Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

White Justice in Arizona: Apache Murder Trials in the Nineteenth Century (review)

2007; University of Nebraska Press; Volume: 31; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/aiq.2007.0017

1534-1828

Guillermo Bartelt,

Race, History, and American Society

Reviewed by: White Justice in Arizona: Apache Murder Trials in the Nineteenth Century Guillermo Bartelt Clare V. McKanna . White Justice in Arizona: Apache Murder Trials in the Nineteenth Century. Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2005. 223 pp. Cloth, $27.95. A legal system is only as good as the authorities that administer it, and for North American Indigenous peoples, the application of English Common Law has [End Page 335] been a calamity. After reviewing the general failures of the British and American legal traditions in dealing with Native defendants, Clare McKanna focuses on four Arizona trials of the late nineteenth century. Extracted from territorial court records, these four homicide case studies involving Apache defendants reveal intriguing insights into the responses of the legal system to the clash of cultures during the early reservation period. Even though each case presents unique circumstances—a blood feud, a raid, a rage killing, and an isolated murder—McKanna concludes that the combination of less-than-qualified defense teams, prejudicial judges, and hysterically racist juries resulted in a common pattern of quick convictions and severe sentences. From the perspective of late-twentieth-century standards, McKanna opines that the late-nineteenth-century criminal justice system's failing to provide Apache defendants with equivalent standards amounted to holding no trials at all. However, considering the propensities for vigilantism throughout American history, the Arizona Territory's extension of at least a semblance of due process to Apache defendants, however flawed it may have been, is nevertheless remarkable. Since McKanna does not offer an explanation for the insistence by authorities on what he dismisses as charades of the legal process, one can only speculate that the presence of federal troops in Arizona at the close of the Apache wars must have had a containing effect on frontier Anglo proclivities for lynching. Other than the commonality of outcomes pointed out by McKanna, it appears that the four cases may also be linked when examined in the wider context of an inflexible legal code colliding with tribal traditions that sanctioned both retaliation killings and blood money for murders. These customs, referred to as "wergild" among ancient Anglo-Saxons, were widespread in Europe until Roman law was imposed, and they are still common in many preliterate cultures that have not been effectively integrated into centralized state societies. Ironically, the first federal administrators of reservations seemed to tolerate these tribal practices of social control for settling disputes and interfered little, so long as the victims were Indigenous. However, with the passage of the 1885 Major Crimes Act, the committing of murder and manslaughter on reservations was placed under territorial law, effecting the jurisdictional disputes that led to the various appeals of the Apache cases. In addition to procedural confusions, the legal system refused to validate as a defense strategy the Apache imperative for retribution. Especially when involving outsiders, this concept had such a wide application that the indiscriminate killing of any white person or enemy tribesman, regardless of age, gender, or guilt, served as acceptable compensation for the kinsmen of an Apache victim. In that wider cultural context, the four "murder" cases are actually more related to each other than McKanna might be willing to acknowledge. Even the very inconclusive Batdish case, during whose investigation Apache scouts confidently [End Page 336] traced the physical evidence to the Chiricahua renegade Massai instead of to the defendants, may have been another instance of revenge based, in part, on purely endogamous ethnic criteria. Unfortunately, McKanna fails to offer even a cursory biographical sketch of Massai, a much-mythologized figure in Arizona history. Escaping in Missouri from the military train that was transporting Geronimo's band to a Florida prison in 1886, Massai miraculously made his way back to the Southwest on foot and became a one-man raiding party, frequently contacting kinsmen and abducting women from San Carlos. Notwithstanding the countless lawmen and bounty hunters claiming to have killed him, he was probably never caught and may have ultimately sought refuge with remnants of the Sierra Madre Apaches in northern Mexico. Similarly, McKanna's treatment of the even more mythologized Apache Kid's fate is far too brief, considering the voluminous body of folklore it has...