Indigenous Planning: From Forced Assimilation to Self-determination

Abstract

Interest in Indigenous planning has blossomed in recent years, particularly as it relates to the Indigenous response to settler colonialism. Driven by land and resource hunger, settler states strove to extinguish Indigenous land rights and ultimately to destroy Indigenous cultures. However, Indigenous peoples have persisted. This article draws on the literature to examine the resistance of Indigenous peoples to settler colonialism, their resilience, and the resurgence of Indigenous planning as a vehicle for Indigenous peoples to determine their own fate and to enact their own conceptions of self-determination and self-governance.

Keywords

Indigenous planning Indigenous self-determination planning and institutional change Indigenous land and resources

Introduction

Scholarly and professional interest in Indigenous planning has blossomed in the first decades of the twenty-first century (see, e.g., Barry 2012; Hibbard, Lane, and Rasmussen 2008; Porter et al. 2017; Porter and Barry 2016; Prusak, Walker, and Innes 2016; Sandercock et al. 2004; Ugarde 2014; Walker, Jojola, and Natcher 2013).¹ Indigenous peoples are found in every part of the world. A fundamental reality for them over the past five centuries has been their struggle against colonialism, the broad process by which powerful European states sought to impose their authority over less powerful peoples across the globe (Hoxie 2008). Colonialism has taken two essential forms. In the first instance, the aim was to extract wealth, to be accrued by some distant colonial metropole. Indigenous peoples were conscripted by the colonizers to exploit local resources—precious metals, furs, timber, agricultural products, and so on. Indigenous peoples’ response was the ubiquitous struggles for decolonization and national independence. In the second form, settler colonialism, settlers undertook to replace Indigenous peoples and assume their role of native to the land. Settlers invaded to stay and reproduce, working to remove, dominate, and ultimately replace Indigenous peoples (Goldstein 2014; Steinman 2016). Settler colonialism led to the formation of settler states. It is the latter, settler states and specifically their conduct toward Indigenous peoples, with which Indigenous planning is concerned.

Driven by land and resource hunger, settler states strove to extinguish Indigenous land rights and ultimately to destroy Indigenous peoples, through violence and assimilation (Belich 2009; Bonds and Inwood 2016). However, despite the best efforts of settlers to eliminate them, Indigenous peoples have persisted. Indigenous planning articulates Indigenous peoples’ resilience—their capacity to determine their own fate and to enact their own conceptions of self-determination and self-governance (Cornell 2013; Prusak, Walker, and Innes 2016; Matunga 2013). The key, as Ojibwe scholar David Truer (2020) has observed, is in recognizing that the institutions of Indigenous peoples—the shared norms and formal and informal rules that shape their social, political, and economic action—have not perished in the face of colonialism. Rather, they have been evolving. Truer gives the compelling example of the Lakota people of the North American Great Plains: While they may no longer be nomadic, mounted, and armed, they are still the Lakota.

This is manifest in the multifaceted system of decision rules, shared understandings, codes, and organizations that comprise Indigenous planning. Planning scholar and Isleta Pueblo member Ted Jojola (2013) lucidly describes the nature of Indigenous planning prior to the western colonization of settler states such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United States. Based on established community knowledge, worldviews, and values, Indigenous peoples used culturally accepted approaches, processes, and formal and informal organizational arrangements to make decisions about what the future could or should be like. Maori planning theorist Hirini Matunga (2013) terms this the classic tradition. It was disrupted by colonization and white settlement and ultimately by the imposition of assimilationist policies, including rational planning, intended to erase Indigenousness (Scott 1998; Wilkinson 2005).

The sinister and destructive effects of the universalizing tendencies of the synoptic rational model on racial and ethnic minorities and on women, informed by then-dominant notions of race, class, and gender, have been long noted (Sandercock [1998b] is a basic source; see also Rankin 2010; Sandercock 1998a; Thomas 2019).² It was particularly devastating for Indigenous peoples because of the overt assault on their cultures. They were subjected to forced cultural assimilation into settler societies and were generally excluded from the machinery of governance (Porter and Barry 2016; Jojola 2013; Coombes, Johnson, and Howitt 2012). The economic, political, and above all the cultural integrity of Indigenous communities was undermined by institutions aiming to change Indigenous peoples into white people. An editorial from the Wallowa (Oregon) Chieftan [sic!] sums up the doctrine: “It is inevitable that the Indians…must be absorbed by the nation and lose their distinctive racial peculiarities.…It is impossible that the Indians should maintain their tribal organizations with separate governments…and have their own peculiar civilization; it is both undesirable and impossible” (Morgan 1902, 1).

But Indigenous peoples have written themselves back into planning history, planning theory, and planning practice (Matunga 2017). They long pushed back against the rational model with evasion and resistance, “the weapons of the weak” (Scott 1987). Then, in the 1960s and 1970s, Indigenous peoples drove a resurgence of community-based planning, a renewal of Indigenous planning. It was part of an “epistemological disruption” (Kingsmith 2017) in planning generally, an evolution from thinking about what planning should be to empirical studies of what planners do—to studies of and critical reflection on actual planning institutions and practices, listening to the language of planning practitioners and those who are affected by them (Healey 2012; Innes and Booher 2015; Teitz 2000). The result for Indigenous planning was that by the 1980s, a new era of “self-determination” had emerged as Indigenous peoples regained control and were able to begin shaping planning institutions to their own purposes. (Hibbard 2006; Lane and Hibbard 2005; Matunga 2013; Ugarde 2014).

That progression—from the imposition of rational planning and of resistance to it, and then the resurgence of community-based Indigenous planning—is a significant and revealing manifestation of the general evolution of planning from a top-down, expert-driven process of scientific management to more bottom-up, participatory processes. A central point of inquiry at the intersection of planning theory and history is: Why and how do planning institutions and practices evolve and change in response to local culture and aspirations? Where do they came from and what do they look like in practice (Sorenson 2015; Taylor 2013; Ward, Freestone, and Silver 2011)? This article draws on the literature to address those questions as they pertain to Indigenous planning in the United States—to position Indigenous planning within the larger context of the evolution of planning ideas and institutions. It has four parts following this Introduction. First, to establish a conceptual platform, I briefly interrogate current thinking on Indigenous planning. Next, I review the emergence and evolution of the institutional policy framework in the United States, leading to the self-determination era and reemergence of Indigenous planning. Then, the crux of this article, I investigate some instances of Indigenous planning that have resulted in institutional innovation in Indian communities. I conclude with a discussion of the larger implications of the Indigenous planning experience for Indigenous culture.

What Is Indigenous Planning?

The United Nations (UN) maintains that the principle of self-definition is central to Indigenous rights, so no formal definition of indigeneity is necessary. Nevertheless, the UN (2019) has recently adopted a working definition that delineates the general contours of the broad spectrum of distinct peoples who have been marginalized and denied the right to control their own development: “Indigenous communities, peoples and nations are those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of the societies now prevailing on those territories, or parts of them” (p. 5). An exemplar of this is the Anglo parts of what Crosby (1986) called the neo-Europes, the English-speaking settler states in which the colonizers and their heirs dispossessed and almost exterminated the Indigenous inhabitants—Australia, Canada, New Zealand/Aotearoa, and the United States. The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007) recognizes the rights of Indigenous peoples to exist as distinct peoples and communities; to own, use, and control land and resources; to maintain and develop institutions; and to protect intellectual and cultural property. Indigenous planning has reemerged in settler states to defend and strengthen those rights, through institutions that enable and promote planning with cultural integrity (Hibbard 2016; Lane and Hibbard 2005). To do so, Indigenous planning must address three interrelated and overlapping challenges.

The first is the indispensable factor of self-governance—sovereignty and the inherent right of self-determination. Fundamentally, this is the capacity of a people to determine and implement their own fate. For Indigenous peoples, sovereignty entails territorial recognition that links place with culture and recognition of Indigenous political structures and government (Barry and Porter 2011). For Indigenous planning, sovereignty has been the primary instrument through which Indigenous peoples have sought to gain some measure of political autonomy, maintain their cultures, and control their own land and resources (Hibbard and Lane 2004). The history of Indigenous planning in settler states can be understood as a struggle to assert and maintain the sovereignty of Indigenous peoples in the face of ongoing sociocultural and institutional assaults from the state (Porter and Barry 2016; Wilkinson 2005).

The second challenge is the assault on sociocultural Indigeneity, the attempted forcible economic and cultural assimilation of Indigenous peoples into the larger society. It is the antithesis of sovereignty. Indigenous peoples have been subjected to policies based on the view that the only real, viable local economy is the neoclassic free market and the only option for Indigenous communities is absorption into the mainstream culture by harmonizing their approaches to land and resource management with the mainstream market economy (Hibbard 2016). Indigenous planning resists that view, holding instead that the claims made and the opportunities pursued regarding the management of land and resources should reflect both the centrality of territory to Indigenous cultures, and also their conceptions of and aims for socioeconomic development (Robinson and Lane 2013).

The third challenge is the assault on Indigenous institutions. It has been aimed at advancing economic and cultural assimilation by imposing the laws, policies, and institutional structures of the larger society on Indigenous communities. Resistance to the assault on institutions has come through Indigenous planning and is an important aspect of Indigenous claims to sovereignty. Indigenous planning embraces Bolan’s (1996) notion of planning as institutional design. As Sorenson (2015) observes, planning history can be told as a history of institution building. Indigenous planning plays a crucial role in both reshaping and (re)producing institutional arrangements in a given Indigenous community and, therefore, the character of sovereignty in that community (Lane and Hibbard 2005).

The emergence of Indigenous planning as a response to these three challenges has paralleled the evolution of the field of planning more broadly (Natcher and Davis 2007). Recent scholarship on planning culture rejects the understanding of planning as a field of professional activity that is more or less the same regardless of where it is practiced. Rather, it holds that planning practice is always grounded in a particular time and space (see, e.g., Abram 2016; Stead, DeVries, and Tasan-Kok 2015; Young and Stevenson 2013). Thus, while Indigenous planning is a global phenomenon, it occurs within particular contexts and as such needs to be contextualized. The context of this article is US reservations and similar Indian communities.

The US Policy Framework: From Forced Assimilation to Self-determination

While not yet fully achieved, the inherent right of Indigenous peoples and communities to control over their own institutions is more and more supported in law, policy, and practice, thanks to the generations-long battle by Indigenous peoples to contest efforts to exterminate or assimilate them (Barry 2012; Barry and Porter 2011; Porter et al. 2017). One manifestation in planning is that the field has begun to acknowledge its role in the assault on the political and cultural autonomy of Indigenous communities. In reaction to the universalizing tendencies of the traditional top-down rational planning approach, there is a growing recognition of the emancipatory possibilities of planning, its potential to transform planning institutions (Hibbard 2006; Lane and Hibbard 2005; Sandercock 1998b). A search has emerged for institutions and practices appropriate to contexts of “deep difference,” in which “people regard each other from within completely different rationalities” and “the very meaning of development or progress differ” (Watson 2006, 32). This requires thinking that is responsive to a plurality of ways of being and belonging. In that context, planning is reconceptualizing the role it could and should play with respect to Indigenous peoples (Ugarde 2014). To understand the revitalization of Indigenous planning, it is necessary to review the history of the policy of forced assimilation and the response to it.

Extinction through Assimilation

Settler states achieved statehood by systematically dispossessing and subjugating Indigenous populations.³ This usually involved, first, attempts to physically remove them through relocation and/or (formal or informal) policies of extermination, followed by programs of social and political assimilation (Porter 2010). The experience of the United States is revealing.

US policy initially aimed to separate whites and Indians.⁴ A series of laws in the early days of the United States placed severe restrictions on white entry into Indians lands to trade or settle. Despite this, conflict mounted between the Indians and the ever-increasing number of white settlers. Pursuant to a law passed in 1830, Indigenous peoples were coerced to cede virtually all their aboriginal territory east of the Mississippi River in exchange for new lands in what is now the state of Oklahoma. Thousands of Indians migrated west during the 1830s and 1840s under the “removal policy,” which was voluntary in name only.

An unintended result of the removal policy was the establishment of the legal principle of Indian sovereignty. In the definitive US Supreme Court case (Worchester vs. Georgia 1832), Chief Justice John Marshall wrote that “the Indian nations had always been considered distinct, independent political communities retaining their original natural rights, as the undisputed possessors of the soil.” In the short term, the ruling on the legal concept of sovereignty was honored mostly when it suited the convenience of the US government, but ultimately it had far-reaching consequences.

As white settlement pressed beyond the Mississippi, a new approach was required to keep whites and Indians separate. Treaties were negotiated between the US government and Indian nations in which the Indians “reserved” certain lands for themselves and ceded the balance of their traditional territory to the United States. The Indians often retained various use rights on the ceded lands. Theoretically, the treaties were agreements freely reached between sovereign and equal nations. In practice, the Indians had little choice. The government’s “war policy” was designed to force Indians into accepting reservation life or face physical extermination. Expansionist forces driven by European migration to North America; the discovery of gold, silver, and other minerals; and construction of the transcontinental railroads combined to irradicate the Indians’ armed resistance to the US settler state. By the 1890s, the surviving tribal groups had all been confined to reservations.

As the reservation system took hold, its purpose evolved from keeping whites and Indians separate to transforming Indians into functional members of the dominant society. The movement for Indian assimilation, led by the Indian Rights Association, was one expression of the broader Progressive reform movement at the turn of the twentieth century from which planning emerged.⁵ They established assimilation as the central aim of Indian policy. Their goal was to bring about the “complete civilization of the Indians.” Their principles included the ideas that farming is superior to hunting, that individually held private property is essential to “civilization,” and that education would bring Indians into the mainstream of “civilization.” They saw reservations as social laboratories in which the traditional economic base would be replaced by a system of private property, children would be sent to boarding schools which had deracination as their explicit goal, and every aspect of social life was regulated by the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs. As Werther (1992) famously observed, assimilation is extinction by other means.

The definitive move toward extinction through assimilation was the General Allotment Act or Dawes Act of 1887. Reformers believed that the major obstacle to “civilizing” the Indians was their tribal social structure, based in communal land ownership. The allotment policy aimed to break up that social structure by “allotting” individual plots of reservation land to individual Indians. The allotments were to be held in trust by the federal government for twenty-five years, during which time the allottee was to learn to be a small farmer. At the end of that time, she or he received title to the allotment and was granted US citizenship. Tribal land not allotted was declared surplus and sold to non-Indians. In the words of US President Theodore Roosevelt, the General Allotment Act “is a mighty pulverizing engine to break up the tribal mass. It acts directly on the family and the individual” (quoted in Wilkinson 1987, 103). At that point, the Indian situation had apparently been resolved. Indians were being transformed into non-Indians and an effective system of controls was in place until such time as they were assimilated into the dominant society.

However, the allotment policy proved to be disastrous. The Nez Perce and Pine Ridge reservations, two of most storied cases in western Indian history, are illustrative. The 1,300-mile march of the Nez Perce through the Rocky mountains in 1877, to escape the US Army effort to confine them, is legendary. After surrendering to federal troopers, they were held until 1885 before being allowed to settle on their traditional land. That was two years before the passage of the Allotment Act in 1887. Of the 750,000 acres in Nez Perce ownership in 1893, today 49,000 acres are held by Indian allottees and 36,000 acres are owned by the tribe. The balance, 664,000 acres or 88 percent of the reservation, has been transferred to non-Indians.

In the case of Pine Ridge, hostilities between the Oglala Sioux and the United States ceased following the Wounded Knee massacre in 1890. The tribe began to rebuild their lives around a livestock operation. By 1912, they had a tribal herd of 40,000 head. By 1916, the 2.5-million acre reservation was completely subdivided because of the allotment policy. Then, when the United States entered World War I in 1917, the Bureau of Indian Affairs encouraged the Oglala to sell their herd and grow wheat instead, as part of the war effort. Since the tribe had neither the necessary capital nor experience in wheat farming, most of the lands were leased to whites. As a result, by 1930, more than a quarter of the allotted land had been sold by individual owners and another third had passed into heirship status and was rented out to non-Indians on a more-or-less permanent basis. Ownership of the reservation was so fragmented that any economic purpose suited to the tribe’s land and traditions was impossible.

These are not extreme cases. In total, nearly 100 million acres of land were lost to tribal ownership. The sale of surplus land and the loss of fee allotments left 100,000 Indians landless and many reservations with a checkerboard pattern of ownership. Formerly consolidated areas were divided among Indian, non-Indian, state, and federal ownership, making it virtually impossible to put together viable units for grazing, farming, or other forms of economic development. Their highly fractionated ownership thus left the allotted reservations largely undevelopable.

By the 1920s, it was clear that forced assimilation and allotment were not working. In 1926, the Secretary of the Interior⁶ commissioned the Institute for Government Research⁷ to conduct an analysis of the socioeconomic conditions of American Indians. The Problem of Indian Administration or Meriam Report (Meriam et al. 1928) was the first modern social scientific study of Indian people, their communities, and the policies and programs that controlled their lives. It documented the destitution, frightful health conditions and high mortality rates, and appalling housing conditions facing reservation Indians, as well as the plight of those forced to leave the reservations because of land loss. The policies of the assimilationist era “resulted in much loss of land and an enormous increase in the details of administration without a compensating advance in the economic ability of the Indians” (Meriam et al. 1928, 41).

In 1933, newly elected President Franklin Roosevelt appointed John Collier as Commissioner of Indian Affairs. Collier was a well-known Indian rights activist and an outspoken critic of assimilation and especially of the allotment policy. He believed that the land allotment system violated tribal sovereignty and the inherent right of self-determination as well as the treaty rights that Indians had retained on ceded lands. He was a strong believer in the planning tenets of his day—empirical analysis and scientific management (Collier 1963). He embraced the findings of the Meriam Report as clear evidence of the tragic consequences of forced assimilation and moved quickly to overturn it.

The core of Collier’s approach was the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) of 1934, a set of interrelated reforms that began to address the three challenges that define and articulate Indigenous planning. Based on the concept of sovereignty, the IRA was intended to help Indian people rebuild their communities physically, economically, and socially. First, with respect to socioeconomic factors, the IRA aimed at rebuilding the Indian land base. Further allotments were prohibited and funding was appropriated for the purchase of additional land, including buying back allotted lands. It also established a program to encourage reservation businesses, including a revolving loan fund to provide capital for buildings and equipment.

Second, the IRA advanced reservation self-government. It gave tribes one year (later extended to two years) to vote on accepting or rejecting the act’s provisions. In that period, 258 elections were held; 181 tribes voted to organize under the IRA and 77 rejected it. Groups rejecting it did so because it imposed institutional forms of self-governance that were inconsistent with Indian cultures, such as written constitutions and representative democracy. For example, the strongly traditional Hopi saw it as culturally alien and the fiercely independent Six Nations of the Iroquois resented the federal government effort to define the form of their governance.⁸

While the IRA did not fully reestablish Indian institutions, it did put a stop to the long years of Indian decline. Collier served until 1945, and his legacy continues to dominate the debate of the place of Indians in US society. During his eleven years in office, the total area of Indian land began to increase. Agricultural income increased by more than 2,000 percent. The IRA brought self-government to thousands of Indians. Most important, as Chickasaw leader Joseph W. Hayes put it, it helped to ensure that, “every morning our children will be Indians” (quoted in Wilson 1998, 356).

In the immediate post-World War II years, in a cruel caricature of the concept of self-determination, the US Congress responded to the IRA-inspired drive for increased sovereignty with a step backward, claiming to “emancipate” Indian peoples by “terminating” their reservations. Termination policy was an extreme version of the forced assimilation in the allotment policy from a half-century prior. House Concurrent Resolution 108, adopted in 1953, proposed to “free” Indians to live like other Americans, “subject to the same laws and entitled to the same privileges and responsibilities as…other citizens…(free from) all federal supervision and control” (quoted in Hibbard 2006, 93). The policy abrogated federal responsibility for terminated reservations. Tribal members were to receive a single lump sum payment for their interest in the reservation, after which all federal services were to be withdrawn and their reservation cease to exist.

Between 1954 and 1960, fourteen federally recognized reservations were terminated, often without their consent. Most were small, impoverished communities. However, the Ho-chunk (called Menominee by whites) of Wisconsin and the Klamath of Oregon were both large tribes with substantial natural resource holdings. They resisted termination for some years but were ultimately unable to hold out. The termination policy had the same tragic consequences as the allotment policy. It undermined sovereignty, led to the sale of valuable Indian land, and impoverished Indian families and communities. At the same time, fear of termination had the effect of mobilizing Indians. They realized that something had to be done.

The Emergence of Self-determination

It was clear by 1960 that termination had simply given the federal government another excuse to ignore treaty rights and end essential services to Indians. But the larger context had changed. In the years after World War II, Indians began to organize at the national, multitribal level. As well, the civil rights movement that began in the late 1950s forced the country to face its racism and acknowledge the humanity of minority peoples. It served as an impetus to an emerging Indian rights movement that pushed back against termination and sought recognition of tribal rights (Wilkinson 2005). Indian activists pushed for an expansive conception of self-determination, one that entailed legal and political sovereignty, fulfillment of treaty obligations, the return and protection of homelands, and the continued maintenance of the US trust responsibilities. In response, federal policy shifted and begin to reflect sentiments in Indian country.⁹

In a 1968 message to Congress, President Lyndon Johnson called for “self-determination,” “a policy of maximum choice” as the new goal for Indian programs (quoted in Wilkinson 2005, 196). Johnson proposed a series of programs for self-help and self-determination. His successor, President Richard Nixon embraced that vision. He called for the abolition of termination and for self-determination for all Indian tribes. He acknowledged that federal bureaucracies had largely failed Indian peoples and that the time had come for a fresh approach. “Indians will get better programs and that public monies will be more effectively expended if the people who are most affected by these programs are responsible for operating them” (quoted in Strommer and Osborne 2014, 17). He proposed a legislative package designed to expedite transfer of the administration of federal programs that benefit Indian people to Indian tribal governments. It took Congress nearly five years to respond, but ultimately it passed the Indian Self-Determination and Education Assistance Act of 1975 (PL 93-638).

PL 93-638 reflected congressional acceptance of tribal autonomy and the failure of termination policies. It allowed tribes to assume administrative responsibility for reservation programs. One of its key features is a provision transferring funding for the planning, management, and delivery of services such as housing, lands management, tribal government assistance, education and employment, and natural resources programs from the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and Indian Health Service (IHS) directly to tribal governments. The latter could then choose to contract with a federal agency for the service, provide the service themselves, or contract with a third party. Now, instead of the federal agency building a community center, setting up a day care program, running a health clinic, or writing an economic development plan, tribes could organize things for themselves.

The new system of self-determination settled in during the 1980s, as statutes expanded tribal rights to contract for services. This approach has allowed Indian communities to experiment with defining and articulating their own conceptualizations of institutional arrangements, the essence of Indigenous planning.

Indigenous Planning and Institutional Change

Geertz (2000) has observed that the answers to our general questions are often found in the fine detail of lived life rather than in representative samples. Kuhn (1970) made the point even more starkly, maintaining that a discipline without a large number of case studies is ineffective. In keeping with those thoughts, the best way to understand the relationship among self-determination, Indigenous planning, and institutional change is to examine instances of practice. As Indian peoples and communities move to reclaim practical power in managing their own affairs, self-determination has enabled them to use existing institutions in new ways as well as to create entirely new ones (Cornell 2013). It is instructive to look at both forms of institutional change. I begin by considering examples of the planning process as an institution, how Indigenous plans are developed under conditions of sovereignty and self-governance. I then turn more briefly to two cases in which Indigenous communities have shaped institutions to better reflect their own cultural norms and practices.¹⁰

Self-Governance

Indigenous communities aspire to political autonomy not as an end in itself but in order to maintain their culture and control their own land and resources. The evolution of planning by the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs (CTWS), Oregon and the establishment of planning by the Tlingit village of Kake, Alaska are illustrative.

The CTWS reservation escaped much of the harmful effects of forced assimilation, allotment, and termination, primarily because of their remote location in the high desert of central Oregon and the lack of attractive agricultural land. They retained their native religion and made extensive use of traditional foods—salmon and game, roots, and wild berries. They adopted IRA governance in 1938, with some adjustments to reflect their own culture. An elected governing body, the Tribal Council, oversees day-to-day affairs. Major issues are deliberated by the entire community at General Council meetings, which are held as necessary but at least annually. General Council meetings are usually convened by the Tribal Council, but any tribal member can call a meeting on his or her own volition if she or he has a community concern.

The tribes have taken an active interest in planning from the beginning of self-government. A planning program was instituted in 1940, focusing on the preservation and management of the land base and other resources. The first comprehensive plan was prepared for the Tribes by the BIA in 1943–1944. They have developed and implemented a succession of plans since then, with more and more direct tribal involvement as Indigenous planning has taken hold.

The CTWS received a cash settlement of about US$4 million from the US government as compensation for the taking of an historical fishing area that was inundated by a federal dam project. They also received substantial cash compensation in settlement of a dispute over ownership of a large, commercially valuable forested area. Through a series of General Council meetings, they decided to use most of these funds for development of the reservation. The immediate outcome was a resource development plan prepared by consultants. This 1960 plan is considered the foundational document of modern CTWS planning. Characteristic of its time, it consists of an inventory of reservation resources and recommendations for their use. Subsequent updates to what had become commonly known as the comprehensive plan, in 1970 and 1983, also depended on outside consultants, although the 1983 update process included a high level of public involvement. By 1996, the tribal planning office undertook the next iteration of the comprehensive plan, managing the process internally. They emphasized a commitment to an open process through which the community itself would identify goals and strategies. The result was The People’s Plan, formally adopted in 1999.

The CTWS example illustrates the evolution of planning from a top-down process to Indigenous planning—first from a process carried out by the BIA, then through the use of external consultants, and finally to an explicit concern with tribal and community control of the process. In contrast, the development of the Comprehensive Economic Development Strategy (CEDS) Committee by the village of Kake illustrates the creation of a new planning institution.

Kake and the other Tlingit villages of southeast Alaska were largely invisible until the United States purchased Alaska from Russia in 1867. After that non-Natives began taking possession of land, although the Tlingits never signed treaties nor sold their land. The area around what is now Kake had been a traditional summer gathering site, a base from which the Keex’ Kwaan (Kake) Tlingits hunted, fished, foraged, and preserved their catch. As white settlement encroached, it gradually became a permanent settlement for the Keex’ Kwaan. In about 1912 (the exact date is in doubt), Keex’ Kwaan tribal elders established the Kake municipal government under the provisions of federal law that controlled the Territory of Alaska at the time. The Kake city government continues to operate under the laws of the State of Alaska, providing infrastructure and other typical municipal services.

The Organized Village of Kake (OVK), the Keex’ Kwaan Tribal government, was formed in 1948 under the provisions of the IRA. OVK advocates for and protects the resources of the Keex’ Kwaan’s traditional gathering areas, the lands, and waters in a radius of forty to fifty miles around the current site of Kake. It also provides many social service and educational programs for its citizens and the overall community of Kake.

One of OVK’s first acts was to purchase the salmon cannery that had been built in Kake by private investors in 1912. As with other Alaska canneries, its financial situation was always precarious. It changed hands at least four times prior to its acquisition by OVK in 1948. OVK operated the cannery until the late 1970s when, along with many other Alaskan canneries, finances and changing market conditions forced its closure.

A second resource extraction industry, logging, came to Kake at about the time the cannery closed. The Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971 transferred 11 percent of Alaska’s lands to Native groups in compensation for lands taken. The land is administered through more than 200 local village corporations and thirteen regional corporations. The local corporation for Kake is the Kake Tribal Corporation (KTC), established in 1975. All Keex’ Kwaan are KTC shareholders. The primary business of KTC has been forest products. They received title to substantial forest holdings in and around Kake. They created jobs through large scale timber operations, selling logs and wood pulp on the global market. However, when their timber was harvested, KTC was forced to declare bankruptcy and, by 2004, to discontinue all logging operations.

With the loss of salmon fishing and processing, and then logging, the economy of Kake essentially collapsed. The loss of jobs was so great that between 2002 and 2005, the population of Kake fell from more than 800 to less than 500, as at least 150 working-age residents were forced to relocate in search of employment. The virtual disappearance of the economy reinvigorated ongoing local conflicts over social, economic, and environmental change and what it means to be Keex’ Kwaan. Complicating things, the three organizations with governance responsibilities, the city, OVK and KTC, had overlapping but different missions and responsibilities. Moreover, they had different orientations toward how to address the economic and cultural crisis facing the community. KTC, as a for-profit corporation tasked with making money for its shareholders, was by definition a supporter of conventional economic development. OVK was the guardian of the Keex’ Kwaan natural and cultural heritage, the people, and their traditional land and seascape. The city is the provider of basic public services. These organizations had difficulty communicating with one another and cooperation was problematic because of a perception that they engaged in a zero-sum game where success for one organization could only come at the expense of another. These divisions had to be dealt with in order to address the crisis.

In response to the crisis, the tribal government, OVK, arranged a consultation with outside facilitators who had experience working with tribal communities. The purpose was to craft a development plan for the community, a vision and set of goals and projects to address the major issues. But identifying priorities, much less responsibility for implementing projects, required a high level of trust and sense of common purpose across the community. The facilitators worked with leadership from the city mayor, the OVK executive director, and the KTC vice-president, along with other community leaders such as the school superintendent and the head of the newly created small business association to form a vehicle for collective planning and action, the CEDS Committee. Through a variety of processes, including open town hall meetings to which all residents were invited, by 2005, the CEDS Committee had formulated the first Kake CEDS, which identified fifty-five proposed projects and the governmental entity responsible for implementing each of them. In the years since, the CEDS Committee has been self-sustaining and has promulgated three updates to the plan.

Although they are quite different, these two cases of “the fine detail of lived life” by the CTWS and the Keex’ Kwaan show how Indigenous planning is practiced. Both communities gained control over their own institutions by utilizing the emancipatory possibilities of planning, the CTWS by transforming the existing planning institution, the Keex’ Kwaan by creating a wholly new planning institution.

Culturally Supportive Institutions

The Southeast Alaska Regional Health Consortium (SEARHC) is a substantive example of institutional innovation. SEARHC was established in 1975, under the provisions of PL 93-638, to provide health care services previously supplied directly by the federal government through the IHS. One of the first Indian-run health organizations, SEARHC is a nonprofit tribal health consortium serving eighteen Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian communities in Southeast Alaska, including Kake. It is overseen by an eighteen-member Board of Directors, each of whom is elected by and represents one of the member community tribal organizations (Metcalfe 2005).

This new institution for self-determination is not just a matter of administration, it has programmatic implications. Subsistence—hunting, fishing, and foraging—is central to the culture and economy of the villages of Southeast Alaska. Being Native Alaskan means living a subsistence lifestyle. It is a way of being in the world, of bringing children into the community and of honoring the elders. But as well, on a functional level, everyone depends in part on subsistence as a source of food and other resources. With its roots in the communities, SEARHC recognizes the role of subsistence and has made traditional foods a central feature of its nutrition education program in a way that the IHS could or would not.

Self-determination has also enabled a fresh take on traditional foods by the Department of Natural Resources of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Reservation (CTUIR) in northeast Oregon. Five “first foods”—water, salmon, deer, camas root, and huckleberry—play a central role in CTUIR creation belief. The CTUIR has rethought its natural resource management plans, using first foods as the organizing principle. Its policies, resource management goals, and implementation actions are now directed toward restoring and protecting first foods, recognizing the cultural and nutritional importance of subsistence.

The extensive use of traditional foods by SEARHC and CTUIR as a basis for health and natural resource management programming, respectively, parallels the long-standing and extensive CTWS practices reported above. Again, as Indigenous peoples have made over institutions or created new ones, they have shaped them to reflect their own cultures. Another important example is in economic development planning.

Economic development has been at the core of attempts to assimilate Indians by bringing them into the market economy—making them landowners, small business operators, commercial farmers, wage workers, and the like. It has been largely unsuccessful. Although the profound destitution of past times has mostly been lightened, many Indian communities are impoverished. The median household income of Indians is about 70 percent of the United States as a whole and their poverty rate is nearly 30 percent, compared to 15 percent for the nation as a whole. The conventional explanation of Indian poverty is a product of their insistence on clinging to cultural traits that are maladapted to contemporary economic realities. Natural resources, for both extraction and subsistence, have provided the economic base of many Indian communities, as in Kake, and the postcollapse history of Kake is instructive.

A household survey in 2009—five years after logging ended—asked respondents about the things most important to preserve and most in need of change in the community. While the economy (availability of jobs and employment) was important, the preservation of Tlingit culture and language, including the subsistence lifestyle, was the overwhelming priority. Not everyone engages in subsistence activities but everyone receives the produce of subsistence, through trade, gifts, and the like. The reverse is also true; everyone depends on the cash economy. There are things subsistence cannot provide, and households continue to find ways to generate income—from self-employment, seasonal and part-time work, remittances from family members living away, and from transfer payments. As well, the infrastructure that enables subsistence depends on the cash economy. Subsistence activities require boots and bush clothes, buckets and clam shovels, boat motors and fishing gear, guns and ammunition, smoke houses, and canning equipment. Consistent with this dual focus, the third update of the Kake CEDS (2013) introduced the concept of community economic sovereignty. It aims to expand opportunities in the cash economy while maintaining and strengthening Tlingit identity, including through subsistence.

To sum up, traditional foods and the process of obtaining them are an important and healthful part of the local diet, a cultural statement, a part of the local economy, and they play a role in the local ecosystem. Economic development planning, as in the Kake CEDS, natural resource management, as in the CTUIR, and health services planning, as in SEARHC, all acknowledge the roles of traditional foods and subsistence, roles that likely would be invisible in the absence of a revitalized Indigenous planning.

Discussion

These cases illustrate ways Indigenous communities have used Indigenous planning to address the challenges facing them. They have taken advantage of the possibilities for self-determination created by political pressure from the national Indigenous leadership that transformed the federal policy framework. They have used Indigenous planning for plan making by and for Indigenous communities and to change the ways institutions can be opened up to Indigenous cultures. All the cases display effective responses to the first challenge outlined above, sovereignty, the inherent right of self-determination, and its expression in self-governance. The CTWS and the Keex’ Kwaan have gained control of their own planning. Moreover, the Keex’ Kwaan, SEARHC, and the CTUIR are directing institutional activities toward culturally appropriate goals and activities—supporting the production and consumption of traditional foods for personal and environmental health and supporting subsistence as a culturally and economically important activity. The latter also addresses the second challenge to which Indigenous planning responds, by resisting the long assault on the cultural values of Indigenous peoples. Finally, central to the assault on Indigenous cultural values has been the attempt to destroy Indigenous institutions by imposing the laws, policies, and institutional structures of the larger society on Indigenous communities. We see from the experience of SEARHC, the CTUIR, and the Kake CEDS that Indigenous planning can create and maintain institutions that embody Indigenous culture.

Numerous cases from the United States and other settler states reinforce these examples of Indigenous planning, as, for instance, community planning (Prusak, Walker, and Innes 2016) and environmental planning (Barry and Porter 2011) in Canada, economic development in Australia (Altman 2011), and land use in Canada and Australia (Porter and Barry 2016).

Conclusion

Indigenous peoples were and continue to be victims of colonization and many forms of violence, but they are also resilient and have rebounded as families, clans, and peoples. Indigenous peoples and their cultures have not perished in the face of settler colonialism, despite the best efforts of settler states to exterminate them. Nor have they succumbed to what Wang (2012) calls, in a different context, the arrogance of self-pity. Rather, they have evolved in response to their changing circumstances. As Jonathan Lear makes clear in his sensitive analysis of the resilience of the Crow people of the Great Plains, when the old ways of being a Crow were coming to an end, they gathered confidence that there would be continuing ways to flourish as a Crow: “The hope is radical in that it is aiming for a subjectivity that is at once Crow and does not yet exist” (Lear 2006, 104). The “radical hope” of Indigenous peoples drove their resistance, which led ultimately to self-determination through Indigenous planning.

Footnotes

Acknowledgments

I acknowledge the Kalapuya people. The University of Oregon is located on Kalapuya Ilihi, their traditional homeland, from which the Kalapuya were dispossessed. Today, their descendants, citizens of the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde Community of Oregon and the Confederated Tribes of the Siletz Indians of Oregon, continue to make important contributions in their communities, across the land we now refer to as Oregon, and around the world.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Michael Hibbard

Notes

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