Tag Archives: Native Peoples Law
Hana E. Brown, Who Is an Indian Child: Institutional Context, Tribal Sovereignty, and Race-Making in Fragmented States
, 85 Am. Soc. Review
776 (2020), available at SAGE
The Indian Child Welfare Act (ICWA) is under attack, and legal scholars (including me) have written much about it. But being lawyers, we typically focus on judicial decisions, and within that set, on decisions with precedential impact. That makes sociologist Hana Brown’s Who Is an Indian Child: Institutional Context, Tribal Sovereignty, and Race-Making in Fragmented States a welcome intervention. By examining the different ways that social workers, state courts, and federal judges apply ICWA’s “Indian child” definition, Brown provides valuable insights not just on ICWA, but on race-making generally and the importance of institutional context in translating law into practice.
To be covered by ICWA, a child must be an Indian child as the statute defines it. The definition rests on tribal citizenship: a child must be either enrolled in a tribe, or be eligible for enrollment and have a biological parent who is enrolled. 25 U.S.C. § 1903(4). But social workers and courts have applied the definition through a racial lens and excluded children from coverage because they were not racially Indian enough. Exclusion denies children, families, and tribes ICWA’s protections for family preservation and tribal sovereignty.
Brown’s examination reveals two key insights. First, although all three institutions often apply racial rather than citizenship-based definitions of Indian child, they have defined racial Indian-ness in different ways and for different reasons. Second, although Brown does not discount the role of racial ideology in this “race-making,” ideology did not explain the differences she found between the institutions. Instead, Brown identifies three other differences that shaped the Indian child determination: first, evidentiary standards, second, record-keeping requirements; and third, incentive structures.
The section on state caseworkers will be most interesting for legal scholars. Although such caseworkers are the frontline ICWA agents and the most influential institution in determining whether and how ICWA is implemented, studying their work poses challenges. First, access to records is limited to protect privacy. Even if records were available, deciphering who—out of the millions of children involved in child welfare cases each year—should have been identified as an Indian child but wasn’t is a nigh impossible task. Instead of taking it on, Brown analyzed and coded child welfare agencies’ annual reports and strategic plans, fifty assessments of ICWA implementation between 1979 and 2015, and extensive documents produced by the 2013 Child Welfare Truth and Reconciliation Commission, as a joint project between the State of Maine and five Wabanaki tribes.
This examination reveals that rather than inquire into tribal citizenship, caseworkers often followed a phenotypic definition of Indian-ness in determining whether ICWA applied. If a child “looked” Indian (e.g., had brown skin, dark straight hair, and dark eyes) they would inquire into tribal enrollment. If they did not, they would not. (Caseworkers and observers often raised the example of the blond-haired, blue-eyed child, but many other phenotypic combinations might not look Indian to outsiders.) This kind of assessment likely resulted in wrongful classification of many children. The Maine-Wabanaki Commission found that half of ICWA-eligible children were misclassified, while another study found that the San Francisco child welfare agency missed at least 200 ICWA-eligible children between 2002 and 2012.
Although the caseworker definition of Indian-ness emerges from the popular conflation of race and phenotype, it became dominant because of the institutional in which context caseworkers operate. First, as to evidentiary standards, social workers must make numerous decisions with relatively few bright line rules. Significant weight is placed on their judgment and expertise, and the need to act rapidly to protect children’s welfare leaves little room for extensive oversight of these decisions. This discretionary evidentiary standard, Brown argues, encourages the kind of “common sense” determination of Indian-ness according to appearance.
Second, caseworkers were not usually required to keep records of how or why they determine a child is or is not Indian. Until the early 2000s, only six states required caseworkers to even note whether the child qualified for ICWA. Even those generally required only a yes or no answer, creating no obstacle to decisions based on appearance.
Third, Brown found, the incentives facing social workers counsel against inquiring into ICWA eligibility. Determining tribal enrollment and complying with ICWA require additional time and paperwork from overburdened caseworkers. What is more, federal law incentivizes keeping children within the state system and placing them outside the home of origin, results that ICWA may prevent. The 1997 Adoption and Safe Families Act (ASFA) promotes adoption of children from the child welfare system, providing states with $4,000 to $6,000 for each adopted child, upwards of $20 million a year. Observers identified this incentive structure as one reason why South Dakota, with physical and sexual abuse rates lower than the national average, removed children from their homes at three times the national rate. Relying on a racial rather than citizenship-based definition of Indian status expedited South Dakota’s removals for Indian children.
Brown also tracks the impact of shifting incentives for caseworkers. Lobbying by Alaska Native leaders, for example, led to an Alaska Tribal Child Welfare Compact that creates incentives to transfer cases to tribal child welfare systems to free up money and time for other cases. San Francisco also altered incentives by doing monthly checks that require caseworkers to do extra paperwork if they do not initially identify tribal children appropriately.
Brown found that while state court judges also distorted the Indian child definition, they employed a different form of race-making. Rather than rely on what they thought Indians should look like, they turned to cultural essentialism, relying on what they thought Indians should live like. Under what is known as the existing Indian family exception, many courts decided that the statute was not intended to apply to children who were not part of what they saw as an Indian family. Courts refused to apply ICWA because children had not lived on reservations, were not conversational in indigenous languages, or attended Christian churches rather than following Indigenous religious practices. As anyone familiar with federal Indian policy knows, these qualities describe many tribal citizens today, in part because of concerted efforts to move Native people off reservations and quash Native languages and religions.
There are some weaknesses to this section. The methodology Brown used yielded mostly cases from states that adopted the existing Indian family exception, and misses many cases from the larger number of states that rejected it. But the analysis still yields helpful insights. As to evidentiary standards and record-keeping, judicial obligations to issue public, written decisions justified under existing statutes and precedent discouraged the simple reliance on phenotype employed by some caseworkers.
The discussion of state court incentives is the most interesting. Because ICWA may require transfer of cases to tribal courts, the desire maintain judicial authority incentivizes judges to find that ICWA does not apply. But this same effect may encourage courts to find that ICWA does apply in order to lighten heavy dockets. The Maine-Wabanaki Truth and Reconciliation Commission, for example, found that judges were generally not resistant to transferring cases to tribal court. Brown also reports that tribal advocacy with states has changed the incentives. This advocacy has led to adoption of 39 tribal-state agreements and 37 state statutes regarding implementation of ICWA, most clearly rejecting the existing Indian family exception. The relationships built through this advocacy have also shifted state judge beliefs that tribal jurisdiction should be resisted because tribal courts are incompetent or unjust.
The discussion on federal courts will be most familiar to legal readers, and focuses mostly on high-profile cases such as Adoptive Couple v. Baby Girl, 570 U.S. 637 (2013), and the trial court decision in Brackeen v. Zinke, 338 F. Supp. 3d 514 (N.D. Tex. 2018), rev’d sub nom. Brackeen v. Bernhardt, 937 F.3d 406 (5th Cir. 2019), aff’d in part and rev’d in part, Brackeen v. Haaland, 994 F.3d 249 (5th Cir. 2021) (en banc). More novel is the discussion of the different incentives facing state and federal courts in these cases. Federal court judges do not implement ICWA, so the cases before them generally question the statute generally, and federal judges are relatively isolated from external pressures. For these reasons, Brown finds, their race-making is more explicitly tinged with ideological perspectives.
Altogether the piece is a fascinating study of the different ways and places that race is defined and assigned, along with the factors beyond ideology that influence whether and how laws are implemented. Legal scholars in many fields will find lessons within it for their own work.
Cite as: Bethany Berger, Institutions, “Indian-ness,” and ICWA Implementation
(September 17, 2021) (reviewing Hana E. Brown, Who Is an Indian Child: Institutional Context, Tribal Sovereignty, and Race-Making in Fragmented States
, 85 Am. Soc. Review
776 (2020), available at SAGE), https://lex.jotwell.com/institutions-indian-ness-and-icwa-implementation/
What can Federal Indian Law offer public law as a whole? Supreme Court justices have famously dismissed Indian Law cases as “chickenshit” and “pee wee” cases, and scholars have worked for generations to justify the meager recognition of tribal sovereign interests within public law. Maggie Blackhawk’s wonderfully generative Federal Indian Law as Paradigm, however, convincingly argues that Indian law, far from an idiosyncratic backwater, is central to the history of public law in the United States and can provide valuable lessons for framing its future.
First, Blackhawk masterfully synthesizes the work of many scholars (including her own work on the Petitions Clause) to show the role federal Indian affairs has played in the history of government power. Indian affairs were central for the founding generation, figuring prominently in the debates over the Constitution and the early work of Congress and the Executive Branch. Concerns about foreign interference with tribal diplomacy, for example, inspired the first understanding that the Senate’s advice and consent role with respect to treaties included only approval after the fact rather than participation in negotiations.
Indian affairs also shaped many of important early contests between the federal government and the states. Fletcher v. Peck (1810) was the first case in which the Supreme Court struck down a state statute, and the state and presidential resistance to the Court’s invalidation of Georgia law in Worcester v. Georgia (1832) almost upended the ship of state. Indian affairs also contributed to the modern form of federal power. The executive branch first exercised extensive administrative powers by the mid-1800s in implementing treaties and Indian affairs statutes, while cases like Johnson v. M’Intosh (1823) and United States v. Rogers (1846) provided early judicial assertions of extraconstitutional national power. For some of the examples in the paper more work is necessary to show that treatment of federal power in Indian affairs actually influenced later public law doctrines and structures. But altogether Blackhawk powerfully makes her case that colonizing tribal nations and lands was not just America’s other original sin, it was and remained a constitutive governmental and judicial proving ground.
The next section of the paper is even more original. Blackhawk argues that understanding the paradigmatic status of federal Indian law can provide an important new frame for understanding and addressing injustice. As many have written, the black-white, slavery-freedom, segregation-integration paradigm of race relations has stymied understanding of racism in America. An equal rights framework, moreover, has limited legal efforts to address it and contributed to a conceptual separation between rights and structure in constitutional law.
Blackhawk argues that a federal Indian law paradigm can address these problems. First, the most egalitarian moves in federal Indian law have always been structural and have always ensured that tribal nations have distinct forms of power rather than simply equal rights. Indeed, well before claims of “reverse discrimination” were used to undermine civil rights, “[n]ational constitutional rights [served] as a tool to further the colonial project against Native peoples.” (P. 1798.) Federal Indian law and policy also reveal a long history of recognition of distinct forms of power that the standard paradigm might condemn as creating unequal rights. Recentering federal Indian law as paradigmatic, Blackhawk argues, might therefore normalize and encourage legal protection for collective rights, such as union organizing, or obligations of consultation and representation, rather than individual remedies.
This is a long, incredibly rich, article, and one could quibble with some of its assertions. For example, although the modern Supreme Court often stands in the way of efforts by Congress and the Executive to recognize tribal power, this has not always been the case, and the Court long played an essential role in preventing state and executive overreach. So federal Indian law provides no more evidence that the congressional and executive branches are better “suited to protect against majority tyranny” than any other field does. (P. 1796.) Second, blanket statements such as “[b]y contrast to other ‘minority’ communities, rights are feared in Indian Country rather than sought,” (P. 1859), elides Blackhawk’s own rejection of a structure-rights dichotomy and overlooks the important role that rights have played for Native people as well. But again, these are quibbles, and do not detract from the contributions of the piece.
In short, Federal Indian Law as Paradigm is a wonderful accomplishment, one that can provide a new basis for understanding the public law grounding of federal Indian law, and the federal Indian law grounding of public law as a whole.
States are the paradigmatic perpetrators of harms to indigenous rights, but this is changing. Increasingly, as Professor Sergio Puig points out, multinational corporations are the source of such harms, ranging from research extraction to commodification of indigenous knowledge and culture. Scholars and advocates typically turn to either domestic law or international human rights law to address these harms, and often treat international economic processes as themselves antithetical to indigenous rights. Professor Puig, however, convincingly lays out the ways that international economic law creates protections for indigenous rights, and analyzes needed enhancements for those protections. More radically, he argues that protecting indigenous rights is not contrary to economic globalization, but is core to justifying its legitimacy. International Indigenous Economic Law powerfully breaks down silos between human and indigenous rights and economic law, and will be valuable reading for scholars and advocates from these different fields.
Global economic development, Professor Puig shows, has left many indigenous peoples behind. While comprising only 5% of the world’s population, indigenous peoples make up 15% of the world’s poor, and a third of the world’s one billion “extremely poor.” Although their traditional territories encompass some of the earth’s most valuable resources, resource development more often leads to displacement and impoverishment than to indigenous prosperity. When indigenous law scholars have studied these harms, they turn to human rights law to solve them, and often treat economic development as a threat. Professor Puig, however, argues that this focus ignores valuable tools provided by economic law, including tools that are more easily enforced against non-state actors than traditional human rights instruments. International economic scholars, in contrast, largely ignore indigenous rights, or at best treat them as exceptions to international economic law. But, Professor Puig demonstrates, international economic instruments themselves have long paid attention to indigenous rights, often in surprisingly progressive ways.
Professor Puig discusses how different areas of international economic law protect (and fail to protect) indigenous interests. The impact of international intellectual property law on indigenous peoples is the most discussed in the legal literature, and several international intellectual property regimes provide at least modest protection for indigenous rights. The Nagoya Protocol on the Convention on Biological Diversity, for example, requires identification of the indigenous and local sources of traditional knowledge, and fair and equitable sharing of benefits from such knowledge. The World Intellectual Property Organization has worked to create norms against exploitation of intangible cultural resources and encourage suis generis regimes to protect such resources. The 2005 Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions, meanwhile, mandates measures to protect indigenous cultural heritage.
Although less discussed, the rules governing international development banks also provide meaningful recognition for indigenous peoples’ rights. Long before the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, for example, the World Bank Group required development projects to recognize customary and traditional tenure systems and involve indigenous communities in decision-making. World Bank rules now demand that borrowers engage in “free, prior, and informed” consultation and avoidance of adverse impact on affected indigenous groups. Enforcement procedures include, as a last resort, loan cancellation and sanctions against the offending borrower. The Asian Development Bank, Inter-American Development Bank, and other lending groups have similar protections. The World Bank rules have also led private lenders to adopt the Equator Principles and other voluntary rules that recognize indigenous interests.
International trade and investment agreements, in contrast, have few explicit protections for indigenous peoples. Those that do exist are largely in the form of carve-outs intended to allow domestic protection of indigenous rights in the face of mandates to provide equal treatment to foreign entities. The controversial NAFTA chapter on foreign direct investment, for example, included modest exemptions from key provisions to maintain rights or preferences for aboriginal peoples.
Professor Puig notes the limitations of the protections of each of these regimes. Multinational actors may fail to abide by existing protections or seek a more permissive regime, such as that of a private lender rather than the World Bank. International bodies may not wish or be able to demand accountability to abide by their rules. Indigenous groups, meanwhile, do not have an automatic seat at the table in international economic development discussions, and are deeply under-resourced and disadvantaged in trying to assert their rights. At a deeper level, the language of international economic law, with its emphasis on individual property, commodification, and change, fits uneasily with the indigenous claims of collective rights and tradition. The result has been to rely on carve-outs from economic agreements rather than affirmative rights to make decisions about and benefit from economic development. To address the limitations of international economic law regimes, Professor Puig advocates measures to ensure indigenous representation in economic decision-making, increase indigenous bargaining power and capacity, and clarify that protections for indigenous rights do not violate and are required by international economic law.
Most radically, Professor Puig argues that protecting indigenous interests is a “key litmus test for the very legitimacy of international economic law.” (P. 1311.) The alternative is a legal regime concerned solely with facilitating transactions rather than with just distribution to indigenous and other marginalized groups. The result of such a regime is to exacerbate economic inequality and the instability inequality causes. Accepting a focus on transactional efficiency to the exclusion of distribution also fuels the fear that globalization is only about wealth transfers to elites. This in turn, encourages the embrace of isolationism seen in movements from the right and the left. The development of international indigenous economic law, however, shows ways that international economic bodies can incorporate human rights norms, enforce them against non-state actors, and catalyze private and state adoption of those norms. While Professor Puig acknowledges that the limitations of that law and its enforcement reveal “the systemic challenges posed by global economic interdependence,” the ways in which international economic law is beginning to address those challenges provide some hope for the future. (P. 1314.) They certainly, at least to this reader, present a convincing case for looking beyond human rights documents to enforce international human rights norms.
The United States Constitution—that great experiment in creating a “more perfect union,” more democratic, egalitarian, and libertarian—was founded in sin. These sins include, among others, slavery and political exclusion of people of color and women of all races. They also include the erasure of sovereignty required to found a country on a continent occupied by existing indigenous sovereigns. Many before Seth Davis, including Milner Ball, Philip Frickey, Nell Newton, David Wilkins, and Robert Williams, have wrestled with this founding constitutional evil. Several things, however, distinguish Professor Davis’s American Colonialism and Constitutional Redemption. The result is an important addition to the canon of federal Indian law.
First, Professor Davis engages with theorists outside federal Indian law to an unusual degree. Professor Davis specifically takes on fiduciary theorists like Evan J. Criddle and Evan Fox-Decent, but also engages with other constitutional theorists like Sanford Levinson, Aziz Rana, and Jack Balkin; political theorists like Carole Pateman, Jennifer Nedelsky, and Robin West; race theorists like Dorothy Roberts and Miguel de la Torre; and even political figures like President Barack Obama and Reverend Adam Clayton Powell Sr. While other scholars of federal Indian law have written noteworthy works in other areas, few have so deftly connected their work to debates outside the field. The result is an article that helps to bring the law of Native people into mainstream debates, and out of the niche in which it is sometimes cabined.
Second, Professor Davis, more convincingly than most, rebuts the notion that either a federal trust responsibility or a treaty relationship can redeem the constitution of its colonial sins. Although (as highlighted in the work of Kevin Washburn recently praised in Jotwell) the federal-Indian trust relationship has been transformed from a paternalistic one to serve tribal self-determination, Professor Davis notes that the fundamentals of the trust make it ill-suited to this goal. Trusts, he writes, are paradigmatically written by settlors without the consent of their beneficiaries, and depend on the control of the trustee and inability of the trust beneficiary to manage its own affairs. As such, the trust is fundamentally at odds with the principles of tribal self-determination and agency. Further, after pointing out the limited efficacy of the trust concept in restraining or punishing the federal government, he argues that, quoting Rev. Powell, it is a kind of “cheap grace,” providing absolution without demanding anything meaningful from the colonizers.
Although other scholars have offered treaty relationships as a basis for a more positive relationship, Professor Davis points to their limitations as well. Treaties were drafted by U.S. negotiators, often agreed to from positions of little choice, and left out many tribes with whom matters could be settled outside of treaty relationships. Relying on written treaties is a futile effort to use the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house.
Third, Professor Davis offers a new vision of the tribal-federal constitutional relationship, a model of “relational consent.” Drawing on relational contract theorists, he argues that the tribal-federal relationship should be understood not through formal treaties but through relationships based on mutual respect. This understanding finds support in history and indigenous law as well as theory. As Rob Williams and others have argued, for over a century relationships between tribal and Euro-American governments were forged through a cross-cultural diplomacy that incorporated indigenous concepts of political relationship through metaphoric kinship. It also is consistent with (some) existing constitutional precedent, which has combined historical practice and the spirit of Indian treaties to create a protected status for tribal sovereignty.
Professor Davis’s vision is obviously inconsistent with another long-established constitutional principle: that the federal government has plenary power to remove the sovereign and property rights tribes retain, so long as it does it clearly enough. Is there any chance of undermining this principle? The demise of constitutional precedents like Scott v. Sanford and Plessy v. Ferguson provide some hope of such a constitutional revolution. But those transformations took a Civil War on one side and the spectacle of massive resistance on the other to occur. Present politics, moreover, show how little redeemed we still are from the original sins of racial inequality. I confess I am skeptical that the plenary power doctrine will ever be overruled, no matter how many fine articles we write. But short of that constitutional revolution, Professor Professor Davis’s vision provides us with a new way to understand the sometimes paradoxical constitutional position of tribal nations. I believe this article will become a touchstone in federal Indian law and critical constitutional theory, and hope its constitutional vision will be incorporated by judges and politicians who make the law of indigenous peoples.
In 2016, many thousands of Native people and their supporters traveled from across the country to protest construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline in North Dakota. It was the greatest display of unified Indian activism since the standoffs at Alcatraz and Wounded Knee. While Dakota Access set dogs on the protesters and North Dakota almost enacted a statute that would immunize those injuring protesters from liability, the federal government had a role as well. Because the pipeline ran over a section of federally-owned land, the U.S. had to grant an easement to build it, and needed to consider the impact on the Standing Rock Sioux, including sacred sites, drinking water, and treaty rights, before doing so. In the waning days of the Obama Administration, the EPA determined that it had not sufficiently considered all factors, and decided to delay the permit. In the first few days of the Trump Administration, the EPA reversed, ruling that the pipeline could go forward. After the pipeline was built (and already had its first leaks), a federal district court held that the U.S. had not sufficiently considered treaty rights and environmental concerns. But the court refused to halt the pipeline while considering the remedy, so gas continues to flow, and small leaks continue to occur.
As at Standing Rock, the federal government has tremendous power over the things most important to Native people. Five decades into the self-determination era, tribes still depend on the federal government to approve, regulate, or fund what tribes do with their businesses, land, natural resources, sacred sites, and police and social welfare services. The administration of this federal role is in these matters is far from the common law doctrines that occupy most Indian law professors. Not so for Professor Kevin Washburn. Washburn recently returned to academia after several years as the Assistant Secretary of Indian Affairs, where he struggled first hand with the factors governing federal decision-making. What the Future Holds: The Changing Landscape of Federal Indian Policy benefits from this experience with an unusually nuanced and informed perspective on the federal administration of the federal-tribal relationship.
From the founding era to today, Supreme Court opinions, statutes, and executive documents have referred to the United States as a trustee to Indian tribes. As Professor Washburn says, the implicit paternalism of this idea has always fit uncomfortably with the concept of tribal sovereignty, and particularly so in the modern era of self-determination. Washburn also notes that the Supreme Court has pared away at the legal power of the trust relationship, limiting the power of tribes to demand compensation for federal actions taken with conflict of interests, or to subject the federal government to other common-law trust obligations.
But as the paternalistic rationale and legal enforceability of the trust responsibility has faded, Washburn argues, the trust responsibility has been transformed. The federal government is now less the manager than the “principal underwriter” of tribal affairs. Today, most services formerly performed by the federal government are managed by Indian tribes with federally-funded self-determination contracts. This shift has resulted in more effective, culturally appropriate, and profitable results for notoriously mismanaged programs. But it has also resulted in new questions about the role of the federal government.
First, some may ask whether the trust responsibility “to provide funding to tribes to meet federal responsibilities” can continue as the paternalistic elements of the trust responsibility diminish. For Washburn, the answer is “of course.” Washburn argues that federal funding can be seen as a moral “rent” on the lands and sovereignty taken from tribal nations, and this, rather than a paternal noblesse oblige was how Chief Justice Marshall originally conceived it. Because tribal administration of programs for Indians has been proven more effective and efficient than federal or state administration, it also makes fiscal sense. But Washburn notes that even in the face of statutory promises to provide funding, the United States has repeatedly failed to appropriate enough money to fulfill its promises. In response, however, the Supreme Court has developed a new norm strictly holding the government to its fiscal promises to tribal nations.
A larger question arises regarding oversight of tribal governments. The general policy of the federal government today is to avoid interfering with tribal sovereignty. This policy is enshrined in statutes and executive orders, and increasingly expected by tribal nations. But numerous statutes still require federal approval for tribal projects, and the federal government can use this power to delay or shape negotiations so as to favor mining and other interests contracting with tribes. The federal approval power, even when it is not subject to conflicts of interest, adds time and expensive regulatory review to tribal actions. Washburn notes that there is a powerful case that this oversight is inconsistent with self-determination and tribal welfare.
At the same time (and this is one of the unique contributions of the essay), Washburn suggests that increasing tribal self-determination may argue for more federal oversight, not less. First, as we know from Spider-Man, with great power, comes great responsibility. Tribes increasingly have real power over peoples’ lives. In some cases, Washburn speculates, this leads to greater federal accountability.
Despite this, he argues, the need for increased federal oversight may be less compelling that it appears. He investigates three distinct areas of concern.
The most prominent is the headline-making disenrollment of tribal members by some tribes. Washburn notes that although some characterize this crisis as a battle over gaming revenue, those who do so are likely unaware that “at least since the arrival of the Europeans, tribal politics has been a blood sport.” In addition, to the extent that these are battles over gaming revenue, they are battles over a tribe’s own money, and so the case for federal accountability is less than it was in cases like Santa Clara Pueblo v. Martinez, the case that originally established the non-interference rule. Nevertheless, he notes, to the extent such disenrollment violates human rights norms, there may be a case for intervention similar to that for any nation violating human rights.
Washburn also investigates the case for greater intervention in tribal criminal justice systems. One of Washburn’s most important scholarly contributions before entering government service was in making the case for stronger tribal control in this area. Washburn now argues that the push for more tribal law enforcement power comes more from “activists” (and, he doesn’t mention, scholars) than from tribal leaders. Washburn’s original articles contributed to a movement that resulted in recent federal statutes and policies increasing tribal powers of prosecution and punishment. These statutes, however, impose greater federal oversight as a condition of exercising more power. “To exercise greater sovereignty,” Washburn now writes, tribal governments “necessarily must accept … outside interference by the federal government.” The article does not make clear whether Washburn believes these “political compromises” are a good thing or not, but does suggest that his time in power may have softened his prior scholarly stance.
Finally, Washburn discusses an area that has not gained as much public attention: the federal government’s role in land regulation. This is perhaps the most direct instance of the federal trust responsibility, as the federal government still actually owns most of Indian country in trust for either tribes or individual Indians. Washburn notes that the federal trust, and the regulatory apparatus that comes with it, actually reduce the value of land, perhaps a conflict of interest for the trustees. (Incidentally, one of the many contributions of Washburn’s tenure was in lessening this regulatory burden.) Individual allottee interests in free use and alienation of their land may also conflict with those of the other trust beneficiaries, the tribes. Like Jessica Shoemaker’s work (reviewed by Ezra Rosser in Jotwell), Washburn opens a new window into the reality of the trust status of Indian land.
Altogether, the strength of What the Future Holds is in providing new perspectives and asking hard questions rather than in providing answers. It also remains to be seen whether the Trump administration will undermine the new, less-paternalist trust relationship Washburn identifies. My guess is that it may lessen immediate support for tribes, particularly in areas where mining interests and red states argue against tribes, but that the administration’s attention span is too short to significantly change the trajectory of federal policy. But Washburn has identified important things for scholars to think about as we try to influence what the future holds, both for tribal nations and for those they govern.