Overview: Tribal Barricades Change Landscape

LAC DU FLAMBEAU, Wisconsin — Sitting in his garage amongst old Folgers containers containing caulk and a multitude of fishing rods hanging from the ceiling, 81-year-old tribal elder and former Chairman Tom Maulson sits in a weathered maroon chair. The son of a German man and an Ojibwe woman, Maulson was one of the more prominent, and controversial figures in Wisconsin during the Walleye Wars, when tribal members exercised spearfishing rights at boat landings, igniting ugly protests in the 1980s.

“I was the most hated man in Wisconsin,” said Maulson.

Donning a camouflage baseball cap and a red sweater, he looks relaxed for a man who is again helping lead the Ojibwe nation through another challenging moment in it’s recent history. As before, land rights, sovereignty, and spirituality are at the core of the dispute.

“This is a sacred piece of land because it was given to us by the creator, everything on this land is sacred sustenance; for them, it’s just recreation,” Maulson says.

Maulson leans back and details a thorough and saddening history of what his people have gone through, from the Dawes Act of 1887 to the spearfishing landings in the 1980s to the barricade controversy of 2023.

This history, paired with the current situation the Ojibwe (or Waaswaaganing in its original native language) people are facing is the driving force behind the barricades they recently laid on tribal roads.

“Indian people have walked these lands for thousands of years,” said Maulson, now an elder. “I support what my government (Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians) has done.”

The barricades laid on four tribal roads by the band’s government on Jan. 31 prevented non-tribal residents – about 65 of them – living behind the barricades from leaving their homes via those roads. To get to work or to get medicine or groceries, these homeowners, many white, who lawfully purchased land on the reservation but are not tribal members, had to undergo lengthy commutes over frozen lakes via snowmobile, carefully avoiding tribal land.

Many parked on a piece of private property across the lake, and commutes were extended by several hours, as they would have to change out of snowmobile suits into work dress and then make the trek back home. Some are elderly. They carried whatever groceries they could bring back with them, unable to leave their homes through the barricaded roadways.

Among the homeowners themselves, different approaches emerge. “Originally we were mad, and we were ready to take on a fight,” homeowner Denny Pearson said, standing next to his snowmobile on a frozen lake for the interview. “I think we realized, some of us, that fighting is not going to get it done. We have to be diplomatic about it and hold people responsible.”

These barricades are part of a larger movement within the United States by tribal nations (known as LANDBACK) to reclaim the land they had previously owned.

On March 12, 2023, a reprieve was reached between the Tribal Council and the Town of Lac du Flambeau. The Tribal Council agreed to remove the barricades for 90 days in exchange for $60,000 from the town. No one knows what will happen when that time comes.

On the surface, the barricades have been laid in protest of two title companies, Chicago Title Insurance Company, and First American Title Insurance Company, for not paying the Ojibwe what they feel they’re owed for this land. This number sits at $20 million. 

These title companies bought plots of land from Ojibwe members willing to sell but, the tribe argues, bought this land for far less than it was worth. The title companies sold this land, much of it to out-of-towners, some of whom use these properties as summer vacation homes that exist next to a reservation struggling with poverty and social ills. When driving through Lac du Flambeau, the numerous ‘No Trespassing’ and ‘Beware Of Dog’ signs pop up on the checkerboarded reservation that is today a patchwork of native and non-native land ownership.

In fact, one historian has called the Lac du Flambeau Reservation as being “the most hopelessly checkerboarded reservation” in the entire country.

“I want people to focus on why the tribe is going through this whole barricade process and why it’s so hard for us to get land back or establish our sovereignty,” says Ann Allen Hartzheim, a tribal member who teaches at the local school.  

“They think the Indians won’t say anything because we’ve been put down for so long. They don’t take us seriously, that we have the brains and the backbones to stand up to them.” 

“Our land is cherished land,” said Meghan Combs (Valliere), 30, a waitress and bartender at Black Bear Bar in Minocqua, Wisconsin and Slo’s Pub in Woodruff, Wisconsin. “We, as a culture, we’ve lost a lot. I understand how proud they are of their land, so it makes sense to me that they’re trying to stick up for the things that they still have.”

The Lac du Flambeau Reservation, Located primarily in Vilas County, totals 86,600 acres, according to the Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction:

• 39,403 acres are tribally owned
• 18,532 acres are individually allotted
• 28,665 acres are free land
• 24,000 acres are water/wetlands that include 260 lakes, 65 miles of streams, lakes, and rivers.

Dave Meiss, a photographer and non-tribal homeowner whose property is behind the barricades, has noted how life has been upended for his family and his neighbors. 

“A couple of our neighbors have been very close friends with some of these tribal members for decades. It has really just severed those relationships.”

Lac du Flambeau is a small, unincorporated village tucked away in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Considered by many to be one of the most naturally beautiful parts of the state, the town and its surrounding land have been the home of Native Americans in the area for hundreds of years. The 144 square miles that make up the Lac du Flambeau reservation is a popular tourist destination during the summer, but during winter, the land paints a different picture. White pine and birch trees line the sides of the snowy roads as far as the eye can see. There are few cars; most people traverse the treacherous conditions via snowmobile.

Snowmobiling is a staple of Northwoods winter travel, but it has been particularly prevalent with the barricades. The barricades laid by the tribe are on small sections of roads built on tribal lands, so those who are behind them have been using sleds and snowmobiles to and from their homes. Tribal police are allowing those who need to attend a medical appointment, some elderly, to access the roads, but those traveling must provide proof of appointment. 

“This was a really big shock – to have something so drastic done by one of your neighbors,” Miess said.

Elsie Lake Lane is one of four roadways blocked by a tribal barricade in Lac Du Flambeau.

After turning off the Vilas County Highway, and traveling down a dead-end, Elsie Lake Lane is a familiar site to anyone who frequents northern Wisconsin in its snowy winter months. Standing beside the road is a mixture of white pine and birch trees that multiply as far as the eye can see.

Passing by Walnut Lane and beginning to curve around Elsie Lake, the drive begins to adopt an endless feel, but the tranquil travel hits an abrupt interruption when drivers are prompted with a bright yellow post that states, “tribal roads.” Behind the wooden barricade, two concrete blocks are chained together to support resistance to going beyond. To reinforce the message, the tribe tied pieces of red fabric around tree branches parallel to the barricade.

There are few businesses open during the winter season in Lac du Flambeau, but in true Wisconsin fashion, most of them are bars. On the fringes of the town lies Hornswinkles Bear Stube, a watering hole for snowmobilers and the like. The revving of snowmobile engines periodically cut through the tranquility of the surrounding nature as customers pull in. Standing against the building’s weather-worn, dark wood side and neon bar signs, a large map of snowmobile trails greets those at the door. 

Complete with a working fireplace, the interior of Hornwinkels 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 tables. Fish, deer, pheasants, and other taxidermized wildlife—which Hornwinkels Bear Stube owner Marsha Panfil 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.  

Serving anglers, snowmobilers and Vilas County’s large population of older residents is the restaurant’s bread and butter, Panfil said. It has become a hub for the small community of homeowners clustered around Lac du Flambeau’s lakes, the kind of bar where regulars can identify out-of-towners as soon as they pull into the parking lot. 

In January, Hornwinkels Bear Stube became a new community center: the organizing place for homeowners trapped behind the barricades set up by the Lac du Flambeau Band of the Lake Superior Chippewa tribe. Panfil, a soft-spoken woman, found her voice on social media and became the face of the Facebook group Behind the Barricades. Before the page was paused on March 11, it chronicled the experience of the homeowners and the new struggles they faced since being cut off from the roads. Some tribal members told Media Milwaukee they thought it became a cesspool of racism. Panfil says the barricades have imperiled her small business, costing Panfil and her husband thousands of dollars.

In the 1980s, rocks were thrown at tribal members on boat landings. In 2023, figurative rocks are thrown on social media platforms.

“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.”  

Panfil was ultimately banished from the reservation by the tribe as a result of the barricade controversy. Her poster ended up on a list of meth dealers similarly banished.

“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.”

Dave Kivet owns land on Lac du Flambeau.

“I have a property that has been barricaded. I’ve lived there for eight years now,” he said.

“I think the barricades are a pretty aggressive act from the tribe. I don’t like it. I think it’s a tactic, and I don’t think it’s the best tactic. When understanding the history, I don’t blame the tribe for what they did and, if I was put in the same situation, this is something I would have considered myself.”

In the center of the Lac du Flambeau stands two pillars of its economy, the Lake of the Flames Casino (the English translation of Lac du Flambeau) and the Ojibwe Market. The Ojibwe Market is the only grocery store and only gas station in town. Most, if not all residents do their shopping there, with Panfil doing the same until the barricades were laid. Panfil stated in the interview that she would no longer shop at the Ojibwe market out of principle. 

A snowmobiler that stopped for gas at the market (who wished to remain anonymous) had this to say:

“Karma’s a bitch and the land shouldn’t be owned anyway,” the tribal member said.

You would be hard-pressed to find someone in Lac du Flambeau who does not have an opinion on the issue, but tribal members, as well as many other residents, have been coy about voicing their opinions. This is unsurprising, as many Natives have a distrust for the media given the way they have historically been represented. 

“They (the media) have never asked any of us how we felt about it,” the snowmobiler added.

“The news media, they know nothing about us,” said Tom Maulson.

Maulson’s son Fred is a teacher at the high school.

The band “has inhabited the Lac du Flambeau area since 1745 when Chief Keeshkemun led the band to the area,” the Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction says. “The band acquired the name Lac du Flambeau from its gathering practice of harvesting fish at night by torchlight. The name Lac du Flambeau or Lake of the Torches refers to this practice and was given to the band by the French traders and trappers who visited the area.”

The Lac du Flambeau Reservation “was officially established by treaties in 1837 and 1842. The area was continually logged in the following years and became a tourist destination for families from southern Wisconsin and Illinois around the turn of the century,” the DPI says.

In 1887, the United States passed the Dawes Act. Named after Massachusetts Senator Henry Dawes, the Dawes Act has been a large source of contention between Native Americans and the U.S. Government. The Dawes Act, in short, converted traditional systems of land ownership to a government-imposed system of private property. This in turn told Native Americans to assume the capitalist system of America, which did not previously exist in their cultures. 

The most important issue with the Dawes Act is the definition of “Indian-ness.” With the Dawes Act, Native Americans were allowed to sell their land, but before they could the federal government had to determine which Native Americans were eligible. In doing this, the government put forth an “official search for a federal definition of Indianness.” Native people who were deemed to be “mixed-blood” were forced to accept US citizenship, and others were detribalized. Between 1887 and 1934, Native Americans lost control of around 100 million acres of land, which amounts to around two-thirds of the land they held in 1887.

History Gary Entz told WXPR: “The impact of the Dawes Act was the same in the Northwoods as in other places. It devastated tribal communal culture and left the people of Lac de Flambeau in poverty.”

The Dawes Act was a statement from the United States Government to Native Americans. Many Native Americans have been forced to adapt to an “American” way of living, which has been a hard pill to swallow for many. TJ Maulson, the nephew of Tom Maulson echoes these sentiments. He is Native; his wife is white. There are two main schools in the area, one is a public school with a majority native student body, the other is a private Catholic school. TJ and his wife decided to send their kids to the Catholic school as they believe it will lead to the best chance of success for their kids. 

“It still leaves a sour taste in my mouth,” said the younger Maulson. 

As this issue presses forward, Wisconsin politicians have become increasingly involved. Governor Tony Evers and Senator Tammy Baldwin wrote a joint letter.

“The situation is untenable for all parties and requires active involvement from the BIA to reach a resolution,” according to the letter. “While our offices encourage all parties to act amicably, we ask the BIA to act in a timely manner to avoid further conflict.” 

Congressman Tom Tiffany, the representative for Wisconsin’s 7^th district, also wrote a letter.

“The council’s decision to take this unprecedented action is putting the health, safety, and well-being of dozens of town residents at risk,” he wrote in his letter. 

Congressman Tiffany explained that he would like to see a solution that addresses the concerns of all parties, but continued blocked access to these roads may cause policymakers to pursue a legislative option. 

“The great fear here is that someone is not going to get perhaps the medical attention that they need in a timely fashion,” said Tiffany. “The ultimate answer here is take the barricades down and get back to the negotiating table.” 

Whether or not a permanent solution will take place is yet to be seen. The 90-day reprieve offers some residents a glimmer of hope, but for others, this story is far from over.  

“Everywhere I go, I’m Native American,” said Hartzheim. “You can see it in my face and in the color of my skin.” 

“My ancestors went through enough hardships to get me where I’m at, and that’s why I try to prove myself to them, for how they suffered for me, and for that, I’m going to be something.”