Chiefs Council Meeting 1924

WHAT'S GOING ON?

Mom and Pop went down to the Southwest in 1924 and stayed in Santa Fe. Along with them went John Collier. They went to help the Indians decide to use an attorney to get their land and water from the whites and Mexicans who had stolen them.  

My mother wrote letters home when she went with Pop to the Southwest, and some of them have been typed up. They are beautifully written and resemble a rairly detailed diary. She wrote of two of the meetings Pop and John Collier had in 1924, one a meeting of the Taos Council on July 14, and the other on July 17, which was the All-Pueblo Council held at Santo Domingo.

 These descriptions, like all the ones I read about, are most tantalizing. There was an earlier one on July 12 at Taos. Mom tells of it thusly:

[To]night we went out to Taos Pueblo. Mr. Collier and Father had a council meeting, so the rest of us sat in the machine and Taos Pueblo in the moonlight is a glorious sight. I do not know whether you remember or not the Taos Indians all wear white sheets over their heads in summer. [To]night they looked like so many ghosts -- silently walking about, up a ladder to the house above, or moving in and out of the governor's house where the voices could be heard -- sometimes only a murmer, then again more distinct. Father made a long tale to them. I could hear him distinctly, stopping every few minutes for the Indian to translate.  

Ah, yes, but what happened in the meeting?  

Mom tells the most frustrating story of one meeting in Taos relative to this problem in one of the four surviving letter-diaries she wrote on those journeys. I will let Mom tell the story. This is the excerpt from her diary describing The July 14 meeting at Taos.

That night we went back to the Pueblo where there was to be a council meeting to decide whether Taos would send delegates to the All-Pueblo meeting or not. We all sat outside in the machine, Mr. Collier, Daddy and I, watching these silently [moving] men with the white sheets over their heads go in and out of the houses, looking unearthly in the moonlight. Every little once in a while someone would come tell what was happening in the meeting and the excitement and feeling was intense. Finally, about 11 o'clock they decided to send delegates but I assure you by then I was almost a wreck -- Antonio Lujan came out trembling, his voice betraying his deep emotion in spite of a face that told nothing. Then Tony [Mirabal], the so-called villain, who seemed to have lost his twenty-year old power over the council, came out furious because he did not have his own way. There was enough hate cooked up in that one evening in that little room to last a long while, I believe -- and so it went. I get more excited over these rows than either Mr. Collier or Daddy, I do believe.

Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, what was Tony angry about? What was it of which he would not speak? There was no secretary. There was no record. Please, Mom, what went on?  One meeting Mom did a wonderful job on, and that was the July 17 All-Pueblo Council held at Santo Domingo. I must let her tell it, as she wrote so beautifully:

 July 17th was the big day. The meeting they have all been working for -- it is called the All-Pueblo Council and is held at Santo Domingo Pueblo. These meetings are called when there is something of importance that concerns all the Pueblo Indians. Each village sends delegates and they come from miles away, by train, wagon, horseback or automobile.

We left Santa Fe about eight o'clock -- Charles Collier, John Collier, Father and I and a stenographer. We arrived at Santo Domingo a bit after nine and stopped in front of an adobe house in the village of adobe houses. Here the Indians were beginning to gather.

One large room was the meeting place. It had two small windows and one door. In the center was placed a table covered with an old red oil cloth -- this for the officials, Collier, his son, Father, stenographer, the chairman of the meeting (governor of San Juan Pueblo), the interpreter and Mrs. Warren, representing the Indian office, and her stenographer. Slowly [the Indians] filed in and sqatted around the wall on their blankets, their knees drawn up in front of them. Later they brought in chairs and benches until the small room was crowded. There were delegates from as many as fifteen villages, I think the whole numbering about 75.

Corn husks, dried, lay all about the floor. These the Indians from time to time would pick up, break off a square piece, fill it with tobacco and roll it as a cigarette. One handsome young Indian is the official cigarette lighter. He walks about all during the proceedings with a long stick which has a light on the end. Also he carried a tobacco pouch made of a beaver skin. With these things, he kept the smokers going.

The costumes were motley and various. Some were almost in rags; trousers made of cheap calico, waists that looked like embroidered nightgowns (some tucked into the trousers, some hanging down) -- some unkempt, dirty -- some dressed in modern, up-to-date American clothes, spic and span -- some in American clothes with their Indian blankets wrapped around them -- and most of them with bright colored silk about their heads.

And such a variety of foot gear; old boots with buckskin soles -- handsome mocassins, buckskin, plain or elaborately beaded. And jewelry; necklaces of coral and turquoise matrix or just turquoise, or beads with large shells in front -- handsome rings and bracelets of silver and turquoise -- and many earrings. I wonder can you get any idea of it from what I write.

The man who carried the lighted stick wore khaki trousers, a pair of buckskin shoes with two silver buttons on each, a silver belt, dark red corduroy shirt, a necklace of turquoise -- his hair tied back with a brilliant colored ribbon and another of green and red silk about his head.

The Chairman knocks on the table -- there is absolute silence. He speaks in Spanish and tells the purpose of the gathering -- to decide whether they accept the offer of Mr. Collier (representing the Federated Women's Clubs and the Indian Association) to provide for them attorneys to bring their cases before the land board and try to get back for them lands taken by Mexican and White settlers. After every few words he stops and the Indian standing by him translates into English. Then John Collier talks, explaining the situation, and then Father talks, explaining the law. Each word must be translated into Spanish and during the two long speeches not a sound was heard except the buzzing of thousands of flies and the waving of hats and papers to try to keep cool. What Americans could learn from these people -- of dignity, order, quiet and business efficiently dispatched.

The Indian office accuses Collier of not having proper credentials. He answers with telegrams proving his position. The intricate political controversies would take long to explain -- always John Collier against the Indian office, and the various officials and citizens taking sides -- politics is never clean but nowhere, I think, could it be dirtier than in New Mexico.

One funny thing happened. I was sitting beside Mrs. Gerald Cassidy at the meeting, when I heard a man say -- "Who is that very vehement gentleman out there? Is that the new lawyer?" Mrs. Cassidy and I both started to laugh and she introduced me to Mr. Baumann, the artist, while I explained who I was. At that moment Father was having a discussion with Dr. Hewitt. Later he went out again to take some papers to Hewitt and Mr. Baumann leaned forward and said "There goes some more vehemence."

At noon a recess is declared. We go to an Indian house and eat the lunch we have brought. The two white factions try to get together at this meeting with poor success. There is too much underlying hatred of each other. We eat each other's sandwiches and watermelon and then separate, each one believing exactly as he did when he came.

Back to the meeting at two o'clock and after a roll call, the voting. It was very solemn -- "Taos, how do your delegates vote?" "We vote to accept the offer of our friends." And, so down the line -- the delegates from Zuni were questioned because they were sent by their religious leader and not the governor, but the Indians voted to let them vote after much discussion. Finally, the question -- "Do you wish to hold together on this?" -- and a sort of wave of sound from them all gave the answer "Yes." After that there were speeches by the various men who were not officially delegated and many questions and answers. Toward the end the governor of Laguna talked in Indian dialect which was translated first into English then Spanish. Now each delegate goes back to his council and the council must decide whether it will go in or not. I wish I could give you some real idea of this whole meeting.

After the whites left, a few of the main Indians sat for some time talking it over and finally, slowly and quietly, they left, each going his own way. By now it was beginning to drizzle and had become much cooler.

Toward the end of the afternoon, the heat had become almost unbearable.

 I have no inkling as to my mother's part in all this. I never heard her express an opinion other than that which Pop had set forth. However, I know, as we all did, that Mom had ideas and opinions, and she must have discussed all these problems with Pop when they were alone. I am certain that Pop adjusted his actions in accordance with Mom's ideas on frequent occasions. That is why, although Pop did all the work which showed, and beyond question led the way, we children and most of the others involved understood that Mom was an influential part of the entire effort.  

And that is why these reports of the council meetings are so tantalizing. Mom knew the politics, the egos, the emotions, the greed of all these people. Naturally, she could not write of these things. Therein lies my frustration. Some of these things become obvious as the tale unfolds, but some will remain hidden forever.