SANTA YNEZ, Calif. — In the 1960s, a group called Concerned Citizens held barbecue dinners, car washes and fashion shows to help bring indoor plumbing to the Chumash Indian reservation here.
The display of charity was not an isolated occurrence. Year after year, merchants donated toys and clothing to Indian children. Volunteers decorated the sparse tribal hall each Christmas and baked cookies for Chumash families.
"It was a very friendly atmosphere," said Jody White, who strung pine cones and candy canes in the tribal hall.
Today, the Chumash inspire more fear than pity. A new Concerned Citizens group has emerged -- not to help the tribe, but to fight its development plans. In a stunning reversal, the region's wealthy landowners now view the Indians as a threat to their way of life.
The tribe's casino resort, big enough to house two Costco Wholesale outlets, is the focus of much of the agitation. Residents complain that traffic is choking scenic highways, that noisy buses keep neighbors awake at all hours and that the glow of casino lights has obscured the stars in the night sky.
More worrisome, locals say, are the tribe's plans for further development, which call for an opulent resort with several hundred luxury homes on a swath of open farmland near the reservation.
"People need to start figuring out that it ain't the poor Indians anymore," said Doug Herthel, an equine veterinarian in nearby Los Olivos. "This is a disaster."
As Indian casinos have expanded across the state, many newly prosperous tribes have become embroiled in disputes with neighboring communities. Perhaps nowhere is the conflict as intense as in the Santa Ynez Valley.
The collision unfolding here is extraordinary in part because the Chumash, once impoverished and powerless, can now match the political and financial muscle of their adversaries -- including ranchers, retired chief executives and Hollywood celebrities.
Accustomed to having their way, these property owners are confronting a sovereign entity flush with gambling revenue and unfettered by state or local land-use regulations. They are discovering, to their dismay, that there is little they can do to block the tribe's ambitious development plans.
Despite raising more than $300,000 and hiring lawyers, lobbyists and consultants over the past year, residents can point to just one tangible achievement: delaying the issuance of liquor licenses for the casino resort.
Charles "C.J." Jackson, a leading opponent of the tribe's development proposals, says the struggle has been exasperating. If Home Depot wanted to build here, residents could fight the proposal before the zoning board, the county Planning Department and other agencies. They could lobby elected officials to intervene. They could file suit in local courts.
But none of those tactics works when the developer is a sovereign entity.
"If my objective was to just stop them," Jackson said of the Chumash, "how effective have I been? They have essentially done what they wanted to do on their land."
Slot Machines Added
Tensions began building in the valley after California voters approved a ballot initiative in 2000 that gave Indian tribes the exclusive right to offer Las Vegas-style gambling.
The Chumash -- formally the Santa Ynez Band of Mission Indians -- first turned to gambling in 1983, offering high-stakes bingo in a tent. The operation faltered, closing and reopening several times. In 1994, the tribe added slot machines and began bringing in serious money -- $31 million the first year.
The 2000 initiative legalized the slot machines, along with blackjack and other games of chance, and the Chumash reaped a windfall. The tribal casino, one of the most profitable in the state, is expected to generate $200 million in revenue this year.
The Chumash no longer have to rely on others for running water or clothing. In the last decade, the tribe has donated more than $6 million to charitable groups, schools, hospitals and fire and police departments.
Recently, the Chumash have begun building on a scale not seen before in the Santa Ynez Valley, a region of rolling canyons, boutique wineries and Danish-style motels and cottage inns.
The $157-million Chumash Casino Resort, which opened last year, is a far cry from the makeshift warehouse that once housed the gambling hall. The Mediterranean-style complex along Highway 246, by far the biggest building in the valley, features 2,000 slot machines, a concert hall, a 106-room hotel and two concrete parking structures.
Chumash officials said they took pains to mitigate the casino's impact, reducing its height to three stories from the six originally planned, installing expensive low-glare outdoor lighting and providing $4.2 million in roadway improvements.
But these concessions did not ease residents' worries that a powerful new force was reshaping the region. Their anxiety increased when word spread that the tribe intended to build beyond the reservation.
