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http://www.sltrib.com:80/2000/jan/01302000/nation_w/21962.htm

Deadline Nears in Tribal Feud

Sunday,  January 30, 2000
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

BIG MOUNTAIN, Ariz. -- The feud has festered for more than a
century. Lawsuits were filed, agreements forged, deadlines have come and
gone. Still, the battle rages on between Hopi and Navajo Indians over an
island of desolate earth both consider their own.

This Tuesday marks an important juncture in their dispute: On
paper, it is the day the government can begin eviction proceedings
against about a dozen Navajo families who refuse to leave the land
or sign a lease with the Hopis to allow them to stay.

In the hearts of those fighting the battle, it signifies much more.
To a Navajo elder now considered a trespasser on the pastures
she calls home, it is a day of dread and fear. To a Hopi rancher who
has been harassed for grazing cattle on land that is legally his, it is a
day  of hope but also skepticism.

And to their tribal leaders, it is a day that could finally mark the
beginning of the end to a dispute that has forever divided a place
and its people.

It might, at last, be the chance to return harmony to Big Mountain.
There is evidence, too, that the peace is long gone. It is found
in the dispirited frown of May Shay, a Navajo elder, and the defiant
scowl of her grandson, Sean Benally.

"I want to live in peace," Shay says, speaking in Navajo as her
grandson translates.

Shay is a trespasser on this land where she spent her entire
life -- some 74 years, although she can't be sure. She was among
thousands of Navajos left living on Hopi land after the courts and
Congress in the 1970s indiscriminately divided 1.8 million acres
between the two tribes, stranding members of each on the wrong side.

The land dispute dates back to the 1800s, when Congress first began
carving this territory into reservations. In 1882 the Hopis were granted 2.5
million acres west of land the Navajos had obtained years earlier. But
when the Navajo tribe began growing, Congress expanded its territory
until it completely surrounded the Hopi reservation.

By the 1960s, the Hopis had exclusive control over just 651,000 acres of
their initial allotment. The other 1.8 million acres were designated as a
"Joint Use Area" to be shared with the Navajos. After several more years
of wrangling, that land was divvied up between the two tribes.

The 100 or so Hopis left on Navajo land quickly moved. More than
3,000 Navajo families, about 13,000 people, also were given new homes
and land in other towns and cities or in a relocation community known as
the "New Lands," on the southeast corner of the Navajo Reservation.
Hundreds more refused to leave, saying they were tied to the land by
their heritage and religion.

In 1996, after years of negotiations between the tribes, Congress ratified
a settlement allowing the remaining Navajos to stay on Hopi land if they
signed a 75-year lease granting them three-acre home sites and 10-acre
farm sites. They also had to agree to abide by Hopi laws.

Some 320 individuals living on about 75 different home sites have signed,
according to both the Navajo and Hopi tribes. Anywhere from 50 to 70
people -- although activists put the number at nearly 1,500 -- still refuse.

Come Tuesday, they face eviction.

"They will become trespassers," says Eugene Kaye, a spokesman for
the Hopi tribe. "It's their choice, the same way it was their choice whether
to accept accommodation or relocation."

The tribe has agreed to allow the U.S. attorney's office to handle the
eviction process, although officials stress no one will be removed from their
homes on Tuesday. First there will be an investigation into those families
deemed trespassers, followed by potentially lengthy court proceedings. The
entire process, says Assistant U.S. Attorney Joe Lodge, could take from
six months to two years.

In reality, Feb. 1 is simply another day, another deadline in a dispute that
has endured for decades. It will come and go with Navajos still striving to
avoid the eviction of their people, and Hopis still praying the Navajo
resisters will leave peacefully.

===

http://www.azstarnet.com/public/dnews/0131N4.html
Monday, 31 January 2000

Navajo-Hopi dispute reaches a crossroads

The land dispute keeps Navajo John Bennally from burying his mother
on Hopi land where she raised him

By Pauline Arrillaga
The Associated Press

BIG MOUNTAIN - The feud has festered for more than a century.
Lawsuits were filed, agreements forged, deadlines have come and
gone.

Still, the battle rages on between Hopi and Navajo Indians over an
island of desolate Arizona earth both consider their own.

Tomorrow marks an important juncture in their dispute.

On paper, it is the day the government can begin eviction proceedings
against about a dozen Navajo families who refuse to leave the land
or sign a lease with the Hopis allowing them to stay.

In the hearts of those fighting the battle, it signifies much more.

To a Navajo elder now considered a trespasser on the pastures she
calls home, it is a day of dread and fear.

To a Hopi rancher who has been harassed for grazing cattle on land
that is legally his, it is a day of hope but also skepticism.

And to their tribal leaders, it is a day that could finally mark
the beginning of the end to a dispute that has divided a place and
its people.

It might, at last, be the chance to return harmony to Big Mountain.

There are still hints of the peace that once enveloped this swath
of high desert in northeastern Arizona.

They are in there in the fragrance of air left unsullied by man
and machine.

The sleepy rustle of juniper on gently sloping mesas. The mystical
maze of magenta canyons carved into the Earth.

There is evidence, too, that the peace is long gone. It's found in the
dispirited frown of May Shay, a Navajo elder, and the defiant
scowl of her grandson, Sean Benally.

"I want to live in peace," Shay, speaking in Navajo, says as her
grandson translates.

She is standing, crumpled and small, on a patch of dirt in the
midst of the Hopi Indian Reservation.

Beside her are a pile of cinderblock and a stack of wood - the
remnants of her traditional Navajo hogan, which fell to pieces
several years ago. She not been allowed to rebuild it.

Shay is a trespasser on this land where she spent her entire life
- some 74 years, although she can't be sure.

She was among thousands of Navajos left living on Hopi land after the
courts and Congress in the 1970s divided 1.8 million acres between
the two tribes, stranding members of each on the wrong side.

The land dispute dates back to the 1800s, when Congress first began
carving this territory into reservations.

In 1882, the Hopis were granted 2.5 million acres west of land the
Navajos had obtained years earlier. But when the Navajo tribe began
growing, Congress expanded its territory until it completely surrounded
the  Hopi reservation.

By the 1960s, the Hopis had exclusive control over just 651,000
acres of their initial allotment. The other 1.8 million acres were
designated as a "Joint Use Area" to be shared with the Navajos.

After several more years of wrangling, that land was divvied up
between the two tribes.

The 100 or so Hopis left on Navajo land quickly moved. More than 3,000
Navajo families, about 13,000 people, also were given new homes
and land in other towns and cities or in a relocation community known
as the "New Lands," on the southeast corner of the Navajo Reservation.

Hundreds more refused to leave, saying they were tied to the land
by their heritage and religion.

In 1996, after years of negotiations between the tribes, Congress
ratified a settlement allowing the remaining Navajos to stay on Hopi
land if they signed a 75-year lease granting them three-acre home
sites and 10-acre farm sites. They also had to agree to abide by
Hopi laws.

Some 320 individuals living on about 75 different home sites have
signed, according to both the Navajo and Hopi tribes.

Anywhere from 50 to 70 people, although activists put the number at
nearly 1,500, still refuse. Come tomorrow, they face eviction.

"They will become trespassers," says Eugene Kaye, a spokesman
for the Hopi tribe. "It's their choice, the same way it was their choice
whether to accept accommodation or relocation."

The tribe has agreed to allow the U.S. Attorney's Office to handle the
eviction process, although officials stress no one will be removed
from their homes tomorrow.

First there will be an investigation into those families deemed
trespassers, followed by potentially lengthy court proceedings.

The entire process, says Assistant U.S. Attorney Joe Lodge, could take
from six months to two years.

Such assurances do little to soothe the so-called "resisters,"
many of whom are elders like May Shay.

She has spent the last several years living with relatives on
Navajo land about a mile from her former home. Her belongings - a
chair, a  coffee pot, even a can of Lysol - are piled under a juniper tree.

"This is her home now," says activist Marsha Monestersky, who is
helping to organize a prayer march and protest tomorrow in support
of the resisters. "It's sad."

May and her family have tried to repair her hogan but are greeted with
trespass notices when they return to the Hopi land. Standing in
the spot where her home once was, she looks tired, wounded.

"I want to come back here. Every day I think about it," she says. "If I get
my house back, I'll heal. I'd be back home."

Her grandson, a lanky 19-year-old wearing an "Air Nike" baseball cap
backwards, stops translating to interject.

"This is what they do to elders in America," he says with a look of
indignation as plain as his grandmother's despair.

"They stole our turf," he says of the Hopis. "When I grow up, I
don't want to suffer like my elders did. My heart can't handle it. I'd
rather rebel."

Hopi rancher Clifford Balenquah is very much like Sean Benally in one
respect: He is angry and refuses to hide it.

Balenquah, 53, is one of the many Hopis who insist the Navajos should
never have been cut a deal to remain on their land.

His tribe relinquished its hold to the Navajo land years ago; the
Navajos, he insists, should have shown the same courtesy.

"I'd really like to see these people say, 'OK, we were wrong. The
government did draw this line and there's a boundary. I'll be a good
neighbor and move on the other side.'"

"It's that simple," he says.

But the past years have been anything but simple for Hopis who want
access to their land.

In 1990, Balenquah obtained a permit for grazing on a slice of
Hopi land that had been vacated by Navajos, and moved 14 cattle
onto the  premises.

Within months his boundary fence had been cut and four cattle were
missing.

He built a corral; it was dismantled. He erected a stone wall; it was
demolished. Then one afternoon, as his teen-age son looked on,
Balenquah scuffled with the relatives of Navajo resisters who he says
threatened him.

Of the 75-year lease agreement his tribe offered the Navajos,
Balenquah grumbles: "I was in favor of it for 75 seconds: Give 'em 75
seconds to clear out."

Balenquah still has cattle on the disputed land, as do a handful
of other Hopis, but the problems remain.

For him, tomorrow carries with it a glimmer of hope that other Hopis,
perhaps even his own son one day, can begin using the land that is
legally theirs without fear of retribution.

"It's a day that we can look forward to and say, 'Now we can have
free usage without harassment.' But we should have had that a long time
ago."

Pausing, he reconsiders - and the hope suddenly fades.

"I know those people," he says of the resisters, "and they are
not going to move. They will be there come Feb. 3. They're still going
to be  there, and they're going to be kicking."

In reality, tomorrow is simply another day, another deadline in a
dispute that has endured decades.

It will come and go with Navajos still striving to avoid the
eviction of their people, and Hopis still praying the Navajo resisters
will leave peacefully.

But one way or another, this fight is nearing a conclusion.
Despite all that's happened, that alone may allow the healing to begin.

"We can't tell where the future lies. That is something that time
has to see," says Navajo spokesman Mellor C. Willie.

"We just want it to be over with," adds Kaye, of the Hopi tribe.
"It's time to move on."
 

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