Deep beneath the rolling prairies, concealed within the heart of a vast limestone cavern, lies a repository of American Indian history and finance. Guarded diligently, and even protected by a bomb-sniffing canine, this subterranean archive serves as ground zero for an accounting that will take seven years, a monumental undertaking born from a decade-old, deeply contentious class-action lawsuit against the U.S. Interior Department. While conceived to address long-standing grievances, the project has become a point of contention itself, a condensed version of a historical reckoning that the very people who demanded it now view with skepticism.
The lawsuit, fueled by allegations of gross mismanagement of Indian trust lands spanning over a century, claims the government owes Native American beneficiaries tens of billions of dollars. The roots of this dispute reach back to 1887, a pivotal year when Congress designated the Interior Department as the trustee for a vast expanse of 145 million acres of Indian lands. The intention was that Native Americans would reap the benefits from these lands. However, the historical narrative reveals a different outcome: much of the land was ultimately ceded to white settlers, depriving the original inhabitants of their rightful inheritance.
The year 1996 marked a turning point. Frustrated by decades of perceived mismanagement, Native American tribes initiated legal action, demanding a comprehensive reconciliation of their historical accounts. Both the tribes and Congress sought a full audit, aiming to uncover a century’s worth of unpaid grazing rents, oil and gas royalties, and timber sales derived from their ancestral lands, along with accrued interest.
While both the Native American plaintiffs and the Interior Department agree that approximately $13 billion was collected from these lands between 1909 and 2001, the discrepancy lies in the alleged unpaid interest. The tribes initially estimated this figure to exceed $150 billion. In a move reflecting their disillusionment with the audit process, they offered to settle the entire claim for $27.5 billion. This sum would then be distributed among individual Indian account holders, representing roughly one-fifth of the 2.5 million Native Americans residing in the United States, predominantly in the Western regions.
The Bush administration, however, staunchly rejected this proposal. Their position was that the government had consistently forwarded the majority of rents and royalties to tribes and individual Native Americans throughout the years. Ross Swimmer, the Interior Department’s special trustee for Indians and a member of Oklahoma’s Cherokee Nation, even suggested the actual amount owed might be as little as $30 million.
Adding to the complexity, the government, in a twist reminiscent of an "Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland" scenario, began to rely on a statistical sampling method – a strategy initially demanded by the Native Americans – to calculate the owed amount. The tribes, however, now argue that this statistical analysis significantly underestimates the true value of their claims.
Fritz Scheuren, who oversaw the Interior Department’s statistical sampling and previously served as president of the American Statistical Association, described the resulting figures as "a number in the m’s, not the b’s," highlighting the perceived inadequacy of the government’s approach.
The Indian plaintiffs now contend that the destruction of countless records has rendered an accurate accounting virtually impossible. According to Dennis Gingold, a lawyer representing the tribes, "The documents that the government has preserved are a fraction of those that have been lost and destroyed. Massive hard copy and electronic destruction… make the accounting legally and factually impossible."
The tribes found a strong ally in U.S. District Judge Royce Lamberth, a former Reagan administration official. Over his nine years presiding over the case, Judge Lamberth issued strongly worded rulings condemning the Interior Department’s handling of its fiduciary duty, describing the agency as a "pathetic outpost" that had thoroughly bungled its responsibilities. Unsurprisingly, the Interior Department sought to have Judge Lamberth removed from the case and a different judge assigned.
The physical manifestation of this contentious accounting process lies hidden within the Kansas prairie. Located a half-hour southwest of Kansas City, just off the Prairie Star Parkway, tractor-trailers regularly descend into an unassuming grassy knoll. This seemingly ordinary location conceals a vast underground cave, a semi-secretive government facility dedicated to the painstaking task of archiving and analyzing millions of documents related to the Indian trust lands. This is ground zero for an accounting that will take seven years.
In dimly lit underground parking spaces, trucks unload box after box of documents, destined to be cataloged, digitized, and carefully stored. After two years and an investment of $120 million, the archive has amassed a staggering collection of 140,000 boxes containing an estimated 300 million pages of historical records. These include old leases, bills, ledgers, account statements, school records, maps, letters, and black-and-white photographs – a tangible record of the complex relationship between the U.S. government and Native American tribes.
The sheer scale of the archive is breathtaking. The storage space, equivalent to the size of Kansas City’s 79,451-seat Arrowhead Stadium, features rows of boxes stretching nearly to the ceiling and down aisles so long they disappear into the cavernous depths. Jeffrey Zippin, deputy director of the Interior Department’s Office of Historical Trust Accounting, noted the sense of awe and wonder the archive inspires, recalling visitors who jokingly inquire, "Where is the Lost Ark?"
To ensure the preservation of these invaluable historical documents, the archive is equipped with state-of-the-art environmental and security controls. The shelves are coated with an electrostatically charged powder to protect against corrosion and chemical degradation. The air is meticulously maintained at a constant 60 degrees Fahrenheit and 40 percent humidity. These security and climate control measures are comparable only to those found at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., and its annex in College Park, Maryland.
The documents within the archive originate from approximately 100 of the Interior Department’s Bureau of Indian Affairs offices, as well as from National Archives record centers across the country. The condition of these records varies considerably. Some are pristine, while others are tattered, faded, or water-damaged. A few even required decontamination due to the presence of animal droppings.
The contents of the boxes offer a diverse and compelling glimpse into the lives and experiences of Native Americans over the past century. Among the archived materials are 1943 photographs of Navajo women cooking, a handwritten appeal from a Great Plains Indian seeking compensation for the loss of his cattle, and a poignant 16-page list of Sioux Indians killed and wounded at Wounded Knee, South Dakota, on December 29, 1890. This archive is truly ground zero for an accounting that will take seven years.
Despite the ongoing legal battles and the immense effort dedicated to the historical accounting, most observers agree that a lasting resolution to the Indian trust lands dispute will ultimately require Congressional action.
Senator John McCain, R-Ariz., Chairman of the Senate Indian Affairs Committee, and Representative Richard Pombo, R-Calif., Chairman of the House Resources Committee, jointly oversaw a recent hearing focused on identifying the most expedient and equitable means of resolving the long-standing dispute.
Experts urged the committee members to carefully consider the legal arguments and then, rather than pursuing a perfect accounting, to arbitrarily select a settlement figure. Even the Interior Department’s Swimmer expressed support for the concept of a large, somewhat arbitrary payout, stating, "Just pick a number. It’s reparations, not repayment." This recognizes that a precise accounting may be impossible, and a pragmatic, forward-looking approach is necessary.
This whole ordeal is centered in ground zero for an accounting that will take seven years
The future of this complex and contentious issue remains uncertain. While the underground archive diligently preserves the historical record, the path toward a just and equitable resolution for the Native American tribes remains a significant challenge.