The ancestral home of members of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation was once a sprawling, thriving island where self-sufficiency was rooted in growing crops, raising livestock, hunting, fishing and trapping. Coastal erosion and subsidence, however, has all but wiped out Isle de Jean Charles, which sits 90 miles southwest of New Orleans and about 3 miles off the coast of Terrebonne Parish. Once roughly 32,000-acres, an area about three-quarters the size of Washington, D.C., Isle de Jean Charles has dwindled to about 300 acres. With the island has gone a home to, at its peak, hundreds of Native Americans. Four families remain, sharing an existence with a string of abandoned, dilapidated houses clinging to a strip of land as narrow as a quarter mile in spots.
Dr. Heather Stone is helping to preserve memories of what life was once like on Isle de Jean Charles, a place accessible solely by boat or pirogue before the construction of Island Road in 1953. Stone, an associate professor in the , has collected dozens of oral histories from tribal members that form the heart of her forthcoming book, "End of the Road: Forced Exodus from Isle de Jean Charles." The University Press of Mississippi will publish "End of the Road" as part of its America's Third Coast Series. Its oral histories will constitute the only known large-scale compilation of personal accounts by members of the displaced and fractured Jean Charles Choctaw Nation. The coffee table-sized book will also feature text by Stone, photos of island life through generations, and images of survey maps to illustrate the progression of the land's deterioration.
The content is structured to engage scholars and general readers alike, she explained. "It tells an overall story of what happened to this tribe and what happened to the land and the outside influences that impacted each."
"End of the Road" will also put a resounding personal stamp on a larger story. In 2022, many former residents of Isle de Jean Charles began resettling in a new community. The move was historic, the first such federally funded relocation effort in the lower 48 states for a community impacted by environmental changes. The relocation, to a development about 40 miles north of Isle de Jean Charles called "New Isle," was funded by a $48 million U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development grant administered by the state. The resettlement is intended to serve as a model as similar displacement scenarios play out across the nation and world. Tribal members' oral histories – threaded with customs and traditions as well as elements of history, politics, ethnicity, economics and coastal land loss – both "amplify the community's voice and increase global awareness of environmental changes and their effects on people in Louisiana and other low-lying communities," Stone wrote in the preface to "End of the Road."
Residents' opinions about New Isle – and its 32 houses built on what was once a sugar cane field – are mixed. Former Isle de Jean Charles resident Chris Brunet said he's "still adjusting" to life in his new neighborhood and summed up the complicated relocation during a recent interview with La Louisiane. "If we still had the land, I wouldn't be here," he said. "In spite of the floods and in spite of the hurricanes, I would have stayed on the island. It's like people who live in Tornado Alley. It's part of your environment. Sometimes it turns and gets you, but you still stay. It's where you feel at home."
Stone's time spent researching the island, building relationships with residents, collecting interviews, and conducting archival research in Washington, D.C., and Baton Rouge began in 2016, the year the relocation grant was awarded. Stone, who has spent long stretches in a rented home near Isle de Jean Charles, has witnessed plenty of island history. She has seen the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, which was previously the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw tribe, adopt its current name. Stone has watched the transition of the nation's leadership pass from former tribal chief Albert Naquin to his nephew, Deme Naquin. She has observed the fallout caused by Hurricane Ida in 2021, which effectively delivered the final blow to Isle de Jean Charles. And, sadly, Stone has lost friends. "In the past eight years, many tribal elders have died and now almost everyone has had to move away, which is ironic because the tribe originally settled on the island due to a forced exodus," she said.
The nation's path going forward will center, in part, around its ongoing push for federal recognition, a long sought after designation that's proven elusive. Such status, according to the U.S. Department of the Interior's Bureau of Indian Affairs, recognizes American Indian or Alaska Native tribal entities as having government-to-government relationships with the U.S. That translates to the right to self-govern and eligibility for funding and services from the bureau. It also means meeting voluminous, exacting federal requirements and guidelines. "The ultimate goal is to become a sovereign nation," Deme Naquin explained, "but that's not an easy task. We're finding that out." As with many Native American tribes, researching and compiling generations worth of historical records, where often little or none exist, fleshing out genealogical trees, or establishing property ownership chains can be daunting, if not impossible.
Especially for the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation. Accounts vary as to which tribe first inhabited the island, which is believed to have been settled in the early 1800s. Isle de Jean Charles' population jumped considerably with an influx of Native Americans from other states, many of whom sought refuge on Isle de Jean Charles rather than endure the Trail of Tears following the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Over the years, marriages between members of different tribes and with residents of surrounding communities have further complicated understanding of the nation's evolution and history.
Still, federal recognition is attainable, Naquin explained. "We know a lot of our history – it's just not documented." Federal recognition, according to the Bureau of Indian Affairs, can in some cases be granted by U.S. court decisions or an act of Congress. But the nation, which has worked diligently across many years to gather and curate materials that stitch together its history, isn't waiting on external assistance. "We're frustrated it hasn't happened yet. So, we can't stop working and pushing for ourselves," Naquin reasoned. For her part, Stone said an academic book like "End of the Road" can't begin to provide "what the nation needs for federal recognition. But hopefully, members can use the oral histories to support their work and assist their bid in some way, whether that's by creating widespread awareness or catching the attention of someone in a position to offer substantial help."
"End of the Road," for which no publication date has been set, caps a body of exhaustive research by Stone that's yielded a trove of materials. UL ÀÏ˾»ú¸£ÀûÍø will share ownership of written and digital versions of the oral histories, and items such as transcripts, photos and maps. Copies of the materials will be housed among University archives and accessible to the public; copies will also, as part of a joint agreement, live with the tribe. "In addition to serving as a resource for scholars and researchers, I hope the totality of what I've collected will be a public archive that tribe members can be proud of and that will be accessed and valued by future generations who are curious about their history," Stone explained.
Read more: Dr. Heather Stone earns prestigious fellowship for coastal work
Photo captions: UL ÀÏ˾»ú¸£ÀûÍø’s Dr. Heather Stone, an associate professor in the College of Education & Human Development, meets with members of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation. Photo credits: Doug Dugas / ÀÏ˾»ú¸£ÀûÍø
