Did you miss me? After two weeks in my native Honolulu, I’m back in my Edgewater home. And I’m glad to be back. But after traveling across tribal lands on my way home, it got me thinking about our indigenous friends and the progress they’ve made, or rather erasure of progress.
The history of the 1968 Indian Civil Rights Act shows a pattern that is still happening today. In Washington and in statehouses across the country, decisions about Native nations are still being made without true Native involvement. The idea of sovereignty is often respected in name, but not in practice.
Today, this problem often appears as a failure of “tribal consultation.” The federal government is supposed to talk with tribal governments on a nation-to-nation basis before making decisions that affect tribal land, people, or resources. But too often, this consultation is just a quick check-off on a list. It becomes a meeting to inform tribes about a decision that is already final, not a chance to shape the policy from the beginning.
In recent years, especially under the Second Trump Administration, this problem has become much sharper. Policies that were meant to strengthen tribal self-governance and make it easier for Native people to get federal support have been reversed. For instance, the administration revoked a key executive order aimed at promoting tribal sovereignty and self-governance. The statement given for this reversal focused on ending what were called “wasteful regulations” and prioritizing “American citizens,” a way of speaking that treats tribal nations as less important than other governments.
One of the most clear examples of exclusion involves land and the environment. Many significant projects are pushed forward, such as those related to fossil fuel development or the reduction of protected public lands, often over the strong objections of Native communities.
We saw this approach during the first Trump Administration, which rapidly sped up projects like the Dakota Access and Keystone XL pipelines, largely ignoring the opposition from the tribes whose ancestral lands and water resources would be affected. That pattern of prioritizing energy extraction over Indigenous cultural heritage and environmental concerns continues to be a fear for tribal leaders today. The attempt to weaken key environmental laws during that time was seen by many as an attack on the ability of Native nations to have a voice in the future of the places they call home.
Another way Native voices are marginalized is through changes in the federal agencies themselves. Key leadership positions in the departments that deal directly with Indian Country, like the Department of the Interior, were often left empty or filled by people who were not closely connected to tribal issues. Formal events meant to bring tribal leaders and the President together, such as the annual White House Tribal Nations Conference, stopped completely in the previous administration.
This shrinking of the table—by removing high-level staff, cutting programs, or just failing to hold regular government-to-government meetings—sends a clear message: your input is not central to our plans. Even when new policies are proposed, like changes to Native education programs, the consultation periods given to tribes can be rushed, making it almost impossible for Native governments to properly review and respond.
Just like in 1968, when the law focused on restricting tribal governments instead of stopping discrimination against Native people, today’s policies often miss the real needs of communities. When Washington acts unilaterally, it shows a deep failure to treat Native nations as co-equal governments.
For me, the struggle for consultation and consent is the same struggle that was ignored when the ICRA was signed. It is about demanding that self-determination—the right to control your own destiny—is truly respected. It is the only safeguard that can stop decisions made about us from being made without us.
