch Band to help with road construction and the building of a new fire station (Lackeos 2001k). This left the Alabama Historical Commission in the lurch with the lawsuit, prompting then chairman of the AHC Craig Sheldon to write a letter to Mayor Golden (Sheldon 2001). Sheldon wrote of the publicity for the agreement, “There was no mention [in the media] of the archaeological resources, the priceless historic Creek Indian heritage, and the remaining human burials at the Hickory Ground Site. Yet, only a few weeks ago, Wetumpka officials were
145 exclaiming that the proposed bingo hall would seriously damage these archaeological and historic patrimonies.” He went on to describe the original intent in purchasing the property: “The predominant sentiment in the archaeological community was that ownership by existing Indian groups was a new and promising way to protect archaeological sites. We felt that a very valuable undisturbed Historic Creek Indian site had been saved.” Consequently, “the announcement in the mid 1980s that a casino or bingo hall would be built at the Hickory Ground Site came as a shock!” Sheldon concluded:
This is a sad ending to an idea that started so well. Any claim by the present Wetumpka administration to a commitment to the community's historical and cultural heritage has been seriously compromised by the recent settlement. Particularly galling, is the failure of any city official to express any feeling of regret over the loss of so important a part of our community's past. I will find it very difficult to support the present city government in any future projects that may impact archaeological and historical resources.
The doors to the new, temporary, bingo hall opened on November 24, 2001 (Lackeos 2001l). The facility was essentially several modular buildings bolted together atop a base of fill material. This was done so that the bingo hall could be open while archaeological excavations continued in the area of a permanent gaming facility. Within days of the facility opening, Representatives Riley and Everett again sought to stop the gaming activities. They opened investigations into whether the electronic bingo machines used at the bingo hall should be properly classified as Class II or Class III. Class II gaming is legal in Alabama; Class III is not. Tullis was quoted in the media as saying the investigation was politically motivated because Riley was running for governor. Riley replied that such claims were “cynical,” pointing out the efforts he and Representative Everett had made to stop the gaming well before he began running for governor. Riley expressed concern over the manner in which the land was purchased originally. He said the land was purchased with federal grants, which are taxpayer money, to protect the land from development, and that the land was to be used for historic preservation and archaeological investigation. Riley argued, “If taxpayers had known the land would be used for bingo or casino
146 gaming it would have never been bought.” Tullis responded that the machines are legal and pointed out, “These congressmen will be using public money…to drag this issue through the courts” (Baggett 2001). Despite this latest opposition, by the first of the year, the bingo hall was doing so well that on January 2 the Poarch Band announced plans to expand it as soon as possible (Chandler 2002). With a visible increase in traffic along Highway 231, business in Wetumpka was reportedly booming (Associated Press 2002). The manager of the Wetumpka Wendy’s stated that sales at his restaurant had been up each month since the bingo parlor opened, and two area developers spoke of landing a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Along with the proposed expansion, the tribe announced plans to increase the number of employees at the bingo hall from 38 to 60 with the majority of jobs to go to Wetumpka area residents. Nonetheless, the announcement of a planned expansion brought on a new round of opposition from the Alabama Historical Commission. Tom Maher, state archaeologist, said of the original land transfer, “We thought the best thing we could do is put it in the hands of the descendants. We were trying to protect the site.” At the time, “we thought it was going to be used for a cultural center or a museum. That’s not how it turned out, obviously.” He went on to express concern over burials being disturbed. However, Eddie Tullis replied once again that no graves had been disturbed by the construction (Chandler 2002). The following month, Tom Maher reported to the February 6 AHC meeting that, as discussed above, the Commission had requested that the Department of Interior conduct a historical resource survey pursuant to the federal Historic Archaeological Data Protection Act. Although the DOI conducted such a survey, “serious questions as to the validity and accuracy of its survey…sparked the AHC to protest the survey and request further survey work” (Noles and Satterfield 2002). This request was publicized the following day (Bailey 2002). According to the article, the Alabama Historical Commission wrote Interior Secretary Gale Norton in the fall of 2001 requesting a site survey before the gaming hall was built, but the request was refused. Neal McCaleb, assistant secretary for Indian affairs, replied that federal archaeologist Donald R. Sutherland visited Hickory Ground in October and found no evidence of damage to archaeological data and no reason for a formal investigation. McCaleb wrote, “We are satisfied
147 that cultural resources at the Hickory Ground site are protected and that no violations of federal law have occurred.” The AHC had again expended its options. Later in the year, however, several new efforts were made by others. On July 17, Robert Trepp, a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, testified before the U.S. Congress at a session regarding sacred sites. His testimony focused in part on Hickory Ground (Trepp 2002). He noted, “The Poarch Band has conducted archeological surveys, graded land, installed utilities, and built a bingo hall on the site. All these actions were taken or approved by the Eastern Area Office of the BIA, without any consultation whatsoever with the people of Hickory Ground Tribal Town.” As a way to give the Tribal Town a voice on the matter, Mr. Trepp suggested that Congress “suspend the Trust status of these lands until an agreement might be reached regarding their preservation.” As discussed in the preceding chapter, this testimony was the first in a series of attempts to stop the development largely on the basis of concerns about sacredness. For example, on September 10, 2002, Mr. Trepp and Mr. Tullis both appeared on the Native America Calling radio program to discuss the issue (Native America Calling 2002). This was followed by an October 19 letter from the Hickory Ground Tribal Town to the Poarch Band and the Bureau of Indian Affairs (Thompson, Thompson and Soweka 2002). This letter was written with support from the Intertribal Sacred Land Trust, a non-profit organization that provided pro-bono legal assistance to the tribal town. In the letter, the Hickory Ground Tribal Town accused the Poarch Band and the BIA of failing to file proper notice with them under the Native American Graves and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA). The Town accused the Poarch Band of profiting from not doing so. The Town argued that, as far as it knew, the Poarch Band could be selling the excavated remains, and even if not, the Poarch Band “is profiting by failure to make required expenditures for consultation, examination, evaluation, excavation, conservation and repatriation or reinterment.” The Tribal Town expressed serious concerns over the removal of burial remains at the site. “This action exposes not only the perpetrator and their associates but also our people, here at Hickory Ground, to danger and disease.” They also worried that there are no established ceremonies with which to re-bury the dead, and asked that the burials not be scientifically analyzed at a university or other laboratory. Thus, they were worried about not only their health and livelihood, but also the relevance of their culture in the face of such situations.
148 The Tribal Town warned that if these concerns were not addressed, they would seek legal action on the NAGPRA issue. They also accused the Poarch Band of being in violation of the Archaeological Resource Protection Act (ARPA), legislation that protects burial and other archaeological remains on tribal lands. They argued that the Poarch Band had falsified information regarding the location of burials to the BIA officials who visited the site, leading the BIA to issue permits based on incomplete knowledge. Many of the same claims were made in a 2002 article published on the Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch website. The article was published immediately after it was announced that the Poarch Band had reached an agreement with Harrah’s Casinos to build a $100 million facility at Hickory Ground. It called into question the integrity of claims made by the Poarch Band regarding archaeological work on the property. The article noted that several archeological surveys performed over the years have yielded different results. “Independent experts have always reported significant findings and many burials; consultants hired by the Poarch Band have reported no burials and no cultural objects.” The latter category of results was questioned. “The Hickory Ground people in Oklahoma…do not understand how a site occupied over 60 years by 300 to 400 people could contain no burials.” All of this publicity regarding impacts to the burials and sacred characteristics of Hickory Ground resulted in it being added to multiple lists of endangered sacred sites in the ensuing years (Harjo 2003, 2002, 2006b; The Morning Star Institute 2003). Furthermore, recent interviews conducted for this study indicate that consultation on these aspects of Hickory Ground continues to be ongoing. In the summer of 2006, a meeting was held at Hickory Ground between the Muscogee Nation and the Poarch Band. This meeting was characterized as “informational” by one member of the Poarch Band whom I interviewed (Interview H). However, the tribe is “hoping to work out an agreement for preservation of the site…to [the Muscogee Nation’s] satisfaction.” As the interviewee stated, “Even if they’re not happy with what we’ve done, we can still work out where they have participation.” Both sides are hopeful that can happen (Interview J), and that the tribes can re-forge relationships. “One of my dreams would be to see the Muscogee Creek Nation and the Poarch Creeks reconnect diplomatically” (Interview H). In fact, several participants in this research expressed to me that they were concerned not to jeopardize the tentative connections made between the tribes.
149 Opposition from local Wetumpka-area residents has also been ongoing and is likewise being addressed. As late as 2004 the mayoral and city council elections in Wetumpka indicated that impacts of the casino on life in Wetumpka were still a major concern, as nearly all of the candidates cited it as an important issue affecting the city (Blackburn 2004; "City District 2 and 3 candidates share views" 2004; "District 4 and 5 candidates share views" 2004). Current Wetumpka city officials declined to be interviewed for this research, but several Wetumpka citizens theorized off the record that this was because officials are largely in favor of the casino economically, but fearful to appear in favor of it for political reasons. While several residents of the River Oaks subdivision also declined to be formally interviewed for this project, many continue to be opposed to the casino for various reasons. For example, a meeting regarding the introduction of alcohol to the current gaming center was contentious, as residents feared a rise in drunk driving through their neighborhood (Bonvillian 2006b). However, much like the city, the River Oaks neighborhood has an interest in maintaining a good working relationship with the Poarch Band. The tribe has made several efforts to address the concerns of both groups. Concerns about traffic amongst River Oaks residents as well as the City as a whole were at least temporarily mollified when the tribe paid for a new traffic light and turning lane on the main highway. However, traffic remains a concern as the only major thoroughfare passes by the entrance to the gaming facility. Once a full-scale casino and all of the associated facilities open, the fear is that traffic will become a real problem. The tribe has also worked with the local religious community to a degree. Not all of the religious opposition was strictly to gaming; historic preservation was also a concern, albeit in a way that was related to gaming. One area religious leader told me, “My biggest problem is that if I was doing something trying to preserve the history of my people, I would hate to think that [leaving a legacy of gambling] was all I could do…I would hate to think that I was leaving to my grandchildren a legacy that was taking advantage of somebody and that’s what gambling does” (Interview N). According to another citizen of Wetumpka, the bingo hall was not originally open on Sundays as an accommodation to the local religious community, although the gaming center was eventually converted to a 24-hour facility (Interview M). The tribe has also donated to various causes and events within the community ("Poarch Creek Indians Contribute to March of Dimes"
150 2005; Sullivan 2004). These efforts have worked to quiet opposition somewhat, but should a Class III gaming facility open, a new round of opposition would likely erupt. Another concern that came up during interviews was the overall historic nature of the city itself. One interviewee stated that as far as she could ascertain very little of the opposition within the general community to the Hickory Ground development had anything to do with historical or archaeological remains; it was all opposition to the casino. In fact, if anything, the proposed casino had exposed the “lack of a strong preservation thought” in Wetumpka. She cited two instances of historic buildings (in this case meaning greater than 50 years of age) being torn down for purposes of constructing strip mall development to take advantage of gaming traffic. She expressed concerns over what this sort of development would do to the character of the town (Interview M). As for concerns regarding the historical and archaeological preservation of Hickory Ground, people today still have very different views about what happened and what should happen. One item of contention remains the twenty-year preservation covenant. Members of the Poarch Band whom I interviewed maintain that they were never in violation of the covenant and that some form of development was always part of the plan. Meanwhile several former and current employees of the Alabama Historical Commission maintain that the covenant was violated and that commercial development was a surprise to everyone. A member of the Poarch Band explained, “When a site is on the National Register, it does not mean that you cannot do any archaeological work” (Interview H). While the covenant was still in place, the tribe set about conducting archaeology to determine the site boundaries and the concentration of resources within the site with an eye toward development later on, which he argued was always part of the plan. “We said all along that we were going to put a bingo hall there and a museum, and that the proceeds from the bingo hall would go to the maintenance and the development of the museum.” He thought that much of the opposition emerged when people saw the tribe conducting a survey and they assumed the tribe was just going to bulldoze the site, which was not the case. He suggested that some of the press got out of hand, such as when the tribe was compared to the Taliban; however, he acknowledged that some of that was the tribe’s fault for not being more open about what was going on.
151 He cited several examples of the tribe’s preservation efforts, particularly relative to the concerns of others. He noted that the Alabama Historical Commission encouraged the tribe to locate the facility elsewhere, and that he was in favor of such a move, but there was nowhere else to put it. Gaming laws forbid tribes from taking land into trust purely for the purpose of gaming. As a result, they chose to conduct archaeological excavations. Additionally, he was aware of the Muscogee Creek view that the entire site is sacred, but says that was not the Poarch Band’s view. However, when the square ground and council house were uncovered, they were photographed, covered over, and left in place to be preserved. Furthermore, none of the burials uncovered in later excavations was ever removed from the site and all burials and mortuary goods will be reinterred in a dedicated area. He felt that the Poarch Band’s efforts toward preservation have been more than adequate. “What I’m trying to say is we’ve done things by the book for years. We’ve done things the way they are supposed to be done.” Besides, he notes, “If we hadn’t have gotten the site, it would have been bulldozed…If we hadn’t have gotten it, there would be a Wal-Mart there, or an apartment complex” (Interview H). These sentiments were echoed by another tribal member. “Had it not been for the Poarch Band of Creek Indians, there would not be that reservation of the site that’s going to be preserved forever” (Interview G). This interviewee also felt strongly that the tribe had not been in violation of the preservation covenant when archaeological work began. “They [the Alabama Historical Commission] were willing to help us preserve this property in return for a commitment from us that we wouldn’t develop it without archaeological work being done…they did not even attempt to hold up the development of it other than we agreed that we wouldn’t do anything until the archaeological work had been done.” Part of the problem as he saw it was that there was not a clear delineation in the beginning of what portions of the site were to be preserved, and what portions were acceptable for development. He felt that Hickory Ground was once two to three times as large as it is now, with portions destroyed by the adjacent highway and housing development. This feeling led the tribe to question which portions of the site were significant, particularly since so much of it was already developed. As he stated, “One of the compelling issues is, where was Hickory Ground and how can you isolate any of it? How do we demonstrate to people where Hickory Ground was and how
152 this piece of property is significant to us? We decided to do something about that.” Thus, the tribe conducted archaeological work to determine firstly if all of the land was indeed part of the archaeological site and secondly which portions were significant. Like the first interviewee, he was quick to point out that the tribe had on several occasions gone above and beyond what was required for preservation. For example, when the temporary bingo hall was put in, the tribe chose an area with a low artifact concentration and used 18” of fill dirt, 4” more than the BIA required. He cited this as an example of how the tribe’s efforts to go beyond the basic requirements resulted in a good outcome. Once the area for the permanent facility was fully excavated, the temporary building and fill were removed to begin excavations there. This area turned out to be on the edge of the square ground and council house that have since been set aside for preservation in perpetuity (Interview G). From a different perspective, many at the Alabama Historical Commission felt betrayed by what they saw as a violation of the covenant. As an archaeologist who worked at Hickory Ground stated, “I think most people at the Alabama Historical Commission who made the initial purchase thought that they were preserving the site as it was - just as a field, that there would not be a development there. So I think there were some hard feelings on the part of the state employees that the Poarch Band wasn’t preserving it intact, they were going to develop it.” (Interview C) However, a former AHC employee indicated that the problem was not with development per se, but the type of development. As he noted,
Originally what we had talked about was doing a survey, because part of Hickory Ground was considered to be corn fields and part of it was village. We were going to determine where the village site was located and where the cornfields were located. In that area where the cornfields were located, they were going to build a Creek Indian museum, and a Creek Indian research center which would house the world’s largest collection of reference material on Creek Indians and also be an educational center. We had envisioned Creek Indian youth going to the research center and learning from archaeologists and anthropologists and elderly Creeks, about their heritage, their history (Interview A).
153 He stated that there was never any mention of commercial development, or of excavations of the entire site. When asked what he thought should be done with the site today, he replied, “Even though the site has been excavated, I think it still has some significance as being the site the Creeks chose to make their last capital. Therefore, it should still be a museum and research center --- and not a bingo parlor.” When asked why, he responded, “Well, why wouldn’t you build a bingo parlor at Mount Vernon? Do you think there would be a public uproar? Ellis Island, lets just tear everything down and build a bingo parlor or a gambling house there. There are some places that in the hearts of certain groups are sacred.” Again, development for a museum would be a compatible use for the site and would preserve its significance, but commercial development for a gaming facility would not. This reflects a view of preservation shared by a current AHC employee. He gave the example of another prominent Creek archaeological site in Alabama – Tukabatchee. When an aeronautics company wanted to locate there, the proposed facility would have been placed in the heart of the archaeological site. The AHC worked with the company to move the facility away from the main portion of the site. “Even then it still took close to a million dollars of archaeology and they were on the outskirts. If they tried to do it in the inside it would have taken literally ages and millions upon millions of dollars, but at that point then we would have to say no because occasionally you are going to find a site that is too significant to mitigate.” In other words, no amount of knowledge gained through archaeology would mitigate the loss of the site. To emphasize his point, he gave another example of the state capitol building. “If somebody wanted to bulldoze it and it wasn’t owned by the state and they were trying to get federal money we would just have to say no. I mean it is too historically significant both for its construction time, its architecture, its correlations with the Civil War, its correlations with Civil Rights” (Interview B). Many members of the archaeological community felt similarly that Hickory Ground should have been preserved, but argued that since the site has been excavated that is no longer feasible. One of the archaeologists who worked at Hickory Ground told me, “To archaeologists anything that disturbs the ground, whether it is a gambling casino or an orphanage is just as destructive. I still have my original attitude about preserving it, but that’s past history. Most of it has now been dug up and the remaining part will be dug up.”
154 In his view, the character of the place has changed. “It will no longer be an archaeological site so you can’t think of it like that anymore. It will be a modern hotel/resort place” (Interview D). And, as another archaeologist told me, the location is already fundamentally different than it was two hundred years ago. “You couldn’t take it back to 1800. There would be no way” (Interview E). For others though, the fact that the site has been excavated and that it will be developed does not change the significance of the place. “They are leaving the hearth and square ground area apparently fenced off, so there is some preservation of the archaeological site. There will be reburial at some point of the human remains on the site. So as a place it hasn’t changed even though the archaeological integrity is largely gone through mitigation” (Interview C). When asked if she thought the excavations mitigated the effects to the site, an AHC employee replied, “Archaeologically. That’s a whole different question than culturally, spiritually, to the Native Americans.” She explained:
I think it is still a significant site. Once there is a casino there, it is going to lose some of its ambience for certain, but I think it is. It would be eligible under criteria other than the potential to yield significant information anyway. I think it would be eligible under three of the four criteria. There are certain places that are just so important that just when you dig them, it doesn’t mean they lose their significance (Interview F).
When asked what the best thing for the archaeological site would be, she replied, “Well, before anything was done out there I would have said preservation in perpetuity.” However, since excavation had to take place:
I think that it has been done in the best possible way that it could be done. The archaeology has been top of the line from what I’ve seen. I think of course that people like Tim Thompson [of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma], that’s his family. I understand how it feels. I just have to look at it from an archaeology standpoint and archaeologically everything has been done right.
155 These thoughts were reiterated by another current AHC employee:
My personal feeling is I don’t care one way or another about a facility. I would prefer it not to have been there. We worked real hard not to have it be there…This was considered not really a lost cause but a prolonged cause and it didn’t work out the way we would have ideally preferred it. I can’t say it has worked out dreadfully, but it’s certainly not what we envisioned…but again, they’re doing it the way we would have wanted, in that the facility is not on the heart of the site (Interview B).
Thus, there seems to be a general feeling that preservation of the site would have been preferred, but there is little the Commission can do now beyond being thankful that at least archaeology was done. As for the perspective of other groups, views on preservation vary. A member of the Star Clan told me that she does not mind if something is built at Hickory Ground as long as ‘good’ archaeology is done in advance. As she pointed out, traditionally Creeks buried their dead in their houses, which may indicate a somewhat fluid idea about land use when it comes to sacredness (Interview L). On the other hand, a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation told me that many of the people he knew in Oklahoma would prefer that the site be “put back to the way it was,” but he acknowledged that things have progressed so far that such an outcome would be unlikely. Nonetheless, he expressed disappointment in the situation. “It’s kind of sad that had to happen, because that was the last ceremonial site that was still intact” (Interview J).
Conclusion
As stated previously in this chapter, the original transfer of Hickory Ground to the Poarch Band of Creek Indians was viewed at the time as an extremely successful preservation action – a model for future efforts. Given everything that occurred afterwards, can that action still be viewed as such? The success or failure of preservation efforts is largely dependent on what the intent of preservation was to begin with. As the data examined in this chapter indicates, there
156 was no consensus; people had very different ideas about what they were trying to preserve, and different ideas about how to go about it. For some the action has been very successful, and for others less so. These ideas about preservation have often been described in terms of historical or religious significance (as detailed in the two preceding chapters). Views on significance varied amongst different people and also across time, but a further divergence can be seen when considering what the significance of the site means in terms of acceptable land use. For those who argued that Hickory Ground should be preserved with no development of any kind, the site’s significance rests in its configuration. The view is that significance can be destroyed by change, and the current configuration must be preserved to both memorialize and provide continued access to that significance. Thus, place and identity are inextricably linked. Given the site’s significance to both heritage and sacredness, preservation in this manner indicates a concern that too much change would undermine identity. This certainly seems to be the case for members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. This is corroborated by a conversation that took place regarding another Creek site, Etowah Indian Mounds in northwest Georgia. In 2006, a tribal member was at the site conducting ground-penetrating radar (GPR) testing on portions of the site. Regardless of what the GPR located, he had no intention of digging it up. “To us, preservation means putting something in the ground and leaving it there.” Hearing this, an area archaeologist expressed disappointment that they would not be able to excavate. “I'd be disappointed if we couldn't excavate, but it’s not my history to do with what I want” (Bluestein 2006). History belongs to specific people; indeed, it is one of the foundations upon which their identity is built. Therefore, they have the right to determine what happens to the places that represent that history. Some of these same ideas were expressed about Hickory Ground. Many members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, and the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in particular, argued for the total preservation of the site with no excavation. Advocating a type of preservation in which not even archaeological excavations are allowed is a way to assert a measure of control over the site’s significance to oneself and one’s identity. Cultural ownership of a site implies knowledge of it; excavation would be providing that knowledge to others to whom it does not belong. Furthermore, excavation to mitigate the impacts of development would provide no value beyond destroying the site and thus negatively impacting those for whom the place is important. Thus,
157 just as the (mis-)treatment of places has the potential to impact identity, identity affects place by establishing acceptable uses of it. From another perspective, many of the archaeologists and historic preservationists involved with the case argued for preservation in the form of a museum or interpretive center. Here, the idea is that the history does not belong to one group of people, but should be shared amongst everyone. To let the site stay as a field or forestland limits its use outside of a small community. Fewer people would have incentive to visit, or would even be allowed to visit. However, to build a memorial, interpretive center, or museum may increase the amount of use, but it also limits the type of use. It limits activity to that facility. Furthermore, it treats the significance of the place as though it were something that used to be rather than is, which is something for which historic preservation as a whole has been criticized (King 2002). Proponents of this perspective advocated the preservation of a past heritage to be extended into the present through education, rather than the preservation of an existing heritage already in the present. They also advocated excavation for research, again relegating the place to the past and denying its importance to the present beyond its potential for providing scholarly knowledge. This treats the place’s significance to modern people as though it were part of their past and not part of who they are today. On the other hand, the proposal of a museum and associated research-based archaeology indicates that while some measure of change was acceptable, that change needed to be compatible with the existing archaeological site; development of Hickory Ground for commercial purposes would not be acceptable. This concern for compatibility indicates that the place needed to stay, at least partially, the same in order for it to have significance for the modern populace. Another argument about preservation was made by many in the Wetumpka area community and by others in Alabama state government. This argument was less about what should be at Hickory Ground, and more about what should not be there – namely gaming. Thus, this argument is similar to the one above in its stipulations about compatibility. In this case however, it is compatibility with the surrounding community that is important rather than compatibility with properties of the archaeological site. This concern for community compatibility also makes this argument similar to the first argument mentioned above. However, preservation of significance directly associated with
158 Hickory Ground is not necessary in this case. Instead, Hickory Ground could likely have been developed for other commercial purposes without much community concern. Thus, proponents argued for the preservation of what is not there rather than what is. A final view of preservation regarding Hickory Ground was that portions of the archaeological site/ceremonial center should be preserved with others developed commercially. The primary argument in favor of this perspective referred to the preservation of the Poarch Band as a culture, and also the Wetumpka community, through economic well-being and through knowledge gleaned from archaeology regarding their shared heritage. However, there were also related arguments regarding the futility of the perspectives listed above. Regarding the perspective of preserving the site untouched, members of the Poarch Band argued that allowing the land to lie undeveloped would cost the tribe money for upkeep (Interview H), and that much of Hickory Ground had already been destroyed during construction of the River Oaks neighborhood anyway. The construction of a museum was considered a worthwhile goal, but as pointed out above it was argued that some other type of development was necessary to pay for the cost of the museum. Finally, the idea that the museum could be financially solvent on its own was also questioned, given that many similar facilities around the state have had problems covering the cost of their upkeep with admission fees (Interview E). It is arguable that this perspective ties preservation too strongly to economic forces – or in other words that places should only be preserved if it is profitable to do so. In this perspective, significance has a market value, and other activities may be more profitable. However, the preservation of the council house and square ground, in addition to the inclusion of a reinterment area indicates that, even for those who hold this view, some aspects of place are worth more than their economic value – particularly when they help to alleviate the concerns of others. To return to the question of success or failure of preservation efforts, it is difficult to view the case in those terms because no one perspective affected the outcome alone. As a current AHC employee told me, “It was always an issue of place, and we had our interpretation and they had theirs. It took them a long time but their interpretation ended up holding more sway” (Interview B). It may have held more sway, but it did not necessarily win out. As indicated in previous chapters, the Poarch Band’s ideas about archaeology at Hickory Ground have changed over time. There was a time when the tribal leadership was uncertain if the archaeological site represented anything more than a temporary campground. Archaeology was
159 always part of the plan, but likely because of ongoing opposition more and more archaeology was conducted to the point that almost the entire site has now been excavated. Such extensive archaeology was not the desire of most opponents who wanted the site preserved as-is, or even those who favored excavation for research, but the Poarch Band viewed it as a solution to the problem of development. For the tribe and for most archaeologists, the archaeology has mitigated the impacts to the archaeological site. Whether the museum, the reinterment area, or the council house and square ground having been set aside is enough to mitigate effects to other aspects of heritage and sacredness is still open for debate. There are those who feel that these activities are enough, and there are those who feel that they are at best a consolation. Regardless, as many have correctly pointed out, if the Poarch Band had not gotten the property, it could be an apartment complex now, or a discount store, or any number of other things, and no preservation would have occurred at all. Similarly, if the only preservation options available were the ‘official’ avenues such as the Section 106 process, the outcome at Hickory Ground would have been much different; the current outcome is as much a function of the discursive interaction surrounding Hickory Ground as it is the official preservation process.
160 CHAPTER SEVEN INDIGENEITY
The preceding three chapters have examined arguments made about two related concepts of significance – heritage and sacredness – and arguments about what should be done to preserve that significance. The focus of this chapter is on arguments regarding what group of people has the most legitimate case to make those determinations. That is, who has the closest cultural identification with Hickory Ground, and thus should have the most say in what happens to it? While none of the participants in this conflict ever actually used the word indigenous, or indigeneity, arguments were framed in terms of Indian-ness, genealogical or cultural descent, and localness or citizenship. One definition of indigenous is to be “native, inherent, or innate” to a particular place ("indigenous" 1985). The types of arguments listed above were largely about who could claim to be the most ‘native’ with regards to Hickory Ground. Therefore, these arguments might usefully be grouped under the keyword indigeneity. Arguments over this keyword can be distinguished from those over sovereignty, the keyword featured in Chapter Eight. Indigeneity is similar to sovereignty in that both relate to the right to determine what happens to Hickory Ground, but whereas sovereignty has to do with political control, indigeneity has to do with cultural ties (i.e. who is the most local, who are the closest descendents). While some groups may not have political sovereignty over the land, they may still argue they have the closest cultural identification – that they are more indigenous to the place than another group. Arguments over this keyword are fundamentally arguments about identity, and efforts to both assert and ascribe it. Arguments about indigeneity in this case are about who possesses the cultural traits that give them the closest connection to Hickory Ground. They are also about who lacks such a connection. Because many of the groups involved in this case are Native American Tribes, these arguments are inseparable from the long and troubled history of defining what it means to be Native American, a history that is examined here. In relationships between indigenous and non-indigenous groups25, non-indigenous groups are typically in relative positions of power, allowing them to view indigenous cultures in a
25 Here, I use the terms indigenous and non-indigenous in the broader sense of colonizers versus the colonized.
161 particular way. They often reduce the cultures of indigenous peoples to essentialized stereotypes. When those cultures are believed to have deviated too much from this perception, the culture is no longer seen as legitimate. This is particularly the case for Native Americans who must prove their legitimacy as such in order to obtain recognition by the U.S. federal government and the rights and benefits that come with that recognition. At the same time, the economic activities many tribes are able to engage in as a result of federal recognition (e.g. gaming) often place them at odds with the general populace who view such activities as the opposite of what Native Americans ‘should’ be doing. Because so much is at stake politically and financially, questions of Native American legitimacy are frequent and hotly contested. Since their first encounter with European explorers, the indigenous peoples of the Americas have been viewed and represented according to various essentialized stereotypes. These stereotypes have changed over time, but these changes have little to do with actual traits of Native Americans themselves. Rather, it is “only by looking at the changing agendas, values, and assumptions of the majority culture [that] we can understand how and why this transformation has occurred” (Deur 2002, p. 9). As noted by Deur (p. 6), these changing agendas, values, and assumptions “are inseparable from the larger debate surrounding aboriginal land and resource rights.” European settlers viewed and depicted Native Americans in ways that ultimately provided themselves with benefits in land. Under international agreements at the time, the nations engaged in early exploration could only claim discovery by declaring the land to be terra nullius – literally “no one’s land”. This legal doctrine “granted European powers the right to claim land that was not being utilized by another civilized people” (Deur, p. 6). A related concept was that of vacuum domicilium, or empty territory. Both of these doctrines created an incentive for Europeans to assert that native populations were not making use of some or all of the land, so that it was available for territorialization by Europe – an argument made all the easier to justify as disease epidemics spread, “emptying” more land (Harris 1997). When all the initially ‘available’ land was thoroughly occupied by European and African settlers, and expansion needs became apparent, it became necessary to portray the remaining native populations as less than human. The edges of settled, ‘civilized’ areas became the ‘frontier’ with all the associated connotations of the wilderness beyond. Native peoples became
162 in the minds of settlers brutal savages to be driven from the land in much the same way as land is cleared of vegetation and wildlife in advance of building. This conceptualization of Native Americans also served to ease the settlers’ concerns about their own civility as they found themselves moving ever further away from ‘civilization’. “The Indian became important for the English mind, not for the way he was in and of himself, but rather for what he showed civilized men they were not and must not be” (Pearce 1988, p. 5). Even living far out in the frontier, the settlers could always feel civilized in contrast to the Indians. As native groups were driven further westward and onto reservations, they “were assigned the legal status of children by the courts, being formally designated as wards of the state” (Deur 2002, p. 6). They were subjected to programs that attempted to force them to become culturally white. They were expected to adopt agriculture, learn English, practice Christianity, and, in general, give up their own cultures. Despite the ‘success’ of these programs in Westernizing Native Americans, few people in white society would accept them as equals. This exemplifies Bhabha’s (1994) concept of mimicry. In Bhabha’s framework, the colonizers (white Americans in this case) expect the colonized (the Native Americans) to become like them, without actually becoming them – “almost the same, but not quite” (p. 86). This is also an example of Bhabha’s concept of ambivalence. American society was ambivalent about the Indian populations, on the one hand being attracted to them and desirous of ‘improving’ their lot in life, but on the other hand being repulsed by the idea that they might be (or might become) too similar. The experience of the southeastern tribes, including the Creeks, was somewhat different. These groups were often referred to as “civilized” Indians because of their willingness to adopt “white” customs, albeit in a controlled manner (Frank 2005; Saunt 1999). They were not considered savages in the same way, nor were their lands considered terra nullius. Nonetheless, many were eventually removed westward to Oklahoma at the conclusion of the Creek War of 1813 and 1814. Some families who aided the U.S. during that war were allowed to stay on private lands, provided they accepted US laws, and the Poarch Band of Creek Indians is comprised of descendants of these families. However, tribal history demonstrates that, despite remaining in the Southeast, the group was never fully integrated into white society, and in fact
163 was subjected to segregationist policies such as children not being allowed to attend white schools (Poarch Band of Creek Indians 2009). While the depiction of Indians as savages akin to either wild animals or unruly children was prominent in the minds of many, another image of Indians often co-existed, and continues to exist, in the public perception – that of the “noble savage.”26 From the earliest days of European contact, Indians were represented by some as “peaceful, carefree, unshackled, eloquent, wise people living innocent naked lives in a golden world of nature” that was often portrayed in biblical Garden of Eden terminology (Krech 1999, p. 17). Thus, the noble savage represented to early settlers a way of life they perceived themselves to have lost in the distant past. This stereotype reveals another instance of ambivalence on the part of the colonizer. Just as white Americans had mixed feelings about Indians becoming too much like them, the idea of the noble savage reflects mixed feelings that settlers had (and continue to have) about becoming too much like Indians. The noble savage existed in the settlers’ distant past, and settlers were not sure whether a return to that past would be a good thing or not. While the image of the noble savage has shifted away from biblical iconography, it still represents for modern Americans a simpler way of life that they perceive as having lost. “Many mainstream Americans [envision] Native peoples as idealized versions of themselves, as the embodiments of virtues lost in the Western world” (Huhndorf 2001, p. 6). The image of the noble savage is thus tied to what Berman (1988, p. 16) refers to as the “maelstrom of modern life.” Berman argues that modernity is often experienced as a loss of history and traditions (p. 16). Without firm ties to the past, people experience a profound sense of unease about their current lives and futures. Therefore, “projecting onto Native Americans a ‘backward’ and ‘nonmodern’ lifestyle is vital to help non-Indians feel better about themselves and their future in a turbulent and fast-changing world” (Darian-Smith 2004, p. 5). Indeed:
The general sense among many people living in the United States today is that the capitalist-driven pace of living is too fast, that we are consumed by materialist values, and that notions of community and family are being compromised in the process. In contrast, the historical image of Native American peoples is that they
26 As early as the 1920s, scholars were compiling volumes on the existence of this phenomenon (Bissell 1925; Fairchild 1928).
164 live quite literally in another world, untouched and unblemished by capitalist morals, deeply connected to land and nature, and upholding family and community relationships as central to their communal lifestyle (Darian-Smith 2004, p. 5).
These ideas have led to the increasingly common phenomenon of ‘going native.’ Many non-Indians are drawn to Native culture and seek to become Native American – if not legally or politically, then at least spiritually. “Over the last century, going native has become a cherished American tradition, an important – even necessary – means of defining European-American identities and histories” (Huhndorf 2001, p. 2). Like the main character in the movie Dances With Wolves, non-Indians have sought to escape all that is wrong with their own societies by living amongst a perceived ‘nobler’ group of people. In more recent years, ‘going native’ more often takes the form of learning native culture and participating in powwows and other tribal activities, whether or not these things are reflective of historic Native cultures and beliefs. “In its various forms, going native articulates and attempts to resolve widespread ambivalence about modernity as well as anxieties about the terrible violence marking the nation’s origins” (p. 2). Another offshoot of the noble Indian stereotype is that of the ‘ecological Indian.’ The ‘ecological Indian’ as a concept existed for many years, but was co-opted by the environmentalist movement in the 1960s and 70s. It is perhaps best exemplified by the 1971 Keep America Beautiful ad campaign of the ‘Crying Indian’ (Krech 1999). The ad famously featured actor Iron Eyes Cody shedding a single, anguished tear for the environment. The ad “expressed the widely held perception, then and now, that there are fundamental differences between the way Americans of European descent and Indians think about and relate to land and resources” (p. 16). More broadly, the ecological Indian is a representation of “the Indian in nature who understands the systematic consequences of his actions, feels deep sympathy with all living forms, and takes steps to conserve so that earth’s harmonies are never imbalanced and resources never in doubt” (p. 21). This image does not deviate far from the original image of the noble savage. As Krech points out, the word ‘savage’ derives from the Latin silvaticus, which also gave us the words silva, selva, and sylvan. Thus, “savage connoted originally a state of nature” (p. 17). With the advent of the environmental movement and its deep concerns about what the dominant American
165 lifestyle was doing to the environment, non-Indians again turned to an image of a people perceived to be incapable of negative ‘modern’ behavior. The ecological Indian made non- Indians feel better about themselves; the perceived ecological practices of Native Americans offered an alternative, a way out, and ‘going native’ became all the more popular. Of course, the ways in which the image of the ‘ecological Indian’ has been taken up and used by Native groups themselves must also be considered (Harkin and Lewis 2007). It has not only given non-Indians a way to define their identities, it has given the newly strengthened American Indian political movement a positive identity to coalesce around. The idea that Native Americans are somehow more in tune with the environment than their non-Native counterparts is pervasive on both sides – a fact that has led to some real political consequences in terms of issues of legitimacy. Ishiyama’s (2003) case study of the conflict between the Skull Valley Band of Goshute Indians and the State of Utah illustrates this nicely. At the time the article was written, the Goshute Band had proposed to host a high-level radioactive waste facility on its reservation. The State of Utah was opposed to this undertaking, as were environmental activists and some Goshutes themselves who were allied with the environmentalists. Members of the tribe who did not share the desire to have nuclear waste disposal on the reservation criticized Goshute tribal leadership for not being ‘legitimate.’ Ishiyama also cites academic authors who “questioned the legitimacy of tribal governments on the grounds that they made harmful environmental decisions for economic benefits” (p. 120). She argues that the tribal governments were seen as illegitimate because they did not fit “the socially constructed image of American Indians as perfect preservationists” (p. 133). This image of ‘real’ Native Americans as being incapable of harming the environment extends to historic preservation. Non-natives destroy historic places all the time in the course of development, but they view Native Americans as incapable of such actions. ‘Legitimate’ Indians, the argument goes, would never harm their own history. All of these images, the noble Indian, the ecological Indian, and the ‘preservationist Indian,’ assign positive traits to Native Americas, yet they are “ultimately dehumanizing” (Krech 1999, p. 26). They distort culture and mask cultural diversity (p. 27). Furthermore, all of these depictions are imaginary, and tellingly, “this imaginary Indian is a being that is discussed largely in the past tense” (Deur 2002, p. 9). In contrast, “modern Indians…tend to be depicted as
166 culturally degraded, having somehow fallen from grace into a state of poverty and dependence. They have deviated from the mythic ideal” (p. 9). Perhaps this is the way it has always been; the perception of Native Americans in the public sphere has been relatively sympathetic, but the images are not realistic. In the early days of colonization, people viewed Native Americans as ‘noble savages,’ yet none of the actual Indians they encountered met the ideal, so mistreatment was to them justifiable. The situation is little changed today. The unrealistic images non-Indians have of Native Americans “exposes [them] to accusations of inauthenticity. Economic development, urban living, and other aspects of contemporary indigenous life that visibly deviate from the mythic ideal are commonly depicted as antithetical to cultural vitality and authenticity” (Deur, p. 9). As a reaction to this, the mythic ideal is often actively used by Native groups for economic benefit in an effort to increase their cultural vitality. This is not without its problems though. As alluded to earlier with the concept of ‘going native,’ “since the late 1980’s, Native Americans and their cultural heritage have found themselves in the forefront of popularity” (Martin 1998, p. 33). Census data shows that the American Indian population has been increasing, and “the most significant factor in [this] increase is growing pride in Indian heritage and resulting self-identification as American Indian” (Frantz 1999, p. 303). However, another reason people may claim an American Indian identity is “the perceived possibility that they may be eligible to share in the newly gained wealth of some tribes” (p. 303). To combat this, each individual tribe has its own standards for recognizing individuals as members. For example, the Poarch Band requires that new applicants for membership be at least one-quarter Indian, have a living, immediate family member already on the roll, and be descended from someone enumerated as Indian on either the 1870 or 1900 US Census of Escambia County, Alabama, or the 1900 US Special Indian Census of Monroe County, Alabama (Interview H). Of course, individuals who do not meet the membership criteria of any tribe can and do still claim identities as Native American, and may attempt to use those identities for economic gain. Indeed, Castile (1996) argues that Native American identity is inextricably tied to economics. Identity, particularly American Indian identity, is something that can be sold. It is something that is formed to be marketable to the dominant society. Thus, groups become “Indian” in order to present themselves as such on the market and profit from it. The
167 proliferation of Indian tourist shops and roadside attractions, not to mention Indian gaming facilities, supports this idea, and indicates the profitability of ‘being Indian.’ The problem, Castile postulates, is that the buyer wants an ‘authentic’ product – the “Real-McCoy” in his terms. One attempt to guarantee this authenticity is the Indian Arts and Crafts Act of 1990 (IACA). The IACA makes it a criminal offense for anyone not enrolled in a federally recognized tribe to identify as a Native American “for the purposes of selling artwork.” Fines can range from $250,000 to $5 million, and terms of imprisonment between 5 and 15 years (Barker 2003; Churchill 1999b). Setting aside issues of federal recognition for the moment, such laws give the consumer a certification to go by, but the consumer often wants more. They want to buy from ‘real’ Indians – in other words, Indians who fit the sorts of conceptions discussed above. In the view of most consumers, Native Americans cannot be modern entrepreneurs; instead, they “are expected to ‘culturally regress’ so that money can be made from their supposedly primal displays of culture” (Turco and Riley 1998, p. 180-1). All of this serves to illustrate that non-Indian conceptions about the legitimacy of Indians have at their heart the dichotomies of the ‘traditional,’ the ‘authentic,’ and the ‘indigenous’ versus the ‘modern,’ the ‘inauthentic,’ and the ‘impure.’ As it perhaps is for everyone, these dichotomies are false for American Indians. “They exist in a world where the two cultural categories fold into one another” (O'Neill 2004, p. 10). “Appeals to the authority of tradition do not preclude innovation” (Brow 1990, p. 3), nor does innovation imply an ignorance of tradition. As O’Neil (p. 3) argues, “American Indian cultural and economic innovations [are] neither ‘modern’ nor ‘pre-modern’ nor even ‘anti-modern.’” Perhaps they can instead be thought of in the post-colonial sense as “off-modern” (Boym 2001; Ramaswamy 2004). Then, by recognizing that the traditional and the modern can interact in complex ways, “we can move away from ‘impact’ studies that determine [for example] what casinos have ‘done’ to native peoples’ cultural and social life to instead show how tribal casinos are cultural and social practices worked out at the interface of economy and cultural production” (Cattelino 2004, p. 85). As discussed in Chapter Two, most scholars now consider culture to be a dynamic process rather than a fixed entity. Up to now this chapter has focused on how Indians are viewed by non-Indians, in a way similar to what Mills (1997) calls colonial discourse theory. Much of
168 this work (e.g. Said 1978) tends to focus on how colonizers portray those who are colonized and how these portrayals affect each group. “Underlying the idea of colonial discourse…is the presumption that during the colonial period large parts of the non-European world were produced for Europe through a discourse that imbricated sets of questions and assumptions, methods of procedure and analysis, and kinds of writing and imagery” (Hulme 1986, p. 2). Colonial discourse theory is then the study of these questions and assumptions, methods, writing, and imagery to show how the identities of both the colonized and the colonizers were formed. More recently, however, post-colonial theory has questioned this type of study. One of the main critiques of colonial discourse theory is that it “characterize[s] colonial discourse as a homogeneous group of texts, bearing one simple message about the colonized country” (Mills 1997, p. 106). It presumes there is a division between two distinct groups of people, with one doing the identifying and one being identified. Colonial discourse theory thus cannot offer an analysis of those voices that were excluded by the colonizers. This is one of Spivak’s (1988) key points. She argues that, “the colonized subaltern subject is irretrievably heterogeneous” (p. 284). Even in cases where the European colonizers may have been able to speak for a particular colonized subject, that subject is invariably the elite class; other groups are always excluded. Colonial discourse theory also leaves no room for resistance from the colonized themselves, and thus can offer no analysis of colonial discourses for the ways they have been affected by the colonized. “Although imperial writers often tried to maintain distance and differentiation between themselves and the colonized country, in fact the lived experience of colonialism was permeated by the presence of the colonized Other” (Mills 1997, p. 108). Bhabha’s (1994) work on mimicry in colonial identity formations echoes these concerns. He demonstrates how identity formations on both sides of the equation are predicated on complex relationships between the two. These are valid criticisms of colonial discourse theory and relevant in this case. Native American identity is, first, not a unified thing (except perhaps in cases where it is politically expedient), and, second, it should not be spoken of as if it was solely determined by the colonizing power – in this case, the United States. However, one of the more unusual aspects of Native American identity issues is that identity is very much tied to rather rigid definitions – definitions imposed in the legal system. Federal acknowledgement of Indian tribes is necessary for a number of purposes. Those who are unable to do so are denied benefits available to those
169 who are, and are treated as ‘false’ by the wider populace. In some cases (e.g. the Indian Arts and Crafts Act), ‘pretenders’ are even subject to legal sanction. Because of the federal acknowledgement policies, in a very real way people are limited as to expressions and acceptance of their identities by a colonizing power that ‘fixes’ identities in particular forms. A primary example of this phenomenon may be found in Clifford’s (1988) account of the Mashpee Indian trial of the 1970s. The purpose of the trial was to prove tribal status for the Mashpee in order for the group to then sue for land claims. The trial is thus a case study in the ways that culture is written. Using the same documentary evidence, the Mashpee and their opponents were each able to ‘write’ two very different Mashpee histories. The opponents’ history construed the Mashpee as posers, trying to gain recognition purely for economic benefit. The Mashpee were portrayed in ways contrary to the types of characterizations listed above (e.g. the Noble Savage). The Mashpee eventually lost the case, unable to prove to the court that they existed as a tribe at various specified points in time. Nonetheless, the case and its outcome led Clifford to reflect that culture, in as much as it exists as a category, is never really static. It is constantly changing, and, therefore, legitimacy should not be based on static notions of culture – particularly when those static notions are based on ideals that did not necessarily ever exist. In the years following Clifford’s account, much has been written about Native American legitimacy amongst tribes throughout the country. Often, the first broad issue addressed is a distinction between two categories of Native Americans: those whose identity is in question, and those whose identity is more ‘obvious’ (those who live on reservations and/or have had treaty or other historical relationships with the federal government). The first category is the subject of quite a bit of attention especially in light of federal government recognition practices - particularly because recognition by the federal government confers political, economic, and social benefits to tribes that have it. A few of these benefits are discussed below. Politically, recognized tribes have a government-to-government relationship with the United States. Recognized tribes are also beneficiaries of various pieces of legislation. For example, “recognized Indian tribes may assert reclamation rights to archaeological burial findings under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA)” (Cramer 2005, p. 6). On the other hand, they are also subject to various pieces of legislation like the Indian Reorganization Act that dictates tribal political organization.
170 Economically, recognized tribes have access to federal programs and monies set aside for them, such as “the BIA’s administration of tribal trust funds and lands, the provision of law enforcement and health care, and loan opportunities for Indian businesses, education, home improvements, and the leasing of land” (p. 6). They also “benefit from tax-exempt status (though federal income tax is deducted from tribal members’ paychecks earned from tribal enterprises)” (p. 6). In addition, federal recognition presents tribes with the type of authenticity mentioned by Castile (1996) needed for their own economic endeavors. Socially, federal recognition provides a sense of validation to communities that receive it. The flip side of this is the need to prove identity. The process of applying for and obtaining recognition is time consuming and costly for tribes. It can also lead to further feelings of ill will toward the idea of having to prove oneself to anyone. With so much at stake, the question of what constitutes a ‘real’ Indian tribe becomes important, and much has been written about the government’s attempts to answer this question (Greenbaum 1985; Hagan 1985; Harmon 1990). There are over 560 federally recognized tribes currently administered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. For the majority of these tribes, their relationship to the federal government was established either through treaties or some form of legislation. Prior to 1978, groups seeking recognition by the government typically went through legislative or judicial channels, though a small number went through the BIA. In all avenues, decisions were made on a case-by-case basis. However, “recognition practices in the three branches were far from uniform and continued unregulated” until the instillation of the current practices (Cramer 2005, p. 37). The current standards for recognition, legally termed acknowledgment when using this route, were put in place in 1978. At that time, the BIA instituted a set of mandatory criteria for the federal acknowledgment process (FAP) and created the Branch of Acknowledgment and Research (BAR) to oversee the process. Congress never passed legislation authorizing the BAR, nor did it ever approve the mandatory criteria (Cramer, p. 37). Nonetheless, the BAR criteria have been the standard by which most recognition cases have been decided since 1978. There are seven criteria that have been amended twice since 1978 to their current configuration. Currently, in order to be recognized through the BAR, an Indian tribe must:
1. Establish that the group has been identified as an American Indian entity on a substantially continuous basis since 1900.
171 2. Establish that a predominant portion of the petitioning group comprises a distinct community and has existed as a community from historical times until the present. 3. Establish maintenance of their political influence and authority over its members as an autonomous entity from historical times until the present. 4. Furnish a copy of current tribal governing documents, including membership criteria. 5. Furnish a membership list, and establish that the petitioner’s membership consists of individuals who descend from a historical Indian tribe or from historical Indian tribes which combined and functioned as a single autonomous political entity. 6. Establish that their membership is not substantially composed of members of other tribes. 7. Establish that Congress has not barred them from achieving recognition as an Indian tribe, and that they have not been Terminated. (Cramer, p. 37-8)
In the period from 1978 to 2000, the BAR received 250 letters of intent to petition. Of these, only 55 petitions were actually completed and filed. Of these, the BAR completed the adjudication of thirty-three claims. Fifteen tribes were recognized by this process, including the Poarch Band of Creek Indians (officially recognized in 1983). As of 2000, fifteen were denied recognition. The other three were awaiting final determination (Cramer 2005). Despite the BAR’s seeming monopoly of the recognition process, the legislative route to recognition remains open. “Since the BAR’s creation, Congress has recognized fourteen tribes and has restored thirty-seven from Terminated status” (Cramer, p. 44). However, none of the fourteen new recognitions occurred after the tribe had been denied acknowledgment by the BAR. Of the routes to recognition, the legislative appears to be the most political, and uncertain. There are no standards by which Congressional judgments are made – or withdrawn. The legislative route largely depends on the particular congressman or woman in office at the time, and on the tribe’s financial and political lobbying abilities. For these reasons, many tribes prefer to use the BAR process. Nonetheless, there are also many concerns with the BAR process and with the concept of federal recognition in general. These concerns can be placed into three main categories as defined by Cramer (2005): cash, color, and colonialism. Each of these concerns is considered in greater detail below.
172 The first problem identified by Cramer is the enormous financial burden placed on tribes in seeking recognition. The entire cost of completing the application, which typically involves large research expenditures, is borne by the tribe. Between 1994 and 2000, the average petition cost nearly $1 million (Pevar 2004, p. 311). There is also a large investment of time. “On average, a petitioner spends six to ten years collecting and transcribing oral histories, drawing maps, and researching county records as it documents its claim” (Cramer, p. 51). This is an enormous drain on the resources of petitioning groups, particularly given that Native Americans as a whole represent the most impoverished ethnic group in the country. In 2006, the poverty rate among Native Americans was 25.3 percent (US Census Bureau 2006). There is financial assistance available to such petitioners through various third party organizations, but that must also be applied for. A closely related concern is expenses incurred by the BAR in adjudicating petitions. From 1978-1990, the BAR estimates it spent approximately $285,000 per petition. From 1990- 1994, the cost rose to $1 million per petition (three petitions were reviewed during that time period). The average annual appropriation to the BAR is only $900,000. Once a petition is submitted to the BAR, the evaluation can take an additional six to ten years, in no small part because of lack of funding and staffing (p. 55). The BAR also has a financial interest not to approve petitions. Every new tribe acknowledged means more of a financial drain on the BIA as a whole. For new tribes with fewer than 1,500 members, the BIA allocates $160,000 in startup money. Tribes with between 1,500 and 3,000 members receive $300,000. Tribes with more than 3,000 members are reviewed on a case-by-case basis. Admitting a tribe like the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina with an estimated membership of 51,913 people could be an incredible drain on the BIA in startup money alone. Therefore, as Cramer points out, “the BIA has an apparent conflict of interest – by acknowledging more groups, it increases its service population without having the wherewithal to increase its funding” (p.55). This causes existing recognized tribes to fear a loss of financial benefits and therefore to actively discourage the recognition claims of other tribes. A similar situation exists in areas where a recognized tribe has a casino and the tribe seeking recognition is located too closely within the existing casino service area. Such is the case with the recognized Poarch Band of Creek Indians and the unrecognized Mowa Choctaw Indians in extreme southwestern Alabama.
173 Turning from ‘cash’ to Cramer’s second concern, color, Greenbaum (1991) explores the federal requirements for recognition in depth to demonstrate how race is an issue. For example, the first of the seven acknowledgment criteria “requires continuous external identification as an Indian community.” The argument in favor of this criterion closely follows that asserted by Paredes (1995). He argues that it does not matter what people think of themselves; it only matters how others view them. To explain this contention, he divides Indians into three categories: cultural, social, and genetic. Being genetically Native American is necessary, but not sufficient, to be a ‘social Indian’. Likewise, being recognized socially as an Indian is necessary, but not sufficient, to be a ‘cultural Indian’. Paredes argues that being an Indian ‘socially’ is the more important factor in determining legitimate ‘Indian-ness.’ Genetics does not necessarily dictate identity, especially in tribes that have a high degree of white or black intermarriage (although, as indicated above, Paredes does feel some degree of Native American ‘blood’ is necessary). Likewise, notions that certain cultural characteristics must be present in order to be a ‘real’ Indian are not valid because culture is not fixed; it changes over time. What represented a cultural Indian in 1850 is different from what represents a cultural Indian today. Therefore, Paredes concludes, one must be recognized by others as an Indian in order to be an Indian. In contrast, Greenbaum (1991) argues that this criterion of external identification “introduces an ineluctable racial bias” to the process. Having to prove that their neighbors consider(ed) them Indian forces tribes to rely on racial determinations. This is contrary to federal law which “clearly specifies that the status of Indian tribes is not racial, but political” (p. 107). Furthermore, in constructing identity throughout their histories, tribes may have had to negate certain racial, cultural, or ethnic categories depending on the climate of the times. Zug G. Standing Bear (1994) writes about how possessing a Native American identity has changed from negative to positive over the course of the last century. Prior to the activism of the mid-twentieth century, pride was typically not something felt by Native Americans. Many groups tried to hide their identities from others if possible. Such negations in the past, especially if effective in influencing the opinions of their neighbors, can today make recognition of tribes difficult, especially if one were to adhere strictly to Paredes’ criteria. Widespread intermarriage between tribal groups and both whites and blacks has also introduced racial issues to the recognition process. Some groups contend that they are treated
174 differently if a larger portion of their intermarriage occurred with blacks than with whites. “Groups like the Mowa Choctaws (Alabama), Golden Hill Paugussetts (Connecticut), and Ramapough Mountain Indians (New Jersey), complain about the racial attitudes they’ve encountered at the BAR. All feel that they have been ‘accused’ of having too much black blood; all have been denied acknowledgment by both the BAR and Congress” (Cramer 2005, p. 60). This may be an even larger problem for tri-racial groups such as the Melungeons, as they can be accused of being too mixed to belong to any one group (Winkler 2004). Some of these issues are addressed in the debate over the so-called “Southeast Syndrome” (Quinn 1990). Quinn, a former BIA officer, writes passionately about what he sees as a major problem facing Indian Country – the proliferation of groups trying to claim Indian status who are not truly Indians. Since the majority of such groups (according to him) come from the Southeast, Quinn terms this phenomenon “the Southeast Syndrome”. In a point-by-point rebuttal of Quinn’s argument, Starna (1991) argues that such groups are hurting no one by their actions. If these groups are willing to take on the costs of applying for recognition, it is not that much of a burden on the government to deny their claims (though see Cramer’s argument above). The true measure of Quinn’s comments, though, comes from his blatant racist beliefs about who makes an Indian. As argued by Starna, Quinn fails to take into account forced acculturation and rewards for intermarriage in his assessment of groups he deems “essentially white”. Starna argues that there is nothing inherently wrong in groups coming together and seeking a ‘lost’ identity. What is inherently wrong is the system that dictates that recognition by the federal government is necessary for a legitimate identity. Despite this point, others side with Quinn’s ideas if not his particular phrasing (Hagan 1985; Paredes 1995). For all of these reasons and more, Greenbaum (1991) argues against using fixed notions of identity in the recognition process in favor of a more fluid definition of identity. “If the BIA fails to account properly for distortions that have affected the constructed, as opposed to the factual, origins of ethnic identity among southern Indian tribes, then this process can only serve to perpetuate past wrongs” (p. 116). This is part of the argument that the whole concept of recognition is an element of ongoing American colonialism. There are a number of scholars who are opposed to the entire concept of recognition by the federal government. Authors like Churchill (1996) argue that any form of identification that comes from outside is a negation of a tribe’s sovereignty. The issue of sovereignty is discussed
175 in greater detail in Chapter Eight, but suffice it to say here that for some a tribe’s ability to determine who they are for themselves is a key element of sovereignty. Additionally, the recognition process, and particularly the third criterion about “political influence and authority,” forces tribes to adopt what they see as a “white” form of governance. “Determinations of what constitutes legitimate forms of democratic governance are predicated upon a separation of church and state, representative (rather than participatory) democracy, and separations of powers and functions of leadership” (Cramer 2005, p. 60-1). If a tribal group has always made political decisions by group vote rather than by representative leadership, it can be hard to prove “maintenance of political influence and authority over its members.” Additionally, changes existing tribal governments go through as a result of the petitioning experience are problematic. “Increasingly, tribal governing structures, which include business arms, political arms, and cultural or traditional arms, serve to separate the ‘tribe’ from the ‘people,’ and seek external, rather than internal, legitimacy” (Barsh 1996, cited in Cramer 2005). Some tribes thus see the recognition process as a continuation of forced colonial acculturation practices. These critiques of recognition relate to the critiques of certain definitions of culture and identity as discussed previously. Filing for recognition necessitates a ‘fixing’ of identity, while for some, like tri-racial groups, mixing and change is a key part of their cultural identity (Winkler 2004). Fixing an identity in the way required by the recognition process would, in some cases, undermine the existence of such groups. Despite these concerns, if calls to end the recognition process were heeded, what would keep just anybody from claiming sovereign rights? If the political status of tribes within the borders of the United States does not change (as it seems likely it will not), and government programs (both positive and negative) continue to be administered, there must be a way to determine who those programs benefit and affect. Currently, the federal acknowledgment process conducted by the BAR and legislative channels are the only two routes available. Yet, concerns about legitimacy do not stop with the federal recognition process. The issue of cultural legitimacy is a contentious one within tribal groups themselves. As stated by Jaimes (1992, p. 137), there is much “bickering over the question of ‘who’s Indian’.” Among tribes, this question pertains to accusations leveled at other tribal groups; recognized tribes are
176 often particularly critical of non-recognized tribes. However, it also pertains to questions of their own membership rolls. On the one hand, a group being able to choose its own members is a fundamental element of self-determination and sovereignty. On the other, the choices tribes make about their membership are often based on a host of outside forces, mainly policies held by the US federal government. Federal monies and programs given to tribes are often lump sums that must be used to service all members, so most tribes have an interest in limiting their membership. Also, because these lump sum amounts are often tied to certain population thresholds (like the BIA startup money referenced above), it is in the interest of the federal government to limit tribal populations to below a certain number. For these reasons, today most tribal membership requirements are genetically based. Typically a person must possess a certain percentage Native ancestry and perhaps also have a living relative already enrolled in the tribe. Most tribes, including the Poarch Band, require at least one-fourth Native ‘blood’. As some critics of these practices point out, such stringent membership criteria can only lead in one direction. “Set the blood quantum at one-quarter, hold to it as a rigid definition of Indians, let intermarriage progress as it [has] for centuries, and eventually Indians will be defined out of existence. When that happens, the federal government will be freed of its persistent ‘Indian problem’” (Limerick 1987, p. 338). Furthermore, as Churchill (1999b) points out, this emphasis on genetics is not historically accurate. Most Native groups have never been closed entities. Widespread intermarriage between tribal groups and within both European and African groups occurred. Emphasis was thus historically more often centered on genealogy. Reflecting this, some tribes, such as the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, have revised their membership criteria to be more genealogically based. These systems typically require applicants for membership to prove descent from an ancestor listed on a particular census roll. However, as Barker (2003, p. 42) notes, reliance on this method is also problematic. Many people hid from census takers or refused to have their names enrolled on a list. They took a purposeful political stance against being counted by the federal government, or hoped that avoiding being listed also meant avoiding being removed westward. Today’s descendants of these people have no written record by which to trace their lineage, but may remain every bit as Native American as the descendants of those on a list.
177 Another issue with the focus on the percentage of Native American blood one possesses is that of purity. The theory goes that the ‘purer’ a person’s blood supposedly is, the more Native American he or she is. In other words, pureblood Native Americans are more traditional and spiritual, whereas the mixed-bloods are supposedly those individuals who are trying to change the tribe too much. This of course completely ignores cultural and social factors such as where and how one was raised. Churchill (1999b, p. 45) also points out that the mixed blood equals bad / pure blood equals good Indian analogies do not hold up historically:
It is both fair and accurate to observe that questions concerning the likelihood an individual might display a strong loyalty to Indian interests never devolved upon his or her genetic makeup. Unquestionably, mixed-bloods and persons lacking even the pretense of a Native gene stood among the foremost exemplars of patriotism in a number of indigenous nations during the nineteenth century (and earlier). By the same token, many Native people “untainted” by any hint of admixture with whites or blacks conducted themselves with all the fidelity of Vidkun Quisling.
Taking all of this into account, the whole idea that one’s identity is determined by genetics seems unrealistic to say the least. As a case in point, a famous quote by Jimmy Durham (quoted in Barker 2003, p. 46) bears repeating. Durham is a Native American artist who has run into trouble with the Indian Arts and Crafts Act because he is not an enrolled member of a federally recognized tribe. He probably could be, but for political reasons chooses not to. His views on the topic are indicated by the nature of his statement:
I hereby swear to the truth of the following statement: I am a full-blood contemporary artist, of the sub-group (or class) called sculptors. I am not an American Indian, nor have I ever seen or sworn loyalty to India. I am not a Native ‘American,’ nor do I feel that ‘America’ has any right to either name me or un- name me. I have previously stated that I should be considered a mixed-blood, that is, I claim to be male but in fact only one of my parents was male.
178 Despite the humor in this statement, blood quantum requirements are a serious matter in Native America today. As stated previously, being an enrolled member of a federally recognized tribe can bring some measure of economic benefit. Otherwise, there would not be blood quantum requirements (or the federal acknowledgment process for that matter). The history of blood quantum requirements can be traced to the General Allotment Act of 1887 in which reservation lands were divvied up into private holdings (Barker 2003; Jaimes 1992). Each Native family was to receive approximately 160 acres. It was thus necessary for the federal government to determine who was eligible to receive an allotment. Because the ‘surplus’ lands after allotment were opened to public use and sale, it was in the federal government’s interest to have as few allotment claimants as possible. As a result, blood quantum standards came into existence, though no such standard appears in the Act itself. Another relic of the General Allotment Act was the appearance of the first ‘fake’ Indians. Prior to the allotment programs, false identity claims of Indian-ness were unusual. It was rarely in anyone’s interest to be Native American if he or she could ordinarily claim otherwise. But with allotment, suddenly there was an economic interest in claiming an Indian identity. The phenomenon continued any time economic benefits accrued to tribes, and continues today with the advent of Indian gaming. Individuals, convinced they will receive a portion of gaming profits if they are accepted as tribal members, consistently come forward with every new casino opened – a phenomenon exacerbated by the romantic appeal of Indian identity as an antidote to modernity (as discussed earlier in this chapter). The legacy of this phenomenon is that Native American groups seeking recognition today are often accused of being ‘false Indians’ or ‘wannabes.’ The same is true of already recognized groups who seek what is perceived by others to be an excessive economic gain. In fact, some of the most vitriolic accusations on this account are leveled by one tribe against another, and this has certainly been true in the Hickory Ground case. Many of these accusations have to do with having lost cultural traits that perhaps were possessed at one time. However, this begs the question: if, as discussed in Chapter Two, cultures are dynamic and contested, how much change is acceptable before a culture is no longer seen as legitimate? To answer this question many Native American groups skirt the issue and instead attempt to present their own individual histories so as to make their identities seem primordial and unchanging. The two federally recognized tribes involved in the Hickory Ground case each
179 argue that their own identities are primordial, and they each no doubt operate as if they were. However, each tribe also actively constructs identities (both asserted and ascribed) in markedly different ways despite having experienced shared events. For example, the two tribes have very different stories surrounding the Creek Indian War of 1813-14. The American government took on ‘friendly’ Indians to aid them with intelligence and to increase their ranks in numbers. The Poarch were part of these so-called ‘lower’ or ‘friendly’ Creeks who fought on the side of the Americans during the conflict. The Poarch Band’s website states that the United States provided them “military assistance when hostilities erupted” and calls the US government “their federal allies” in the conflict (Tribal History, 2004). In contrast, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation believe themselves to have been acting to punish those who were “in violation of tribal law” for associating and living with whites, and federal involvement was merely an “intervention” in this enforcement (IBSGWatch, 2003). Both groups seem to view the conflict as a largely inter-tribal affair with secondary American involvement. Regardless, this conflict figures into modern identity constructions of each group by and for each other and references to it emerged several times during the research for this study. As will be demonstrated, many claims about cultural authenticity were made in this case. Yet, not every comment about indigeneity was an attempt to ascribe characteristics of inauthenticity to others. There were many attempts to assert an identity as cultural owners of Hickory Ground. Some sought to prove a connection to Hickory Ground itself, while others, such as the City of Wetumpka, spoke of the location as part of the surrounding community. These were all attempts to define indigeneity in this case, and in the process determine the physical outcome at Hickory Ground. These definitions are examined below.
Hickory Ground
As briefly alluded to in the preceding chapter, the circumstances surrounding how the Poarch Band of Creek Indians received sole ownership of Hickory Ground have been the subject of controversy, and the exact sequence of events is unknown. No one interviewed for this research, either on or off the record, including members of the Poarch Band, could recall why the
180 tribe was deeded the land instead of any other group. Documentary evidence is also thin, but some conclusions can be drawn. Current and former employees of the Alabama Historical Commission could not recall why the Poarch Band was the sole entity on the deed, but one speculated it was because the tribe was federally recognized, and because it was still located in Alabama (Interview A). At least part of this explanation is in error though, because the Poarch Band did not obtain federal recognition until 1984. In fact, in 1980 there were no state recognized tribes – let alone federally recognized tribes – in Alabama. 27 Seven of the nine tribes currently recognized by the state did not gain that recognition until 1984 (the other two received it in 2001) (Echota Cherokee Tribe 2008). A member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation told me he thought that the tribal government was aware of the land transfer, but did not adequately inform the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. The tribe has always been a confederacy of smaller groups, and the issue in this case was that the tribal town, the entity most likely to take part in the proceedings, was not notified by the larger tribal government (Interview J). A member of the Poarch Band told me he thought the issue was that the Muscogee (Creek) Nation was in political turmoil at the time, and the matter of Hickory Ground fell by the wayside (Interview H). Both of these suggestions do seem to be a possibility. The Muscogee (Creek) Nation tribal government was dissolved by the U.S. Congress in 1906, although not completely. However, it was not until 1979 that the tribe was reorganized under the Oklahoma Indian Welfare Act of 1936. Therefore, it is possible that the government was still in a state of turmoil at the beginning of 1980, and that proper notification to the tribal town was not made. Thus, although the Hickory Ground Tribal Town may have been interested in being a party to the deed, the larger Muscogee (Creek) Nation government was consumed with other issues. On the other hand, the National Register and grant applications mention both groups. The National Register nomination form states “the present owner has delayed plans to sell to developers while a historic preservation discretionary fund application for acquisition by the Creek Nation is being prepared.” It is unclear what is meant by “the Creek Nation” here, but I speculate that the term does not reference a political entity so much as a cultural one.
27 State recognized tribes have been recognized as such by the State of Alabama, but have not obtained federal recognition.
181 The grant application is more illuminating regarding the original intent of the land transfer. It states, “One-half the appraised value will be donated to Creek Nation Foundation, Inc. in Oklahoma. The grants-in-aid proposal is designed to be awarded to Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc…The Creek Nation Foundation, Inc. represents western Creeks that were removed to Oklahoma from Alabama, while Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. represents a group of Creeks that were excluded from removal and remained in Alabama in the Mobile region. Under this plan the property will be jointly owned by both groups of Creeks.” Yet, when the deed was issued, the sole recipient listed was the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. Again, no one is sure exactly why this happened, but perhaps the stated intent of the land acquisition (preservation) was such that few were concerned with the exact ownership. The understanding was that the tribes would both benefit from the preservation of Hickory Ground. As stated in the grant application, “There is still an existing Hickory Ground tribal town in Oklahoma. They will be pleased to know their home in Alabama is being preserved.” After all, the myth of the generic “Preservationist Indian” (as discussed earlier in this chapter), guaranteed that the site would be preserved no matter which tribe actually owned the land. Or, perhaps no one at the state made much of a distinction between the two groups. In news coverage of the land transfer, there is no mention of distinct groups – only of the “Creek Indians.” In the media, the previous landowner was characterized as “willing to forgo any development in the area to save the land for the Indians” (Duvall 1980). In addition to not specifying a particular group, this statement also indicates a rather patronizing view of Native Americans, i.e. that Indians need our help because of what has been done to them. This view is further expressed in news coverage by the inclusion of a history of the Creek Indians that concludes with their removal to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears (Hyde 1980). It is almost as if the Creek Indians referenced in these articles are not real people, but rather relics of the past. At any rate, the fact that the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi received sole ownership of Hickory Ground was not the subject of controversy until 1988 when the Poarch Band (which had since gained federal recognition) announced intentions to build a bingo hall. At that time, two of the other state recognized tribes, the Star Clan of Muscogee Creek Indians and the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe, questioned why they were not consulted about the proposed plans. Both groups wrote to the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission stating that they were incorporating members of the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. too (Davenport 1988b;
182 Wright 1988). According to records of the incorporation in the Hickory Ground file at the AIAC, this does appear to be the case. The head of the AIAC wrote to the Alabama Attorney General asking him to issue an opinion on the question: “I…ask you to ascertain if the Poarch Creeks would in fact have singular legal control of this land?” (Mueller 1988c). However, no opinion was issued. As stated in the Montgomery Advertiser, “the attorney general’s office refused to issue an opinion on whether the Poarch Creeks have complete title to Hickory Ground. An assistant attorney general said the issue between the Poarch Band and the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission should be decided in court” (Wood 1988). There was no record in the Hickory Ground file at the AIAC of any legal action having been taken. No one I spoke with could remember why the matter was not pursued further. For its part, the Poarch Band states on its website that, “Calvin McGhee headed the council of the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, established in 1950, which was based at Poarch and was led by Poarch community leaders. After McGhee’s death, under a newer generation of leaders from within the Poarch community, the council gradually evolved into a nine-member formal governing body for the Poarch community alone” (Poarch Band of Creek Indians 2008). This seems to be supported by the statement in the grant proposal that the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. represented “a group of Creeks…in the Mobile region.” Furthermore, once the tribe received federal acknowledgement and the Hickory Ground land was taken into trust, ownership was harder to officially question. The image of Creek Indians presented in the newspaper articles of 1980 carried through to this period in 1988. In a May 12 article, the author states that, “descendants of Wetumpka’s first known residents, the Creek Indians, are returning to Wetumpka to build the first Creek Indian Museum in Alabama…The last Indians from the Wetumpka area were moved to the Oklahoma reservation in 1836” (Williams 1988c). The article does mention the Atmore reservation, but never discusses that the Poarch Band were not removed to Oklahoma. It is as if the Trail of Tears narrative is the only one available to tell. This is precisely why Poarch Chairman Tullis expressed the need for a Creek Indian museum. “One of the things my people are assuming responsibility for is seeing to the good quality presentation of the Creeks’ contribution to this state” (Fleming 1988). However, as mentioned, the tribe also proposed to build a bingo parlor in order to pay for the museum. Instead of promoting Creek heritage, some saw the proposed activities as doing the
183 opposite. The Hvsossv Tvllahasse group wrote a letter on file at the AHC detailing the possible negative impacts that a bingo hall at Hickory Ground would have on Creek culture (1988b).
Culturally, the proposed construction at Hickory Ground would eliminate the last tie the Tribe has to their Creek Tribal background. Instead of having a place they can show and educate their children about the traditions they descended from, they will show the children they have a bingo culture. They can tell their children that bingo made the museum possible for them to view the relics of their ancestor's belongings. When the child asks how the people lived, the Bingo Creek will be able to respond: "They once had a rich vibrant culture with their own government, religion and ceremonies, practiced here, on this very spot. Our Tribal Council in 1988 decided to clean this place of the remains of that culture and build the beautiful bingo hall you see standing there." Will the child come to realize that dollars and bingo are more important than the traditional values of the Creeks?
The accusation was that altering Hickory Ground with the introduction of a bingo hall would not only destroy heritage in that place, but Creek heritage among the Poarch Band all together. Not only would the destruction of the existing landscape make it impossible to pass on traditional values associated with Hickory Ground, but it would also diminish the importance of all traditional values in the eyes of future generations. They would learn that modern needs outweigh tradition. Furthermore, the use of the label “Bingo Creek” indicates that the tribe would have to be described by a new name because they would no longer be the same people; culture and identity would have changed too much. Here, the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group did not claim to have retained the cultural knowledge associated with Hickory Ground. As they state, “Hvsossv Tvllahasse which is composed of Poarch Band of Creek tribal members, and others, is in the process of relearning the traditions and ceremonies that were practiced at Hickory Ground hundreds of years before.” The argument then was that erecting a bingo hall at Hickory Ground would not destroy a link to existing knowledge, but rather a link to the potential for knowledge, a perspective that is very close to the
184 archaeological perspective on preservation: that a site is valuable because of the potential that it has to yield information. In a written response to these and other comments being made by the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group, Poarch Chairman Tullis wrote, “It is an insult to suggest that the Poarch Band of Creeks would fail in its responsibility to preserve and protect Creek Tribal history. We have continuously fought to preserve our heritage, and will not accept the views of a few outsiders who insist they know what is right for the Creek people.” Here he distinguishes “our heritage” from the views of a few “outsiders.” As noted above, the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group was composed of many Poarch Band tribal members, as well as others who were members of other tribal groups, including the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. Chairman Tullis frames the group as though it were either composed predominately by “outsiders” or led by them. Tullis further argued that their views are wrong. “We, the Tribal Council, welcome any comments regarding the facts of this case…Our Tribe has a long history of dealing with problems on our own. We have made great strides in providing for ourselves, and we shall continue to do so under the leadership of the Tribal Council” (Tullis 1988, emphasis added). Again, the tribe does not need help from outsiders to make decisions. His statements clearly delineated the Hvsossv Tvllahasse group as distinct from the Poarch Band, and characterized that group as cut off from both the knowledge and the leadership abilities possessed by the official tribal council. Yet this distinction was largely internal to the tribe. As mentioned above, to the public, the “Creek Indians” were one unified group. The first mention in the media of the Poarch Band as distinct from the larger Creek Nation came in a May 26 article in the Alabama Journal (Mueller 1988d). The article characterizes the Poarch Band as “a separate Indian nation in Atmore.” The main focus of the article was the controversy with the Alabama Historical Commission over the archaeological remains and potential for burials on the site. Chairman Tullis laid claim to the cultural resources at Hickory Ground by arguing, “We have no intentions of destroying the archaeological artifacts that are there. Those are my ancestors there, and I’m interested in having them stay there.” Thus, the cultural resources belong to the Poarch Band and not to anyone else making claims to them (i.e. the AHC). As discussed in previous chapters, the Alabama Historical Commission opposed plans for a bingo parlor because it would damage the archaeological resources – resources that would
185 theoretically provide knowledge that should be accessible to everyone. Yet, the AHC was not the only other group laying claim to Hickory Ground. Multiple state recognized tribes, including the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe, as well as the Northwest Florida Creek Indian Council, voiced their opposition on the grounds that the place was significant to them too. The situation was similar in 1991 when the Poarch Band announced plans to seek a Class III gaming compact with the state. The Muscogee (Creek) Nation passed a formal resolution opposing the gaming plans and wrote to the Alabama Historical Commission. The city of Wetumpka also passed a resolution opposing the plans. The Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe, the Echota Cherokee Tribe, the Cherokee Tribe of Southeast Alabama, and the MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians all wrote to either the governor or the attorney general in opposition to a compact. The overwhelming consensus amongst the authors of these letters seems to be that the Poarch Band should not be the only group with a voice in what happened to Hickory Ground. This opposition prompted the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission to pass its own resolution (1991). The resolution states in part, “The Alabama Indian Affairs Commission has a responsibility to support and encourage the maintenance and protection of Indian culture, and particularly of places that serve as hallmarks of our cultural history.” This emphasizes how important place is to culture and underscores the impact development would have not only on Hickory Ground, but to all of the groups for whom it is significant. Of course, the position of the Alabama state recognized tribes must also be placed in context of their own desires for federal recognition. Opposition of gaming anywhere within the state was in their interests. Pursuit of recognition was likely to be opposed by the Poarch Band for fear of gaming competition. The prohibition of gaming would reduce the likelihood of opposition to applications for federal recognition. In 1992, when comments were invited as part of the Section 106 process at a panel hearing held by the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, many groups again voiced their opinions, and attempted to assert those opinions as legitimate. For example, in advance of the hearing, the City of Wetumpka passed a resolution stating in part, “Any type of gambling cannot, in our opinion, help the progress of our community or be in the best interest of the historical preservation of the Creeks that once lived in this area” (City of Wetumpka 1992, emphasis
186 added). The resolution emphasizes that the proposed development would not just impact the Poarch Band, but would affect Wetumpka as well since Hickory Ground is considered part of Wetumpka; therefore, the city should have a say in what happens. It also implies that the Poarch Band is not the same group of people that used to live there. All of this seems to elevate citizenship over ancestry as the main determinant of indigeneity. In contrast, Bill Fife, the Principal Chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation wrote, “We are the direct descendants of the aboriginal occupants of Georgia, Alabama, and northern Florida. Our people, now in Oklahoma, were removed by force in 1836 in direct violation of our Treaty of 1832 with the United States” (Fife 1992). These statements indicate two things: that because they are the direct descendants, others are not, and that they could still be living in the area had the treaty not been violated. Therefore, they should have the biggest voice in what happens to Hickory Ground, regardless of current citizenship. He also expressed indigeneity in terms of knowledge. “The site was not arbitrarily chosen: the leaders of each town, after long fasting, were led to their sites by their Creator” (emphasis added). That his tribe is made up of the true descendants of these leaders, and, by extension, the Poarch Band is not, is expressed in the following comments:
Special rituals were performed to preserve the sanctity of each site. Objects were buried around the site to be removed only under strict circumstances. Because of the military Removal of the Creeks in 1836, it is doubtful that there was time for the religious leaders to obtain these objects. Many of these objects may have decayed and might not be identifiable, but our traditional people teach that the objects are still there, that they still protect this site and its sacred nature, and that to disturb these objects will bring horrible sickness upon not only the persons who remove them, but also upon the surrounding community. Most of these objects would be unrecognizable to an archaeologist, and our traditional people believe it is not proper to share any information about the precise nature of these objects.
That the Poarch Band does not know about these objects is a key indication that the site does not properly belong to them. Also, the reference to “the military Removal of the Creeks in 1836,”
187 again emphasizes that the original occupants of Hickory Ground were removed to Oklahoma rather than remaining in Alabama. He also stated: “We are not here to meddle in the affairs of a sister tribe. We are here to protect an important historical, cultural and religious site. We will attempt to protect any other endangered site which is brought to our attention.” In other words, the site is not the affairs of the Poarch Band – it is the Muscogee (Creek) Nation’s concern. Similarly, George Thompson, Mecco of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town, wrote:
Hickory Ground in Oklahoma is a direct descendent from Hickory Ground in Alabama. There is history behind our ceremonial ground and today it still remains alive. I'm proud to say that we're carrying on the traditions and ceremonies that were brought here by our ancestors from Alabama…The tribal Chairman of the Poarch Band must recognize our strong ties with Hickory Ground in Alabama. Furthermore, the Chairman is only speaking for the Poarch Band and not for all the Creeks (Thompson 1992).
These statements differ from Chief Fife’s in two ways. Firstly, the Hickory Ground Tribal Town is a direct descendent of Hickory Ground, not just of Georgia, Alabama, and North Florida. This means the ties are even closer. Secondly, the town still practices traditions and ceremonies that have been handed down since removal from Hickory Ground. This indicates not only genealogical descent, but cultural descent as well. It appears that this was taken into account by the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. One of the main concerns held by the ACHP was the application of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990 (NAGPRA). Under NAGPRA, any federally recognized Indian tribe which can demonstrate cultural affiliation to Native American remains has a legal right to determine the treatment and/or disposition of those remains when they are located on Federal property or lands held in trust by the Federal Government and subject to impacts. For purposes of the Act, cultural affiliation means “there is a relationship of shared group identity which can be reasonably traced historically or prehistorically between a present day Indian tribe or Native Hawaiian organization and an identifiable earlier group” (25 USC 3001).
188 As stated in the ACHP report regarding Hickory Ground:
The disagreement [over plans for Hickory Ground] extends to who among the Creek can claim the closest cultural affiliation to the human remains at the Hickory Ground site. The Poarch Band claims that it is the rightful party, while the Muskogee tribe of the Creeks in Oklahoma, whose representatives have expressed opposition to the proposed project, likewise claim legal and cultural affiliation. Resolution of this issue is clearly important to the Section 106 process, since if the Muskogee Creeks can claim cultural affiliation to the remains at Hickory Ground, then their approval (which likely would not be granted) would be necessary before those remains were removed, thus severely limiting any development potential at the site (1992).
As one of their recommendations to the Bureau of Indian Affairs on how to proceed, the ACHP requested that the Department of the Interior determine which tribe had the closest cultural affiliation to the remains at Hickory Ground. The BIA responded: “The Bureau has sought legal advice on this issue and has determined that the Poarch Band, a federally-recognized tribe, is the beneficial owner of the property held in trust by the United States and, in accordance with the provisions of the NAGPRA, is the party with the responsibility for the disposition of the human remains that have been or may be removed from the Hickory Ground site” (Ott 1992). NAGPRA does state that ownership of burial remains shall rest, first, with the lineal descendants of the particular Native American, and second, in cases where lineal descent cannot be ascertained, with the Indian tribe on whose tribal land the remains were discovered. As will be seen later, not everyone agreed with the BIA’s assessment, but the Bureau’s decision to allow the Poarch Band to proceed with development effectively tabled the NAGPRA discussion for the time being. With the BIA’s decision, the Poarch Band appeared to have “won,” and the public, particularly in Mobile (the metropolitan area closest to Atmore), was interested to learn more about this tribe that seemed to have come out of nowhere. A profile of the tribe appeared in the Mobile Register on November 22, 1992 (Hodges 1992b). This article portrayed the tribe as
189 “nearly forgotten” and a community so isolated that “you had to know about it” to know it was there. The Poarch Band was described as descendant from Creek Indians who intermarried with white settlers in the Mobile-Tensaw area. According to the article, several of these “half-bloods” sided with American forces during the Creek Indian War, and in 1837 were awarded land grants as part of the Treaty of Fort Jackson. These land grants became the basis of a reservation. The Poarch Band sided with the Confederacy during the Civil War, but suffered the same economic and social hardships as blacks during the subsequent period. An 1866 census records members of the tribe as “colored,” reflecting the inability of many white Alabamians to see beyond the black/white dichotomy. This began to change however as a separate Indian primary school was established for the tribe by Escambia County as early as 1902. Poarch children were not allowed to attend white schools, and were unwilling or unable to attend black schools. Further evidence of increased social stratification in the area is noted in that marriages began to be recorded by the county as “Indian,” and a local cemetery was segregated with Poarch burials on one side and white burials on the other. As the article notes, by the 1940s, Poarch children were allowed to attend white junior highs and high schools, but few were able to because the school bus would not stop to pick them up. In 1947, one tribal member stood in the road blocking the bus, forcing it to stop for the children. This galvanized the tribe to file a lawsuit against the school system – a lawsuit they eventually won. The school issue became the impetus for greater political action and organization within the tribe, and ultimately resulted in filing for, and receiving, federal recognition in the 1980s. This article was followed up by a profile of the modern economic activities being undertaken by the tribe, as well as a profile of Chairman Tullis (Baggett 1992; Hodges 1992a). This series of articles is notable in its efforts to present the tribe to the public, and inform them of the discrimination experienced by the tribe over the years. However, it seems probable that the series reinforced a paternalistic view that the tribe needed assistance/support in its endeavors to overcome past hardships. In fact, Chairman Tullis still considered there to be a fair amount of discrimination towards the tribe. In a November 25, 1992 article referencing opposition to the Hickory Ground
190 bingo hall, Tullis argued that the main reason for the opposition from the state (here meaning the governor’s office) was because of the VictoryLand greyhound racetrack. He claimed that the track provided the state with tax revenue that an Indian-run bingo hall would not, and the state thus had an interest in keeping the dog track competition-free. In so doing, the state was discriminating against the tribe that would otherwise have access to the economic opportunity presented by gaming. Tullis stated, “We feel what has happened is an adequate representation of the disrespect the state has for Indians” (Hardy 1992). In another article appearing the following day, Dr. Anthony Paredes, an anthropologist who had worked with the tribe for many years, cast the situation in terms of identity ascription (Hardy and Hodges 1992). He argued that some people are threatened by the self-sufficiency that bingo can bring to tribes. “It’s alright if the Indians come dance for us, but we don’t want them running our motels and casinos. It’s almost as if the American national consciousness has an investment in Indians staying poor, unsophisticated and tragic.” These statements are attempts by the tribe and its supporters to reframe the argument away from the merits of gaming toward questions of discrimination, thereby gaining sympathy and support for development plans. Yet, these claims were not made solely for political gain; they were based on attitudes expressed toward the tribe. In July of 1993, it was reported that the owners of dog tracks in four Alabama counties were attempting to get a bill passed in the state legislature to establish a state gaming commission (Associated Press 1993b). Under the plan, the bill would have allowed the establishment of two casinos in the state, to be owned and operated by the dog track owners. The Poarch Band was excluded from the bill, and in fact one of the stated goals of the bill’s passage was to beat the tribe to the punch when it came to casino revenue. The tribe could only open a casino by following the procedures of the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, procedures that were in question at the time, but that threatened to bypass the state government all together. Thus, the dog track lobbyists were in a hurry to ensure they got casinos first. Chairman Tullis saw the bill proposed by the dog track owners as purposefully discriminatory, and lobbied the governor to agree to a gaming compact with the tribe if the bill was passed. “I’m asking the governor to at least keep the playing field level for Indian people.” In a follow-up article, Milton McGregor, owner of the aforementioned VictoryLand track, made several derogatory comments about the Poarch Band and Indian casinos in general (Blalock and Archibald 1993). For example, he said, “I know we’re going to build a facility five
191 times nicer than anything Chief Eddie Tullis could build. I also know that we’re going to run it 10 times better than theirs will be run.” He argued that not only would a tribal casino be untaxed, it would also be unregulated. He was correct in arguing that the casino would not be taxed or regulated by the state government, but in neglecting to mention federal taxes and federal regulations he made it seem as if Indian casinos were somehow dangerous to customers. McGregor also hinted that customers have less of a chance to win at Indian casinos. “When you wager in an Indian facility, you really don’t know if you’re getting a fair shake…I’d run [mine] as clean as a houndstooth and the people know that.” McGregor also stated, “I think it would be a total disaster for the state of Alabama for the Indians to be in operation of casino gambling in Atmore and Wetumpka before the people of Alabama,” implying that the Poarch Band were not people of Alabama, and again implying that citizenship is necessary to be considered truly ‘local.’ Chairman Tullis was understandably upset by these comments and called McGregor an “arrogant racist” who was attempting “to block the progress of the Creek Indians.” Essentially, the Poarch Band had been arguing that it was discriminated against because of its racial identity. However, at least one member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation called this identity into question. On August 15, it was reported that the Muscogee National Council had severed diplomatic ties with the Poarch Band over what they saw as the desecration of Hickory Ground (Archibald and Blalock 1993). Tellingly, the newspaper article characterized the opposition as coming from “more traditional Indian leaders,” implying that the Poarch Band was not traditional. In speaking about the rift between the two tribes, Thomas Berryhill, a member of the National Council of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, said that the “western Creeks” no longer considered the Poarch Band “our people.” He went on to say:
To us conservative traditionals in the West, they are nothing more than mixed bloods who have no cultural identity. They are nothing more than a business corporation of people who have traced some Indian heritage. As far as what identifies them as Indians, they don't have it. They have no spiritual sensitivity to what an Indian is. They don’t place any kind of importance on what is sacred.
192 This characterization is based in large part on the alleged disturbance of burials associated with development of Hickory Ground. The main argument seems to be that the Poarch Band cannot be true Indians or they would not be willing to engage in such activities, an argument that ironically echoes the ‘Preservationist Indian’ myth. Whether any of these arguments about indigeneity and identity affected the outcome of gaming decisions or not is questionable. The bill supported by the dog track owners did not pass, and the Poarch Band was unsuccessful in efforts to sign a compact with the state. Both results likely had more to do with entrenched anti-gambling sentiment in Alabama. Nonetheless, despite being unable to open a full-fledged casino, the Poarch Band was still legally allowed to have bingo. However, as mentioned previously, the preservation covenant was still in place on Hickory Ground until 2000. Until it expired, not even a bingo hall could be opened in Wetumpka. It was not until that time that the City of Wetumpka and the State of Alabama began expressing renewed concerns about the proposed development, and attempted to portray the Poarch Band as invading the ‘local’ community. However, it is worth noting that the ‘local’ community was far from homogenous, or uniformly opposed to a bingo hall. A survey conducted by the Montgomery Advertiser in August of 2000 found a notable racial divide within Elmore County (the county in which Wetumpka is located) regarding the prospects of one day having a casino in the area (Lackeos 2000c). Results of the survey showed that African-Americans in Elmore County, comprising 21 percent of the population, favored the casino by a 52.4 percent to 31.1 percent margin, while whites opposed the casino by a margin of 52.7 percent to 34.9 percent. Those questioned in the survey were also asked whether they felt a casino would benefit the county in any way. 59.6 percent of African- Americans said yes, while only 41 percent of the whites did. Yet, opposition from the state, county, and city governments operated as if everyone were opposed to gaming at the location. When Representatives Riley and Everett introduced their bill to block the bingo hall, they did so in part because the bingo hall “would be built over the objections of local residents” (Hodges 2000). Representative Everett also stated, “This is not an anti-Indian position. This is to protect the people.” It is clear, however, that “the people” he was referring to did not include a majority of African-American residents, or members of the Poarch Band.
193 This is in contrast to comments made by the Poarch Band demonstrating their inclusive hiring policy (Lackeos 2001e). In promoting the bingo hall, Chairman Tullis pointed to the success of the tribe’s Atmore facility. He said that the tribe prided itself on being “good neighbors to everybody” in the area, and that the tribe would be a good neighbor to the people of Wetumpka. He noted that 80 percent of the employees at the Atmore bingo hall were whites and blacks, and that he planned to also hire whites and blacks at the Wetumpka facility. These statements served two purposes: first, to allay fears that a new bingo hall would only provide jobs to tribal members, and second, to highlight potential benefits to both the white and black communities. These efforts to build support were only partially successful. Around the time that construction on the bingo hall began, some news coverage presented the site as unquestionably belonging to the Poarch Band. For instance, in a November 1 Associated Press article, the bingo hall is characterized as being located “on the tribal burial lands of the Poarch Creek Indians” (2001b). Yet, in a November 15 article appearing in the Native American Times, Sonia Landers, one of a group of Native Americans who picketed the bingo parlor construction site, stated, “This was not even the Poarch Creek’s land historically” (Murg 2001). Along these lines, the Native American Times article also revived the NAGPRA issue. Karen Mudan, of the National Parks Service’s NAGPRA Division, said there are basic philosophical questions surrounding this case. “NAGPRA may not apply if the remains that are being removed are of the same cultural group as the people who are removing the remains, because the goal of NAGPRA is to reunite human remains and objects that have been alienated from their cultural group.” Therefore, there shouldn’t be an issue; however, she also stated that she did not have all of the facts in the case so she could not really comment. A meeting of the NAGPRA review committee was held in the early summer of 2002 at the University of Tulsa where one of the main topics of conversation was the controversy over Hickory Ground and the application of NAGPRA to that case. University anthropology professor Garrick Bailey, a committee member, said it could not be assumed that artifacts and remains found at Hickory Ground belong to whatever tribe currently has rights to the land (Churchey 2002). However, as mentioned previously, the existing law does give priority to the tribe in possession of the land on which burials were found in cases where lineal descent cannot be proven.
194 Thus, in his congressional testimony regarding sacred sites, Robert Trepp, a member of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town, argued that the problem lies in defining lineal descent (Trepp 2002). Speaking about a particular burial uncovered at Hickory Ground, Trepp stated:
While the NAGPRA statute protects ‘lineal descendants,’ NAGPRA regulations define this as a lineal descendant by blood, and do not yet specifically recognize the more communal and social relationships which define our culture. While the Hickory Ground people may not be the blood descendant of this 10-year-old girl, they are the descendants of her family and clan, the descendants of the people who buried her, the sole descendants of her tribal town in every political and social sense our culture knows.
Despite Mr. Trepp’s comments, in most cases involving the disposition of prehistoric or historic Native American remains, there are not usually written records tying a particular set of remains to a modern person. Additionally, many groups would prefer that remains not be examined to obtain DNA samples. Therefore, in most NAGPRA cases, proof of descent does rest in the more socio-cultural sense of a group proving through the historic or archaeological record that they once lived in the place in which the burials were found. Thus, the argument Mr. Trepp made was not strictly about a different way of determining descent, but rather about making the case that the Hickory Ground people are the sole descendants – meaning the Poarch Band (and presumably other elements of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation) are not. What Mr. Trepp argued is that simply because multiple groups all have ties to a place, it cannot be assumed that each group is equally descended from it. He argued that the Hickory Ground Tribal Town has maintained political organization and cultural traits associated with the original Hickory Ground that other groups have not. In his testimony, Mr. Trepp made several other comments reiterating this stance, and disparaging the claims of others. He noted that all of the actions that had taken place at Hickory Ground up until that time had occurred “without any consultation whatsoever with the people of Hickory Ground Tribal Town, who are still an organized tribal town with an exact location and known officers” – meaning Hickory Ground as a group of people still exists in an organized fashion. This gives them an unbroken claim to the site. Furthermore, he characterized the
195 leadership of Hickory Ground as traditional Native Americans by saying that they could not be in attendance “because of their responsibilities for their annual ceremonies.” This is in contrast to his opinion of the Poarch Band: “they are ‘Creek’ when it is to their advantage and they are ‘not Creek’ when they see an opportunity for gain.” This testimony was followed by an October 19 letter from the Hickory Ground Tribal Town, with support from the Intertribal Sacred Land Trust, to the Poarch Band and the Bureau of Indian Affairs (Thompson, Thompson and Soweka 2002). Similar to Mr. Trepp’s testimony, this letter also primarily focuses on NAGPRA issues. In the letter, the Hickory Ground Tribal Town claims descent from Hickory Ground in Alabama as:
the lineal descendants of the persons therein buried, and also as the lineal descendants of the persons who attended the burials and at that time placed any item within the burial location, and also as the lineal descendants of the clans of Hickory Ground Tribal Town whose particular customs were followed in the making of burials and the addition of burial goods, and also as the living descendants of and present members of the political entity then and now known as Hickory Ground Tribal Town which has an uninterrupted existence from time immemorial through the present date, and also as the Indian Tribe under 25 USC 3002 which is recognized as aboriginally occupying the area in which the objects were discovered, being a traditional tribal town of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation (a federally recognized tribal government).
Again, these are presumably traits not possessed by other groups. To that end, “Hickory Ground Tribal Town denies that there is any evidence that any different Indian tribe has a stronger cultural relationship with the remains or objects or Cultural Property than does Hickory Ground Tribal Town.” Here, the Poarch Band is considered an Indian tribe, just one with less of a cultural relationship to the site. In an article published by the Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch on its website (2002), the rhetoric is more disparaging. “The new owners, the Poarch Band of Indians, based in Atmore, Alabama (on the Florida border), are not related to the last native owners, Hickory
196 Ground Tribal Town of Muscogee (Creek) Indians, who were forcibly removed to the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) in the late 1830's” (parentheticals in original). The key point made in this statement is the claim that the Poarch Band is not related to the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. This is reinforced by the exclusion of the word “Creek” from the tribe’s name, by attempting to associate the tribe with Florida rather than Alabama, and by calling the tribe “the new owners.” The Hickory Ground Tribal Town is presented as the “last tribal owners,” who were forcibly removed. Thus, there is an unstated implication that the “new owners” are in possession of the land only at the expense of the original owners. Furthermore, the expression that the Poarch Band is “based” in Atmore implies a more business-like entity, as compared to the Hickory Ground Tribal Town that was removed “to the Indian Territory.” Additionally, the Poarch Band is characterized as further separated from the Hickory Ground Tribal Town because they do not possess traditional beliefs: “The Poarch Band does not understand the ancient culture of the Muscogee people or share the common tribal belief that, once a burial is made, it is a sacred place not to be disturbed by human beings.” This is in contrast to members of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town who are characterized as “a very traditional Muscogee community, maintaining a ceremonial ground and the strict traditional rules required to keep it sacred for future generations. Most of them are fluent in the Muscogee language, and some are not fluent in English.” However, all of the comments about the Poarch Band not being related to the Hickory Ground Tribal Town are somewhat undermined by reference to the Creek Indian War of 1813- 14. In the article, the Poarch Band is depicted as being comprised of “tribal members who left or were forced to leave their tribal communities.” It then describes the history of the group and the Creek War as such:
Some of these isolated individuals farmed lands on the lower reaches of the Alabama River, just inside tribal territory, in the 1790's. By 1810, they had invited non-Indians to settle with them, a violation of tribal law. After many warnings from the National Council of the confederacy, the first of these illegal settlements was attacked at Fort Mims in 1813. Federal troops under Andrew Jackson and state militia from Georgia intervened, entered tribal lands and destroyed the “Red Sticks” who had enforced the tribal laws, but the ravages of
197 war had destroyed the prosperity of the people who later became known as the Poarch Band. Although the Muscogee Nation in Oklahoma officially supported the federal recognition of the Poarch Band in 1980, many members now think the Poarch Band still wants revenge for the destruction they brought on themselves in 1813, and think the continuing desecration of the Hickory Ground site is a hate crime.
The Poarch Band could not have been in violation of tribal law if they were not part of the tribe, and thus claims that they are not related to the Hickory Ground Tribal Town are difficult to make. It is clear, however, that the conflict figures heavily in the separation of the two groups into distinct entities. Most of these comments made in 2002 were geared toward asserting the right of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town to have a say in what happened to the Hickory Ground site. As discussed in previous chapters, such comments likely did affect development plans in that certain areas of the site were set aside for preservation, and more archaeology was conducted than perhaps would have been done otherwise. However, outright consultation between the two groups has only very recently, and tenuously, begun. In the meantime, the Poarch Band constructed and opened an “entertainment facility” at Hickory Ground featuring video bingo machines. The facility was, and continues to be, very successful, but its early success again raised issues surrounding taxes. In March of 2004, two Alabama Representatives, Johnny Ford and John Rogers, attempted to introduce a bill that would have levied a $3 toll on all public roads leading into tribal gaming facilities. The Poarch Band understandably viewed the bill as discriminatory. As Mr. Tullis stated at the time, “The state cannot pick out a group solely because they are Native American and put toll bridges in front of their businesses. I am confident that the Legislature will vote ‘no’ on such a racially offensive bill” (Barrow 2004a). Both representatives are African-American and replied that the bill was not intended to be discriminatory: “Native Americans are our brothers and sisters in the American struggle for freedom and democracy.” Instead, they portrayed the bill as “fairness issue...They don’t pay taxes now. This will get something.” As outlandish as the proposed bill seems, it was part of an ongoing debate over what to do about the perceived “unfairness” of Indian gaming. In April, the Mobile Register
198 characterized the situation thusly: “Some participants in Alabama’s annual gambling debate frame the Poarch Band of Creek Indians as a minuscule population awash in tax-free gambling revenue” (Barrow 2004b). The implication is that members of the Poarch Band are not any different from anybody else in terms of being residents of Alabama, and thus they do not deserve an advantage. Once again, indigeneity is framed in terms of citizenship (in this case Alabama citizenship) instead of cultural or ancestral descent. The Poarch Band attempted to rebut this argument. “Tribal members, joined by Atmore area leaders who live and work near the Poarch reservation in Escambia County, point to a host of social programs and business activities besides gambling that they say make the 2,200- member tribe a valuable part of the southwest Alabama community.” However, as the article points out, “That’s a far different portrait than the one cast during State House debates,” meaning, presumably, that the tribe is often accused of keeping profits to themselves – profits gained at the expense of others. This is a much less romantic view of Native Americans than the “noble savage” image referenced at the beginning of this chapter and which rests on appeals to the ideal of indigeneity. Here, by appealing instead to the concept of citizenship, there are implications that Native Americans are no different from the rest of the state and do not deserve special treatment, and, to the extent that the Poarch Band can be considered a separate group, they are being “greedy Indians” taking advantage of others (and, in effect, being bad citizens). In either event, according to this view, they are not acting in the best interest of the local community as a whole. This view coexisted with a perspective that the Poarch Band is not part of the local community at all. In an article detailing concerns over police enforcement of the gaming facility and how it would impact the Elmore county jail, Wetumpka resident Jack Rooks stated, “The Indians have come into our community, and we were here first” (Arrington 2005). In this instance, claims to white indigeneity are used to construct Indians as beyond the boundaries of citizenship. While this statement indicates that the Poarch Band is not viewed as part of the community, it also indicates a view that separates modern Indians from Indians of the distant past. Despite the casino controversy having gone on for many years, non-Indians still knew very little about the Poarch Band. Thus, in early March 2006 the tribe held an event for the Alabama Legislature called “Alabama Native, Alabama Neighbor.” Coverage of the event appeared in both the Montgomery
199 Advertiser and the Atmore Advance (Bonvillian 2006a). Between 40 and 50 legislators attended the event at which “twenty-one tribal stomp dancers performed for the group in their colorful headdresses and traditional costume to the beat of the drums in a welcome dance, while Robert Thrower, the tribe’s historic preservation officer, said a prayer in the native Creek language.” Guests also sampled roasted corn and fried bread along with other “traditional foods.” Lori Sawyer, Marketing and PR Manager for PCI Gaming, said of the event, “We wanted them to know us better as people and neighbors, not just gaming. Our goal was to show them our culture, community and history.” Tribal Chairman Fred McGhee gave a more detailed statement:
We are proud of the role that our tribe has played in Alabama’s history. We are delighted to share our Poarch Creek culture with our state's leaders in Montgomery. We live on the same lands our ancestors lived on more than 150 years ago. Today, we are fortunate to be able to provide for our tribe through various industries, including gaming, and we are proud to be one of the largest employers in our region. It is important for us to continue our tradition of being good neighbors (Cooper 2007).
The event was a way to reinforce a Native American identity that served to separate the tribe from others in the state of Alabama. In a way, it worked to ‘prove’ to the legislators that the tribal members really were Indians, and thus a political entity separate from the state. Yet at the same time, the emphasis on being good neighbors was an attempt to represent the tribe as an important part of the state and local communities. Thus, they sought to fuse the “ancestry” and “citizenship” tropes of indigeneity together to support their interests. It was this latter aspect of the PR campaign that rekindled old accusations from some in the Muscogee (Creek) Nation that the Poarch Band was too acculturated into white society. In June, a meeting was held at Hickory Ground for members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. One of the delegates to the meeting, Susan Harjo, reported on the visit in Indian Country Today (Harjo 2006a)28. Ms. Harjo stated:
28 As mentioned previously in this paper, this article was considered to be controversial by many of the people I interviewed, including members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation.
200
Most of the afternoon's presentations were made by white men. There was not a single Native person, let alone a Creek person, on the archeological or architectural teams. There were no Native people as monitors (if there were monitors at all) at the site. Even the sculptor was a white guy, as if there aren't myriad Muscogee artists who could do the job and use the work. Muscogee artists would have gotten the clans right, at the very least, and would have sculpted a warrior that looked Muscogee, rather than like a generic Plains Indian. And none of the artwork even hinted that there are Muscogee women, something a Muscogee artist likely would not have overlooked.
At issue here is not just that every aspect of the project was being carried out by white people, because, of course, the entire project was being overseen by the Poarch Band. By pointing out the errors caused by too much white involvement, Ms. Harjo is implying that members of the Poarch Band are not able to correct the errors because their knowledge is not any different than that of their white employees. A few months later, the Poarch Band launched a state-wide public relations campaign along the same lines as the legislative event held in 2006 (Mosely 2007). The campaign was given the same name only slightly altered, “Alabama Natives, Alabama Neighbors.” The title was made plural instead of singular (Natives instead of Native; Neighbors instead of Neighbor). This plurality implies that there are multiple ways to be native to Alabama, and that all of these “natives” can be neighbors. Television ads in this campaign ran on networks in Birmingham, Montgomery, Huntsville, and Mobile from January to March. Tribal Chairman Buford Rolin explained the reasoning behind the PR campaign as such: “Our tribal community wants the people in Alabama to know who we are and what we do, and to appreciate us as a resource.” Chairman Rolin also stated that he felt that the tribe is “one of the best-kept secrets in Alabama.” Up until this campaign, the tribe did not have the resources to change that situation. Now that they could, Chairman Rolin stated, “We are pleased to have the resources to tell our story in what we believe is an accurate and authentic way…We are proud of our heritage and the beauty of our culture. We are also proud of our contributions in the state and we want our neighbors to get to know us better.” One of the main points of the advertisements was that
201 although gaming is the tribe's largest source of revenue, the tribe has multiple business enterprises that involve the outside community. The purpose of the campaign was similar to that of the legislative event; it served to distinguish the tribe as a separate political entity, while simultaneously representing the tribe as part of the larger state-wide community. The desired result of this was to remind others of the tribe’s inherent sovereignty as a separate entity, but also to reassure them that, as part of the local community, the tribe would work toward its best interests. Not everyone was convinced by the campaign, however. Alabama Representative John Rogers accused the Poarch Band of using the campaign to gain support for Class III gaming (Online 2007). He cited a statement made at the end of the commercials: “We'd like to see the tribe and the state work together to make Alabama an even better place to live.” For him, the statement implied that the tribe and the state should work together to form a gaming compact. He saw the ad campaign as an attempt to garner public opinion in favor of the tribe, such that people would feel the tribe had a right to gaming – a right he believed the tribe does not possess. Others felt the ads were designed as damage control for pushing ahead with a gaming facility at Hickory Ground against the wishes of the local government. In a guest column appearing in The South Alabamian in March 2007, Gary Palmer of the Alabama Policy Institute wrote: “For several weeks the Poarch Creeks have been running a warm and fuzzy ad campaign called Alabama Natives, Alabama Neighbors which seems designed to enhance their image in the state. Presumably, they are now trying to present a kinder, gentler, more neighborly image just after thumbing their noses at their neighbors in Wetumpka by building a bingo casino there” (2007). Thus, there continued to be considerable debate over whether or not the Poarch Band was part of the ‘local’ community, and whether or not they should be able to affect it with the establishment of a casino. As noted above, however, the Poarch Band did not want to be seen solely as part of Wetumpka, or Alabama. In presenting themselves as ‘neighbors,’ the Poarch Band claimed a separate identity operating alongside the existing city and state communities. This separation was emphasized in order to justify activities conducted as a sovereign Indian nation. For the people I interviewed, the Poarch Band’s status as a federally recognized Indian tribe was readily acknowledged. However, some questioned whether or not federal recognition is
202 enough to consider the tribe the rightful heirs to Hickory Ground. Many wondered if the Poarch Band is the group with the closest cultural affiliation to the site, or the group with the only affiliation. In other words, can the tribe claim to be the ‘most’ local (i.e. the most indigenous) to the site? Perhaps unsurprisingly, those whom I interviewed with ties to state recognized tribes were the most likely to argue that federal recognition should not be the only factor considered. As one person told me, “That’s a pretty lengthy and detailed process getting federal recognition. It takes a lot of documented proof that your group actually has Creek Indian ancestry” (Interview K). However, for him, that type of proof is not enough to prove that you are culturally Native American:
Well, what it takes for federal recognition is genetics. Obviously, you have to be able to prove a genealogy, and theoretically you also have to be able to prove an historical continuity. Those people have been in that place and in that area – I mean, they can historically document that they’ve been there. I think what they can’t necessarily historically document is that they have a cultural tradition that has been maintained.
This is a factor that he considers more important in determining indigeneity:
It’s the fact that they are capitalizing on their supposed heritage for financial gain. In fact I have heard that some of their leaders have said that they didn’t care if any Creeks were buried there or not, that they’d bulldoze them up and build a casino. And that’s not, obviously in itself, is not very Muscogee-like. The lack of reverence for the dead and for the burials is, I mean they want to claim they are traditional and maintain some kind of traditional heritage, and yet what they want to do is not in keeping with their tradition.
He also notes that the Poarch Band has made the argument that gambling is a traditional activity. However, he feels that, “You can’t claim that it is traditional to gamble, but then in the same
203 breath say that we are going to bulldoze the graves of our ancestors to do this. You either are maintaining the heritage or you are not.” The clear implication is that, because the Poarch Band has not maintained a Muscogee heritage, at least in relation to Hickory Ground, they can no longer claim to be indigenous. Therefore, perhaps a group that has maintained this heritage should have more of a say in what happens to the place, regardless of federal recognition. A member of another state recognized tribe reiterated that federal recognition does not necessarily equate with indigeneity (Interview L). “We have as many Creek speakers among us as they do and we practice the old ways, the religious ways, and they don’t. Yet, we are not federally recognized.” Again, the maintenance of traditions such as language and religious practices is meant to imply that the group is more indigenous, and thus deserving of a say in what happens to Hickory Ground. While she acknowledges that federal recognition is often necessary both legally and politically to obtain such a say, she notes that the Poarch Band has been active in opposing the efforts of other tribes within the state to obtain such recognition. She thinks this is because the Poarch Band fears gaming competition. Again, she sees this fear as proof that the tribe has lost some measure of traditionalism, because, according to her, traditional tribes would not be interested in casinos:
I can’t speak for all of the other tribes, but…we have no interest in a casino or gambling or any of that. We just want to have the recognition and have reservation land so that we can build a museum…They are so stuck in their heads about this gambling thing that they think every tribe wants to go into gambling. If they could just understand that most of us aren’t interested in having a casino, and we really just want the recognition because we deserve it.
Members of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation whom I interviewed would not discuss the Poarch Band directly, citing the tenuous nature of consultations between the two tribes. However, a non-Native American member of the Wetumpka religious community told me about several meetings he and other church leaders had had with members of the Oklahoma tribe in the 1980s and 90s (Interview N). As a result of these meetings, he came to hold the opinion that, “The Creek Indians from Atmore were not the same Creek Indians that had lived on Hickory
204 Ground. The Creek Indians that lived on Hickory Ground were a part of the Trail of Tears and had gone to Oklahoma. That’s where those Indians were and they were opposed to what was being done [at Hickory Ground].” So, for quite a few people, the Poarch Band is not necessarily either the only or the most indigenous group to the site. For many others though, opposition to the tribe along those lines has a lot to do with enduring stereotypes of Native Americans. As one employee of the Alabama Historical Commission said, “You know you can look at it from two different perspectives, one of them is that these guys have lost their connection to their past if they are willing to do this, and the other is that they were so marginalized and stuck up on the very worst piece of land in Alabama that this was the only piece of land they were given that actually has some economic potential” (Interview F). Therefore, decisions that may not seem ‘traditional’ may have been made out of other concerns, and should not be viewed as undermining a group’s identity as indigenous. Another AHC employee spoke about public conceptions regarding the Poarch Band.
The Creeks are [primarily] recognized for the Creek War, which is kind of interesting because they’re all thought of as bad [even though] half the Creeks fought with the Americans and half of them fought against. There are some interesting points that have been made that say at the massacre, or the battle at Ft. Mims, some of the people inside defending the fort were more Indian than those attacking. So there’s always been, even since that time, an issue about how ‘pure’ is this [tribe] (Interview B).
As he stated, “this idea of the pure Indian, it’s a nice idea, and a certain majority may be pure, but as far as a full tribe being totally pure, I’ve never seen one.” He notes that visitors to Native American historic sites maintained by the AHC often wonder where the teepees are, because in the popular conception “real Indians have eagle feathers and ride horses and carry teepees around.” Acknowledging that Native Americans today are quite different from popular conceptions of them, his view is “as long as they are recognized and make that claim, the feds have recognized them, then whether they look like me or a pure blood Indian doesn’t matter to me. I will accept their cultural affiliation.”
205 And as far as the Poarch Band not being the most indigenous to Hickory Ground, a former AHC employee told me, “their ancestors were probably the last group of people to live on the site” (Interview A). Of course, this has much to do with the Creek Indian War, and why ancestors of the Poarch Band were able to stay behind when others were not. As alluded to above, the very fact that their ancestors stayed behind is to some indicative of acculturation and betrayal, while for others the tribe’s status as Alabama’s only federally recognized tribe gives it the primary claim to Hickory Ground. One member of the Poarch Band acknowledged accusations that the tribe was not descendent from Hickory Ground, but indicated that he had been collecting documentation that proved otherwise (Interview H). “Ninety percent of our people came from Hickory Ground. I can historically prove that. I am not saying that the people in Oklahoma weren’t from there. I’m saying that we can show ancestral ties, direct descendancy to that site.” Therefore the tribe is indigenous to Hickory Ground. On the larger issue of having to prove a racial identity, he stated, “It is ok with me that Indian people have to prove who they are and nobody else has to. That is fine, because that is a result of sovereignty.” Then again, he acknowledged that the criteria set up for the purposes of sovereignty are not necessarily the only criteria. For example, to be a member of the Poarch Band, a person must be one-quarter Indian, have to have a living, immediate family member that is already on the roll, and must be able to trace back to an ancestor identified as Indian on the 1900 census for Monroe, Escambia, or Baldwin County. As he pointed out, someone who is on the roll as one-quarter Indian but has children with someone who is not, has children who are one-eighth Indian and therefore not eligible to be tribal members. He acknowledged that those children are likely every bit as Indian as their parent who is a member, but they can’t be members of the tribe themselves. Thus, there are components of Indian identity not addressed by sovereignty requirements. He also spoke of the difficulties of having such an identity in a society based on a black/white dichotomy. He noted that for years the Escambia County school system did not have a box for American Indian on school enrollment forms. The options were white, black, or other. “So we were others. I am an other.” This speaks to the need to publicize the tribe’s presence and identity to the larger Alabama public. But, because of the special issues related to sovereignty,
206 these assertions of identity become all the more important, as can be seen in the case of Hickory Ground.
Conclusion
In this case numerous arguments about identity were made, emphasizing how closely the concept is related to ideas of culture and place. Efforts to assert and ascribe identity focused on indigeneity, or determinations of who is native, both in the sense of localness (place-based) and in the sense of Indianness (culture-based). Often, arguments were combinations of the two concerns, or arguments over who possesses the cultural traits that give them the closest connection to Hickory Ground, and thus the right to determine what happens to it. As seen with other keywords in this case, arguments over indigeneity were dialogic; ascriptions were often closely followed by assertions and vice versa. Early on in this case, efforts were made to explain the deeding of Hickory Ground to ‘the Creek Indians.’ Much of this centered on the argument that it was necessary to save the land from development and, because it was an historic Creek Indian site, they would be the best people to preserve it. This fed from long-standing stereotypes of Native Americans along the lines of ‘the ecological Indian’ whereby they are viewed as caretakers of the land without concern for economic benefit – no one else could be trusted not to develop it. It also exposed a lack of knowledge regarding a distinction between ‘the Creek Indians’ as a (historic) cultural group, and individual Creek Indian tribes as (modern) political entities. This was followed by assertions of these political distinctions. This took the form of claims both criticizing and defending the ownership of the land. These claims intensified with announcements regarding a proposed bingo hall and eventually efforts to secure a gaming compact with the state in advance of a more extensive casino/entertainment complex. Some arguments were about defending the Poarch Band’s right to do what it wanted – arguments that were largely about sovereignty (a topic to be examined more fully in the next chapter). On the other hand, arguments began to center on why it was the Poarch Band of Creek Indians that owned the land rather than any other group, and in particular the reasons other groups should be involved.
207 As seen above, many of these latter arguments took the form of allegations that the Poarch Band was not ‘native enough’ both in the sense of historic and contemporary proximity to Hickory Ground and in the sense of a perceived lack of Creek traditionalism. The corollary to these allegations was the assertion that the person or group making them was ‘more native’ to the site. As such ascriptions were made regarding the identity of the Poarch Band, the tribe worked harder in asserting its own. Originally, this took the form of allowing newspaper profiles of the tribe and the Atmore reservation. As the tribe gained the financial and political wherewithal to do so, it embarked upon a relatively large-scale public relations campaign aimed at both the general public and Alabama politicians. This process of identity ascription and assertion on the basis of indigeneity had an impact on Hickory Ground as a place. The Hickory Ground Tribal Town in particular was semi- successful in asserting a claim to the site based on cultural affiliation. While this did not translate to total control of the site by any means, it did perhaps influence the Poarch Band to make some decisions like altering plans for the reinterment area. However, the process did not just have ramifications for the physical landscape of Hickory Ground; Hickory Ground as a location also very much impacted the process. As indicated by the NAGPRA controversy, cultural affiliation with the land was an important aspect of this case. Whichever Indian tribe could prove lineal descent from the burial remains found there would be able to determine the disposition of those remains. In the case of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town in Oklahoma, the town would likely not have allowed any disturbance of the remains, which would have severely altered development plans and led to a radically different physical outcome for the place itself. Nonetheless, as discussed above, it was not possible for anyone to prove lineal descent from particular burials. Therefore, the disposition of the burials and associated objects was allowed to be determined by the tribe that owned the property. Others argued that descent should be determined not by genetics or genealogy but rather by cultural affiliation. They argued that if a group could demonstrate that they were descendant from the location, by correlation that would prove descent from the burials. The issue became who was most closely descendant from Hickory Ground. Thus, interactions between several different Creek Indian tribes dating as far back as the early 1800s came to the fore.
208 Yet, recounts of these interactions did not simply address cultural affiliation with place. They also had a lot to say about how the divisions between various tribes came to be. The primary historical split between the Poarch Band and the Muscogee Nation occurred in the late 1700s/early 1800s as ancestors of the Poarch Band (known as ‘friendly Creeks’) interacted and traded with white settlers, while many other Creeks favored pursuing hostilities. After the Creek Indian War, some of the friendly Creeks were rewarded for aiding the American government with land grants in the area of today’s Poarch reservation, while the majority of the ‘hostile Creeks’ was removed to Oklahoma. The split between the two tribes demonstrates how closely tied together identity, culture, and place are. Both groups are tied to Hickory Ground, although perhaps for different reasons, the two groups delineate themselves from one another on the basis of perceived cultural differences, and all of this adds up to distinct tribal identities. Another aspect of this is the emphasis on the purity or impurity of race. As noted, the Poarch Band has been accused of being comprised primarily of people of mixed race – the typical accusation is white with Native American ancestry. Thus, although many tribes have experienced significant amounts of intermarriage with both whites and blacks, as well as inter- tribal marriages, accusations of racial impurity are still levied in an attempt to undermine the legitimacy of a tribe. In this case, the majority of these accusations were made between tribes and not by other racial groups. Much of this stems from the federal recognition process and the need for it in terms of sovereignty. Tribes have a vested interest in demonstrating that they are ‘more Indian’ than another, and perhaps keeping that other tribe from gaining recognition. Such is the case with oppositions to attempts by state recognized tribes to obtain federal acknowledgement. Also, as in the case of Hickory Ground, accusing one tribe of not being Indian enough (whether this be on the basis of racial composition or cultural traits) is an argument that that tribe does not deserve a voice in certain issues. At the same time, there are incentives to being ‘Indian enough,’ and thus asserting that claim. To the extent that the Poarch Band is able to present itself as stereotypically Native American to the public, the tribe may benefit from a public willing to patronize a Native American casino simply because of the association, regardless of stated opposition to gambling otherwise. This is to say nothing of the economic benefit provided by having the sovereignty to
209 construct an entertainment center when no one else would be able to. And that is perhaps the biggest benefit of being able to prove indigeneity to place – the sovereign right to determine what to do with it.
210 CHAPTER EIGHT SOVEREIGNTY
As with other keywords examined in this paper, the concept of sovereignty has been deployed with regard to Hickory Ground in multiple ways. For some, the concept refers strictly to political power, while for others sovereignty’s ties to identity are more overt. As seen in the preceding chapter, sovereignty is very much tied to issues of identity, and in the case of Hickory Ground, to indigeneity in particular. In this sense, sovereignty “can be said to consist more of continued cultural integrity than of political powers and to the degree that a nation loses its sense of cultural identity, to that degree it suffers a loss of sovereignty” (Deloria Jr. 1979, p. 27). Therefore, accusations of cultural illegitimacy made in this case suggest the denial of sovereignty. Another aspect of sovereignty contested in this case is whether or not it is possible for multiple parties to possess sovereignty over the same place. If sovereignty is a supreme power, it should by definition be impossible for two or more entities to possess it at the same time regarding the same object. However, different groups involved in the Hickory Ground case view themselves as the sovereign power in ways that tend to overlap. For example, the Alabama Historical Commission believes (or believed) it has some rights in determining what can or cannot be built at Hickory Ground because of existing historic preservation laws; however, the Poarch Band also presents itself as a sovereign body possessing the right to determine what happens on tribal land. Part of the reason for the multiple uses of the term stems from the peculiarities of tribal sovereignty as opposed to other forms. As will be discussed below, traditional notions of sovereignty center on the state. Central to claims of tribal sovereignty is the idea that sovereignty can be possessed by other forms of political organization such as Indian Tribes, but exactly how sovereignty can be manifested outside the state system is contested. One definition of sovereignty is “the supreme power from which all specific political powers are derived” (Kickingbird et al. 1977, p. 1). In early Western thought, the origin of this supreme power was God. This idea was expressed in the concept of ‘divine right,’ or the idea that the power and authority to rule was given by God. Locke (1988 (1690)) later expressed the
211 idea that this supreme power arises not from God, but from the people of a nation who consciously give power to a ruler or king to govern them. Rousseau (1968 (1762)) further refined this idea with his “social contract” theory in which power consists of the general will of combined individuals. Later work (Agamben 1998; Foucault 1980b), examined the idea that neither a sovereign entity nor its citizenry can exist ontologically prior to the other. Sovereignty does not exist as a property of one to be given to the other, since the two are not mutually exclusive. Furthermore, as Foucault noted, “a theory of the legitimate basis of sovereignty cannot be relied upon as a means of describing the ways in which power is actually exercised under sovereignty” (cited in Gordon 1991, p.7). Thus, an understanding of how sovereignty arises is not as important as understanding how it is used as a basis for exercising power. For many scholars, sovereignty can only exist within the state system. In fact, some argue that the two are “mutually constitutive” (Jonsson, Tagil and Tornqvist 2000, p.61). Taylor (1995, p.175) argues that “the notion of sovereignty assumes the existence of the state.” Brenner et al. (2003, p.2) define sovereignty as “the notion that each state commands a monopoly of legitimate power within its own domain and is entitled to exercise it without external influence” (emphasis added). So what is “the state”? Vincent (1987, p.19) defines the state as “a continuous public power above both ruler and ruled” that “exists in a geographically identifiable territory over which it holds jurisdiction.” It is a “continuous public power” in that it goes on despite changes to the government or the makeup of its citizenry. Governments come and go; the state remains. Furthermore, as Taylor (1995, p.176) asserts, “government is not a sovereign body. Opposition to the government is a vital activity at the heart of liberal democracy; opposition to the state is treason.” Generations of citizens are born and die; thousands of immigrants pass through states’ borders. The makeup of a state’s citizenry changes just as governments do, yet the state remains. Nothing in this definition of what a state is precludes the possession of sovereignty by other entities. How, then, has sovereignty come to be identified with the state to the exclusion of all other forms of political organization? One explanation may be the necessity of recognition. Biersteker and Weber define sovereignty as “a political entity’s externally recognized right to exercise final authority over its affairs” (1996, p.2, emphasis added). Such external recognition
212 comes from within the state system, a system that has become increasingly closed to new assertions of state sovereignty (Murphy 1996). If external recognition is an essential element of sovereignty, and external recognition can come only from within the existing state system, it would seem to follow that sovereignty can be possessed only by states. The sentiment that sovereignty cannot exist outside of a system that recognizes it is mirrored by Agnew (2005, p.40) in reference to states themselves: “Statehood emerges out of struggles for control, it is never a preexisting basis for those struggles. In other words, a state is not ontologically prior to a set of interstate relations.” States may not be able to exist outside of the state system, but that does not mean that other forms of political organization cannot also exist within it. As Biersteker and Weber (1996) argue, the modern state system is by no means the ultimate culmination of a lineal political development towards a sovereign ideal. The world political map could potentially look very different. It is not impossible to imagine a world in which other forms of political organization could exist and be part of the process of recognizing the sovereignty of each other. In fact, such a world may already exist. Assuming for the moment that sovereignty is tied exclusively to the state, there are fundamental problems with the concept of absolute sovereignty. Agnew (2005) identifies three aspects of this concept that need examination. First, as mentioned above, state sovereignty is not acquired outside of “an ongoing system of states” (p. 440). Sovereignty does not exist outside of a system that recognizes it. If states do not have inherent sovereignty outside of recognition, it makes no sense to debate whether or not non-state forms of political organization have inherent sovereignty. The lack of sovereignty in non-state organizations has more to do with not having a place in the world sovereignty recognition system. Second, sovereignty is not equal across all states, given the hierarchy that exists in terms of international power relations. Some states have more or less sovereignty than each other based on their relative rank in the world power hierarchy. This is counterintuitive to the idea that all states possess absolute sovereignty, but the existence of sovereignty hierarchies between states opens the possibility for sovereignty hierarchies within states. Third, and finally, sovereignty need not be exclusively territorial. To be sure, “all forms of polity…occupy some sort of space” (p. 441). However, “political authority is not necessarily predicated on and defined by strict and fixed territorial boundaries” (p. 441). The Roman
213 Catholic Church is an historical example, but today there are many supra- and trans-national organizations that possess political authority. Individual states are members of supranational organizations like the United Nations, the European Union, and the World Trade Organization. Other groups, like the Marine Stewardship Council, exist as transnational entities. Yet, debates about sovereignty continue to focus on the state as the seat of absolute authority. It is not that the world political system could potentially look different; it is that it already does, and has for much of history. As Biersteker and Weber argue, sovereignty is a social construction that has changed over time. “The modern state system is not based on some timeless principle of sovereignty, but on the production of a normative conception which links authority, territory, population, and recognition in a unique way, and in a particular place (the state)” (1996, p.3). In other words, sovereignty is only exclusively associated with the state because it has been socially constructed in that way. This is reproduced because it is beneficial to states for sovereignty to belong to them exclusively; it maintains the state system. Yet, it would be incorrect to assume that states merely use sovereignty as an idea in order to achieve this goal. As Murphy (1996, p. 87) argues (in a statement that closely parallels Mitchell’s claims about the power of culture), “to conclude that sovereignty…is simply a concept that has been employed when it is politically expedient…is to ignore the extraordinary power of the dissemination and widespread acceptance of sovereignty as a political-territorial ideal.” To conceive of sovereignty as a socially constructed concept does not preclude the reproduction of the concept through ongoing processes. Furthermore, the definition of sovereignty is constantly being constructed through the very processes of reproduction. This constant construction means that different ideas about sovereignty emerge in different places at different times. There are at least as many definitions of sovereignty as there are political units that claim it (Murphy 1996). The idea that sovereignty may mean different things in different settings is nothing new; it goes back at least to the founding of the United States. Thomas Jefferson, attempting to explain sovereignty in the new federal system, wrote, “It seems to me, therefore, that we only perplex ourselves when we attempt to explain the relations existing between the general government and the several state governments, according to those ideas of sovereignty which prevail under systems essentially different from our own” (Ford 1904 (1776), cited in Wilkinson 1987).
214 The architects of American federalism did not make use of sovereignty in the absolutist sense. Instead, the idea of dual, or divided, sovereignty emerged. Although, as Engdahl (1987, p.11) warns us, “governmental power [was not] sliced into separate segments and parceled between nations and states,” each can “nibble from the other’s plate” (p.11) depending on the circumstances. The point is that, “in this scheme, the governments of neither the states nor the United States had absolute power” (Wilkinson 1987, p. 54). Thus, it is possible for the federal government of the U.S. to be sovereign at the same time that individual U.S. states are. At the time that the U.S. constitution was drafted, and powers were delegated between the individual states and the federal government, the status of Native American tribes was not fully settled in terms of their position within the new system. Numerous authors cite the U.S. policy of signing treaties with the tribes as evidence that the government recognized tribal sovereignty (c.f. Mason, 2000; Kickingbird et al, 1977). Since that time, the status of tribes as sovereign or not has been continually reconfigured by all three branches of the U.S. government. The Legislature, being composed of representatives from the U.S. states, has most often passed legislation hindering tribal sovereignty in relation to the states. Similarly, the Executive Branch has had a history of non-enforcement of laws favoring tribal sovereignty. While in practice the Legislative and Executive Branches have tended to undermine tribal sovereignty, the Judicial Branch has been the most instrumental of the three in upholding it, even as it simultaneously limited tribes’ sovereign powers. In the 1820s and 30s, three Supreme Court decisions collectively known as the Marshall Trilogy were instrumental in establishing the position of Native American tribes within the U.S. sovereignty system. In Johnson v. McIntosh (Johnson v. McIntosh 1823), Chief Justice Marshall wrote that the tribes’ “rights to complete sovereignty, as independent nations, were necessarily diminished” because of conquest. The second opinion in the trilogy, Cherokee Nation v. Georgia (Cherokee Nation v. Georgia 1831), held that tribes are not foreign nations. Chief Justice Marshall instead termed them “domestic dependent nations,” a phrase that is still used today. The final opinion in the trilogy, Worcester v. Georgia (Worcester v. Georgia 1832), found that tribes maintained a level of sovereignty similar to the ways that “[a] weak state…[can] place itself under the protection of one more powerful, without stripping itself of the right of government and ceasing to be a state.” While these opinions certainly do not seem to favor tribal power, they are notable for preserving some level of sovereignty rather than extinguishing it altogether.
215 After Justice Marshall’s tenure, later Courts were not as generous in considerations of tribal sovereignty. In fact, through the late nineteenth and into the early twentieth centuries, a period marked by assimilationist policies emanating from the other two branches of government, Supreme Court decisions rarely held in favor of tribal sovereignty. This changed in the 1940s with the publication of Cohen’s Handbook of Federal Indian Law (1942). This book largely ignored the more recent Court opinions and instead looked back to the opinions of the Marshall Court for an understanding of tribal sovereignty. For many reasons, including the unfamiliarity of many Justices with the related tribal case law, Cohen’s book came to be cited in numerous Supreme and lower court decisions almost as if it were a Supreme Court opinion itself (Wilkinson 1987). The influence of this book cannot be understated; the return to the early Marshall opinions regarding tribal sovereignty has enabled a resurgence of sovereignty assertions by many tribal governments. A final Supreme Court decision of note in this discussion is United States v. Wheeler (United States v. Wheeler 1978). In the Wheeler decision, “distinguishing Indian tribes from both cities and federal territories, which derive their power from the states and the federal government, respectively, the Court found that Indian tribes possess a third source of sovereignty in the United States. Tribal powers are both preconstitutional and extraconstitutional” (Wilkinson 1987, p.61). They are preconstitutional because they existed before the Constitution was drafted and ratified. They are extraconstitutional because the Constitution was ratified to govern the United States, not the Tribes that, at least initially, existed outside the U.S. Sovereignty is thus not given by the U.S. government to tribes; it exists in and of itself. Therefore, “[w]hatever powers the federal government may exercise over Indian nations it received from the tribe, not the other way around” (Kickingbird et al. 1977, p.8). The same is true of individual U.S. states; neither the Constitution nor the federal government give states power. Technically speaking, the Constitution is the instrument through which states delegated powers to the federal government. Any powers not delegated to the federal government are reserved to the states as affirmed by the tenth amendment. Thus, the federal government is a government of delegated powers and state governments are governments of reserved powers (Engdahl 1987). Tribes can also be said to possess reserved powers and to have delegated powers to the federal government, although not as voluntarily. The specific powers that have been given to the
216 federal government vary from tribe to tribe and are dependent on the relevant treaty or agreement signed. “The law is clear…that an Indian nation possesses all the inherent power of any sovereign government except as those powers may have been qualified or limited by treaties, agreements, or specific acts of Congress” (Kickingbird et al. 1977, p.8). While the court was interpreting the legal status of tribes in relation to the government, the executive and legislative branches were enacting policies that have had far more lasting effects in practice. Almost all texts on the topic of tribal sovereignty list a series of federal policy eras in which tribes were considered and treated as more or less sovereign depending on the era. The years given as the beginning and end of each era may differ slightly, but the organization is generally the same. In this section I use the scheme delineated by Johnson (1999b, p. 8): “the formative years (1789-1871), allotments and assimilation (1871-1928), the period of Indian reorganization (1928-1945), the termination period (1945-1961), and the era of self- determination (1961-present).” During the first era, termed “the formative years,” government policies were aimed at bringing Indian tribes into subjugation. This period saw experimentation with co-existence, but it was not long before settlement pressure led to the introduction of policies designed to remove Native Americans from prime settlement land to reservations. Native tribes ceased to be free to live where they chose, but on the other hand, the treaties and agreements made between the tribes and the federal government were made on a sovereign-to-sovereign basis. Throughout this time, but especially after all tribes were relocated to reservations, many members of white American society advocated the assimilation of Native Americans. They believed that in the face of manifest destiny, Native Americans would cease to exist as distinct peoples. In this view, assimilation was inevitable, and policies should be enacted to facilitate the process. These attitudes and the policies they engendered are indicative of the period of “allotments and assimilation.” Due in large part to the influence of the so-called “Friends of the Indians,” a group made up of many prominent members of American society, Congress was persuaded to pass the General Allotment, or Dawes, Act in 1887. The Dawes Act provided for the allotment of community held reservation lands into private tracts of land for individuals and families. Anything left over was deemed “surplus” and available for sale to white settlers. The subsequent fragmentation of communities and loss of large economic land bases was far from an
217 unintentional outcome. The “Friends of the Indians” believed that assimilation into white society was not only inevitable, but in the best interest of Native Americans. This was a continuation of a process that began much earlier for the southeastern tribes such as the Creeks (Saunt 1999). Today, the Dawes Act is often viewed as one of the single-most destructive pieces of Indian legislation ever passed, not only for its effect on Native sovereignty, but for its effect on Native cultures as a whole. “This policy, had it been fully carried out, would have caused the end of Indian reservations in the United States, and the end of the Indian nations” (Van Otten 1998, p. 9). For a variety of reasons, the policy was not fully carried out across the country and Congress remained with an “Indian problem,” namely how to pay for the maintenance of reservations. A 1928 government study found that the profits from mineral extraction on reservations would be enough to cover the costs of maintaining them. This study ushered in the policy era of “Indian reorganization.” The Indian Reorganization Act was passed in 1934, in large part to facilitate the extraction of minerals from tribal lands. The act stated that the Bureau of Indian Affairs would draft constitutions for the various reservations and required that tribes vote on the new governments. In almost every case, the votes were fixed in favor of the new governments. The BIA-imposed tribal council form of government exists in most tribes today, although other forms of government have since re-emerged. On the one hand, tribal sovereignty was infringed upon as the right to choose a form of government was taken away. On the other hand, tribal existence was no longer in question, and the new governments, however beholden as they were to the U.S. government, were dealt with as distinct entities. As it turned out, the profits from mineral extraction did not cover the costs of maintaining the reservations (Van Otten 1998). The lack of funding was one factor that led to the fourth policy era, “the termination period.” Congress felt that expenditures for Native American reservations were too high and that it was time “to get on with the assimilation of Indian people into the dominant society” (Van Otten 1998, p. 11). During this era, Congress terminated the tribal status of 109 Indian nations in the U.S. Some have since been reinstated, but others are still fighting for re-recognition (see Chapter Seven). This era was truly the nadir of tribal sovereignty in terms of federal policy. The end of the termination period came as a result of increased Native American activism during the early 1960s (Johnson, Champagne and Nagel 1999). Coinciding with the successes of
218 other social movements of the day, Native American activists were able to agitate for increased sovereignty recognition. This arrived in the form of the Indian Self-Determination and Education Act of 1975. Among other things, this act allowed for the contracting of some federal and BIA services directly to tribal governments. It is notable that the government chose to use the term self-determination rather than sovereignty. This is likely due to the United Nations’ use of the term. In 1960, the United Nations declared that, “all people have the right to self-determination; by virtue of that right they may freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development.” However, in practice, the term ‘people’ usually applies only to “the total population of the state” (Johnston, Knight and Kofman 1988, p. 121). Evidence of this may be seen in the United Nations’ reluctance to use the term in naming the Commission on Human Rights Working Group on Indigenous Populations in 1982 (Churchill 1999a; Johnston, Knight and Kofman 1988). In addition to the international definition of self-determination, there are other uses of the term. Kamper (2000, p. viii-ix) thinks the difference between the two concepts is in emphasis. Self-determination emphasizes the “formulation of economically substantial institutions;” sovereignty is more about “demarcating a space of power and privilege compatible with nation- state status.” In other words, “self-determination is about making virtuous, productive, and independent American citizens; sovereignty is a project that promotes vital, soluble, and distinct communities whose members desire exclusive self-governing rights” (p. ix). By Kamper’s definition, the Self-Determination Act did nothing to acknowledge Indian sovereignty; it merely favored personal responsibility (in the anti-welfare program sense) over federal aid. His definition also conflates sovereignty and the state, an issue addressed previously in this paper. By his reasoning, sovereignty for tribes can be nothing less than nation-state status. Therefore, no amount of self-determination will lead to tribal sovereignty in the current U.S. federal system. Others view things differently. For some, self-determination and sovereignty are inter- related. For example, Harvey (2000, p. 15) defines sovereignty as “the point at which tribes can call their own shots, in the sense that they are financially independent from the U.S. government and are politically and culturally able to direct their lives on the reservations according to the
219 tribes’ desires.” If self-determination allows tribes to become financially independent through controlling their own economic ventures, then it can be seen as leading to sovereignty. Also, as Gordon (2000, p.3) points out, self-determination rights are not given by the government to tribes. Tribes “are qualified to exercise powers of self-government not by virtue of any delegation of powers from the federal government, but because of their original tribal sovereignty.” In this sense, self-determination can be viewed as recognition of elements derived from tribal sovereignty, and thus recognition of that sovereignty. This concept is echoed by Baron (1998, p. 167) who believes that the self-determination era in federal policy came from a “recognition that American Indians draw their political power from their land base.” Self- determination policies result in tribal control of their land bases, which in turn results in increased political power and the ability to assert their sovereignty. Be that as it may, the actual Indian Self-Determination Act “detailed the limits, more than the opportunities, of self-determination” (Fowler 2002, p.xv). The federal government was in no hurry to acknowledge total tribal sovereignty, and “Indian nations continue to strive for full autonomy as sovereign nations” (Van Otten 1998, p. 13). Self-determination policies have not changed this, but they do allow tribes to exercise more sovereignty than in the past. Anderson (1995, p. xv) sums it up this way: “somewhere between wardship and sovereignty lies the hope for self-determination.” If full recognition of sovereignty is not on the horizon, self-determination may be the most tribes can hope for. Yet, obtaining full sovereignty may not as important as obtaining some form of sovereignty. As Wilkinson (1987, p.55) notes, “the concept of sovereignty carries with it an aura that transcends technical considerations of political science and law. Designation as a sovereign, however imprecise the term may be, implies a kind of dignity and respectability beyond its literal meaning.” Perhaps this helps to explain why the concept of sovereignty was deployed so readily in the Hickory Ground case. Early on, claims to sovereignty centered on historic preservation and land use rights. For example, the State of Alabama would not deny that the Poarch Band is a sovereign entity, yet it arguably did not believe that the tribe’s sovereignty extends to the development of a historic/archaeological site. In the State’s view, the power to regulate such development has been delegated to the federal government (which in turn delegated aspects to the states). The Poarch Band argued in favor of the sovereign right to determine land use on
220 tribally held lands regardless of what was there. Other groups, often making reference to cultural identity, claimed that the Poarch Band did not have sovereignty over the remains at Hickory Ground at all. Nonetheless, a majority of the sovereignty claims in the Hickory Ground case had less to do with preservation and more to do with gaming. Tribal economic development programs instituted as a result of self-determination policies have taken many forms; however, no other endeavor has led to as much discussion over tribal sovereignty as Indian gaming. In fact, Baron (1998, p.165) believes that “gambling may come to dominate and even define the current federal Indian policy era” in the way that allotments and assimilation, reorganization, termination, and self-determination have defined others. As with previous policy eras, the era of Indian gaming can be viewed as more or less favorable for tribal sovereignty, depending on the perspective. The Indian Gaming Regulatory Act (IGRA) was passed in 1988 in an attempt to clarify the role of the federal, state, and tribal governments in gaming regulation. It established a class system that distinguishes different types of games. Class I games include social games, games with minimal value prizes, and traditional ceremonial games. Class II games consist of bingo and some non-banking card games. Neither Class I or Class II games are regulated under IGRA. Tribes may offer any of these games without consulting either the state or federal governments. Class III games are casino games, slot machines, and pari-mutuel betting on horses and dogs. These types of games are regulated by IGRA. The IGRA states that if a tribe wants to conduct Class III gaming, it must sign a compact with the government of the state in which the gaming activity will take place. Many feel that such compacts represent a diminishment of tribal sovereignty (e.g. Gede 2000). “Through IGRA, Congress tried to balance the interests of tribes with the states,” but, to many, Congress balanced the issue in favor of the states (Anders 1999, p. 169). Tribes are supposed to be regulated only by the federal government, but the IGRA in effect forces tribes to share sovereignty with the states, thus diminishing the “government to government” relationship between tribes and the federal government. On the other hand, states were concerned that their sovereignty was being undermined by unregulated and, most importantly, untaxed gambling occurring within their borders. The opposite perspective on the IGRA is that it provides tribes with opportunities to exercise self-determination and, by some definitions, assert their sovereignty. “Since the passage
221 of the 1988 IGRA, Indian gaming has become the focus of many tribes in efforts to assert their sovereign status and achieve economic independence.” For those tribes, “gaming is both a means to an end and an end in itself” (Mason 2000, p. 4). That the status of tribal sovereignty has changed so much over time is indicative of the ways sovereignty is socially constructed. Once freed from the concept of absolute sovereignty, it is tempting to think of sovereignty as existing in a fixed hierarchy with national sovereignties subsumed by supranational sovereignties, state or provincial sovereignties subsumed by national sovereignties, and so forth. Maaka and Fleras (2000, p. 94) use the term “nested sovereignty” to describe such a system in which “a people retain the right of self-determination over those jurisdictions of direct relevance to them, but in conjunction with the legitimate concerns of other jurisdictions.” The problem with this conception is that it implies that greater and lesser sovereignties exist, with smaller sovereignties totally subsumed by larger ones; it does not address the ways that sovereignties overlap and are contested. In the United States, federal, state, tribal, and local sovereignties are not nested like bowls one inside another; they exist alongside each other. As Inayatullah and Blaney (2004, p. 212) write, sovereignty can “no longer [be] treated as a homogeneous substance;” rather, it is “divided and distributed to create complex jurisdictional arrangements involving settlements that must be continuously renegotiated.” Thus, contests over sovereignty are at root issues of scale. That geographic “scale” is socially constructed has long been acknowledged (Delaney and Leitner 1997; Marston 2000) to the point that some have questioned the validity of the concept altogether (Marston, Jones III and Woodward 2005). It is not as though state governments constitute a naturally given and fixed scale relative to the federal government above and local governments below, with tribal governments trying to fit into that hierarchy, but rather that these scales are constructed as social and political categories, and presented in such a way as to appear fixed. Yet, when individual issues such as the acceptable land use of Hickory Ground arise, it becomes evident that power relationships are worked out in ways that do not conform to such a rigid system of “fixed” scales. The very difficulty in placing tribal governments in the local/state/national hierarchy calls that hierarchy into question. As this chapter will demonstrate, tribal sovereignty exists neither completely “above” nor “below” national, state, or local sovereignties, but rather is worked out
222 in conjunction with all of them – even as contestants in this case attempt to fix a hierarchy in which ultimate sovereignty rests with them. This does not mean, however, that contestants attempt to place themselves “on top” of the hierarchy. In fact, for some the most salient argument to make is to place themselves on the very bottom – at the level of individual property rights. Property can be thought of as the sovereign territory of the individual. Consider, for example, the following quote from Mitchell (Mitchell 2001, p. 11): “Homeless people can only be on private property…by the express permission of the owner of that property. While that is also true for the rest of us, the rest of us have at least one place in which we are (largely) sovereign.” However, private property differs from sovereign territory held at “larger” scales. Territory at any scale beyond private property may be further subdivided at smaller scales. There is a pervasive sense in the dominant model of property (as outlined in Blomley 2005) that there is no meaningful political territory smaller than private property, and that, far from being beholden to all the sovereignties above it, private property connotes a sense of ultimate sovereignty. It is the level at which ultimate decisions are made, and control does not have to be shared. Indeed, “the [property] owner is metaphorically set against other interests, notably the state. While state intervention can occur, this is presumptively suspect, and must be justified in relation to the prior and superior rights of the owner” (Blomley, p. 126). Property as a concept is so commonplace that it is easily taken for granted, but as Blomley notes, tribal property ownership is viewed as troublesome because it does not fit the dominant model. “The centrality given to private ownership means that other claims to land (other forms of property), if they are acknowledged at all, are viewed with suspicion, derision or indifference. The most striking case is that of indigenous claims to land, which continue to be treated either as some imperfect expression of the dominant model, or as so radically different as to be not really property at all” (p. 127, parenthetical in original). In fact, it was precisely this view that was used to justify the allocation of communal lands under the Dawes Act. Thus, the move to present tribal sovereignty in terms of property rights encounters problems of public perception. In attempting to present itself as a collective body that is exercising its property rights in the same way as an individual citizen or corporate entity would, a tribe opens itself up to charges that it has an unfair advantage when it comes to gaming and other economic opportunities. Yet, to define tribal property rights as something different is a
223 move treated with suspicion or derision as above. As a result, tribes must constantly reconfigure sovereignty claims in response to a wide variety of criticisms. Yet, this is nothing unique to tribal sovereignty. Every entity attempting to assert sovereignty engages in the same process – and these processes are not mutually exclusive. In this case, different entities have tried to position themselves relative to each other in such a way that they represent the “correct” scale at which to control Hickory Ground, whether that means possessing sovereign territory above all others, or possessing private property at the root of all other sovereignties. Such jockeying for position is an ongoing process that belies any type of rigid hierarchy of sovereignty and instead reveals its continual construction.
Hickory Ground
As alluded to previously, much of the discussion over identity in relation to historic preservation in this case is also about sovereignty. Arguably, the transmittal of Hickory Ground to the Poarch Band was about returning the land to those to whom it belonged in the sovereign sense of land belonging to a people. The problem is that, even after the land transfer was made official, no one could agree on whom the land ‘really’ belonged to, or what level of control the Poarch Band should have over it. The Poarch Band has asserted that because Hickory Ground is tribal trust land, it is sovereign territory and the tribe has sole discretion in decisions regarding it. Many other groups have challenged that assertion while making claims of their own. Historic preservation groups, including the Alabama Historical Commission, have argued that while the Poarch Band is a sovereign nation, Hickory Ground is still subject to federal preservation law. Several other Indian tribes, both federally and state recognized, made identity- based sovereignty claims to both the land itself and the cultural resources located there. These claims were made in the media, in letters to officials like the state governor and attorney general, and in comments submitted to the Advisory Council of Historic Preservation during the formal Section 106 process. However, at the culmination of that process, the Bureau of Indian Affairs retained a definition of sovereignty tied to possession of the legal title to the land. Yet, at the same time as it affirmed the Poarch Band’s sovereignty over Hickory Ground, the BIA detailed its limits: “The Poarch Band is responsible to its members for its actions and efforts in carrying out the long-term economic development as well as curative objectives of the
224 tribe. Consequently, the Bureau does not intend to interfere or to be unduly paternalistic in the carrying out of its oversight of the Poarch Band’s development plans as long as such plans comport with the law” (Ott 1992). Thus, the Poarch Band is responsible to its own members, but also overseen by the BIA. The BIA made these statements in response to a section in the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation’s report detailing the concerns of other tribes. These comments may be interpreted as indicating that the Poarch Band’s sovereignty is limited by the federal government, but not by other tribes. However, the Hickory Ground Tribal Town of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation continued to assert sovereignty claims over the site. In a 2002 letter to the Poarch Band, the group stated: “Hickory Ground Tribal Town is the owner of all remains or objects including human remains, burial goods, and items of cultural patrimony which have been found in any historic or prehistoric context at the site known as Hickory Ground located south of Wetumpka, Alabama.” Furthermore, “Hickory Ground Tribal Town…denies that the ownership of any remains and/or objects or Cultural Property has been expressly relinquished” (Thompson, Thompson and Soweka 2002). Efforts such as this by the Hickory Ground Tribal Town and other groups to assert claims to the site on the basis of heritage, sacredness, and indigeneity have been examined in the preceding chapters. Many of these claims may be thought of as assertions of sovereignty over Hickory Ground and the right to preserve or destroy (depending on one’s perspective) the existing landscape. However, an equally important argument over sovereignty regarded the right to construct a new landscape – namely, a gaming facility. One of the first references to sovereignty in this case was made in regards to the announcement of a proposed bingo hall. Local Wetumpka religious leaders were dismayed to learn that there was little they could do to stop gambling on land that they considered part of their local community. Rev. Tommy Carlisle of Grace Baptist Church stated, “I’m not against them doing what they want, but for me not to have any voice is hard to understand” (Fleming 1988). This statement indicates some recognition of tribal sovereignty, but only such as it includes consultation with the city of Wetumpka. In 1992, with the announcement that the Poarch Band was seeking a gaming compact with the state, gaming became a major focus of discussions about sovereignty at Hickory Ground. In a November newspaper profile of the tribe, Chief Eddie Tullis set forth the following
225 goals: “to provide necessary services for our people,” “to create the opportunity for us to be involved in the decisions that affect our economic well-being,” and “to own our own community again” (Baggett 1992). The article noted that the tribe had made great strides in achieving self-sufficiency as a result of federal recognition. With that recognition, the Poarch Band “gained equal footing with state governments in the application process for grants and other federal funding sources.” Thus, the tribe was portrayed as comparable to a state government in being able to provide for its citizens, while still beholden to the federal government for funding. In addition to federal funding, much of the economic success of the tribe to that point stemmed from its bingo parlor in Atmore. As well as wanting to open a gaming facility at Hickory Ground, the tribe sought to obtain a gaming compact with the state in order to expand the Atmore facility to a Class III operation (Hardy 1992). The Indian Gaming Regulatory Act of 1988 requires states to negotiate “in good faith” with tribes to develop compacts that allow for Class III gambling on Indian lands. Such compacts are intended as an incentive for states because they provide the potential to negotiate payments from tribes that otherwise would not be obligated to pay state taxes. Despite the potential for negotiated payments, gaming opponents have used the fact that tribes do not automatically have to pay state taxes to further their cause. In an article appearing on November 26 and directly addressing Hickory Ground, the land was characterized as, “reservation land, effectively out of state control and eligible for a high- stakes bingo parlor that would escape state taxes” (Hardy and Hodges 1992). The fear of an unregulated and untaxed gaming operation led to widespread local and state opposition to the project. This opposition took a toll on development plans. In the same article, Chairman Tullis stated that original plans were for the tribe to build a bingo parlor and to allow non-tribal entrepreneurs to build any associated development. However, “due to the opposition, due to the harassment we have had, we are going to build our own facility there and we will try to serve our customers’ total needs while they are at the gaming hall.” The specter of unregulated and untaxed gaming persisted for some time. In mid-1993, the owners of several Alabama dog tracks attempted to have legislation passed that would allow them to offer Class III gaming at their existing facilities (Associated Press 1993b). The legislation would have created a state gaming commission to regulate these activities. As
226 discussed in the preceding chapter, a stated goal of the dog track owners was to beat the Poarch Band into the gaming business, and one of the incentives given for passing the legislation was that if the Poarch Band acquired gaming first, the tribe would corner the market and none of the profits would go to the state. If the state regulated facilities opened first, the situation would be reversed and the state would stand to make a great deal more money. As an Associated Press article put it, “Indian tribes are considered foreign nations who have entered into treaties with the federal government, and so answer to the federal government and not the state.” Thus, tribal gaming would not be governed by any state gaming commission. However, Chairman Tullis stated that the tribe would “cooperate fully with any [such] commission,” and if necessary “negotiate some type of payment to the state” from any tribal casino. He went on to say, “We plan to make a major investment in the state’s economy. [Additionally], our people will be paying taxes because they will have money.” Nonetheless, because the tribe would not automatically have to answer to the state commission, some dog track owners and others continued to argue that the Poarch Band would be unregulated and thus have an unfair advantage. As dog track owner Milton McGregor put it, “The Lord only knows how much money the State of Alabama is going to lose when the Indians get casinos. There will be no referendum, no taxes, and they will be totally unregulated.” Tribal attorney Teri Poust replied, “That’s very false. We’re severely regulated by the National Indian Gaming Commission. Everything we do...is going to have to be approved by the chairman of the commission” (Blalock 1993). McGregor’s characterization presents the idea that states have sovereignty over all gaming within their borders, including Indian gaming. The tribe did eventually vote internally as to whether or not to pursue Class III gaming, and, as Poust’s comments indicate, they would be subject to federal taxes and federal regulation; however, because the State of Alabama was not involved, the situation was presented as no referendum, no taxes, and no regulation. Federal oversight is thus presented as the equivalent of no oversight, implying that the state is the entity that has, and should have, the most say over ‘local’ affairs such as gaming. Such comments are inextricably tied up with longstanding views in Alabama, as in the rest of the American South, that states’ rights trump federal regulation. Some took this a step further in arguing on behalf of sovereignty for local communities within states. In 1994, the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs was considering legislation to
227 overhaul the IGRA. U.S. Representative Terry Everett testified before the committee, citing what he called a “major flaw” in the Act (Hardy 1994). While the existing law required a compact between the tribe and the state, Everett argued that local communities should have a say:
I believe that the local community, which will have their infrastructure and public services strained by the operation of a gambling casino, should have a voice in the approval process…The inclusion of the local community in the gaming compact will not only reflect a more complete representation of the people of the affected area, but I believe it will foster a more peaceful and cooperative co- existence between the tribes and the local communities in which they reside.
The phrase “in which they reside” implies that tribes are part of local communities rather than separate entities. In response to Everett’s suggestion, Poarch attorney Teri Poust stated that the tribe would oppose such a proposal “because it represents a further infringement on tribal sovereignty.” Besides, “the governor is supposed to take the community’s views about establishing casino gambling into consideration, once tribal-state compact discussions are under way” (Brumas 1994). The phrase “further infringement” reflects her view that having to negotiate with the state in the first place is an infringement of sovereignty. Furthermore, the phrase “once…discussions are under way” connotes that the governor should not be able to refuse to negotiate. In theory, Indian tribes are supposed to have a government-to-government relationship with the U.S. federal government, presumably in the same way that the U.S. interacts with other countries. Thus Poust’s comment about “further infringement” – the IGRA’s requirement that tribes consult with state governments rather than solely with the federal government is seen as an infringement of sovereignty. On the other hand, in practice tribes are sovereign entities nested within the United States in the same way that state governments are, and, one could argue (as Everett does), in the same way that local communities are. A separate, but related, question regards the origin of sovereignty. As seen in the introduction to this chapter, many scholars do not conceive of sovereignty outside of a state recognition system, but the question of whether or not sovereignty exists ontologically prior to recognition is one that has ramifications. Sovereignty that is thought to have been bestowed by
228 others may be seen as less significant than sovereignty that is thought to have been possessed before recognition. On the occasion of the Atmore bingo parlor’s tenth anniversary, the Atlanta Journal- Constitution ran an article detailing the Poarch Band’s plans to expand gaming operations (Reese 1995). The article represented sovereignty issues thusly:
The Poarch Creeks…got tribal recognition from the federal government in 1984. That status gave it sovereignty over its land and allowed it to open the bingo hall [in Atmore]. But the tribe has not been allowed to open a casino, as it planned, because of the federal Indian Gaming Regulatory Act of 1988, which prohibits tribes from opening new casinos without a compact with their respective states.
In this account, federal recognition “gave” the tribe sovereignty over its land; the federal government did not recognize sovereignty that already existed. This is an important distinction because, in this view, whatever sovereign powers the tribe possesses were given to it by the federal government. By correlation then, the tribe is ranked below the federal government in the power hierarchy. Because state and local governments are also ranked below the federal government in terms of power, it is not a stretch for some to view tribal governments as roughly equivalent to these forms of government. These statements also reflect further ambivalence about the extent of tribal sovereignty, as evidenced by two different uses of the word “allow.” In the first case, sovereignty is said to have “allowed” the tribe to open a bingo hall, in the sense that the tribe was no longer subject to Alabama state laws regarding gambling. This is a positive view of sovereignty for the tribe. In the second case, however, the IGRA does not “allow” the tribe to open a casino, indicating a limit to sovereignty. Meanwhile, some of the US states also felt that the IGRA caused a diminishment of their sovereignty. In 1995, the Seminole Tribe of Florida and the Poarch Band of Creek Indians filed suit against the states of Florida and Alabama, respectively, attempting to force the states to negotiate gaming compacts under the provisions of the IGRA. The states argued that the IGRA undermined state sovereignty by abrogating the Eleventh Amendment protection from suit. The two cases were eventually combined and went before the Supreme Court in 1996. The Supreme
229 Court found that Congress did not have the power to abrogate state sovereignty by passing the IGRA, and thus could not give tribes the right to sue state governments. The outcome of this decision was interpreted in different ways. The states found the outcome favorable because they felt it placed the decision of whether or not to allow Indian gaming back in their hands. Conversely, the tribes found the outcome favorable because they felt the Supreme Court decision enabled them to go directly to the Secretary of the Interior in seeking gaming approval, bypassing the states altogether. In March 1996, The Birmingham News ran an editorial decrying the situation if the latter scenario were to prove true (Editorial 1996). The editorial strongly favored state sovereignty as evidenced by the following selections:
If Alabama’s government doesn’t want casino gambling within the state’s boundaries, its sentiment should prevail.
Why should a federal official have the power to tell the state it has to allow the Indians to open a casino?
The Indians would have the privilege of operating a casino and gaining huge profits without having to share one red cent. That’s just plain wrong. If the Indians want to open a casino it ought to be with the blessing of the state’s elected officials and its people. Otherwise, what’s the point of state government?
These statements indicate that tribal land is thought of as existing within the state rather than alongside it as a separate politically sovereign entity. Because of this, the state is seen as sovereign; even if being forced to do so, the state does the “allowing” rather than the federal government. The use of the word “privilege” indicates that the tribe would have something special over and above ‘other citizens’ of the state. Finally, the concluding question reiterates the thought that the proposed gaming will take place within the state rather than within a separate political unit. All of this adds up to a conception of nested sovereignty whereby tribal sovereignty is seen as similar to that possessed by city and town governments. Tribes are sovereign over tribal
230 lands only on such issues that are truly local; any issue that is otherwise the jurisdiction of the state remains so on tribal lands, and the federal government should have no involvement. In May 1996, the Poarch Band held a referendum for tribal members regarding whether or not they wanted to pursue casino gaming further. In an article about the vote, Alabama State Representative Greg Wren, whose district encompassed the Hickory Ground property, said, “Even if the Creeks vote to support casinos, the real choice belongs to Alabamians” (DeMonia 1996). He went on to say, “Notwithstanding how 2,000 Creeks feel, until all Alabamians lift the constitutional ban on gambling, I’ll do everything I can to make sure gambling is not allowed in Alabama, and especially in Elmore County.” These statements represent a conflicted view of the tribe as being part of the state, but at the same time separate from it. His first statement indicates a view that “the Creeks” are not Alabamians, but the second statement indicates that the vote represents the opinion of some Alabamians as opposed to all. This is the crux of the issue of tribal sovereignty: How can tribes be separate while at the same time be part of a larger political entity? For some, the answer lies in nested sovereignties with distinct jurisdictions. In 1999, the Secretary of the Interior issued procedures by which tribes could obtain a gaming permit in the event that the state failed to negotiate. Immediately upon issuance of these procedures, the States of Alabama and Florida filed suit. The lawsuit was depicted by Jon Glogau, special counsel with the Florida Attorney General’s Office, as “a jurisdictional battle” (Lackeos 2000e). Glogau described the situation leading up to the lawsuit as such: “Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbitt stated in the rules that if negotiations deteriorate between a state and an Indian tribe which wants to open a casino on Indian land in that state, the tribe may then simply request the Department of Interior issue the tribe a gaming license, and the department would do so.” In a prepared statement to the media, Alabama Attorney General Bill Pryor wrote, “These rules are an attempt by the federal government and the Secretary of the Interior to circumvent the rights of states to decide whether Indian gaming will be allowed, and if so, how. These are decisions that rightfully should be made by the people of Alabama and other states, and not imposed upon us by the federal government and an Interior Secretary whose official role is to serve as an advocate for the Indian tribes” (ibid). Given that the twenty-year preservation covenant placed on the deed to Hickory Ground was set to expire in July of 2000, the outcome of this court case was considered of urgent
231 importance to many of the parties involved. Various state and local leaders took the opportunity to reiterate their stances opposing a casino “in Alabama.” The Mayor of Wetumpka, Jo Glenn, said, “Gambling is still illegal in Alabama. This city’s government is strongly opposed to a casino coming to Wetumpka, and we will fight it by whatever legal means that are necessary” (Roney and Cox 2000). The governor’s spokeswoman stated, “The governor will take whatever steps are necessary to prevent construction of casinos in Alabama. He’s adamantly opposed to any form of casino gambling in Alabama” (Brumas 2000). This was reiterated by Attorney General Pryor. He said that the state “will take whatever action necessary to prevent illegal gambling by any Indian tribe in the State of Alabama,” and that “[Secretary of the Interior] Babbitt has no authority to allow gaming by Indians in states where such gaming is prohibited by law” (Baggett 2000). Immediately prior to the covenant expiration, the governor took the step of barring any state department or agency from issuing a contractor’s license or construction permit for Hickory Ground. Governor Siegelman said, “This order strengthens [my position] because we have directed all our state agencies not to do anything to facilitate what the Poarch Creek Indians want to do. This gives them the right to say no” (Lackeos and Owen 2000). In other words, the state may not be able to deny the tribe the legal right to build a casino, but they could deny them the physical ability to do so. This was intended to be a concrete demonstration of the limitations of tribal sovereignty and of the power of the state relative to both the federal government and the tribe. In a letter to the editor appearing in the Mobile Register, U.S. Representative Bob Riley further articulated the state’s stance:
The people of Alabama have repeatedly said that they don’t want blackjack and poker being played within our sovereign boundaries. However, as ridiculous as it may seem, our laws - our electoral and constitutional decisions for more than a century - may not carry enough legal weight when balanced against the federal courts and Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt…Because Indian reservations are considered tribal grounds - in this case, Creek Nation land - the Poarch Band mistakenly believes it can ignore Alabama law as long as it doesn’t violate the regulations of the Interior Department's Bureau of Indian Affairs, the federal
232 agency that oversees reservations. However, the proposed casino site exists within the boundaries of Alabama, and casino operations would directly affect the people of Wetumpka, Elmore County, and the entire state…No court, Interior Secretary, or tribal chief should be allowed to undermine our state’s constitution and our right to self-government (Riley 2000).
Ironically, Riley and fellow Congressman Terry Everett attempted to use their positions within the federal government to get what Alabama wanted. In October 2000, they introduced a bill that would have forced the Poarch Band to use the Hickory Ground land for historic preservation. As Everett stated, “Congressman Riley and I believe there is no legal authority for the construction of a gambling enterprise on these historic Indian burial grounds, and our legislation serves notice on those who believe otherwise by underscoring the tribe’s agreement with the federal government not to develop the burial site” (Hodges 2000). Whether the concern for “the burial grounds” was genuine or merely used as a strategy to stop gaming is debatable; however, a Birmingham News editorial about the bill would seem to indicate the latter. It read in part, “Time after time, the people of Alabama have spoken on proposals to expand gambling in the state. This is not an industry our citizens want or need…If the Poarch Creek tribe continues pushing for a gambling casino, Riley, Everett and the entire state congressional delegation should keep pushing for a federal law to prevent it” (Editorial 2000). Not only does this place an emphasis on gaming over the historic preservation issue, but it also indicates an understanding that a federal, rather than a state, law would be needed. Conversely, others turned to local efforts in hopes that they would be more successful than those at either the state or federal levels. By late September 2001, the situation was largely unchanged. The bill introduced by Reps. Riley and Everett failed to pass, and the lawsuit filed by Alabama and Florida against the Department of the Interior was still pending. Recognizing that Class III gaming would likely continue to be delayed, the Poarch Band announced that they would proceed to build a bingo facility on the property. At this time, the mayor of Wetumpka offered to buy the land (Lackeos 2001a). Initially, the terms of the offer were not publicized, nor was it directly addressed by the Poarch Band. Nonetheless, it does seem to have raised awareness of how strong local opposition was, leading to a counter offer. Chief Tullis announced that the tribe would be willing to abandon
233 plans to build a bingo hall in Wetumpka if Governor Siegelman would allow it to build a casino in Atmore instead. He stated, “I’ll build a park on our land in Wetumpka if the governor will let us go ahead and build a casino” (Lackeos 2001m). In response, Governor Siegelman accused Tullis of using the land as “a bargaining chip” and that attempts to do so were “pointless” because he would not support casino gambling in any form (Schrenk 2001). Thereafter, the tribe proceeded with development plans. In a further attempt to keep this from happening, the City of Wetumpka filed a lawsuit in civil court based on the claim that construction was a violation of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (Lackeos 2001d). The plaintiffs named in the suit were the City of Wetumpka; Jon Griswold, Charles Landers, Sonia Landers, Milton Meads (all Native Americans); and the Alabama Preservation Alliance. Defendants named were Gail Norton, Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior; Neal McCaleb, Assistant Secretary of the Department of Interior; the Bureau of Indian Affairs; the Poarch Band of Creek Indians; Chief Eddie Tullis; William Day, tribal preservationist; and David Eason Construction. However, then-Wetumpka Mayor R. Scott Golden requested that the lawsuit be put on hold until he had the chance to make a formal offer to purchase the land. Mayor Golden attended a specially held Tribal Council meeting and offered to buy all 50 acres of the land owned by the Poarch Band in the Wetumpka area (15 of which was held in fee-simple) for $900,000 or the 35 acres of trust land for $704,000 (Lackeos 2001f). He also offered to build a Creek Indian museum on the property in the event that the tribe decided not to sell the land. According to news coverage of the meeting, several council members spoke about their opposition to selling the land – and most did so with reference to sovereignty at the level of property rights. Councilwoman Amy Bryan said, “It is our responsibility to develop our land the way we want to. That’s our sovereign right” (ibid). In response, Mayor Golden said, “If we’re going to fight in federal court, I’m going to try to rip that sovereignty to shreds.” Mayor Golden’s comments were not well received (to say the least), and ultimately the buyout offer was rejected (Lackeos 2001h). His comments not only angered the Tribal Council, but also many other Native Americans around the country. Chairman Tullis stated in an interview with the Montgomery Advertiser that he had heard from the leaders of several tribes in other states regarding the Mayor’s threat “to rip the Poarch Creeks’ sovereignty to shreds,” and that the comments had
234 upset them (Lackeos 2001i). In fact, the United South and Eastern Tribes Incorporated (USET), representing the governments of 24 individual tribes, passed a resolution titled “Affirmation of Tribal Sovereignty” condemning the city’s lawsuit as a “self-serving and malicious attempt to undermine sovereignty and limit tribal self-determination” (United South and Eastern Tribes Incorporated 2002). Coverage of the buyout offer rejection reveals one of the rhetorical devices employed in arguing who possessed sovereignty over Hickory Ground, namely describing the physical location of the land relative to Wetumpka. On October 18, an Associated Press article covering the rejection of the buyout offer read, “Wetumpka officials have filed a lawsuit in an attempt to keep the bingo parlor out of their city” (2001c). An article appearing in the Montgomery Advertiser on the same day quotes Chairman Tullis’s formal rejection letter: “My Tribal Council unanimously rejects the city’s offer to purchase the property located adjacent to your fine city” (Lackeos 2001h). Thus, while the city characterized the property as part of Wetumpka, the tribe described it as adjacent to it. This nuance was not lost on the community. Interviewee N, a Wetumpka church leader, told me that “whenever there was anything in the newspaper about it, it generally said ‘near Wetumpka’ or ‘in rural Elmore County,’ but this is right down in the heart of Wetumpka – right in the middle of Wetumpka.” Descriptions of Hickory Ground’s location relative to Wetumpka indicate particular views about the city’s sovereignty over it. But, whether or not Hickory Ground is ‘in’ Wetumpka, or merely surrounded by it, the city certainly stood to be impacted by a gaming facility. Eventually the city withdrew the lawsuit, largely for monetary reasons. The tribe’s lawyers requested that the city put up a substantial bond – close to $3 million dollars – that would pay for lost revenue if the city were to lose the case. This was far beyond what the city could afford, and led to out-of-court settlement negotiations in which the city agreed to drop the lawsuit in exchange for financial assistance from the tribe for widening U.S. Highway 231 near the entrance to the proposed gaming facility and for the construction of a new fire station (Lackeos 2001k). After the lawsuit was dropped - particularly under those circumstances - community attitudes towards a gaming facility changed dramatically. In February 2004, the Alabama Communities of Excellence organization began an assessment of Wetumpka for potential
235 membership (Adams 2004a). Their main suggestion for improvement was to include the Poarch Band in future economic development plans. A citizen of Wetumpka, Dana Hunt, agreed with this recommendation in an interview with the Montgomery Advertiser. Hunt stated, “As far as I can see, it’s their right to be there…We should work with them and treat them just as we would anyone else opening or starting a business. The bigger Wetumpka is the more money there is for the city.” Thus, while the Poarch Band might not be part of the Wetumpka community, they should be treated as if they were. This sentiment is not substantively different than the old view; the tribe was already being treated as though they were part of the community in that the city would not allow anyone to open a gaming facility. However, now the view was to treat the tribe like everybody else in order to get the same benefits as the city would get from everybody else. At the same time as the city was moving towards trying to work with the tribe, the state was still opposed to casino plans. In determining how best to incorporate the tribe into city considerations, Wetumpka City Councilman Jerry Willis met with U.S. Senator Richard Shelby for his feedback. Shelby called the rationale behind the U.S. Department of Interior being able to grant permission to open a casino “troubling.” He said, “It’s like a nation within a nation. We are giving them power around the country by letting small groups in the areas. It gives them an advantage. The law should not allow them to have an advantage over everyone else” (ibid). Again, this view of sovereignty is not substantively different from that held by the city of Wetumpka or, for that matter, by the Poarch Creek. Indeed, Shelby’s “nation within a nation” phrase – while intended to be derogatory – might well have been uttered as a statement of sovereignty by a Creek leader. For Shelby, however, the tribe’s “advantages” as a “nation within a nation” are seen as a negative rather than a positive. Around this time, in an attempt to even the playing field for “everyone else,” some state lawmakers introduced legislation to place a $3 toll on roads leading into any of the Poarch Band’s gaming facilities. Because the facilities are not subject to state taxes, Representative John Rogers stated, “We’re going to get some money out of them somehow” (Barrow 2004a). The Mobile Register article detailing the proposed plan offers insight into the state’s view of tribal sovereignty. It reads, “Federal law allows sovereign Indian nations recognized by the U.S. Department of the Interior to operate casinos on reservation land, with certain conditions. The establishments are subject to federal regulation and exempt from state gambling taxes” (ibid).
236 The implication here is that tribes would otherwise be subject to state taxes if the federal government had not “exempted” them. In this view, the federal government has taken away some of the state’s sovereignty. From a different perspective, Eddie Tullis stated that, “The U.S. Constitution says we should be able to enjoy the benefits of gambling. They’re denying us our rights to participate in Class III gambling” (Adams 2004b). In other words, the tribe would otherwise be able to operate gaming facilities if the state weren’t trying to overstep its bounds. In late 2005, a new sovereignty issue emerged. The Poarch Band reached an agreement with the City of Wetumpka for city police officers to police the gaming facility. City Council members met and approved the agreement without input from the Elmore County Commission. This angered the county government because there is no city jail; prisoners are housed in the Elmore County jail per an existing agreement between the city and the county. However, as a news article covering the controversy pointed out, “because the proposed casino is on tribal land, the center is considered to be outside the city’s jurisdiction, meaning it is not part of [the] existing agreement” (Arrington 2005). Ultimately, an agreement was reached between all three parties that resolved the issue. However, this dispute highlights the fact that Hickory Ground is not part of the City of Wetumpka or Elmore County, thus making agreements for things like police and fire protection necessary. Because the city and the county received payments for these services, the fact that the tribe is a separate entity is presumably seen as beneficial (i.e. they get paid additional money to provide services they already provide ‘other’ city and county businesses). A few months after this situation was resolved, the Poarch Band launched a campaign to make itself better known to state lawmakers and citizens of Alabama (Cooper 2006). The campaign was called “Alabama Natives, Alabama Neighbors.” As discussed in the previous chapter, this campaign was intended to emphasize that the tribe was part of Alabama (“Natives”), but also separate from it (“Neighbors”). One of the implications of this was that the tribe was more than willing to work with the state on gaming issues, but that nothing said that they had to. This implication was addressed by an op-ed appearing in The South Alabamian (Palmer 2007). It reads in part:
237 While some pro-gambling politicians may try to argue that there is nothing the state can do, don’t be misled. The Poarch Creeks have no right to open a full- blown casino in Alabama; they are subject to Alabama’s laws like everyone else. The question is whether or not state leaders will enforce them. If they don’t and the Poarch Creeks open their casino, gambling money will dominate every election and every legislative session for the foreseeable future.
If sovereignty relies on recognition, then recognition relies on politics – whether in the literal sense of the tribal recognition process discussed in the previous chapter or in the less obvious pragmatics of court cases, settlements, and financial deals discussed in this one. The fear that gaming money would unduly influence Alabama government is at root a fear of the loss of control over internal affairs, or, in other words, a loss of sovereignty. Yet, as discussed at the beginning of this section, gaming is not the only issue regarding sovereignty in this case. In the interviews that I conducted for this research, very few of the interviewees expressed concern about gaming in general, although this was likely a function of the fact that the majority of my interviews were conducted with people from the Native and preservation communities rather than non-Native politicians or local residents. When questioned directly about the issue, a common sentiment was, “I have no problem with gambling. I’ve been to Las Vegas/Biloxi/Atlantic City. I just don’t think they should put a casino there [at Hickory Ground].” For most of my interviewees, the main concern was historic preservation and the right to control the historic resources. For some, tribal sovereignty is seen as limited by federal preservation law. As an employee of the Alabama Historical Commission said in recounting events, “After the covenants ran out in 2000, they started proceeding heavily into [developing the land], which was of course their right as long as they did x, y, and z – x, y, and z being as long as they stayed off certain areas, as long as they did the testing first, and they have done that” (Interview B). This indicates that the Poarch Band has the right to do what it wants – within limits dictated by the federal government. This idea was reiterated by Interviewee D who said, “The Creeks did [archaeology] because it was a federal action. The land belongs to the federal government held in trust for the Creeks, and so they had to do archaeology [even though] all of them think that they shouldn’t have to because they are a sovereign nation.”
238 On the other hand, one member of the Poarch Band whom I interviewed stated that the tribe chose to go through the Section 106 process because it was the right thing to do rather than anything that was required (Interview G). Another tribal member said, “Whether people agree with us or not, as a sovereign tribe, owning this property – and it is our reservation trust property – the Poarch Creeks have exercised their sovereignty and done what we felt was best for us. There are so many different parties looking at it in so many different ways, [but] it’s our property. We have ancestral ties to it. We have a sovereign right to developing gaming. Period” (Interview H). At least one archaeologist whom I interviewed agreed. “The Poarch Band as a sovereign entity was certainly within their rights to do whatever they wanted with their property if it was theirs and deeded to them.” When asked what he thought about a casino being built on the property, he replied, “Well, it’s not what I would have done I don’t think, but like I said, I think the Poarch are within their rights to do that. I may be the only archaeologist in the state who thinks this way, but I really think that Americans have been telling Indians what to do for centuries and it just seems like it is perfectly legitimate for them to say, ‘no we want to do something else.’ I don’t see that we have a say in it once it is in their hands” (Interview C). The disparity in the views about tribal sovereignty presented here may be attributed to the fact that preservation law both limits and upholds it. While federal preservation law may be seen to limit tribal sovereignty, it also demonstrates that tribal land is something more than privately owned land. As one archaeologist put it, “If it is private land and involves no federal money or federal action, you can bulldoze up anything [except for] human remains and cemeteries…If this had been purely in private hands, if they weren’t using any federal funds, they could have bulldozed this whole thing over.” But it isn’t purely in the hands of private citizens of the State of Alabama; it is federal trust land. This means that it is subject to federal law (a limit to sovereignty), but at the same time, it is not subject to Alabama law (a measure of sovereignty). However, given that many in Alabama took the view that Hickory Ground was no different from privately held land within the state, at least one member of the Poarch Band hinted that perhaps there was an element of discrimination in the opposition they have received:
Isn’t it ironic in the State of Alabama, where people talk about ‘private landownership,’ ‘state rights,’ and ‘you can’t tell me what I’m going to do on my
239 property. I can do what the hell I want to,” if I own that property out there and there is an Indian mound on it, you can bulldoze the thing and nobody can say anything about it? If I own Hickory Ground and decided I wanted to put a Kmart there and sold it to Kmart Corporation or Wal-Mart, nobody says a word. But us, we own the property and we’re doing it all properly and we’re being attacked (Interview H).
Of course, as this chapter has indicated, much of the opposition (particularly after the Section 106 preservation process had concluded) regarded casino plans, and the vehemence of the opposition to gaming in particular suggests that any private citizen attempting to build a casino would have met with the same amount of hostility. Likewise, any attempt to build a Kmart would have been (and in fact was) met with concern for historic preservation.
Conclusion
Comments such as these do highlight the difficulty in separating issues of sovereignty from identity. Are members of the Poarch Band ‘us,’ subject to ‘our’ laws, or are they ‘them,’ a distinct ‘other?’ Is tribal sovereignty nested within that of Alabama, or does it exist alongside it, or even above it? It is telling that very little discussion has occurred in the media coverage surrounding this case regarding tribal sovereignty relative to the federal government, but a great deal has referenced tribal sovereignty relative to state and local governments. This is because each of these entities is vying for a share of sovereignty within the federal system, and there is no predefined hierarchy with which to determine their relationships to each other. The Poarch Band, the State of Alabama, and the City of Wetumpka, have each claimed that their sovereignty over Hickory Ground supercedes that of the others. These conflicting assertions indicate that sovereignty is not absolute, but is negotiated. However, few see the concept of sovereignty as something that can be negotiated; sovereignty is seen and presented as inherent and absolute. The idea of sovereignty is more likely to be employed “as an answer to the problem of adjudicating competing claims to land or territory” (Inayatullah and Blaney 2004, p. 191) than to be recognized as a source of competing claims.
240 This is the situation at Hickory Ground. Different governments have presented themselves as the sovereign entity above all others – the final authority on what should happen there. Interactions between governments are presented as diminishments of absolute sovereignty rather than viewed as the way sovereignty is created. Nonetheless, despite presentations to the contrary, sovereignty itself is being constructed as these groups vie for power. Sovereignty is used to “divide space and bundle its varied meanings into discrete, homogeneous, and absolute cultural units” (p. 191). It is a way to divide ‘us’ from ‘them’ – this land belongs to ‘us’ and not to anyone else – and these divisions can be cultural as well as political. Thus, claims to sovereignty play a key role in defining culture and identity as well as determining power over place. Place itself is constructed in different ways depending on views of sovereignty. For some, Hickory Ground is viewed as private property, while for others it is viewed as tribal or national territory. As this chapter indicates, the mere possession of place does not confer sovereignty, although some certainly argue that it does. There may be any number of external rules and regulations that theoretically govern a place (such as historic preservation laws), but whether or not they actually do is the subject of debate. Therefore, sovereignty is not merely the physical possession of place, but the ability to do something with it – and that ability is dependent on many external and internal factors. Beyond the need for external recognition (Biersteker and Weber 1996), there is also the need to have the economic wherewithal to make things happen. Thus, economic development may be seen as not only an expression of sovereignty, but also as a means to achieve it. Therefore, sovereignty, like any other power, is not pre-given, but rather is something that is produced as economic means and external recognition are sought and (usually only partially) obtained. As a result, the ability of any one construction of place to affect materiality is created through this process, and is not separable from the abilities of others.
241 CHAPTER NINE CONCLUSION
Place, Identity, and Culture
Each of the preceding five chapters constitutes an examination of five keywords used to discuss Hickory Ground (as identified through the qualitative analysis of data gathered from primary interviews and secondary documents): heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty. Each chapter shows how meanings of a particular keyword have been contested and how differing definitions of these concepts reflect and contribute to constructions of place, identity, and culture. Statements about the significance of Hickory Ground generally fall into one of two distinct, but interrelated, categories: those that reference heritage (the subject of Chapter Four), and those that reference sacredness (the subject of Chapter Five). In terms of heritage, Hickory Ground has been characterized as everything from a temporary campsite (Williams 1988c) to “the ancestral ceremonial and burial ground of the Creek Nation” (Murg 2001, emphasis added). In terms of sacredness, it has been categorized as everything from a purely secular location to sacred to all Native Americans. Thus, statements about significance range from relatively insignificant to broadly significant to a wide range of people. The range of meanings given to the concepts of heritage and sacredness when applied to Hickory Ground illustrates how a place’s significance is not purely intrinsic, but is assigned. Indeed, as Chapters Four and Five have shown, it is actively constructed over time. Additionally, because Hickory Ground is significant to people in different ways, different definitions of heritage and sacredness serve to delineate groups of people from one another. Yet, these delineations are not fixed; changes in the definitions of these concepts often correspond to changes in group identifications, indicating the ways that identity is also constructed. Finally, to the extent that culture may be thought of as “a way of life held in common” (Jordan-Bychkov and Domosh 1999), places that are important to a group’s history and religious beliefs help to define its culture – and because neither heritage nor sacredness is itself pre-given, culture is constructed as those concepts are defined.
242 These statements about heritage and sacredness are generally used to justify arguments about a third keyword: preservation (the subject of Chapter Six). Regarding Hickory Ground, the term has been used to mean the preservation of place, of a group of people, and/or of culture. In all three cases, preservation may refer to the concepts of place, identity, and culture themselves, or, more frequently, to the material items or objects – the physical arrangement of burials, artifacts, and landscape features – that manifest them. Arguments about who has (or should have) the most control over what happens to these things center on two other interrelated concepts: indigeneity (Chapter Seven) and sovereignty (Chapter Eight). These concepts both reference identity, but indigeneity implies a cultural identification whereas sovereignty implies a political one. However, the distinction is not so clear-cut. Each concept has been used to define the other, as in: “We have sovereignty because we are the most indigenous,” or, “We are the most indigenous because we have sovereignty.” In the case of indigeneity, though, contestants have defined it with reference to more than just sovereignty. They have also defined it with reference to citizenship, nativity, cultural traits, and mere proximity. Thus, defining sovereignty with reference to indigeneity can make use of a range of meanings. Likewise, the political aspects of sovereignty have been defined on a scale of control ranging from private property to national territory, implying different definitions of indigeneity ranging from citizenship (in the case of private property) to nativity and cultural traits (in the case of national territory), and thus linking constructions of identity with place.
Constructing the Significance of Place
Each analysis chapter has addressed the implications that each keyword individually has for constructions of place, identity, and culture, but keywords are not used in isolation. When viewed as they are used – in conjunction with one another – these keywords reveal a great deal about how people construct places such as Hickory Ground, as well as their own identities and cultures relative to them. This research has revealed that place is constructed primarily in terms of its significance to groups of people. This significance may be voiced in terms of aspects of heritage and sacredness, but places are also significant for the ways those aspects ‘prove’ that a particular group of people is the most indigenous or the ‘true’ sovereign power.
243 Of course, the fact that a place such as Hickory Ground is significant to different people in different ways is not surprising. What is interesting is that when one or more groups attempt to alter the place in such a way as to change those aspects that make it significant to somebody else, views on a place’s significance can, and do, change. It is not the case that several fixed views about the significance of place interact until one particular view emerges victorious in the landscape, but rather, that constructions of place change over time in relation to one another, and the materiality of place is altered as a result. This is particularly evident when considering the other four keywords in relation to the concept of preservation. People seek the preservation of those aspects of place that are most significant to them as outlined above. Crucially, however, statements about the need for preservation imply fears about loss (Koshar 1994). In preservation conflicts such as this, statements about significance are also statements about those aspects of place that people most fear losing. This research has shown that many of these aspects are material – artifacts, burial remains, the physical layout of the landscape – but are also, and perhaps more importantly, peoples’ connections to those things. Even in the case where members of the Poarch Band might argue that development of a gaming facility is necessary to the economic preservation of the tribe (as opposed to any material remains), the physical remains are still important, only as they are to be compartmentalized and museumified – preserved in areas set aside to make room for the new. In many other cases, however, people want the physical remains to be left as they are. When they aren’t left as they are, views about significance necessarily must change. Otherwise, if the physical elements that significance is tied to are removed or destroyed, then the place might lose its significance altogether. Clearly, though, that is not the case for most of the contestants in this conflict. For most, Hickory Ground remains significant even though the majority of the site has been archaeologically excavated, and many of the burials moved to new locations on the property. However, this raises the question: if place is still significant even after its materiality has totally changed, what does it matter what happens to it? Why should anyone care if there is a casino there if the place will be significant no matter what? For some, it will not matter if a casino is built there. As a current employee of the Alabama Historical Commission put it:
244 I think it is still a significant site. Once there is a casino there, it is going to lose some of its ambience for certain, but I think it is...There are certain places that are just so important that just when you dig them, it doesn’t mean they lose their significance (Interview F).
For others, though, destroying the “ambience” of a place is the same as destroying the place. When all the artifacts and burials are removed, the only thing left to preserve is a place’s ambience, or what might be termed “sense of place.” But sense of place is a much more fluid concept than particular material objects, or, rather, it changes with regard to material objects. At issue is how much the materiality of place can change before someone’s sense of that place changes, and the answer to that question is precisely what is contested.
Preserving Place, Preserving Culture
This underscores the complex relationship between place, materiality, and culture. A person’s sense of place, and the degree to which it is tied to particular materialities, is rooted in his or her culture. Thus, changes to sense of place as described above are changes in cultural ideas about place, and calls for the preservation of place are also calls for the preservation of those ideas. However, concerns for the preservation of culture are not always negatively tied to changes in the materiality of place. For instance, some have argued that culture is best preserved through the displacement of artifacts – through controlled archaeological excavations and subsequent study and curation. Furthermore, there is another set of arguments that are unconcerned with the materiality of Hickory Ground, per se, and are instead concerned with preserving a way of life that would be destroyed with the introduction of gaming. Class III gaming, it is argued, would irrevocably alter the City of Wetumpka and/or the State of Alabama. In these arguments, Hickory Ground is not considered significant for any traits it distinctly possesses, but rather as contributing to the existing “ambience” of Wetumpka or of Alabama. This is related to another issue addressed previously in Chapter Seven – where exactly is Hickory Ground? Some statements have placed it in Wetumpka, and some near Wetumpka. Others highlight that it is tribal land, while some stress that it is in Alabama. Even though its
245 geographic coordinates do not change, Hickory Ground changes location in the political sense of ownership (sovereignty) and in the cultural sense of belonging (indigeneity). Both types of arguments are made with reference to heritage or sacredness. Thus, arguments about Hickory Ground’s significance are also attempts to place it within the political purview of a particular group of people. Therefore, using Agnew’s (1987) schema, Hickory Ground as a place is constructed with respect to location (materiality), sense of place, and locale (the social milieu). What statements reflecting the construction of place in all three areas have in common is an aspect of loss or of gain – concern for the loss of material aspects, of a sense of place, of political or cultural control, or hope for the gain of knowledge through study of material artifacts, or economic gain through development. Central to this conflict is that someone’s gain is someone else’s loss, and vice versa. For example, early on in this case, people wanted to conduct archaeological excavations for the purpose of learning more about the history of Hickory Ground and/or their own cultures. This type of archaeology was proposed in both the National Register and historic preservation grant applications. Digging the site for educational purposes is presented as different from excavating it in advance of building a casino. Especially for those in the professional archaeological community, it is considered possible to conduct excavation for research without disturbing the overall ambience of that place (although others might disagree). Once excavation becomes about data recovery in advance of development, however, it is considered by many to be part of the place’s destruction. For some, no amount of knowledge gained through excavation could ever mitigate the impacts of development on Hickory Ground – the loss of material aspects such as artifacts and burials and their connections to those things. Meanwhile, for others archaeological excavation is viewed in a positive light as it enables learning about the past while moving forward. Either way, gains in cultural knowledge or economic progress have to be weighed against the disturbance of artifacts and burial remains, and different people arrive at different conclusions. Statements contributing to constructions of culture share a similar focus on loss or gain. Many of the aspects of place that are considered significant are presented as culturally significant. Groups present themselves as descendent from the people buried at Hickory Ground, both genetically and culturally. In some cases, they consider their current cultural practices (such
246 as religious ceremonies) to be tied to the ceremonial layout of the landscape as well as to particular religious artifacts. For others, uncovering the physical arrangement of artifacts offers the opportunity to learn about the cultural traits of their ancestors. Archaeological excavation and development may mean the loss of culture, both current and past, or it may mean the gain of culture through knowledge and the benefit of economic success that would keep the modern culture alive. Though less overtly, statements contributing to constructions of identity also imply loss or gain. For example, Wetumpka city government officials stated several times in the media that a casino at Hickory Ground would alter the city’s “small-town quality of life,” thereby presenting that quality of life as part of the community’s existing identity. More generally, identity was constructed in terms of the loss or gain of control of the place of Hickory Ground and its cultural resources, and these arguments played out amidst larger debates about the place of multiple groups within a system of overlapping sovereignties. Thus, place, identity, and culture are constructed with reference to heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty, and these keywords are themselves contested, largely in terms of loss and gain. One group’s gain often occurs at the expense of another’s loss, but not always in a one-to-one relationship. One gain can equate to multiple losses, and vice versa. Therefore, constructions cannot be studied as though they interact on a one-on-one dominant/resistant basis.
Power in Preservation
As noted in Chapter One, many studies conducted from within the social constructivist epistemology have either examined the ways that a particular construction has come to be dominant or examined various methods of resistance to an existing dominant construction, often held by the state or similar entity. Other studies have examined the ways that dominant constructions are not separable from resistance, because each is created in conjunction with the other. As I noted in Chapter One, both of these sets of studies assume a dualist perspective wherein one discourse is identified clearly as the dominant discourse (even if, as in the second perspective, the constitution and application of the dominant perspective is complicated by continual interaction with resistant discourses).
247 This research has demonstrated that this dualism does not hold when seeking to understand historic preservation conflicts. If dominant power is considered to be that which “controls or coerces others, imposes its will upon others, or manipulates the consent of others” (Sharp et al. 2000), there has not yet been a dominant discourse at Hickory Ground to which others have been resistant – or, more accurately, there have been multiple discourses attempting to become dominant. To the extent that a group has the power to alter the landscape despite the protestations of others, its view of place can be said to be dominant. However, that is a different type of dominance from one in which others have been coerced to accept particular ideas. Many people do not have the power to stop the physical changes occurring at Hickory Ground, but they still oppose the Poarch Band’s ideas about it. It would seem, then, that the true test of power in this case is the ability to affect materiality. The landscape of Hickory Ground is very different today than it might have been. Ultimately, neither the preservationist nor the anti-gaming arguments were successful in halting casino development plans. However, had the site not been listed on the National Register and grant funds obtained for its purchase (all based on particular view of Hickory Ground’s historic significance), there would likely be a discount shopping center there now. Because of these events, the archaeological site was excavated rather than destroyed without data recovery. The archaeological site itself has changed quite a bit due to excavations, and as detailed in previous chapters, views about significance changed in response to the results of these excavations. Development plans also changed as portions of the site, including the council house, were identified and set aside. The effect that these excavations have or have not had on Hickory Ground’s continuing significance is debated (and discussed in Chapter Six). For those who feel the location remains important, plans for a memorial garden and museum have reopened discussions of history that recycle old descriptions for new purposes. The design of the proposed reinterment area has changed due to criticism of its inappropriateness. Meanwhile, the landscape of Wetumpka has also changed as views about Hickory Ground have; road projects, new traffic lights, a new fire station, and advertising billboards have all altered the landscape. Many of these changes did not occur as a result of Wetumpka lessening its opposition, but rather contributed to that lessening.
248 Time and again, the Poarch Band addressed opposition, and altered development plans. But should this be seen solely as the dominant party making concessions to resistance(s)? If anything, the analysis of these keywords has demonstrated that the ability to control the landscape has been continually contested. Power is not something that pre-existed in a particular orientation until such time as concessions were made; instead, power was constantly sought and created. Constructions of place, culture, and identity are not themselves fixed oppositional categories, but are continuously in the process of construction.
Practical Implications for Preservation
Returning to the question posed at the beginning of this dissertation, should ‘the preservation’ of Hickory Ground be deemed a success, or a failure? In the presence of multiple constructions place, identity, and culture, how can this situation be judged? In most cases, the agencies responsible for compliance with existing historic preservation laws and regulations handle conflicts by appeal to facts (the first of Mandelbaum’s strategies for addressing contentious planning issues introduced in Chapter One of this paper). Opponents’ views are generally seen as differences of opinion that can be resolved by uncovering the ‘truth’ about a place’s past, and therefore why it ‘should’ be considered significant. However, as this research has demonstrated, a place’s significance to people (and indeed the place itself) changes over time. Historic places are not dead places, with set meanings attached to them to be uncovered alongside physical artifacts. Historic places are in as much of a constant state of construction as any other place, with a plurality of meanings attached to them. The challenge in understanding preservation conflicts is to take the multiplicity of meanings into account (the fifth of Mandelbaum’s strategies), along with the ways that these ideas affect each other. In the case of Hickory Ground, this means understanding that disagreements were not just about the historic or religious significance of place in and of itself, as a series of artifacts and meanings frozen in time, but also about the ways history and sacredness are significant to people in their everyday lives. Arguments about preservation were not just about the preservation of history and sacredness, per se, but also about the preservation of cultural identities tied to those things. Furthermore, arguments in this case were attempts to order groups of people in relation to each other on the basis of such ties.
249 This study has implications for understanding many other historic preservation land-use conflicts, particularly those involving federal lands. For example, the U.S. Forest Service has a ‘multiple use’ mandate to manage all resources within the National Forest System so that they are “used in the combination that best meets the needs of the American people” (Price 1994, p. 262). A prominent historic preservation conflict involving the multiple use mandate has been that concerning the Bighorn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming (ibid). Historic preservation, tourism, forestry, recreation, and many other uses must be weighed alongside the sacred use of the Medicine Wheel. Understanding of the conflict cannot come if it is framed simply as a struggle between a dominant force (the Forest Service) and a resistant force (everyone else). Instead, it must come from an analysis of the interaction of multiple constructions of place (and identity and culture) as people strive to make them dominant. Furthermore, any resolution to conflicts such as these cannot be judged by how well a place’s objective significance to people is preserved. Differences of opinion about the significance of historic or sacred resources are not merely the result of misinformation to be corrected with ‘the facts’ gathered by preservationists. The differences are in most cases being used to fight for control of place. Therefore, a resolution can only be judged by how well it addresses multiple goals. Perhaps, then, the best possible outcome in the Hickory Ground case would have been for the State of Alabama to have obtained a separate piece of land for the Poarch Band to locate a gaming facility and to have agreed to allow it to be taken into federal trust. Barring that, the suggestion that a park be built at Hickory Ground in exchange for Class III gaming in Atmore would also have been a good outcome. However, both of these solutions were tried and failed because the state would not agree to gaming. Given these constraints, the current situation in which the site was excavated in advance of development, with certain particularly significant portions set aside as green space, at a minimum addresses the goals of most interested parties far better than any private development (i.e. a Kmart) ever would have.
Avenues for Future Research
Any analysis of what a conflict is about is necessarily subjective. While I have attempted to portray the multiple ways in which various actors construct and mobilize the concepts of place,
250 culture, and identity, my analysis is undoubtedly framed by my own identity as a non-Native, and by the scholarly literature that similarly overwhelmingly draws on non-Native constructions of these three concepts. Further research will more fully elucidate how these concepts are onstructed by different cultures and, in particular, by Native Americans. This bias also likely is reflected in my identification of heritage, sacredness, preservation, indigeneity, and sovereignty as the five terms most suitable for categorizing and understanding actors’ positions. This research could have been organized around other terms. Indeed, as a result of my initial coding of the data, I originally intended to include two other keywords as part of this study: development and justice. As analysis proceeded, though, I perceived that the majority of statements about development were also about the desire to preserve culture or a group’s/place’s economic livelihood. Therefore, I chose to include those statements in Chapter Six on Preservation. Nonetheless, a separate analysis of this concept could have been conducted, as could analyses of any number of ‘subcategories’ within each of the five keywords (e.g. territory, property, citizenship, cultural patrimony). The exclusion of social justice from separate analysis, on the other hand, was less that it made sense to include those statements in the analysis of another keyword, and more that, as a concept, it seemed to bridge all of the other keywords. Many statements were made regarding right and wrong in the disposition of Hickory Ground, and were by and large implied in statements about each of the five keywords that were examined. Various ideas about the preservation of Hickory Ground were characterized as right or wrong in regards to its historical or religious significance, as well as right or wrong on the basis of the perceived presence or absence of cultural and/or political ties. Consequently, future research using this data might examine the ways social justice is constructed through these terms. Additionally, although not originally identified in coding, the concept of scale also emerged as important during analysis. Similar to social justice, scale is a concept that bridges all of the other keywords. It was addressed in Chapter Eight on sovereignty, as arguments about political control ranged from the scale of private property to the scale of national territory, but it could easily be discussed in relation to each of the other keywords. Arguments about indigeneity occurred on a similar scale from the individual to the national, and arguments regarding the significance of Hickory Ground (i.e. those about heritage and sacredness), as well as how to preserve that significance, referenced its importance to particular people at particular scales.
251 Therefore, future research might also address the ways that place, culture, and identity are constructed at different scales, as well as the way that scale itself is produced.
252 APPENDIX A PHOTOGRAPHS
Figure 3. Hickory Ground in 1979 after many years of agricultural cultivation, facing west toward the Coosa River. Photograph on file at the Alabama Historical Commission.
Figure 4. Hickory Ground is located at the confluence of the Coosa River and this small un-named creek. Photograph on file at the Alabama Historical Commission
253
Figure 5. The Riverside Entertainment Center as it appeared in June, 2006.
Figure 6. The parking garage under construction in June 2006.
254
Figure 7. A view of the adjacent Riveroaks Apartment Complex, facing west from the entrance to the entertainment
Figure 8. View of preparations for a permanent casino. Photo taken from the parking garage facing north-northwest.
255
Figure 9. View of Hickory Ground facing west from across US Highway 231. The access road completed in 2007 is visible in the center of the photograph. The parking garage is visible on the left-hand side.
256 APPENDIX B HUMAN SUBJECTS COMMITTEE APPROVAL
257 Letter of C.onstnt ror Aduns I freelY and vot\Jnt.arily and without elementof f01'08 ot coerdon. oon:sentiO be a participant in this research study being concluded by Samantha EamMt, graduate student WI the Department ot Geograpl'ly at The Florida State University. I underotal1d lhe PU I undetstand that the Interview will be ｡ｵ｣ｲｾ＠ recorded b"y the researcher for the purpose of ensuring accuracy and enabtlng the researcher to thoroughty anatyte the data: gathered in this interview. 1understand that the content of these rapes will be transcribed and the written tran$cription of ti'W interview can be mai$ed to me for re'wiew i.f I wish. All other copies or the lian$Cription 'Mil be kept in a locked filing cabinet. 1 understand that only the researcher and her direatacsdemic supervisors wilt have acoess to these 18pe1> and transcriptions and both will be destroyed by August 3t, 2010. I understand- my participatiOn is totally voluntary and I may stop participation at any time. If I choose not to partiCipate or towlthdt"aw rrom the study at any lime, there will be no penatty of any kind. 1 unc:Secsta/ld there is a possibility ota mkllmal level ot risk involved If I agree to parttdpate•n ｴｨｩｾ＠ stuqy, The foreseeable risks tlfe not expected to cause harm or. discomfort that exoeeds that ordW'Iarlly ei\OOUnterod In daily life. I also understand that there may be no direct benefits to me. I understand that iofocmatio:n obtaln;ed by the reseat'CMC' dudng the COU(te of this inteMew and this research stucty Will remain confidential, to ttle extent·a!lowed by law. I unc:lerS:tand that lbQ resutts of this JEI!Search may be published and I may be quoted, bu1 my name will nOt be used. I understand lhat lhe reS&archEH will protect ｣ｯｮｦｩ､･ｾ ｬ ｦｴｹ Ｌ＠ by oonoeal!ng names of indMdua!s. and geographic k>catlons and othof Identifying lnfotmatJon through the use. of pseudonyms and riclilious p4ac.e names in the written .analysis of this research study. I understand that the researchCf v.-111 catefuJiy present any data SUCh as desenptiOns of Individuals and locations to wftldentty disguise !hom to ethel'$, but also 10 maintain the jntegnty or the subStance of the data. I und&fstand that because the research is-being condocted in a small commu114ly, it may be imj)Q!$Sible to ensure that ｩｮｳ ｩ ､･ｲｾ＠ will not te<:Ogl'lize some individuals, particularly those who hok:l unique ｰｯｯ ｾｴｩｯｮ ｳ＠ In the community. In such situalions. even ｴｾｨ＠ the researcher has taken the steps to protect confidentiality that are stated in the prior Uvee ｰｾ ｲ ｡ｰｨｳ＠ here, confidentiality cannol be absolutely assured. 1unders tand that this consent may be withdrawn 3t any time without preJodice, penatty or loss of benefits to which 1 am othet'Wise entitled. 1have been gNen the r:lght to ask and ha;ve answered any Inquiry ｣ｯｮｯ･ｭｩｾ＠ the study. Questions. ff any. have been answered to my sati&factlon. I understand that if I request a summary report of the e.nstysis and oonctusions of this research study, I will be provided ooe upon completion this researcll. I understand that if I have any questions oonc::eming this research study ot my rights, I may contad the researctler. Samantha Earnest. at (650) 6714678 or ｳｾｮ｀ｦ ｓｵＮ･､ ｵ Ｎ＠ Or. Philip Steinberg at (8:50) 644- 8378 or [email protected], Qf the Chair ol the Human SuOjects Committee at Fk:lrida State Univel&ty. lnstitutiooal R!Mew Soard. through the Vtoe Presideot for the Office of Research st (850} 644-8633. Print name Signature Date MMIDDIYY 1 '"""1""' 258 Letter of Release for Non-Publk Documents I freely and voiUfliElfily and without element of force or coercion, release======· ======-======{print docoment(s) name(s) ln blenk. above) a:nd have the aothotity to release these doCumentS tor revlew and/or copying by Samantha Earnest, gradUate student tn the Department of Geography at The Florida State lJnlv&tsity. I understand lhe putpOse or this research stucty is to exploce perceptions ol Hickory .Ground as they reiate to proposed casino development I unders.tand that the rese.ardle(s copies of arry oocuments will be kept by Ule reseateher in .a lOCked filing Oillblnet at a seoore location. Only the reseafeher and her direct academic advisors will have access to these documents and all copies will be des:troyed by August 31, 2010, I understaOO rrry release or the document(s} listed in paragraph 1 above is totaly voluntary and I may repossess them and/or Slop their us$ by tM rMearcher at anyti'ne. If t choOse to withdraw the document(&) or stop their use. Ulere will be no penany of aoy klnd. I understand there Is a posslbllty of a minimal Jevet of risk inVOlved II t agme to par6dpate in this study. The foreseeable risks are _not expected to cause hann or cU:sGorntort that exceedS that Or'dinarily encountel'&d ln daily life. I atso undefstand that lhefe may be no direct benefits to me. I understand that information obtained t&' tne resea:rcher from her review ot 1.t1e documents Is-ted tn paragraph 1 above wilt remain confidential, to the e:ttoot a!towed by law· I UOdersland that Ule results ol this research ｭ｡ｹｾ＠ published and the contents of these doaJments may be. quolod. I understand that tho researCher wW prot&d cont1de.ntiality. by ｾ｡ ｬｬｮｧ＠ n.arnes of indi'Yiduals, organizalkms and agendes. geographic locations and other ldentifyfng lnformallon ｴ ｨｾｨ＠ the usa of psfH.Idonyms and rKltitious place names in the writ1en onatysi$ of this rese.rth study. I understand that the researdler Wl"tl carefuly present any data such 8$ descriptions of individuals and kleatioos: to sU-tficientty di$Q'Ui$e them 1o others, but also to maintain the integrity of the substance of the data. I understand that because ｾ＠ researCh Is being OOnducted in a small community, It may be impossible .to ensure that tnsklers ｷｩｬ ｬ ｾ＠ ｲ･ｯｯｧｴｾｩｺＺＦ＠ some inciMdu_als, partic::u(arly thOSe wt1o hOld unique positions In the oommunlty. In slJdl.situations, even though the researchet has taken the steps 1o protect confidentiality that are ｳｾ ｴ ･､＠ In tile ptior ｴｨｲｾ＠ paragrapbs hefe, confldentlatlty cannot be ｡｢ｳｯｬｾ･ｬｹ＠ assured. I undel"$land that thil consen1 may be withdrawn tilt any time ¥Mhout pre)Udie&, penalty Of toss otbenetiiS to whld"l l am otherwise entitled. I have been gl\len the right to ask and have answered any Inquiry concemlng the study. QtJe$tlon$. if arry. ｾｶ･＠ been &Mwei"ed to my s.at1sfactlon. I understand lha• If I request a &utnl'l'\ary ntport of the analySis and c:ondusions Of U'!i:S reseatCh ltody, 1wi ll be p Print name Slgno!Ure ,.. ,ol. 259 APPENDIX C LIST OF PRIMARY DOCUMENTS Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. 1992. "Executive Director's Report: Proposed Development at Hickory Ground by the Poarch Band of the Creek Indians Elmore County, Alabama." In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. 2003. "Archive of Prominent Section 106 Cases: 1986-1996." www.achp.gov/casearchive/southeastcase.html Last accessed June 22, 2003. Alabama Historical Commission. 1980. "Press Release: Significance of Hickory Ground." In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission, Montgomery, Alabama. Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. "AIAC Resolution 91-01." March 10, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. 2003. "History of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians." www.aiac.state.al.us/POARCH_2.htm Last accessed June 28, 2003. Alabama State Site File. "1Ee89." Moundville, Alabama. Armstrong, Earnest E., Letter written to McDonald Brooms, of the Alabama Historical Commission. July 11, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Brooms, McDonald, archaeologist with the Alabama Historical Commission. Letter written to Larry Haikey, member of the Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. September 18, 1980. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Brooms, McDonald. 1980b. "National Register of Historic Places Inventory - Nomination Form for Hickory Ground or Ocheopofau." Brown, Eddie, Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs, United States Department of the Interior. Letter written to Joan Wellhouse Stein, Vice Chairman of the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. June 2, 1992. Suitland Records Center, Accession #536-06-0001, Box 1 of 63. Washington, D.C. Childers, Kenneth L., Speaker of the Muscogee (Creek) National Council. Letter written to Lawrence Oaks, Executive Director of the Alabama Historical Commission. March 28, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. 260 City of Wetumpka. "Resolution." April 6, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Creek Nation East of the Mississippi, Inc. 1980. "Application for the US Deparment of Interior's Historic Preservation Discretionary Fund Grant-in-Aid Program." In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Davenport, Tommie, Chief of the Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks. Letter written to the Honorable Guy Hunt, Governor of the State of Alabama. May 30, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Davenport, Tommie, Chief of the Star Clan of the Muscogee Creeks. Letter written to Jane L. Weeks, Executive Director of the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. May 30, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Elmore County Commission. "Resolution." April 13, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Fife, Bill S. 1992. "Testimony of Bill S. Fife, Principal Chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation." Hearing before the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. April 16, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Linam, James E., of Hvsossv Tvllahasse. Letter written to Lawrence Oaks, Executive Director of the Alabama Historical Commission. June 1, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Long, Earnest, Chairman of the Oklahoma City Commission on American Indian Affairs. Letter written to David Dutton, of the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. April 14, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Lucas, Myra, Secretary of the Echota Cherokee Tribe. Letter written to the Honorable Jimmy Evans, Attorney General of the State of Alabama. March 6, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. MOWA Band of Choctaw Indians, Letter written to the Honorable Guy Hunt, Governor of the State of Alabama. March 8, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Muscogee (Creek) National Council. "Tribal Resolution 91-01." May 18, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Muscogee (Creek) National Council. "Tribal Resolution 06-026." March 25, 2006. In the Archives of the Muscogee (Creek) National Council. 261 Noles, Jim, and Bill Satterfield. 2001. "Alabama Historical Commission Meeting of October 31, 2001." Alabama Historical and Cultural Resources Update. Noles, Jim, and Bill Satterfield. 2002. "Alabama Historical Commission Meeting of February 6, 2002." Alabama Historical and Cultural Resources Update. Oaks, Lawrence, Executive Director of the Alabama Historical Commission. Letter written to Eddie Tullis, Tribal Chairman of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians. May 12, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Ott, B.D., Eastern Area Director of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, United States Department of the Interior. Letter written to John D. MacLaren, of the Elmore Baptist Association. July 11, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Ott, B.D., Eastern Area Director of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, United States Department of the Interior. Memorandum to the Assistant Secretary - Indian Affairs, May 22, 1992. Suitland Records Center, Accession #536-06-0001, Box 1 of 63. Washington, D.C. Poarch Band of Creek Indians. "Tribal Ordinance 88:004." May 22, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Poarch Band of Creek Indians. 1990. "Environmental Assessment of Hickory Ground." In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Poarch Band of Creek Indians. 2003. "The History of The Poarch Band of Creek Indians." http://users.net1inc.net/muskogee/pbci.htm Last accessed June 28, 2003. Poarch Band of Creek Indians. 2007a. "Hickory Ground - A Poarch Creek Perspective." www.poarchcreekindians.org/xhtml/culture_hickory_ground.htm Last accessed March 16, 2007. Poarch Band of Creek Indians. 2007b. "History of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians." www.poarchcreekindians.org/xhtml/culture.htm Last accessed July 8, 2007. Sheldon, Jr., Craig T., Associate Professor of Anthropology, Auburn University in Montgomery. Letter written to the Honorable R. Scott Golden, Mayor of Wetumpka. November 20, 2001. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Sheldon, Jr., Craig T., John W. Cottier, and Gregory A. Waselkov. 1988. "An Initial Report on the Subsurface Testing of a Portion of the Creek Indian Property at Hickory Ground." In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. 262 Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks, Letter written to the Honorable Guy Hunt, Governor of the State of Alabama. March 7, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Star Clan of Muscogee Creeks. "A Resolution Opposing Gambling on our Sacred Place at Odshi Apofa or Hickory Grounds." February 22, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Stephenson, Mark, Assistant to the Secretary and Director of Communications, United States Department of the Interior. Letter written to the Honorable John C. Harper, Chairman of the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. September 17, 1992. Suitland Records Center, Accession #536-06-0001, Box 1 of 63. Washington, D.C. The Morning Star Institute. 2003. "Press Release: June 20 Set for National Day of Prayer to Protect Sacred Places." http://www.sacredland.org/news_items/Prayer_Day.html Last accessed August 8, 2007. Thompson, George, Micco of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. Letter written to the Alabama Historical Commission, March 28, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Thompson, George, Micco of Hickory Ground Tribal Town. Letter written to the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, April 16, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Thompson, George, Tommy Thompson, and Robin Soweka, of the Hickory Ground Tribal Town. Letter written to the Poarch Band, November 18, 2002. Personal files. Trepp, Robert W. 2002. "Oral Testimony of Robert W. Trepp." Hearing before the Committee on Indian Affairs on The Protection of Native American Sacred Places as They Are Affected by Department of Defense Undertakings. United States Senate One Hundred Seventh Congress. www.senate.gov/~scia/. July 17, 2002. Tullis, Eddie, Tribal Chairman of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians. Letter written to the public, Undated - 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. United South and Eastern Tribes Incorporated. 2002. "USET Resolution No. 2002:007, Affirmation of Tribal Sovereignty." http://usetinc.org/2002resolutions/2002007.html Last accessed July 17, 2003. Wallace, Gloria, Chief of the Cherokees of Southeast Alabama. Letter written to the Honorable Guy Hunt, Governor of the State of Alabama. Undated - 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. 263 Ware, Leah Harjo, Attorney General, Muscogee (Creek) Nation. Letter written to David H. Dutton, of the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. April 13, 1992. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Wetumpka City Council. "Resolution." February 18, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Williams, W.V., of the Northwest Florida Creek Indian Council. Letter written to the Alabama Historical Commission, July 21, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Wright, Pennie, Chief of the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe. Letter written to Jane L. Weeks, Executive Director of the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. June 1, 1988. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Indian Affairs Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. Wright, Pennie, Chief of the MaChis Lower Creek Indian Tribe. Letter written to the Honorable Guy Hunt, Governor of the State of Alabama. March 7, 1991. In the Hickory Ground file at the Alabama Historical Commission. Montgomery, Alabama. 264 APPENDIX D INTERVIEW SUBJECT AFFILIATIONS A Alabama Historical Commission B Alabama Historical Commission C Archaeologist D Archaeologist E Archaeologist F Alabama Historical Commission G Poarch Band of Creek Indians H Poarch Band of Creek Indians I Poarch Band of Creek Indians J Muscogee (Creek) Nation K Star Clan of Lower Muscogee Creek Indians L Star Clan of Lower Muscogee Creek Indians M Wetumpka businesswoman N Wetumpka religious leader O Muscogee (Creek) Nation P Muscogee (Creek) Nation 265 APPENDIX E INTERVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What is Hickory Ground? What does it mean to you? 2. How did you first become aware that the land was going to be deeded to the Poarch / to you? Or for preservationists: How did you decide to deed the land to the Poarch? 3. Were you / was anyone else / offered the land? 4. Why was the land deeded to the Poarch / to you /instead of anyone else? 5. What reaction did you have to this news / turn of events? 6. What happened next? – What actions did you take to oppose the transfer? / What plans did you have (or were you aware that others had) for the site? / What did you believe would happen to it? 7. When did you become aware of gaming plans? / When was gaming first discussed as a plan for the location? What actions did you take to oppose the plans / set the plans in motion? 8. Did things go as you hoped? Why or why not? 9. What do you think should happen to Hickory Ground? 10. What would having a say in what happens there mean for you (your group)? / What does control of this location mean for you (your group)? Do you think anyone else should have a say in what happens there? 11. How do you feel about the other’s point of view? What do you think their point of view is? Prompt for views on other interested parties if not brought up by interviewee. 12. Who has the right to control what happens there? Do you feel the Poarch / you have a legitimate claim to the place? 13. Do you agree or disagree with the statement that the Poarch (you) should be able to do what they (you) want at Hickory Ground because it is their (your) sovereign territory? Why or why not? 14. Some people wonder if opposition to the development at Hickory Ground is an attempt to obtain an economic interest in the activities. Do you agree or disagree – in reference to 266 yourself or other groups? Would your opinions change if you were offered a percentage of the profits? 15. Do you agree or disagree with gaming in general? How do you feel about the prospect of gaming at the location? If you agree, why do you think it has to occur here instead of somewhere else? 16. Some people argue that Hickory Ground should be / have been preserved in place? What do you feel about this statement? 17. How does Hickory Ground factor into your history? How does it factor into who you are? 18. Is there anything else you would like to add? 267 APPENDIX F NEWS ARTICLES USED IN PILOT STUDY 2000. Bad bet Indians shouldn't be allowed to build casino. The Birmingham News. 2000. State covenant with tribe ends Monday, but Siegelman vows no casino. Associated Press. 2001. Creeks' new Wetumpka bingo center big draw. Associated Press. 2001. Historical commission trying to block bingo hall construction. Associated Press. 2001. Indians reject government offer to buy their land. Associated Press. 2001. Wetumpka council fighting effort to build Indian bingo parlor. Associated Press. 2002. Gaming center gives Alabama town a boost: tribal-run center expected to generate $10 million this year. Las Vegas SUN. Adams, D. 2004. $120 million gaming site in the works. Montgomery Advertiser. Montgomery. Baggett, C. 2001. Congressmen Riley and Everett call for bingo investigation. The Mobile Press- Register. Bailey, S. 2002. Creek site survey requested archaeology study asked on bingo hall. The Birmingham News. Brumas, M. 2000. Lawmakers try to head off Creek casino. The Birmingham News. Chandler, K. 2002. Bingo! Creeks hope to add to winnings. The Birmingham News. Estes, A. 2000. Town, historic schools, natural sites on Places in Peril list. Associated Press. Indian Burial and Sacred Grounds Watch. 2002. Muscogee Burials Threatened by Harrah's Construction. http://www.ibsgwatch.imagedjinn.com/learn/2002august28.htm Last accessed August 30, 2006. Murg, W. 2001. Tribe accuses another of building on Burial Ground. Native American Times. Tulsa. Sznajderman, M. 2000. Poarch Creeks to continue casino push. The Birmingham News. 268 REFERENCES Abu-Lughod, Lila. 1999. "Comments on Brumann's Writing for Culture." Current Anthropology 40:S13-S15. —. 1991. "Writing Against Culture." Pp. 137-62 in Recapturing Anthropology: Working in the Present, edited by Richard G. Fox. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. Adams, Donna. February 23, 2004. "Creek Nation insight sought." The Montgomery Advertiser. —. July 7, 2004. "Creek leader gambles on future." 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New Haven: Yale University Press. 295 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Samantha Earnest In the Spring of 2001, Samantha Earnest completed her Bachelors degree in Social Science/Anthropology with a double major in Mathematics at Troy State University in Troy, Alabama. She enrolled in the doctoral program in Geography at Florida State University in Fall 2002. Samantha’s research focuses on the ways in which historic preservation conflicts inform larger geographic debates over place, identity, and culture, and conversely, how conceptions of place, identity, and culture inform historic preservation policy and land-use planning. 296