If
there is one thing that conservatives are proud of in America, it is that rich people
can do whatever they want with their money, so long as it is not criminal, and
then maybe even if it is. But this rule did not apply to people of color. In
particular, Native Americans were regarded by the white governments (federal,
state, and county levels) as being childishly imbecilic and unable to decide
what to do with their own money.
When
the federal government sent the Five Tribes (including my tribe, the Cherokees)
to what became Indian Territory and later Oklahoma, they guaranteed by treaty
that the land belonged to the tribes. For example, a large part of what is now
northeastern Oklahoma belonged to the Cherokee Nation.
The
Cherokees, like the other Five Tribes, considered that they owned the land as a
tribe, not as individual landowners. The white authorities did not like this.
It was too communist. They decided they would force the Natives to become
capitalists. With the Dawes Act of 1887 and later the Curtis Act of 1898, the
Five Tribes were required to have their tribal land divided into individual
allotments for each tribal citizen, including minors. This may not sound
unreasonable in itself, but it was a solution in search of a problem. So why
did the white federal government do it?
They
did it for two reasons. First, when they divided up the land into allotments,
of which my grandfather Edd Hicks got acreage in section 26N township 17E, the
total acreage of the allotments did not add up to the tribal territory. That
is, there was land left over—which the government could sell. Second, the
government could then control what each tribal citizen did with their land.
There were restrictions.
For
Natives with one-sixteenth or less blood quantum, there were no restrictions.
Edd was about one-quarter, but he registered as one-sixteenth so that he would
have no restrictions. For Natives with one-half or more blood quantum, they
were restricted from selling the allotment or anything pertaining to it, which
would include mineral (oil) rights. Their allotments had to be managed by
guardians, as if the Natives were children who did not know how to take care of
themselves.
Guardianship,
as you might expect, was considered necessary for minor orphans. They really
did not know how to manage their land. Guardians were supposed to take care of
the land until the orphans grew up, then let them have it. The guardians could
charge a reasonable service fee for the work. The national average for
guardianship was 3 percent of the value of the property. In Oklahoma, it was on
the average of 20 percent and in some cases 80 percent. Meanwhile, the orphans
in many cases received no money at all from the sale of oil from their land.
The guardians who practiced this method were known as grafters, and in Oklahoma
in the early twentieth century this was a term of pride. Sixty thousand Native
minors in Oklahoma owned $129 million in property. Some of the guardians had
200 to 300 wards. Two Creek children had land that was worth $250,000. They
lived—and died—in an orphanage that was mysteriously dynamited. Then the guardian
handled their probate. Guess who got the money.
The
crusading reformer Kate Barnard, who ran the Department of Corrections and
Charities, and who was one of the few honest people in the Oklahoma government,
found out about it during her routine inspection of the living conditions of
orphans. She found some Creek Indian children living in a tree, drinking from a
stream, and living on handouts. She vividly described having to take scissors
and cut out matted filth from their hair. These kids were millionaires, but
they didn’t know it because their guardian, who had sixty other wards, did not
tell them. He just kept the oil money. Kate spent the last part of her life
trying to bring the grafters to justice. While she had been popular for her
crusades to improve conditions in orphanages and prisons, she met with hatred
from Oklahoma and county governments when she tried to rescue the Native
orphans from grafters. This broke her health and she died without having
finished her work. You can read all about it in the wonderful new biography by
Connie Cronley (A Life on Fire: Oklahoma’s Kate Barnard).
In
other cases, oil executives hired people to kidnap the minors and take them
someplace where no one would recognize them. It was not, as far as I have
heard, violent kidnapping. According to Cronley’s book, one of the oil
executives who did this was Thomas Gilcrease, best known as the benefactor
of the museum that bears his name in Tulsa. It is hard to, even today, think of
any name more revered in Tulsa even by progressives than that of Thomas
Gilcrease. But he hired someone to take a rich Creek orphan to England and get
him to sign his oil rights to Gilcrease. More about Gilcrease in a later essay.
But
it was not long before the federal, state, and local governments figured out
that all they had to do was declare adult Natives to be mentally
incapacitated in order to appoint guardians for them, who would decide what to
do with the land. This was fairly easy to do, since state and county officials
all believed that all Natives, even adults who were successfully running their
farms, were mentally incapacitated. If Edd, who was smart enough to be on
school boards and could raise any crop and any kind of livestock, would have
been deemed incompetent if his land had oil on it.
This
is the plot of the 1949 movie Tulsa (“the lusty, brawling saga of a city
of adventure”), starring Susan Hayward, Robert Preston, and Chill Wills. Jim
Redbird, the rightful Muskogee owner of oil land, played by Pedro Armendáriz,
was declared mentally incompetent by a judge. When he looked at the oil
extraction and cracking on his land, for which he was receiving no money, and
which spilled flammable pollution all over the ground, he touched a cigar to
the hydrocarbons and burned up the oil rigs. This is one of the few early
movies that shows Natives fighting back against white oppression. Perhaps
oblivious to the fact that this movie was showing white Oklahomans engaging in
criminal acts, Tulsans welcomed Hayward and Preston to their city and
celebrated the opening of the movie. Tulsa grew as “the miracle city” directly
because of the discovery of oil, and almost all of its early twentieth century
philanthropists were oil men. To what extent the most famous of them might have
profited from illegal acquisitions from the Muskogee Creek tribe, and to what
extent the artistic culture of Tulsa is still dependent on that money (aside
from Gilcrease), is something that few people, if anybody, knows anymore.
And
this is exactly what happened to a Creek Native named Jackson Barnett. The
reason this essay is on this blog is that racism has no scientific basis. See
part two, to be posted soon.