In 1870, the Department of the Interior recognized that "the Cherokees, and the other civilized Indian nations [of the Oklahoma territory] no less, hold lands in perpetuity by titles defined by the supreme law of the land," a "permanent home" granted "under the most solemn guarantee of the United States," to "remain theirs forever -- a home that shall never in all future time be embarrassed by having extended around it the lines or placed over it the jurisdiction of a Territory or State," or be disturbed in any other way. Six years later, the Department declared that affairs in the Indian Territory are "complicated and embarrassing, and the question is directly raised whether an extensive section of the country is to be allowed to remain for an indefinite period practically an uncultivated waste, or whether the Government shall determine to reduce the size of the reservation." The Department had previously described the "uncultivated waste" as a miracle of progress, with successful production by people living in considerable comfort, a level of education "equal to that furnished by an ordinary college in the States," flourishing industry and commerce, an effective constitutional government, a high level of literacy, and a state of "civilization and enlightenment" comparable to anything known: "What required five hundred years for the Britons to accomplish in this direction they have accomplished in one hundred years," the Department declared in wonder.¹⁵

Jackson ends her account in 1880 with a question: "Will the United States Government determine `to reduce the size of the reservation'?" It was soon to be answered, in just the way she anticipated. Again, the advanced civilization of the Indians stood in the way of civilization, properly conceived.

What followed is described by Angie Debo in her classic study And Still the Waters Run. In the independent Indian Territory, land was held collectively and life was contented and prosperous. The Federal Indian Office opposed communal land tenure by ideological dogma, as well as for its practical effect: preventing takeover by white intruders. In 1883, a group of self-styled philanthropists and humanitarians began to meet to consider problems of the Indians. Their third meeting was addressed by Senator Henry Dawes of Massachusetts, considered a "distinguished Indian theorist," who had just concluded a visit of inspection to the Indian Territory. Like earlier observers, he described what he found in glowing terms: "There was not a pauper in that nation, and the nation did not owe a dollar. It built its own capitol, in which we had this examination, and it built its schools and its hospitals." No family lacked a home.

Dawes then recommended that the society be dissolved, because of a fatal flaw, of which the benighted natives were unaware:

Yet the defect of the system was apparent. They have got as far as they can go, because they own their land in common. It is Henry George's system, and under that there is no enterprise to make your home any better than that of your neighbors. There is no selfishness, which is the bottom of civilization. Till this people will consent to give up their lands, and divide them among their citizens so that each can own the land he cultivates, they will not make much more progress.

In brief, though superficially civilized and advanced, the people remained culturally deprived, unable to recognize their "basic human drive to consume" and to best their neighbors, ignorant of the "vile maxim of the masters."

Dawes's proposal to bring enlightenment to the savages was approved by the Eastern humanitarians, and soon implemented. He introduced legislation that barred communal landholding and headed the Commission that oversaw the dispossession of the Indians that inevitably ensued. Their lands and property were looted, and they were scattered to remote urban areas where they suffered appalling poverty and destitution.

Such is the way with experiments; they don't always succeed. In fact, the regular experiments conducted in our various "testing areas" typically do succeed quite well, as this one did, for those who design and execute them, Adam Smith's architects of policy -- honorable men, always guided by the most benevolent intentions, which, fortuitously, happen to coincide with their own interests. If the experiments do not succeed for the indigenous people of North America -- or Brazilians, or Haitians, or Guatemalans, or Africans, or Bengalis, or welfare mothers, or others who stand in the way of the rich men who rule -- we may seek the reasons in their genes, "defects," and inadequacies. Or we may muse on the ironies of history.

One can readily understand the appeal to postwar intellectuals of the work of Reinhold Niebuhr, "the theologian of the establishment," the guru of the Kennedy intellectuals, George Kennan, and many others. How comforting it must be to ponder the "paradox of grace" that was his key idea: the inescapable "taint of sin on all historical achievements," the need to make "conscious choices of evil for the sake of good" -- soothing doctrines for those preparing to "face the responsibilities of power," or in plain English, to set forth on a life of crime.¹⁶

¹⁵ Jackson, Century.

¹⁶ For details, see my "Divine License to Kill," discussing works by and on Niebuhr, published in large part in Grand Street, Winter 1987.