Originally published April 8, 2007. First in an occasional series exploring the new leaders of California's Indian nations.
COYOTE VALLEY NATION, Mendocino County -- Priscilla Hunter grew up playing a rugged second base on the old Coyote Valley Reservation, where the land was so hard one rancher quipped "you couldn't raise an umbrella on it."
Hunter hit hard, too, and her competitive spirit guided her through an Indian journey that saw her rise from surviving on a diet of acorn and clover to California Indian royalty.
It has been a journey that's taken her to the summit of political power, both as a high-profile tribal leader and negotiator in the halls of the state Capitol. An outspoken civil rights advocate, Hunter has led Indians to Chiapas, Mexico, to meet with a rebel Mayan leader, marched with Jesse Jackson and became one of the first tribal bosses to reject the terms of the state's gambling compact, or treaty -- and California's cut of casino revenue.
Hunter, 60, the daughter of a Pomo Indian and her Filipino farmworker husband, has come to epitomize the promise, opportunity and temptation facing tribal chairmen, who are California's new breed of Indian leaders -- the new chiefs. But many see her as a symbol of corruption and abuse of power.
After nine years as chairwoman -- refusing to hold annual elections as required by tribal law -- Hunter has been ousted by her second cousin, John Feliz Jr., 28. Today, Hunter and her entire six-member tribal council await trial on 39 federal counts of theft, misuse of tribal casino funds, conspiracy, obstruction of justice and tax evasion.
The troubles at Coyote Valley reveal the good, the sad and the ugly of California's nascent tribal governments and their new generation of chiefs -- some of whom are born leaders and others who become intoxicated by their new wealth and power and use it to settle old scores.
California Indian Country has 107 independent, sovereign nations from the Mexican border to the Oregon state line. They range from tribes of just a few members to those with several thousand. Each is ruled by a chairman or woman elected by the tribe, and they form a diverse collection of leaders that includes former welfare moms, college professors, recovering alcoholics, activists and novelists.
In the 57 tribes statewide powered by casino revenue, the new chiefs wield tremendous political influence, often controlling millions of dollars.
Some can be ruthless, dispensing with political opponents by firing them, cutting off their share of casino money and tribal benefits, or kicking them out of the tribe altogether. Tribal leaders can make their own laws and are rarely subject to state or federal intervention -- unless a crime is committed.
That's how the Hunter regime in Coyote Valley became notorious. Theirs is the first Indian nation in California history to have its entire tribal council taken out by a corruption probe.
The probe -- and the rumors it spawned -- have cost Hunter, who earned $70,000 as tribal chairwoman, her $600 monthly casino check, her right to vote and her status as a spiritual leader.
Hunter's partner, attorney Polli Gervin, takes a long view of the tribe's woes, explaining it in the context of California Indian history. She believes the blood feuds playing out in Coyote Valley and other tribal nations can be traced back to the impact of the genocide of indigenous people that left California with only 20,000 by the 1906 census.
Half a century later, the federal government wiped out California's tribes by "terminating" or disbanding dozens of them, including Coyote Valley, stripping them of federal recognition and benefits to make up for stolen lands and broken treaties.
These actions, Gervin says, left Indians dealing with heavy psychological scarring that could spur self-destructive behavior and tribal infighting.
"I believe all Native Americans in California can be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder -- mental health problems, drug abuse, severe paranoia, child abuse -- all sorts of negative emotions that impact Indian life daily," Gervin said. "We go horizontal against our own. I call it internalized colonialism."
The Bee's Stephen Magagnini can be reached at (916) 321-1072 or smagagnini@sacbee.com.
