Engaging Colonial Entanglements:

Engaging Colonial Entanglements:
“Treatment as a State” Policy for
Indigenous Water Co-Governance

(cid:129)
Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker*

Abstract
In the United States, treatment as a state (TAS) provisions enable eligible Native American
tribes to assume the same responsibilities as state governments in setting and implement-
ing water quality standards ( WQSs). Following the introduction of TAS through 1987
amendments to the US Clean Water Act (CWA), forty-four US tribes have enacted TAS
tribal standards, which may be more stringent than those of neighboring states; can incor-
porate cultural and/or ceremonial uses; and can be used to influence pollution levels com-
ing from upstream, off-reservation users. To evaluate TAS as a model for Indigenous water
co-governance, we examine how Native American tribes are advancing tribal sovereignty
and environmental sustainability through TAS, and we engage with conflicting views on
whether and how Indigenous self-determination can be advanced through existing bureau-
cratic and colonial governance systems. We specifically analyze environmental pollutant
listings in tribal water quality standards for the forty-four TAS tribes. Findings suggest that
TAS tribes are creating more culturally relevant WQSs, which are typically as comprehen-
sive as, and often more stringent than, analogous state regulations. Tribal standards are
diverse, and TAS tribes can set standards independently from neighboring states and
one another. Further analysis reveals the complexities of TAS policy, whereby colonial
entanglements both enable and constrain enhanced Indigenous self-determination.

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Self-determination is a key tenet of international agreements on Indigenous
rights, including the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous
Peoples (UNDRIP).1 However, critiques of such agreements question the efficacy
of implementation through national legislation (e.g., Charters and Stavenhagen
2009; Lightfoot 2012; Miranda 2007). Given recent endorsements of UNDRIP by

*We extend our sincere thanks to Erika Weinthal, Jake Hoberg, and members of the Decolonizing
Water Partnership for supporting early project development; Andrew Curley and Kate Neville for
their comments on the manuscript; Kurt Spreyer and Karen Diver for their mentorship; Evan
Sheahan for help with database management; Peter Ahrens for assisting with statistical analysis;
and Eric Leinberger for his map. Funding was provided by the Department of Earth System Sci-
ence at Stanford University, a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada
(SSHRC) Insight Grant, and a SSHRC Partnership Grant on Sustainable Water Governance
and Indigenous Law (2016–2023), www.decolonizingwater.ca.

1. www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/declaration-on-the-rights-of-indigenous-

peoples.html, last accessed June 27, 2019.

Global Environmental Politics 19:3, August 2019, https://doi.org/10.1162/glep_a_00517
© 2019 by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Published under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0
International (CC BY 4.0) license.

33

34 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

the United States and Canada, and Canada’s development of implementing
legislation (von Stackelberg 2019), additional research is needed on existing
policies that claim to advance Indigenous self-determination at the national and
subnational levels. This article evaluates US policy frameworks for advancing
Indigenous environmental self-determination in water governance through
treatment as state (TAS) provisions under the federal Clean Water Act (CWA).
Specifically, we evaluate TAS as a potential model for sustainable Indigenous
water co-governance. We analyze the tensions that cooperative federalism initia-
tives like TAS pose with respect to Indigenous self-determination, particularly
where tribes are asked to implement federal laws, while retaining the authority
to establish their own laws that are on par with or surpass federal standards.

Approved through the 1987 amendments to the US Clean Water Act, TAS
provisions enable eligible Native American tribes to assume the same responsi-
bilities as state governments for setting and implementing water quality stan-
dards ( WQSs) for tribal lands and waters. Currently, forty-four tribes have
established their own WQSs, which are approved by the US Environmental Pro-
tection Agency (EPA, n.d.-a) and are implemented through tribal environmental
programs (see Figure 1). Both tribes and states are legally required to meet or
exceed federal minimums for their WQSs.

Under the CWA policy, tribes and states can determine their own water
quality goals in the form of “beneficial uses,” which can include cultural or
ceremonial uses for tribal waters (Anderson 2015; Grijalva 2006). Tribal
standards may be more stringent than neighboring states’ standards, and they
can apply across jurisdictional boundaries when upstream discharges impact
tribal waters. For example, in 1992, the Pueblo of Isleta created stricter WQSs
than the neighboring state of New Mexico to protect ceremonial practices
that include ingesting water and bathing in the Rio Grande. Upheld by the
US Supreme Court, Isleta’s WQSs ultimately led the city of Albuquerque,
located just a few miles upstream from Isleta farmlands and ceremonial
areas, to upgrade a wastewater treatment plant (Baker 1996; Bilut 1994;
Lenderman 1998).

Despite almost thirty years of implementation, there has been no com-
prehensive study of TAS program effectiveness in improving water quality or
advancing Indigenous self-determination (Diver 2018). With TAS enabling
tribes to generate more culturally relevant water quality standards, the program
is one of the few US environmental policies offering this level of tribal gover-
nance authority. At the same time, tribes face significant barriers to accessing
TAS programs, and for those tribes that do pursue WQSs under TAS, neighbor-
ing states and other local entities may be hostile toward assertions of tribal sov-
ereignty. Additional analysis is needed to determine whether the TAS can be a
useful model for Indigenous water governance institutions that advance both
environmental sustainability and Indigenous self-determination. What do key
TAS program indicators, such as environmental pollutant listings, tell us about
TAS effectiveness? For tribes that have overcome barriers to access, does TAS

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 35

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Figure 1
U.S. Tribes with Water Quality Standards ( WQSs) Approved Under Clean Water Act TAS
Provisions, as of January 2019

This map also shows tribes that have received TAS status for the purpose of setting tribal WQSs and whose standards are
not yet approved. See current EPA TAS approvals at www.epa.gov/wqs-tech/epa-actions-tribal-water-quality-standards-
and-contacts, last accessed June 27, 2019. Map by Eric Leinberger, Department of Geography, University of British
Columbia. (Color version of map available at https://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/suppl/10.1162/glep_a_00517/
suppl_file/glep_a_00517-supp.pdf).

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enable sustainability and self-governance, as opposed to capture from external
entities? What lessons can be drawn from TAS for advancing Indigenous rights
in other federalist systems, or outside thereof?

The academic literature features significant concerns about whether Indig-
enous self-determination can be effectively pursued through existing colonial
governance frameworks (e.g., Alfred 2005; Coulthard 2007; Simpson 2017);

36 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

these debates also apply to water governance. For Indigenous peoples, water
governance is not simply a management issue. Rather, water governance is in-
tertwined with cultural survival: access to traditional foods, community health,
cultural practices, and the ability to maintain long-standing spiritual relation-
ships with water bodies (Borrows 1997; Hallenbeck 2015; McGregor 2004,
2008, 2012, 2014; von der Porten et al. 2016; Wilson and Inkster, 2018). Such
findings indicate that Indigenous peoples need to be engaged in designing water
governance systems from the ground up, in a holistic manner that respects the
integrity of land–water interrelationships.

In the US context, Indigenous water governance institutions are often
based on dominant Western governance frameworks and funded by federal
grants, two conditions that often reinforce existing power imbalances and the
subordination of Indigenous knowledge traditions. Existing studies illustrate
the tensions around pursuing Indigenous self-determination through tribal en-
vironmental regulatory programs, such as TAS (Diver 2018). On the one hand,
Ranco and Suagee (2007, 702) describe tribal environmental programs as “lab-
oratories for creativity,” which draw from multiple knowledge systems leading
to Indigenous innovations for water governance. For example, the Confederate
Tribes of Umatilla preface their tribal water code by acknowledging “Płíx iwá
čúuš” ( Water is medicine) (Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reser-
vation 2005). On the other hand, Saunders (2010) depicts tribal environmental
regulation as a highly constrained initiative and a balancing act, which tribes
may choose to undertake at the cost of inciting opposition from neighboring
state governments. For instance, the Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma’s efforts to
establish WQSs in 2004 were met by lawsuits and legislation limiting tribal sov-
ereignty (Chandler 1994; Williams 1993).

Indigenous scholars have also voiced strong critiques of federalist gover-
nance frameworks, where federal regulatory responsibilities are delegated to
states having no legally defined trust obligation toward tribes (Corntassel and
Witmer 2008). With TAS, tribes are leveraging the same legal and regulatory
structures that were initially developed to support and coordinate state regula-
tion. In doing so, eligible tribes must depend on federal agencies to certify their
capability to assume regulatory authority over WQSs for tribal waters. Under-
funded tribal governments must also contend with federal and state govern-
ment entities in a multilevel governance context, characterized by uneven
power dynamics. Such political realities call into question how much indepen-
dence TAS tribes can maintain in developing tribal WQSs and their ability to
implement tribal regulations for water quality in practice.

With these sustainability and self-determination challenges in mind, this
study evaluates TAS programs, using environmental pollutant listings in tribal
water quality standards for forty-four TAS tribes as an indicator of program ef-
fectiveness. To consider the strength and independence of tribal WQSs, relative
to neighboring state jurisdictions, we compared tribal pollutant listings to state
and federal standards and also to one another. Evaluating whether TAS tribes

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 37

are caught in a “race to the bottom” for environmental outcomes, we compared
the stringency of tribal standards to those of neighboring states and also deter-
mined if tribal standards met federal minimums. Recognizing the challenges
tribes can face in pursuing self-determination through colonial governance struc-
tures, we considered whether TAS tribes had sufficient independence from states
and federal agencies to create unique environmental pollutant listings for tribal
WQSs, as opposed to duplicating state listings or regional-level EPA templates.

The article is structured as follows. We begin by reviewing the literature on
key aspects of TAS policy, along with its possibilities and critiques, in terms of
current debates on Indigenous self-determination. This includes a discussion of
the contested politics of recognition that are inherent to dominant environmen-
tal governance frameworks (Coulthard 2007, 2014; Reo et al. 2017). We then
present our methods and results for comparing tribal water quality standards,
focusing on our analysis of environmental pollutant listings for tribal WQSs.
The discussion and conclusion connect our empirical findings with the literature
on water governance by Indigenous communities (Borrows 1997; Hallenbeck
2015; McGregor 2014; Powell and Curley 2008; von der Porten et al. 2016;
Wilson and Inkster 2018; Yates et al. 2017) and consider how TAS might func-
tion as a model for Indigenous water self-governance and as a potential tool for
advancing UNDRIP principles at the nation level.

In Pursuit of Indigenous Water Governance

Indigenous leaders are taking multiple approaches to expanding self-determination
in water governance. One strand of scholarship on this topic emphasizes the resur-
gence of Indigenous knowledge, law, and governance (Borrows 2002; Craft 2013;
Napoleon and Friedland, 2016; Simpson 2017). This work responds to the ongo-
ing dispossession of Indigenous lands through extractive development (e.g.,
Pasternak 2017), highlights Indigenous resistance strategies (Parker and Grossman,
2012; Norman 2017), and critiques state policies that reinforce colonial thought
models in contemporary Indigenous governance institutions (Alfred 2005; Barker
2005; Coffey and Tsosie 2001; Coulthard 2014; Curley, this issue; Stark 2013).
These scholars reject the politics of recognition that limit Indigenous sovereignty
and facilitate the assimilation of Indigenous knowledge systems into colonial
frameworks (Coulthard 2014) and instead call for Indigenous resurgence efforts
that are occurring within Indigenous communities, outside of state-driven negoti-
ations (Simpson 2017). For example, moving beyond nation-state governance
models, Simpson seeks Indigenous nationhood “based on the idea that the earth
gives and sustains all life” (8) and the importance of being in relationship with all
of creation. This approach brings a deep understanding of the mutual obligations
between humans and the natural world embedded in Indigenous knowledge and
governance systems (Borrows 1997; Diver et al. 2019; Hakopa 2011; McGregor
2014; Vaughan 2018)—a difficult endeavor to achieve within non-Indigenous
spaces of state regulation (e.g., Brody 1981; Nadasdy 2004; Weir 2009).

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38 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

Additional scholarship addresses nation-building strategies that engage
with the severe socioeconomic inequalities faced by many tribes (Cornell 2013;
Cornell and Kalt 1998) and the challenges of working with flawed legal frame-
works that limit Indigenous self-determination. This research surfaces the in-
equities that arise from working within the colonial legal and regulatory
systems (Corntassel and Witmer 2008; Deloria and Lytle 1984; Tsosie 2001;
Wilkins and Lomawaima 2001; Wilkinson 2005) and explores the creative inter-
ventions by Indigenous leaders to insert themselves into a colonial system of
governance that they did not participate in creating (e.g., Hanna et al. 2011;
Jorgensen 2007). Despite the lack of fit, or “cultural match” (Cornell and Kalt
1998), Indigenous communities have taken on “third space” strategies for build-
ing their self-governance capacity, such as accessing business opportunities that
enable tribes to buy back ancestral lands (Bruyneel 2007). In such multijurisdic-
tional contexts, tribal capacity building and economic diversification efforts un-
avoidably engage with colonial governance structures (e.g., Deloria 2006).

These two approaches to Indigenous self-determination are neither compre-
hensive nor mutually exclusive. However, they highlight the tensions between “re-
alism and idealism” that characterize the parallel efforts of tribal officials working
within existing political structures and tribal leaders working to reinvent tribal gov-
ernance outside of dominant sociopolitical structures (Deloria and Lytle 1984,
242). This framing also reveals some of the underlying assumptions of international
agreements like UNDRIP, which often recapitulate the position of Indigenous
peoples as “nations within” (Deloria and Lytle 1984; Hanna and Vanclay 2013),
or nations that retain some level of autonomy to operate within the dominant state.
While a full examination of UNDRIP is beyond the scope of this publica-
tion, recent scholarship assessing how UNDRIP implementation might address
key challenges for Indigenous water governance provides an orientation for our
analysis (see Askew et al. 2017). Research on UNDRIP and Indigenous water
governance addresses the following themes: (1) the right to Indigenous self-
determination (e.g., Articles 3, 32:1); (2) Indigenous rights to their traditional
lands and waters (e.g., Articles 25, 26); (3) free, prior, and informed consent
(e.g., Article 19); (4) self-representation (e.g., Articles 23, 28, 4); and (5) effective
mechanisms for redress (e.g., Articles 27, 32:3) (Askew et al. 2017). Given its focus
on consent, self-representation, redress, and so on, UNDRIP provides a supporting
framework for what is sometimes referred to as “internal self-determination,” which
can be contrasted with other approaches focused on “external self-determination”
that may include Indigenous statehood (Hanna and Vanclay 2013, 148). Similar
to UNDRIP, TAS also envisions Indigenous self-determination within dominant
state structures, as discussed below.

Origins of Treatment as a State

As with many US environmental laws, the 1972 Clean Water Act (CWA), which
established federal regulation of point source water pollution, is based on a

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 39

cooperative federalism model, where the federal government delegates signifi-
cant environmental regulatory authority to states. In its initial form, the CWA
did not address tribal sovereignty or the environmental regulation of tribal
lands (Grijalva 2006; Mazurek et al. 1998). Rather, it was the 1987 CWA
amendments that introduced TAS provisions enabling tribes to take on the same
administrative authority as states over selected programs. Thus, in the TAS con-
text, US environmental federalism has been expanded to include tribes.

Reflecting the recent self-determination era in US federal Indian law, the
shift toward recognizing tribal governance authority within federal statutes was
years in the making. It followed significant pressure from the 1960s Native
American rights movement; a dramatic increase in court rulings on tribal issues;
new federal legislation on self-determination; and increased tribal government
capacity ( Wilkinson 2005; Wilkinson and American Indian Lawyer Training
Program 2004). Rejecting federal Indian policy positions of paternalism, termi-
nation, and assimilation, President Nixon’s 1970 Congressional Address called
for moving away from direct federal operation of Indian programs and delegat-
ing federal program implementation responsibility (as well as adequate federal
financial support) to interested tribes (Nixon 1970). As legal scholar Charles
Wilkinson explains, “tribal sovereignty predated the formation of the United
States and continued after it” (Wilkinson 1987, 103). Today, US tribal govern-
ments are generally recognized as having a unique political status, which posi-
tions them as a third sovereign (i.e., tribes, states, and the federal government)
(Kickingbird et al. 1983). At the same time, ongoing colonial processes have
consistently denied tribal control over and access to the traditional lands and
waters (Barker 2005). As Indigenous scholars Wilkins and Lomawaima (2001,
5) point out, “the relationship between American Indian tribes and the U.S. fed-
eral government is an ongoing contest over sovereignty.”

TAS arose in the 1970s under the aegis of the EPA. At this time, the newly
formed EPA was faced with a regulatory void, because states with delegated
responsibility for implementing federal environmental programs lacked regula-
tory authority over tribal lands. If state WQSs did not apply to tribal lands, what
was the appropriate standard? In the early 1970s, the EPA began to carve out a
state-like role for tribes within some of its regulatory processes (Grijalva 2006).
In 1980, the EPA became the first US federal agency to establish a formal Indian
policy, centered on tribal implementation of federal environmental programs
on Indian reservations (Baker 1996; Grijalva 2006).

In 1987, Congress confirmed the EPA’s approach through its TAS guide-
lines in Section 518 of the CWA. In order for a tribe to administer its own
WQS program, the EPA must approve its eligibility for TAS status under Section
303 of the CWA. To be eligible, a tribe must be federally recognized, have a
governing body and trust land, and be capable of carrying out the functions
of an effective water quality standards program (EPA, n.d.-b). Following TAS
approval, the EPA issues a separate approval for tribal WQSs. Importantly, the
EPA provides technical support to tribal water programs, as well as some

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40 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

funding (e.g., Section 106 and GAP program funds), and federal trust responsi-
bility is maintained within the TAS policy framework. EPA decision-making for
TAS applications typically occurs at the regional level: the federal agency is made
up of ten different regional administrative offices, each representing approxi-
mately four to ten states and/or other nonfederal governmental bodies.

TAS Policy: Critical Perspectives and Possibilities for Indigenous
Self-Determination

Existing scholarship on Indigenous self-determination offers some important
critiques of TAS. The TAS model is based on the premise of treating Native
American tribes in a manner similar to states, for the purpose of delegating fed-
eral regulatory authority over existing CWA programs. The explicit delegation of
authority to tribes indicates that TAS extends beyond a tribal consultation pro-
cess. However, at this time, only forty-four tribes have adopted tribal WQSs un-
der TAS. This is out of 60 tribes that have applied to administer a TAS program
for WQS and have been found eligible, and approximately 330 tribes that may
be eligible to apply for TAS under the CWA. The gap between tribal eligibility
and adoption of tribal WQSs suggests that the TAS program does not meet the
governance needs or agendas of all tribes (Diver 2018).

Why would this be the case? One key issue appears to be the fact that the
TAS framework is fully located within the existing US regulatory framework, yet
tribal water relations typically do not fit into the predefined, bureaucratic pro-
cesses developed to support federal regulation. While tribes and state agencies
often share the basic goals of protecting human health and ecological functions
(e.g., deLemos et al. 2009), tribes have distinct values and needs around water
protection. For many tribes, water quality protection is embedded in Indigenous
knowledge, emphasizing the mutual responsibilities and reciprocal relations be-
tween Indigenous peoples and water (Arsenault et al. 2018; Lake et al. 2010;
McGregor 2014). However, more holistic values embedded within Indigenous
knowledges are often subsumed by bureaucratic frameworks that facilitate the
“standardization, sectorization, and instrumentality” of knowledge systems
(Martello 2001, 137). Dominant state agencies may also question the validity
of Indigenous knowledge, as well as tribes’ inherent authority to self-govern,
thereby undermining tribal environmental governance (Brody 1981; Nadasdy
2004).

Tribes also face challenges to their legal and political rights to water (Chief
et al. 2016). For example, many tribes lack jurisdictional authority and the
resources to implement environmental regulations (e.g., Doyle et al. 2018).
This is, in part, due to the colonial legacies of US allotment policies, which
dispossessed many tribes of their homelands and turned existing reservations
into a patchwork of individually owned fee lands (Indian and non-Indian)
that are interspersed with tribal trust lands (Corntassel and Witmer 2008).
In some cases, tribes may eschew TAS and instead adopt their own non-TAS

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 41

water quality standards and water codes, although tribally approved standards
primarily apply to tribal members on tribal lands (Berry 2016; Vesely 2014).
Adding to this critique, TAS eligibility and application requirements, as
well as the politics around TAS, prevent many tribes from accessing the
program. Only federally recognized tribes with trust lands (formal or informal
reservations) can apply, which excludes all unrecognized tribes, some recog-
nized tribes with limited jurisdictional authority, and almost all Alaska Natives
(Saunders 2010). Eligible tribes often lack the resources to apply for or imple-
ment programs (Lefthand-Begay 2014). Eligible tribes may also forgo TAS pro-
grams due to ongoing threats of lawsuits from states, individuals, or political
groups that are hostile to assertions of tribal sovereignty (Galloway 1995; Rey-
Bear 1995). For example, in 2000, when the Penobscot and Passamaquoddy
tribes requested stricter state water quality standards for dioxin discharges by
paper and pulp mills, state opponents filed a lawsuit leveraging the Maine
Freedom of Access Act to gain all materials on tribal authority (Rodgers 2004).
In 2004, after the Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma gained EPA-approved WQSs,
the state of Oklahoma filed suit. Tribal opponents also inserted a legislative
amendment in an unrelated bill that restricted tribal sovereignty for Oklahoma
tribes seeking TAS status (Grant 2007; Saunders 2010). These cases suggest a
double bind for tribal environmental self-determination: if a tribe regulates
aggressively to protect community and ecosystem health, they may provoke a
costly legal battle, thereby draining tribal resources and threatening tribal
self-governance.

In addition, TAS offers only a partial delegation of authority to participat-
ing tribes (Whyte 2011). As Alfred (2005, 35) writes, many Indigenous peoples
have long questioned the viability of working within dominant governance
models that “recognize Indigenous sovereignty yet always subsume it to that
of the state.” For example, the EPA retains final authority with approving tribal
eligibility for TAS and WQSs standards. When multijurisdictional conflicts arise,
tribes cannot compel the EPA to intervene. Even for TAS-approved tribes, legal
limits on tribal jurisdiction may still prevent tribal governments from enforcing
their own tribal codes, particularly for non-Indian users (Doyle et al. 2018). In
terms of cultural match (Cornell and Kalt 1998, 201), the EPA’s risk models
regarding environmental pollutant exposures may not represent true environ-
mental risks to tribal citizens engaging in particular cultural practices (O’Neill
2000). To avoid lengthy EPA deliberation over tribal proposals, some tribes
forgo challenging existing models for WQSs and instead mimic existing federal
or state programs (Grant 2007; Ranco 2009). Unfortunately, such pragmatism
can increase the risk of substituting state or federal values for the values of an
individual tribe (Lefthand-Begay 2014).

On the other hand, TAS provisions and tribal WQSs can help address key
environmental regulation challenges on tribal trust lands. While the EPA has a
trust responsibility to protect the water quality of US tribes, the federal agency
is often unable to do so effectively, due in part to limited agency funding

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42 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

(Conroy-Ben and Richard 2018; Grant 2007; Teodoro et al. 2016). Thus
strengths of TAS programs include (1) support for tribal goal setting and (2)
increased tribal governance authority both on and off the reservation (Diver
2018). TAS approval opens new opportunities for tribes to set their own water
quality goals through “beneficial uses” that are guided by an individual tribe’s
values. Tribes may set higher standards than surrounding jurisdictions and
may also include cultural, ceremonial, and/or religious uses in their standards
(Dussias 1999; Galloway 1995). The TAS legal framework allows for and antic-
ipates differences among sovereigns. As Reinhard (2009, 559) points out, the
“EPA decides to approve or reject a use by evaluating whether it is attainable
and consistent with the CWA’s objective, not by evaluating the principles be-
hind the use.” Thus the TAS regulatory framework provides the flexibility for
tribes to set their own goals, based on their own values and interest.

By leveraging procedural environmental regulation requirements that are
enforced by the EPA, TAS tribes can also gain a seat at the decision-making table
to potentially influence development projects affecting tribal waters, including
upstream off-reservation users (Chandler 1994; Galloway 1995). For example,
the EPA must notify any downstream tribes with approved WQSs of potential
discharges affecting the tribe’s water quality. Under Section 401 of the CWA, a
tribe with federally approved WQSs can challenge the issuance of federal dis-
charge permits into tribal waters. Importantly, working within EPA structures
can be advantageous for tribes because of the substantial deference that the
US legal system offers to the EPA’s interpretation of environmental statutes as
a federal agency (Grijalva 2003; Leisy 1999; Maccabee 2015; Rey-Bear 1995).
EPA confirmations of tribal regulatory authority under TAS provisions of the
CWA have consistently been upheld in court (Anderson 2015). And although
this issue has been problematic in the past, TAS provisions are increasingly help-
ing tribes to regulate the fragmented patchwork of property regimes within res-
ervation boundaries (Anderson 2015).2 TAS can also help grow tribal
environmental programs, which support additional tribal governance capacity
and jobs (e.g., Diver 2016, 2017).

Methods

In this article, we evaluate environmental pollutant listings for forty-four tribes with
WQSs as one indicator of whether tribes can advance self-determination through
TAS programs. The work also considers whether TAS tribes can independently

2. In May 2016, the EPA issued a revised interpretation of the CWA Tribal Provision (Section 518)
through formal rule making. The reinterpretation determines that Section 518 includes an express
delegation of authority by Congress to Indian tribes to administer regulatory programs over their
entire reservations, a regulatory framework that is similar to the Clean Air Act. With this regulatory
shift, many TAS legal review processes now require significantly less time and resources from
tribes. See www.epa.gov/sites/production/files/2016-05/documents/fact_sheet_cwa_tas_final_
reinterp_rule_5-2-16_508c.pdf, last accessed June 27, 2019.

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 43

establish their own distinct standards, relative to neighboring states and other
tribes. We view environmental pollutant listings as a useful indicator because of
the important role that they play in the enforcement of tribal WQSs.

Our analysis used published WQSs to develop a database of pollutants
regulated by tribes and relevant states. We also referred to the EPA’s National
Recommended Water Quality Criteria as the federal baseline for WQSs. We cat-
aloged pollutants listed by a given tribe (n = 44) or state (n = 13). The maxi-
mum and minimum numbers of pollutants listed ranged from 37 to 403
pollutants for tribes and from 75 to 659 pollutants for relevant states. In some
cases, pollutants were listed under narrative criteria, which we also cataloged.
Some tribes incorporated standards by reference, which we included in the total
count of pollutants. Although other parameters with numeric criteria (e.g., pH,
color, turbidity) are important indicators of water quality, we did not count
these for our pollutant comparison.3

Because pollutant standards are set at different levels for different purposes
(human health, aquatic life, etc.), we generated a list of distinct pollutants reg-
ulated by a given tribe or state. In other words, if a tribe regulated mercury for
human health purposes, and again for aquatic life, we counted this as a single
regulated pollutant. To ensure consistency, we referred to individual pollutants
using the unique registry number assigned by the Chemical Abstracts Service
(CAS number). If a single numeric criterion was listed for multiple pollutants,
we treated this as separate listing for each pollutant. Due to the complexity of
standards (e.g., tribes and states use different units of measurement to express
toxicity and regulate the same pollutants at different levels for different pur-
poses through both narrative and numeric formats), we did not compare the
numeric levels of pollutants.

To evaluate levels of environmental regulation, we determined whether a
given state or tribe had listed pollutants from the EPA’s recommended list (EPA
pollutants) and noted any additional pollutants being regulated beyond EPA
recommendations (non-EPA pollutants). Second, we compared the total num-
ber of pollutants listed for WQSs by tribes versus states, while also comparing
numbers of EPA and non-EPA pollutants. We completed an F-test to evaluate
variances, then a two-tailed T-test to evaluate significance with alpha equal to
0.05.

To consider the extent to which tribes can self-determine distinct WQSs,
independently from neighboring states and other tribes, we conducted a simi-
larity analysis among tribes to measure whether a particular state or regulatory
region had a strong influence on tribal WQSs. The similarity test also allowed us
to identify cases where tribes were swapping out specific pollutants in their reg-
ulations in order to meet their individual needs.

3. A complete list of EPA-recommended pollutants included in the analysis is available upon

request.

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44 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

Table 1
Average Pairwise Difference in the Pollutants Listed for Groups of Tribes Located in the
Same State, Listed by Percentile

Grouping

Average Pairwise Difference

National Percentile

Florida (n = 2)

Minnesota (n = 2)

California (n = 4)

New Mexico (n = 12)

Montana (n = 3)

Arizona (n = 4)

Wisconsin (n = 3)

Oregon (n = 2)

Washington (n = 8)

120

118

69

67

58

49

36

28

33

8

9

40

47

50

66

84

86

99

Note. National percentile demonstrates the likelihood of finding the observed average pairwise dif-
ference, based on the national distribution of existing tribal WQSs. A low percentile means that an
observed tribal grouping has a high degree of difference compared to expected values. This analysis
only includes states with two or more tribes.

For the similarity analysis, we grouped tribes by state and EPA region and
then calculated the pairwise difference between individual pollutants listed in
tribal WQSs, resulting in the average difference of all potential pairings for
any two tribes in the given state or region.4 This difference was calculated as
the sum of the differences between two tribes for the presence or absence of
each pollutant. (That is, if two tribes regulated the same pollutant, the pairwise
difference was 0. If one tribe regulated and the other did not, the pairwise dif-
ference was 1. Thus a lower pairwise difference overall indicates a greater degree
of similarity between WQSs for two tribes.) By randomly sampling our national
tribal WQS database (all forty-four tribal WQSs), we generated an index for the
level of dissimilarity expected for the relevant group size. We then used MatLab
to analyze national distributions of potential pairings in our database.5 Based
on the national distribution, we generated expected differences in tribal WQSs,
relative to group size, which we expressed as a national percentile (see Tables 1
and 2).

4. The Navajo Nation was included in the multiple calculations (i.e., comparisons for Arizona,

New Mexico, and EPA region 9).

5. If the number of national groupings was less than one hundred thousand, the distribu-
tion consisted of the complete listing of groupings. If the number was greater than one
hundred thousand, the groupings were selected randomly, due to limitations in comput-
ing power.

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(cid:129) 45

Table 2
Average Pairwise Difference in the Pollutants Listed for Groups of Tribes Located in the
Same EPA Administrative Region, Listed by Percentile

Grouping

Average Pairwise Difference

National Percentile

Region 4 (n = 2)

Region 6 (n =11)

Region 5 (n = 5)

Region 8 (n = 4)

Region 9 (n = 9)

Region 10 (n = 11)

120

69

62

57

57

29

8

40

50

56

66

98

Note. Some EPA regions do not include any tribes with TAS-approved WQSs (see Figure 1).

Results

Environmental Outcomes: Meeting Federal Baselines
Overall, TAS tribes with WQSs have successfully met the federal government’s
minimum standards for water quality protection and are on par with states in
regulating most EPA-recommended pollutants. The EPA recommends including
approximately 150 substances (or 142 distinct pollutants) for WQSs, with some
flexibility based on regulatory context. Both tribes and states listed about 110 of
the 142 EPA-recommended pollutants for setting water quality criteria (see
Figure 2). All but one tribe and every state also listed additional non-EPA pol-
lutants, or pollutants not currently included on the EPA’s recommended list.

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Self-Determination Outcomes: Comparing Tribal and State Standards

The differences in the average number of pollutants listed by tribes and states
were not statistically significant ( p = 0.42, 0.32, and 0.52 for total pollutants,
non-EPA, and EPA pollutants, respectively), indicating that tribes are generally
regulating on par with states. At the same time, a state-by-state comparison
showed that more than half of TAS tribes, or twenty-seven of the forty-four tribes,
listed more pollutants in their WQSs than respective states (see Figure 3).6 Thus
tribal standards are often more stringent for environmental pollutant listings
than neighboring state regulations.

Trends differed by state (see Figures 3 and 4). A few states, like New York and
Montana, listed many hundreds of pollutants in their WQSs, and tribal listings
were comparatively lower in these cases. Other states, like Wisconsin, Florida,

6. Since it borders both New Mexico and Arizona, the Navajo Nation was double-counted in this

calculation.

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46 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

Figure 2
Median Number of Pollutants Listed by Tribes and States in Their WQSs

EPA-recommended pollutants and non-EPA pollutants are reported separately. The total number of EPA-
recommended pollutants is shown at right.

and Nevada, had less comprehensive standards than neighboring tribes (more than
a 15 percent difference). In Minnesota, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Idaho,
Oregon, and Washington, the average numbers of pollutants listed by tribes and
states were roughly similar (less than a 15 percent difference). We also observed
diversity among standards for neighboring tribes within the same state, especially
for New Mexico, which has the largest number of TAS tribes for a given state.

Self-Determination Outcomes: Comparing Standards Among Tribes

Based on concerns over the independence of tribal environmental regulation in
more hostile states or federal administrative regions, we examined the similarity
among pollutants listed in tribal standards by state and by EPA region.7 Our find-
ings showed dissimilarity among tribal WQSs, suggesting that tribes can regulate
independently from states and one another. Groups of tribes in Florida, Minnesota,
New Mexico, Montana, Arizona, and California and EPA regions 4, 5, 6, 8, and 9
were more dissimilar from one another, positioned below the 66th percentile for
expected difference among tribal standards. Of these groups, tribal standards
were highly dissimilar in Florida (8th percentile) and Minnesota (9th percentile).
The strongest similarities among tribal WQSs were observed for the states of
Washington, Oregon, and Wisconsin and EPA region 10 (see Tables 1 and 2).

7. All groupings with only one tribe (EPA region 2, New York, Nevada, Colorado, and Idaho) were

excluded from this analysis.

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Average Number of Pollutants Listed by Tribes and Relevant State

EPA region numbers are listed as a prefix to the two-letter state abbreviation.

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Figure 4
Percentage Difference Between the Average Number of Pollutants Listed by State and by
Tribes in a Given State

EPA region numbers are shown as a prefix to the two-letter state identifier. Negative percentages indicate that the
number of tribally listed pollutants, on average, is lower than the state number. Positive percentages show that the
number of tribally listed pollutants, on average, is higher than the state number.

48 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

Discussion

Our discussion addresses several challenges to advancing Indigenous water
governance: (1) ensuring protective levels of environmental standards and
accountability to them when devolving regulatory authority, (2) supporting
self-determination of tribal governance institutions given the realities of uneven
power relations and hostility toward tribes, and (3) overcoming the limitations
of colonial governance models for Indigenous self-governance initiatives. By ex-
amining TAS in the context of UNDRIP, we also consider opportunities for (4)
implementing globally determined principles of Indigenous self-determination
through nation-level water governance policies, such as TAS.

Despite concerns over the devolution of environmental regulatory authority
triggering a “race to the bottom,” TAS tribes with WQSs have successfully met the
federal government’s minimum standards for water quality protection and are
generally on par with states. In addition, more than half of TAS tribes list more
pollutants in their WQSs than their neighboring states, and almost all TAS
tribes are regulating additional pollutants beyond EPA recommendations. We
acknowledge that most tribes face difficulties with lack of funding and limited
infrastructure and also that this study does not follow specific cases of policy
implementation. Nevertheless, a number of US tribes have demonstrated their
capability, technical capacity, and interest in forwarding tribal water protection
goals through TAS.

While the legal literature emphasizes hostility toward assertions of tribal sov-
ereignty and barriers to participation, a number of TAS tribes have surmounted
challenges in accessing the program. Variation among tribal WQSs demonstrates
that tribes are advancing self-determination through distinct tribal standards and
not simply replicating “boilerplate” state standards or regional EPA templates. This
suggests that TAS tribes are not entirely subject to the whims of regional EPA
administrators or neighboring state governments and are maintaining some level
of independence in setting WQSs. At the same time, our study does not claim to
address the immense complexities of US tribal–state interactions.

Building off our literature review and concerns with applying colonial poli-
cies to Indigenous water governance, we acknowledge that the federal government
controls the overarching TAS regulatory framework, including tribal entry. Further-
more, the historical trajectory of federal funding for state agencies, which can func-
tion as regulatory competitors with neighboring tribal governments, exacerbates
uneven power relations. There are also significant concerns with cultural match.
Thus TAS programs do not fully support the position of tribes as a third sovereign.
Still, given the hostile political environments many tribes are operating
within, tribes are gaining some advantages from leveraging pre-existing colonial
governance frameworks, particularly around regulatory capacity and conflict res-
olution among sovereigns. Instead of creating an entirely new set of legal orders,
TAS tribes work within dominant regulatory systems that are both federally rec-
ognized and federally funded. Because tribal water quality standards are based

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(cid:129) 49

on the EPA’s highly developed procedural regulations, TAS tribes benefit from
existing EPA enforcement and conflict resolution mechanisms. Due to the judi-
cial deference afforded to federal agencies in US courts, asserting tribal WQSs
within EPA structures can convey some legal protections for tribes. For example,
litigation to date on TAS has targeted EPA policy implementation, as opposed to
challenging tribes directly. Finally, the EPA has developed an extensive regulatory
and policy framework supporting TAS, which explicitly maintains federal trust
responsibility, precludes state authority over tribal waters, and embraces tribal
self-determination as a central goal.

This work suggests that tribal WQSs may provide a model for actualizing
UNDRIP self-determination principles. Drawing on selected UNDRIP articles
discussed earlier, we see key areas where TAS can inform UNDRIP implementa-
tion through nation-level water governance institutions. First, by finding unique
ways to include culturally relevant standards for tribal waters, TAS tribes have
made important strides for Indigenous self-determination at the policy and op-
erational levels, even while federal agencies manage the overarching TAS policy
framework (see Diver 2018). With the delegation of specific federal powers to
tribes, the program extends beyond a tribal consultation framework. Thus TAS
does carve out meaningful decision-making space for tribes to self-determine
their own water governance priorities, based on their own needs and values.
At the same time, federal regulatory agencies are charged with coordinating
environmental protection across multiple jurisdictions. This includes the EPA
setting minimum standards and providing conflict resolution mechanisms for
tribes and states. Second, the policy supports Indigenous land and water rights
by increasing tribal governance authority over territories where colonial policies
have fragmented property ownership and environmental regulation. TAS also
enhances Indigenous land rights through EPA administrative procedures that
anticipate and respond to upstream pollution problems originating outside
tribal territories. Third, TAS for WQSs enables a meaningful informed consent
process for tribes by enabling direct tribal participation in EPA permitting pro-
cesses for regulating upstream discharges. EPA technical support frameworks,
including regional tribal operations committees, facilitate ongoing consent
processes. Fourth, by building capacity for tribal water governance institutions,
TAS programs increase Indigenous self-representation in decisions affecting
tribal lands and waters. A fifth component of UNDRIP is redress for prior harms,
such as colonial legacies that have enabled disproportionate impacts of envi-
ronmental harms to tribal lands and waters, which are not included in the
TAS framework.

Placing our TAS analysis in the context of broader debates on Indigenous
water self-governance, we see TAS tribes carving out space for self-governance
within dominant regulatory systems. This is a practical co-governance approach
premised on the assumption that tribes have adequate policy space to self-
define and actualize their priorities within pre-existing governance frameworks
set by nontribal governments. As Dennison (2012) writes, tribes have “maneuvered”

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50 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

within such colonial entanglements (8) to bring about their own vision of the
future, although “assuming full sovereignty requires time and resources,” (145),
which are not equally accessible to all tribes. Given the negative experiences many
tribes have had with bureaucratic structures that subsume Indigenous governance
and knowledge production (e.g., Nadasdy 2004), we recognize the limitations for
tribes engaging with TAS as a colonial entanglement that both enables and
constrains Indigenous self-determination.

Conclusions

This article recognizes the commitment many Indigenous communities have
made to protecting their water sources and water relations. Our analysis indi-
cates that TAS tribes have, on balance, developed standards that are on par with,
and often more stringent than, neighboring states. This study also suggests that
TAS tribes can self-determine their standards independently from states, federal
agencies, and one another. This recognizes the importance of understanding
tribes as diverse entities who are developing environmental standards that fit
with their own distinct cultures and interests. For this reason, we view TAS,
tribal WQSs, and their supporting regulatory policies as an instructive point
of reference in debates over Indigenous water governance initiatives and self-
determination. Our analysis also considers the problematic entanglements of
environmental governance frameworks like TAS in colonial legacies (e.g.,
Dennison 2012). TAS programs that delegate federal regulatory responsibility
to tribes continue to privilege Western, bureaucratic frameworks of water gov-
ernance. While TAS programs do facilitate key aspects of UNDRIP, they do not
envision redress for colonial legacies that have led to disproportionate impacts of
environmental harms to tribal lands and waters.

TAS can function as a model for Indigenous water co-governance within
other federal systems based on key program components that support In-
digenous self-determination. These include (1) tribally driven goal setting
and program design that can address each tribe’s distinct water quality needs,
including cultural and ceremonial uses of tribal waters; (2) clear recognition
of boundaries for Indigenous lands and waters and the legitimacy of Indigenous
self-governance institutions; and (3) formal institutional relationships with
centralized governance institutions, like the EPA, that have clear policies sup-
porting tribal self-determination and also have the necessary enforcement and
conflict resolution capacity to strengthen accountability to tribal standards
across jurisdictions. As pointed out by multiple studies, tribes require adequate
resources as a precondition for their ability to access federal TAS programs and
develop their own WQSs. While building tribal capacity to support scientific
standards for water quality is part of this work, tribes also require resources
and capacity to address the legal complexities with negotiating tribal jurisdiction
over land and water.

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Sibyl Diver, Daniel Ahrens, Talia Arbit, and Karen Bakker

(cid:129) 51

In addition to the work many tribes are doing to engage within federal reg-
ulatory policy, there is a much broader range of resurgence work (e.g., engaging
Indigenous youth in land-based learning), which is potentially more transforma-
tive in the long term. Tribes are also working through their own legal orders to
set water quality standards and ordinances. These tribes can still look to TAS as a
useful framework. For example, TAS sets up a flexible model for tribes to self-
define culturally beneficial uses in their own water codes and ordinances. TAS-
based WQSs also provide examples of how tribes have chosen to express their
standards in different ways, often selecting standards that extend beyond federal
minimums. In this way, self-governing tribes can use TAS-like standards to
inform tribal planning and zoning initiatives, particularly when envisioning
water governance mechanisms that facilitate diplomacy across multiple jurisdic-
tions and sovereigns. Thus our analysis points out the value and complexities
of parallel engagement in dominant colonial governance frameworks and
tribally defined water governance systems. This research also establishes a need
for future work to re-envision water governance policies that advance both
sustainability and self-determination.

Sibyl Diver is a researcher at Stanford University in the Department of Earth
System Science. She does community-engaged research on Indigenous water
governance, focusing on Pacific Northwest salmon watersheds. She received
her PhD in environmental science from the University of California, Berkeley.
Sibyl began working on these issues as a Russian translator, facilitating interna-
tional exchanges for Indigenous community leaders on land rights and Indige-
nous resource management.

Daniel Ahrens recently received his BS in environmental science from the
University of California, Berkeley. Daniel currently works as a Communications
Associate and Princeton in Asia Fellow at RECOFTC—The Center for People and
Forests in Bangkok, Thailand. In the fall of 2020, he will begin studies for a JD at
Stanford Law School. Daniel’s research interests are in Indigenous policy and
cooperative management.

Talia Arbit currently works as a sustainability professional in the Bay Area. She
studied environmental biology at Columbia University and received her MA in
urban education from LMU, with a focus on environmental education. At both
Columbia and Stanford Universities, Talia has conducted research on water
management, treatment, and contamination issues.

Karen Bakker is a professor and Canada Research Chair at the University of
British Columbia, where she is the director of the Program on Water Gover-
nance. She is the author of more than one hundred academic publications,
including Privatizing Water (2010) and An Uncooperative Commodity (2004).

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52 (cid:129) Engaging Colonial Entanglements: Treatment as a State

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