“Chief Seattle signed that treaty with the government after witnessing so many deaths that he had (to be) looking out for survival for future generations,” affirmed Rob Purser, a Suquamish tribal member and the director of treaty rights for the Suquamish Tribe, underscoring the immense pressure and strategic foresight that compelled the Indigenous leaders. “There wasn’t no way of fighting your way out of that problem.” Leaders, he explained, found themselves in an unenviable position, forced to engage with the burgeoning colonial government, making solemn promises and ceding vast ancestral lands in exchange for the recognition of certain inherent rights. Yet, in a distressing parallel to the challenges faced by Chief Seattle, contemporary non-Native governments frequently disregard or unilaterally reinterpret these sacred agreements, leading to dynamic, often contentious, and ongoing legal and political conversations that span generations, involving Native ancestors, the U.S. courts, and today’s sovereign tribal nations. This perpetual struggle highlights the enduring nature of treaties as living documents, constantly tested and defended.

The very act of negotiation for the Treaty of Point Elliott was fraught with peril, requiring multiple layers of interpretation that introduced significant ambiguity and potential for misunderstanding. Translators worked laboriously, first from English to Chinook Jargon, a pidgin trade language with a relatively limited vocabulary designed for commercial exchange, and then from Chinook Jargon into the nuanced local languages such as Muckleshoot and Lushootseed. This intricate linguistic chain inevitably resulted in convoluted and often fundamentally altered final translations, creating a chasm between the intentions and understandings of the Indigenous signatories and the U.S. government representatives. Despite these formidable communication barriers, over 80 Indigenous leaders affixed their marks to the document, which today exerts a profound influence on a wide array of critical issues, from the allocation of crucial fishing rights to the provision of education and essential medical care for tribal members. The Suquamish Tribe, in particular, has repeatedly demonstrated its unwavering commitment to upholding the treaty, defending its provisions an astonishing nine times before the U.S. Supreme Court, and winning every single case. “It was Chief Seattle’s wisdom, looking at the situation his people were under, to try to protect future generations,” Purser remarked, emphasizing the profound legacy of a leader who prioritized the future of his people above all else.

Dr. Joshua L. Reid, a Snohomish tribal member and a distinguished professor of history and American Indian studies at the University of Washington, sheds light on the fundamental divergence in property concepts that underpinned these negotiations. “Coast Salish peoples had, and continue to have, different ideas of what constitutes property, what constitutes ownership,” Dr. Reid explained. “Simply put, it’s more a system where people belong to places rather than people own places in that fee simple property way that United States property concepts observe.” This profound philosophical difference—Indigenous stewardship rooted in relationality versus Euro-American private ownership—was a constant source of friction. However, this does not imply a lack of sophistication in Indigenous political thought. “That doesn’t mean that Native peoples didn’t know what negotiations and treaties were,” Dr. Reid clarified. “People in the Puget Sound region had heard of the Douglas treaties, which the British colonial governor had signed and negotiated with different First Nations around the Vancouver Island area. So they knew of those negotiations and understood that ‘we reserve certain things for us, we extend certain rights to non-Natives, and there are land cessions.’” Indigenous leaders approached these negotiations with a clear understanding of diplomatic precedent and a strategic intent to safeguard their inherent rights and ancestral domains.

Andrew Gobin, a Tulalip tribal member and director of treaty rights for the Tulalip Tribes, powerfully articulated the holistic significance of these agreements for Indigenous communities. “Our people saw what was coming, and they had the wisdom and the foresight to protect the things that are important to our people in our way of life, because truly, our entire culture is protected in the treaty,” Gobin stated. The seemingly straightforward “rights to hunt, fish and gather” are, in fact, comprehensive cultural protections. “Your usual and accustomed place are your family village sites, so you’re protecting your bloodline, your heritage, you’re preserving family connections, that oral tradition of handing teachings down from one generation to the next through practice, through going and doing these things. When you look out at the land and water, you see every aspect of our culture.” This perspective underscores that for Indigenous peoples, these rights are not merely economic entitlements but are inextricably linked to spiritual identity, social structures, and intergenerational knowledge transfer.

Despite the clarity of these foundational agreements, the ongoing enforcement of treaty rights remains a persistent challenge. “Treaty rights are knowns: We know what is obligated, we know what is protected. And yet… if the tribes weren’t there to stand up and voice the concern, then (federal agencies) just move forward like (the treaty) doesn’t exist,” Gobin lamented, highlighting a systemic issue where the burden of upholding federal law often falls disproportionately on tribal nations. This underscores a critical aspect of U.S. federal Indian law: the inherent trust responsibility of the U.S. government to protect tribal assets, resources, and treaty rights, a responsibility often neglected or actively resisted by various governmental bodies.

Rob Purser further clarified a common misconception surrounding these agreements: “The government didn’t give us nothing. No tribe got gifts from the government. We reserved those treaty rights in exchange for land. And that’s the same all across the U.S.” This statement refutes the colonial narrative that tribes received benefits from the U.S.; instead, it correctly asserts that tribes retained certain sovereign rights and resources, which were never ceded, in exchange for vast tracts of land that fueled American expansion and economic development.

Indeed, the power dynamics at the time of the treaties were far more complex than often portrayed in mainstream historical accounts. Dr. Reid noted, “There were still, demographically, many more Indigenous peoples here than settlers at the time of the signing of the treaties…. There were plenty of times that Natives successfully fought back or chased settlers out of these homesteads that they were laying claim to.” This demographic reality and the potential for unified Indigenous resistance significantly influenced the motivations of territorial officials. “This loomed large in (Washington Territory Gov. Isaac) Stevens’ mind, because he knew that if Native nations banded together, they could push the settlers out. He had real motivation to try to get these treaties negotiated and signed to prevent something like that from happening.” Stevens, the primary U.S. negotiator, was driven by a strategic imperative to secure land, facilitate settlement, and prevent armed conflict, rather than purely benevolent intentions.

One of the most egregious examples of this power imbalance and the U.S. government’s willingness to disregard its promises emerged in the discrepancies between oral tradition and written records. Dr. Reid recounted compelling evidence: “Some depositions of oral histories that were collected in the 1920s from individuals who were kids or young teens who were there at Mukilteo and were elders by the 1920s, gave oral accounts that their fathers and grandfathers or grandmothers and others shared with them as they were growing up.” A consistent theme across dozens of these depositions from various tribal nations was Stevens’ promise of a sprawling reservation in western Washington, large enough to allocate 80 acres to every Coast Salish man, woman, and child. “So Native peoples were like, ‘OK, this is a clear statement of protecting our land rights,’” Dr. Reid explained. However, this crucial promise, a cornerstone of Indigenous understanding of the agreement, “doesn’t appear anywhere in the negotiation notes. That’s one of those examples of the power dynamic at play—that the United States was powerful enough to ignore some of these key promises that were made in the negotiations.” This stark omission highlights the deceptive tactics employed and the profound impact of differing legal systems and literacy levels.

The interpretation of treaty language has been a battleground for generations, particularly the phrase allowing Indigenous peoples to fish “in common with all citizens of the Territory.” This seemingly innocuous phrase became the crux of the landmark 1974 decision in United States v. Washington, often referred to as the Boldt Decision. Federal Judge George H. Boldt, after extensive review, interpreted this language to mean that treaty tribes retained the right to harvest 50% of the fish returning to their usual and accustomed fishing grounds in Washington state. In his seminal ruling, Judge Boldt wrote, “There is no indication that the Indians intended or understood the language ‘in common with all citizens of the Territory’ to limit their right to fish in any way. For many years following the treaties the Indians continued to fish in their customary manner and places, and although non-Indians also fished, there was no need for any restrictions on fishing.” This ruling dramatically re-affirmed tribal fishing rights, sparking what became known as the "Fish Wars" as non-Native commercial and sport fishermen resisted the decision.

Even today, the precise boundaries of a tribe’s “usual and accustomed” fishing grounds remain a subject of legal dispute under the Point Elliott Treaty. This year, the Quinault Tribe sought expanded access to fishing grounds in Western Washington, asserting their historical claim under the “usual and accustomed” clause. Conversely, in 2021, the Sauk-Suiattle Tribe initiated legal action to prevent neighboring tribal nations from fishing the Skagit River, arguing that it falls outside their historically recognized usual and accustomed areas. These ongoing cases demonstrate the treaty’s enduring relevance and the continuous need for judicial clarification and enforcement.

The profound difference in understanding regarding the very act of “fishing” itself further illustrates the chasm between Indigenous and settler worldviews. Dr. Reid articulated this fundamental divergence: “From Stevens’ perspective, fish didn’t become property until you caught it and brought it into your boat or net, whereas from Indigenous perspectives, fish were people. They were more-than-human people who were part of the larger community of the Salish Sea.” For Coast Salish peoples, fish were not mere commodities. “They weren’t property in the sense that, when you caught it, it became yours to do with whatever you wanted. It was more that fish gave themselves to Coast Salish peoples, because of these reciprocal relations, protocols of respect. And if Coast Salish people didn’t respect salmon, then salmon would disappear, wouldn’t give themselves to the people, to put it simply.” Consequently, elaborate protocols and practices governed the proper treatment of salmon, ensuring their continued abundance. “From a Coast Salish perspective, fishing isn’t just the simple act of putting a fishing pole in the water and yanking a fish out. Fishing included all those protocols, the reciprocity, the preparation that went into it and all the management structures. So, when Stevens would say something, and then it would be kind of clumsily translated into Chinook Jargon, that ‘this paper secures your fish,’ they really thought that it meant all of that, the management oversight, the protocols, the reciprocity, the relationality. So that’s where you see a disjuncture between different understandings of what fishing meant.”

This deep cultural connection is also embedded within Indigenous languages. Andrew Gobin elaborated, “Our language is verb-based. The parts of our language are tied to specific actions or something that happens. The word that we use for salmon is tied to something that happens every year. The way that the word is constructed, it means something that happens on a yearly cycle, and how that translates across our culture is that the times of the year are specific to where we are in that cycle of salmon.” This linguistic insight reveals how Indigenous cultures are intricately woven into the natural world, their languages reflecting profound ecological knowledge and spiritual relationships.

The Boldt Decision stands as a pivotal moment in the history of Indigenous rights in the United States. Rob Purser declared, “The Boldt Decision was the biggest positive court decision in Indian Country, period, because it took an old treaty—at that time, they argued it was old and outdated, no longer needed—Judge Boldt took that treaty and recognized it’s a living document, ruling it the supreme law of the land.” This landmark ruling had far-reaching implications, extending beyond the specific context of Pacific Northwest fishing rights. “And what that did is that brought back to life all treaties across the U.S. that were signed. Their federal court said that those are living documents and they need to be upheld.” The Boldt Decision served as a crucial precedent, affirming the enduring legal force of all historical treaties and revitalizing the principle of tribal sovereignty nationwide.

The challenges posed by a changing world further complicate the interpretation and enforcement of these historic agreements. Andrew Gobin highlighted the pressing concerns: “These are the types of things that we deal with in policy, how these historic agreements move into current events, ongoing issues, and emerging issues. We’re always looking at climate change, one example being sea-level rise. Our rights are place-based. Our rights, preserved under the treaty, exist in our usual and accustomed places. Well, with sea-level rise, we get displaced of our usual and accustomed places, or with our land-based rights, which are on open and unclaimed lands. As environments shift, our people get displaced. Or as development happens, wildlife populations are displaced, and if they move outside of areas reserved under the treaty, then they become inaccessible.” Climate change and relentless development thus pose existential threats to the very essence of treaty rights, which are inherently tied to specific geographic locations and ecological health. This global phenomenon of climate change disproportionately impacts Indigenous communities, whose cultures and livelihoods are often deeply intertwined with their traditional lands and waters, making the defense of treaty rights even more critical.

Misunderstandings extended beyond property and resources to the very fabric of social and political relationships. Dr. Reid explained, “Concepts of family, like fatherhood or brothers or children, or even concepts of friendship, those meant two different things.” From an Anglo-American perspective, the “Great Father” – a term used by U.S. negotiators for the president – implied a paternalistic authority over his “children,” the Indigenous peoples. “From an Indigenous perspective, that father only can exercise that power if he takes care of his children,” Dr. Reid clarified. When Chief Seattle acknowledged the Great Father, Stevens mistakenly believed it signified submission. “Chief Seattle was actually bringing the president of the United States and other U.S. officials into the larger political family of Coast Salish peoples, and that came with all kinds of rights and responsibilities that the United States just blindly ignored in subsequent generations.” Similarly, “friendship” within Coast Salish parameters signified a network of reciprocal obligations and support. “When Chief Seattle and the other Coast Salish leaders were calling Stevens and Simmons and settlers ‘friends,’ what they were trying to do was bring them into that network of relationality where you’ve got rights and responsibilities, you feed your friends, you support your friends, you ally with your friends. You don’t take their lands, screw them over, and shoot them dead.” These profound linguistic and cultural misinterpretations at the negotiation table laid the groundwork for generations of broken promises and systemic injustice.

One of the most direct examples of unfulfilled promises lies in the provisions for social services. Rob Purser confirmed, “(The promise of a school and a clinic) is definitely what was in the treaty. That’s not what happened. We had to buy our own school. We’re buying our own medical facilities. None of that was ever provided.” This failure to uphold essential provisions for education and healthcare highlights a recurring pattern of U.S. government neglect, forcing tribes to shoulder responsibilities that were constitutionally obligated to them.

Anthony Hillaire, chairman of the Lummi Nation, affirmed the enduring commitment of tribal nations despite these challenges: “In our efforts to take care of ourselves, in no way do we ever or will we ever let the United States of America off the hook of their treaty and trust responsibility to us.” This statement encapsulates the unwavering assertion of tribal sovereignty and the demand for accountability from the federal government. “We have to do the work to ensure that they’re following their own law. And it gets quite frustrating because we see that in health care, we see that in education, we see that in salmon recovery and co-management of our national resources—and the list goes on.” The constant need for tribal nations to advocate for the U.S. to uphold its own laws is a testament to the persistent struggle for justice and recognition.

Crucially, Article 6 of the U.S. Constitution unequivocally states that treaties are the “supreme law of the land.” This constitutional mandate places treaties with Indigenous nations on par with federal laws and the Constitution itself, yet this principle is frequently overlooked or actively undermined. Dr. Reid emphasized this point: “From a settler perspective, treaties were one-and-done-type documents, and the continuing relevance of them was up for debate, which is flat-out wrong. Treaties are the supreme law of the land.” He elaborated on the Indigenous understanding: “But from Indigenous perspectives, that’s not at all what a treaty is. A treaty is something that, of course, was negotiated and signed at that place in time, but that it brought the United States and non-Natives into perpetual relations with Indigenous peoples, and that actions need to happen to continuously maintain them.” This distinction between a static historical document and a dynamic, living covenant is central to understanding the ongoing nature of treaty rights. “Those are two radically different understandings and approaches to treaty making and treaty processes.” Dr. Reid concluded with a powerful observation from Lummi Tribal Council member Lisa Wilson: “She had mentioned that treaties are for all of us. They aren’t just for Indian people in western Washington. The treaties bind all people, Native and non-Native, together around these ideas of relationality, of how to interact with each other.” This vision transforms treaties from instruments of land cession into foundational frameworks for mutual respect and coexistence.

Defending these treaty rights in the present day is an unrelenting endeavor. Rob Purser explained, “Defending treaty rights today is an everyday challenge…. A big reason is the lack of knowledge, the lack of education.” As new populations move into traditional tribal territories, they often arrive with little to no understanding of the deep history and legal standing of tribal nations. “In the Boldt Decision days, there was so much misinformation put out about tribes and treaties and Indians, and we’re still dealing with (that) misinformation that the public was fed.” While acknowledging growing awareness, Purser noted, “There’s a lot more (people) now that know the history and have compassion for Natives and understand the struggles they’ve been through. There’s still a lot that don’t know.” This gap in public knowledge necessitates continuous educational efforts. “That’s been the challenge, educating people as they come in. My department works government to government…. It’s a constant education with them. Because they retire. They work 40 years, retire, and they hire new people and we start all over, educating them on treaty rights…. Everyone that comes in has to learn all about the treaty rights and Natives.” This cyclical process of education underscores the persistent work required to ensure that the supreme law of the land, born from complex historical circumstances and profound cultural understandings, is honored and upheld for all future generations.