Nuvatukya'ovi, San Francisco Peaks

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Nuvatukya’ovi, San Francisco Peaks Balancing Western Economies with Native American Spiritualities Maria Glowacka, Dorothy Washburn, and Justin Richland Department of Anthropology and American Indian Studies Program, Idaho State University, Stop 8005, Pocatello, Idaho 83209-8005, U.S.A. ([email protected])/120 Pleasant Valley Road, Titusville, New Jersey 08560, U.S.A. ([email protected])/Department of Criminology, Law and Society and Department of Anthropology, University of California, Irvine, 2361 Social Ecology II, Irvine, California 92697-7080, U.S.A. ([email protected]). 26 X 08

The recent legal battle between the U.S. Forest Service and 13 Native American tribes, including the Hopi, concerning the San Francisco Peaks constitutes a serious threat to fundamental religious beliefs that are representative of viable cultural practices. In this study, cultural meanings ascribed to the San Francisco Peaks (Nuvatukya’ovi) as expressed in Hopi verbal and visual arts are examined in an effort to clarify the sacred nature of the San Francisco Peaks. Our approach emphasizes the historical and temporal continuity of cultural practices and ethical ties between people and landscape. The legal dispute between the forest service and the Arizona Snowbowl Ski Resort and 13 Native American tribes over recreational use of the San Francisco Peaks has exposed fundamentally different cultural views of the land that relate to how the land is conceived and therefore to how it can be treated and used.1 While the forest service has a mandate to facilitate multiple uses of the land under its care, in so doing, it is required to protect the various interests of groups that might be affected by these uses. Collectively, one of these groups is made up of native tribes who claim that the San Francisco Peaks are sacred and would be profaned by the use of reclaimed wastewater piped from the city of Flagstaff to make artificial snow for the ski resort. In an effort to further inform readers about native beliefs relative to this issue, we attempt to provide a more detailed discussion of some of the religious beliefs and practices from the perspective of one of the plaintiffs, the Hopi. We will specifically address not only the issue of the sacredness of the land but also, from this perspective, the reasons why snowmaking using treated sewage effluent is antithetical to the religious practices of these native groups.

䉷 2009 by The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. All rights reserved. 0011-3204/2009/5004-0006$10.00. DOI: 10.1086/ 599069

Nuvatukya’ovi and the Clash in Court On two separate occasions, the Hopi Tribe has joined forces with other tribes, concerned tribal members, representatives of various environmental advocacy groups, and local property owners in legal battles to stop efforts to expand the Arizona Snowbowl, a ski resort located in the San Francisco Mountains in the Coconino National Forest, about 14 miles north of Flagstaff. The Snowbowl has been in operation in one form or another since 1937, when the U.S. Forest Service first built a road and lodge on 777 acres of the western face of Humphrey’s Peak, the tallest of the San Francisco Mountains. The Snowbowl has always been run by a private contractor, operating it pursuant to a permit from the forest service. In 1977, the forest service authorized the transfer of the permit to a new contractor. Shortly thereafter, the new contractor submitted a proposal to the forest service to expand the property—increasing its size by 120 acres—and develop new ski lifts, lodge facilities, additional parking, and road improvements. After a period of public hearing and comment—and several stages of drafting—a modified version of the development plan that allowed for a 50-acre expansion was approved by the forest service. In March 1981, the Hopi and Navajo filed lawsuits in the District Court of Washington, DC, to stop the proposed Snowbowl expansion, naming the secretary of agriculture and the head of the forest service as defendants.2 In their complaints, the tribes charged, among other things, that by approving the plan, the forest service was violating the tribal members’ First Amendment right to the free exercise of religion. They argued that the development would impair their ability to pray and conduct ceremonies on the peaks as well as to collect various sacred objects from the peaks that are essential to the performance of their religious practices. As such, they sought phased removal of all structures related to the Snowbowl operation or at least an injunction to block the proposed expansion. After a hearing, the district court judge granted summary judgment to the defendants, and the Hopi and Navajo entered an appeal. On May 20, 1983, Judge Lumbard, writing for the three-judge panel, issued the opinion of the DC circuit court affirming the judgment of the lower court for the defendants. In developing his argument, Lumbard spelled out the basic elements of the constitutional protections surrounding the 1. Legal and religious scholars have pointed to the ideational gap between the focus on individual rights in American jurisprudence and the focus on the responsibility of the individual to the community in Native American belief, as well as on the contrast between the Judeo-Christian view of nature as being God’s gift for human beings to use and dominate versus the Native American’s concept of the primacy of the natural world with human beings as one of many entities that inhabit it (Herz 1993; Michaelsen 1985; Trope 1991). 2. Wilson v. Block, 708 F.2d 735 (1983). The plaintiffs to this action included the Navajo Medicinemen’s Association, the Hopi Tribe, and Richard F. and Jean Wilson.

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free exercise of religion. Following a long line of case law, he explained that the free exercise clause of the First Amendment “proscribes government action that burdens religious beliefs or practices, unless the challenged action serves a compelling governmental interest that cannot be achieved in a less restrictive manner.”3 He explained that the First Amendment recognizes the absolute right to hold religious beliefs and that the free exercise clause prohibits both direct and indirect burdening of religion. The former generally concerns governmental actions “regulating, prohibiting, or rewarding religious beliefs as such.”4 The latter concerns governmental actions that through some sort of general benefit, prescription, or proscription “penalize adherence to religious beliefs.” In either case, the court explained, it is not enough that some governmental action merely offends religious believers or even casts doubt on their beliefs. “Many governmental actions may [do this] . . . but unless such actions penalize faith, they do not burden religion.”5 The court then applied these rules to the evidence presented by the plaintiff tribes. Lumbard found that the practices and beliefs described by the Hopi and Navajo were “rooted in religion” and therefore eligible for First Amendment protection. Moreover, and contrary to the findings of the lower court, he held that the tribes had provided sufficient evidence “to establish the indispensability of the Peaks to the practice of [their] religion,” given that access to the peaks was essential for the conducting of certain ceremonies and the collection of certain objects. However, Lumbard further argued that the indispensability of the peaks alone does not establish that the forest service imposed an “impermissible burden” on the tribes’ religious beliefs and practices when it approved the development plan. His reasoning was based on two points: (1) the forest service does not prohibit the plaintiffs access to the peaks to conduct their ceremonies, and (2) the plaintiffs have not proven that the ceremonies they perform and the objects they need to collect must take place in or come from the area used by the Snowbowl or the proposed expansion. The court pointed to the fact that practitioners from both tribes have continued to conduct their ceremonies and collect their objects from the peaks despite the operation of the Snowbowl since the 1930s. Based on these and other findings of fact and conclusions of law, the court affirmed the summary judgment decision of the district court in favor of the defendants. In 2005, a second round of legal action was initiated by the Hopi and the Navajo and 11 other southwestern tribes as well as tribal members and environmental advocacy groups

3. Wilson v. Block, 708 F.2d 735, 740 (1983). 4. Wilson v. Block, 708 F.2d (1983) at 741. 5. Wilson v. Block, 708 F.2d (1983) at 741.

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against the forest service.6 This action was prompted once again by the forest service’s approval of a facilities improvement proposal submitted by Arizona Snowbowl Resort, LP (ASR), who had purchased the skiing operation in 1992. The new proposal requested a number of different changes, including new ski lifts, relocation of ski runs, and the creation of new recreation and lodging facilities. Most of the proposed changes involved developments within the existing acreage approved under the 1981 plan. What was different, and what became a major point of contention for the plaintiffs, was the proposal to add artificial snowmaking capacities to the resort using reclaimed wastewater. Specifically, it called for the development of a 14.8mile-long pipeline to be built between Flagstaff, Arizona, and a 1.9-acre reservoir within the Snowbowl, which would allow the spraying of snow made from up to 1.5 million gallons of reclaimed wastewater per day between November and February. In approving the plan to allow snowmaking with reclaimed wastewater, the forest service explained that winter precipitation in the high-desert area is erratic, making it difficult, in dry years, for the Snowbowl to have enough skiing days to be economically viable. After considering nine different alternatives, including the plan proposed by ASR, and after consulting with plaintiff tribes and holding public hearings over a two-year period, the forest service determined that reclaimed-water snowmaking was the most viable option for meeting its management needs. Significantly, the forest service is charged by federal legislation to develop plans for managing national forests for multiple uses, including “outdoor recreation,” and under the 1987 Coconino National Forest Plan, the area used by the Snowbowl was designated for “developed recreation” use. After their administrative appeal of the forest service’s decision approving the snowmaking was rejected, the plaintiffs filed suit in federal district court in Arizona. Among their complaints was the charge that the forest service failed to comply with the requirements of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA) of 1993. This federal legislation was enacted to reinstate the “compelling interest test” in certain First Amendment free exercise litigation involving laws of general applicability after the Supreme Court struck down the test in 1990.7 Specifically, the Hopi and other plaintiff tribes argued in their pleadings and through evidence at an 11-day bench trial that the forest service’s decision to use reclaimed 6. The plaintiffs to this action included the Navajo Nation, the Havasupai Tribe, Rex Tilousi, the Hualapai Tribe, Dianna Uqualla, the Sierra Club, the White Mountain Apache Nation, the Yavapai-Apache Nation, the Flagstaff Activist Network (plaintiffs-appellants) and the Hualapai, Norris Nez, the Hopi Tribe, and the Center for Biological Diversity. 7. See 42 U.S.C. § 2000 (bb)(b) 1; Employment Division v. Smith, 494 U.S. 872, 110 S. Ct. 1595 (1990). In addition to claiming violations of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, the plaintiffs also argued that the forest service’s decision violated the National Environmental Policy Act, 42 U.S.C. § 4321 et seq. (NEPA), the National Historic Preservation Act, 16 U.S.C. § 470 et seq. (NHPA), the National Forest Management Act, 16 U.S.C. §§ 1600–1687 (NFMA), and other statues.

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wastewater for snowmaking in the Snowbowl substantially burdened their free exercise of religion. They claimed that the spraying of water made from treated sewage desecrates the peaks. In Hopi belief, the peaks, and especially Humphrey’s Peak, are the home of their ancestor deities, the katsinam. As such, they play a central role in both their ritual ceremonies and their everyday prayers. In addition, this mountain is where they go to collect ceremonial objects that are central to their religious practices. On January 11, 2006, the district court ruled once again in favor of the defendant forest service and the ASR, who intervened on behalf of the defendants, finding that the plaintiffs “have not demonstrated a substantial burden to any exercise of religion.”8 Indeed, the court quoted the 1983 DC circuit decision with approval, stating “[T]he same decision is warranted here. The subjective views and beliefs presented at trial, although sincerely held, are not sufficient for the proposed project to constitute a substantial burden under RFRA.”9 But the court went on, finding that even if a substantial burden had been found, the forest service’s decision would nonetheless be valid insofar as it was made pursuant to a compelling governmental interest “to provide the type of ‘outdoor recreation’ mandated by” Congress.10 Moreover, because the forest service demonstrated that it came to its decision through a process of public comment and review in which it “actually considered and rejected the efficacy of less restrictive means,” it met the RFRA requirements for insuring that a “least restrictive means” had been employed by the government. This is true insofar as the court, in reviewing the actions of an administrative agency, “should not be in the position to second-guess the reasonable determination of the responsible governmental decision.”11 The court thus dismissed the plaintiff’s RFRA claims and granted the defendants’ motions for summary judgment on all other charges. The plaintiffs appealed, and on March 12, 2007, a threejudge panel of the U.S. Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals issued its opinion, authored by Judge William A. Fletcher. In it, the court reversed the district court decision on two grounds. Importantly, one of those grounds involved finding the forest service in violation of RFRA.12 Specifically, the court held that RFRA, as it was amended by additional legislation in 2000,13 provided even broader protections than those offered in previous case-law interpretations of the First Amendment free exercise clause and the “compelling interest test” as analyzed by the district court in 8. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 408 F. Supp. 2d 866, 906 (2006). 9. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 408 F. Supp. 2d 866, 906 (2006). 10. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 408 F. Supp. 2d 866, 906 (2006). 11. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 408 F. Supp. 2d (2006) at 907. 12. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d 1024 (2007). 13. See The Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act of 2000, Public Law 106–274, 114 Stat. 803, codified at 42 U.S. Code §§ 2000cc et seq.

this case. As part of this reasoning, it explained that the amended RFRA defines the exercise of religion in ways that do not require that the protected beliefs be “compelled by, or central to, a system of religious belief.”14 It held that the district court erred when it did not consider this amended definition of religious exercise, and it then required the appellants to prove that the proposed action by the ASR would prevent them from “engaging in conduct or having a religious experience which the faith mandates”15 (emphasis in original). In the face of this broader definition, Fletcher argued, the kinds of burdens that will be considered “substantial” enough to trigger the RFRA “compelling interest” and “least restrictive means” tests may be different from those applied in this case by the district court. The three-judge panel concluded that the proposed use of treated sewage water for snowmaking would impose a substantial burden on the religious practices of the plaintiff tribes because they believed it would contaminate and make unusable the ceremonial objects they would otherwise collect from the peaks. Additionally, and more generally, use of sewage effluent for snowmaking at Snowbowl would “undermine their entire system of belief and the associated practices of song, worship, and prayer that depend on the purity of the Peaks.”16 The three-judge panel then turned to the question of whether this burden was allowable because it was imposed by the forest service in furtherance of a compelling government interest and by the least restrictive means. Their opinion reversed that of the district court, finding that the forest service’s actions met neither of these requirements. It held that the district court cast its analytic net too broadly when it justified the forest service’s approval of the proposed snowmaking as furthering its congressional mandate to manage the forest for multiple uses, including developed recreation such as skiing. Such “‘broadly formulated interests justifying the general applicability of government mandates’ . . . are . . . insufficient on their own to meet RFRA’s compelling interest test.”17 At the same time, the panel was not persuaded that the government had a sufficiently “compelling” interest in the more narrowly construed goal of improving the ASR’s facilities or even keeping their business in operation: “We are unwilling to hold that authorizing the use of artificial snow at an already functioning commercial ski area in order to expand and improve its facilities, as well as to extend its ski season in dry years, is a governmental interest ‘of the highest order.’”18 Indeed, the court is careful to point out the fundamental distinction between the forest service’s compelling interest in 14. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1033. 15. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1033. 16. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1043. 17. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1044, citing the U.S. Supreme Court in Gonzales v. O Centra Espirita Benficiente Uniaõ Do Vegetal, 126 S. Ct. 1211 (2006). 18. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1045, citing Wisconsin v. Yoder, 406 U.S. 205, 215, 92 S. Ct. 1526 (1972).

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providing “developed recreation” at the Snowbowl and ASR’s economic bottom line. While the latter may decide it is not sound business to run the ski resort without the additional snowmaking, “a sale by the current owners is not the same thing as the closure of the Snowbowl.”19 And even if the Snowbowl were to close, the court pointed out that the public would be able to enjoy many other recreational activities on the peaks (“mountain biking, horseback riding, hiking, . . . cross-country skiing”).20 As such, the opinion reads, “In this case we cannot conclude that authorizing the proposed use of treated sewage effluent is justified by a compelling governmental interest in providing public recreation.”21 Finally, in response to the claim that the snowmaking was designed to improve safety at the resort, the court held that while this may be a compelling government interest, the defendants did not provide sufficient evidence that snowmaking using wastewater was “the least restrictive means” to further that interest. For these reasons, the three-judge panel of the ninth circuit reversed the decision of the district court as it applied to RFRA. In response, ASR and the U.S. Department of Justice, on behalf of the U.S. Forest Service, petitioned the ninth circuit to rehear the case en banc. On October 17, 2007, the ninth circuit granted the petition for rehearing, and on December 11, 2007, 11 judges reheard the case to “revisit the panel’s decision and to clarify our circuit’s interpretation of ‘substantial burden’ under RFRA.”22 Writing for the 10–1 majority, Judge Carlos T. Bea rejected the analysis of the three-judge panel and affirmed the judgment of the district court, finding no violation of RFRA or the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA). Specifically, the majority held that even though RFRA had expanded the kinds of religious practices that cannot be substantially burdened by government actions, this expansion did not change the kinds of burdens that would be considered “substantial” enough to trigger the “compelling governmental interest test.” The majority opinion reads that because RFRA “expressly referred to and restored a body of Supreme Court case law that defines what constitutes a substantial burden. . . . Thus we must look to those cases in interpreting the meaning of ‘substantial burden’ in that legislation.”23 The court cited Wisconsin v. Yoder 24 and Sherbert v. Verner 25—whose standards it claims were relied on and incorporated by Congress into RFRA—and held that a “‘substantial burden’ is imposed only when individuals are forced to choose between following the tenets of their religion and 19. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1045. 20. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1045. 21. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1045. 22. Navajo Nation et. al. v. United States Forest Service, 535 F.3d 1058, 1067 (2008). 23. Navajo Nation et. al. v. United States Forest Service, 535 F.3d (2008) at 1074. 24. Wisconsin v. Yoder, 406 U.S. 205, 215, 92 S. Ct. 1526 (1972). 25. Sherbert v. Verner 374 U.S. 398, 83 S. Ct. 1790 (1963).


receiving a governmental benefit (Sherbert) or coerced to act contrary to their religious beliefs by the threat of civil or criminal sanction.” Then, echoing the logic of Judge Lumbard in the 1983 DC circuit decision, the majority held that where the use of recycled wastewater approved by the forest service will only cover 1% of the peaks, the forest service’s actions did not force plaintiff tribes or their members to choose between the exercise of their religion or a governmental benefit. It also held that the forest service has not fined or otherwise penalized in any way the plaintiffs for practicing their religion anywhere in the peaks, including within the Snowbowl. And although the majority recognized that the proposed wastewater use violates the plaintiff’s sincerely held religious beliefs, “the diminishment of spiritual fulfillment—serious though it may be—is not a ‘substantial burden’ on the free exercise of religion.”26 Bea elaborates in a footnote, “the sole question is whether a governmental action that affects only subjective spiritual fulfillment ‘substantially burdens’ the exercise of religion. . . . Under Supreme Court precedent . . . [it] does not.”27 Once again, then, the Hopi, Navajo, and other plaintiff tribes and their members find themselves on the losing side of courtroom battles to fight what they see as federal infringements on their rights to the free exercise of religion in the San Francisco Peaks. At present, it is unclear whether they intend to appeal this latest loss to the U.S. Supreme Court. While the forest service has sided with the Snowbowl throughout these proceedings, it is notable that in other contexts, the forest service has identified the peaks as a “traditional cultural property.”28 “Traditional cultural property” has been defined in the National Register Bulletin 38: Guidelines for Evaluating and Documenting Traditional Cultural Properties as being associated with “cultural practices or beliefs of a living community that a) are rooted in that community’s history and b) are important in maintaining the continuing cultural identity of the community” (Parker and King 1998, 1). Furthermore, the forest service has not only acknowledged that the peaks are sacred to the 13 tribes (Norell 2005) but also determined that the peaks are eligible for inclusion in the National Register of Historic Places.29 26. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1070. 27. Navajo Nation v. U.S. Forest Service, 479 F.3d (2007) at 1070, n. 12. 28. Navajo Nation et al. v. USFS et al., 408 F. Supp. 2d 866, 905 (D.AZ. 2006), January 11, 2006, p. 24. 29. Navajo Nation et al. v. USFS et al., 408 F. Supp. 2d 866, 905 (D.AZ. 2006), January 11, 2006, p. 24; see also Hack (2007). Apparently, the National Historic Preservation Act may still allow development of traditional cultural properties if appropriate documentation or mitigation measures are in place (Tsosie 1997, 5–6), and mandated consultations may not always lead to legal decisions desired by the tribes, as pointed out by one of our reviewers. In a study of federal regulatory responses to American Indian religious claims on public land, Yablon (2004, 1661) points out that while courts and Congress have left sacred site protection in the hands of land management agencies, “although many feared this decision would be disastrous, land agencies have actually embraced their

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It is our position that while many of the plaintiff tribes have attempted to argue the case from the general principle of the sacredness of the mountains, it has not served their interests well, although the inviolate nature of Native American sacred property is the heart of the issue here. For example, Miller (1998, 88), in a similar case,30 argued that literal readings of what is sacred simply result in intractable incompatibility. His point was that law-based arguments do not recognize the Native American concept of land tenure, in which land belongs to “the supernatural.” We believe that the lack of understanding of indigenous religious-cultural practices and beliefs may result in the disregard of the tribal claim of sacredness. Just as the Wailing Wall is of significance to Jews and Bethlehem carries significance for Christians, the San Francisco Peaks hold significance as a sacred place for the Hopi. We offer a more specific detailing of Hopi philosophical beliefs and practices regarding the ways in which these mountains are sacred as well as a discussion of the reasons why the use of reclaimed wastewater would profane this sacred area.31 Because the plaintiffs’ cultures traditionally did not have writing systems and so passed their knowledge and traditions down orally, we have centered our presentation on two kinds of oral evidence. First, we cite the teachings of the late Emory Sekaquaptewa, a Hopi from Third Mesa who was not only an elder integrally involved in the ritual life of his community but also an attorney, founder, and active participant as chief justice of the Hopi Appellate Court. He understood what might be paradoxical to many—the necessity to interface Hopi culture with American interests in order to preserve Hopi culture. It is often said that the Hopi have changed to remain the same. Yet even though Hopi culture is not static, adjustments are admitted only if they do not compromise the integrity of a core set of Hopi beliefs that they accepted at Emergence. In his teachings to us, he emphasized the importance the Hopi assigned to maintaining historical and temporal continuity of these cultural practices even as they embrace many aspects of American culture. Specifically, he believed that it is the close ties between the people and their landscape, both in their ritual as well as in their practices, role and sought to accommodate Indian religions and protect their sacred sites.” Yablon (2004, 1661) further observed that if a federal agency were to deny protection to a Native American sacred site, a tribe would still have the option of seeking the protection of the U.S. Congress, which has demonstrated its willingness to protect individual sacred sites. For further discussion of the desecration and protection of Native American sacred sites, see, for example, Brandt (1996), Ferguson, Jenkins, and Dongoske (1996), Gulliford (2000), King (2003), LaDuke (2005), and Nabokov (2006). 30. Citizens to Preserve Nookachamps Valley at al. v. Skagit County et al. (SHB no. 93–14). 31. This research approach was proposed and facilitated by Emory Sekaquaptewa, who has assisted the Hopi as an expert witness in the court case Navajo Nation v. Forest Service, 479 F.3d 1024 (9th Cir. 2007), arguing against the contested plans of the Snowbowl Ski Resort expansion in the San Francisco Mountains.

that give the Hopi people their identity and place in the natural world. Second, we cite Hopi beliefs and practices as spelled out in ritual song texts. Because Hopi culture, like the cultures of the other plaintiffs, has been maintained and transferred to future generations via oral tradition, “proof” of belief systems and practices will not be found in written texts but rather in practices that have been institutionalized in verbal, visual, aural, and kinesthetic activities. In this report we cite the ritual songs of the katsinam, spirit beings who, upon the prayers and right living of the Hopi, come to the villages during the growing season with their beneficence of rain and sage advice. In their songs are preserved many of the basic principles of Hopi life, such as the emphasis on the promotion of life through the performance of daily and ritual activities, natwani, or “activities related to the rejuvenation of life.” In the songs, the katsinam remind the Hopi of the importance of natural phenomena such as rain and natural processes such as pollination, fertilization, growth, and the production of offspring. These gifts from the katsinam are surrounded with special symbolism and ritualized activities that are intended to reinforce the meaning of these phenomena and events and in this way to ensure their continuity for the benefit of the Hopi community. Successive generations of Hopi continue to attach the same values and/or significances to these cultural processes and, in so doing, ensure the vitality of the Hopi communal lifeway. In this way, through act and belief, Hopi culture is transmitted to succeeding generations. We are concerned here with the homes of the katsinam who live in the four cardinal directions, in particular with their home on the San Francisco Peaks in the southwest cardinal direction (the Hopi cardinal directions are southeast, southwest, northwest, and northeast). In the ruling now being contested by the ASR and the Department of Justice on behalf of the forest service, the court acknowledged that the songs of the katsinam often focused on the spirituality of the peaks and their importance in conducting the Hopi’s religious exercises—a point that was made by Emory Sekaquaptewa in his original testimony.32 In his testimony, Sekaquaptewa stated that “Hopi people are raised in this belief that the mountains are a revered place. . . . So that anything that interrupts this perception, as they hold it, would tend to undermine the integrity in which they hold the mountain.”33 However, the court did not consider katsina song content that describes Hopi beliefs as evidence of the spirituality of the peaks—a matter that we elaborate on in this paper. We first address the integrity of religious tradition among the Hopi—a shared set of beliefs and ritual practices that has persisted in use 32. Navajo Nation v. USFS, argued and submitted September 14, 2006; filed March 12, 2007, opinion by Judge William A. Fletcher, pp. 2846–2847. 33. Navajo Nation v. USFS, argued and submitted September 14, 2006; filed March 12, 2007, opinion by Judge William A. Fletcher, p. 2860.

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despite the enormous changes in Hopi life since contact with Western cultures in the sixteenth century.34

The Importance of Wiimi and Cultural Practices The issue of the importance of collective cultural memory and its influence on sociopolitical practices has been widely discussed in anthropological and general social science literature.35 As Vida´kovic-Petrov (1989, 77; see also Lotman and de Tartu 1979) points out, “Culture itself is memory, indicating the power of the system to preserve and accumulate information. Culture is memory created, preserved, accumulated and transmitted by human society.” For most of human history, memory “passed down from time immemorial was the way to truth, while forgetting was the road to untruth” (Gross 2000, 2). However, because reliance on the primacy of memory has been replaced with the written word, it is necessary to revisit the importance of memory in cultures that continue to pass along their traditions orally and visually. Anthropologists have often described how the collective memory of a cultural body is incorporated in customary practices and cultural institutions as well as embedded in objects of material culture and geographical places (Connerton 1989; Rowlands 1993). Pertinent to this issue is McCauley and Lawson’s (2002, 48–50) argument that collective memory is solidified by rehearsal and performance of rituals as well as frequent exposure to ritual practices. Both the frequency and the stability in ritual practices facilitate the retention and transmission of cultural knowledge. We have only to remember that in Western society, until literacy became more widespread during the Renaissance, oral recitation and rote memorization of prayers and songs, as well as visual learning through “reading” the story pictures on stained glass windows in the vast European cathedrals, were the primary ways of transmitting religious information (Carruthers 1990). Here we argue that culture, as a system that retains and circulates information, works effectively when cultural participants attach epistemic and affective values to the past, specifically to traditional knowledge and skills. In cultures with written records, these cultural practices are known because they can be preserved in a documentary state as well as in everyday practice. But in cultures without writing, we must rely on the “footprints” of oral tradition to detail the what, why, and where of traditional knowledge, sacred places, and the practices that make them efficacious. Ethnographers and archaeologists have regularly depended on oral tradition to help interpret the cultural activities and material remains of native peoples. For example, the mis34. We refer readers to Edward Shils’s (1981) book Tradition and Edward Spicer’s (1971) statement about cultural identity systems, which describe the nature of the depth and persistence in belief systems that we are describing here. 35. The notion of “collective memory” was initially proposed by Maurice Halbwachs (1992 [1925]), who was influenced by Durkheim’s (1995 [1912]) concept of collective consciousness.


sionary Henry R. Voth (1905) and the Hopi Edmund Nequatewa (1936) recorded many traditional myths and clan stories that, in conjunction with archaeological research, have enabled the reconstruction of many Hopi events and provide insights into cultural practices (e.g., Teague 1993). In consultation with members of the Hopi Tribe who have orally provided information about places important to them, archaeologists have been able to help the tribe in the management and preservation of ancestral sites (Ferguson et al. 2000).

The Importance of Place Anthropologists and philosophers have pointed out how, for many peoples, “place is a keeper of memories—one of the main ways by which the past comes to be secured in the present, held in things before us and around us” (Casey 1987, 213). In English, we refer to such places as landmarks. Landmarks are of particular significance to societies lacking formal writing systems, “for they are used in transferring knowledge about past events, everyday activities, social and ritual conduct and moral lessons. Landmarks therefore are essential for shaping the future of generations in accordance with traditional lifeways” (Zedeno, Austin, and Stoffle 1997, 125). The Hopi, who have inhabited their homeland, Hopitutskwa, for centuries, have many landmarks that harbor their past history and traditions. The village of Orayvi, for example, dates from ca. AD 1200 (Adams and Duff 2004). From that time, the Hopi who inhabited that village developed ties to surrounding places, such as the San Francisco Peaks, that carried great importance for their cultural survival. Emory Sekaquaptewa36 has described the San Francisco Peaks, a prominent landmark of the Hopitutskwa, as a “monument shrine,” explaining that features of the land, such as mountains and springs, are monuments in the sense that their profound spiritual greatness and importance make them not only a solid presence in the sense of a church but also a spiritual force in the landscape. In this sense, Hopi monument shrines embody values that are alive in the collective consciousness of the people. They are sources of ethical guidance and spiritual renewal. They not only are imbued with these special qualities but also are continually being augmented with memories of past events. They remind the people who they are and where they came from, and in this way, they provide people with a sense of their cultural identity. As Basso (1996, 62) succinctly puts it, “geographical features have served the 36. Personal communication, August 14, 2007. Also, the former Hopi chairman Vernon Masayesva referred to the peaks as the shrine the Hopi look to because it is the home of the katsinam (Gulliford 2000, 121). Although Fewkes (1906) described Hopi shrines near the East Mesa in great detail, Hopi consultants have advised us that the information regarding characteristics, functions, and locations of Hopi shrines in the Hopitutskwa is confidential and should not be disclosed to or discussed by those who are not privy to this information. For this reason, although it is known, for example, that there are several types of Hopi shrines— such as pahoki, hom’oypi, and tuutuskya—further discussion of shrines is an inappropriate matter for public discussion in this debate.

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people for centuries as indispensable mnemonic pegs to hang the moral teachings of their history.” Furthermore, it is important to recognize that these monument shrines are important to all Hopi, not just to those who visit them. As Ricoeur (2004) points out, to remember something is to imagine it. One of the ways to memorize things that need to be remembered is to translate them into visual images or mental pictures associated with physical, concrete places. Memory of a place receives a tangible presence through a visualization that can be revisited at any time. In this way, memories exert an influence even on those who have to leave their homeland, as they carry the mental images of these special places with them in their life journeys wherever they may be, even outside of Hopitutskwa. Thus, Hopi monument shrines situated in and near villages as well as in distant locations within and outside their traditional cultural territory both within and without the reservation boundaries, such as the San Francisco Peaks and other shrines, continue to hold cultural importance in people’s memory even though they cannot see them every day. There are many other places that are landmarks to the Hopi people. For example, every clan living on the Hopi mesas arrived at the center of the Hopi world, Tuuwanasavi, via a series of migrations. They set their “footprints,” or kiikiqo¨, on the landscape in the form of sacred pathways, trail markers, shrines, ceremonial springs, and petroglyphs (Ferguson and Lomaomvaya 1999, 76). These places along the way to their center place are, thus, the evidence of the complex history of the Hopis’ migrations (Anyon, Ferguson, and Chanthaphonh 2005, 273, 274) as they searched for the right place to grow their corn. It is important to preserve these places, for these clans are, in essence, the founding fathers who, as a composite, constitute the Hopi people. Indeed, instead of preserving cultural information in written words, orally transmitted cultures have used these geographical places to mark their culture’s history as well as to substantiate local cultural narratives (Whiteley 2002, 410–411): When Hopis speak of a clan occupying a former village like Homol’ovi and trace the introduction of ceremonies into the present Hopi villages . . . they trace the same set of features—social and ceremonial—in a continuous line of continuity between places marked in the landscape and their current location. . . . Gradual processions into the village (as at the Flute ceremony), iconic shrines on the village outskirts named for particular ruins at a distance (e.g. Eggan 1994), and pilgrimages to those ruins to collect items used in the ceremonies (water from a spring, spruce branches, etc.) all serve to dramatically re-present a historical process of specific migrations and arrivals, and are often accompanied by mandatory recitation of accompanying traditional narratives.

For hundreds of years, the Hopi have continued to use these places of knowledge through which they traveled and at which they venerated but that now lie beyond the boundaries of

their reservation. For this reason, destroying and desecrating places honored in songs and prayers, even if outside the current federally designated protected reservation lands, is akin to destroying a sacred repository of human knowledge.

The Importance of Sacred Places It is important to be specific about why these places are sacred and in what ways these sacred places should not be violated (Carmichael et al. 1994, 3): To say that a specific place is a sacred place is not simply to describe a piece of land, or just locate it in a certain position in the landscape. What is known as a sacred site carries with it a whole range of rules and regulations regarding people’s behavior in relation to it, and implies a set of beliefs to do with the non-empirical world.

The Hopi term closest to the Western concept of “sacred” is utihi’i, which can be translated as “fearsome, venerable or taboo, entitled to human respect.” This term refers to ceremonies, places, customs, spiritual beings, objects, and events, and it implies certain proscriptions and prescriptions with regard to aspects of life referred to as utihi’i. In addition, according to Emory Sekaquaptewa,37 utihi’i also means something that cannot be revealed or known to anyone not eligible to receive it, and thus it means that the location of these shrines cannot be revealed to uninitiated individuals. We are concerned here with the Hopi belief that the disturbance and contamination of sacred places with elements that do not naturally belong there—for example, with reclaimed wastewater from the city of Flagstaff that includes water from mortuaries and hospitals that has been contaminated by death and disease—profanes the spirituality of these places and, in so doing, interferes with the continuity of the performance of cultural practices that require purity of place. Western academic religious and anthropological scholarship has argued that sacred space has significance in ways that other space does not. In the words of the religious scholar Mircea Eliade (1976, 144), profaning sacred space constitutes an interruption of the sacred that “results in detaching a territory from the surrounding cosmic milieu and making it qualitatively different.” However, understanding space as either pure or profane, as does Mary Douglas (1966) in her widely read book Purity and Danger, is an inaccurate way to conceptualize the way Native Americans think about the land. Joseph Epes Brown (1982, 71), speaking of the Lakota, comments that “American Indian traditions generally do not fragment experience into mutually exclusive dichotomies, but tend rather to stress modes of interrelatedness across categories of meaning, never losing sight of an ultimate wholeness.” Churchill (1996, 584) has observed that Cherokee tradition can more accurately be interpreted in terms of an indigenous-based model of complementarity rather than op37. Personal communication, August 14, 2007.

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position (a concept similar to the reciprocity-based lifeway of the Hopi). From this perspective, because the space that is the spiritual home of the katsinam is the complement of the spaces in which the Hopi live their daily lives, to profane that spiritual space with things that do not assist Hopi activity would be, in effect, to invite a cessation of Hopi life. When Hopi pass on, they become clouds, that is, katsinam. They come to the Hopis’ villages and fields as the nurturing rain. In this capacity, they are active agents in the perpetuation of Hopi culture. During the period of the year when they are not at the village dispensing advice and admonition, they live at places in the four cardinal directions. In this way, the katsinam, both at their homes on the San Francisco Peaks as well as at places in the other three cardinal directions and while visiting the Hopi, are essential to the well-being of Hopi culture. The Hualapai, neighbors of the Hopi who live in the Grand Canyon, also claim that the use of reclaimed wastewater would prevent them from performing certain religious ceremonies: “the water would seep into the ground and into the spring below the Snowbowl,” so that the sacred spring water used for ceremonial purposes “would be ‘contaminated’ by ‘having been touched with death.’”38 Similarly, the Hopi have specific beliefs and prohibitions regarding their relationship with death and water related to death. The passing of a Hopi individual is an event filled with danger that must be properly guided and ritually cared for in very specific ways. Although there are aspects of this process that are held secret, we note here some publicly known features that are directly relevant to the contested use of wastewater (Beaglehole and Beaglehole 1935; Ferguson, Dongoske, and Kuwanwisiwma 2001; Kennard 1937; Stephen 1936; Voth 1912). In Hopi belief, natural water in the form of clouds and rain is the object of all Hopi’s prayers. From this perspective, the centrality of water in Hopi life makes it a sacred entity. When an individual passes on, his or her hair is washed ceremonially with yucca suds (see Simmons 1942, 313; Whiting 1939, 71). Washing with natural soap (yucca) and natural water and giving a new name to the deceased mark a transition to the next stage of life. The face of the deceased is covered with raw cotton, which “signifies its future existence as a cloud” (Ferguson, Dongoske, and Kuwanwisiwma 2001, 13). Normally, few individuals participate in burial practices in order to limit the contact of the

community with death (Thompson and Johnson 1944, 64). After contact with the dead, the participants purify themselves with the juniper leaf medicine, ngo¨mapkuyi, and smoke from juniper leaves or resin to prevent contraction of the sickness, maslakiwta (see Malotki and Lomatuway’ma 1987, 181). Reclaimed wastewater is radically different from the category of paahu, which refers to “water in nature,” “spring water,” or “wild water.” Paahu is associated with the presence of spiritual entities such as the katsinam and water serpents, paalo¨lo¨qangwt,39 who represent the epitome of fertility in Hopi religious iconography. It is in this sense that paahu possesses life-giving and life-sustaining properties. In Hopi belief, therefore, if it is contaminated, it cannot be life sustaining. The Hopi make ceremonial journeys to precious sources of natural water in search of a new life and the sustenance of life (qatsihepto, “go look for life”). Therefore, according to Emory Sekaquaptewa,40 shrines and springs must remain spiritually pure so that the katsinam who exist in their perfect, spiritually pure world will respond to the Hopi’s prayers. Profanation of the natural undisturbed state of sacred areas containing shrines will negatively affect the efficacy of Hopi ceremonies associated with these areas and threaten the very core of Hopi spiritual practice. Furthermore, it is important to be clear that the issue of why reclaimed wastewater on the mountain is inadmissible in Hopi belief has to do with how that water was used before it was put on the mountain. If it was physically polluted or contaminated with blood, materials associated with infectious disease, human waste, or other such materials, in Hopi belief, this kind of contamination cannot be removed through technology. Just as prayers contaminated by ill will can promote evil, so, too, can contaminated water render the area spiritually polluted. While Westerners think in terms of technology that can literally cleanse this wastewater, the Hopi and other native groups think in terms of spiritual cleansing. Although technology may be able to clean the water so that it is potable, in Hopi belief, it has been contaminated and can be tolerated only by removal of the contamination by ritual.41 Hopi culture has undergone many changes, modifications, and adaptations. However, there have always been strong threads of cultural tradition connecting the past and the pre-

38. Because of the sensitive nature of Hopi knowledge related to death, we deliberately exclude some information regarding purification practices used to “discharm” individuals and objects after their contact with death. Generally speaking, purification rituals follow rules prescribed by tradition and relate to specific circumstances and stages in the human life cycle. In response to an anonymous reviewer, we can only note that the need to continually purify the clouds that originate on the peaks that are incessantly being contaminated by reclaimed wastewater from the city of Flagstaff would pose a serious challenge in spiritual and technical terms. In the same way, the use of reclaimed wastewater to baptize newborn babies would—as we assume—create a serious concern for Catholic parents about the sacredness of such water.

39. For more details regarding the cultural significance of Paalo¨lo¨qangwt, or water serpents, see Fewkes and Stephen (1893), Geertz and Lomatuway’ma (1987), Malotki (1993), and Whiteley 1996. 40. Personal communication, November 22, 2006. 41. It is notable that the Hopi Traditional Movement resisted the installation of sewer and water lines at Hotvela in 1966 and 1968, explaining that these items would desecrate areas near shrines and a nearby kiva (Clemmer 1995, 194). In 1978 and 1979, traditionalists made an unsuccessful attempt to stop additional development of ski slopes on the San Francisco Peaks (Clemmer 1995, 194). Please refer to Geertz (1992) and Clemmer (1995) for a discussion of the Hopi Traditionalist Movement.

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sent.42 In the case at hand, the challenges created by Western technology and economy would, according to the native peoples, reverse the natural order of things. Pumping reclaimed water from the city sewage system on to the mountains—the homes of the katsinam—to make artificial snow would rupture Hopi continuous and long-standing ceremonial interactions with their life-sustaining sacred places in the San Francisco Peaks.

Nuvatukya’ovi: “Where the Clouds Dwell” The San Francisco Peaks lie within the Coconino National Forest, south of the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. They mark their presence with three peaks over 12,000 feet high that can be seen by Hopi who live in 12 villages at the southern edge of Black Mesa in northeastern Arizona. The name for these mountains was presumably given to the peaks by members of the seventeenth-century Franciscan mission at the Hopi village of Orayvi in honor of the founder of the Franciscan order, Saint Francis of Assisi (Platt 1976, 3). At 12,633 feet, Humphrey’s Peak, where the Arizona Snowbowl ski area is situated, is the highest and traditionally most significant peak to the Hopi. It is referred to as Aaloosaktukwi (“Aaloosaka butte”) or Aaloosakvi (“place of Aaloosaka”). Aaloosaka, a deity related to Muy’ingwa, the Germination Spirit, is a symbol of the Two-Horn Society, Aa’alt, a religious society that once resided at the village of Awat’ovi, a village occupied from prehistoric to historic times and located on Antelope Mesa, immediately to the east of the three mesas currently occupied. Aaloosaka is also an emblem of the Bow clan, Aawatngyam (Aawat, “bow,” and -ngyam, “clan”), a group of people who migrated to the Hopi mesas from the southwest through the San Francisco Mountains and whose members traditionally lead the Aa’alt society.43 Aaloosaka symbolism has survived in ceremonies of three Hopi ritual societies: Leelent, Wuwtsim, and Soyalang.44 We cite this detail to illustrate that the peaks are a critical locale of specific spirits, symbols, shrines, and traditional knowledge integral to the history of the Hopi people as well as to the performance of Hopi ritual. The archaeologist Jesse Walter Fewkes (1899, 539) noted that in local oral narratives, Aaloosaka is associated with the Sun, Taawa: 42. Our discussion does not impose an idea of sameness among Hopi individuals. We are aware of cultural and linguistic differences among communities from different Hopi mesas, villages, and clans and, consequently, of the heterogeneity of the Hopi society. In our view the San Francisco Peaks case demonstrates how Hopis’ collectivity can overcome their differences in face of a fundamental threat to the Hopi culture. Please note that katsina ceremonies (and initiations into the katsina ceremonies) have been practiced and are still being practiced in all the Hopi communities. Furthermore, it is safe to say that the majority of the Hopi people continue to support and contribute to these practices in many culturally meaningful ways. 43. Emory Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, August 8, 2007. 44. Emory Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, August 14, 2007. See also Fewkes (1899, 524).

His father was the Sun, his mother an Earth-goddess, sometimes called a maiden. Like many gods he traveled on the rainbow; he lived in Tawaki, the house of his father, the Sun, on the San Francisco Mountains.

Taawaki (lit. taawa, “sun,” and kihu, “house”) is used by the sun watcher, or taawat wiiki’ymaqa (lit. “one who leads the sun along”), as a reference point on the horizon to measure the progress of the sun between the winter, soyalangw, and the summer, suswupatawa, solstices in order to schedule planting activities and ceremonial events.45 When the sun touches the horizon (taawa to¨nganı`lti) and reaches the tops of the San Francisco Peaks, it makes a contact with its house, Taawaki. This point of contact can be seen from the Hopi villages of Musangnuvi and Songoòpavi on Second Mesa and Wa`lpi on First Mesa. From these vantage points, the Hopi determine the date of the solstices by noting the sun’s visible location at specific points on the horizon as well as on the San Francisco Peaks. The four cardinal directions of the Hopi are not north, south, west, and east but northwest, southwest, southeast, and northeast, oriented to the most distant points in each direction that the sun reaches in its annual movements (Hieb 1979, 577). These four ritually important directions are the homes of the clouds (the katsinas) and as such are associated with ritually important colors, birds, and other animals. The northwest point marks the horizon point of the summer solstice sunset, the southwest point marks the horizon point of the winter solstice sunset, the southeast point marks the horizon point of the winter solstice sunrise, and the northeast point marks the horizon point of the summer solstice sunrise. Notably, the southwest point associated with the winter solstice sunset marks the end of the year and the beginning of a new year, with a new planting season and new life. Although traditionally corn was the principal form of subsistence, even today where the Hopi diet includes many other foods, corn still remains the spiritual basis of their lifeway. Families continue to plant small plots of corn according to the solstice schedule for ritual purposes because corn continues to be both a literal and a spiritual food for the people as well as for the katsinam. Archeological evidence from ancestral sites in the area of Homol’ovi along the middle reaches of the Little Colorado River confirms the importance of the San Francisco Peaks in Hopi tradition. Homol’ovi, or “place of the mounds,” located approximately 60 miles south of the Hopi mesas, was occupied by groups of Hisatsinom (hisat, “long ago,” sinom, “people”) between AD 1250 and 1425 (Adams 2002, 161). In fact, a small kiva in the east plaza of Homol’ovi II (structure 714) has an encircling wall mural presumably of the San Francisco Peaks that is thought to have been used for keeping track of the village’s calendar. In addition, the first rooms built at Homol’ovi IV were built on top of the butte—a location that 45. Emory Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, August 8, 2007.

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represented the only place in the site complex from which the San Francisco Peaks were visible. Adams (2002, 137) suggests that this location was probably not accidental. The San Francisco Peaks are the symbolic homes of the katsinam in the southwest cardinal direction. Katsinam are spiritual beings who play a prominent role in Hopi cosmology and ethical life. Each year between midwinter and midsummer, the Hopi people invite them to their villages, where, during their public performances, they inform, guide, and advise the people on how to live right. Their inspirational songs, dances, and rituals help rejuvenate the people’s faith in their way of life, Hopivo¨tskwani.46 Their presence is intended to inspire people to correct their lifeways, mend material and emotional losses, and work in humility with other members of the community to live a healthy, long life free from suffering and want. Archaeological research attests that the katsinam have been a part of imagery on ceramics and petroglyphs of the Hopi people since at least the thirteenth century (Adams 1991, 2000; Hays 1989; Smith 1952).

The Philosophical Concept and Importance of the Katsinam The katsinam dwell in their symbolic shrine homes in the four cardinal directions: in the northwest at Kawestima, Betatakin ruins; in the southwest on the mountaintops of the San Francisco Peaks, Nuvatukya’ovi; in the southeast at Weenima; and in the northeast at Kıìsiw, Shadow Springs. Living in the spiritually pure Fifth World, as opposed to the Fourth World of the living, Tuuwaqatsi, the katsinam are intercessors between those two worlds.47 The katsinam travel from their spirit world to the world of the living in the form of clouds and rain to revitalize (hiikyangwna) the Hopi people and give new life to the land. According to Emory Sekaquaptewa,48 the Hopi recognize that the katsinam—that is, the rains—are a power greater than they are able to comprehend. Their ability to persuade the rain to come is rooted in the people’s faith and in their adherence to following the path of life prescribed by tradition. Only in this way will they realize their ultimate goal of health, prosperity, and freedom from suffering. During the process of petitioning the katsinam for rain, the people deposit prayer objects at shrines. Ritual smoking transfers the people’s collective hopes and prayers for rain; their breath and smoke symbolize the rainmaking clouds. The people direct their prayers to the places where the katsinam dwell, among them Ooma`wki (“cloud home”), the third highest peak 46. For a detailed discussion of the cultural purpose, meaning, and significance of katsina song texts, see Sekaquaptewa and Washburn (2004). 47. Emory Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, March 13, 2007. Emory Sekaquaptewa (personal communication, January 3, 2007) suggests that the term katsina may signify “father of life”: literally, “life,” qatsi, and “father,” -na, and the letter k can mask q purposely to conceal the true meaning or true nature of the katsinam. 48. Personal communication, January 3, 2007.


in the San Francisco Peaks, and Pavayoykyasi (“water-rain”), the second highest peak in the San Francisco Peaks.

Evidence from Traditional Song Texts The songs sung by the katsinam—katsı`ntatawi—in performance are not secret, esoteric songs (pavasiwtatawi) but rather are songs that, once publicly performed, are intended to be sung during any customary activity. As such, they can be thought of as constantly playing recordings of the philosophical principles underlying Hopi life. Collective memory and oral repetition of the principles espoused in the songs create a historical continuum that connects all individuals across generations. In this way, oral tradition plays an active role in the preservation of the strength and vitality of these beliefs that are centuries old. Texts of these katsina songs have been preserved through the recording efforts of many researchers since the turn of the century. They contain many metaphorical references to the way the San Francisco Peaks, as a monument shrine (tuutuskya), are central to Hopi ritual practices.49 Below, we cite passages from these song texts, as chosen and translated by Emory Sekaquaptewa, that illustrate the importance of the peaks as a religious place.50 In traditional belief, the San Francisco Peaks, Nuvatukya’ovi (nuva, “snow”; tukya a distortion of tuukwi, meaning “mountain crest”; -vi, suffix indicating “place of”), are one of four cardinal places where rain-bringing clouds originate and dwell and from which they move out toward all Hopi country. The katsinam sing of how they are engaged in preparing themselves for their journey by adorning themselves with spiritual power at their cloud homes, meaning that they are building as rain clouds preparatory to moving to rain on the Hopi’s lands. The following segment from a song remembered by Emory Sekaquaptewa illustrates this idea. Yuuyahiwa Ayamo Nuvatukya’ove’e. Oo’oomawutu Angqw puma naayuwasinaya, Pewi’i. They are preparing themselves [for a journey] Over there at the snow-capped mountains [San Francisco Peaks]. The clouds From there, they are putting on their endowments [of rain power] To come here.

The San Francisco Peaks stand as the natural landmark for 49. Katsina song texts were the subject of study in an extensive transcription and translation project led by Emory Sekaquaptewa (E. Sekaquaptewa, K. Hill, and D. Washburn, funded by the National Endowment for the Humanities, 2005–2007; Sekaquaptewa, Hill, and Washburn, forthcoming). 50. Traditionally, the katsina songs have no titles.

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the southwest cardinal direction, which is referred to in the Hopi language by two terms: taavang, literally “southwest,” and atkya, “down below.” The term atkyaqw (“from down below”) refers to an area seen from the Hopi mesas in the southwestern direction. The most prominent feature along the horizon in the atkya direction is the San Francisco Peaks. In a portion of a song remembered by Emory Sekaquaptewa, the peaks are indirectly referenced in this way. In this song, the Angaktsinam (Long Hair katsinam) are reminding the people that when they lived right and prayed with pure hearts, the rains came to make the lands, here referenced in their sacred nature as a “sand altar,” bloom with the prospect of life (Sekaquaptewa and Washburn 2004, 468). Haa’o ingumu, I namu, Uma naawuwayani. Ura hı´sato atkyaqw suvuyoyangw tokyephoyoyotangwu, Tuuwapongyava soòsoy himu’u sıìtalngwu, Listen my mothers, listen my fathers, You reflect back on past events. Remember when the rains moved along from down below, drizzling all night long, Everything on the sand altar would become bright with flowers.

The following song segment, recalled by Emory Sekaquaptewa, makes reference to the peaks in the southwest direction and to the rains that come from that direction and that will water the Hopi’s planted fields. Ayańgqw taavangqo¨ yooyangw’u, ` mtimakyangw uuyisonaqa, U Ang puma paatalawnayaqw’o¨. From over there, in the southwest direction, The rain clouds as they go along the planted fields thundering, To make them glitter with rainwater.

Each other Hopi cardinal direction is also marked by a specific place of historical significance, a locational marker that also happens to be a spiritual home of the katsinam. Each of these places has the same religious prominence as the San Francisco Peaks, and that is where the Hopi men go to deposit prayer feathers in connection with major ceremonies. For example, the Hopi shrines in the northeast at Blue Lake are celebrated in the following song segment (Sekaquaptewa and Washburn 2004, 476): Aya´m hoop Tewakiva sakwavayuyamuy épe’e, Ep itam yo¨ngo¨sontiyotu itaàhikwsiy oomawtaqe’e, Angqw pew Hopıìkimi kiimatsqamuyu amumi yoytiitiwunuto. Over there in the northeast at the home of the Tewas at their Blue Lake, Because we turtle boys have made our breath into clouds over there,

We have come to those who live here in Hopiland to dance as rain.

Like the San Francisco Peaks, Blue Lake was the subject of prolonged litigation between Taos Pueblo and non-Indian interests. The issue of the sacredness of Blue Lake was resolved in favor of the Taos people (Gordon-McCutchan 1991). As Alfonso Ortiz (1996, 26)—a Tewa from San Juan Pueblo who was involved in the return of Blue Lake to the Pueblo—points out, “The return of Blue Lake and the 48,000-acre tract in which it is set is of unique historical significance because it marked the first time that the federal government returned a significant parcel of land to its original owner in the name of indigenous religious freedom.” In Hopi symbolism, each cardinal direction is also characterized by a specific color. The southwest direction is associated with blue green. Clouds, falling rain, and lightning are all colored blue green when they are from the southwest direction: sakwa’omaw (sakwa, “blue green,” and omaw, “cloud”), sakwayoyleki (sakwa, “blue green,” and yoyleki, “falling rain seen as lines of rain coming down from the clouds that are far away”), and sakwatalawipi (sakwa, “blue green,” and talwıìpi, “lightning”). The following song segment, remembered by Emory Sekaquaptewa, makes reference to the peaks in the southwest by the blue-green color of the clouds that come from that direction: Ayangqoö¨’o¨ taavangqo¨, Sakwa’oomaw tuùtukwiwmakyango Umu’uyiy aw yookiinayani. From over there In the southwest, The blue-green clouds, as they pile up, one on top of another They move along your fields of plants to make rain.

Also a song segment from a song recorded by Curtis (1907, 485) references sakwa’oomaw, or “blue-green clouds”: “Corn blossom maidens / here in the field / patches of beans in flower fields / all abloom / water shining after rain / blue [blue green] clouds looming above.” In some songs, the clouds are referenced as blue-green cloud maidens, Sakwa’omawmanatu, who make their appearance over the Hopi villages to “make rain.” The maiden reference refers to the Hopi belief that young corn plants, clouds, and butterflies possess fertility-bearing powers and are therefore metaphorically referred to as unmarried young women and maidens, mamant. In other songs, the corn plants who are the beneficiaries of the rain from the southwest are referred to as blue-green corn plant maidens. They are metaphors for the young Hopi girls, who also grow and prosper with the food from the rains. The following passage is from a song related to Mary Black (1984, 283) by Emory Sekaquaptewa: Qoö¨tsap qaa’oö¨ manatu

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Sakwaap qaa’oö¨ maanatu Umuungem natuuwaniwa taal’aangwnawita. White corn maidens Blue corn maidens For your benefit they are raised in the growing season.

Butterflies from the southwest are also colored blue green and are referenced as maidens, the metaphor for agents of fertility. Thus, blue-green butterfly maidens, sakwavoliwmamant (sakwa, blue green; -voli, from poli-, combining form of polvolhoya, butterfly; mamant, maidens) are beneficiaries of rains arriving from the southwestern direction. By means of the maidens describing themselves as becoming adorned with pollen as they move from flower to flower, the song indicates the symbolic connection between butterflies as symbols of fertility and flowers as symbols of future fruit. The following lines are from a song recorded by Curtis (1907, 484) and amended by Black (1984, 285): Sakwavolimu morisi manatuy Talasiyamuy pitsangwatimakyangw Nuvenangoÿimani. Blue butterflies, while going along painting themselves With the tassel flowers of the bean pollen maidens Colorfully chase each other.

The word sakwavaaho, “blue-green prayer stick or water arrow” (sakwa, “blue green,” and paaho p paahu, “water” ⫹ hoohu, “arrow”), refers to a prayer feather that symbolically is painted blue. According to Emory Sekaquaptewa,51 sakwavaaho symbolizes prayers for rain from all directions but particularly those for rain from the southwest, because the summer thunderstorms that bring the corn to maturity come from that direction. These prayer feathers are used in ritual offerings to send prayer messages to the katsinam. Prayer feathers fastened to a blue green–colored prayer stick with a handwoven cotton string can also be described in ritual language as prayer-feather maidens, Sakwavahomanatu. Although they are not literally “blue green,” they are intended as prayer feathers taken to the clouds that come from that direction.52 Hopi men go to visit shrines on the San Francisco Peaks to gather branches of Douglas fir, salavi (Pseudotsuga menziesii), for their ceremonies.53 Douglas fir trees (salaptsotski) grow on high slopes of the San Francisco Mountains and occasionally at lower altitudes (e.g., above Betatakin, Kawestima), and around the spring, Kıìsiw, located near the head of Oraibi wash, 40 miles northeast of Oraibi (Bradfield 1973, 224). Emory Sekaquaptewa54 claims that if Douglas fir needles have a kind of silver grayish layer, or maasi, this is a sign that 51. Personal communication, March 13, 2007. 52. Emory Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, March 13, 2007. 53. For a detailed description of a pilgrimage to Kıìsiw that involved fetching water and Douglas fir branches, see Geertz and Lomatuway’ma (1987, 78–80). 54. Personal communication, March 13, 2007.


there will be good rains. He described this gray covering as having a frostlike appearance, suggestive of moisture and thus of the rain.55 Before the Hopi men who are members of the kiva sponsoring the dance go to collect the salavi on the San Francisco Peaks, they prepare prayer feathers and prayer sticks to deposit at the shrines on the peaks. According to Emory Sekaquaptewa,56 they make this trip to the peaks for purposes of a good life, puma qatsit ooviya. At these mountain shrines, Hopi men pray to all directions and deposit prayer objects as offerings— hom’oyi (“ceremonial cornmeal and prayer-feather offering)”—to ensure continued spiritual purity and sanctity of the place so that the katsinam can live there in their perfect world and will be able to respond to their prayers. It is important to emphasize that prayer feathers not only represent men’s sincere prayers but also, when deposited at a shrine, consecrate that place so that it remains spiritually pure and thus efficacious. By these practices, those praying are beckoning the clouds to come to Hopi. Douglas fir maidens—salavimanatu (salavi, “Douglas fir,” and mamant, “maidens”)—obtained on the peaks are planted in the plaza at Home Dance, Nima`ntikive. This ceremony marks the end of katsina dances for the season and is still being actively observed in all Hopi villages. The Douglas fir maidens represent a spiritual connection between the Hopi and the San Francisco Peaks. They symbolize all the things of nature that people pray for during the ceremony and in this way symbolize the Hopi’s connection to nature. This important role of the Douglas fir branches in plaza rituals is described in the following Angaktsina song (Sekaquaptewa and Washburn 2004, 469): Tuma ´ıtamu, tuma aa’aa’aa awya Ayo´’tivongyapami’i salavimanatuyu Itamuy nuùtayta sonwakw pitsangwa’ikyango. Put hapi aapiy poò¨tavilawu, inamu. Pantaqat ańga’a ´ıtamu umumi yooya’o¨kini. Let us all, let us go there To the dancing display place where the Douglas fir maidens In beauteous countenance, are awaiting us. From them [Douglas fir maidens], you, our fathers, are laying the sacred cornmeal path [toward us]. Along that way [path], we will arrive to you as rain.

According to Emory Sekaquaptewa,57 Douglas fir branches 55. In contrast, Stephen (1936, 395) claimed that the state of the Douglas fir branches gathered for kachina purposes in the spring foretells the summer weather: if the branches are glossy green, there will be plenty of rain, but if the fir is dull, ma’si (correctly, maasi), it is a bad sign for the coming summer (quoted in Bradfield 1973, 224; Whiting 1939, 63). Similarly, Bradfield (1973, 47, n. 1) notes that “the appearance of its [Douglas fir] needles in the spring serves as a portent of the weather during the coming season.” 56. Personal communication, January 3, 2007. 57. Personal communication, January 3, 2007.

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are important components of the dress of many katsinam, for example, Salapvitkuna: Douglas fir branches cover the kilt on a Hemiskatsina, who also holds a sprig of salavi in his left hand. They are also part of pongya—the altar, or sacred display—in a kiva as well as part of the shrine in the dance plaza in the village. It should be noted that Douglas fir branches, salap’uyi, are gathered for many other ceremonial purposes, not simply for katsina dances, in order to represent the Hopi’s connection to nature. For example, during the Butterfly Dance (Polıìtikive), the Butterfly dancers (Polıìt) circle around Douglas fir branches planted in the plaza. We have, thus far, presented evidence for the sacred nature of the San Francisco Peaks as places that are shrines, homes of the katsinam, and places to gather ritual materials. As such, they are places that merit respect just as the places of worship of other religions do. We now discuss the central issue—why the use of reclaimed wastewater to make snow would profane these sacred places. The explanation must begin with a short description of the agricultural system that lies at the heart of the Hopi’s communal small-village lifeway. Living on the Colorado Plateau in an area of marginal rainfall, the Hopi have adapted their growing techniques to take advantage of a rainfall regime that provides moisture in the form of winter rains and snows that replenish the water table and intense late summer thunderstorms that bring the crops to maturity. They plant their staple foods—corn, beans, squash, and melons—in fields with deep sandy soils that capture and store this winter moisture. These fields are located to take advantage of the runoff waters from summer thunderstorms. In this way, the Hopi depend as much on the snows of winter to germinate and start their crops as they do on the summer thunderstorms that bring their crops to maturity. From this perspective, it should be clear how the winter snows as well as the summer thunderstorms are an essential part of the success of the Hopi subsistence economy. In Hopi belief, snow is a form of moisture that has a sacred quality because it insures the feeding of and thus the continuity of the Hopi. A segment of a Sa’lako maiden song recorded by Robert Black addresses the importance of the winter snows. It describes how the snows of winter from the four directions have come and laid their moisture along the land. The song ends noting how these winter snows have ended with the close of Paamuya, the lunar month that roughly corresponds to January. Importantly, it is natural snow that nourishes the Hopi, and thus only natural snow, not artificial snow, should be on the mountain. To understand why this distinction between natural and artificial snow is crucial, it is necessary to understand the way the Hopi view their lands. They do not see it as just dirt but as a sacred place, and for this reason they call it tuuwapongya (from tuuwa, “sand,” and pongya, “display”), often translated as “the sand altar.” In this sense, they see the earth as having reverential, ineffable qualities because it is a place that supports all the resources—plants and ani-

mals—that insure their survival. Paavopkomat (paahu, “water in nature,” and pok’(at), “animal” [possessed form]), or “his [a reference to the Creator] water creatures,” is a term that encompasses all the living things that depend on all forms of moisture for existence. Reference to these creatures often occurs in katsina songs, as in the following segment in which they are reveling in the rains that have come (Sekaquaptewa and Washburn 2004, 468): Pu’tuwat paavopkomatu yoyngaya`lpuva’a Toö¨to¨kiy a´kwa’a soosonkilawngwu. The water creatures in the afterward of the rain Would begin giving a beautiful performance with their cries.

All of these living things—people, plants, and animals—flourish; that is, they take their sustenance from the earth and from the natural rain that has come from the clouds on the mountains. From this perspective, to put snow that has been made from profaned water on an altar would be anathema to these tribal peoples.

Conclusion The conflict between the ASR and Native American tribes exposes philosophical “disjunctions” about water between nonnative and native cultures that are epistemological in nature and ethical in consequence. Balancing Western economies with Native American spiritualities is a challenging task but one that is vital to future collaborations and partnerships between land management agencies and Native American constituencies. It is certain that the plaintiffs and defendants need to find respectful ways of sharing these places that respect the values that these places have for all parties concerned. We have presented evidence from oral tradition and traditional song texts that confirm the importance of the San Francisco Peaks as a place of great cultural and religious significance to one of the plaintiffs, the Hopi people. In this article, we have endeavored to clarify how Hopi beliefs and practices regard the pumping of reclaimed city wastewater onto the peaks as artificial snow would be a contamination of a sacred place. The violation of the sacredness of the San Francisco Peaks fundamentally compromises tribal beliefs and the practice of their beliefs. Jonathan Lear (2006, 47) well expressed the heart of the matter: “If it is no longer possible to live this way of life, there is no longer a way to be a person who is excellent at living that life.”

Acknowledgments We are enormously grateful to the late Emory Sekaquaptewa for his intellectual nurturing and generous sharing of his knowledge. We thank all anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions.

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