I’m going to give Santa Barbara County Supervisor Janet Wolf the benefit of the doubt, because it really was just a slip of the tongue. Many people might not have even noticed.
But I heard it, there among a late-morning debate about the latest version of a sheriff’s services contract at the Nov. 4 Board of Supervisors meeting.
It sounded like “Chief.”
Wolf was talking to Vincent Armenta, who’s been the tribal chairman of the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians for something like eight terms now. He’s most often referred to as Chairman Armenta.
But after he stepped up to the podium during public comment and spoke about putting politics aside and encouraging the board to actually, you know, work with the tribe for once, Wolf appeared a bit flustered when she began her response and ended up calling him “Chief.”
That’s what I heard, anyway.
To be fair, she first called him “Sheriff,” so she was obviously a bit off her game. True, Sheriff Bill Brown and the Chumash have been working together on a contract of payment for services for about two years now. That’s the blink of an eye in terms of how quickly—or not—bureaucratic cogs turn through the molasses of modern meetings and whatnot. But it’s a significant amount of time for the people putting blood, sweat, and ink into hammering out this deal that would see the tribe paying for the full-time equivalent of one deputy patrolling that corner of the valley.
To be clear, that corner of the valley is already somewhere the sheriff is supposed to be keeping an eye on. The county’s top law-enforcement official currently has jurisdiction and authority there, a responsibility to make sure this patch of land and the people on it stay safe, and the Chumash are essentially saying, “Hey, we know you have to do this already, but let’s sign a contract to make it all super-official, and we’ll even pay you for it. The thing you’re already doing. We’ll give you money. To keep doing it.”
Back in June, the supervisors got a whiff of that cash—essentially $850,000 of free money, which would make any public official salivate into his or her personal stash of red tape—and did exactly what you would expect elected officials to do when offered dollars with minimal strings attached and while facing a more-than-a-million-dollar budget shortfall: They turned it down.
The board voted 3-2 against signing any sort of contract—despite the tribe and the sheriff saying it made good sense—because of concerns that centered on the tribe’s sovereign immunity status and a fear of not actually getting the money once the deal was inked.
Really? Our established local leaders were worried about the native residents of this land breaking their promise?
I’m surprised the tribe didn’t just pack up right then and there to move to the moon. It’s a bit far away, sure, but I hear the climate is more hospitable there than it is here.
But they didn’t do that. Not only did they stick around, they agreed to renegotiate some of the terms of the contract: “The county wants to be sure it gets paid? OK. Sure. We’ll put up the cash for the cost of 180 days of service up front. Can’t argue with that! And what’s that? You’re concerned that we’ll expand our territory and stretch the deputy too thin? Well, OK. How about we agree that, as it stands now, the contract will only require services for reservation land. No Camp 4. What you see is what you get.”
If it were me delivering those words, I’d be saying them all through gritted teeth. If I had teeth. Actually, no. I don’t think I’d be saying them at all. But it weren’t me. It were Chairman Armenta, whom Supervisor Wolf called “Sherriff” then “Chief” and then finally “Chairman.”
Oops.
Some tribes do call their top representative “chief,” so I may be making a little too much of the title flub, but I don’t think I’m overblowing this sheriff services deal, even though I’ve written about it before. I know I’m not putting this out of proportion, because public speakers at the Nov. 4 meeting continued to tell the tribe that they should waive their right to sovereign immunity for this deal. This deal that involved the tribe offering to pay for something that’s already being provided to them.
I don’t get that, but hey. I don’t get a lot of the opposition to the Chumash in this area. It just seems to be part of the landscape, like vineyards and oak trees.
After a lengthy discussion, the supervisors finally got their acts together and voted to approve the contract 5-0. It’s about time.
The Canary is singing, “Ch-ch-ch-changes!” Send Bowie lyrics to canary@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Nov 6-13, 2014.