Hornwinkels’ Marsha Panfil Fights Barricades on Facebook

There are more snowmobiles than cars in the parking lot of Hornwinkels Bear Stube, snow-coated pavement that acts like a continuation of the trails that carve through the woods that cover large swaths of Lac du Flambeau. The buzz of revving snowmobile engines periodically cut through the white noise of the surrounding nature as customers pull in. Really, the restaurant is an extension of trails. Standing out against the building’s weather-worn, dark wood side and neon bar signs, a large map of the snowmobiling trails greets people at the door.  

Serving anglers, snowmobilers and Vilas County’s large number of retired residents—people who are 65 years or older make up a quarter of the total population— is Hornwinkels’ bread and butter.

When she first moved to Lac du Flambeau from Alaska, Marsha Panfil, who has a classic Midwestern, closed-lip smile and dark eyes that light up while talking about her work, planned on enjoying retirement, the natural beauty of the Lac du Flambeau chain of lakes and increasing the farm-to-table offerings at Hornwinkels.

Complete with a working fireplace, the interior of the restaurant gives the impression of a busy hunting lodge that just happens to have a liquor license and a few slot machines. Cubbies for helmets and other gear, a staple décor element for bars in the area, line the entryway. Moose antler chandeliers dangle from wrought iron chains, casting a warm yellow glow on the clusters of tables. Fish, deer, pheasants and other taxidermized wildlife—which Panfil, a partner at Hornwinkels since 2021, proudly notes were harvested on the surrounding land—hang from the ceiling A navy and orange Chicago Bears banner, out of place deep in Packers’ territory, announces patrons have entered Bears’ country.  

Hornwinkels has always been a hub for the small community clustered around the lakes in Arbor Vitae, a town that is a 20-minute drive from Lac du Flambeau, the kind of bar where regulars can identify out-of-towners as soon as they pull into the parking lot. The restaurant’s unofficial dress code is snow gear, baseball hats and anything camo.

“We fell into a good community,” Panfil said. “I never had any problems before. I worked well with everyone before. I never felt unwelcome or saw any racial divides.”

Then, Panfil police officers waiting in her driveway on January 18.

Wearing body cameras but no IDs, they were making the rounds in her neighborhood, handing out a written statement from the Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa tribe announcing the barricades were being put in place, Panfil said. The barricades were placed on three roads, which led into residential areas, after First American Title Company and Chicago Title Insurance Company stopped paying for use of tribal land over the course of 10 years, costing the Tribe an estimated $20 million, tribal leaders said in a press release.

The statement was dated December 30, but Panfil said she and her neighbors did not learn about the tribe’s intentions until 19 days later.

She has since cut ties with Ojibwe Market, the reservation’s grocery store, in protests of the tribe’s course of action, and is struggling to find a new meat supplier and to recoup the $20,000 her business lost during the first week behind the barricades.

Now, Panfil, a soft-spoken woman, found her voice on social media and became the face of the Facebook group Behind the Barricades, which has quickly become a focal point of rising tension within the community.

“Nothing the tribe said they were going to do is getting done,” Panfil said. “They have not come out to check on us. We’ve had to rely on the kindness of homeowners on the other side of the lake to get to work and live our lives. None of what [the tribe] is saying is true.”  

The tribe promised to help the homeowners during that time by doing house checks every few days, bringing food and collecting trash while the barricades are up, according to a press release. Those promises were going unfulfilled, according to Panfil.

On March 11, activity on the Behind the Barricades Facebook page was paused due to increased threats of violence. Tribal government and Lac du Flambeau officials reached an agreement to take down the barricades, signing three 3-month leases for the roads, on March 13.

Tribal police released a notice that Panfil is not “to be allowed on or within any entity of the Lac du Flambeau Tribe,” effectively banning her from tribal land on March 14.  

“I have been banned by the tribe and called a racist,” Panfil said in a Facebook post on March 16. “They make their lies up as it suits their purpose. My extensive work history supports my thirty-plus year working with diverse and Native populations. I have a 100% unblemished record. I have had my life and home and business threatened. I have been forced by the Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Indians to leave the state. Prayers for all that are involved with this. Peace.”

The Tribe can banish non-members from its land when “it is in the interests of the Tribe that individuals excluded from the reservation due to banishment action not be permitted to enter upon the reservation upon expiration of their banishment terms unless they provide to the Tribal Council sufficient information and documentation to satisfy the Tribal Council that their resumed presence on the reservation will not threaten the health, security, and general welfare of the Tribe,” according to the tribe’s official website.

Most of the banishments listed on the website are for drug deals that sell on tribal land as part of the tribe’s ongoing battle against opioid use.

Homeowners like Panfil created Behind the Barricade to speak out against what was happening to them. Group members, who were no longer able to access the narrow country roads that lead back to town, used snowmobiles to cross the frozen lake to get to work or buy groceries. A few people posted pictures of themselves putting snow gear on over their business attire in the mornings and their overflowing trash cans.

Panfil has become an advocate for homeowners and a leader of the page, finding her story resonates with a much larger audience than she first expected.

“We are finding that not just the people living on the four affected lakes, but the entire surrounding community whose easement for their lake or road is set to expire are worried,” Panfil said. “They are going to our page because they know I will try to put on as accurate information as possible. I’ll stop the knuckleheads before they start.” 

Some community members accuse the Facebook page of being racist by preventing tribal members from joining or posting. Panfil disagreed with these accusations, and being called a racist does not sit well with her.

“My native students in Alaska and University of Chicago—I used to teach at laboratory schools—tell me, ‘We know you’re not a racist coach. We know you love brown babies’,” Panfil said. “So, to be called a racist—the people who know me best know that’s not me.” 

Since doing interviews with national media outlets like The New York Times and Fox News, Panfil said she received threats from tribal members and people she calls keyboard warriors, which has sometimes resulted in her deleting posts from the Facebook page. People have threatened to burn down her house and cause Panfil and her husband, Mike, physical harm, according to Panfil. Due to safety concerns, Panfil and Mike were sleeping in different houses, which also allowed them to still run their respective businesses.

“Mike and I are exhausted,” Panfil said. “We’re beat, we’re tired, we’re ready to walk away, but there’s many families out there that are full-time year round that don’t have that ability to.”

The Lac du Flambeau did not respond to requests to confirm the Panfils’ claims.

The conflict between the tribe and the town is just the beginning of something much bigger, Panfil said. She believes larger forces like the Land Back movement—a political and social movement working to get Native people to protect and regain their cultural lands—are behind the barricades.

“They have said that we shouldn’t be allowed to live on tribal land, but we bought the house we live in,” Panfil said. “Honestly, if were up to me, I would be on a beach somewhere because I don’t feel safe here anymore.”