A Century of Citizenship

Rhyia Joyheart, 26, is familiar with the challenges of modern life, including soaring rent prices, expensive groceries, and long commutes. Growing up on Wyoming’s Wind River Indian Reservation and currently employed at the Urban Indian Health Clinic in Denver, Joyheart emphasizes that providing support to Indigenous communities often requires navigating systems that are set up to marginalize them.

“I’ve made it my mission to advocate for our community and ensure we have a voice at the table,” Joyheart states. “Sometimes, it feels as if the only way to progress is to conform to the existing system.”

Last year, Congress celebrated the centennial of the Indian Citizenship Act, which granted citizenship to “all noncitizen Indians born within the territorial limits of the United States.” Currently, Native Americans recognize dual citizenship, connecting with both their tribal nations and the United States. However, this relationship is intricate and complex.

YSL News visited Wind River to engage with Indigenous community leaders about how they navigate these challenges a century later and what inspires them towards a hopeful future.

Evolving History and Boundaries

Wes Martel, who hails from Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho backgrounds, enjoys a meal of hash browns and fried eggs as he reflects on his extensive involvement in tribal politics, buffalo restoration, environmental rights, and the ongoing battle for water rights. At 74, Martel believes Native Americans continue to face the same legal hurdles as they did a hundred years ago.

He highlights the Doctrine of Discovery, established by the Pope in the 15th century, which enabled settlers to claim ownership of land they supposedly “discovered.” Although the Vatican has since rejected this doctrine, the U.S. Supreme Court referenced it as recently as 2005.

Martel is also critical of the U.S. government’s dominance over Native Americans, referred to as “plenary power,” which means “complete or absolute authority granted to a governing body without restrictions.” He asserts that Congress has the freedom to act without accountability.

These concerns lead Martel to question whether Native American citizenship is achieved on equal footing.

“In 2024, as a tribal citizen, I am unable to own land,” Martel notes. The Bureau of Indian Affairs must manage it in a trust on his behalf.

Martel highlights that tribal governments along the Colorado River are reclaiming their water rights and believes that a brighter future is achievable when Indigenous communities stand up for themselves.

“If you’re going to give me more attorneys who have been trained in a Christianized, colonized viewpoint, I’m not interested,” Martel states. “We need aggressive advocates for treaty law, constitutional law, and to challenge this plenary power nonsense.”

Martel sips his coffee as he recounts the history of Wind River. An 1863 treaty originally allocated land for the Eastern Shoshone that extended to what are now Utah and Colorado. Over the years, legal changes and treaties have reduced the reservation’s land by 95 percent. In 1878, the U.S. government relocated the Northern Arapaho Tribal Nation to Wind River.

By the early 1900s, various acts opened up the land to white settlers. Today, their descendants possess significant properties, resulting in Wind River being a patchwork of both Indigenous land and land claimed by settlers under the guise of “discovery.”

Sitting at his kitchen table in a maroon Arizona Diamondbacks shirt, Clarence Thomas, 60, contemplates the modern definitions of sovereignty that extend beyond Wind River. He belongs to the Onk Akimel O’odham (Pima) tribe near the current U.S.-Mexico border and relocated to Wind River for his wife, who is Eastern Shoshone.

states that many of his “tribal relatives” now reside on either side of the U.S.-Mexico border, and he feels uncomfortable with the idea of shutting it down.

“This nation is made up of immigrants, and as Indigenous people, we observe their arrivals and departures,” Thomas explains. “Yet, they are often the first to say, ‘Let’s put a stop to immigration.’”

Cultural Integration: Navigating Two Worlds

Jeff Means, an Oglala Sioux and a professor of History as well as Native American and Indigenous studies at the University of Wyoming, contends that labeling citizenship as a “gift” to Native Americans is “misleading.” He believes this idea results from long-standing policies aimed at integrating American Indians into mainstream white culture.

“The only ones left are those who only know life on the reservation, and they are fiercely trying to hold onto their identity, sovereignty, and independence,” Means asserts. “By declaring them citizens of an entirely different nation, you strip away their history.”

Thomas reflects a similar teaching from his elders

“Citizenship came with the notion of ‘you must conform to this way of life, as that’s the only acceptable path,’” Thomas recounts. “As a result, everything else disappears. Tribal people are still fighting to reclaim what has been lost.”

Reinette Curry, 40, dons heart-shaped beaded earrings and a blue t-shirt. Employed at the University of Wyoming, she advocates for Indigenous education and cultural preservation. Curry acknowledges the necessity for some level of assimilation but maintains that building community is the ultimate aim.

“While we’re gaining knowledge in the mainstream world, we can return home and apply that education,” Curry states. She encourages her children and younger community members by saying, “Going to college and getting educated allows you to advocate for our people.”

Curry’s experiences reflect the broader impact of federal policies. Though she is registered as a member of the Northern Arapaho nation, she also has Northern Ute and Pyramid Lake Paiute ancestry. In the 1880s, the Bureau of Indian Affairs introduced blood quantum regulations, a measure akin to the Jim Crow South’s “one-drop rule” that assesses a person’s “Indian blood” for tribal eligibility.

As her family intermingles with other tribes or non-Indigenous individuals, they may appear less Indigenous to the U.S. government, jeopardizing their eligibility for tribal membership and associated benefits.

“This system was implemented to gradually erase us,” Curry explains.

Inside a white canvas tent, while a summer thunderstorm rumbles outside, Curry shares that parents urge their children to form relationships with other Indigenous people to safeguard their tribal status and benefits.

“These are challenging discussions that we, as Native people, must engage in, unlike others,” Curry remarks.

A Candid Narrative: Moving Forward

Rhyia Joyheart, with Northern Arapaho, Flathead, and Eastern Shoshone heritage, reflects on the past century and notes a hesitance to share the true narrative, which could easily recur.

“People say, ‘Just move on,’ but they fail to recognize that it’s not that simple. How can you just move on from a genocide?” Joyheart queries. “We acknowledge the past, yet we fear it could happen again.”

Desiring an honest portrayal of history is not only felt by Joyheart and the Native community. Japanese internment sites have been converted into museums, and Washington, D.C. hosts the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, which chronicles the injustices faced by Black Americans. Although there exists a National Museum for the American Indian, Joyheart seeks a wider acknowledgment of the unique battles Indigenous people have faced.

President Joe Biden took steps toward reconciliation by issuing an apology for the mistreatment experienced at government and church-affiliated boarding schools. Recently, the Department of the Interior launched an initiative with the National Museum of American History to document the experiences of survivors of the federal Indian boarding school system.

The boarding schools played a significant and often harsh role in forcing American Indians to conform to non-Indigenous ways of life, and their negative legacy continues to affect the Wind River community today.

Thomas narrates a moment from his grandfather’s life when he welcomed a teacher at a boarding school using his native tongue.

“The nun repeatedly scolded him whenever he spoke in his language  eventually, as he began to understand her words, he realized she was saying, ‘Don’t use that filthy language around me, and avert your gaze.’” Thomas recalls, “She told him, ‘Look down.’”

Joyheart, who crafts intricate beaded regalia for young powwow dancers, believes there is a pressing need to educate both her community and the broader public about Native American history.

“Many Native individuals are rediscovering their histories embedded in our narratives,” Joyheart expresses.

Allison Sage, aged 66 and representing the Northern Arapaho, aims to connect the youth of Wind River with their histories. While sitting in his pickup truck, he shares a favorite joke.

“In the 1800s, General George Armstrong Custer advised Congress to hold off until he returned,” Sage recalls.

Custer, often celebrated in legend, died during the Battle of Little Big Horn. According to Sage, the government has not changed its approach since then: “They separate you before crushing you.”

Sage organizes monthly horseback rides for the youth of Wind River, which serve as a means to connect them with their cultural roots. A standout event is their annual trek to the Battle of Little Big Horn.

“Each year, we take part in the Little Big Horn victory ride, which embodies our journey toward decolonization,” Sage explains.

Martel, who enjoys breakfast, feels disillusioned with the federal government’s support for Native Americans but remains hopeful about the strength of tribal communities. As a proud great-grandparent of five, he wishes for their health, happiness, abundance, and a deep understanding of their cultural practices, ceremonies, and healing methods.

“The focus is on fostering strength within our families and communities; that’s our mission,” Martel expresses. “Yet it seems nobody grasps this.”

Curry is filled with optimism that this strength and knowledge will continue to thrive in future generations, allowing them to take pride in their heritage wherever life leads them. Just a few generations removed from the consequences of boarding schools and now with a clearer understanding of intergenerational trauma, Curry is noticing positive changes.

“Now we can start to teach our children at an earlier age. I feel joy when I see them dancing and singing in our language,” Curry shares. “It gives me so much hope that they will learn and uphold our traditions even when we are no longer here.”

One hundred years after the passage of the Indian Citizenship Act, Joyheart stands in a field surrounded by tall grass, with the imposing Wind River mountains as a backdrop. The setting sun casts a pink hue over a circle of trucks and tents. Not too long ago, ceremonies like the ones she performs and her regalia were prohibited.

“We exist within the history our children are crafting,” Joyheart reflects. “This means that when we are gone, our cultural wisdom and legacies will endure through them.”