Voices lost, Nation dissidents seething
Split grew as casino prospered
Jan. 30, 2005

KRISTA J. KARCH
Observer-Dispatch

In the 10 years since Vicki Schenandoah, an Oneida Indian, lost her voice, she has clung desperately to the things her ancestors valued: Land. A home. Traditional customs.

The decade has been a downward spiral for the single mother of three, who said she was forced into welfare when her Nation benefits were cut. She forms a small huddle with her sister, Diane Schenandoah, and her mother, Maisie Schenandoah, an Oneida clanmother, who are among a small group that is out of favor with the Nation and are now in danger of losing their homes.

It's a struggle Nation spokesmen say is nothing more than a messy family feud, but the estranged Oneidas call it a breach of human rights. Living under the rule of a tribal court appointed by Nation Representative Ray Halbritter, the federally-recognized leader of the Oneida Indian Nation of New York State, the Schenandoahs and others have sought relief from federal courts, which have ruled continually that their case must be decided within their own legal system.

The Nation, an economic powerhouse in the region, has long fought for total sovereignty of its land, including freedom from outside jurisdiction. But the Schenandoahs, fed up with what they say has been a decade of harassment from Nation leaders and police, have turned to U.S. courts for help in their fight against the Nation.

In December, they asked the U.S. Supreme Court to consider their case. They still await a response. Donald Daines, a New Jersey-based attorney representing the Schenandoahs, did not return repeated phone calls.

"It's just frustrating to go through all this suffering for 10 years to bring peace to our people," said Vicki Schenandoah. "I don't know where this case is going to go. I may very well lose my home."

JoAnne Schenandoah, another daughter of Maisie and an award-winning singer, has also been a vocal opponent of Halbritter.

"It's only a handful of people, and every single one of them is related to Ray," said Nation spokesman Mark Emery. "You can call it a government protest, but it's more of a family squabble."

When about 100 Oneidas began a peaceful protest in May 1995, holding signs and chanting in the streets around the Oneida reservation on Route 46 in Oneida in what they called a "March for Democracy" in protest of Halbritter's government, the punishment was swift, and severe. Everyone who participated lost their voice, said Judy Chrisjohn, a member of the Nation's Wolf Clan and one of a group of Oneidas who repented.

The voice -- the ballot, Social Security card and citizenship of an Oneida -- of each protester was revoked by the Nation.

Conflict over leadership within Native American communities is common, because many communities operate under governmental structures imposed by the U.S., said Christopher Vescey, director of Native American studies at Colgate University.

"You have Indian communities who may have voted for them, or maybe didn't vote for them, but they're dissatisfied with what they claim is an abuse of power," he said. "The claim is that they are corrupt. You find this kind of claim in many Indian communities."

The Oneida's March for Democracy was an expression of dissatisfaction with Halbritter. They charged him with disregarding traditional Oneida values and crushing free speech.

"Halbritter uses that 'losing your voice' thing to keep people in fear," Diane Schenandoah said. "The people who spoke out found themselves in precarious positions financially."

One by one, many of the 1995 protestors turned back and asked forgiveness of the Men's Council, a Halbritter-appointed governing body.

"I didn't want to go back, but I thought, 'I'm only hurting myself,'" Chrisjohn said.

Now, Chrisjohn lives in the Village of the White Pines off Route 46 in Oneida, a housing development the Nation built with profits from the fast-growing Turning Stone Resort and Casino. Each afternoon, she takes a short walk from her apartment to the Ray Elm Children and Elders Center for lunch, compliments of the Nation, and spends her free time crafting bark rattles and wampum belts.

Her welfare income goes toward daily expenses, and quarterly dividends from the Nation's smoke shop and gas stations catch her up on bills, she said.

"Without Halbritter's knowledge of business, we never would have grown so fast," she said. "Whatever he's doing, he's doing a good job."

But there's a bittersweet measure to the success.

"It's just sad that somebody can be so rich off his people," she said.

Many Oneidas were supportive of Halbritter when he first came to power, she said. The Harvard-educated leader seemed to value tradition, Chrisjohn said.

"But between now and then, something's changed," she said. "Money corrupts."

While Chrisjohn and other Oneidas turned back to Halbritter, the Schenandoahs were among a small group that held fast. They continue to decry the Nation's decision to open a casino, saying it runs counter to Oneida traditions.

Nation spokesman Mark Emery said the Schenandoahs have changed their tune. He said they were supportive of the casino in the early 1990s.

"It all boils down to rhetoric," he said. "There's not a lot of facts with anything I've heard that they've said.

"Those people, they're saying they want to be traditional, but poverty is not traditional. It's a very small faction, and it's more of a family squabble, and a political power struggle."

He said they lost their voices because they tried to form their own government.

"In any other country, that's treason," he said.

And because Halbritter is Maisie Schenandoah's first cousin, the conflict amounts to a power struggle between relatives.

The "family squabble" has left at least one woman and her children without a home, and four others are now in danger of losing theirs.

In 2001, a mobile home owned by Danielle Schenandoah-Patterson was demolished due to code violations, according to Nation spokesmen. Videos of events leading up to the demolition show a physical confrontation between Schenandoah-Patterson and Nation police while code inspectors used a crowbar to enter the home.

"There was a mixing of police officers and nation officials who came to inspect her trailer by force," said Joseph Heath, a Syracuse attorney who handled Schenandoah-Patterson's case and compares the Nation police's actions that day to police misconduct.

Schenandoah-Patterson eventually pleaded guilty to what Heath called a "violation-type" offense and agreed to clear out her home for demolition. She was a broken woman, Heath said.

Now, Maisie, Diane and Vicki Schenandoah live in homes the Nation says fail code inspections and must be moved or demolished.

For Halbritter, the housing request brought back memories of a mobile home fire on the Oneida reservation in the 1970s that killed his relatives, Emery said. The Nation blamed the deaths on the city of Oneida, which did not respond to calls at the reservation at that time.

Now, many Oneidas live in the Nation's apartments and townhouses, and some opt to buy homes the Nation acquires as it purchases land.

"We don't want to create a welfare state," Emery said.

None of the casino profits are given as cash to Oneidas, he said. That revenue goes toward programs, including housing, health care and education.

"Early on, (the Nation) surveyed their members, and they said health care, education and housing were most important to them," he said.

But Chrisjohn believes Halbritter is living off his people.

"The Oneidas sit here and don't see the money, and then there's one family that's rich," she said.

If she could go back to the beginning, she said she would push to have a group of people in charge, not just one man.

Chrisjohn said she's not afraid to share her opinion, but if she vocally supported the Schenandoahs, she's sure she would end up where they are: without benefits.

Emery said the truth is different than how some Oneidas tell it.

"You can have a dissenting opinion, and a lot of people do, and that's why a lot of decisions at the council level don't get acted on, because there are people who dissent," he said.

Emery said there's a weekly open forum at which anyone can air grievances.

"They were asked to go to the council and tell what their problem with the government was, and I don't believe they ever did that," he said.

Vicki Schenandoah said they refuse to appear before the council because the system allows the men to be "judge, jury and executioner, all at one time."

"This is not a regime that tolerates dissent," Heath said. "I know what happens when you say you don't like things, when you ask questions. You lose your home, and you lose your voice."

The Schenandoahs have had the chance to regain their place in the Nation, but the family hasn't taken it, Emery said.

"They basically chose not to recognize the government," Emery said. "Most of the Oneidas we hear from are very supportive. There's a lot of rhetoric by a few people."

Contact Krista J. Karch at kkarch@utica.gannett.com