American Indians’ vital link to state government
Tribal communities benefited from House’s service
Ernest House Jr. has driven every which way from Denver to McElmo Canyon. He has watched the sunset in the San Luis Valley and has been chased into Utah by blizzards. He knows where the two pockets of cellphone service are on Wolf Creek Pass, which came in handy when the White House once called. He can drive back home in his sleep.
On his biweekly drives to the Ute Mountain Reservation in southwest Colorado, he sees more than just scenery; he sees history. He sees the land his Ute ancestors and many other tribes used to roam.
For more than a decade, House worked to be a liaison between American Indians and the state as the executive director of the Colorado Commission of Indian Affairs. He stepped down from the post in September, transitioning to a new role at the Keystone Policy Institute. In his time at the CCIA, House helped create educational resource guides, organize a dramatic apology for a centuriesold massacre and led politicians through tours of his tribal home, trying to re-sew the fissures of history caused by colonization.
“Ernest has played a tremendous role in ensuring our state government never lost focus on our tribal communities,” Lt. Gov. Donna Lynne said in a news release. “Our tribes have an important seat at the table and a strong voice thanks to Ernest’s commitment and dedication.”
With House gone, the agency will carry out the projects he started and wait until a new governor is inaugurated to appoint his replacement.
“My greatest resource”
House began at the bottom, leaping up the ranks of the commission to take the helm 13 years ago. After a year as the agency’s intern, he applied to lead it in 2005, not thinking he had a chance to land the job.
“We were ready to go be ski bums once I got the no,” said House, referring to him and his wife.
But he put his ski-bum dreams on hold when, to his surprise, he was offered the job. House worked with three administrations over 11 years and countless lawmakers from both parties. He took a brief two-year pause from the CCIA in 2010 but was coaxed back by Lt. Gov. Joe Garcia in 2012.
Two reservations — the Ute Mountain and Southern Ute — are partially in Colorado. But 48 tribes have cultural affinity to the land of present-day Colorado. While the commission’s first job is government-togovernment communication, House saw his role as being a link to all American Indians who call Colorado home.
By the end of his latest stint, his list of accomplishments had grown long enough to earn him his own honorary day, Sept. 28, as “Ernest House Day.”
House often deflects praise from himself to others who have helped him along the way.
He said his father, Ernest House Sr., was “my greatest resource.” House Sr. was the longest-serving tribal chairman of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe. In his 30 years-plus tenure, the elder House worked to expand public safety on a reservation that has been plagued by violence. His work endeared him to many in the tribe, according to Pearl Casias, a Ute Tribe councilwoman. Casias saw the work that Ernest House Sr. did continue with the his son.
“Ernest was the right fit for the position,” Casias said.
Leadership runs in the family
House’s great-grandfather, Jack House, was the last hereditary chief of the Weeminuche band of Ute and looks down on his great-grandson from a black-and-white portrait that hangs in House’s office.
Despite coming from a family of leaders, House faced many challenges in Denver. Stereotypes and a lack of visibility for
American Indians still permeate many parts of the largely progressive city.
“If (people) know American Indians exist, they may have heard about a tribe and then they associate it to a casino,” House said.
One way he tried to elevate the voices of other indigenous Coloradans was by taking new political leaders to the Four Corners region.
From above, the Ute Mountain Reservation is a ruffled tan sheet of desert crinkled by veins of green creek beds. Irrigated circles of farmland dot the ridges leading to — physically and spiritually — the most prominent part of the reservation, Sleeping Ute Mountain.
House’s childhood home in McElmo Canyon is one of those streaks of green just north of the mountain.
The present-day political borders of American Indian reservations were divorced from their ancestral boundaries long ago. The Ute Mountain reservation spills into New Mexico with flecks of tribal land dotting southwestern Utah, a shadow of the land that his ancestors used to roam across the Colorado Plateau.
Many of the other tribes that once lived in the area of present-day Colorado — such as the Arapaho, Cheyenne and Kiowa — were forced to reservations in Wyoming and Oklahoma. Forty-eight tribes used to live in Colorado before being forced out, according to the CCIA website.
The history is engraved into House’s consciousness and is one he shared with visitors he took to the reservations. Alcoholism, drug abuse and violence are issues that reservations grapple with. But on the visits, House strove to show that the reservation was more than just bleak statistics.
Along with working to educate people across the state about modern-day issues, House worked to try and heal the past. One of the biggest wounds House tried to mend was the Sand Creek Massacre.
Historic apology
In late November 1864, a nomadic village of Cheyenne and Arapaho settled near where present-day Kansas bleeds into the plains of southeastern Colorado.
Several hundred Union soldiers came upon the camp. White flags and star-spangled banners flapped over the tepees, a sign the camp was peaceful. Most of the men were away on a buffalo hunt.
Bullets and havoc tore through the camp, scattering the women, children and the wounded who tried to escape. At least 160 Arapaho and Cheyenne were killed, by some estimates. The soldiers walked away from the village turned killing field with mutilated body parts, trophies of the massacre.
For the 150th anniversary of the massacre, House had an idea. He pitched to Gov. John Hickenlooper that he say two words many had been waiting to hear for over a century: “I’m sorry.”
On Dec. 3, 2014, tribal leaders, indigenous people and Colorado residents stood on the steps of the state Capitol listening to Hickenlooper speak. Young indigenous people had run more than 170 miles in an annual spiritual run from the massacre site to Denver.
House stood off to the side, flanked by Hickenlooper’s aides, and listened to the words many had been waiting to hear for a long time.
“We should not be afraid to criticize and condemn that which is inexcusable,” Hickenlooper said. “On behalf of the state of Colorado, I want to apologize.”
The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers as the governor turned to shake the hands of the tribal leaders. House looked on with satisfaction, seeing months of work come to fruition.
House ranks the apology as one of his proudest accomplishments. Others include releasing an American Indian history resource guide for teachers.
But what he loved doing most was being a voice for people he feels had been voiceless for a long time.