Of the nation's 216 million people, nearly 1 million are descended from
the Indian tribes that were sprinkled about the continent when the
Europeans first came settling. The Indians, since the confrontation at
Wounded Knee in 1890 that marked the end of their serious resistance to
the white newcomers, have lived in relative peace amid the prevalent
society. They are among the poorest of all national minorities, the
most prone to illness, the least educated, the most resistant to
assimilation into the mainstream of American life. They have been, as
well, the least conspicuous and most docile of minorities—until
recently. Now they are on a warpath of sorts again, armed this time
with old treaties and new court writs and led by sharpshooting lawyers
whose allies include, to the chagrin of many non-Indians, the U.S.
Government. Their stated aim: to recover huge swatches of land and some
of the rights they yielded during the inexorable sweep of expanding
American civilization. Their campaign seems to raise the improbable but
not frivolous question: Should the country—or sizable parts of it—be
given back to the Indians? The Indians' declared objectives strike many Americans as naive or
quixotic at best, and at worst mischievous. By laying legal claim to
some areas that are heavily populated or commercially valuable or both,
they have irritated and angered innumerable citizens—many of whom know
that whatever the Indian grievance, it cannot be pinned on their
late-arriving forefathers. Some Indian claims have created uneasiness
and even turmoil in entire towns, paralyzing the real estate business,
delaying bond issues, thwarting commercial and housing construction and
beclouding future planning. At first the claims aroused amusement; now
they are taken seriously. This was dramatized last week when the White
House was the site for a conference called to introduce the President's
own mediator, Georgia Supreme Court Justice William Gunter, to parties
in the big Maine land case. Spokesmen for the plaintiff Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes, their
lawyers, and representatives of the Interior and Justice departments
attended the largely ceremonial session. Inevitably, the wave of claims has stirred up anti-Indian hostility. “We
are bitter,” says George Benway, chairman of the selectmen of Mashpee,
Mass., one besieged town on Cape Cod. In a combative spirit
sardonically known as “whitelash,” the Town of Mashpee has filed a
countersuit against the Wampanoag tribe —demanding $200 million as the
cost of all accrued improvements'if the Wampanoags should win their
claim to much of the town's property.
