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C “ 32 · LAND&PEOPLE · FALL/WINTER 2016


lose your eyes” instructs Reno Franklin. Chairman of the Kashia Band of Pomo Indians, Franklin wears his long black hair pulled into a loose ponytail. He’s address- ing a crowd gathered to celebrate the creation of the new Kashia Coastal Reserve. “Close your eyes,” he repeats. “Close your eyes….” As the audience complies, a smile plays across his face.


“Think back 200 years, when thousands—not hundreds, but thousands—of Kashia people walked on this land. Literally right where you’re standing. That is where we are. “Two hundred years ago, the Russians came. The ‘Undersea


People.’ Why did we call them that? Look.” He gestures to the sweeping Pacific, stretching to the horizon behind him. “That view had stayed the same for thousands of years. Until a mast appeared, and then a boat. The Undersea People. From that day forward, everything changed for us.”


Years of negotiations, fragile alliances—built, destroyed, repaired—and the hopes and dreams of a people have led to this day: the transfer of nearly 700 acres of Northern Califor- nia coastal prairie and redwood forest back to the Kashia, its historic caretakers. On paper, the deal was closed last December. But today—a windy Saturday in June 2016—marks the tribe’s ceremonial return to the coast. Hundreds of people, Kashia and non- Indians alike, have congregated here along a quiet, rural stretch of Highway 1 in northern Sonoma County to dance, pray, and mark a defining moment 150 years in the making. It’s hungry work, and Kashia volunteers have prepared a tradi- tional feast for the guests—some of whom have traveled hours to join the celebration.


“I don’t know how else to explain it: it’s like a home I’ve never been to before, but I can feel. I know this is where I belong,” says Billyrene Pinola, a Kashia, her voice breaking with emotion. Later, Pinola will don traditional dress to per- form a ceremonial dance alongside her granddaughter Laila; now she’s standing and marveling at the scene around her. “This is not just a piece of land to us. It’s family. If you don’t know your cultural history, your language, your land, you lose your identity. This property brings us back home.” Once, the Kashia thrived here. In colder months the tribe lived in upland villages, hunting and gathering in the abun- dant forests and grasslands. When the seasons turned, they moved their camps closer to shore to fish and harvest abalone, mussels, urchins, seaweed, and salt. They made jewelry from shells and wove grasses and fibers into intricate baskets. The surrounding ocean, forest, and hills were their grocery, their pharmacy, and their university. “Twelve thousand five hundred years,” says Chairman Franklin. “Archaeological records show that’s how long Kashia were on this land. And in the last 200, after the Russians and Europeans came, our people suffered. We died, we were murdered, we were put into slavery, forced to work in gold mines.”


The arrival of the colonists forced the Kashia people inland, where they ultimately settled on a small, water-poor res- ervation—40 acres, with no direct access to the coast. “My grandmother was moved to the rez when there were no homes there,” recounts Billyrene. “The government said they were going to provide housing, but they didn’t—so she and the others had to build their own brush houses to live in. Back then, the coast was their primary food source. But when my dad wanted to fish or to gather, he had to ask permission from the landowners. They never told him no, but it really bothered him that he had to ask. “My grandmother and my father taught me how to gather,” she continues. “I raised my children on the 40-acre reserva- tion, and I taught them how to live off the land. It’s a big asset for our tribe to be able to access the ocean, because that’s where we get our food and our culture.”


“12,500 years. That’s how long Kashia were on this land.”


RENO FRANKLIN, CHAIRMAN OF THE KASHIA BAND OF POMO INDIANS


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