Those Are Indians?
They Just Look Like Mexicans
A Memoir of Economic Racism in the World of Tribal Gaming
By Frances Snyder
Those Are Indians? They Just Look Like Mexicans: A Memoir of Economic Racism in the World of Tribal Gaming details Frances Snyder’s experiences with economic racism from tribal opponents who were angry that a California tribe was unexpectedly successful.
“With all this racism I experienced over the decades, I thought I knew racism. I cried about it. I got angry about it. I was confused by it. I survived it. And eventually, I ignored it. But I was not at all prepared for the type of racism I experienced while working for my tribe. This type of racism was a whole different level. It was economic racism, which is an uglier, meaner, more despicable version of your basic garden variety racism.
“In the small and small-minded community where I grew up, I often had to defend myself and my ethnicities, but the most difficult to defend was definitely the Native American part. I was told I didn’t look Indian. That I didn’t seem Indian. That I didn’t behave like the Indians they saw in movies. I often heard silly comments like, ‘Where are your braids?’ or ‘“I don’t see any feathers in your hair.’”
“After all the ludicrous battles we fought over the years with the local tribal opponents and all the protests and hatred from them, I was still surprised by their wrath over the commemorative naming of Highway 154 in the fall of 2007. Because it was, after all, just an existing highway that was simply being renamed.
But when we distributed a media release on September 18, 2007 announcing that the California Legislature had passed Assembly Concurrent Resolution (ACR) No. 75, which designated Highway 154 the “Chumash Highway,” you would have thought that we were announcing the end of life in Santa Ynez.”
“My California-born Native American/Mexican American mother and my Filipino immigrant father bought into the concept of a melting pot, where a society becomes one with different elements of the community “melting together” into a harmonious culture. Except, it doesn’t work.
Not only will people of color never fully blend into a white community, it’s often frowned upon if they try to move out of the position that is defined for them. It’s as if the White Delegation somewhere said, “Well, ok, I guess if they have to exist in our society, they can. But they can’t be all uppity and think they can be rich or live a luxurious life.” I’ve experienced many instances where people tried to pigeonhole me into a place they thought I belonged and frowned upon or discouraged me if I tried to be someplace I didn’t belong.”
“I could just see the craggy lines around Supervisor Marshall’s mouth deepen as her lips pursed together into a thin hard stripe when she expressed her true feelings about our tribe. What in the world was she thinking? That we were illiterate and would never read the damaging words she hurled our way?
How dare this bigoted woman, a politician who is supposed to work for the people – including our tribal members who are part of her district in Santa Barbara County – say that we are just a bunch of uneducated lazy people sitting around watching the Lakers games? How could she say these hurtful things?”
“Some white people in the community were already mad just by our very existence but when we defended ourselves against their many verbal, physical, and legal outbursts, they went ballistic. After publishing an op ed in a local newspaper defending ourselves against yet another frivolous lawsuit from a tribal opponent, a columnist from a rival newspaper claimed that our tribe’s brand of PR was “unproductive hostility of vile rhetoric.” In response, a tribal opponent said, “Why can’t the Indians be more like the Mexicans and just be quiet?””
“At a dinner in San Francisco a few years ago, I was surprised when a well-educated woman who works at one of the prestigious museums in the city questioned me like she was a district attorney and I was on the witness stand. Does your tribe have health care for its tribal members? Yes. Ok, but does the tribe have scholarships for its tribal members and their families? Yes. Ok, but what about housing? Does the tribe provide housing for its members? Yes, housing exists on our reservation. Ok, but what about jobs? Does the tribe provide jobs? Yes, many tribal descendants work for our casino and its enterprises. Ok, but what about philanthropy? Does the tribe donate to the community? Yes, we have a foundation and have contributed millions to non-profit organizations in the community. Ok, but what about…
The list went on and she never seemed satisfied with the answers even though they were always in the affirmative. I guess she wanted to “catch” me and say, “See? The tribe doesn’t spend its money effectively” even though the tribe’s money goes into tribal government programs and investments for the future. And besides, what business is it of hers how our tribe spends its money?”
“A theme emerged early on that I had come to expect my entire life. It started with an accusatory way of asking why I had never before mentioned that I was Native American, even though in many cases I had. Then asking suspiciously if I was really Native American, because clearly, I didn’t fit their stereotype of what a Native American was. That was followed a pop quiz to test whether or not I really knew what it meant to be Native American. Or, rather, what they thought it meant to be Native American…braids, feathers, fringe, and the like.”
It was 2003 and I, along with other tribal members and tribal leaders from the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians, walked into the County Administration Building’s Board Hearing Room in Santa Barbara to participate in Santa Barbara County Board of Supervisors meeting. There was an issue on the agenda concerning our tribe. The room was packed with spectators and media.
All heads turned to look at us as we walked into the room. I felt like the newest animal in a zoo as eyes looked at me from head to toe.
An older white woman nudged her even older companion and said in a stage whisper, “There are the Indians.”
Her companion said, “Those are the Indians? They just look like Mexicans to me.”
“It was clear they liked us better when we were their gardeners, housekeepers, and farm hands. When our tribe became successful with our Chumash Casino Resort, our wealth somehow offended them. Our wealth gave us power that they didn’t feel we deserved.
The fact is, nothing has ever been easy for our tribe. And the community where our reservation is located is very polarized. The small but vocal groups of tribal opponents have battled against us from the time our casino was established in 1994 and protested everything we did. The groups had deep pockets which allowed them to wage wars against our tribe by organizing town hall meetings, hiring high-priced/high-profile attorneys and, at one point, even purchasing their own local newspaper for the specific purpose of blasting the tribe.”