Hopes Dashed
An old story of modern injustice to native peoples
At first, we thought we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to live high, in leisure, and pull our tribe, our families, and our community out of poverty. We started listing all the ways we’d spend the money. We were foolish young men barely out of high school.
Oil it was, and it belonged to Northern Texas Chippewa Tribe. Rick’s Grandparents were two of fifteen tribal Elders. When we told them about the oil, they just laughed.
“Boys, that area of our reservation has been called The Valley of Black Waters for ages.”
Our Ferrari dreams died faster than they had begun. The Elders would never allow the industrialization of Reservation land, especially for oil extraction. Over the years, Rick, Jimmy, and I took a stab at trying to convince the tribal Counsel to develop the Oil Reserve for the financial sake of the Tribe and for our own protection.
“How long do you think the White Man will wait once they truly understand what is here before they do what they have always done and take what is ours.” I had said after returning to the reservation from college.
Then it happened, the old had passed a new council seated, and Aron Oil filed a lawsuit, claiming that ten years ago, the Council had signed a lease with…
