Guiding a Toyota pickup along a narrow dirt road south of Second Mesa, rancher Robinson Honani gestures toward a patchwork of farm plots tucked into the dusty terrain of the Hopi Reservation, perched on the Colorado Plateau in the Painted Desert of northeastern Arizona.
“This is a Bear Clan area. It’s one of my aunties’,” says Honani, a Hopi Tribal Council member from Sipaulovi, pointing just beyond a small berm. The fields, bordered by dry washes and patches of grass, are part of a longstanding tradition: Clan by clan, Hopi families prepare the soil for planting each year.
Honani slows the truck as the road winds past freshly turned earth. Soon, corn will take root here—just in time to ripen for Niman, the “Home Dance.” The ceremony marks the departure of the Katsinam, spirit beings believed to carry prayers of thanks to the creator and bring moisture and blessings to the land.
In this stretch of high desert, where farming depends as much on prayer as it does on rainfall, each planting season is a testament to the deep-rooted bond between the Hopi people and the land and water that sustain them.
Because the Hopi—along with the nearby Navajo and San Juan Southern Paiute—live in remote areas far from major population centers, residents rely on practical solutions to survive with limited access to water. More than three decades of drought have dangerously depleted groundwater reserves. Naturally occurring arsenic threatens what remains, while uranium contamination from historic mining has left a legacy of concern. Fragmented federal oversight, costly treatment systems and challenging terrain have further hindered efforts to secure reliable access to safe water.
Moenkopi residents use water from the nearby Pasture Canyon Reservoir to irrigate their fields, which are tilled and planted by hand.
Now, after years of negotiations, the tribes are seeing their push for long-term solutions gain renewed momentum in Congress. The Northeastern Arizona Indian Water Rights Settlement Act, reintroduced this year with bipartisan support, would resolve decades of legal disputes and devote $5 billion to delivering Colorado River water to the region through a new pipeline, pumping stations and storage systems.
For the Hopi and Navajo, the promise of assured water comes after generations of exclusion from major allocation decisions. For the San Juan Southern Paiute, the agreement represents a rare opportunity to gain land and water rights together for the first time in the tribe’s modern history.
The state also stands to benefit. If passed, the settlement would give tribes the authority to release water to other users—flexibility that could help ease shortages during the ongoing drought.
Turning this vision into reality will take time, though, and the clock is running out. As tribes strive to build a consensus among the seven Colorado River Basin states, a critical step toward finalizing the water settlement, federal delays continue to slow progress. At the same time, growing populations and shrinking Colorado River reserves have intensified pressure on the states to renegotiate how they share the basin, a critical water source for all seven.
Tribal leaders say swift congressional approval is especially urgent with new guidelines for managing the river expected in 2026. Although it’s unclear whether those negotiations will affect tribal allocations under the settlement, the rules could reshape the broader system, increasing the need for all users to conserve and prepare for chronic scarcity.
Hopi Chairman Timothy L. Nuvangyaoma told AZCIR that finalizing the agreement is about more than solving today’s shortages. It’s about ensuring lasting sustainability.
“What we’re receiving and what we negotiated for should give us that water security … for our future growth,” Nuvangyaoma said from tribal headquarters in Kykotsmovi Village, where a tricolor Hopi flag featuring two rising corn stalks hung behind his desk.
“This is a humanitarian effort, really, and we’ve got to look at it through that lens,” he said.
The legal foundation for the tribes’ claims to Colorado River water dates back more than a century. In 1908, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that tribes are entitled to enough water to meet the needs of their reservations, even in the absence of explicit treaty provisions. Tribal leaders contend that promise, known as the Winters Doctrine, has not been consistently or fully honored.
“On paper, the United States government says, ‘Well, this is a privilege for you,’” said Hopi Councilman LeRoy Shingoitewa, who represents Moenkopi. “Indian people say, ‘No, this is a right that we have.’”
That disconnect set the tone for how water rights were debated in the decades that followed. The Hopi Tribe and Navajo Nation were excluded from the 1922 Colorado River Compact and other foundational agreements, shutting them out of formal negotiations as the river was divided and developed across the West.
The 1922 compact became the basis of what’s often referred to as the “Law of the River,” a patchwork of legal agreements that still govern how Colorado River water is used today, according to Navajo Nation attorney MacArthur Stant. The compact was crafted without regard for tribal sovereignty in a framework that has largely shaped water negotiations in the basin since. Untangling it, he said, has taken decades of litigation and negotiation.
In the 1950s, Hopi leaders—including Shingoitewa’s father—began formally pressing the federal government for access to Colorado River water. But officials rejected those requests, arguing that because no major river crossed Hopi lands, the tribe had no valid claim. It wasn’t until the 1974 Navajo-Hopi Land Settlement Act that a pivotal shift occurred, expanding Hopi land holdings and establishing what Shingoitewa describes as the tribe’s current land base.
On paper, the United States government says, ‘Well, this is a privilege for you.’ Indian people say, ‘No, this is a right that we have.’
Hopi councilman leroy shingoitewa
Historically, the Hopi have relied on rainfall and washes, and shared the Navajo (N) Aquifer with the neighboring Navajo Nation. But as communities expand and rainfall becomes less dependable, those sources are no longer enough to sustain the tribe, Shingoitewa said.
Rather than pursue litigation, which may affirm rights without providing the means to use them, tribes have increasingly turned to negotiated settlements that unlock federal funding and offer flexibility in accessing and managing water.
One obstacle to those negotiations was a tactic used by prior administrations, according to state and tribal officials. It required tribes to waive claims to new lands in order to formalize water rights, a nonstarter for tribal governments. When Gov. Katie Hobbs took office, her administration reversed that stance, clearing the way for previously stalled settlements to move forward. The settlement currently under consideration would mark a historic course correction.
Though decades of marginalization kept tribes from accessing the river, today’s global challenges—rising temperatures, prolonged drought and growing demand—have only heightened the urgency of securing overdue water rights.
Karletta Chief, director of the Indigenous Resilience Center at the University of Arizona, said her team launched a water hauling survey in response to real-time needs across Navajo communities during the pandemic. The findings revealed that because safe, treated water is often only available at a limited number of sites, many residents turn to unregulated sources that are easier to reach.
While many tribes haul water across vast distances, the San Juan Southern Paiute face a more fundamental challenge: More than three decades after gaining federal recognition, they still lack a reservation that is exclusively theirs. That gap has made long-term community development nearly impossible.
A 2000 agreement with the Navajo Nation was intended to transfer land to the Paiute, but it was never finalized. The proposed water settlement now offers a chance to revive that effort and lay the groundwork for a more permanent, self-sustaining community.
San Juan Southern Paiute Tribal President Carlene Yellowhair called the legislation a historic turning point—one that could finally deliver clean water, housing and lasting infrastructure to her people and neighboring tribal communities.
“Passage of this bill will ensure these basic human rights, now and into the future,” she said.
Photo by Christopher Lomahquahu | AZCIR
Members of Arizona’s congressional delegation introduced companion settlement bills in the House and Senate in March. Though the legislation has yet to receive a committee hearing, lawmakers from both parties have said they’re committed to moving it forward in collaboration with tribes and other stakeholders.
Still, Stant cautioned that the work won’t end with congressional approval. The settlement calls for delivering Colorado River water from Lake Powell in the Upper Basin to the Lower Basin, eventually supplying the Navajo, San Juan Southern Paiute and Hopi reservations. The infrastructure needed to do that doesn’t yet exist.
“It’s going to take decades to build the pipeline, to build the infrastructure, to build the pump stations, to build the facilities to get water to where the tribes want it to go,” Stant said.
It’s also going to take significant funding, as rising construction costs have increased the settlement’s overall price tag. A comprehensive delivery system is essential, according to Patrick Adams, Hobbs’ senior adviser for water policy. Without it, he said, the settlement would fall short of its intended impact.
“Five billion dollars is a lot of money, but that’s what it costs to get the forever use of that water set up for those tribal homelands,” Adams said. “We don’t want the tribes to just have a water right on paper and then not be able to put it to use.”
As the Bureau of Reclamation works to formalize new Colorado River guidelines for 2026 and beyond, tribal leaders are watching closely. The rules will determine how water is allocated and conserved, including from key reservoirs like Lake Powell, which is expected to supply the tribes under the agreement. But the new framework also introduces uncertainty about how future management decisions could affect those just beginning to access their water.
Despite those questions, tribal officials are focused on the transformative potential of the settlement, including the economic development it could help unlock. Reliable water access would support new housing, strengthen infrastructure and boost agriculture, allowing communities to grow in ways that reflect their cultural values. For the Hopi, that includes sustaining the traditional corn production central to ceremonies and daily life.
The deal is also seen as a foundation for broader cooperation between tribes and state and local governments. Under the agreement, the tribes could temporarily lease some of their water to other Colorado River communities until the pipeline is complete and demand on tribal lands increases. Cities like Chandler already rely on tribal water to sustain growth, and such partnerships could become increasingly important.
“Tribes aren’t the only ones who benefit. It’s rural Arizona communities who benefit,” said Adams, the water policy adviser. “They don’t have to be in court anymore paying lawyers, having this uncertainty (regarding future water access) hanging over their head. It’s such a win-win.”
For second-generation rancher Honani, the significance of the settlement is deeply personal. His family’s cattle operation, started after his father returned from World War II, helped pay for his and his siblings’ education. Today, he and others are still working to bring water to those same lands.
Honani sees the funding promised by the agreement as essential, but says lasting change will depend on what happens on the ground. That effort involves more than just building infrastructure. It means forging consensus among those who share the same scarce resource and creating systems that reflect Hopi traditions, where water is sacred and conservation is a daily responsibility. Balancing those values with the day-to-day demands of ranching and farming, Honani says, remains an ongoing effort.
“(Hopi ranchers and farmers) are relying on their faith to bring the rain, but it’s not coming,” he said. “So we need to help that along.”
This article first appeared on Arizona Center for Investigative Reporting and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
