Driving north on I-55 in St. Louis along the Mississippi River, Sugarloaf Mound is easy to miss. It’s nestled between the river’s west bank and the freeway, appearing as a hill that descends as you travel north, vanishing into the landscape as quickly as it pops up. You might catch a glimpse of two rooftops, homes that squat on the mound’s northern, flatter end. Yet this seemingly ordinary hill has been a contested site for many years: it is the last remaining sacred mound originally belonging to the Mississippians, now Osage Nation, one of many groups of Indigenous peoples who were forcibly removed from this land generations ago.

Since 2008, the tribe has been working to reacquire the mound, or “rematriate” it, placing it back under their control. This hasn’t been an easy task, however—over time, the mound has been carved into three distinct parcels; three private owners would need to sell or transfer their properties to the tribe to make it happen.

As part of a land back effort spanning decades, in 2009, the Osage Nation successfully acquired one of these properties. Then, in 2021, it found a somewhat unlikely ally in their ongoing effort. The tribe began collaborating with Counterpublic, a civic-minded arts organization that mounts citywide triennial arts festivals and public exhibitions, to acquire the two that remained. The alliance, which included festival staff, lawyers, and curators, has since helped usher one of the two owners of the properties into the process of a land transfer, which ended last week when they announced the tribe would acquire the next third of the mound.

St. Louis is sometimes called Mound City after the numerous Indigenous sites that once existed here. Sugarloaf Mound is the last one standing, all others having been decimated by European settlers. According to a report from the Altoona Mirror, mounds in the region were built between 800 and 1450 AD, and each held a specific and sacred purpose. “These are very special locations,” says Dr. Andrea Hunter, the Osage Nation’s historic preservation officer. “When we look into our history and at the organization of our society—the political and religious organization—mounds played a role and in all instances. They were significant structures that took an enormous amount of time and labor to create.”

Sugarloaf is an oblong mound with a base and platform toward the north, and a summit to the south; each part has, or once hosted, a home. The acquisition in 2009 included a house atop the summit, which the tribe dismantled in 2014. It is now working on stabilizing the mound’s summit after earlier road construction and a nearby mining operation damaged it, says Dr. Hunter. Since, they’ve dealt with trespassing and vandalism, but now have a preservation plan, which she says will prevent any further damage or erosion.

James McAnally, Counterpublic’s executive director, was living in south St. Louis at the time of the acquisition, passing by the site “almost weekly,” he says, while planning the 2023 triennial exhibition’s footprint. The event’s guest curators, who would end up commissioning installations on Indigenous themes, was planning on programming the full stretch of the city from north to south. “I realized there was a long pause since the sale, and that there were still two private homes on the mound,” he says. “They were still lived in.”

McAnally was curious about using the mound as a south terminus for the exhibition, but he and curator Risa Puleo wanted to go a step further. “The legacy of settlement is so physically manifest in this place. Going into the exhibition, we were thinking about the site and St. Louis’s longer history as a hub of the largest pre-Columbian city, and more recently, its history as an engine of native displacement,” says McAnally. “The stated goal of working with the Osage to rematriate the mound was, from the very beginning of the exhibition, to work within the landscape.” After connecting with Dr. Hunter, the team submitted a letter to the Osage Nation in 2021 that asked for permission to curate the site and formally participate in their land back effort, which kicked off a three-year process.

McAnally started by talking to homeowners. Joan Heckenberg, a woman in her eighties, has lived in the small, single-family wood-frame home on the mound’s “platform” for much of her life. “Joan has, from the beginning, always stated she believed the right thing was that the Osage would receive her property,” he says. McAnally says he spent many days at her home helping her around the house while she shared her family history, and bringing exhibiting artists to visit. As he found out, Heckenberg had no legal will. “There are no legal ramifications of her stating that as her interest; she’s never taken a step to actually make that manifest in any way.”

The conversations turned from personal to legal and financial, and soon, Counterpublic brought in pro bono legal advisors and the Osage Attorney General’s office to craft an agreement. Heckenberg’s primary concern, he continues, was that she wasn’t ready to leave her home, nor was she interested in selling and living in it as a tenant. So they settled on an option agreement stating that if she dies or vacates the home, it will automatically transfer to the Osage Nation within 30 days. “You can think of it as a delayed closing of a house,” adds McAnally.

The other property has been much more challenging, says Dr. Hunter. A brick ranch-style duplex with a large swimming pool in the rear, it’s owned by pharmaceutical fraternity Kappa Psi. “They were not too willing to speak with us,” she says. “They had no interest whatsoever in working with us or arranging or negotiating a transfer of their property; they simply shut the door on us, which has made it a continuous challenge.” However, following last week’s announcement, the fraternity has had a change of heart. “Kappa Psi has new leadership, and that has made it more possible for them to consider it,” says McAnally. In a statement issued to PBS, a Kappa Psi representative said they “fully [support] our local alumni group in St. Louis selling the property and putting it back in the hands of the Osage Nation.” Ultimately, the past three years have led to a concrete possibility of a full return of the site.

For McAnally, this process opens the door for broader conversations about the role institutions like Counterpublic can play in the material conditions of justice. “As an arts organization doing this work in which we symbolically talk about land back and decolonization, that returning of land and life is the [ideal] outcome,” says McAnally. “For us, it was following the idea to its inevitable conclusion: What do you do if you’re interested in decolonization? We could [strive] to set those contexts of self-determination and sovereignty.”

Manifesting the conditions of tribal sovereignty is central to Osage Nation’s ongoing struggle, says Dr. Hunter, who notes that restoring a site like Sugarloaf Mound is a step toward that end. Once the land is secured, the tribal preservationists plan to remove the homes and begin the process of creating an interpretive center, she adds, “for educational purposes, to share our history, and to [show] that we’re still here. On a daily basis, we’re fighting for our sovereignty. This is a flagship effort in that process of regaining what was ours and using it as an educational tool.”

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