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With his return, Yasin was a major symbol of greatness in affirmity: he was the mutilated king. People began to think about the man and the movement with renewed fervor. In a bold, deflationary gesture, the ailing sheikh likened himself to “a baby returned to his mother's womb”. Six years after returning home from his tour of Arab countries, he finally attained what he long said he wanted more than anything on earth. Shortly after the dawn prayer in a Gaza City mosque, he was struck to the ground by a missile fired from an Israeli Apache helicopter.

This chapter focuses on Native American interactions with the land. Many tribes believe in the sustaining power of the land. According to most Native American traditions, the land is alive. Every particular form of the land is experienced as the locus of qualitatively different spirit beings; their presence sanctifies and gives meaning to the land in all its details and contours. These spirits also give meaning to the lives of people who cannot conceive of themselves apart from the land. Apache stores of place, Navajo relationship with the land, conflict over sacred lands, and sacred architecture are discussed.

The key phrase in Miles's telegram to his commanding general was “it should be done peaceably if possible.” For a large military force suddenly to appear at San Carlos and Fort Apache and to begin rounding up the Indians for a forced march to the nearest railhead would certainly cause the greatest outbreak in the history of Arizona Territory. The Apaches feared treachery leading to mass hangings in reprisal for their many raids in the Territory. Chatto believed that they would not be removed from Arizona but would be given good Agents and an actual means of making an honorable living at Fort Apache. But just as Miles had lied to Geronimo at the surrender, so President Cleveland and General Sheridan lied to Chatto. The fight for credit for the surrender of Geronimo would be as hard fought and even more lengthy than the campaign itself.

The flight of Geronimo and his renegades from San Carlos caused near-panic across southern Arizona and New Mexico. “Apaches on Warpath,” headlined newspapers, while editorial writers criticized the soldiers for bungling. But while civilians criticized, the Army acted rapidly to get the renegades back to the reservation. Britton Davis with his Scouts was joined by Lieutenant Gatewood, who brought a dozen White Mountain Scouts from Fort Apache, and by Captain Allen Smith with two companies of the Fourth Cavalry. This chapter describes the pursuit from May 1885 to December 1885, marked by the trail of blood left by the Apaches. With the soldiers hunting in vain, Josanie and his band reached the safety and warmth of Mexico, making Crook's command look ridiculous.

The end of the Civil War found Nelson Appleton Miles unwilling to quit the military life. On April 27, 1886, General Miles got his first taste of Apache warfare. Geronimo and Nachez struck across the border in the Santa Cruz Valley that morning, killing a number of cowboys and capturing the Peck ranch. This chapter describes Miles's hunt for Geronimo and the renegades with the aid of Captain H.W. Lawton. Lawton's command was not successful in its mission of wearing the renegades down and forcing them to surrender. Later, Miles abandoned all thought that his “athletes” could win a military victory over the hostiles, and turned to Crook's policy of diplomacy. He ordered Lieutenant Gatewood to that task, which Gatewood performed successfully.

This chapter explores both the alternate versions of spatial organization and power that persisted and evolved in the borderlands and how the nation-states managed to suppress them in the first four decades of the border's existence. In order to establish military authority and make the boundary line a meaningful marker of territorial sovereignty, the Mexican and U.S. militaries had to defeat two very different threats—the first from filibusters from outside the region and the second from Apache people who had long lived in the borderlands. While both of these struggles revealed how far the United States and Mexico still had to go before they could claim to fully control the borderlands, they also provided evidence of the subtle ways in which the boundary line had already begun to change the landscape of power in the region.

For three centuries before the arrival of the Anglo-American in the Southwest, the Apaches dominated the region, striking terror not only into the hearts of surrounding Indian tribes but also into the hearts of the Spanish colonists who ventured into the area. All the Apache bands, including the Navajo, were distinguished from neighboring southwestern tribes by one other feature—their ferocity as warriors. Inhabitants of a hard, cruel land, they became, like it, hard and cruel to everyone except themselves. In fact, their economy, beyond some hunting and gathering, was based on booty gathered in raids.

Only Geronimo stood aloof from the fight for glory in the years immediately after his surrender—there was no glory for him or for the other Apache renegades. In captivity Geronimo, along with the other Apache prisoners, faced the philosophical question of restructuring his life. Geronimo apparently made a conscious decision late in life not to follow the “white man's road.” He did not return to the old ways, however; he became a showman. With special permission from the War Department, he attended the Omaha and Buffalo expositions and the St. Louis World's Fair as an “attraction.” At such events, Geronimo gloried in his reputation and used the opportunity to make money. Geronimo died at Fort Sill on February 17, 1909. In the decades that have passed since his death, Geronimo indeed has grown steadily in stature as a great American.

The chapter opens with discussion of native Catholicism among the Apache, and of the syncretic church imagery epitomized by the Apache Christ behind the altar. The discussion then pursues the “rebuild my church” mandate that St. Francis received in a vision and the application of the same by Franciscans and others who undertook the restoration of the huge stone church and the congregation in Mescalero. The discussion of a trainee program at this and other sites introduces a section regarding the influence of church restoration on the alcoholism and sobriety of one of the workers. The chapter then discusses the difficulties of transition from Franciscan to diocesan pastorship. It concludes with a historical section on the freed Chiricahua prisoners of war who settled at Mescalero, and on Father Albert Braun, whose vision and initiative resulted in the construction of St. Joseph. The chapter includes a visiting guide.

On July 19, 1909, Aldo Leopold was appointed as forest assistant at the Apache National Forest just outside Springerville, in the Arizona Territory. During the two decades he spent with the U.S. Forest Service, Leopold got married to Estella Bergere and suffered from a case of acute nephritis (Bright's disease). Leopold's approach to game management was based on principles of forest management. For his successes in the Southwest, Leopold received a letter of congratulation from Theodore Roosevelt in January 1917 and a gold medal from Hornaday's Permanent Wild Life Protection Fund in July. In January 1918, Leopold left the U.S. Forest Service to take the position of secretary of the Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce. In August 1919, he rejoined the Forest Service as an assistant district forester. In April 1924, he became assistant director of the Forest Products Laboratory in Madison, Wisconsin. In 1928, the Sporting Arms and Ammunitions Manufacturers' Institute approached Leopold with an offer to conduct a nationwide survey of game conditions. Leopold agreed.

This chapter explores the participation of Tarahumara Indians in the Mexican military during the Apache wars, and reflects on the meaning of the silence and ambiguity—pervasive not only in the immediate aftermath of the conflict but also in present-day narratives and commemorations—surrounding the collective memory of their participation. During the Apache wars, Tarahumara service on the battlefield frequently presented an exception to the racial ideologies of everyday life. Yet history and memory in northern Mexico have struggled to make sense of this unique field of interaction among non-Indians and Indians, whether Tarahumaras, Apaches, or others—a struggle that continues to shape debates over race, national identity, and the “Indian question” to the present day.

This chapter describes how most nineteenth-century travelers approached Bexar with a sense of relief and wonder. The relief came from arriving at a town safely after days of traversing the brush country, exposed to the possibility of attack from one of a variety of indigenous groups controlling the area, such as the Comanche or Lipan Apache. Indeed, immediately upon arrival, most Mexican travelers attended mass at San Fernando Cathedral. Writing in the eighteenth century, Juan Agustin de Morfi noted, “We went to the parish church to genuflect, to give thanks to Our Holy Father for the joy of our arrival.” The sense of wonder came from noting Bexar's relatively lush oasis in comparison to the harsh desert of northern New Spain.

Twenty-two-year-old Aldo Leopold arrived in Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory, in July 1909, burning with the “fervor of a sawdust evangelist.” The Forest Service had sent him to his first choice—District 3, encompassing the twenty-one forests of the South and Southwest. His duties were outlined in his manual: preserve a perpetual supply of timber for home industries, prevent destruction of forest cover (which regulates the flow of streams), and protect local industries from unfair competition in the use of forest and range. The district chief was Arthur Ringland, a stocky, energetic Yale graduate only a few years older than Leopold. Ringland sensed the new graduate’s enthusiasm and assigned him to the wildest lands in the district—the Apache National Forest in Arizona Territory. The land had originally belonged to the Apache Nation, but in 1886, the US Army forced most of the members onto a nearby reservation. This left but a few ranchers, farmers, and miners in the region. The forest headquarters rested in Springerville, Arizona, a two-day stagecoach ride from the last railroad stop. No automobiles carved tire treads over these plateaus and canyons. Travel was by foot, horse, or mule. Forest Assistant Leopold, the newest greenhorn among many, wasted no time in purchasing a feisty gray stallion called Jiminy Hicks, a saddle, a rope, and a few good roping lessons. Within the month, he also acquired pistols and a “rubber butt plate” for those long days in the saddle. The rubber plate came in handy since Aldo put in a good deal of time astride Jiminy Hicks. Throughout July and the beginning of August, Leopold inspected trees, marked them for cutting, planted seed plots, fixed fences, and met the other rangers. Working under Supervisor John D. Guthrie, Aldo contributed his two bits on policy decisions about grazing permits, water rights, and timber sales. Guthrie’s long hours and dedicated stance inspired the young ranger. The simplicity of life on the range, where one had to live out of a pack, made Leopold feel tough and free. On his own time, he hunted, mapped out the forest for himself, climbed mountains, and tested trout streams.

In the Introduction, the author relates how his own family’s experiences with Indigenous civil rights in Arizona inspired this study. Maurice Crandall, a citizen of the Yavapai-Apache Nation, became interested in Indian citizenship and voting after his own grandfather was unjustly incarcerated, without trial, as a juvenile in 1930s Arizona. By focusing on stories of Indigenous encounters with electoral politics, the author seeks to weave a narrative that challenges progressive stories of Indigenous civil rights and political participation, one that would have Indians finally and fully enfranchised thanks to the benevolence of the United States political system. Instead, this work shows how Indigenous peoples of the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands were enfranchised in a variety of ways during the Spanish, Mexican, and U.S. territorial periods, always while seeking to retain community sovereignty.

President Michael Wash comes to the rescue. He is ably assisted by two talented vice-presidents: Joseph Cammarosano and Paul Reiss. Student protestors occupy the Administration Building. A mysterious fire breaks out in the Campus Center. Within two years, peace is restored to the campus and the deficit is transformed into a healthy surplus. Fordham faces the challenge of the deterioration of the Bronx.

This essay focuses on the borderlands of Mexico and the United States in the decades following the Mexican-American War. There, American, Apache, Comanche, and Mexican inhabitants came into contact with one another and their distinctive and sometimes conflicting understandings of sovereignty led to significant discord. In different ways, Mexico and the U.S. sought to assert control over part of these borderlands, which included restricting the movement of outsiders within their territory. Apache and Comanche peoples, on the contrary, regarded free movement across the region as “irrevocable.” The increasing American population both provided demand for livestock that drove indigenous raids into Mexico and curtailed access to land and resources, promoting migration across the border and making it exceedingly difficult for Mexico to assert sovereign control over northern territory.

This chapter focuses on the report presented to General Manuel Mier y Teran by prominent Bexareno Francisco Ruiz regarding the Indians living in the Department of Texas in 1828. Ruiz's observations carried the weight of a native of the region and an individual involved in indigenous relations as an agent and soldier. His notes distinguished between dozens of indigenous groups with an eye toward the possibilities of peace and alliance or war. Of the Lipan Apache, Ruiz wrote, “In my opinion, the southern Lipans are the most cruel of all the barbaric nations I know. . . . I have been told by some of these Indians that they sometimes eat those they kill in war.” By describing them as cannibals, Ruiz depicted Apaches as cruel and barbaric. His words also enlarged the cultural gulf between Apaches and Mexicans by marking the Apaches as dishonorable in warfare and, by extension, unmasculine.