In 2005, the first director of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribal Housing Department told CAI she personally knew 10 tribal members who lived in the woods because they could not find or afford housing.
“It's a really great number, and it's really hard to estimate exactly how many because sometimes they don't come out of the woods,” Alice Lopez said.
Lopez died in 2010, but housing advocates in the tribe continue her legacy—including her niece, Marcy Hendricks. But Hendricks—and many other Mashpee Wampanoags—still cannot afford to live on their ancestral homeland.
“I feel displaced with these big buildings and these stoplights and all these cars,” Hendricks told CAI from a study room at the New Bedford Public Library as the hum of traffic and the beeping of construction vehicles seeped in through the library windows.
Hendricks, 49, had to leave Mashpee when the tribal homeless shelter she had been living in closed down a few months ago. The best she could do was an apartment in New Bedford about an hour away. It’s ironic because, like her aunt, Hendricks also worked in the tribe’s housing office to help keep members housed.
After Lopez died, Hendricks was tapped to write the tribe’s Indian Housing Plan.
“Oh my goodness, I got an ulcer in my stomach that week, but I got it done,” Hendricks said. “We submitted it and it was approved.”
But unexpected life events can disrupt people’s housing, and that’s what happened to Hendricks. Her young son died of an immunodeficiency disorder, and that, among other factors, triggered her drug relapse. She stopped paying her mortgage and in 2022, she was evicted. She found herself in a place many tribal members have been before.
“I had to live in the woods in a tent,” she said.
Hendricks lived outside for two years, eventually getting sober again and securing a bed at the tribal homeless shelter. She was there for about a year and a half, but she said the shelter closed because of a mold infestation. She scrambled to get the apartment in New Bedford, where she lives now. But she longs to be back in Mashpee.
“My brother, at least three times a week he'll pick me up and bring me to the canal,” Hendricks said, scrolling on her phone in search of a photo of a fish she caught recently—a 42-inch striper. She said she gave the fish to the tribal elders. It’s one way she tries to stay connected to her land, people, and culture.
Hendricks is one of hundreds of Mashpee Wampanoags who can’t afford to live on the land her people have inhabited for thousands of years. It was a problem when Lopez was running the housing office 20 years ago, and it persists.
“When you talk to Wampanoag people who are away, they always want to be home,” said Paula Peters, interim chair of the Mashpee Wampanoag Housing Commission.
She said of approximately 3,000 tribal members, just over 600 live on their ancestral land. Many struggle to make ends meet, and some are unhoused.
“They’re living in woodland areas,” she said. “They have tents.”
Peters lists off all kinds of programs and grants the tribe has for its people using resources they’ve been able to get since being officially recognized by the United States government in 2007. There’s tribal housing, plus money for assistance with home repairs, down payments, taxes and utilities. But still, it’s not enough.
“We don't have enough of our land restored to us. We don't have enough jobs for our people here to come home,” Peters said. “And that's not just tribal.”
But some tribal members have made it home. Mashpee Wampanoag Sharman Brown was raised in Dorchester and Roxbury. Growing up, she loved visiting her grandparents in Mashpee.
“As soon as I got here at my grandparents' home, the shoes come off, you feel the grass on your feet,” she said. “Mashpee just always felt home to me.”
As she got older, Brown longed to be in Mashpee full time.
“And then a lottery became available to tribal members to be able to rent homes on tribal land,” she said. “I applied, and surprisingly, I had a very good number.”
Brown’s lottery number got her into elder housing at the First Light Wampanoag Homes Development, which welcomed its first residents in 2020.
It’s where Brown lives today, in a neighborhood with 42 units—all full, with a waitlist of 51 applicants, Peters said.
The tribal homeless shelter that Hendricks lived in remains closed for renovations. It could become more tribal housing, or the shelter could reopen there.
The tribe is still awaiting word from the federal government on funding for the property.
