American Indian Heritage Month: Commemoration vs. Exploitation
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Environment and Pollution

When most American Indians were assigned reservations late in the nineteenth century, many of the lands given them were assumed to be relatively worthless for economic activities deemed valuable to Anglo-American settlers, whose main interest was agriculture. The reservations were assigned at the dawn of fossil-fueled industrialism, decades before the atomic age—ironically, as it turned out, because areas that appeared so barren to the untrained eye held, underground, a wealth of mineral and metal resources. In particular, Indian reservations in the United States possess a substantial proportion of the uranium and coal within U.S. borders. During the ensuing century and a quarter, the circumstances of industrialization and technical change have made many of these treaty-guaranteed lands very valuable.

According to a Federal Trade Commission (FTC) report distributed in October 1975, an estimated 16 percent of the U.S. uranium reserves that were recoverable at market prices were on reservation lands; this was about two-thirds of the uranium on land under the legal jurisdiction of the U.S. government. There were, at that time, almost four hundred uranium leases on these lands, according to the FTC, and between one million and two million tons of uranium ore a year—about 20 percent of the national total—were being mined from reservation land.

American Indians living within the borders of the United States have therefore developed an intimate relationship over the years with exploiters of resources. Products affecting reservation environments in the United States range from atom bombs to kitty litter. Even a brief summary of environmental issues facing indigenous peoples in the United States reveals a range of problems equal to those of any Third World nation. Native lands repeatedly have become targets for proposals whose sponsors seem to ignore the fact that these lands have human inhabitants. Witness the Inuit (Eskimos) of Point Hope, Alaska, whose land had once been proposed as the site of a new harbor to be created with nuclear weapons. The harbor was never created, but the Point Hope Eskimos still found themselves hosting uninvited nuclear waste. Other Alaskan Eskimos have found their reindeer rendered inedible, polluted with a number of heavy metals. Similar problems afflicted the Yakamas, who found themselves unwilling neighbors of the Hanford Nuclear Reservation in Eastern Washington. Residents of geographically diverse communities, from the Akwesasne Mohawk in northern New York State to the Yaquis near the U.S.–Mexico border, suffer from the devastation wrought by dioxin, PCBs, and other pollutants.

Akwesasne: The Land of Toxic Turtles

Within the living memory of a middle-aged person in the early twenty-first century, Akwesasne (the Mohawk name for the St. Regis Mohawk reservation that straddles the U.S.–Canadian border in New York State) has become a toxic dumping ground riskier to human health than many urban areas. These environmental circumstances have, in two generations, descended on a people whose whole way of life once was enmeshed with the natural world, a place where the Iroquois origin story says the world took shape on a gigantic turtle's back. In our time, environmental pathologists have found turtles at Akwesasne that qualify as toxic waste.

The Akwesasne reservation was abruptly introduced to industrialism with the coming of the Saint Lawrence Seaway during the middle 1950s. Shortly thereafter, industry began to proliferate around the Mohawks' homeland. A General Motors foundry opened, followed by aluminum plants and steel mills that provided raw materials and parts for the foundry. When Ward Stone, a wildlife pathologist for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation, began examining animals at Akwesasne in the 1980s, he found that the PCBs, insecticides, and other toxins were escaping from designated dumps. After years of use, the dump sites had leaked, and the toxins had spread into the food chain of human beings and nearly every other species of animal in the area. The Mohawks' traditional economy, based on hunting, fishing, and agriculture, had been literally poisoned out of existence.

While no federal standards exist for PCBs in turtles, the federal standard for edible poultry is three parts per million. The federal standard for edible fish is two parts per million. During the fall of 1987, Stone found a male snapping turtle that contained 3,067 parts per million in its body fat—a thousand times the concentration allowed in a domestic chicken and sixty times the minimum standard for hazardous waste. Contamination was lower in female turtles because they shed some of their own contamination by laying eggs, whereas the males store more of what they ingest. Two years earlier, working in close cooperation with the Mohawks, Stone had found a masked shrew that somehow had managed to survive in spite of a PCB level of 11,522 parts per million in its body, the highest concentration that Stone had ever seen in a living creature, and 250 times the minimum standard to qualify as hazardous waste. Based on these and other samples, Stone declared Akwesasne to be one of the worst PCB-polluted sites in North America. In 1986, pregnant women were advised not to eat fish from the Saint Lawrence, historically the Mohawks' main source of protein. Until the 1950s, Akwesasne had been home to more than 100 commercial fishermen, and about 120 farmers. By 1990, fewer than ten commercial fishermen and twenty farmers remained.

In March 1990, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) released its Superfund cleanup plan for the General Motors foundry. The cleanup was estimated to cost $138 million, making the General Motors dumps near Akwesasne number one on the EPA's "most-wanted" list and also the costliest Superfund cleanup job in the United States. In 1991 the cost was scaled down to $78 million, but the General Motors dumps were still ranked as the country's most expensive toxic cleanup.

"We can't try to meet the challenges with the meager resources we have," said Henry Lickers, a Seneca employed by the Mohawk Council at Akwesasne. Lickers has been a mentor to today's younger environmentalists at Akwesasne. He also has been a leader in the fight against fluoride emissions from the Reynolds plant. "The next ten years will be a cleanup time for us, even without the money," said Lickers (Johansen, 1993, 19).

The destruction of Akwesasne's environment is credited by Lickers with being the catalyst that spawned the Mohawks' deadly battle over high-stakes gambling and smuggling. "A desperation sets in when, year after year, you see the decimation of the philosophical center of your society," he said (Johansen, 1993, 19).

The Mohawks are not alone. Increasingly, restrictive environmental regulations enacted by states and cities are bringing polluters to Native reservations. "Indian tribes across America are grappling with some of the worst of its pollution: uranium tailings, chemical lagoons and illegal dumps. Nowhere has it been more troublesome than at . . . Akwesasne," wrote Rupert Tomsho, a reporter for the Wall Street Journal (Tomsho, 1990, 1).

Some attempt has been made to replace contaminated soils in parts of Akwesasne and to dredge some of the Saint Lawrence River. Given the large area that has been polluted and the persistence of the pollutants in the food chain, in 2005 large areas of soil and water remained toxic enough to cause people to refrain from growing food or eating fish caught in local waters. Despite the cleanup efforts, pollution at Akwesasne remains a major health problem. Katsi Cook, a Mohawk midwife who has studied the degree to which mothers' breast milk has been laced with PCBs at Akweswasne, said, "This means that there may be potential exposure to our future generations. The analysis of Mohawk mother's milk shows that our bodies are, in effect, part of the [General Motors] landfill" (LaDuke, 1994, 45).

The Yaquis and Pesticide Contamination

The Yaquis are an indigenous, farming people who live and work in the environs of the Yaqui Valley in Sonora, Mexico, spanning the border between the United States and Mexico. Beginning after World War II, due to a lack of available water and financing, many Yaquis became unable to support their own farms. Faced with the prospect of starvation, these people were forced to lease their lands to outsiders, mainly corporate farmers, who were heavy users of pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides. The use of these chemicals, usually applied by aerial spraying, by tractor, and by hand, brought widespread contamination of the land, water, and people. As valley farm operations, including irrigation and transport systems, became mechanized, the resulting Green Revolution hastened the further consolidation and corporatization of farming in the region. Farmers in the valley reported planting two crops a year, with pesticides applied as many as forty-five times per crop. Pesticide compounds included multiple organophosphate and organochlorine mixtures, as well as pyrethroids. Between 1959 and 1990, thirty-three different compounds—including DDT, dieldrin, endosulfan, endrin, heptachlor, and parathionmethyl—were used for the control of cotton pests alone. As recently as 1986, 163 different pesticide formulations were sold in the southern region of the state of Sonora. Substances banned in the United States, such as lindane and endrin, were and are readily available to farmers living in the Mexican parts of the valley.

Moreover, pesticide use is widespread and continues throughout the year with little governmental control. Contamination of the resident human population has been documented, with women's breast milk containing concentrations of lindane, heptachlor, benzene hexachloride, aldrin, and endrin all above limits set by the Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations for women after one month of lactation (Guillette, Meza, Aquilar, Soto, and Garcia, 1998). During 1990, high levels of multiple pesticides were found in the cord blood of newborns and in the breast milk of valley residents. (Local children are usually breast-fed, then weaned onto household foods.)

Angel Valencia, a spiritual leader of the Yaqui tribe in the village of Potam, described the effects of these chemicals among valley residents. Valencia spoke as a representative of the Arizona-based Yoemem Tekia Foundation, an affiliate of the International Indian Treaty Council. "I have seen with my own eyes the effects of daily contact with these pesticides—it burns their skin, they lose their fingernails, develop rashes and in some cases they have died as a result of exposure to these poisons. . . . The tragedy of this situation makes me both sad and angry—to think of what has been done to the innocent children who are the future of the Yaqui people. They will not be able to grow and develop, as they deserve to" (Johansen, 2004, 369).

During the 1990s, Elizabeth Guillette, an anthropologist and research scientist at the University of Arizona, studied the impacts of pesticide exposure on Yaqui children. Guillette's studies confirmed the observations of Valencia. In her study, children of the agrarian region were compared to children living in the foothills, where pesticide use is generally avoided. The study selected two groups of four- and five-year-old Yaqui children who resided in the Yaqui Valley of northwestern Mexico. These children shared similar genetic backgrounds, diets, water-mineral contents, cultural patterns, and social behaviors. The major difference was the level of their exposure to pesticides. Guillette adapted a series of motor and cognitive tests into simple games the children could play, including hopping, ball catching, and picture drawing. The study was constructed in this manner to minimize variables that can affect the outcome of a pesticide study on child growth and development. The population had to meet the requirements of similar genetic origin, living conditions, and related cultural and social values and behaviors, all of which are necessary for comparable study and reference groups.

Guillette had assumed that any differences between the two groups would be subtle. Instead, she recalled, "I was shocked. I couldn't believe what was happening" (Luoma, 1999). According to an account by Jon R. Luoma in Mother Jones, "The lowland children had much greater difficulty catching a ball or dropping a raisin into a bottle cap—both tests of hand-eye coordination. They showed less physical stamina, too. But the most striking difference came when they were asked to draw pictures of a person. . . . Most of the pictures from the foothill children looked like recognizable versions of a person. The pictures from most of the lowland children, on the other hand, were merely random lines, the kind of unintelligible scribbles a toddler might compose. . . . It appeared likely they had suffered some kind of brain damage" (Luoma, 1999).

During a follow-up trip in 1998, two years after her initial visit, Guillette found that both groups of children (who at that time were in primary school) had improved their drawing ability. While the lowland children's drawings looked more like people than before, the foothill children were drawing far more detailed images. The lowland youngsters were still evidencing some motor problems, particularly with balance. "Some of these changes might seem minute, but at the very least we're seeing reduced potential," Guillette said. "And I can't help wondering how much these kinds of chemicals are affecting us all" (Luoma, 1999).

No differences were found in the physical growth patterns of the two groups of children. Functionally, however, Guillette and her colleagues wrote, "The exposed children demonstrated decreases in stamina, gross and fine eye-hand coordination, 30-minute memory, and the ability to draw a person" (1998). Guillette gave children red balloons for the successful completion of tasks. "Well over half of the lesser-exposed children could remember the color in the object, and all remembered they were getting a balloon. Close to 18 percent of the exposed children could not remember anything," and only half could remember they were getting a balloon. "It was quite a contrast," she said (Mann, 2000, C-9).

"Valley children appeared less creative in their play. They roamed the area aimlessly or swam in irrigation canals with minimal group interaction. Some valley children were observed hitting their siblings when they passed by, and they became easily upset or angry with a minor corrective comment by a parent." These aggressive behaviors were not noted in the foothills. "Some valley mothers stressed their own frustration in trying to teach their child how to draw," said Guillette and colleagues (1998).

Guillette said she noticed that exposed Yaqui children would walk by other persons and strike them without apparent provocation. Otherwise, they tended to sit in groups and do nothing. Foothill children, by contrast, were always busy, engaged in group play. "I'd throw the ball to a group of kids. In the valley, one child would get the ball and just play with it himself," she says. The foothills children played with the ball as a group (Mann, 2000, C-9). Yaqui mothers from the valley also reported more problems getting pregnant and higher rates of miscarriages, stillbirths, neonatal deaths, and premature births.

Concluding her study, Guillette raised a question that summarized the concerns of parents in the lowlands of the pesticide-ridden valley: "Environmental change has placed the children of the agricultural area of the Yaqui valley at a disadvantage for participating in normal childhood activities. Will they remain at risk for functioning as healthy adults?" (Guillette et al., 1998). As if in answer to this question, neurotoxicologist David O. Carpenter of the State University of New York at Albany has said, "I know of no other study that has looked at neurobehavioral impacts—cognition, memory, motor ability—in children exposed to pesticides. The implications here are quite horrendous," he said, "because the magnitude of observed changes is incredible— and may prove irreversible" (Raloff, 1998).

The Point Hope Eskimos: An Atomic Harbor and a Nuclear Dump

On the far northwest coast of Alaska, Inuit (Eskimo) people have, since the 1950s, been resisting plans of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) to demonstrate the "peaceful" uses of atomic energy by blowing open a new harbor at Point Hope with a series of underground atomic blasts. The government shelved the plan, which was called Operation Chariot, in 1962. After that, without telling the Inuit, the federal government turned parts of their home-land into a nuclear dump.

Unknown to local residents, the U.S. government conducted a nuclear experiment in their backyard. It stored forty-three pounds of radioactive soil near Point Hope that came from within a mile of ground zero of a nuclear blast in Nevada. The soil contained strontium 85 and cesium 137 (Badger, 1992, B-5). The strontium typically would have lost all its radioactivity years before its deposit at Point Hope, and the cesium would still have had about half its radioactivity after thirty years, according to government officials. The purpose of the experiment, according to the AEC, was to test the toxicity of radiation in an arctic environment. The dump experiment was carried out by the U.S. Geological Survey under license from the AEC.

The fact that the area was occupied by Native people seemed not to matter to the government. Point Hope, the closest settlement to the dump, is an Inuit village of about 700 people, most of whom make a living as whalers. It is one of the oldest continuously occupied town sites in North America. The Inuit did not learn of the nuclear dump until Dan O'Neill, a researcher at the University of Alaska, made public documents he had found as he researched a book on the aborted plan to create a harbor in the Alaskan coast with nuclear weapons. O'Neill, using the Freedom of Information Act, learned that the nuclear waste had been stored in the area as part of Project Chariot, which was declassified in 1981. According to O'Neill, the nuclear dump was clearly illegal and contained "a thousand times . . . the allowable standard for this kind of nuclear burial" (Grinde and Johansen, 1995, 238–239). The nuclear waste that was buried near Point Hope remained unmarked for thirty years, during which time hunters crossed it to pursue game and caribou migrated through it. Not until September 1992 did the U.S. government admit that it had buried 15,000 tons of radioactive soil at Cape Thompson, twenty-five miles from Point Hope, on the Chukchi Sea in northwestern Alaska. For many years, the Inuit in the area have suffered cancer rates that far exceeded national averages. The government acknowledged that soil in the area contained "trace amounts" of radiation, but denied that its experimental nuclear dump had caused the Inuits' elevated cancer rate. Until the dumps were disclosed during the late 1990s, the Inuit in Port Hope had no clue as to why the incidence of cancer in their village had jumped to 578 per 100,000 within two generations. Some doctors blamed the rise in cancer rates on smoking by the Inuit. In 1997, Dr. Bowerman, chief medical officer of the Borough of Barrow, Alaska, published findings linking the increase in cancer incidence to the burial of nuclear waste near Port Hope (Colomeda, 1998).

"I can't tell you how angry I am that they considered our home to be nothing but a big waste-land," said Jeslie Kaleak, mayor of the North Slope Borough, which governs eight Arctic villages, including Point Hope. "They didn't give a damn about the people who live up here." When Senator Frank Murkowski, Republican of Alaska, visited the village, an elderly woman threw herself at him and shouted, "You have poisoned our land!" (Egan, 1992, A-26). Energy Department spokesman Tom Gerusky acknowledged that the Geological Survey erred in burying the waste but said a person standing on the mound for a year would be exposed to only a small fraction of radiation received in a single cross-country jet flight (Badger, 1992, B-5).

Radiation afflicting the Inuit of this area also may stem from dumping by the former Soviet Union. It is unclear how much radioactivity from above-ground nuclear blasts by the Soviet Union may have drifted into the Arctic, but some U.S. officials have said the amount could be considerable. There is also concern that the Bering and Chukchi Seas are contaminated by radioactivity: Russia has acknowledged that over the last three decades the Soviets dumped old submarines with damaged nuclear reactors and more than 10,000 containers of nuclear waste in the waters of the Far North (Egan, 1992, A-26).

The environmental devastation of remote areas in the Arctic is only one part of social disintegration that is afflicting the Inuit of the far north. In 1960, before widespread energy development on Alaska's North Slope, the suicide rate among Native people there was 13 per 100,000, comparable to averages in the United States as a whole. By 1970, the rate had risen to 25 per 100,000; by 1986, the rate had risen to 67.6 per 100,000. Homicide rates by the middle 1980s were three times the average in the United States as a whole, either 22.9 or 26.6 per 100,000 people, depending on which study was used. Death rates from homicide and suicide reflected rising rates of alcoholism. In the mid-1980s, 79 percent of Native suicide victims had some alcohol in their blood at the time of death. Slightly more than half (54 percent) of the people who committed suicide were legally intoxicated (Grinde and Johansen, 1995, 238–239).

The Yakamas: Hanford's Radioactive Legacy

The Hanford Nuclear Reservation, in eastern Washington State, released very large amounts of irradiated water 30 miles upstream from the Yakama reservation between 1945 and 1989. Due to this decades-long bath of radiation dumped directly into the river system, seafood around the mouth of the Columbia River became poisoned. In the early 1960s, one Hanford employee ate local oysters and set off the plant's radiation alarm when he returned to work the following day (Weaver, 1996, 49). An investigation revealed that the day before he had eaten a can of oyster stew contaminated with radioactive zinc. The oysters had been harvested in Willapa Bay, along the Pacific Coast in Washington State, 25 miles north of Astoria (Schneider, 1990, A-9).

The 560-square-mile Hanford Nuclear Reservation was established during 1943 on lands traditionally used for hunting, fishing, and gathering by the Yakamas and Umatillas. The same area is adjacent to the homeland of the Nez Percé. The Hanford facility produced the plutonium used in the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Thus, releases of radioactive materials have been contaminating these peoples, as well as the Coeur d'Alene, Spokane, Colville, Kootenai, and Warm Springs Tribes for many years. Unaware of the contamination for years, indigenous people collected berries near the Columbia, hunted for eels in its tributaries, and took salmon from its waters. In 1986, after disclosure that radiation was secretly released into the air and water from 1944 until January 1971 (when the last of the eight reactors was closed), Yakama leaders were among the first to call for a thorough study of the danger.

For nearly thirty years, ending in 1971, eight of the nine nuclear reactors at the Hanford complex were cooled by water from the Columbia River. Millions of gallons of water, pumped directly through the reactor cores, picked up large amounts of nuclear material, making the Columbia downstream the most radioactive river in the world, according to state and federal authorities (Schneider, 1990, A-9). In July 1990, a federal panel said some infants and children in the 1940s absorbed enough radioactive iodine in their thyroid glands to destroy the gland and cause an array of thyroid-related diseases. Although Hanford has stopped producing plutonium, recently released documents indicate that radioactive materials leaking from storage tanks there have continued to contaminate groundwater in the area. New York Times reporter Keith Schneider described the Columbia below the Hanford Reservation: "Dammed in the 1950's below Hanford and developed by industrial companies, the river's water is green and gray now. Salmon runs are much smaller than they were before World War II, and Johnny Jackson, a 59-year-old fisherman . . . , said some fish he catches were marred by deep, infected welts and growths. . . . Documents declassified beginning in 1986 noted that 'radiation spread to the river's bacteria, algae, mussels, fish, birds and the water used for both irrigation and drinking' " (Schneider, 1990, A-9).

In 1954, the radiation situation at Hanford was reviewed in secret meetings held at the Washington, DC headquarters of the Atomic Energy Commission, which operated the plant. Lewis L. Strauss, the commission's chairman, flew to Hanford that summer and was told that "levels of radioactivity in some fish in the Columbia River, particularly whitefish, were so high that officials were considering closing sport fishing downstream" (Schneider, 1990, A-9). Ducks, geese, and crops irrigated with Columbia River water also were said to pose a potential health threat.

The public was never alerted. In a memorandum prepared on August 19, 1954, Dr. Parker urged the government to keep the problem secret because the radiation levels were still within safety guidelines and closing sport fishing would compel the plant to discuss the issue publicly and compromise secrecy. "The public relations impact would be severe," he wrote (Schneider, 1990, A-9).

An effort to compensate victims of Hanford's radioactivity has largely stalled in the courts, as government committees debate the definition of toxicity and whether residents in the area were exposed to enough radioactivity (absent other factors) to provoke a large spectrum of debilitating ailments (including thyroid disease, cancers, miscarriages and other reproductive disorders) that many local people associate with releases of radioactivity from the Hanford Reservation. One study, the Hanford Environmental Dose Reconstruction (HEDR), produced results that were inconclusive enough to prevent any significant movement toward compensation for the Yakamas and other "downwinders." Many of the victims have complained that the study required them to remember after roughly fifty years the food they ate, its sources, and a variety of other detailed lifestyle factors. In the meantime, the Department of Energy under the George W. Bush administration has drastically cut cleanup funds for the Hanford site, slowing decontamination in the area.

Bruce E. Johansen

Further Reading
"Uranium/Nuclear Issues and Native Communities." 2001. Indigenous Environmental Network. Available at: Accessed December 30, 2006.; Badger, T. A. 1992. "Villagers Learning a Frightening Secret: U.S. Reveals That It Has Buried Radioactive Soil Near Alaska Town 30 Years Ago. Residents Fear That Atomic Testing May Have Damaged the Food Chain." Los Angeles Times (December 20): B-5.; Churchill, Ward, and Winona LaDuke. 1986. "Native America: The Political Economy of Radioactive Colonialism." The Insurgent Sociologist 13, no. 3 (Spring): 51–84.; Colomeda, Lori A. (Salish Kootenai College, Pablo Montana) 1998. "Indigenous Health." Speech delivered in Brisbane [Australia] on September 9. Available at: Accessed December 30, 2006.; Egan, Timothy. 1992. "Eskimos Learn They've Been Living Amid Secret Pits of Radioactive Soil." New York Times (December 6): A-26.; Eichstaedt, Peter. 1995. If You Poison Us: Uranium and American Indians. Santa Fe, NM: Red Crane Books.; Gedicks, Al. 1993. The New Resource Wars: Native and Environmental Struggles Against Multinational Corporations. Boston: South End Press.; Grinde, Donald A., Jr., and Bruce E. Johansen. 1995. Ecocide of Native America: Environmental Destruction of Indian Lands and Peoples. Santa Fe, NM: Clear Light Publishers.; Guillette, Elizabeth A., Maria Mercedes Meza, Maria Guadalupe Aquilar, Alma Delia Soto, and Idalia Enedina Garcia. 1998. "An Anthropological Approach to the Evaluation of Preschool Children Exposed to Pesticides in Mexico." Environmental Health Perspectives 106 (June): 6. Available at:; Johansen, Bruce E. 1993. Life and Death in Mohawk Country. Golden, CO: North American Press/Fulcrum.; Johansen, Bruce E. 2004. Indigenous Peoples and Environmental Issues: An Encyclopedia. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.; Johansen, Bruce E., and Roberto Maestas. 1979. Wasi'chu: The Continuing Indian Wars. New York: Monthly Review Press.; LaDuke, Winona. 1994. "Breastmilk, P.C.B.s, and Motherhood: An Interview with Katsi Cook, Mohawk." Cultural Survival Quarterly 17, no. 4 (Winter): 43–45.; Lickers, Henry. 1995. "Guest Essay: The Message Returns." Akwesasne Notes New Series 1, no. 1 (Spring): 10–11.; Luoma, Jon R. 1999. "System Failure: The Chemical Revolution Has Ushered in a World of Changes. Many of Them, It's Becoming Clear, Are in Our Bodies." Mother Jones. Available at: mother_jones/JA99/endocrine/html.; Mann, Judy. 2000. "A Cautionary Tale About Pesticides." Washington Post (June 2): C-9.; Schneider, Keith. 1990. "Washington Nuclear Plant Poses Risk for Indians." New York Times (September 3): A-9.; Tomsho, Rupert. 1990. "Reservations Bear the Brunt of New Pollution." Wall Street Journal (November 29): 1.; Weaver, Jace, ed. 1996. Defending Mother Earth: Native American Perspectives on Environmental Justice. Maryknoll, NY: Maryknoll.

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