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Reservation gambling in California means that being a member of an Indian tribe can offer substantial dividends. And so can revoking others’ memberships.

In April of 2003, Eddie Vedolla got the letter telling him he’d been kicked out of the Guidiville Band of Pomo Indians. The tribal council informed him it was revoking his membership, and that of his 86-year-old mother, two sisters, and niece. The family was no longer eligible to vote in tribal elections, and Vedolla’s niece lost her tribal scholarship to San Francisco State University. Most notably, they each would no longer receive the $2,455 quarterly dividend checks that tribe members get from California’s Indian casinos. […]

Since the tribes are sovereign entities within the United States, tribal members who feel mistreated by their governing councils find themselves with little recourse. State and federal courts have rejected lawsuits brought by disenrolled members, saying that membership disputes must be appealed to tribal officials — usually the same people who made the original decisions. […]

Members of tribes with small memberships and particularly successful casinos have gotten wealthy very quickly. For many Indians in such tribes, the last ten years have rocketed them from a life of struggle and scraping by to a comfortably plush existence. For instance, the roughly 75 members of the Table Mountain Rancheria get a share of the monthly profits from their Table Mountain Casino near Fresno. Kathy Lewis, whom the tribe has refused to recognize as a member, said tribal members get about $20,000 every month, as well as tax bonuses in March, vacation bonuses in May, and a Christmas bonus every December that has climbed to $200,000 per person.

In fact, casinos have changed the life of every Indian in California, even though there are seventy federally recognized California tribes that don’t have so much as a bingo parlor to their names. Each quarter, the gaming tribes pay a share of their overall profits into a trust fund administered by the California Gambling Control Commission, which then apportions the money among the nongaming tribes. Each tribe gets a total of $1.1 million each year, which is distributed as each sees fit. Some direct most of the money toward programs such as health care and college scholarships, while others distribute all of their money directly to their members. The Guidiville Band doles out 100 percent of its share to its 112 members, which amounts to $9,821 a year per person.

Vedolla, who has a broad, kind face and an aura of gentle firmness that served him well in his 25 years as a schoolteacher, alleges that the tribal council uses these steady paychecks as leverage to keep the general membership in line. “There are people who support me, but who won’t stand up,” he said. “They all fear that they’re going to be cut off from their benefits, especially the state money. Most of those people are very, very low income. Some of them are almost homeless. So they don’t want to take the chance of giving up their distribution, or their homes on the rancheria, or any future benefits they might get. They’re afraid they’re going to get disenrolled too, if they support us.”

In addition to the members’ fear of losing out on present and future casino benefits, Vedolla thinks they also may have been swayed by the increase in their quarterly checks when the five members of his family were disenrolled. The family’s shares were put back into the general pot and divided among the remaining members. Vedolla said that’s a powerful incentive to stay quiet. “Wow, man, that’s money, and these people need it,” he said. “So it’s hard for them to stand up.”