Snoqualmie banishment case ripping apart tribe

Former members of the Snoqualmie tribe took the stand in federal court this week to fight what they say was an illegal banishment from the tribe.

They include the former chairman of the tribe, as well as several council members and an Indian tribal spiritual leader — among nine former members in all seeking to overturn their banishment.

After hearing a day and a half of testimony, U.S. District Court Judge James L. Robart won't rule until March at the earliest.

At issue is whether the banished tribal members received due process, including adequate notice and an opportunity to speak on their own behalf.

The judge would not take testimony on other issues, including a disputed election before the banishment last April, or which tribal leaders were the legitimately elected ones.

The controversy has embroiled this tribe of about 650 members, which opened a $375 million casino in November just a half-hour drive from downtown Seattle.

The dispute dates back to a council election in May 2007, which some tribal leaders contend had serious irregularities.

Banishment is a rare practice among Coast Salish tribes, and is the most extreme punishment within Indian Country. A banished person is no longer a member of their tribe and cannot go on tribal grounds or receive tribal benefits.

Even in a hearing confined to procedural matters, the hurt still seething was obvious.

Asked how banishment had affected him, former chairman Bill Sweet likened it to leprosy. Linda Sweet-Baxter, a tribal spiritual leader, testified that, "It's just like death."

The difficulty of using a federal-court proceeding to deal with such a personal, and culturally based dispute, was everywhere evident, as when, for instance, the non-Indian judge, court reporter and lawyers struggled to pronounce, let alone spell for the record, words in Lushootseed, the tribe's traditional language.

Much of the testimony centered on an April 2008 meeting at an Issaquah hotel, where the tribal members were stripped of their membership and excluded from the tribe.

The banished took the stand to say they were barred from entering the meeting by armed Issaquah police officers hired as security by the tribe.

"We were treated like criminals," said Carolyn Lubenau, a former council member who was banished that day by her tribe.

She and others testified that they stood outside in the cold for nearly four hours, without any chance to enter the meeting and defend themselves, or hear the charges against them.

But some tribal officials and staff presiding that day offered conflicting testimony, saying they had sent messengers out to the parking lot to summon the tribal members facing banishment in to talk, only to find they had already left.

To some, the dispute should never have happened, or wound up in court, and shows a breakdown of the tribe.

"This is not the way we do things culturally," said Carmen Pastores-Joe, an Upper Skagit tribal elder, who came to the court hearing to offer her support to the banished tribal members.

"In our tradition, the teachings are that you work together to resolve things," Pastores-Joe said. "In olden days, there was a council of elders who helped work through differences, so the survival of the group was never in question. When we are having to step out of our culture and into this courthouse, that is a sad and serious situation. Our elders would be scolding them."

Some tribal members hadn't seen each other since the banishment and were pained to realize, once they saw each other again in court, how much time had been lost.

"It's ripping a big family apart," said tribal member Anita Christiansen, who came to observe the proceedings. "I've been around these people since we were children," she said of the banished tribal members. Yet when Christiansen's mother died recently, the banished could not come to the services.

"I don't believe in that," Christiansen said. "It's heart wrenching to try to suck the (Indian) blood out of someone's veins, and it is not the right thing to do, and that is essentially what we are doing.

"I would love to have my family come back to the tribe."

Lynda V. Mapes: 206-464-2736 or lmapes@seattletimes.com