Voices of the Everglades Reprint

William Osceola poles a dugout canoe along the Miami River near the Miccosukee Embassy, demonstrating the technique wearing traditional 1800s clothing.

A SPECIAL REPRINT OF

The Native American world was upended 500 years ago, when Spanish explorers named and claimed Florida.

Today, many of the 4,400 or so self-described Indians struggle to maintain their cultural identity while incorporat-

ing the modern world. To get a unique glimpse of their world, and to document voices that have been mostly

forgotten for centuries, The News-Press reporter Chad Gillis and photographer Andrew West spent eight months

traveling among them. The News-Press took readers and viewers where few have gone before, in words, photos

and videos, deep into the heart of the Everglades and into the world of the Seminole and Miccosukee Indians.

T he project started like this: Drivetwo hours to the Big Cypress reser-vation, walk a mile into a swamp

and hope George Billie was tending thePanther clan fire.

On days he was there I’d ask questionsthat were insensitive to his culture, like“What’s your father’s name?”

The first trip produced nothing butblank stares. Second trip, the same.George sat on his cypress bench andlooked at me like I was a flying pixiespeaking French. No response. Not aword.

The third trip was different. Maybebraving the summer heat, humidity andpassing showers three straight weeks wasenough to convince George that I wassomewhat trustworthy. Maybe Seminolecouncil leader Mondo Tiger asked Georgeto speak to The News-Press for this Ever-glades project. Either way, the third tripopened a door, a portal into the lives andexperiences of a relatively isolated, most-ly forgotten people.

On day three, George was candid. Hespoke openly about language, culture andhis own history. He started teaching meabout Miccosukee language.

“I’m doing OK back here in the shade,”George said while waving his right handin the air as though he were bouncing abasketball.

George is an elder, known to most res-ervation Natives, and the grandfather of agreat many. He’s also the keeper of thePanther Clan village that’s part of theAh-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum on the SeminoleTribe’s Big Cypress Reservation, the larg-est of the Seminole reservations — about70 miles east of Fort Myers in HendryCounty. Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki means “a place tolearn.”

From the parking lot, the museum’sbuildings and grounds seem modern, well-built and kept. A small cypress log fireand sitting area are near the main door. Afriendly and professional staff of white,black and Hispanic people greet visitorsat the main entrance. There’s a small giftshop to the right.

George tends the fire at a Panther clanchickee. A weathered ax sits near a pile ofseasoned and split oak. It’s not rusty butrusted, the connection between the headand shaft loose. But like George’s ailingbones, it works well enough.

He wears the age 86 pretty well, a bitstooped over but strong enough to getaround the village on his own, with hiswhite and lavender store-bought cane.

For the next few months I spent moreand more time at Native events, cele-brations, water quality studies, even el-ders meetings. I learned that the Seminoleand Miccosukee tribes formed only aftersignificant pressure from the federalgovernment, which, at the time, was con-sidering removing all reservation agree-ments and any treaties that hadn’t beenshattered decades or centuries ago.

Loss of more lands, reservation status,any hopes of turning bingo halls into agambling and resort empire would be lost,some Natives felt, if they didn’t form theirown corporations and agree to reservationterms.

Naturally, some families were tornbetween keeping their traditions and an-cient ways — which were relatively undis-turbed until the mid-1900s — and movingtoward a more modern life within federalgovernment guidelines. Some families arestill split by the traditional or reservationstatus, although they often still live orwork near each other.

Maybe that is why George wore Micco-sukee clothing, I thought. Maybe he iden-tified himself with the Miccosukee ways.

I had tried several times to broach theissue, pop the question: Would George feelmore at home two hours south, on Micco-sukee lands? Painful as the thought was –that George’s life was torn between tradi-tional ways, his clan and extended familyand supporting a reservation that wouldprovide money to feed his people, buildschools and end poverty — it’s an impor-tant part of the story.

It was on Miccosukee lands, at the Em-bassy on the Miami River, that I finallyfound the courage and proper setting toask. George was relaxing in a chair alongthe banks of the river, which looks nowlike a manicured canal. He was sittingwith other elders, people I had not metthen and never came across again.

Me: George, you spent a lot of your lifehere on the Miccosukee lands.

George: Yes.Me: You lived here before the reserva-

tions formed, right? George: Yes, I was here.Me: Did you move to Big Cypress be-

cause the Seminole and Miccosukee weredivided with the reservations?

For the first time in months, heclammed up again. A single tear raceddown his right cheek in a brief, unspokenand painfully clear reply.

Connect with this reporter: ChadGillisNP on twitter.

Speaking through about two-thirds of hisoriginal teeth, George’s broken English isbeautiful: hushed and choppy.

Photographer Andrew West and Ilaughed when George would say thingslike “Oh yeah, I’m the Big Wheel. I makeeverything go around.”

His words are strung together like aseries of paintings in an art gallery. Tran-sitional phrases and prepositions are miss-ing, or out of place in formal English. Hisvoice is part child laughing, part grandfa-ther telling a bedtime story.

A member of the Seminole reservationand corporation, George typically wearsMiccosukee clothes and patchwork pat-terns. “This made for me by Miccosukee,”he said while lifting the left lapel of acolorful Native vest.

Weeks passed. I’d see George at vari-ous Native events and gatherings.

“I think about you the other day,”George said during a Seminole celebrationon the reservation. He sat in a small chairunder the main tent, alongside Cherokeeand other tribes who were displaying theirdances, clothes and beliefs with severalhundred visitors.

Me: “Were you wondering why thiswhite guy is stalking you all the time?”

“No, no,” George said with a smile. “Ijust think about you.”

By this point I had learned severallessons. The most important? Don’t askNatives about dead people. PerhapsGeorge was teaching me that lesson dur-ing those first two fruitless meetings.Maybe they weren’t so fruitless after all.

George Billie, left, takes a “selfie” withreporter Chad Gillis along the banks of theMiami River. This image was captured afterGeorge revealed his personal struggles withself-identification as an Indian. It might havebeen the first time Billie held a cellphone.

Door opens, ever so slowlyAfter several visits with George Billie, talks get productive and a relationship blooms

All stories and photos originally published in The News-Press on March 24, 2014.

2 » A SPECIAL REPRINT OF THE NEWS-PRESS *

SEMINOLE TRIBE OF FLORIDA

AH-TAH-THI-KIM U S E U MA PLACE TO LEARN. A PLACE TO REMEMBER.

34725 WEST BOUNDARY RD., CLEWISTON, FL 33440

BIG CYPRESS SEMINOLE INDIAN RESERVATION

877.902.1113WWW.AHTAHTHIKI.COM

Smithsonian InstitutionA1 liations Program

Find uson Facebook

EXPLORE OUR LANDSCAPEEXPERIENCE OUR CULTURE

LEARN OUR HISTORY

Chapter 1:Tribesmen

The price of prosperity...........3-6

Some modern Indians struggle to retain identity....................................6

Chapter 2:Tradition

Down the road: A moral takeover................................8-9

Village life offersglimpse at history.............................10-11

Man on a mission..................................12

Chapter 3: The Future

Business, tradition a delicate balance............................13-15

Tribes prepared tofight over waterquality....................15

CONTENTS

STAFF

PublisherMei-Mei Chan

Executive EditorTerry Eberle

Project editorWendy Fullerton

ReporterChad Gillis

Photo EditorRicardo Rolon

PhotographerAndrew West

Graphics editorMike Donlan

Design EditorMichael Babin

DesignerPhonethip Liu Hobson

* A SPECIAL REPRINT OF THE NEWS-PRESS » 3

Airboats scatter across the sawgrasslike a flock of birds, only to gatheragain like metal shards to a magnetat the edge of an Indian village deepinside the Everglades.

Once at the tribal grounds, the captain parksnear Michael Frank’s family camp. Outsiders,mostly white people working for the tribe or U.S.Fish and Wildlife Service, take samples, andmeasure water depth and clarity during an annu-al Miccosukee water quality study.

Frank takes a sip of coffee, looks out over theEverglades and takes a deep breath.

“Our way of life is gone,” he says while sittingon the bow of an aluminum airboat, arms folded,chin tucked. “We lived our way in the Ever-glades, the happy way, the good way. When I wasyoung, you could drink the water. You could huntand fish, and that was your lifetime.”

Indian life was uprooted more than 500 yearsago when Spanish explorers claimed and namedFlorida. Their world was upended again in themid-1900s when state and federal agencieslearned how to efficiently drain South Florida’smassive wetlands and subtropical forests.

Indians were living in remote camps in theEverglades and at tourism villages in towns suchas Miami and Hollywood when the draining be-gan. The federal government proposed cuttingties with all tribes in 1953 as a way to cut spend-ing in the aftermath of World War II. South Flori-da Indians responded by forming the SeminoleTribe of Florida in 1957. A second group that re-fused to join the Seminole reservation incorpo-rated in 1962 as the Miccosukee Tribe of Indiansof Florida. A third group, about 100 traditionals,refused to join a tribe and live an isolated lifewith no gambling dividends and little govern-ment support.

Today, Florida Indians number about 4,400,and most are members of the Seminole and Mic-cosukee tribes, living on reservation lands inTampa, Immokalee, Hollywood, Fort Pierce,Brighton and Clewiston.

To get a better understanding of their lives inthe Everglades, The News-Press spent the lasteight months traveling through the Indianworld, recording voices that have been mostlysilent over the past 500 years.

Unlike the past, when children were taught tostay away from Americans and other cultures,Indians today are increasingly communicatingwith the outside world. It’s their last resort tosave the Everglades and their way of life, theysay.

“It’s not going to be the end of the world, justthe end of us,” Frank says while walking the Mic-cosukee museum grounds, a slight grin on hisotherwise stern face. He opens the door to abuilding that contains photographs, clothing,tools and art and crafts, some of these thingsbuilt or used by his clan. Once inside, he says,calmly: “The Earth will be just fine.”

{ CHAPTER 1 }

T R I B E S M E N

The price of prosperityFlorida’s Indians have benefited from gambling operations and

government support, but at the expense of their way of life

A Miccosukee woman demonstrates patchwork sewing techniques as a young girl runs off to play during a cultural eventat the Miccosukee Embassy in Miami. Patchwork is created bycombining various patterns and colors of fabric and is worn by natives during ceremonies and public celebrations.

George Billie, 86, tours a limestone cave network under the Miccosukee Embassy in Miami. He remembersa time when natives including himself sought refuge from hurricanes and tropical storms in that location.These are some of the only natural limestone caves in South Florida.

See more photos and videos documenting the way of life for Seminole and Miccosukee Indians in Florida at news-press.com/everglades

» There are more than 3,800 Seminole Tribe mem-bers, and about 600 members of the MiccosukeeTribe. Today, all but about 100 Indians living inSouth Florida are members of one of the tribes.Only tribal members receive gambling and otherbusiness dividends, health care, access to librariesand tribal schools.

» Tradition says all Indians here are Miccosukee,and that Seminole is a Miccosukee, or Mikasukiword that means “natural, or in its rightfulplace.”

» The two most prominent family names in theFlorida Indian world are Billie and Osceola. Billieis more widely used and is found in the Seminoleand Miccosukee reservations and among tradi-tional Indians. The Osceola name is associatedmore closely with the Miccosukee Tribe, althoughthere are Osceolas living on the Seminole’s BigCypress reservation near Clewiston.

» To qualify for tribal membership, a person must beone-quarter Florida Seminole blood; prove withwritten documentation that they are directlyrelated to a Florida Seminole who was listed in1957 tribal records; and must be sponsored forenrollment by someone who is a member.

» Members of the Seminole tribe speak one or bothof two languages: Maskókî and Mikisúkî. Maskókî,erroneously called “Creek” by English speakers, isthe core language. Although Maskókî is spoken inOklahoma as well as in Florida, Mikisúkî is spokenin only one place on Earth: in South Florida, by themembers of the Seminole and Miccosukee tribes.

» It is a common error to believe that every word inone language translates directly into any otherlanguage. Language embodies the culture thatcreates it and so the concepts behind wordschange from culture to culture, or they may notexist at all.

Sources: Seminole and Miccosukee tribal records, interviews with elders

INDIAN CULTURE

Story continued on Page 4


Everglades National Park opened in 1947 andbrought more change. Park rules made it illegalfor Indians to collect plants and hunt animals formedicine and food. They could fish under parkrestrictions but not hunt deer, ibis, alligators oreven hogs, an invasive species.

By that point the reservation lands were al-ready polluted, flooded or both, reservation andtraditional Indians claim.

With parklands off-limits, and reservationlands practically devoid of animals to hunt, Indi-ans were further encouraged to move toward amodern life, to get a job and move away from thevillages and their traditional culture.

Their diet changed as well, switching fromnatural foods like gar fish, ibis and deer to KFC,Taco Bell and McDonald’s.

Physical changes can be seen in photo collec-tions from the Florida library system and at dis-plays in tribal museums. Before the 1900s, Indi-ans were smallish in build, muscular and lean.Even elders dressed in little more than loin-cloths and had the physiques of gymnasts. To-day, diabetes, obesity, heart disease and otherhealth issues — which Indians say weren’t prob-lematic before the 20th century — are prevalent.

Seminole tribe member Frank Billie Jr. saysthe old way of life kept people fit and that manylived past 100.

“When you’re carrying 300 or 400 pieces ofwood just to make a house, and about 2,000 or3,000 fronds that you have to carry on your back,you become a well-oiled machine. Especially thediet they had, everything was natural, no chem-icals,” he says. “Now we’re so used to Popeyes,hamburgers, cheeseburgers, that if you lay it infront of me, give me a fork. I enjoy it. I’m going toeat it up. But it wasn’t that way all my life. I didn’thardly eat any sweets until I was twenty-some-thing, because we weren’t allowed to eatsweets.”

Two tribesThe Seminoles were the first tribe to bring ex-

tensive gambling to reservation lands in the1970s. Bingo brought the first big influx of mon-ey in the 1980s; millions of dollars poured in eachyear. By 2004, the tribes were operating elec-tronic slot machines and blackjack tables. TheSeminole Tribe reports annual gambling earn-ings of nearly $2 billion.

The money has helped build schools, houses,fire and police stations and recreation centers.

Like trust fund babies in American society,reservation Indians want for little in the materi-al world. Over the past 30 years, gambling divi-dends have grown from a few hundred dollars ayear for reservation members to $100,000 ormore.

“A lot of our tribal members have gottenwealthy and they don’t want to do the commonlabor,” said Mondo Tiger, a Seminole reservationmember and representative for the Big Cypressreservation near Clewiston. “A lot of us have got-ten used to the finer things in life. I like to talktradition, but at the end of the day I’ll go homeand turn the AC on.”

Culture crashIndian culture was still isolated from the out-

side world nearly a century ago. The TamiamiTrail didn’t open until 1928, bringing tourists toroadside Indian villages to watch them sew,carve dugout canoes and make traditional foodssuch as sofkee and fry bread.

Indians took advantage of the road as well,traveling to Naples, Fort Myers, Miami and FortLauderdale to trade hides, buy food staples andclothing. Clothing changed from the SeminoleWar era, when men wore dresslike smocks, topants, neckties, belt buckles and bluejeans.

Michael C. Frank, center, and Cory Osceola, right, both members of the Miccosukee Tribe, take a break while scientists collect samples for an annual water quality study in the Riverof Grass. The samples were taken near historic native villages in one of the most remote parts of the Everglades. Once home to countless birds and animals, wildlife was sparse onthat day. Members of both tribes say it is because of poor water quality and management practices by federal and state agencies.

Kay Tiger, a member of the Miccosukee tribe,listens during a cultural event at the MiccosukeeEmbassy in Miami.

Continued from Page 3

James Holt wrestles an alligator during American Indian Day at the Miccosukee Resort and Casino. Alligatorwrestling dates back centuries and started as a way to secure food.

FIVE CENTURIES AND COUNTING

WHAT’SIN A NAME» Women are given one name, shortly after

their birth, and they keep it all throughtheir lives. Their names usually are wordstaken from medicine songs (ritual chants)and do not translate well. After a womanhas her first child, only her mother andolder clan relatives are permitted to use hername. All others refer to her in reference toher own child’s name, that is, as “so-and-so’s mother.”

» Men traditionally receive one name andmany titles during their lifetimes. Their boynames are discarded when they pass intomanhood (around age 14 or 15). They re-ceive ceremonial titles or earned titles inbattle or as community leaders. No oneknows the boyhood name of the famouswarrior called “Osceola” by English speak-ers. He was given the ceremonial title ofasén yahola. Asén is an important ceremo-nial drink. Yaha is the wolf, and yahola isthe cry of the wolf or the ritual song that issung when asén is drunk. English speakers,who could not pronounce his title correctly,made it Osceola. Today, Seminole men andwomen also have English names, in addi-tion to traditional names.

Sources: Seminole and Miccosukee tribal records,interviews with elders



» Natives: Descendants of people who lived in North,Central and South America before 1500. Some oralhistories say Viking explorers came to North Amer-ica centuries before Christopher Columbus sailed tothe Caribbean, so there may have been an earlierEuropean invasion that was not successful in chang-ing most Native traditions and cultures.

» Seminole: A group of about 3,800 Indians living inFlorida who are part of the Seminole Tribe of Flori-da. The word means “in its natural place” in theMiccosukee language, which is spoken by bothtribes.

» Miccosukee: A tribe of about 600 Indians who liveon the Miccosukee reservation, about 60 milessoutheast of Fort Myers. Miccosukee refers to theindigenous people of this continent as well as theirlanguage. Tribal records say Miccosukee were origi-nally part of the Creek Nation, and then migratedto Florida before it became part of the U.S., buttraditional Indians say Miccosukee have used Flori-da lands for thousands of years.

» Traditional: Indians who aren’t members of afederally recognized reservation. Also called in-dependents, about 100 remain today, and they donot receive gambling dividends, health care orother reservation amenities.

» Chickee: Structures made from cypress poles andwoven palm fronds. A chickee functions like a roomin a modern home. In a typical village, chickees areoften built in a massive circular pattern with acooking chickee in the center. These structures haveno hallways or walls. Some traditional Seminoles saythe lack of walls allows air to flow. Walled struc-tures, the story goes, keep air in an isolated area,exposing everyone in the room to germs, mentalillness and even a bad attitude.

» Medicine: Natural materials from plants and ani-mals used to treat physical and mental illness.

» Medicine man, or bundle carrier: An elder, typi-cally male, who knows how to properly gather theingredients in various medicines, concoct thosemedicines and administer them to those in need.

» Sofkee: A drink made from ground corn meal,roasted corn, dumplings and other starches. Somefamilies start every day by drinking sofkee with adozen or more family members.

» The number 4: Four is a special number in theIndian world. There are four moon phases, fourcolors on the Seminole and Miccosukee flags(white, red, yellow, black) and the period of mourn-ing after a clan member dies is four days. Somemodern tribal literature says the number 4 is alsolinked to directional headings: north, south, eastand west; but traditional Natives say they kept theirbearings while traveling by keeping track of theposition of the sun during the day and the moonand stars at night.

» Clan: The primary social structure, clans are anextended family of matriarchal order. Females arethe center of clans because they bear children. Eachclan is tied to an animal, plant or natural phenome-non. Now there are eight: Wind, Panther, Toad (orBigtown), Bird, Snake, Otter, Bear and Deer. Whenthe last female of a clan dies, the clan is consideredextinct.

» Totem pole, or talking tree: A woodcarving usedto convey history and traditions. Totem poles arelike books, physical representations of conceptssuch as family, geographic locations and spiritualbeliefs.

Sources: Interviews with reservation and traditionalNatives, tribal records.

NATIVE WORDSAND PHRASES

Secretive societyReservation life even divides clans and fam-

ilies. While some Indians are millionaires, otherslive in chickee camps, which range in size from asingle hut to modern structures and garages.

Frank Billie Jr.’s family is divided among tra-ditional and reservation Natives. Victor Billie isFrank’s brother. While they’re very close in afamily sense and even work together as employ-ees of the reservation, Frank and Victor are op-posites.

Frank often wears Miami Heat hats and T-shirts, jeans and a pair of work shoes or boots.Victor wears a traditional, hand-sewn Seminoleshirt, several sets of colorful beads, jeans and apair of purple cowboy boots that he bought at aflea market in Clewiston. He likes the color.

“I can’t tell you what they mean,” Victor sayswhen asked what the red, yellow, black and whitebeads draped around his neck mean in a spiritualsense. “I can’t go that far.”

Some Indians struggle to find their place inthe modern world. The Billie brothers grew up ina traditional village.

But Frank wanted reservation money andjoined the Seminole Tribe at the age of 17.

Now 42, he recently resigned from the Semi-nole Tribe’s cultural education department be-cause he no longer feels comfortable sharing In-dian history and culture with outsiders.

“There are a lot of things that we keep secret,and the outside world needs to recognize that,”Frank Billie Jr. says. “We can talk about somethings, but then there’s a point where we can’t.We’re not supposed to go that far. And that’s whywe’re still alive today.”

And while many Indians try to keep theirlives, beliefs and traditions secret, both tribeshost extensive public celebrations.

American Indian Day, held last September atthe Miccosukee reservation, is one of the mostimportant public displays of song, dance, alliga-tor wrestling and patchwork clothing — strips ofcolorful fabric that are sewn together in patternsto make dresses, shirts and coats.

“We’ll let the public come and go ahead andshare our culture and give them an opportunityto get to know us,’’ says Colley Billie, chairman ofthe Miccosukee Tribe of Indians of Florida. “To

Mad Bear Osceola totes a pair of gar fish he caught in a canal along Tamiami Trail near his home in BigCypress National Preserve. Gar is a popular native food. He and his family don’t fish as often they did yearsago due to the high mercury levels found in South Florida species. Mad Bear and his family, except hismother, live as independents and don’t receive funds from the Miccosukee Tribe.

Tampa area Seminole Bobby Henry leads a group of visitors at the Big Cypress Seminole Reservation during a demonstration of a traditional stomp welcome dance. Thesetypes of dances date back thousands of years and are only shown to the public during native days.

George Billie, 86, grew up in a remote Seminoletraditional village and is one of thegroundskeepers at the Ah-Tha-Thi-Ki Museumat the Big Cypress Seminole Reservation. He is amember of the Seminole Tribe. The Billie nameis prominent on the Big Cypress Reservationbecause the family helped pave the way forreservation status.

“Our way of life is gone.

We lived our way in the

Everglades, the happy way,

the good way. When I was

young, you could drink the

water. You could hunt and fish,

and that was your lifetime.”— MICHAEL FRANK Story continued on Page 6



» 1510: Year Spanish explorersarrived

» 12,000: Years the SeminoleTribe says Indians have lived in South Florida

» 200,000: Estimated numberof Indians in Florida before 1500

» Under 200: Indians living in Florida after the SeminoleWars (1818-1858)

» 4,400: Estimated populationof Seminole and Miccosukee in Florida

» 100: Estimated number of non-reservation Indians in Florida

» 2: Tribes in Florida: Seminoleand Miccosukee

» 1957: Year Seminole Tribe of Florida formed

» 1962: Year Miccosukee Tribeof Indians of Florida formed

» 6,000: Palm fronds needed to construct a garage-sizedchickee

» 8: Clans, or Indian familyunits still living, called Panther,Wind, Bear, Snake, Otter, Toad,Bird, Deer

Sources: Tribal records, interviews

BY THE NUMBERS

F rank Billie Jr. takes a drag off a Marlborored while sitting in the shade of a cypressand palmetto chickee on the Big Cypress

Seminole Reservation, about 60 miles southeastof Fort Myers.

“Our way of life is dying with our fullbloods, and some people say that’s the way ithas to be,” Frank says. “Some say that we can’tteach a half-blood — two half-breeds can’tmake a whole.”

Frank Billie Jr. and his brother, Victor Billie,are part of an estimated 300 full-blooded reser-vation Indians. The other 3,500 or so are mixedwith white, Hispanic, black and Asian.

The Billie name is prominent in the tribesand traditional world and has been used amongSeminole and Miccosukee since the early1800s. Frank, 42, is a conquered Indian, he says,a member of the Seminole Tribe of Florida. Hisbrother Victor, 53, is unconquered, a traditionalIndian who refuses to sign up with either reser-vation.

Although they grew up in the same tradi-tional village, luxuries of the modern worldlured Frank to the reservation, the gamblingdividends and modern life. He took some class-es in college but mostly partied. Decades later,Frank Billie is trying to rebuild himself, work-ing with elders and living a sober life.

“The Seminole Tribe and Miccosukee Tribeare conquered. I signed on when I was 17, soI’m part of the conquered tribe,” Frank says.“The traditional Seminoles and traditionalMiccosukees, who haven’t signed up with res-ervations, are the real unconquered.”

Victor is part of the real unconquered. Al-though he is an employee of the tribe, whichemploys more than 2,000 people according totribal records, Victor does not receive gam-bling dividends and lives a more basic, oldworld life. He refuses to join a reservationbecause it would be against his spiritual be-

liefs. Money has nothing to do with the dividebetween reservation and traditional Indians.The deal-breaker for Indians is signing theirnames on American documents. That act isseen by traditional Indians as giving up yourculture, family and identity.

“Money ain’t everything,” Victor says. “In asense of culture and a way of life, I like to keepthat intact.”

A modern IndianWhile his family, almost all of whom are

traditional Indians, wear colorful patchworkshirts and dresses and exotic-looking jewelry,Frank dresses more like a security guard at anightclub. He typically wears a uniform-likeoutfit of white T-shirts, black or blue jeans,black Miami Heat baseball hats and really darksunglasses.

He’s a muscular guy with a deep voice andintense demeanor. Like many other Indians, herarely smiles. History and the present havegiven him little to smile about — other than hispeople’s ability to survive wars, disease andurban encroachment.

“Thanksgiving, those types of things wedon’t celebrate,” he says while a lunch of deer,whole fried bass, beef gravy, rice and sofkeecooks in a nearby chickee hut. “We filled youup and you turned around and slaughtered us.If you want to celebrate it, by all means, goahead and celebrate it, but don’t expect me andsome of my people to.”

Frank worked for the tribe’s cultural re-sources department but resigned recently, hesays, because he felt he was sharing too manySeminole secrets with outsiders. Keeping hisIndian culture separate from work was toodifficult, a fine line that he felt he could nolonger walk.

Aside from the personal struggles to keep

their heritage and cultural roots intact, theoutside world hasn’t helped either define hislife, either.

“Before I became a tribal member I got intosome trouble and I went to court and they hadme classified as an illegal alien,” Frank says.“They were going to deport me. So I ask thejudge, ‘Where are you going to send me? I’m anative of this land.’”

Ancient beliefsVictor wears a traditional, hand-sewn Semi-

nole shirt, several sets of colorful beads, jeansand a pair of purple cowboy boots that hebought at a flea market in Clewiston. He likesthe color. Victor also dons sunglasses and aFlorida State baseball cap, although he doesn’tfollow the school or its sports teams. WhileIndians have varying opinions of whether mas-cots for college and professional teams areinsensitive or racist, they often wear FSU hatsand shirts.

Victor can’t tell outsiders about his beliefs,only that the Indians were here before theEuropeans and that “the Creator” made theplants, animals and Indians.

Victor’s education came strictly from hiselders, who conveyed Indian history and sto-ries to both him and Frank as children. Andwhile Frank went on to public schools, Victorlearned about life and values from his clan. Heknows towns and areas by these stories, suchas the history behind the word Immokalee —which comes from the Indian word ‘muglee.’

“We existed long before the European gothere. We hunted, we gathered, we looked afterour females and we had kids,” Victor says.“The true base of freedom, we had it. We didn’thave to pay taxes. We didn’t answer to no gov-ernment but our own. We were just standing onour own feet.”

Some modern Indians struggle to retain identity

get to know that there’s more than just a casinoout here. We are a group of people. We’re just likeeverybody else. We want to be respected. Wewant to be recognized; but, at the same time, wealso want to be left alone.”

These events, along with maintaining mu-seums and libraries on the reservations, are howthey try to balance their traditions while accept-ing parts of the modern world.

Oral stories are used to convey history andtypically do not focus on a specific person. No in-dividual is glorified or memorialized for theirachievements. Traditionally, when an Indiandies, the memory of that person and his or hername fades with time.

The land is aliveThe land is a living history, a reference point

around which the Indian world whirs.Frank knows the exact spot in the swamp

where he was born, and uses it as a reference towhere other villages and camps are located. Hecan point to it on a map of tribal lands, which sitbetween Big Cypress National Preserve, Ever-glades National Park and the sprawling Miamimetropolis. He also knows where his mother andfather were born, and where they first met andwere later married.

His ancestors are buried in the Everglades.Their remains, he says, supply the nutrients andfoundation on which trees and plants now grow— plants that are harvested for medicine, food,tools and building supplies. Burying people in anatural way allows their bodies to decompose.Indians often planted fruit or oak trees on top ofthe actual burial sites, which were typically lo-cated on cypress tree islands and near camps.The trees grew on top of the bodies of their an-cestors, and the trees, in turn, provided food, firewood and medicine.

“That’s our existence. If we don’t have campsand use our land, we lose our lives, our exis-tence,” says Frank, part of the last generation ofMiccosukees who were born and raised in theEverglades.

Miccosukee chickee huts on Miccosukee tribal lands used for commercial purposes are lit by a setting sun.

Charlie Osceola, 14, a student at the Miccosukee School, takes part in a water quality test during a tripon remote Miccosukee tribal lands in the Everglades. The samples were taken next to private campsowned by members of the Miccosukee tribe.



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Afaded Seminole flag flies tattered,hanging, literally, by threads alongthe Tamiami Trail about 60 milessoutheast of Fort Myers.

LeRoy M. Osceola, seventh-generation son of the famed Seminole ChiefOsceola, rubs his right hand in a counterclock-wise motion against the surface of a hand-carved cypress table, summoning the oral his-tories of his people.

“You can’t see it,” he says of the traditionalIndian ways. “It’s who you are.”

The 56-year-old is one of eight members ofthe Council of the Original Miccosukee Sima-nolee Nation of Aboriginal People, a group oftraditional Indians who are not affiliated withthe Seminole or Miccosukee tribes. Theirstruggle is against Americanization. They don’twant to be part of modern society, and they seethe reservations as extensions of a governmentthat has killed and suppressed their people forcenturies.

“When you surrender, you’re surrenderingeverything the Creator gave you. And by join-ing the reservation, you’re accepting this otherway of life,” he says, “In our way, there arecertain healings or medicine or counseling thatyou can do if people are mischievous, donecrimes or hurt their own people. But when yousurrender, when you sell out, there’s no curefor that.”

There are more Florida panthers than tradi-tional Indians, he says, fewer than 100. Andwhile panthers and other wild animals enjoylegal protection, this group of Indians is nearlyextinct.

“We want to contact other people and letthem know we’re still here,” he says. “OtherNatives (aboriginal people in other countries)know we’re here — like South America andAfrica. We have to reach out and talk to themand see who wants to help us.”

To get a better understanding of their livesin the Everglades, The News-Press spent thelast eight months traveling through the Indianworld, recording voices that have been mostlysilent over the past 500 years.

“When you don’t say anything, disease goesover the life,” says Bobby C. Billie, 68, also partof the traditional movement. His English ischoppy but mostly intelligible. “So you have tocome up and try to stop that. Whatever hasbeen done to you, try to heal them. Speak tothem so they can heal themselves, to realizewhat they’re doing to the Mother Earth.”

Unlike previous generations, LeRoy, BobbyC. and other traditional Indians share theirlives and the struggle to retain ancient tradi-tions with outsiders. They must convince non-Indians, they say, to stop polluting water anddeveloping wild lands.

The reservation divideLeRoy’s family is split between traditional

and reservation Indians. His wife is a memberof the Miccosukee Tribe and gets gambling andresort dividends from the tribal corporation,reportedly $100,000 or more per year. But be-cause she’s a reservation Indian, LeRoy says,she will go to the Indian equivalent of hell. Theleader of four generations of traditional Indi-ans, he hopes to spare his children and futuregenerations the same fate.

“I call it a pawnshop,” LeRoy says of reser-vations. “That’s where you go to sell who youare — your kids. Today they sell little kids overthere that have no say.”

Another goal of the Council of the OriginalMiccosukee Simanole Nation of AboriginalPeople is to steer Indian children away fromthe reservations and the federal governmentand toward a more ancient, spiritual life. Le-Roy, Bobby C. and other traditionals speak withreservation Indians. Some of their siblings areeven tribal members, but they want to keepfuture generations from joining.

Apparently that idea is not well-received bythe tribes.

“I think we represent what they’re trying toleave behind,” LeRoy says. “If they acknowl-edge us, their kids are going to say ‘Why is itdifferent?’ And they’ll have to explain it. Be-cause (reservation life) is just a lifestyle — it’snot a thousand-year-old culture. They say we’reliving in the past, that we don’t have anything.When they say that they’re talking about mon-ey. To us, money is not our way. We can makemoney to spend and buy things, but it’s not ourway.”

He’s full-blooded Miccosukee and qualifiesfor reservation status, land for a home andgambling dividends, but LeRoy is a holdout. Hecan’t live completely off the land, he says, be-cause pollution from Lake Okeechobee hascontaminated the fish and animals. Make nomistake: LeRoy is not an American, he says.He’s a Native of this land, part of a people whohave endured a 500-year military occupation,he says.

With a lineage that includes chiefs, medicinemen and other Indian leaders, LeRoy’s lifewould be different if Europeans hadn’t takenover North America. Had their culture andtraditions stayed intact fully, LeRoy wouldlikely be what Americans call the chief, thoughwords like “chief,” ‘tribe” and “war” are offen-sive to LeRoy and his culture because they areAmerican terms that he says are used in derog-atory ways.

Like countless generations before, tradition-al Indians do not pledge allegiance to the Unit-ed States or celebrate the Fourth of July, aholiday that, from their perspective, pays hom-age to outsiders who killed their people andstole their land.

“If we go, everything is going to go, too,”LeRoy says.

Indian laws and government structure arealready in place, LeRoy says, and could be usedagain. Example: LeRoy’s uncle, John Osceola,at the age of 80, shot a Seminole man in 1938for breaking Indian laws, LeRoy says.

“In the old days (before guns) they’d useclubs to break their skulls,” he says of tradi-tional punishments, which vary according tothe crime. “It doesn’t have to be death. Theycut off your arms, limbs, your tongue.”

Rebuilding an Indian nation Hand-drawn maps from this traditional

Indian group show a future with only Indiansliving in Southwest Florida, from Sarasota tonorth of Lake Okeechobee and then south toFlorida Bay. This land was taken by Americansthrough violence, they say. Traditional Indiansintend to take it back morally, by having Amer-icans and the outside world realize their mis-takes, correct those mistakes and then leavethe region.

That plan, if realized, would include remov-ing cities like Cape Coral, Fort Myers, Naples,Immokalee and Clewiston and replacing themwith Indian villages and farms. The goal is toretake South Florida and use the area as a baseto take back all the Americas, from the ArcticCircle to Cape Horn, the southernmost tip ofSouth America.

This is a prediction Bobby C. repeats, part ofa vision he and other Indians relay: Americawill destroy itself and Indians will regain con-trol of the entire continent. The downfall willinclude natural disasters and infrastructurefailures.

“It’s going to happen naturally, so we’re notconcerned because, right now, just like thepower plants, all those things are not going towork anymore,” he says. “The Mother Earth isgetting smaller and smaller because of humanpopulation. You can see earthquakes, you cansee floods, you can see heat, all of those thingsstart happening now. And that’s going to keephappening.”

{ CHAPTER 2 }

T R A D I T I O N S

Down the road: A moral takeoverTraditional Indians plan to take back land by persuading others to see the error of their ways

Chickees used by traditional indians for cultural and traditional events are lit by a setting sun. Chickees were designed to be quick and easy to build and are made of cypress and palmetto thatching.

About 10 members of the Osceola family live at the Otter camp off of the Tamiami Trail in Big Cypress National Preserve. The oak tree in the middle is used for medicinalpurposes, according to LeRoy M. Osceola.

Sisters Laurie-Sandra Osceola, right, and Jenna Osceola, preparecorn for grinding that will be made into sofkee, a traditionalnative drink.

“I call it a pawnshop. That’swhere you go to sell who you are —your kids. Today they sell littlekids over there that have no say.”— LEROY M. OSCEOLA says of reservations


A light breeze carries the scent of burntoak and cypress while Standing BearOsceola scampers by a purple and crim-

son rooster at an Indian village deep inside theEverglades.

Maybe twice as tall as the talon-rearingchicken, Standing Bear, 20 months, is the new-est member of this arm of the Bird clan, one ofeight Indian family units still alive. His familyis raising him in a traditional, non-reservationsetting, which means he likely won’t regularlybe exposed to English until kindergarten.

“He knows how to give a high five, but hewon’t give it to you unless you ask in Miccosu-kee,” Standing Bear’s uncle, Mad Bear, sayswhile watching over his nephew, whose namemeans “to learn and to come home” in Miccosu-kee.

The Osceola village is a living, breathinghistory of the area. The camp is home to about10 people — the number varies with clan andfamily needs. Massive pots and pans, weath-ered from generations of use, line the cypressrafter inside the wall-less cooking chickees.Beside the chickee is a more modern structure— it functions like a stand-alone kitchen. Un-like modern homes that encompass all roomsinto one structure, villages are made of individ-ual rooms. There are no hallways or doors. Theopen structures offer a somewhat cool retreatduring hot summers, and the lack of walls al-lows the Indians to always breathe fresh air.

The clan life Clans are matriarchal and related to an ani-

mal or natural event. Where once hundreds ofclans existed (the rest killed off or lost theircultural ties), eight Indian clans exist in Floridaon and off the reservation: Bird, Panther, Otter,Wind, Toad (or Bigtown), Snake, Bear and Deer.

If the mother is in the Wind clan, all of herchildren will be as well. The role of the fatherand mother is different than in American cul-ture, too. The children belong to the clan, who

typically have input on who their daughterswill marry. The clan also determines when awoman can have a child.

Mad Bear is Standing Bear’s matriarchaluncle, a lifelong mentor.

Clan leader LeRoy M. Osceola, a member ofthe Otter clan and Mad Bear’s father, explainsthe family structure while sitting in a smallmodern building that he has converted into anart studio.

“In our way, if you pass 10 years old youbecome an adult,” LeRoy says. “So you gothrough a ceremony and you drop your babyname, your given name, your birth name andyou’re given the Creator’s name, the namesthat he gave us. Over time, when an elder dies,the names are recycled according to the clans.The name I have is my grandfather’s.”

The core family consists of LeRoy; his moth-er, Peggy Osceola, in her 80s or 90s; wife, Cas-sandra, 51; sons, Mad Bear and Willie Osceola,35; and daughters Lea Osceola, 34, Jenna Osce-ola, 27, and Sandra-Laurie Osceola, 23. Theyattended Miccosukee reservation schoolthrough grade 8, then went to high schools inthe Miami area.

“They used to ask me if I lived in a teepee.Some people thought I lived in trees. Theywould do this,” Sandra-Laurie says while pat-ting her hand over her mouth, her lips shaped

Mad Bear Osceola totes a pair of gar fish he caught in a canal along Tamiami Trail near his home in Big Cypress National Preserve. Gar is a popular native food and is roasted over acypress and oak fire. He and his family don't fish as often they did years ago, due to the high mercury levels found in South Florida species.

Village life offers glimpse at history

LeRoy M. Osceola and his family spend an afternoon together at their clan camp along the Tamiami Trail. Although there are several modern structures, they usetraditional chickees like this daily. Four generations of traditional Indians in the Otter and Bird clans live on the land.

LeRoy M. Osceola leads a traditional life in aMiccosukee camp inside Big Cypress NationalPreserve. He is part of four generations ofindependent Natives.



into an O. “I can’t imagine why anyone wouldtake something like that and make a joke aboutit.”

Technology, art, medicineTraditional Indians don’t necessarily shun

modern things or technologies. LeRoy has acouple of pickups, a cellphone, even an In-ternet site to sell his art, woodcarvings andT-shirt prints.

He also carves totem poles, or talking trees.One shows several Natives at the base layer.They’re holding above their heads the universe— which is represented by a ball inside fourposts. The ball is wooden and can be moved byhand. On top of the universe is a bald eagle,which represents the Bird clan.

As a young man he built chickee huts in theMiami area. In 1987, he gave up the workingworld and started painting and carving totempoles for a living. He turned away from themodern world and turned his focus inward, onbecoming a spiritual leader, raising non-reser-vation kids and guarding the traditional Osceo-la lands.

Modest in height and broad of chest, LeRoykeeps a mohawk. It tapers from front to backand extends into a ponytail. Like traditionalSeminole and Miccosukee patchwork clothing,artwork and totem poles, LeRoy’s body tells astory — his forearms and hands a canvas oflong triangles, his upper arms marked withnative depictions and spiritual codes.

A length of cord wrapped around his neckattaches to a small pouch that rests on his ster-num. He won’t reveal the contents, but it likelycontains traditional medicine, which can bemade from plant and animal parts and is typi-cally blended and blessed by a medicine man.

“It protects me,” LeRoy says, sitting under asprawling oak tree, which supports a massiveset of steel wind chimes that only clang duringhurricane-like conditions.

Against what he won’t say. There’s no need for a church building, as all

facets of traditional life and cultural practicesare woven into spiritual beliefs.

“People go to church and they have thispicture of a white guy they pray to, but wedon’t do that,” he says. “We go by words, whathe told us. It’s thousands and thousands andthousands of years old, but we still practice it.We don’t have to get together. Nobody has totell us every week what to do, what is wrong.”

Peggy Osceola, LeRoy’s mother, only speaksMiccosukee and related Native languages,which sometimes share common terms. Peggyis reclusive, at least when outsiders visit thecamp. LeRoy translates for her.

She remembers a life without white people,a time when the Everglades was still largelycontrolled by Indians.

“It was real good because you don’t know allthe bad things out there,” Peggy says whenasked what life in the Everglades was like 80years ago. “There were no cars or white peopleor machinery.”

Reservation tiesLeRoy’s wife, Cassandra, tradition says, will

not be with him and the other traditional Indi-ans in the Creator’s afterlife because she is areservation Indian — which means she is goingto a hellish existence after this life. LeRoycan’t explain exactly what she will face afterdeath, but he says of her long-term future: “It’sbad.”

Cassandra is a reservation Miccosukee. Herfamily signed her up when she was 2, she says.Cassandra’s afterlife was decided the momenther family put her name on Americanized pa-perwork. It’s not the reservation money, whichcan be $100,000 or more per year, that sealedCassandra’s fate. The signature and acceptanceof an outside culture has doomed her to aneternity of pain and torture, LeRoy and othertraditional Indians say.

Reservation dividends help pay for food,vehicles, gas and the electric bill. But unlikesome reservation Indians, Cassandra lives inthe Osceola camp. Making money is not againsttraditional life. Indians traded goods and cur-rencies for thousands of years. It’s OK forthem to get a job, have health insurance, own ahome, invest in savings plans and buy airboatsand cars.

She finds solace in the present, where shecan still have an impact on the future of herchildren and grandchildren.

“It doesn’t mean it’s the end of this world,”Cassandra says, explaining how she copes withthe idea of going to a “bad” place after she dies.“I have children, and I can instill these thingsin them. I was never taught this (on the reser-vation). I learned most of it (the traditional lifeand laws) from LeRoy .”

Peggy Osceola, who believes she is more than 80 years old, is a traditional Miccosukee Native and thematriarch of the Osceola family. She prepares sofkee, a common drink that is typically made from corn. Thisclan of 10 starts nearly every day with a communal light breakfast.


Mad Bear Osceola plays with his nephew,Standing Bear Osceola. In their culture, a maleserves as a mentor, teaching lifelong skills likebuilding a chickee or dugout canoe.

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B obby C. Billie watched from the shores ofSt. Augustine as a state-sponsored flotillaof Spanish replica ships paraded along the

coast to commemorate what became the de-struction of his people and way of life, he says.

“That Spanish celebration (Viva Florida 500),if you want us to celebrate, you let go the (cele-bration of) Spanish people that came and slaugh-tered us,” Bobby C. Billie says. “Get rid of thefort. Let the Native peoples build and put (a me-morial) on top. That’s the only way we’re going tocelebrate. Otherwise, we don’t want it.”

As a boy in the late 1950s, he grew up in a cy-press and palmetto chickee village just north ofthe Tamiami Trail, about 50 miles southeast ofNaples. Bobby C. never saw outsiders, didn’tknow there were people of different skin tones,cultures and histories. His life consisted of hunt-ing and fishing, learning Indian language andtraditions such as how to gather, prepare and ad-minister medicines made from plant and animalparts. And while he still sees his immediate fam-ily, Bobby C. has ventured into the outside worldonly in hopes of educating Americans on how totake care of the environment.

Bobby C., as friends and other Indians callhim, is not part of a tribe — which means no gam-bling and resort dividends like the 4,400 or so In-dians living on the Seminole and Miccosukeereservations. He’s what’s called a traditional, anindependent Indian who shuns money and thematerial world as much as possible. There areabout 100 left. They live mostly in remote vil-lages and small towns between Lake Okeecho-bee and Ochopee, Collier County.

“The recognized tribes choose modern life,”he says. “We can’t choose it because the Creatorchooses our life for us. That makes us who weare. That’s why we say independent, becausewe’re kind of separate from them.”

Now 68, Bobby C. lives on a remote outpostjust north of Lake Okeechobee and is a memberof the Council of the Original Miccosukee Sima-nolee Nation of Aboriginal Peoples, a movementamong traditional and some reservation Indiansto retake South Florida. This good-looking manwith chiseled facial features, flowing blacklocks peppered with gray, soft brown eyes and amassive smile can’t read English, and doesn’twrite, although he has learned to sign his name.

He first learned to speak English about 20years ago, he says, when he met Shannon Larson,who moved to the Lake Okeechobee area fromOregon to help Bobby C. navigate the modernworld.

“When you don’t say anything, disease goesover the life,” he says while gazing into the dis-tance. His English is choppy but mostly intelligi-ble. “So you have to come up and try to stop that.Whatever has been done to you, try to heal them.Speak to them so they can heal themselves, torealize what they’re doing to the Mother Earth.”

Bobby C. carries his version of history in col-orful manila folders, which contain hand-drawnmaps, old treaties, and what he calls “the fourpages.”

Those pages are translations of dreams, inwhich ancestors speak to him. Bobby C. thentells those stories to Larson, who types them intoEnglish. The order of the words, Bobby C. says,is designed to infiltrate the subconscious ofAmerican people, to plant subliminal seeds. Inturn, he says, those who read his words will havedreams of their own, and be guided by a higherpower.

Finding his wayAs a young man, Bobby C. worked as an alliga-

tor wrestler on the east coast near Hollywood.After a few weeks on the job, he said he realizedthat devoting his life to saving the Evergladesand the traditions and culture of his people wasmore important than chasing an Americanizeddream.

“The elders have said the dollar, the headthat’s on it, it’s a dead person,” he says, describ-ing the teachings of his clan. “And those deadheads will easily take over the natural mind youhave. So if you received a dollar, spend it rightaway. Don’t put it in your pocket.”

He doesn’t chase the American dream, but hedoes need money and assistance; he hasn’t had ajob in decades and can’t hunt and fish like he didas a child. Friends and family support him finan-cially, he says, kind of like a church pays apreacher.

While he appears in good physical shape, hehas no health insurance. He does have a driver’slicense (DOT issues licenses to illiterate peoplewho pass driving tests), even a Social Securitycard.

He needs the former to legally drive his greenToyota pickup across South Florida, which hedoes regularly to meet with other traditional In-dians who are part of his aboriginal movementand to meet with reservation Indians.

Working with outsidersBobby C. describes his relationship with Lar-

son as a bother-sister bond. They made a ceremo-nial oath to protect each other for the rest oftheir lives. Larson handles phone calls and an-swers email questions for Bobby C. He doesn’tlike to use modern technology but knows it hasuses, especially when it comes to his goal of edu-cating Americans about ecological and spiritualbalance.

Why does he speak to the media and others? “We need you to change the others of your

people,” he tells The News-Press. “That’s whywe work together, to help each other. Also, you’repart of the creation. They told us, you’re a care-taker of the creation. So we have to make themunderstand how important it is to save the futuregenerations of the food, or the water, or the rainor the winds, anything.”

Bobby C., Larson says, has taken on the re-sponsibility of fixing the Everglades and regain-ing Florida for Indians, and that the weight takesa toll. The odds of traditional Indians retakingSouthwest Florida are slim, but he pushes for-ward as though the process is underway.

The couple often travel to environmentalgatherings throughout the historic Everglades,where Bobby C. speaks to Americans and othertraditional and tribal Indians.

“People are so drawn to him,” Larson sayswhile sitting near the banks of Fisheating Creeknear Lake Okeechobee during an Earth First en-vironmental gathering. “They want him tospeak. They want to hear the stories from him.It’s tough on him. He gets tired, but he keeps ongoing.”

This is a prediction he repeats, part of a visionhe and other Indians relay: America will destroyitself, and Indians will regain control of the en-tire continent.

“It’s going to happen naturally, so we’re notconcerned because, right now, just like the pow-er plants, all those things are not going to workanymore,” he says.

Seminole Bobby C. Billie, bottom front, oversees a flotilla of airboats during a water quality study. Althoughhe is a traditional native not affiliated with either tribe, he is widely regarded among South Florida natives.Driving is Miccosukee Steve Tigertail.

Man on a missionSpiritual leader Bobby C. Billie predicts America will self-destruct

“We need you to change the others of your people. That’s why wework together, to help each other. Also, you’re part of the creation.They told us, you’re a caretaker of the creation. So we have to makethem understand how important it is to save the future generationsof the food, or the water, or the rain or the winds, anything.”— BOBBY C. BILLIE

Bobby C. Billie, a traditional Seminole born and raised in a remote village in the Everglades, is a spiritualleader and medicine man. He is highly regarded by both tribes and traditional natives. He is one of severaldozen independent natives who aren't part of a reservation and don't receive gambling dividends.Although he is illiterate and jobless he is influential amongst the tribes.

From left, Cecil Osceola, Cory Osceola, MichaelFrank, and Bobby C. Billie take a morning coffeebreak while visiting Frank's family camp onMiccosukee tribal lands in the Everglades. Theywere taking part in an annual water quality studyconducted by the tribe.


Cobalt blues and salmon pinks flash bylike a meteor shower during a newmoon as a group of middle school stu-dents parade through the main hall ofthe Miccosukee Embassy in Miami.

Dressed in colorful patchwork shirts anddresses, the 18 students are here to say thepledge of allegiance. The pledge isn’t to theAmerican flag. It’s to the Miccosukee flag and apeople who have survived 500 years of oppres-sion.

“All helping one another,” as one line sayswhen translated into English.

These children are tribal members, part own-ers of the vast gambling and resort corporation.They’re also the newest generation of the Micco-sukee Tribe of Indians of Florida, who numberabout 600 and live mostly on reservation landsabout 100 miles southeast of Fort Myers.

Once finished, the children scamper off to thebanks of the Miami River, the aquatic artery thatonce connected the Miccosukee to the entire Ev-erglades. There they eat fry bread and sip sodas,talk about the Internet, cellphones and school.

Miccosukee chairman Colley Billie takes thestage, his baritone voice bouncing off the marblefloor.

“It was our refuge, it was a place that fed us,”Billie says. “And the reason we wound up in theEverglades is because the United States govern-ment was unleashed on us to exterminate us. Wewent into the Florida Everglades as a place ofrefuge. We will always consider it our home.”

The Everglades has changed in the last centu-ry, and Indians have changed with it. From amostly ancient life of hunting, gathering andspiritual ceremonies, modern Indians have mas-tered the American economic model, building aninternational casino and resort empire.

The challenge is maintaining traditions andprotecting the Everglades from further ecologi-cal damage while integrating technology andmoving even more into the modern world.

Business, tradition a delicate balance

Tribes aspire to keep old ways while prospering in modern world

Miccosukee children show off traditional clothing during a cultural event at the Miccosukee Embassy in Miami. They were playing in limestone caves under the embassy that wereonce used by natives as a place to seek refuge from hurricanes and tropical storms.

{ CHAPTER 3 }

T H E F U T U R E


Colley Billie, the chairman of the Miccosukee tribe, welcomes visitors during a media day at theMiccosukee Embassy in Miami. He says the tribe is open to communicating with the outside world, butthat natives want to be left alone. Behind him is a portrait of Buffalo Tiger, who was instrumental inthe formation of the reservation.

“We went into the FloridaEverglades as a place ofrefuge. We will alwaysconsider it our home.” COLLEY BILLIE


Like any group, they vary in personal beliefs,spiritual convictions and financial status, but allfactions The News-Press interviewed over thepast eight months have similar goals: Grow theirpower and influence across the region — eco-nomically, environmentally and spiritually.

The tribesThe tribes are taking control through a gam-

bling and resort empire that brings in billions ofdollars of revenue each year (the Seminole Tribereported $2 billion in revenue in 2012).

The Seminole Tribe of Florida and the Micco-sukee Tribe of Indians of Florida own resortsthroughout much of Florida, the United Statesand in Europe and Asia.

These businesses started as high-stakes bin-go in the 1970s, when the federal governmentgave exclusive gambling rights to Indian tribes.Although casinos were already established inthe Miami area, the tribes have since establishedgambling in Tampa, Immokalee, Hollywood, Da-nia, Clewiston and Brighton. The businessesbring in billions of dollars of revenue each year,and members reportedly get $100,000 or more inannual dividends for being part of the tribe.

Business ventures include: » Casinos in Florida, Mississippi, Nevada,

Ohio, Dominican Republic, China and Singapore» Resorts in Florida, California, Mexico,

Thailand and Malaysia» Extensive cattle and farming operations.Even sponsorships of a NASCAR team from

2002 through 2009 were part of their economicDNA.

The Seminole Tribe is looking to expand itsempire. After canceling plans to build a $465 mil-lion casino in Atlantic City, the Seminole Tribe isreportedly interested in buying the Revel CasinoHotel, which would also give them an Internetgambling license — another entry into the gam-bling world.

And there is talk of expanding its Immokaleecasino, including a possible Hard Rock hotelnearby.

The money means the tribes can hire attor-neys and water management experts to fight orsupport state or federal water policy changes orany Everglades restoration projects.

“It’s not that we want to sue them,” says Mic-cosukee Tribe member Michael Frank about wa-ter management agencies and the National ParkService. “It’s just that they break their ownlaws.”

Traditionals The traditional Indians — relatives of tribe

Indians who shun reservation life and Americanpolitics — are fighting a moral and spiritual bat-tle, citing human rights violations, genocide andcenturies-old treaties.

The future of the traditional Indians seemsgrim. As many have said, they are going extinct.They don’t keep count of their people — it’sagainst their cultural ways — but the estimatedpopulation is around 100.

“In the old days we were taught to keep out ofthe white man’s way, but there are so many thatwe have to stand up and fight for ourselves,” tra-ditional Indian LeRoy M. Osceola explains.

They also want access to the national parklands — millions of acres Indians used for centu-ries. Everglades National Park lands were usedto gather medicine, building materials and food.Those practices are now illegal because thelands are within a national park. Losing thoselands makes living a traditional Indian life evenmore difficult, some say.

Bobby C. Billie and other Indians say theselaws are used to force traditional Indians to live amore modern life. Regardless of their desires tohunt, fish and use medicine in their ancientways, the outside world has made that life virtu-

The sun rises over the River of Grass off of the Tamiami Trail. The land was and still is used by both Seminoles and Miccosukees for hunting, medicinal and other uses.

The Miccosukee Resort and Casino, on the outskirtsof Miami. It was built in 1998 and is a key source ofannual dividends for tribal members whoparticipate in the system.

Miccosukee tribal member Bobby Tigertail and his grandson, Jonovan Tigertail, 7, were taking visitors toMiccusukee Indian Day on airboat rides at the tribal resort and casino.


Tampa-area Seminole Bobby Henry leads a group of visitors at BigCypress Seminole Reservation on a demonstration of a traditionalwelcome dance.

BY THENUMBERS» 500,000: Dollars theSeminole tribe contributedto Gov. Rick Scott’s re-elec-tion campaign in 2013

» 1 Billion: Dollars theSeminole tribe has given tothe state since 2008 as partof the gambling compact

» 50 Million: Dollars tobuild the Miccosukee casinoand resort on the TamiamiTrail about 100 miles south-east of Fort Myers

» 23,000: Jobs directly orindirectly created throughSeminole gaming operations

» 10 Million: Dollars inpayout money during aweeklong Seminole pokertournament

» 62: Million: Dollars inwinnings and prizes givenaway at the Immokaleecasino monthly

» 9: Number of the Miccosu-kee NASCAR teams from2002 through 2009

» 2013: The year the Semi-noles released Hard RockEnergy drink

Sources: Seminole and Miccosukeetribal records, interviews



ally impossible through laws and regulations. “We have to talk to the government or Big Cy-

press preserve area to try to get into it to cut thematerial or go hunt or go fishing like we didwhen we was younger,” says Bobby C., a tradi-tional Indian. “They say ‘you can’t do that. Youhave to buy a permit or buy a hunting license.’But we can’t (buy a license). It’s not our way.”

The next generationMost Indian children are part of the Seminole

or Miccosukee reservations, although a handfulare being raised in traditional villages by non-reservation clans. Most attend reservationschool through eighth grade and then attend apublic high school.

The modern wealth offers options as childrenstart drawing reservation dividends shortly af-ter birth. College, cars, houses, travel, finemeals, swamp buggies and airboats are finan-cially feasible for reservation teens. Cellphonesand iPads are common, too.

Some are preparing for college, others to befuture tribal leaders, business owners, clothesdesigners, cowboys and environmental engi-neers.

Sandra-Laurie Osceola is focused on main-taining her traditional roots and clan ties. Herson, Standing Bear, 20 months, is one of a dozenor fewer Florida Indians still being raised in atraditional Indian village among non-reserva-tion Indians.

Her future, she says, is with her clan: herclose and extended family. Sandra-Laurie’s fa-ther, LeRoy M. Osceola, is one of the most out-spoken traditional Indians and is the head of fourgenerations of traditional Indians living on theirown land, not within the reservation borders.

“I get asked all the time, why I don’t enroll andget the free money,” she says. “For me, it’s out ofrespect for my father, what he has taught us. Ican’t imagine betraying him like that.”

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A water lilly blooms on Miccosukee tribal lands in the River of Grass. Some tribal members say water levels are too high due to discharges from Lake Okeechobee and that the waterneeds to be cleaner before being sent to reservation lands. For thousands of years canoes were used to travel across South Florida. Today, airboats are used.

Airboat trails snake through the River of Grass on Miccosukee tribal lands.

Miccosukee children dressed in traditional regaliajoke amongst themselves while waiting to give adance demonstration at the Miccosukee Resort andCasino on American Indian Day.

The Indian world is largely distant fromthe Fort Myers-Naples area, in geograph-ic proximity, historic and spiritual be-

liefs, culture, money and morals. But all ofSouth Florida — from south of Orlando to theFlorida Keys — is linked by water.

That was evident last summer as The News-Press traveled to the Seminole and Miccosukeereservations and traditional Indian lands. Oneof the heaviest rainy seasons in decadesswamped, well, the swamp, and the regionsuffered stormwater flooding, sprouted algaeblooms and closed swimming beaches. Wewanted to know what people living in the Ever-glades were experiencing, and what their planswere for addressing water quality and quantitychallenges.

“We’d like to see water once again flow fromLake Okeechobee and wash out into FloridaBay. But the water needs to be cleaned upfirst,” says Miccosukee Tribe Chairman ColleyBillie. “The problem is the water is dirty. Ever-glades National Park, which is located south ofus, they don’t want that water either becausethey’re afraid it will change the environment ofEverglades National Park.”

The root of many water quality problems isthe management of Lake Okeechobee, wherefarmlands and urban development flush heavynutrient loads into the heart of the Everglades.That water is then pumped to Fort Myers onthe west coast and St. Lucie on the east coastthrough water control structures that don’tstore and treat water like the natural landscapedid decades ago.

Both Seminole and Miccosukee reservationlands sit between Lake Okeechobee and Ever-glades National Park.

By law, phosphorus levels must be lowerthan 10 parts per billion to be released. Levelsare currently so high in the lake that biologistshave said it may take a century or more for theloads to drop to that level, and it would onlystart to drop when pollution from developedareas stops flowing to the lake.

Like they have for centuries, the tribes areprepared to fight. The difference today isknives and rifles have been replaced with law-yers, the battleground shifted from theswamps to the courtrooms.

Billie says the tribe understands the con-

cerns in Fort Myers and St. Lucie, but that thetribe is obligated to protect its land, people andcommercial properties. They have an arsenalof attorneys and water quality experts such asformer Army Corps Col. Terry Rice, who over-saw Lake Okeechobee management when Ever-glades restoration started in the late 1990s.

“Water needs to be released, and people onthe east coast and west coast don’t want thatwater from Lake Okeechobee because it’s socontaminated there will be a fish kill,” Billiesays. “Well, guess who they’re thinking of send-ing this dirty water to? Us Miccosukees.They’re using our land to store water. Andwe’ve been fighting that.”

Sending water south toward EvergladesNational Park would relieve some, but certain-ly not all water pollution concerns on bothcoasts. A 1-mile bridge was completed last yearthat government agencies say will be used todivert Lake Okeechobee water.

The bridge has been built — and more areplanned — but the water is not yet flowingsouth, and that’s because phosphorus levels areabout 15 times too high to be legally dis-charged, according to federal and state laws.

“You can put in as many bridges as you wantbut that’s never going to be utilized,” Billiesays.

While Miccosukee lands near Miami areoften artificially flooded, Seminole reservationlands, closer to Fort Myers, are typically toodry, to the point that reservation representa-tives have asked state and federal agencies tosend any water to their lands, even pollutedOkeechobee water.

Tribal representatives have asked the stateand federal government to find a way to re-lease Lake Okeechobee and CaloosahatcheeRiver water to reservation lands south of Cle-wiston. They would rather have polluted water,representatives say, than little to no water atall.

“As long as we continue draining this landand putting more chemicals on the ground,pesticides and stuff like that, we’re going tocontinue on killing the vegetation,” says Semi-nole tribe council representative Mondo Tiger.“Once you start removing the vegetation andgrass, you expose the topsoil to nothing but thesun, air. (And) it will turn into sand dunes.”

Tribes prepared to fightover water quality

Continued from Page14

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