Craig Cutler

"Our reservation is sacred. This is the only land we have—the only thing the government left us after taking most of our country." —Margene Bullcreek

Bear pulled off the road near the knoll where the rods will be stored if his hopes are realized. It was hot outside, so he sketched his plans from the cool confines of the Pontiac. He pointed east, across the highway, where a patch of arthritic bitterbrush extends to the foothills of the Stansburys, and described how it would look when the fire station, clinic, cultural center, and police station are built there, along with 15 new homes for tribal members who will work at the storage site. (The project, he says, will generate 400 temporary jobs and 60 long-term ones.) On the other side of the road, to the west, is the 800-acre site where the concrete slab and the storage casks would be surrounded by two eight-foot-high chain-link fences. "There's a lot of potential out here—it's just a question of putting it all together," he said, waving his hand across the windshield. "I know exactly what we need and how to get there. We need to promote the future. We need to move into investments. We need to be involved in corporate America. We can't stay in the past."

Even with the air-conditioning going full blast, the sun began to turn Bear's car into an oven. As he pulled back onto the road, I asked if he was worried about the governor's pledge to prevent the nuclear waste from being shipped to Skull Valley. "Look, the reservation isn't a part of Utah," he said firmly. "Utah doesn't tax it, and has no business on it unless we invite them. Utah has to understand our position as a sovereign nation."