Mission Indians

Reporting from Pala, Calif. -- When Margarita Owlinguish Britten died in 1925, she was a revered elder of the Pala Indian tribe, a survivor of the forced relocation in 1903 of the Cupeño Indians to an area beside the San Luis Rey River in northern San Diego County. But now, renewed doubts about Britten's lineage are at the root of a divisive "blood quantum" dispute roiling the 1,000-member Pala Band of Mission Indians, formed by the fusion of the Cupeño and Luiseño bands. At issue is whether Britten was a full-blooded Indian.

The history of the Pala Band of Mission Indians begins with an event so traumatic that it is known as the Cupeño Trail of Tears. It remains so central to tribal members, they memorialize it in the entryway of the building that has come to symbolize the tribe's modern prosperity: a casino off Interstate 15 in northern San Diego County. In 1903, U.S. officials forced hundreds of Cupeño Indians, at gunpoint, to move their household possessions, wagons and livestock from their longtime home in what was then called San Jose del Valle, now Warner Springs.

The San Manuel Band of Mission Indians on Friday became the latest California tribe to open its own tribal court, designed to hear civil cases and give members a chance to mediate disputes within their own culture. "This is a historic day for the tribe as we constitute the first formal court system on the reservation," tribal chairman James Ramos told more than 100 guests who came to the Highland reservation to watch the swearing-in of Chief Judge Joanne Willis Newton, three appellate judges and a judge pro tem. Each judge stood in black robes before Ramos and repeated an oath to apply "the San Manuel judicial code fairly and equally to all persons who will come before this court."

Reporting from Pala, Calif. -- When Margarita Owlinguish Britten died in 1925, she was a revered elder of the Pala Indian tribe, a survivor of the forced relocation in 1903 of the Cupeño Indians to an area beside the San Luis Rey River in northern San Diego County. But now, renewed doubts about Britten's lineage are at the root of a divisive "blood quantum" dispute roiling the 1,000-member Pala Band of Mission Indians, formed by the fusion of the Cupeño and Luiseño bands. At issue is whether Britten was a full-blooded Indian.

Reclaiming a neglected part of California's past, historians Monday unveiled an immense data bank that for the first time chronicles the lives and deaths of more than 100,000 Indians in the Spanish missions of the 18th and 19th centuries.

The history of the Pala Band of Mission Indians begins with an event so traumatic that it is known as the Cupeño Trail of Tears. It remains so central to tribal members, they memorialize it in the entryway of the building that has come to symbolize the tribe's modern prosperity: a casino off Interstate 15 in northern San Diego County. In 1903, U.S. officials forced hundreds of Cupeño Indians, at gunpoint, to move their household possessions, wagons and livestock from their longtime home in what was then called San Jose del Valle, now Warner Springs.

Donna Tisdale and Arol Wulf are the first to admit that theirs is an unlikely alliance. Tisdale is a rancher, from her Western shirt to her red cowboy boots. With her husband, Ed, she runs the 120-acre Morning Star Ranch in southeast San Diego County. Wulf is the co-founder of a nearby commune, Zendik Farms. A self-described healer, she has a blue teardrop tattoo on her cheek.

Neighbors of the Campo band of Mission Indians continued to assail the band's plan to develop a landfill on its reservation at a set of public hearings Monday, in which critics reiterated concerns over contamination of ground water. "Water is priceless and we are willing to fight for it," said Donna Tisdale, president of Backcountry Against Dumps. "All we are trying to do is cooperate with the system, and, if the system doesn't work, then we will be troublemakers."

He lived most of his life in the city of San Fernando, in the shadow of the mission that his grandfather had called home. Five generations of his family--hailing from ancient Indian tribes--were born or died behind mission walls. But Rudy Ortega--like many Native Americans of his era--grew up oblivious to the Indian blood running through his veins. In his family, "We were brought up as Mexicans, we spoke Spanish at home," said Ortega, 70. "Maybe they were ashamed. . . .

Lloyd Fields wants to build a cluster of homes on his 41 acres of prime real estate along Interstate 10 and close to the outlet malls near Banning. Only he can't get to it. The Morongo Band of Mission Indians has gated the only street leading to his plot of land ? Fields Road, which Riverside County named after Fields' father back in 1959. The tribe built the gate and guard shack five years ago to control access to its reservation, but Fields accuses the Morongos of placing the barrier on a public street and in a strategic spot to eclipse his land rights and pressure him into unloading his property to the tribe "in a fire sale.

Lloyd Fields wants to build a cluster of homes on his 41 acres of prime real estate along Interstate 10 and close to the outlet malls near Banning. Only he can't get to it. The Morongo Band of Mission Indians has gated the only street leading to his plot of land ? Fields Road, which Riverside County named after Fields' father back in 1959. The tribe built the gate and guard shack five years ago to control access to its reservation, but Fields accuses the Morongos of placing the barrier on a public street and in a strategic spot to eclipse his land rights and pressure him into unloading his property to the tribe "in a fire sale.

Members of the Gabrielino Band of Mission Indians gathered at the Whittier Narrows wildlife sanctuary on Thursday to denounce plans to build a $22-million discovery center on a site they regard as ancestral lands. During a blessing ceremony held in a glade of century-old sycamores, tribal spiritual leader Ernest Perez Salas Tautimies said, "This is our last frontier close to home. We want to keep it just the way it is so that we never forget the lessons hidden under every leaf and rock.

On its way to the ocean, the San Luis Rey River runs through a hilly, brushy parcel of land known as Gregory Canyon. With large stands of coastal oak and cottonwood trees and a population of rattlesnakes and even a few mountain lions, the canyon is tucked away in a sparsely populated part of northeast San Diego County, just south of California 76 and three miles east of Interstate 15. Above the river, on a recent afternoon, an osprey was...

With the state bracing for billions of dollars in budget shortfalls, a group of casinos is offering California leaders a stake in a new pot of money if they allow Internet poker sites to set up business in the state. A consortium including the Morongo Band of Mission Indians and the Commerce Casino plans to take the idea to the state Legislature next month. The two would be among the gambling interests seeking to operate poker websites if the proposal were approved. Gambling industry experts say $347 billion annually is wagered online globally, with millions of U.S. residents giving their credit card numbers to Internet sites so they can bet on poker games they play on their personal computers against other gamblers who are doing the same.

The San Manuel Band of Mission Indians on Friday became the latest California tribe to open its own tribal court, designed to hear civil cases and give members a chance to mediate disputes within their own culture. "This is a historic day for the tribe as we constitute the first formal court system on the reservation," tribal chairman James Ramos told more than 100 guests who came to the Highland reservation to watch the swearing-in of Chief Judge Joanne Willis Newton, three appellate judges and a judge pro tem. Each judge stood in black robes before Ramos and repeated an oath to apply "the San Manuel judicial code fairly and equally to all persons who will come before this court."

Reclaiming a neglected part of California's past, historians Monday unveiled an immense data bank that for the first time chronicles the lives and deaths of more than 100,000 Indians in the Spanish missions of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Your article of Sept. 23 regarding the Torres-Martinez Settlement Act and legislation failed to properly note the concerns of many congressmen, local communities and the Cabazon Band of Mission Indians. It also failed to note that the Cabazon Band of Mission Indians has met with the Torres-Martinez tribe and offered three options of compromise which addressed their need for market expansion; however, all were rejected. The Torres-Martinez tribe has indicated no need to meet further with us unless new options can be brought forward.

I was surprised to read in your paper that the Indians meeting with Sen. Daniel K. Inouye (D-Hawaii) in Escondido presented grievances only, and followed the senator's lead in denouncing the Reagan Administration for not doing more for them ("Tribal Leaders Complain to Senate Panel About Lack of Money, Urban Intrusion," April 28). No mention was made of the fact that in November, 1988, President Reagan signed a bill that gave to the various Indian reservations of Southern California more than 5,000 additional acres of federal land that formerly was held under the Bureau of Land Management.

The Times based its Aug. 31 editorial on a false assumption in urging a gubernatorial veto of AB 2752, enacted to give protection to the religious and spiritual value of Gregory Mountain to native people. Your editorial states, "The Palas did not raise the religious issue until late in the game." On the contrary, Pala, Pechanga and other tribes have objected to a landfill at the base of Gregory Mountain since the late 1980s, long before either had a casino or even plans to build one. A Times article of Sept.

For starters, let's keep in mind the California Supreme Court did not rule that the Indian gambling initiative is "unconstitutional." That is, unconstitutional in the common understanding of the word--in violation of the Constitution framed by our nation's founders. Nobody who voted for the measure need feel like a duped dummy, snookered into supporting a policy that challenges cherished liberties. If you thought it was a good vote last November--and an overwhelming 62.