Designation of sacred land is open to interpretation - even among tribal leaders

If the loss of oral traditions, such as prayers and ceremonies, has wounded the collective heart of American Indians, then losing the sacred land that came to define tribes could mean the end of an entire way of life.

Generations of people have come and gone and various cultures have appeared and transformed, yet the much-storied mountains and deserts of native legends remain. Tribal elders and politicians warn that while outside threats to their natural resources are nothing new, the increased pressure from development and recreation has heightened the issue from a battle to an all-out war.

"There is just a general feeling that there is always a threat and you get tired of waging the battle," said Councilman Emilio Escalanti of the Quechan Indian Tribe. "It's frustrating and discouraging. You have the feeling that this encroachment is never-ending. People have lived and worshipped here for centuries. We just want to protect what remains."

American Indian leaders explain that tribes respect all land, but there are certain historic and religious sites that tribes deem holy or sacred. Problems arise, however, when these mountains, lakes or patches of desert are eyed by developers who want to mine, build highways or construct housing projects.

But knowing exactly what to protect isn't easy. The matter of defining which lands are sacred is subjective and open to interpretation - even among tribal leaders.

The areas also include places outside reservation boundaries that are a part of a tribe's ancestral lands but are now publicly or privately owned by someone else.

Local tribes do not have a list or maps of sacred lands that need to be protected. They have their elders' memories, which will fade with time.

"Is a place sacred? It depends on who you talk to," Escalanti said. "Nothing is written in stone."

To determine whether a site earns the protection that goes along with the sacred status, the Quechans turn to their Cultural Committee, of which Escalanti is a member. The committee consults tribal elders for guidance based on their knowledge of the old ways, and members also look to traditional stories and songs for clues about the ancient relationship with the land.

"A problem is that the people who can identify a sacred site are getting fewer and fewer," Escalanti said.

When a site falls under question, committee members and cultural professionals hired on contract visit the site and search for signs of a major Quechan presence or signs of ceremonial use. Those clues, such as old fire circles or shards of pottery, are often centuries old,

although such artifacts aren't required for a location to be sacred.

But as the tribes struggle to determine what is sacred, they also have an struggle coming from within their own native communities.

Escalanti said that some or even many so-called sacred sites are not totally agreed upon by tribal membership as a whole.

The tribal councilman pointed to the location of Paradise Casinos, an example. "Some people used to say how that site was sacred. Not everyone is on the same page."

Tribal members are currently debating among themselves if the site where the new casino is to be built, off of Interstate 8 in California, is among the lands deemed sacred.

Making the issue even more challenging is the fact that the tribe has no official body of elders or spiritual leaders to oversee definition

of sacred lands, a process that's ongoing as developers express interest in different lands.

The Cocopah Indian Tribe also lacks an official list of sacred sites but seems to boast more community agreement about their sites.

"Those lands are agreed upon," said Liz Pratt, the tribe's public relations representative.

Pratt said the Cocopahs also diligently investigate development projects that threaten sacred lands, handling each project on a case-by-case basis.

The Quechan reservation encompasses 45,000 acres, most of which lies to the north and northwest of Yuma, in California. Only a small portion crosses into Arizona. The Cocopah tribe's lands, however, are split into three reservations totaling 6,500 acres around Yuma and Somerton.

Larry Myers, executive secretary of the Native American Heritage Commission run by the state of California, helps protects sacred sites by keeping a secret list of the locations. Myers explained that developers contact his office and are simply told whether their plans would affect a sacred site. Details are never divulged, and the list is not open for review - even by tribes.

"Developers using this service creates or maintains good will with the tribes," the state official said. "This way alternatives can be discussed and positions can be understood."

Myers added that while "only a drop in the bucket" of California's sacred sites are actually listed, he has seen many successful compromises since the list was created in 1977.

"When developers and tribes come together, they can start building relationships and developing alternatives. Developers can see that tribes aren't just out to stop a project, and tribes can see that developers aren't just out to desecrate their sites."

In Arizona, the State Historic Preservation Office offers a program that trains tribal members to become designated watchdogs for sacred sites.

"Their job is to watch the sites, maybe hike the area once or twice a week, and sure make nothing is in danger," said Ellen Bilbrey, public

information officers for the preservation office. "This is a model program, and it has won national awards."

An official with the Arizona State Land Department said she has seen many developers abandon projects when faced with the economics of building where tribal artifacts have been found. Jamie Hogue, deputy land commissioner, said certain laws may require developers to relocate artifacts or rebury them safely deep below the project.

"In many cases, it becomes a cost-benefit analysis for them," Hogue said. "In many cases, it's extremely expensive and they go

elsewhere."

Escalanti stressed that the Quechan council is constantly researching what it sees as unhealthy encroachment on its lands. He said developers routinely announce interest or plans for building within the tribal community.

"We have issues coming to us every week, whether it's encroachment by the railroad, electric lines, home development or recreation," the tribal leader said.

"People are wanting to build more, they're wanting to play more. They want to camp everywhere, drive their big RVs everywhere and not be restricted. They are more concerned with their right to do what they want than the right of a people to protect their history."

Escalanti added that tribal lands are attractive to developers, who may think that native people will lack the resources to fight encroachment.

"When the farmers around Yuma - who have more money - turn developers away, those developers come here thinking, 'Oh, it will be easier to develop on tribal ground.'"

The international filmmaker Christopher McLeod, based in California, spoke to The Sun between research trips to Siberia and Australia. His film "In the Light of Reverence" included a portion about the Quechan Tribe's struggle to protect an area from plans to build a gold mine. The film is with the Sacred Land Film Project.

"Because of general development, pressure areas that before were too remote for urbanization or resource extraction are now being targeted by consumerism. No place is safe anymore," McLeod said.

McLeod credited tribes for growing awareness of the issues, explaining that after decades of silence, tribes have begun going public with their concerns over sacred lands.

"Native people had been robbed blind and massacred for hundreds of years. They didn't want to talk," McLeod said. "Then, in the 1980s and 1990s, tribes started to realize they needed to convey their value system to the dominant culture a little better."

He explained that non-Indians have traditionally struggled to understand how a place can be sacred, even if the spot appears to be a regular mountain or just another stretch of desert to outsider eyes and hearts.

"In our culture, a sacred place is the cathedral or mosque or synagogue. The idea that nature and the wind can be imbued with consciousness or spirituality can be very scary to people and even seen as very evil."

McLeod added words of hope, however.

"All through time, people have experienced the sacred through nature. I think our culture is going to get there again."

Quechan Elder Vernon Smith says that harming or losing sacred lands along with the cultural and spiritual history jeopardizes the future of a people already struggling against mainstream society to maintain an ancient and unique cultural identity.

"Our ancestral lands are slipping away, and the tribe is already fighting for survival," Smith warned. "There is an ongoing battle to make all Indians just another citizen. To me that's the most dangerous thing I see. This is why we need our connection to our history - our land."

He added that losing that connection with the land could wipe out centuries of Quechan history in just a few generations.

"Our leaders need to make sure we're here 100 years from now - as Quechan people and with our land," the elder said. "I'd hate for history 100 years from now to say there used to be a people here called Quechan people, but there aren't any more. I'm just very glad I won't be here to see it."

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Darin Fenger can be reached at

dfenger@yumasun.com or 539-6860.