Donald Trump, a man not exactly known for his sensitivity, came to a 1993 Congressional hearing with a mission. In the face of increasing competition from American Indian tribes opening casinos on their reservations, the gambling mogul angrily told Congress that his new competitors, who don't have to abide by the same state gambling regulations he does, "don't look like Indians to me." Later, The Donald, still peeved, elaborated for The New York Times: "The Indians are only a sovereign nation when it comes to gambling...I have seen these Indians, and you have more Indian blood than they have."

Trump's bluster set off a predictable avalanche of condemnation from American Indian groups. But it also rang uncomfortably true, at least for some of them. "Indianness" is a touchy subject. He could have phrased it a little more elegantly, but Trump did strike a nerve: calling many of the American Indian groups running casinos these days "tribes" can require a creative definition of tribe, with certain tribal identities extinct or disappearing fast.

At the Mashantucket Pequot reservation, home of the elder statesman of Indian casinos, Foxwoods, Trump is not a popular man. His lawsuit against the government in 1993 charging preferential treatment for American Indians was, at least implicitly, an attack against Foxwoods, which is now the largest casino in the world. So, some speculate, were his comments about the ethnic appearance of his competition. Indeed, there hasn't been a full-blooded Pequot since the turn of the century; members only have to prove they are one-sixteenth Pequot to be admitted to the tribe. Not that they don't try to make the reservation "authentic." Festooned with American Indian cultural paraphernalia--the casino's version of frequent flyer miles is referred to as "wampum"--there is even a sleek new museum of Pequot history and culture in one corner of the reservation. The tribe's spiffy new high speed ferry is painted an earthy mauve tone and named after Sassacus, the sachem who lead the tribe against the English during the disastrou

s Pequot War in 1637. Across the river, the Mohegan tribe's casino, Mohegan Sun, "the casino is separated into four quadrants, each featuring its own seasonal theme--Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall--highlighting the importance of seasonal changes to Mohegan life." Revenue at the "Trading Cove" gift shop rises and falls with the seasons, no doubt.

"Cultural continuity" is supposed to be a condition of federal recognition for American Indian tribes, but are the tribes in Southeastern Connecticut stretching it? As Trump found out, it can be a taboo topic. But even among American Indians, there's disagreement on how legit some of the newly recognized tribes are. At the time of Trump's lawsuit, one lobbyist for Western Indian tribes complained to The New York Times that tribes pursuing recognition in order to build casinos were making a mockery of nations that had legitimately clung to their identities despite centuries of adversity: "The whole question of sovereignty is so sacred," he said. Having a "Winter" parking lot doesn't necessarily mean there's cultural continuity.

That said, the two Connecticut tribes that have parlayed their sovereignty into gambling fortunes at least have the historical credentials. Back in the day, the Pequots and Mohegans fought on opposing sides during the Pequot War. Soon-to-be Harvard President Increase Mather, in his 1677 history "A Relation of the Troubles which have hapned in New-England, By reason of the Indians there," recounts that the Mohegans, newly splintered from the Pequots, sided with the English. In return, after the English victory the Mohegans Sachem got a share of the spoils, human booty. "Then were there granted to Uncas Sachim of Moheag eighty [Pequots]," Allyn wrote. "The Pequots likewise were by covenant bound, that they should no more inhabit their native countrey; nor should any of them be called Pequots but Moheags...for ever."

But the Pequots that were handed over to the Mohegans in the deal never quite gave up their old identity, and gradually they recreated the tribe. Three hundred and fifty years later, revenge is sweet: Foxwoods pulls rank on upstart Mohegan Sun. Entering a new era in the tribe's saga, the descendants of the last of the Pequots have resurrected the tribe once more. But Trump's question remains: instead of the continuation of a tradition, is the tribe's latest, capitalist recreation just an embarrassing parody--even an exploitation--of its own past?

--ALAN E. WIRZBICKI