Land Dispute in Lac du Flambeau: Barricaded Roads and Relationships

Dave Miess and his wife moved north to Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin from an area south of Madison in 2020, after finding a place that allowed him his own stand-alone photography studio. Frequenting the area on camping trips with their children, from the time they were in diapers until high school, strengthened their relationship with the land and wish for a tranquil life post-retirement.

On Jan. 31, four roadways in Lac du Flambeau were blocked by tribal barricades, installations that severed the community between the Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians and non-Native property owners in the following months.

In an attempt to assert sovereignty on roads used by non-members, tribal leaders asked for $20 million to resolve the dispute. The current land easement expired 10 years ago, and no further easement has been set in stone with the monetary request. A temporary agreement was reached that would allow access to the four roads for 90 days.

“$20 million is just an astronomical number,” said Miess. “That would make these patches of land probably the most expensive land in the state of Wisconsin.”

Barricaded Ross Allen Lake Road was the only access point to the private road in which Miess’ home stands. He and his wife were unable to travel from their home into town, by car. A neighbor across the frozen lake allowed them to park their vehicle on their property.

“Right now, we cross over the ice and bring along a sled to get our groceries or whatever we need,” said Miess. “We go over to our car, and we go and get the stuff we need — haul it back on the sled.”

Since the first barricade went up, there has been an increasing divide between residents of the town and tribe, but homeowners seem to be bonding over their shared experience, according to Miess.

“I think, with our neighbors — hate to say it, but we’ve actually kind of gotten to know people that we didn’t really know,” said Miess. “You don’t really want to meet them in this kind of situation, but I think it’s coalesced a lot of us that don’t necessarily see each other very often.”

Miess attended the University of Wisconsin – Madison and received his degree in journalism. In some way, he is still practicing his passion by turning to Facebook to document his days behind the barricade on Ross Allen Lake road.

“We’d hear people say that this whole big road is tribal,” said Miess. “It’s like, well, no. On our road, it’s 153 feet that crosses tribal land. I kind of started out that way, just to try to more or less set the record straight and kind of clarify things for people a little bit. I think, as it’s gone on, the effect it’s having on people physically and emotionally — it’s really important for people to know that. Whether anybody can effect change, at our level, it’s hard to say, because this has just been a nightmare — with regard to who can address this, who can fix this.”

Also on Facebook, is the “Behind the Barricades” group. The goal of the group’s page was to spread stories of lives affected by the blockaded roads. Since gaining attention, certain posts and comments have resulted in profiles being blocked from the forum and an ongoing pause to the page.

“Unfortunately, what has happened is — just like any kind of social media, as it grew, I think you were seeing a lot of comments from both sides, tribal and non-tribal, that were getting way off subject,” said Miess. “There were some pretty horrible things being said, and I know the moderator was really trying to catch these things.”

For newer homeowners in the area, tensions stemming from the barricades have led them toward a possible first experience of racism in the community. But searching back decades leads to a violent past.

“There’s always been that divide,” said Meghan Combs, a Black Bear Bar waitress in Minocqua, Wisconsin. “There’s always been racism. The white people don’t like natives, and natives don’t like the white people. I’m both, so I’m neutral.”

In the 1980s and early 1990s, white protesters gathered at boat landings as Ojibwe fishermen practiced their Native right to spearfish. The protesters shouted racial slurs and assaulted tribal members.

“For the generation above me, it’s still very prominent to them,” said Combs. “Natives will be spearing in a lake that’s not on the reservation, and they’ll have things thrown at them or a gun shot at them. It still happens. It happened just a couple years ago. They were shooting a rifle in the direction of Native Americans in their canoes spearing, because they thought it wasn’t right that they were doing that in their lakes.”

The possibility of the spearfishing controversy arising into the current dispute is surveilled.

“I think most people who have lived here for a long time would say that we’ve gotten past that, that those wounds have been healed,” said Miess. “My fear is that this is a wound that may get opened up again.”