I visited the Talking Stick Resort and Casino Arizona in Scottsdale, AZ, relatively late on a Friday night. From the outside, it appears very much like any other casino-resort--a broad, tall, multi-story hotel next to a flashy, bustling casino. Unless you already know beforehand that this casino is on the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Reservation--as most people associate casinos with reservations--there is initially little in the way of "Indian influence" apparent, save for the name and logo itself. A "talking stick" in Native American culture is a democratic tool that is passed around a group to symbolize the authority of the person holding it--mostly for speaking purposes. On the website for the casino, no mention is given of whether or not the name is of any importance. In fact, the website only dedicated three small paragraphs to any tribal history behind the casino. The establishment of the reservation by President Rutherford B. Hayes in 1879 is stated, as well as the true names of the Pima and Maricopa people--the Akimel O'Odham (River People) and the Xalychidom Piipaash (People Who Live Toward the Water), respectively. Other than this, no intensive history is given. Most of the site is dedicated to describing the amenities of the resort itself, in more "American" terms.

Inside, there is the same lack of indigenous connection. Save for a few "western" decorations here or there, or vague art pieces of Native-looking origin, the casino is a casino. The rooms are full of neon lights, the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke, the chiming of machines, and the tinkling of glasses. Many of the people at the machines are non-Indian--there's hardly a Native to be seen anywhere, at least on the floor. Although I understood that the role of the SRP-MIC (Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community) is that of behind-the-scenes ownership, it still seemed somewhat strange that the casino was lacking “Indian-ness”. The models in the fancy ads were white. The "winners" on the fliers were black, white or other (excluding Natives). The names on the machines were all Vegas-esque. The music was American. And it left me asking myself whether or not Indians were actually in charge.

The more I thought of it though, I realized it was all little more than a clever marketing strategy. There are places on any reservation where culture, history and identity are on display. There are places where life is more in line with the "Indian" way. The casino, however, is not one of those places. I don't know if the uninitiated to the gambling world hold a stereotype of what an "Indian casino" looks like--I know I didn't know what to expect--but what it hardly seems is Indian. The casino and adjoining resort are first and foremost a business, and second a testament to Native history. In the same way that a Christian immigrant may not push their faith at a deli counter, the casino does not attempt to push "Indianness" on its customers. Many people do not come to the reservation to be initiated in the way of the Native--they come to gamble, or buy unique gifts, or peruse the wide array of cigars. They come to be consumers, with only some visiting to learn. And the Reservation understands this. That's why the billboards upon entering the Rez don't hawk culture and identity--they sell convenience stores and cigarettes. They sell you the opportunity of winning it big like no one on the Rez ever has. They sell you opportunity that the American expects, if not the Native.

The lack of "Indianness", then, isn't some fault of their spirit, or for lack of trying. It lacks because that's what the gambler wants. The man at the slot machine doesn't want to be reminded why the casino he is in could have meant failure or salvation to the Reservation. He doesn't want to be reminded of a prolonged history of cultural conflict with the owners of the establishment. If it can be helped, he doesn't even want to be reminded that he is -on- a reservation. Right there on the Rez stands pots of money that no tribesman ever wins, and a resort that he probably can't afford to stay in. Sure, the profits of the enterprise come back as dividends to the tribe, but it still seems like there's a chasm between the people who own the casino and the ones who come to visit. The resort is somewhere to escape to, from "normal" life. It's a place of luxury, of gaming and alcohol and fancy hotel rooms. The irony is that some people behind the resort can't escape the sight of it.

There is history on the reservation. There is history in the tribes who jointly own it. There is history of the casino itself--but in the web pages, that history is just that of its physical construction. The casino is a part of the mainstream. It stands on the line of white America and reservation life--Scottsdale in walking distance, and the reservation opposing it. A lot can be said of the metaphor in that, but it would only lead to other things. So, the question of how the history of the Indian is represented in the Casino is difficult to answer--in the art, the names, the descriptions, there is little. In the unspoken, however--the absence of the Natives on the floor, the indifference of the patrons, the geographic line of the city and the reservation, there is much. It is not all dismal--after all, the tribe constantly reaps the benefits of a business that thrives off the lack of others--but there is an underlying meaning in it all that many fail to see. I don't know if you were to ask a random patron what reservation they're on, they'd be able to answer you. "An Indian one?" As is the case with most history and representation of the Native American, it takes looking past what is visible to what came before it. It takes trying to understand what it -stands- on. And there, there lies the history.