5

Determining the Self

The Crow country is a good country. The Great Spirit has put it exactly in the right place; while you are in it you fare well; whenever you go out of it, whichever way you travel, you will fare worse. . . . The Crow country is exactly in the right place.

—Arapooish (“Sore Belly” or “Rotten Belly”), Crow leader, to Robert Campbell, Rocky Mountain Fur Company, c. 1830*

SOME FIFTY YEARS after Arapooish described the bounty of his land to an intrepid fur trader, the dimensions of Crow country were changing dramatically. In 1884, Captain Henry Armstrong, the Crow’s federal Indian agent charged with overseeing their progression from nomadic “savages” to “civilized” farmers, decided that the tribe’s current location in the Stillwater Valley no longer fit its needs. This area in south-central Montana had served as a refuge for the Crow, protecting the tribe first from encroaching Native groups like the Teton Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Blackfoot, and then from an incessant stream of white prospectors, ranchers, and farmers moving into Montana after the defeat of the Sioux and Cheyenne in 1877. By the mid-1880s, however, the sanctuary no longer contained the elements required for subsistence. The game was gone and the area’s upland topography made for difficult farming. Seeking better farmland on Montana’s eastern plains and determined to claim this area before the recently extended Northern Pacific Railroad dumped more settlers in the region, Armstrong moved more than 900 Crow east to the Little Bighorn Valley. Justifying the relocation to his superiors, he declared confidently, “If any man can take a tribe of wild Indians and make anything out of them, I can.”¹

But, of course, the decision of what to make of this Indian group was not Armstrong’s alone. As Frederick Hoxie shows, the move to the eastern plains set off a contentious debate within the tribe over the type of community the Crow would become. External factors certainly shaped the possibilities—the federal military prevented a full return to nomadic hunting. But the fundamental questions of group identity were still the Crow’s to make. As Hoxie explains:

The group’s passage out of the mountains and into the valley of the Little Bighorn . . . brought a number of difficult issues forward for consideration. Who were the Crows? Were they hunters, warriors, farmers, ranchers, or all four? Was their community distinct? Could there be a Crow community in the new, reservation environment? If so, who would be this new community’s leaders? And how could both leaders and followers identify themselves in a setting where they would soon be outnumbered by powerful outsiders? In short, what was their future as a people in this new land?

The picture Hoxie paints of those first years on the Little Bighorn is one of confusion and conflict. Some Crow supported the move, determined to adopt agriculture and accept rations as the best approach to securing peace, prosperity, and their own prestige within the community. Others were more reluctant, accepting the relocation but determined to pursue a mixed economy of ranching and hunting that more closely aligned with existing modes of subsistence. And a few, like the young warrior Sword Bearer, whose 1887 violent revolt against agency officials and subsequent death made him a martyr among the tribe, resisted at all costs. One thing is sure: as the parameters of Crow country shifted, the community calling this land home had to redefine itself, painfully and painstakingly selecting, as Hoxie explains, “a stable community leadership and a coherent cultural identity that both honored the past and served the future.” Ultimately, the Crow would settle on a pragmatic compromise, adopting a defiant rhetoric that paid homage to Sword Bearer’s independent values but working peacefully with federal officials to secure material necessities and retain as much control over their land as possible.2

Almost a century later, the dimensions of Crow country shifted again. Instability in global oil supplies; environmental legislation that increased the desirability of their vast, low-sulfur coal deposits; and an antiquated mineral leasing regime that made these resources readily available brought dozens of energy companies to the reservation’s doorstep. Like other tribal groups, the Crow initially welcomed this interest in their minerals and consummated deals that promised unfettered reservation access to such multinational firms as Peabody Coal Company, Gulf Mineral Resources, and Shell Oil. Recognizing this fortuitous opportunity to secure revenue from their land, Tribal Chairman Patrick Stands Over Bull recalled Arapooish’s famous words in a 1975 letter to his people:

“The Crow country is good country. The Great Spirit has put it exactly in the right place.” . . . Such were the words of one of our great chiefs, Arapooish (Sore Belly) in describing our land in the 1830s. Today is 1975 and, I believe, the Crow country is not only the right place but it looks like the Great Spirit was careful about what was under the Crow country! Billions of tons of tribally-owned coal underlie the southeast portion of our reservation and the ceded strip.

But like the Crow in 1884, changing land-use patterns in Crow country triggered fundamental questions about the future of the Crow community. Would the Crow become industrial laborers, wealthy landowners, or exploited victims of mining pollution? Would their tribal government be able to control the impacts of mining and non-Indian miners and protect their land base for future Crow generations? And what would it mean to be Crow if their reservation was overrun by white outsiders? Could the tribe continue to exist if mining rendered its members minorities in their own land, with tribal customs and values under constant pressure to change?3

As we have seen, energy tribes across the nation were asking similar questions as they debated how to capitalize on their suddenly valuable resources without compromising their existing community. Next door, on the adjacent Northern Cheyenne Reservation, a grassroots movement had emerged to warn of the threats posed by Northern Plains mining and unify that tribe against non-tribal controlled development. Forty miles west, the Crow heard this message and began debating what reservation mining would mean to their community. Continuing his 1975 message to the Crow people, Stands Over Bull captured the magnitude of the moment, articulating what many tribal leaders felt about the prospect of lucrative energy development: “If the Crow Tribe can control this development and maximize the beneficial aspects of mining on the reservation, we could realize economic self-sufficiency.” “But,” the tribal chairman warned, “if the proposed development is not controlled, the Crow people in fifty years could fade into the sunset as a landless, cultureless and powerless people.” The fate of this people, and that of many other reservation Indians, was tied to how they managed their land in these changing conditions.4

A FRAGILE COALITION: MINING THE CEDED STRIP

In most things related to coal development, the Crow generally followed a few steps behind their Northern Cheyenne neighbors. Thus, in spring 1966, as the Northern Cheyenne and the Bureau of Indian Affairs were considering how to respond to Max Krueger’s offer to commercially mine Cheyenne coal, the Crow received their own proposal from a start-up firm named Crow Coal, Inc. Organized in January 1966, the young company’s founders included Crow executive council members Donald Deernose and Daniel Old Elk, a Crow geologist named Joseph Rawlins, and L. C. Scott, who formerly operated a small mine on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation. As tribal leaders and local coal operators, these men were in as good a position as any to judge the extent and location of Crow coal deposits. They proposed a twenty-five-year lease to develop coal on a 2,500-acre plot of tribal land, promising to pay royalties of 30 cents per ton, which was three times as much as Krueger offered the Northern Cheyenne. The new firm, however, also needed seed money, and thus it requested a $180,000 tribal loan, to be repaid at 5 percent interest. The offer was risky. Beyond the upfront loan, the tribal government would also have only limited control over the activities of Crow Coal, Inc., as it was a private firm operating under a lease. The proposal, however, did offer the benefit of a Crow-owned enterprise developing tribal minerals. Rather than hundreds of outside coal miners arriving to work the reservation, tribal members could expect that they would fill the bulk of new mining jobs.⁵

The historical record is silent on the Crow government’s response, but considering that tribal and federal officials had long known the reservation contained valuable minerals, there must have been excitement over the possibility of finally securing revenue from these assets. Specific knowledge of the reservation’s coal deposits dated back at least to the early twentieth century, when pressures to open Crow land to white homesteading caused the federal government to survey the reservation. Reporting the results of this survey to Congress in 1910, Interior Secretary Richard Ballinger noted the extensive coal mines being developed further south in Wyoming and concluded: “There is no doubt but that the valuable coal deposits there extend into the Crow Reservation. The value of these coal lands, as estimated by the Geological Survey, is upward of $100 per acres.” A few years later, future Crow leader Robert Yellowtail placed the value much higher, telling a Senate committee that “the value of the land can only be estimated into the billions of dollars from the billions of tons of the largest coal deposits in the world.” Yellowtail’s assessment was tinged with more than a bit of optimism, but all parties understood that the reservation contained valuable minerals. The Crow’s 1920 Allotment Act specifically retained tribal rights to all subsurface minerals for a period of fifty years, hoping the resources could be developed quickly to generate desperately needed revenue.6

That plan was not to be, though its failure stemmed not from a lack of effort. Tribal and federal officials worked diligently to establish mineral production on the reservation, particularly in the 1950s and early 1960s as rapid postwar growth demanded new fuel sources. Hoping to capitalize on this demand, the tribe issued numerous oil and gas permits to mining firms, but prospecting wells produced little return. Further, unlike the situation in the booming American Southwest, no viable coal market materialized on the sparsely populated Northern Plains. By 1967, then, the reservation’s expansive mineral deposits had produced less than $4 million, forcing the tribe to lobby for more time to develop its minerals. Congress responded to tribal requests the following year with legislation permanently transferring reservation minerals to the Crow, but still little development occurred.⁷

The proposal by Crow Coal, Inc. offered a new opportunity to address this lack of production. However, despite the long, pent-up desire to realize mineral revenues, in 1966 the Crow were being advised by the same federal trustees who cautioned the Northern Cheyenne against accepting unsolicited offers without first testing the emerging western coal market. The Crow, no doubt, received similar advice. The tribal government thus made the seemingly prudent decision to forego a partnership with Crow Coal, Inc. in favor of cultivating interest from multinational companies with the capacity to develop larger and more lucrative projects.

*

To facilitate large-scale development of their mineral reserves, the Crow made fundamental changes to their methods for governing reservation resources. In 1948, the tribe had ratified a constitution that largely formalized political practices developed in the late nineteenth century, when the federal government sought to circumvent powerful Crow leaders by requiring the full tribe to consider and vote on land cessions. Over time, many Crow came to see this extensive public participation as a quintessential element of Crow governance. Thus, the 1948 constitution established a legislative “tribal council” that consisted of all adult members of the tribe. The Crow elected officers to execute this body’s resolutions and an executive committee to set the council’s agenda, but the constitution required the full tribe to consider all decisions regarding communally owned land and resources. This “direct democracy,” however, had its limits. The Crow adapted even older political practices to this newer democratic model by creating strong factions that supported individual leaders who frequently spoke for their followers. Not for the last time, the Crow blended two separate political traditions into a workable governing structure.8

Despite the value the 1948 constitution placed on public participation, tribal members quickly realized that this deliberative form of government did not respond well to time-sensitive matters, such as offers to develop reservation resources that were tied to fluctuating markets. Therefore, almost as soon as the Crow passed their constitution, the tribe adjusted its governing structure by establishing, in 1952, the Oil and Gas Committee to “work with the Chairman of the Crow tribal council and the superintendent of the Crow Indian Agency to act for the Crow Tribe on the acceptance or rejection of bids on Oil and Gas lease sales.” The tribe later clarified that this new committee’s power included the authority “to transact any and all business which may become necessary in the leasing, or handling the mineral interests of the Crow Tribe,” subject only to securing the tribal chairman’s signature to execute mineral deals. Essentially, the tribe removed the constitution’s public participation requirement from matters related to oil and gas. Under this streamlined process, the tribe aggressively pursued development in the 1950s and 1960s, though as we’ve seen, other factors limited production.9

When interest in Crow coal suddenly materialized on the heels of this disappointing foray into oil and gas development, the tribe was determined not to miss another opportunity. After rejecting Crow Coal, Inc.’s 1966 proposal, multinational energy firms, such as Peabody Coal, Consolidation Coal, Humble Oil, and Shell Oil, began lining up to bid on Crow coal. Preparing for the opportunity, the tribe further centralized mineral development authority by granting Tribal Chairman Edison Real Bird unilateral power to issue prospecting permits and mining leases. The 1967 tribal council resolution conferring this authority left little question as to how the tribe expected Real Bird to wield his new power. Expressing frustration at past efforts to land lucrative development projects and explicitly noting that the “opportunity has arisen for direct negotiations with the biggest coal company of the world [Peabody],” the resolution instructed the chairman to “consider favorably a reasonable offer or offers . . . to produce coal.” In relatively quick fashion, then, the Crow dispensed with “traditional,” democratic governing procedures in favor of a highly centralized approach to mineral development. The tribe seemed poised to capitalize on their vast energy reserves.¹⁰

What followed next should sound very familiar. When Real Bird’s administration authorized the Crow’s first coal auction on April 2, 1968, the hoped-for lucrative deal did not materialize. Bidding on separate tracts without competition, Peabody and Shell each secured more than 80,000 reservation acres for relatively small bonus payments and fixed royalties at 17.5 cents per ton of coal mined, the same as the Northern Cheyenne’s early deals. One year later, the Crow again tried their luck but again secured no competition. In this second auction, Gulf Mineral Resources obtained rights to an additional 75,000 acres under similarly meager terms. The frustrating process the Northern Cheyenne endured seemed to be playing out next door.¹¹

Important differences, however, distinguished the Crow and Northern Cheyenne experience with coal development. None was more significant than the fact that the Crow owned minerals off the reservation. In 1899, under pressure from federal officials to open “unused” lands to white settlers, the Crow ceded to the United States all land north of the confluence of the Bighorn and Little Bighorn rivers, near the present-day town of Hardin, Montana. Consistent with federal policy at the time, the federal government then conveyed the surface rights for this “Ceded Strip” to incoming homesteaders but retained for itself all subsurface mineral rights. When Congress, in 1958, returned to the Crow “all lands now or hereafter classified as vacant and undisposed-of ceded lands,” the mineral estate for the Ceded Strip once again belonged to the tribe. Thus at the beginning of the decade that brought increasing demand for western coal, the Crow not only owned mineral rights on the reservation proper but also held legal title to coal underlying more than a million acres just to the north.12

The third and final Crow coal sale focused exclusively on this Ceded Strip, and it was here that the Crow’s long-awaited payday would come. Situated between the reservation and the already proven coal fields near Colstrip, Montana, there was little doubt these lands contained coal. In fact, the same geologist who put together the initial Crow Coal, Inc. proposal had been gathering state and private coal leases in this area for another local firm, Norsworthy & Reger. Hoping to add 35,000 acres of Crow lands to their existing holdings, Norsworthy & Reger approached the tribe with an offer to bypass competitive bidding and negotiate directly for a coal lease. Tempting as this concrete proposal must have been, BIA officials resisted, choosing to follow protocol and require the Ceded Strip be offered at auction. Norsworthy & Reger would not, however, give up on their substantial investment in the coal lands north of the reservation. They convinced federal officials to at least open the auction to oral bidding so that the prospecting company could match other offers. When multiple energy firms expressed interest in the Ceded Strip, Norsworthy & Reger’s tactic to protect its investment ended up providing the mechanism to drive up Crow coal prices. After oral bidding on the Crow’s third coal sale concluded on September 16, 1970, three mining firms, including the Westmoreland Coal Company—America’s oldest independent coal company—paid more than $700,000 in bonuses for the rights to mine almost 70,000 acres in the Ceded Strip.¹³

Thrilled that the third coal sale had finally produced cash for their impoverished community, Crow leaders were determined to transform these prospecting contracts into viable mining enterprises with steady revenue streams. The ultimate form these projects would take, however, was still unclear and depended largely on distant markets that had not yet matured. Thus after quickly disbursing much of the signing bonuses in per capita payments to tribal members, these leaders worked with energy executives to fine tune their deals and make feasible a wide range of potential projects. The projects included possible mine-mouth power plants, gasification facilities on the reservation, or simply traditional mines that would ship coal to urban power generators.14

More than any other firm, the Westmoreland Coal Company aggressively pursued these options and was willing to invest in mining infrastructure before an established market existed. Crow efforts to move along energy development thus initially focused on that company’s operations in the Ceded Strip. Westmoreland demonstrated its commitment by purchasing Norsworthy & Reger’s coal rights, after which the tribe granted Westmoreland industrial water rights for a potential mine-mouth power plant. Tribal leaders then supported the construction of a railroad spur to the Ceded Strip, making possible the traditional option of shipping coal to urban power plants. The tribe also agreed to unify Westmoreland’s numerous permits into one large lease so as to attract financing for a massive gasification project. Real Bird’s administration even consented to modifying Westmoreland’s financial terms to make Crow coal more competitive on the open market, though the full tribal council rejected these amendments. Nevertheless, Crow leadership clearly sought to tie the tribe’s economic hopes to the fortunes of this coal company, and Westmoreland was committed to developing a viable project. When the mining firm elected to transform its prospecting permit into an outright lease in June 1972, the stage was set for mining to commence in the Ceded Strip.¹⁵

*

The timing of Westmoreland’s lease was important; recall that the summer of 1972 was a dynamic season in southeastern Montana. News of the North Central Power Study filtered through the region and Bill Bryan, Marie Sanchez, the Northern Plains Resource Council, and their allies were beginning to ask important questions about the scale and costs of regional energy development. Many Crow were developing similar fears over potential environmental and social impacts, but of more immediate concern to tribal leaders was Consolidation’s astonishing July proposal to their Northern Cheyenne neighbors. This offer of $35 per acre bonuses and 25 cents per ton royalties shattered anything the Crow had been able to secure from their energy “partners.” This despite the fact that the tribal government had just spent two years renegotiating terms that Westmoreland insisted were necessary to make its project feasible. While elements within the tribe had already expressed dissatisfaction with the Westmoreland deal, Consolidation’s offer to the Northern Cheyenne now united the Crow community and its leaders in a desire to go after better financial terms. By October, the newly elected tribal chairman, David Stewart, was leading yet another round of negotiations with Westmoreland.16

In these latest talks, the Crow used pressure applied by concerned regional ranchers and national environmental groups to push for better financial terms. In November 1972, for instance, environmental groups convinced a federal court that the National Environmental Policy Act required an environmental analysis for every Indian mineral lease. To meet this requirement and stay on schedule, the BIA and Westmore-land proposed an accelerated environmental impact statement for West more land’s lease, which the Crow endorsed on the condition it receive better royalty terms. Similarly, when the Sierra Club and six other groups filed a massive lawsuit in summer 1973 to halt all mining in eastern Montana pending a regional environmental analysis, the tribe seized another opportunity to trade its support for revenue. Intervening on behalf of the federal government and energy companies, the Crow claimed the suit violated its sovereign rights to develop tribal minerals by imposing a lengthy and bureaucratic environmental analysis process. Westmoreland aided the tribe by paying its attorney’s fees, but the Crow were looking for more than free legal services. Tribal leaders demanded upward of a million dollars in advance royalties. West more-land President Pemberton Hutchinson argued to his fellow executives that the company should pay the demand so that “Cheyenne attitudes do not develop on the Crow Reservation.” The two sides ultimately settled on other terms, but the Crow took every opportunity to remind Westmoreland that the tribal support it needed to get over the requisite environmental hurdles hinged on higher royalties.¹⁷

Crow leaders may have initially used the growing social and environmental movement against regional energy development to press for better terms, but as these critiques continued throughout 1973, many tribal members were becoming concerned about more than just financial returns. The Northern Cheyenne’s March 5, 1973, revocation of its coal leases crystallized the impact energy development could have on tribal communities and heightened Westmoreland’s concerns about creating another “Northern Cheyenne situation” on the Crow Reservation. The coal company, however, appeared powerless to stop it. As was the case with the Northern Cheyenne, anti-coal pamphlets soon dotted the Crow Reservation, warning that “the very existence of the Crow Reservation—as we know it now—could be lost forever to non-Crows.” These pamphlets extolled the sacrifices made by Crow ancestors to obtain their land and included images depicting coal mining as the beast that would swallow the tribe whole (figure 3).¹⁸

Figure 3. Coal (Crow) Agency. Pamphlet distributed on the Crow Reservation, 1973. Reproduced by permission of Archivist, Little Bighorn College.

By October, a reservation survey revealed just how prevalent these fears about coal development had become. Ninety-four percent of Crow respondents now favored a moratorium on all energy development until the tribe gathered more information on “how it will affect our land, our culture, etc.” Overwhelmingly, tribal members claimed their leaders failed to disseminate details of proposed mining projects, arguing as one respondent did, “How can we ever know about any of our Crow affairs when only the ones who attend to the business keep it to themselves and their cronies?” Crow efforts to streamline its political process to move quickly on energy projects had created a citizenry unfamiliar with the plans laid for their land and fearful of potential impacts. Left in the dark by their leaders, oppositional groups stepped into the void, successfully pitching proposed mining projects as attacks on reservation land and lifeways. One respondent to the October survey summarized the tribe’s general sentiment: “With all the outsiders coming here to work, we will no doubt lose our culture as well as our way of life. We will be exposed to the whiteman’s dog-eat-dog way of life which again I am definitely against.” The quote could have come directly from a Northern Cheyenne.19

Concerned their tribal leaders kept them uninformed and fearing the energy deals being brokered would compromise Crow land and culture, the community took action to return power to the people. In October 1973—the same month the reservation survey was released and, not incidentally, when OPEC’s oil embargo began—the Crow Tribal Council created the new Mineral Committee composed of representatives from each reservation district, plus one member to represent off-reservation Crow. The enacting resolution charged this body with negotiating and enforcing all energy deals but, importantly, denied it the authority to execute mining permits or leases. Instead, reverting to the principles of the 1948 constitution, the resolution required that “all such matters must be submitted by the committee to a duly convened meeting of the Crow Tribal Council,” which again included all adult tribal members. Rejecting the existing approach whereby the tribal chairman controlled mineral negotiations, assisted by the Oil and Gas Committee made up of political appointees, the Crow again amended their governing structure. This time, the tribe democratized authority over tribal resources.²⁰

*

The new Mineral Committee hit the ground running. Faced with the increasing complexity of controlling reservation resources and understanding the potentially devastating consequences of bad coal deals, the committee turned to the one indigenous advocacy group with extensive experience in this area: the Native American Rights Fund (NARF). Daniel Israel, a NARF attorney, arrived on the Crow Reservation within weeks of the Mineral Committee’s creation and told its members that the management of their coal was the most important issue currently facing American Indians. Coordinating with the Crow’s community action program, Israel tapped federal funds to hire expert consultants to review existing deals and suggest terms for renegotiation. These consultants told the Crow what many members already knew, that their royalty terms were “unconscionably low and reflect[ed] inadequate preparation by the government and incompetent negotiation on behalf of the Crow Tribe.” Suggesting the tribe collect or develop complete geological information on their coal deposits, put together their own estimates of mining costs, gather market data on their coal’s value, and determine transportation and transmission rates to bring these resources to market, the consultants then offered a two-prong attack for negotiating with Westmoreland. First, with these data in hand, the tribe would be able to justify immediate demands for higher royalties. Second, once Westmoreland had recouped the capital invested in mining infrastructure, the tribe should then demand an equity partnership going forward. Much as it had done with the Northern Cheyenne, NARF and its consultants provided a blueprint to allow the Crow to realize monetary benefits from their minerals while maintaining control over mining.21

Implementing these plans, however, would prove more difficult than imagined. Throughout the winter of 1973–74, Israel and the Mineral Committee employed the two principles in negotiations with Westmoreland, hoping any deal would set a precedent for subsequent discussions with other coal companies. By late spring, the parties reached an agreement to significantly increase Crow royalties. Israel hailed the amended terms as “far and away the highest royalty existing in the United States for coal of this quality,” but the Mineral Committee struggled to sell the deal to a tribal membership growing increasingly wary of coal mining. Tribal leaders held several public meetings to explain and justify the deal’s terms, only to have a final decision postponed to allow for more consideration. The situation was further complicated by the impending Crow tribal elections, as hopeful candidates jockeyed for position by bringing in their own consultants to promote alternative negotiating strategies. With the waters significantly muddied, the tribal council shelved the Westmoreland contract until after the May 1974 elections, bringing the viability of Crow coal mining into serious question. When Westmoreland officer Howard Frey received news of the postponement, he could not help but doodle a bloody tomahawk in the margins of his company memo.22

With the issue of coal mining squarely on the ballot, the May 1974 elections brought the largest voter turnout in Crow history to elect a new tribal chairman, Patrick Stands Over Bull. Despite the interest generated, however, the change in leadership did not bring about a shift in energy policy, only an intensification of negotiating efforts. Announcing that he was “for coal development, but I’m for control,” Stands Over Bull rallied his supporters to reject the Westmoreland deal and then attempted to reopen negotiations. But Westmoreland had grown tired of responding to the shifting sands of internal tribal politics. The firm simply ignored the latest offer to negotiate and began mining under the terms of the original lease. Buoyed by Interior Secretary Morton’s June 1974 decision to void the Northern Cheyenne leases, the new tribal chairman responded with a resolution cancelling his tribe’s coal contracts and establishing a “Green Belt Zoning Moratorium” for all reservation mining. This drastic measure certainly caught Westmoreland’s attention and helped consolidate Stands Over Bull’s support among his people, but it turned out to be little more than a negotiating tactic. In fact, despite the supposed mining moratorium, the tribal chairman continued to meet privately with Westmoreland officials, explaining that he did not want to cancel the coal company’s lease but needed a better deal to sell to his members. At one point, Stands Over Bull even suggested the coal company send representatives to each reservation district to generate the grassroots support that would allow him to publicly champion an agreement. Like many tribal leaders before him, the pragmatic new Crow chairman sought to balance the need for revenue against his people’s desire to control mining to limit its impacts.²³

Ultimately, under the threat of Crow lawsuits and Westmoreland’s continued extraction at the low royalty rate of 17.5 cents per ton, tribal leaders and coal company executives constructed a new deal acceptable to both sides. The amended terms included higher advanced royalties but also a tribal right to veto any mine-mouth generating facility or gas conversion complex within fifty miles of the reservation. Increased royalties certainly appeased many tribal members, but the veto authority meant the Crow could also prevent large-scale generating facilities that would attract unwanted outsiders and foul regional air and water. And not to be forgotten, Westmoreland’s lease was located on the Ceded Strip, meaning any mining would occur off the reservation. Tribal members seemed willing to accept this arrangement as a compromise to generate revenue but protect reservation land and lifeways. When presented to the full tribal council on November 23, 1974, the tribe overwhelmingly approved the renegotiated Westmoreland deal, signaling the coalescence of a tribal coalition to support coal mining, but only on tribal terms.24

Of course, to arrive at this compromise, the Crow community and its government underwent important changes. First, the tribe streamlined its governing procedures to land potentially lucrative mining deals, but then returned to the 1948 constitution’s democratic principles when this approach seemed to threaten the community’s existence. The Crow also endured a crash-course education in energy development. Learning of potentially disastrous environmental and social impacts, the tribe retained outside experts to help structure a deal that returned more revenue while also maintaining a level of tribal control. By the end of 1974, then, the great majority of Crow members could agree that controlled coal mining off the reservation met the community’s needs without threatening its survival.

A TRIBE DIVIDED: ON-RESERVATION MINING

The Crow had good reason for optimism in the winter of 1974–75. Tribal leaders had just successfully concluded difficult negotiations with an experienced and ambitious coal company that resulted in an immediate cash payment of over a million dollars, plus the promise of millions more in future royalties. The new tribal chairman touted a controlled approach to coal development, was advised by the Native American Rights Fund and their expert energy consultants, and appeared capable of building a tribal coalition to support his policies. Further, the recent Arab oil embargo, new federal air quality laws, and the 1973 federal moratorium on public coal leasing rendered the Crow’s low-sulfur coal highly attractive to multinational mining firms. Once again, the tribe was poised to capitalize on its providential blessings.

But no sooner had the Crow put the finishing touches on their Westmoreland deal than energy companies sowed the seeds of tribal discord. Eleven days after the tribe overwhelmingly approved mining in the Ceded Strip, its consultants provided their recommendations on yet another proposal; this one to mine the reservation itself. Submitted by Shell Oil, the proposed lease would cover approximately 30,000 acres containing an estimated 300 million tons of recoverable coal. Extracting this stash could return royalties of $24 million per year over a fifty-year mining period, with more possible if Shell could construct a reservation power plant or gas conversion facility. The potential economic benefits were staggering, but so were the possible costs. Reviewing the proposal, NARF attorney Daniel Israel noted candidly that for the tribe “to prohibit altogether mining on the Reservation” meant “turning its back on millions of dollars of income.” But, Israel warned, “the basic decision of whether to mine or not to mine requires a balancing of the Tribe’s interest in preserving intact its cultural and natural environment versus its interest in obtaining a large and long-term revenue source.”25

Having just reached a tenuous agreement to mine the Ceded Strip, the Crow were unsure how to proceed with on-reservation development. In a spring 1975 poll, 47.7 percent favored reservation mining, with 33 percent opposed and 18 percent withholding judgment. The same poll revealed, however, that a similar number, 46.4 percent, opposed reservation power plants, with 36.3 percent in favor and 16.7 percent unsure. Without a clear mandate, Stands Over Bull considered Shell’s proposal but failed to pursue it with the same aggressive posture he took with Westmoreland.²⁶

Shell officials could not afford to sit idly while the community weighed its options. One of the world’s largest oil producers, Shell needed to act now to keep pace with other firms diversifying their holdings, and its Crow lease represented the company’s primary investment in western coal. Thus when negotiations with tribal leaders failed to progress sufficiently, company officials appealed directly to the community, sending each tribal member a letter explaining that Shell’s latest proposal included an immediate $200 per capita payment, a significant royalty hike over previous offers, and tribal control over any potential processing or power plant. For maximum effect, Shell timed the letters to arrive the week of a tribal council meeting that was to consider reservation coal development and one month prior to the tribe’s annual Crow Fair, when the need for spending money was high. Understanding that the current Crow political system gave tribal members ultimate authority to determine land policy, Shell went straight to the people.²⁷

Had Shell officials understood equally well the developing concerns among many Crow about the potential impacts of reservation development, they may have chosen another path. Certainly, opposition to coal mining was nothing new. After all, recall that the October 1973 tribal survey revealed that 94 percent supported a mining moratorium. However, thanks to the newly established Crow Office of Coal Research, by 1975 this resistance was taking on a much more structured and informed character. Funded by federal grants to the Crow’s community action program, the “Coal Office” had two mandates: (1) “to compile objective data concerning the physical, economic, socio-political, and legal aspects” of Crow coal mining, and (2) to disseminate this information so tribal members could “make an informed decision concerning the utilization of their coal deposits.” To carry out its mission, the office began issuing reservation-wide “Information Sheets” that summarized the treaties and laws governing reservation resources and explained the tribe’s various mineral contracts.28

The Coal Office also organized a delegation of tribal members to visit the Navajo and Hopi Reservations in the American Southwest. According to trip organizer Angela Russell, the overall goal was simple enough: to see with their own eyes “what might be involved should the Crow Tribe decide to proceed with mining coal within our own reservation.” In fall 1975, eighteen Crow, representing each reservation district, toured the Black Mesa strip mines and power plants and met with Hopi and Navajo members living nearby. Not surprisingly, the trip left a lasting impression. Before the visit, members of the delegation were split evenly on whether they favored reservation mining. Afterwards, 60 percent opposed mining and only 33 percent still supported it. Even more astounding, when asked before the trip whether participants believed reservation coal mining would be good for the Crow people, 53 percent answered “yes,” and 29 percent said “no.” After the trip, only 20 percent still believed reservation mining would benefit the community; 67 percent now thought reservation mining would bring harm. Faithful to its mission, the Coal Office made sure to publish details of the trip and disseminate the results of the participants’ survey.²⁹

In publicizing the growing sentiment among tribal members to oppose reservation mining, the Office of Coal Research claimed it simply was reporting the objective data it collected. Many within the tribe, however, were not so sure and came to view the institution as an agent of anti-coal forces. To those suffering under immense reservation poverty, reports of potentially adverse mining impacts and negative descriptions of other, existing reservation projects threatened the financial relief promised by coal mining, specifically from the most recent Shell proposal. The fact that young, educated Crow, like recent graduate student Angela Russell, and non-Indian experts, such as Dr. Lloyd Pickett of the Montana Cooperative Extension Service, ran the Coal Office furthered suspicions that it failed to serve ordinary tribal members. As one Crow critic of the Coal Office explained in a December 1975 open letter published in the local paper:

Instead of getting expert people to help us, the Coal Office has been using its money to just fight coal development rather than learn about coal. It looks like the ranchers and environmental people have taken over the Coal Office and are just telling us bad things about coal. . . . The fact that our people need jobs, and per capita payments is easy to forget when you have a nice warm job that will last as long as Crow Coal is not developed. What about the rest of the people who do not have a nice warm place to work like that?

Tribal Chairman Stands Over Bull was sensitive to such complaints, for his political viability rested on improving his constituents’ lives. Supported by a coalition desiring controlled coal development, the tribal chairman did not misread his mandate. He understood that many Crow still coveted mining revenue, even if they wanted to mitigate the worst of its impacts. If these members viewed the Coal Office as a threat to that possibility, he needed to respond.30

Sensing that the growing anti-coal sentiment limited his ability to deliver new mining projects, Stands Over Bull moved to reestablish his leadership over Crow coal development while at the same time strengthening his negotiating position with coal companies looking to mine the reservation. Denouncing Shell’s direct appeal to tribal members as “at best presumptuous and misleading, and at worst fraudulent,” the tribal chairman filed a lawsuit to void all existing coal contracts, except the renegotiated Westmoreland deal. In doing so, however, Stands Over Bull made sure his actions were not misinterpreted as an absolute, anti-development policy. Instead, his goal was to force Shell and other coal companies into even better agreements affording greater tribal control. In a public statement released concurrently with the lawsuit’s filing, the chairman assured mining companies and tribal members alike that the legal action “does not mean that the Crow people are opposed to the development of our resources. We simply believe that if we are to permit the mining of our coal, we must adequately plan and prepare for the impacts of such development so that we can preserve our culture, our heritage, and our reservation.” A major part of this preparation included enacting tribal ordinances to mitigate future mining impacts, such as a law and order code, a tribal tax on coal extraction, and reclamation requirements for any future mines. The tribe thus set to work on drafting these measures, and then, as a precondition for resuming negotiations, the tribal chairman demanded all coal companies agree to abide by them. Further, reflecting the increasing sophistication of tribal leaders looking to control reservation mining, Stands Over Bull required that all future mining projects include the tribe as an equity owner.31

Having strengthened his hand with energy firms, Stands Over Bull next moved to consolidate power within the tribe. In October 1975, over objections of several tribal members, the tribal chairman orchestrated new Mineral Committee elections that put in place officials supporting his plan to develop reservation coal in compliance with tribal regulations. The move not only signaled that on-reservation mining was firmly on Stands Over Bull’s agenda but also effectively removed the Mineral Committee as a counterweight to the chairman’s power. Essentially, the tribe returned to the centralized governing structure that produced the massive, reservation-wide energy deals Stands Over Bull had been elected to control. This time, however, the chairman claimed tribal ordinances and his own good judgment would mitigate the worst effects of mining while still offering new revenue streams. With institutional controls in place and his authority unchecked, Stands Over Bull reopened negotiations with coal companies to develop reservation coal.³²

As might be expected, not all Crow were confident in the ability of their leader and his ordinances to prevent the worst effects of reservation mining. Following the enactment of the tribal regulations in January 1976 and the reopening of talks with energy companies, tribal members turned out in force at the spring tribal council meeting to demand their government focus solely on Ceded Strip mining. When Stands Over Bull ignored these calls and continued to negotiate, anti-coal advocates went after the chairman’s job, peppering complaints about his coal policy with claims of public drunkenness. Despite these attacks, Stands Over Bull narrowly survived reelection in May 1976, though voting results show the victory was more the product of his numerous opponents splitting the anti-coal vote and less an affirmation of his policies. In fact, no less than four candidates, including Stands Over Bull’s own vice chairman, ran opposed to their chairman’s coal strategy. Had these competitors unified their supporters, their collective votes would have tallied 1,070 for an anti-coal candidate to Stands Over Bull’s 608 votes. Acting as a referendum on plans to mine the reservation itself, the heated election signaled the end of the tribe’s fragile pro-coal mining coalition.33

*

To be clear, energy development did not create entirely new divisions among the Crow. Rather, coal mining provided the latest, potentially dramatic shift in reservation land use that brought tribal factions to the fore. In fact, prior to energy development dominating tribal politics, the Crow had ruptured in the 1950s over federal plans to dam the Bighorn River. One faction, known as the “River Crow” or “Southsiders,” argued for selling reservation land to the federal government, while another, the “Mountain Crow” or “Northsiders,” fought federal ownership of the dam site, proposing instead that the tribe only lease to the federal government usufruct rights. These labels, “Mountain Crow” and “River Crow,” had nothing to do with the early, nomadic bands of the same names that constituted two of the three major pre-reservation Crow groups. Instead, the labels reflected deep divisions within the tribe over how to deal with external desires for Crow land and resources. Twentieth-century River Crow generally supported a more cooperative approach with outsiders, working with the federal government and others to develop Crow land to produce revenue. Mountain Crow, in contrast, tended to favor greater tribal control over land and were reluctant to turn over property rights to developers, even if that meant foregoing economic opportunities. Enforced by kinship and clan ties and maintained through a pervasive political patronage system, these basic divisions loosely structured Crow politics—including energy debates—during the second half of the twentieth century.³⁴

Understanding Crow debates over coal development, however, requires more than simply identifying these two factions and placing specific Crow families within their respective camps. While these divisions remained present and inescapable throughout the postwar period, they never completely determined an individual’s position on a particular land issue, and certainly not for all times. Northsider/Mountain Crow Sonny Yellowtail, for instance, could break with his famous father, Robert Yellowtail, and vote to sell land for the Bighorn River dam, whereas Southsider/River Crow Patrick Stands Over Bull could lead efforts to halt mining only to pursue development later. Moreover, these dividing lines often receded when the benefits of a proposed land-use project seemed unquestionable or the impacts so drastic that all either favored or opposed the project. Such was the case with the original 1960s coal contracts. Without sufficient knowledge of potential impacts and desperate for revenue, tribal members from all sides overwhelmingly supported these deals. Yet, as the potentially adverse consequences of uncontrolled development became apparent in the early 1970s, the tribe almost uniformly supported a reservation moratorium, consenting only to energy development in the Ceded Strip. Only when plans to mine the reservation placed pressure on this tribal consensus and disagreements formed over the costs and benefits of reservation mining did the old factions reemerge to help structure coal debates. In this latest battle over the management of Crow land, Southsiders tended to support their tribal chairman in his efforts to develop coal on the reservation while Northsiders resisted.35

But as was the case in previous controversies over the dispensation of Crow land, important generational differences also informed this most recent battle between the Crow factions. Young, educated Crow who had spent time away from the reservation, and who perhaps still lived in the nearby cities of Billings or Hardin, tended to oppose reservation mining and support the Northsiders. Many like Angela Russell, Ellis Knows Gun, and Dale Kindness worked at or with the Office of Coal Research, where they gained firsthand knowledge of coal development’s potential impacts. Privy to such information—or perhaps predisposed to seek it out—these Crow echoed the Northern Cheyenne’s concerns that mining would bring outsiders to disrupt social customs and alter cultural values, plus leave the Crow with untold environmental harms. Rendered minorities on their scarred reservation, Northsiders feared coal mining could eliminate the community altogether and jeopardize their status as American Indians. As the young leader Dale Kindness explained, “We Indians have very little [land] left. If we lose it, America’s historians will write the final chapter on American Indians, beginning soon, and the chapter will be entitled ‘Coal.’” Curiously, these younger Crow who often resided elsewhere looked to the reservation as a refuge that would preserve the essential characteristics of their tribe. Consequently, they placed a strong emphasis on protecting the social, cultural, and physical integrity of this place.36

With the homeland seemingly under attack, Crow coal opponents constantly sought to strengthen the powers of their tribal government to prevent the worst of coal mining’s impacts. Here their interests lined up perfectly with Stands Over Bull’s. Through their work with the Coal Office and its connection to outside experts, they understood that tribal control was the key. As Kindness once again explained: “If we are to continue as Indian people with our own values, society and culture, we have to stand up straight and get our stuff together. We have to come up with some zoning ordinances, reclamation and environmental laws, we have to make the most out of this development if we are to have it . . . , while at the same time providing safeguards for our land and environment.” Considering this emphasis on strengthening tribal powers, many young Crow supported, and even proposed, the tribal ordinances Stands Over Bull pushed through the tribal council. But the dividing line for these tribal members supporting their chairman’s coal policies was located at the reservation border. Mining in the Ceded Strip under carefully controlled tribal regulations that would ensure impacts did not spill over to the reservation represented the perfect compromise. It allowed the tribe to reap financial benefits without disrupting reservation land and customs. Once Stands Over Bull attempted to extend mining on to the reservation, he lost this important faction.³⁷

Several among this youthful group drew additional inspiration from the growing chorus of militant Indian protests erupting across the nation in the 1970s. As was the case with the Northern Cheyenne, the Crow Reservation was never a hotbed of Red Power activism, but neither was it immune from these activities. In fact, during the June 1976 centennial celebrations of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, the reservation became the focal point for protests when former American Indian Movement leader Russell Means interrupted the planned festivities by leading a procession of Native protesters up Custer Hill. Coming on the heels of Stands Over Bull’s narrow and contentious May 1976 reelection, Means announced to a shocked audience: “Nothing has changed in 100 years. Custer came and invaded us over gold. Today we have a much more sophisticated invasion by the corporate giants of America over mineral wealth, but this time it is for coal.” As news of the protests spread quickly through the reservation, Stands Over Bull curtly dismissed the actions, telling reporters, “What happens up there [on Custer Hill] has nothing to do with us.” The tribal chairman, however, may have done better to pay closer attention, for standing with Means were several young Crow, including his own vice secretary, Ellis Knows Gun. Knows Gun announced to the audience that his tribe was “fighting for our very existence” and called for a unified Indian struggle against mineral developers. If only temporarily, these young, energized Indians tapped into the Red Power Movement’s anticolonial rhetoric to reclaim the meaning attached to this historic battlefield and cast Crow coal development as the “last stand” for American Indians.38

But although the Red Power Movement at times inspired young Crow activists, these tribal members ultimately rejected direct action protests in favor of working within the tribe’s political system to stop reservation mining. Arguing that Stands Over Bull’s unilateral pursuit of such mining violated the 1948 constitution, this group took over the tribe’s October 1976 council meeting and narrowly established (by vote of 393–321) yet another committee to handle all mineral development activities. Dubbed the “Crow Coal Authority” this new entity was intended to be more than just a negotiating body. Instead, the tribe’s latest consultant, Charles Lipton, an international attorney renowned for advising postcolonial countries developing their oil reserves, advised the Crow to establish the Coal Authority to serve as a tribally owned operating company. As such, it was vested with the power to enter into partnerships with energy firms or to contract with them to perform mining, but under either approach, the tribe would remain owners of the project and retain authority over the pace and scale of operations. Importantly, the enacting resolution directed the Coal Authority to negotiate only with coal companies operating in the Ceded Strip, and it required that all finalized deals be sent back to the full tribal council for approval.³⁹

The creation of the Crow Coal Authority not only usurped the chairman’s negotiating power and returned the tribe to the 1948 constitution’s democratic principles, but it also sought to remove coal development from day-to-day, contentious Crow politics. Rather than debate energy policy at each tribal council meeting or allow the elected leader to handle all negotiations himself, the resolution vested authority to negotiate in a semi-autonomous, continuously sitting body with representatives from across the reservation and beyond. For young Crow activists, this new governing structure represented all the benefits of a modern and efficient corporate enterprise while retaining what they viewed as the crucial component of Crow governance: majority rule after full vetting before the tribe. It also guaranteed no coal companies would operate on the reservation, removing the largest perceived threat to tribal survival.

These young Northsiders, however, did not hold a monopoly on the discourse of tribal survival. They may have constantly painted reservation coal mining as the primary threat to the Crow’s existence, even tweaking the tribal government to prevent this from happening, but older, on-reservation Indians viewed the young, brash leaders as the real risk to the tribe. Characterizing the young Turks as off-reservation meddlers with little respect for established customs, Stands Over Bull’s supporters urged the BIA not to recognize the Coal Authority. Long-time Tribal Secretary Eloise Pease submitted a formal protest, arguing that the October 1976 meeting violated a host of tribal procedures and that the new governing body failed to “recogn[ize] the traditional status of the Crow Tribal Chairman.” As the BIA considered the matter, Stands Over Bull continued to defiantly meet with Shell officials, creating the confusing situation of two competing Crow factions negotiating with different coal companies. The tribe called a December 22, 1976, special tribal council meeting to clarify which Crow entity held the authority to negotiate, but fistfights broke out after Dale Kindness introduced a resolution to convey all negotiating authority to the Coal Authority. When Stands Over Bull abruptly adjourned the meeting and left under a police escort, almost a third of the 900 attending Crow remained to pass a resolution suspending the chairman for a ninety-day period.40

Although the BIA’s Board of Indian Appeals later declared Stands Over Bull’s suspension invalid, this attempted removal set the agenda for tribal politics over the coming year. The suspension action quickly grew into calls for Stands Over Bull’s impeachment, and the heated rhetoric intensified during the January and April 1977 tribal council meetings. With the specter of violence in the air, many of the chairman’s most fervent supporters denounced the opposition group as “halfbreed” radicals unfamiliar with suffering on the reservation whose actions threatened the tribe’s existence. Not all went this far, but even moderate Stands Over Bull supporters like Eloise Pease pleaded with the chairman’s critics not to alter the tribal government. “We should not try to break down the Chairman’s office,” Pease urged. “We have precious things that is [sic] ours—our land, mountains and we have our water back. The Constitution and Bylaws is the only protection that you Crows have!”41

But Stands Over Bull’s opponents refused to relent. Turning to the BIA’s Board of Indian Appeals, the opposition group secured a ruling that the tribal council must take up their petition for impeachment. The showdown was set. The tribe’s July 9, 1977, meeting would determine the fate of the Crow leader and the future of tribal energy policy. Wrapped up in both issues was a determination of what type of community the Crow would become.⁴²

*

On a warm and stormy July evening, in a tightly packed gymnasium, which included armed police to protect tribal officers from the violence erupting outside, more than 1,200 Crow engaged in a lengthy debate over the future of their tribe. To position themselves as authorities on this question, both factions attempted to establish their side as the protector of authentic Crow values and governance. Pat Stands Over Bull’s mother arrived in nineteenth-century Crow garb, long braids, and high moccasins to defend her son, while tribal elder Silas Big Medicine refused to speak in English, instead berating Stands Over Bull in Crow for working against the wishes of the majority. On this point, impeachment advocates seized upon the rhetoric of sovereignty and self-determination to defend what they saw as the “traditional” Crow value of public deliberation and majority rule. Opposition leader Duane McCurdy asserted that sovereignty rested with the Crow people, not tribal officers like Stands Over Bull who sought to unilaterally strike energy deals. McCurdy argued:

Pat Stands and his administration have attempted to dissolve the sovereignty of the Crow Nation. . . . He has failed to protect the best interests of the Crow Nation. He has allowed special interest groups to put their foot in the door without putting up a fight. The Crow Nation never allows anybody to take our lands. Therefore, we cannot allow this man to stay in office to sell out or phase out the statue of the Crow Nation.

But Stands Over Bull’s supporters turned this sovereignty rhetoric on its head, countering that the opposition was being run by half-breeds and whites, not Crow Indians. As Joe Alden pleaded to his tribe, certainly this was not self-determination:

You are letting some half breeds do your talking and you are just sitting back, why don’t you talk for yourself? I don’t agree with your actions. . . . You are Crows, why are you taking actions against your own? One of our past leaders once said if ever these half breeds run our affairs, you Crows would be lost. I think that day is here.

This bitter divisiveness extended even to the rules governing the meeting, as Stands Over Bull’s opponents narrowly passed a motion (675–618) to replace the common voting method of walking “through the line” with secret balloting so that tribal employees could vote their conscience rather than be beholden to the political patronage system. Further, when the opposition succeeded in appointing the tribe’s white attorney as the meeting’s parliamentarian, the chairman’s supporters nearly walked out. Ted Hogan exclaimed that all the talk of self-determination “seems to be a double standard here in that we just elected a white guy to be a parliamentarian to tell us how to run our council.” At one point in the meeting, past tribal chairman Edison Real Bird turned directly to the television cameras broadcasting the event and tried to explain that impeaching their leader was “not the [typical] behavior of the Crow Tribe of Indians.” Of course, what was “typical,” “authentic,” or “traditional” Crow governance was exactly what was being debated that night.43

What is striking about the arguments deployed by both factions—besides their intensity—is the similarity of rhetoric. Beyond the one-sided use of ethnic slurs to disparage the chairman’s opponents, both groups described their position as embedded in “traditional” Crow values. Young Crow believed the use of experts and the Coal Authority were necessary to protect the land base—a vital ingredient of their Crow identity. They argued that their method of resource management maintained traditional governing practices by vesting ultimate authority in the full tribal council. Seen through this perspective, the true threat to the tribe lay in exploitative contracts negotiated by naïve or corrupt leaders that portended disastrous consequences for the community. Meanwhile, Stands Over Bull’s supporters decried the delegation of power to the Coal Authority as a nontraditional, non-Indian way of doing business. Seen in this light, their use of ethnic rhetoric to deride their opponents was less a description of biological qualities and more a characterization of the Northsiders’ proposed mineral policies and practices. To this group, on-reservation energy development could actually save the tribe, and they believed Crow political tradition gave the tribal chairmen the authority to make these deals. Altering the existing structure in favor of a semi-autonomous body populated by “half-breeds” and advised by outside experts threatened to turn the tribe into non-Indians. As Phillip Beaumont described it, “We have followed Crow traditions and come this far, but if we impeach the Chairman today, we have changed to the whiteman’s way of doing things.”44

These agonizing debates over the fate of their chairman, their energy policy, and the survival of their tribe continued throughout the warm July night. At 10:40 a.m. the following day, the weary tribe finally adjourned the meeting having impeached their chairman, broken with traditional modes of voting along clan lines, and established a coal development policy that prohibited mining on the reservation itself. Beyond these rather obvious results, the tribe also emerged with an altered conception of what it meant to be Crow. The new, dominant meaning foregrounded the importance of an Indian-only land base and the use of efficient, expert-driven mechanisms for protecting this reservation refuge. The new coal policy also paid homage to the past, reestablishing the governing values of public deliberation and majority rule that young, educated Crow held to be vital components of their “Crowness.” Through the process of debating energy policy, the Crow fixed specific governing values and remade their tribal identities in ways that, as Frederick Hoxie observed, “honored the past and served the future.” It was a struggle their 1884 ancestors would have recognized as similar to their own.