When $1 billion isn鈥檛 enough. Why the Sioux won鈥檛 put a price on land.
| Rapid City, South Dakota
It鈥檚 been decades since Madonna Thunder Hawk last saw the valley she grew up in on the Cheyenne River Reservation. It lies buried under the Missouri River. The United States government sent the river rushing over the reservation鈥檚 largest town in 1960 as part of a series of post-war federal flood control projects.
In the history of Native American land dispossession in North America, the creation of the Oahe Dam is little more than a footnote. But for Ms. Thunder Hawk, it is her footnote. She couldn鈥檛 bear to watch the water consume the land. Then in her early 20s, she says she didn鈥檛 fully appreciate that, in various guises, this had been happening to her ancestors for centuries.
The dam wasn鈥檛 illegal, or even militaristic 鈥� though the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers built it. As with the 370-plus treaties that tribes have negotiated with the government, Ms. Thunder Hawk鈥檚 father received some compensation. Like many of those tribes, he didn鈥檛 want the money. He wanted to preserve the land.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onHow do you make reparations for historic harm when money is off the table? To accept cash for stolen land would be to sell out in the purest sense, members of the Sioux say. They want their land 鈥� or at least a say in how it is protected.
Ms. Thunder Hawk says she doesn鈥檛 know how much he got in compensation, or what happened to the money. What she knows is she will never be able to return to the land. She knows the story of that land is the story of Indigenous people around the world, which is to say it鈥檚 the story of colonization in America. A story of land taken with ruthless speed and the faintest of legal justifications.
The scale of land loss is hard to quantify. One study that tribes have, on average, 2.6% of the land base they had聽before 19th-century forced migration. And the great irony is that members of the Sioux, like Indigenous peoples around the world, never viewed land as belonging to them. Like blades of grass on the plains, they consider themselves a natural extension of the land, and the land a natural extension of them. Land is not property in their eyes, which is why, some say, they lost so much of it so easily.
鈥淲e are this land,鈥� says Ms. Thunder Hawk. 鈥淲e have to stand and struggle for what we have left.鈥�
American settlers, with a diametrically opposed worldview, drove westward. They forced Native tribes onto reservations (often on the least desirable land) and, over the generations, into boarding schools and cities. Families were separated and cultures erased, all with the intention of taking, and keeping, land that Indigenous people had called home for centuries.
Ms. Thunder Hawk, a Lakota great-grandmother, grew up with this history, connected to her culture and history only by gossamer threads. One of those threads was the land, and over decades of work as an activist, she has called for it to be returned.
Nowhere is this struggle more pronounced than in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The Supreme Court said in 1980 that the area, sacred to Native people for 12 centuries, was taken in such egregious fashion that the government owed the Sioux tens of millions of dollars in compensation.
But members of the Sioux 鈥� a confederation of seven primarily Dakota and Lakota tribes who now occupy some of the in the country 鈥� have steadfastly refused the award, which is now worth over $1 billion. Generations of systemic poverty 鈥� and broad disparities in health, education, and criminal justice outcomes 鈥� cannot be repaired with money, they say.聽
For people who view themselves as indistinguishable from the land, any efforts to right historic wrongs must be land-based. And the Black Hills has become the epicenter of those efforts 鈥� specifically the 鈥淟and Back鈥� movement, a social justice campaign calling, broadly, for increased Indigenous sovereignty and equity.
鈥淭ribal nations would like to have the land that they鈥檝e called home since time immemorial returned to them. That鈥檚 a pretty big ask though,鈥� says Kevin Washburn, a former assistant secretary of Indian Affairs and a citizen of the Chickasaw Nation.
鈥淚鈥檓 a realist, and I鈥檓 pragmatic,鈥� he adds.
In some cases, physical land could be returned, but the practicalities of it are, in many ways, impractical. For some tribes, centuries of assimilationist policies have completely severed connections to their ancestral lands. For others, like the Inupiat in northern Alaska, the land has never really been lost. In recent years, the scope of Land Back has broadened. Advocates say concrete policies 鈥� from national parks co-management to investments in urban services 鈥� can achieve what Land Back is really about: forging a new, more equitable, relationship between America and Native peoples.
鈥淭here are a whole bunch of things that fall on the spectrum of Land Back that may not fully be [returning] land but nevertheless move the ball in the right direction,鈥� says Mr. Washburn.
鈥淥ne size doesn鈥檛 fit all,鈥� adds Frank Pommersheim, an emeritus professor at the University of South Dakota.聽
鈥淭he goal is to discuss things [that happened] in the past so we can go forward together to make a better history,鈥� he says. 鈥淭o me, that鈥檚 an incredibly worthy endeavor.鈥�
On Bear Butte
Unlike Mount Rushmore 70 miles south, Bear Butte has changed little over the centuries. Those who come here to fast and pray see largely the same quiet, rugged landscape ancestors like Red Cloud and Crazy Horse saw.
It鈥檚 one of the reasons Ms. Thunder Hawk likes to visit. One morning in May, she stands at the foot of the mountain, bathing in the sunlight, listening to prayer cloths and tobacco ties rustle in wind-tossed trees.
鈥淚t鈥檚 good to come back every once in a while,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 mostly reminiscing, remembering who was once here.鈥�
This is where tribes of the Great Plains have always come to prepare for the Sun Dance, a sacred rite individuals carry out for healing and good fortune. Ms. Thunder Hawk would camp with family in the foothills, supporting relatives who were fasting and praying on the mountain for days.
鈥淚t鈥檚 a place of spiritual gathering,鈥� she adds. 鈥淥ur spirituality, it鈥檚 a family affair. ... That鈥檚 tradition, that鈥檚 the ways of our ancestors. Keep the family strong.鈥�
Familiar with its spiritual significance, the U.S. government included the Black Hills in negotiating the Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868. In exchange for halting attacks on railroads and settlers, the government promised the Sioux tribes 鈥渢he absolute and undisturbed use and occupation鈥� of roughly half of present-day South Dakota. Six years later, an expedition led by Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer discovered gold. In 1877, with a gold rush in full swing, Congress claimed the land through eminent domain.
Carl Sack, ""; U.S. Census Bureau
The Sioux tribes never stopped fighting for the Black Hills. In 1975, they won 鈥� at least in court.聽
鈥淎 more ripe and rank case of dishonorable dealings will never, in all probability, be found in our history,鈥� the U.S. Court of Claims wrote, describing the Black Hills seizure. Upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1980, the ruling entitled the Sioux tribes to over $100 million.
But to this day, the tribes have refused to take it.
鈥淭he Black Hills are not for sale,鈥� says Frank Star Comes Out, president of the Oglala Sioux Tribe. 鈥淥ur tribes do not want the money. They want the land back.鈥�
The Black Hills are also now a tourism hotbed. From Mount Rushmore to the Sturgis biker rally, visitors spent $1.8 billion in western South Dakota last year,聽聽the state tourism office. That鈥檚 roughly what the Sioux tribes are owed for the Black Hills. A, the award 鈥� held in a trust by the Bureau of Indian Affairs 鈥� had increased to $1.3 billion.
But for the Oglala Sioux 鈥� located on the Pine Ridge Reservation, the second-poorest county in the U.S. 鈥� even $2 billion wouldn鈥檛 undo centuries of systemic neglect, says Ms. Thunder Hawk. If anything, it would do the opposite. The tribes would be selling out in the purest sense, investing in what the Black Hills have become, not what they believe it to be.
鈥淲hat, you鈥檙e going to buy and sell your mother?鈥� she says. 鈥淥nce we do that, there goes our birthright.
鈥淲e would no longer be,鈥� she adds. 鈥淲e wouldn鈥檛 be who we are. Because that means we are for sale. They bought us.鈥�
鈥淎 sense of setting things right鈥�
But would getting land back do anything to repair centuries of harm and neglect? The outgoing mayor of Rapid City, the de facto capital of the Black Hills, thinks so.聽
In 2017, Steve Allender began working with local officials and Native groups to effectively sell three parcels of land 鈥� which had been part of the site of the Rapid City Indian Boarding School, and which Congress had ordered be given to聽groups including 鈥渘eedy Indians鈥� 鈥� and develop them in ways that would benefit local Native communities.聽聽
In essence, a behavioral health center, a senior living community, and an activity center were to be converted into a Native American community center, headquarters for a Native economic development organization, and a permanent memorial for children who died at the boarding school.
Mayor Allender says he has always wanted to make some kind of investment in the city鈥檚 Native community. When you combine residents and day visitors, he notes, one-quarter of Rapid City鈥檚 daily population is Indigenous.
鈥淲e do a lot of talking about being equal and being one community,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut there鈥檚 really little in our actions to show we鈥檙e serious about that.鈥�
But after years of discussions and disputes over land value, financing, and what the land should be used for 鈥� interrupted by the pandemic 鈥� the effort has largely ground to a halt. The children鈥檚 memorial on the land, on what is believed to be unmarked grave sites.
Speaking on the day Rapid City voters were picking his successor, Mayor Allender says he still hopes for a positive outcome.
鈥淚鈥檓 just imagining that this can be good for all of us because we will live in an environment where we鈥檙e not afraid to go in the past and acknowledge something, not afraid to make a bold move forward,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hat has benefits for everyone, in a sense of pride, a sense of community, a sense of setting things right.鈥�
鈥淭here are folks that feel ignored, or feel cheated,鈥� he adds. 鈥淢aybe this offers a glimmer of hope that it doesn鈥檛 have to be this way for eternity.鈥�
A new beginning
There is more to the Land Back movement than physically returning land, however. South Dakota State University has been illustrating how.
After becoming the school鈥檚 president in 2017, Barry Dunn 鈥� an alumnus and member of the Sicangu Lakota 鈥� launched the (Lakota for 鈥渘ew life鈥� or 鈥渘ew beginning鈥�).聽
Through the initiative, the university now publicly acknowledges the tribal land SDSU now occupies, and it works to provide greater access to higher education for Native Americans in the state. Recruiters visit high schools on the state鈥檚 nine reservations, more scholarships are being offered to Native American students, and a Native American student center has been built on campus.
For a public university created with land taken from tribal reservations by the 1887 Dawes Act, this is Land Back in action, says President Dunn.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 have the authority or responsibility to give it back, but I can make the decisions ... that we鈥檒l take the proceeds we receive from our land every year and dedicate it to the American Indian students here on campus,鈥� says President Dunn.聽
鈥淚t鈥檚 poetic, and I think appropriate, that that鈥檚 how we address it,鈥� he adds.聽
When Marcella Gilbert, Ms. Thunder Hawk鈥檚 daughter, returned to the Cheyenne River Reservation after graduating college, she set to teaching communities about wild foods and their benefits. She later got a scholarship to pursue a master鈥檚 degree at SDSU studying the nutritional value of the reservation鈥檚 wild foods. The university later helped her get a grant so she could plant wild foods on the reservation and teach people how to grow their own food.
It may surprise people, Ms. Gilbert says, but Land Back efforts are needed not just on land taken by the government, but also on land given by the government.
鈥淭hese reservation lands aren鈥檛 really ours,鈥� she adds.
The Dawes Act authorized the U.S. government to break up reservation land into individual allotments. The ultimate effect was that private landowners purchased vast tracts of reservation land on decadeslong leases. As of 2014, the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe owned only about 鈥� with most of the most fertile land along the central Highway 212 in private hands.
The effects have been numerous, from entrenching poverty to eroding traditional practices like hunting and gathering wild foods. About a quarter of her tribe鈥檚 members still are hunter-gatherers, says Ms. Gilbert, but private lease-holders block access to their land, and widespread cattle grazing has led to the near eradication of wild fruits and vegetables.
鈥淭his is our land. We should be able to have access to food,鈥� says Ms. Gilbert.
The National Parks Service, for its part, has been working to give tribes access to their ancestral lands.
The agency has cooperated with tribes at some national parks and monuments since at least the 1970s, but they have sought to in recent years. There are currently four parks where the agency has a co-management agreement with tribes. Last year the National Park Service 聽new guidance 鈥渢o improve federal stewardship of national park lands and waters by strengthening the role [of tribal entities] in federal land management.鈥�
On a morning drive into the Pine Ridge Reservation, Ms. Thunder Hawk witnesses this firsthand. Stopping at a Visitor Center for Badlands National Park 鈥� a section of which is co-managed with the Oglala Sioux Tribe 鈥� she notices two Native women in park ranger uniforms adjusting the daily 鈥渇ire danger鈥� sign.
鈥淭hat never happened in the past, ever,鈥� she says. 鈥淣ow that鈥檚 a working relationship.鈥�
Ms. Thunder Hawk would like to see those partnerships deepen. Indeed, as much as anything, the Land Back movement is about creating working relationships. It鈥檚 about a continuation of the movement, since the 1960s, away from assimilation and paternalism and toward Native self-determination and cooperation. Tribal governments, Native people, want sovereignty. This is to say they want the power to do things, not simply have things 鈥� like the seizure of the Black Hills, or the sale of reservation lands, or the construction of the Oahe Dam 鈥� done to them.
鈥淲hen I think of Land Back that鈥檚 what I think of,鈥� says Ms. Gilbert. 鈥淲e haven鈥檛 been given that opportunity to participate.鈥�
On a warm May afternoon, she鈥檚 standing outside her home on the Cheyenne River Reservation, her youngest granddaughter sleeping in her arms. Two of her other granddaughters play in the grass and mud around her. Dogs sleep in the shade of her porch while breeze-tossed clothes dry on a washing line.聽
Summer feels around the corner, the time of year when she and Ms. Thunder Hawk will take the young girls to the Missouri River a few miles away. There, they will play in the water high above land once filled with ancient cottonwood trees, land her grandfather once owned.聽They can never get those cottonwoods back, or her grandfather鈥檚 land.
But with the Land Back movement, Ms. Gilbert thinks they can get much more. Homes are gone, but they can build new, affordable, sustainable housing on reservations, as Ms. Thunder Hawk has helped do. The cottonwoods are gone, but with the help of an SDSU grant, Ms. Gilbert planted a grove of chokecherry trees. The sacred trees 鈥� used in ceremonies and arrow-making, among other things 鈥� flowered last spring.
Land Back 鈥済ives our people hope that we can be allowed to participate in the solution,鈥� says Ms. Gilbert.聽鈥淲e do have something to offer.鈥�
And while she聽laughs at the idea of closing Mount Rushmore or evicting homeowners and businesses 鈥撀爏he struggles to imagine what would happen聽鈥� one day they might even get the Black Hills.
She shakes her head at what that could look like.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not about kicking you off,鈥� she says.聽鈥淚t鈥檚 about taking care of [the land] and bringing it back to its sacredness.鈥�
This story was produced as part of a special Monitor series exploring the reparations debate, in the United States and around the world.聽Explore more.
