Oklahoma v. Castro‑Huerta is an unprecedented attack on the autonomy of Native American nations in the United States. The Supreme Court held that Oklahoma had jurisdiction over a crime committed by a non‑Indian perpetrator against an Indian victim within the Cherokee Reservation’s boundaries. The decision posits that states presumptively have jurisdiction, concurrent with the federal government, over crimes by non‑Indians against Indians in Indian country. But this proposition is at war with a bedrock principle of Indian law, namely, that reservations are essentially “free from state jurisdiction and control,” a policy that “is deeply rooted in the Nation’s history.” That principle has stood the test of time, with the high court itself guarding tribes’ autonomy and sovereignty in celebrated Indian law cases dating to the nation’s founding.
Castro‑Huerta drastically extends the reach of state authority into Indian country, and it does so by imposing a dubious, revisionist retelling of the history of U.S.‑tribal relations. The false narrative forged by the majority reflects an extremist “states’‑rights” ideology aggressively projected onto the field of Indian law, threatening to “wip[e] away centuries of tradition and practice” by uprooting a core historical principle protective of Indigenous rights. The decision provoked an immediate U.S. governmental response, with a House subcommittee holding hearings and the Justice and Interior Departments conducting listening sessions in September 2022 to begin assessing the case’s dire implications. Scholarly criticism already is underway as well and likely will proliferate and intensify. With so much at stake for the preservation of tribal sovereignty and the future of federal Indian law, unmasking and deconstructing the decision will remain a pressing project for years to come.
This Article contributes to the project by examining the long line of historical Supreme Court precedents addressing state authority in Indian country to discern and explain their true significance. In addition, the Article casts light on a few important issues in Castro‑Huerta from a unique source: the papers of individual Justices archived at the Library of Congress and various universities across the country. A point of departure is Justice Neil Gorsuch’s dissenting opinion in the case, a searing critique that delves incisively into many of the relevant precedents, exposing numerous flaws and fallacies in the majority’s analysis and laying the groundwork for additional commentary and criticism. Anchored in that foundation of principled critical assessment, this Article endeavors to help fill in some of the serious gaps and omissions in the majority’s treatment of state authority in Indian country while periodically referencing the “Indian Law Justice Files” to further illuminate the case’s alarming distortions of history and precedent.
United States (“U.S.”) courts have long failed to recognize the value of oral traditional evidence (“OTE”) in the law. Yet, for Indigenous peoples, OTE forms the basis of many of their claims to place, property, and political power. In Canada, courts must examine Indigenous OTE on “equal footing” with other forms of admissible evidence. While legal scholars have suggested applying Canadian precedent to U.S. law regarding OTE, scholarship has generally failed to critically examine the underlying ethos of settler courts as a barrier to OTE admission and usefulness. This essay uses the work of political philosopher, James Tully, to examine OTE not just as evidence, but as an exercise of Indigenous self-determination. By recognizing the inherent political nature of OTE, U.S. courts may expand on Canadian law to build a “just relationship” with Indigenous peoples.
The Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971 (ANCSA) devised a land entitlement system markedly different from the Indian reservation system that prevailed in the Lower 48 states. It directed the creation of twelve, for-profit Alaska Native regional corporations and over 200 private, for-profit Alaska Native village corporations, which would receive the bulk of Native land in the state. This corporate model left nearly all tribes in Alaska without a land base. As such, there is very little Indian Country land in the state over which tribes can exercise territorial-based sovereignty. Yet, the Supreme Court has long recognized the power of tribes to exercise membership-based jurisdiction. This Comment analyzes a range of state and federal court decisions addressing the authority of tribes and argues that Alaska tribes, through membership-based jurisdiction, can exercise various sovereign powers, like the exclusion of nonmembers. Importantly, this membership-based jurisdiction does not depend on lands over which tribes can exercise jurisdiction. Therefore, the exclusionary orders imposed by several Alaska Native tribes during the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020 were valid exercises of the tribes’ sovereign powers.
What if every gendered legal issue was not burdened by over 200 years of patriarchal and racist precedent? How would feminists craft legal practices and structures in a way that would be grounded by a clear understanding of the harms of oppression and subjugation? These questions are not just rhetorical; this essay argues that a fresh perspective is possible in the context of an Indigenous feminist jurisprudence. Indigenous feminist legal theory (IFLT) is in its nascent stages as a contemporary academic discipline and praxis. It has largely been elucidated by legal scholars in Canada, including Emily Snyder, Val Napoleon, and John Borrows. Snyder explains that IFLT lies at the intersection of feminist legal theory, Indigenous feminist theory, and Indigenous legal theory.
The Supreme Court, some commentators argue, is at its most undemocratic since the Lochner Era in the 1930s. They point to the Supreme Court’s majority opinion in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which departs from public opinion on abortion and longstanding constitutional precedence. Dobbs, however, is not an outlier. The Supreme Court made a similar move in Oklahoma v. Castro-Huerta. The majority opinion questioned almost 200 years of constitutional interpretation and several decades of congressional policy to enable state governments to exercise criminal authority over non-Indians in Indian Country. This article compares the majority opinion in Castro-Huerta to congressional policy to explore the democratic and constitutional difficulties that can arise when the Supreme Court refuses to defer to Congress—the democratically elected and constitutionally appointed institution for making federal Indian policy. It reveals how the Court’s undemocratic turn extends beyond cases involving individual rights.
The Supreme Court’s unexpected decision in Oklahoma v. Castro-Huerta in 2022 overturned established precedent and scrambled long-settled expectations about the division of criminal jurisdiction in Indian country. In this panel discussion shortly after the decision was issued, the authors provided a “hot take” on the Castro-Huerta decision and discussed its impact on criminal justice in Indian country and on federal Indian law more broadly.
The Supreme Court’s decision last Term in Castro-Huerta v. Oklahoma dramatically rewrote the rules of criminal jurisdiction in federal Indian law. For the first time since 1882, the Court judicially expanded the scope of state criminal jurisdiction in Indian country, finding that states hold jurisdiction over Indian-on-non-Indian crime concurrently with the federal government. In reaching this conclusion, the Court exemplified the subjectivism that scholars have criticized in the Court’s Indian law jurisprudence for decades. The opinion distinguished or cast aside at least six prior decisions where the Court had seemingly reached the opposite conclusion, as well as concluding that the Court had already substantially limited the Court’s foundational holding in Worcester v. Georgia (1833) that Indian country ordinarily lies outside state authority.
Building on these earlier critiques, this Article uses Castro-Huerta to examine a less explored flaw in the Court’s Indian law rulings—what I call the problem of “too much history.” In Indian law, judges and litigants must make sense of over two centuries of jurisdictional debates, recorded largely not in statutes or constitutional provisions but in dozens of shifting Supreme Court decisions. The key question in Castro-Huerta, and the core of the dispute between majority and dissent, was change–how the law on state jurisdiction in Indian country had shifted over time. But the sheer mass of history makes it hard for the Justices to identify legitimate legal change in Indian law.
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This conundrum leads to two broad types of judicial use of history in Indian law. “Good” history decisions, epitomized by this Term’s decision in Ysleta del Sur Pueblo v. Texas, employ specific context to examine narrowly defined legal questions. By contrast, “bad” history opinions, exemplified by Castro-Huerta, turn to the past as an independent source of law, ask broad, unanswerable questions of it, and provide no clear way to assess the inevitable heap of conflicting evidence.
Having laid out this challenge, the Article reexamines the question of the specific historical change at the core at Castro-Huerta. Rather than the majority’s narrative of abandonment and the dissent’s narrative of continuity, I think a more accurate account of what the Court has done with respect to state jurisdiction in Indian country is translation—trying to make sense of older legal principles within a new jurisprudential frame. But this approach makes the Court’s decisions in this area especially prone to misreading and selective citation, as Castro-Huerta underscored.
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