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 Air waves |
 Last Bet Desert Machinations |
Desert oasis? The Big Lagoon Rancheria sure hopes so.
Drawing courtesy Big Lagoon Rancheria.
In just two months, the Big Lagoon Rancheria may finally throw in its cards on a big hotel-casino project it has proposed to build in Barstow, in tandem with the Los Coyotes Band of Cahuilla and Cupeno Indians of San Diego County. The tribes’ gaming compacts, signed by Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger in 2005, would allow them to build a double casino/resort in the Mojave Desert. But the compacts have languished in the state legislature for nearly two years now, failing to be ratified before the end of last year’s session and facing possible failure again this session.
If that happens, says Big Lagoon chairman Virgil Moorehead, his tribe will return to its original plans to build a casino at Big Lagoon, north of Arcata along the coast -- a site environmental groups and state agencies have deemed too environmentally sensitive for such a development.
Moorehead, speaking by cell phone Tuesday from Las Vegas, where he was attending a training session for supervisors, sounded frustrated and impatient. He blames opposition from influential, wealthy gambling tribes for the legislature’s stalling on the compacts. These tribes have said that the Los Coyotes and Big Lagoon compacts, which include provisions to allow union organizing and to give the state a more generous portion of their winnings than other casinos do, could impact other tribes’ gaming operations. They’ve also accused the Barstow casino proponents of “reservation shopping” -- Big Lagoon Rancheria is 700 miles from Barstow and Los Coyotes more than 100. But Moorehead points out that, in fact, Gov. Schwarzenegger asked Big Lagoon to hook up with Los Coyotes to build a casino-resort in Barstow, in order to put to rest a legal battle between Big Lagoon and the state.
The big opposition tribes also were seeking ratification of revised gambling agreements to expand their operations. And, in late June, four of them -- the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians, the Morongo Band of Mission Indians, the Pechanga Band of Luiseño Indians and the Sycuan Band of the Kumeyaay Nation -- had their gambling agreements approved by the legislature. The Governor signed bills ratifying those agreements on July 10. The expansion could mean up to 17,000 new slot machines among the four tribes, and a third casino for one of them.
“It’s the single largest expansion of gambling in history,” says Jason Barnett, of the public relations firm Singer Associates, which represents Big Lagoon and Los Coyotes. “And here the Big Lagoon and Los Coyotes tribes have been waiting nearly two years, and at most they would have 2,500 slots each, but probably, to start, just 1,250 each.” Barnett isn’t sure what effect the passage of the bigger tribes’ compacts may have on the Barstow compacts. “We’re hoping that now that they’ve got theirs, they’ll cease their opposition.”
But Moorehead’s pessimistic.
“Nothing’s really changed,” said Moorehead. “It doesn’t look good that the [big tribes’ expansions] got through and we weren’t included. And [the legislature’s] still dealing with the budget, and we’re low priority. The assembly’s recessed until Aug. 20, and then we’ll have four weeks. We’ll have to scramble. And to be honest with you, the Governor’s got to do it. The Governor needs to make the call. It’s at a higher level now, and there’s not much more I can do.”
Big Lagoon’s compact has to make it through the legislature and be ratified by the governor by Sept. 17, after which the original compact expires. If the legislature again fails to move on the compacts, Big Lagoon will return to the legal battle to build a casino at Big Lagoon.
Moorehead -- not a casino gambler, himself, incidentally -- hopes they end up in Barstow. “There’s all that work we put into it,” he said. Then again, he’s also “spent over $100,000 studying the lagoon project. And there’s not a doubt in my mind I can do it.” Either way, he figures he’ll build a casino.
-- Heidi Walters
In keeping with a long-standing ethic -- eschewing corporate branding and rank commercialism -- espoused by promoters of a gigantically weird art and communal living experiment/festival in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, this report will be rather vague. We can tell you who: Shaye Harty and her cohort of like-minded non-profiteers who this spring took over operation of a local race that involves kinetic sculptures. We can tell you what: They’ve been invited to bring some of these fantastical human-powered vehicles to the desert festival in Nevada this August 27-Sept. 3, the one where they burn a sculpture of a man, and everyone’s nekked or costumed, and nothing is bought or sold (except, as they say, “ice and coffee”). Need we spell it out further?
OK, we can tell you a bit more. Harty says the machines they’re bringing to the festival will join a host of other oddities and marvels inside something called the Green Man Pavilion. The pavilion is a new feature at the week-long desert festival, “an exposition of all of the innovative” green technologies, says Harty. This will be the first time (Harty’s outfit) has been on the desert playa, although it will be her personal fourth year of attendance. They intend to bring at least eight machines, including a tofu-themed one, a bouncy one and possibly the one with fancy scales and fins made by Duane Flatmo.
In an interview on Treehugger Radio, posted online, the festival’s environmental manager Tom Price said the green pavilion is an expansion of the festival’s “leave no trace” ethic. “We build the 10th largest city in Nevada,” he said. It stays up for a week and then is taken down, leaving no trace. “But of course there is a trace: Getting there, and the materials used, leave an impact on the planet. And this year we’re expanding the scope of what ‘leaving no trace’ means to include attempting to offset the entire carbon footprint of the event, reducing solid waste by 50 percent and attempting to recycle on a scale that really can’t be done in any other city in the world. ... What the Green Man Pavilion is doing is creating a world’s fair of emerging energy technologies -- 30,000 square feet right in the middle of the city.” One huge machine will allow people to drop their garbage into it, watch the garbage get chewed into pellets and then see it expelled as a giant flame. And, Google -- oops, we let one brand slip out -- is setting up a Google Earth feature, where anyone can virtually zoom into the desert site and check out different technologies. Another outfit is providing solar power to the festival; the panels will be donated to the nearby Nevada town of Gerlach after the festival.
This temporary city in the desert draws 40,000 people, these days. And reports have it that some of the festival-goers are a bit put off by the introduction of major technological firms to the free-form fray, brands a-blazing or not. But Harty is excited about the exposure her group may get at the festival, even though the official rules say they cannot actively advertise or display logos.
“We can’t talk about ourselves as an organization there,” Harty says. “So we’ll be promoting the beauty of kinetic power.” But she figures that in one-on-one conversations, their identity may be guessed. Which, well, could help gain sponsorships for the kinetic race -- celebrating its 40th anniversary next year. “We’d really like [the race] to become more well-known. And we’d really like to start a kinetic university.”
All of this out-of-Humboldt experience marks a departure from the kinetic race’s past managements’ style. This spring, the new non-profit running the race entered a kinetic machine in San Francisco’s Pride Parade. And now, the wacky mega production in the Nevada desert -- a glorious new day?
-- Heidi Walters
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