(5 of 5)
When first asked by a reporter for Gorton's rationale for the cuts, a spokesman said the Senator had based his decision on grounds similar to Babbitt's. But given Gorton's reputation as one of environmental regulation's stauncher foes, this was a dubious rationale. In fact, the Senator's battle with autonomous-and assertive-local Indian government goes back at least to the 1970s, when as an 11-year attorney general in Washington State, he found himself embroiled in high-profile court cases against area tribes over fishing rights and criminal jurisdiction. "I do not believe there is a permanent duty, lasting not only a century and a half, but forever, to fund activities that every other American funds through local taxes and local effort," he says. "Self-determination is something the Indians desire and to which they have a right. But ultimately, self-determination carries a certain duty of self-support." The Senator insists that if health and education programs are included, Indian budget cuts will average just 8%. Gorton also maintains that Indian self-support may be well under way through activities such as "mining, fishing and gambling." Reminded that most tribes claimed to be not yet enriched through those avenues, he gives a disbelieving sniff. "Ah, they are people who have income," he says.
Standing off Highway 18 on the Pine Ridge reservation is what Slade Gorton would like to believe is a symbol of hope and self-sufficiency. It is Prairie Wind, the Oglala Sioux's venture into Indian gambling. Housed temporarily in two connected double-wide trailers, it consists of several slot machines and two tables for poker and blackjack. The casino's revenues in its 10 months of existence have run from $13,000 to $92,000 a month, of which 30% is earmarked for its investors. Thus far, after expenses, it has provided $10,000 for children's school clothes in each of the reservation's nine districts. Prairie Wind's prospects are not golden. In this sparsely peopled state, it must compete with a plethora of other gambling ventures. Says Oglala tribal council vice president Mel Lone Hill: "It is not a benefit to the tribe. It doesn't help us. If we were in an urban area, we could make millions."
An equally valid symbol of the tribe's future fortunes, at least at this particular historical juncture, can be found 19 miles away at Wounded Knee, where a band of peaceful Sioux were mowed down by the Seventh U.S. Cavalry in 1890. Here is a man in ragged, dirty jeans and a filthy red T shirt. His face is puffy and pockmarked, and there is liquor on his breath. His hand outstretched, he claims he is the caretaker of the Oglala Sioux cemetery.
--Reported by Ann Blackman/Washington and Ann M. Simmons/Pine Ridge