This month, we had the opportunity to speak with Charlene Sleeper, a passionate human rights advocate and founder of MMIP Billings. Charlene is a citizen of the Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes of Oklahoma and is also Crow and Chippewa Cree. Raised in Montana since the early 1990s, Charlene has dedicated her life to justice, healing, and education within Native communities. Her work spans from mental health and youth advocacy to cultural consulting and missing and murdered Indigenous people (MMIP) activism. Whether she’s speaking at the state legislature or leading trauma-informed workshops, Charlene brings compassion, truth, and strength to everything she does—all rooted in her deep belief that life is sacred and the future is worth fighting for.
Tell us a little about yourself—your tribal affiliation, where you grew up, your family, the schools you attended, and what you’re doing now.
I’m enrolled in the Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes of Oklahoma, and I’m also Crow and Chippewa Cree. I was raised Crow and have lived in Montana since the early ’90s. Before that, I lived in Minneapolis, Phoenix, and Sacramento in my early years. When my parents separated, we moved back to Montana, and that’s when I started really connecting with my Crow family and culture.
Today, I work at the Yellowstone Boys and Girls Ranch in residential psychiatric treatment. I’m also a full-time student, working on a degree in human services with a minor in criminal justice. Outside of that, I lead MMIP Billings and do consulting and education work in areas like human trafficking awareness, mental health, and cultural advocacy.
What led you to start MMIP Billings? Was there a moment that made you feel the work was urgently needed?
It really started after the 2018 Women’s March in Billings, which highlighted missing and murdered Indigenous women. I’d already been doing human rights work since 2004, but this movement pulled me in deeply. Around that same time, the case of Henny Scott—a young Northern Cheyenne girl who went missing—captivated the whole state. It hit me hard. Her disappearance and the community’s response reminded me of my own nieces, my own family. That’s when I knew I had to take action and go deeper.
Life is sacred. That’s the foundation of everything I do.
What did that early research look like for you?
I looked to Canada first. They’ve been working on MMIWG issues since the ’80s and produced a national report after a thorough investigation into how colonization, poverty, lack of services, and racism contributed to the crisis. It really mirrored what we were seeing in the U.S., especially in Montana. From there, I dug into how things like domestic violence, substance use, and mental health are all interconnected with MMIP cases.
One thing that really surprised me was how deeply human trafficking plays into this crisis—not just sex trafficking, but also drug trafficking. People don’t always recognize that traffickers are operating at powwows, in border towns, even within families. Sometimes it’s parents selling access to children in exchange for drugs. That’s the side of the issue that people don’t want to talk about, but it’s very real.
You’ve been an activist for a long time—what did your early work look like?
In college, I helped start an LGBTQ+ and Indigenous student club. We went to school in a very conservative, Christian part of Nebraska, and there was a lot of pushback. I remember an incident where a dorm RA accused a Native student of smoking marijuana—but it was just the smell of food and sage. So we did trainings to educate staff about cultural practices. That was one of the first times I realized how little people knew about us, and how dangerous that ignorance could be.
Later, I worked on Black Lives Matter organizing, and when Roe v. Wade was overturned, I joined the reproductive justice movement. But MMIP work has become the area I’m most known for, because it’s such a crisis—and because so many people are still learning what it even is.
Being an advocate means being solution-oriented—even when it’s hard.
What advice would you give someone who feels called to do human rights work but doesn’t know where to begin?
Start with what you’re good at. If you’re a great communicator, maybe it’s policy work. If you’re more hands-on, it might be mental health or organizing. But first, get grounded in your identity, values, morals—and your spirituality. Because this work will test all of those things.
And pace yourself. A lot of new advocates burn out fast. Especially in MMIP work, you’re exposed to constant trauma. You need to learn about secondary trauma, vicarious trauma. Build stamina, and make sure you have a strong support system. Otherwise, this work can eat you alive.
How do you describe the MMIP crisis to someone who has never heard of it?
It’s a public health and mental health crisis. We are one of the only demographics in the U.S. where homicide is a top 10 cause of death. That tells you something. We’re dealing with a combination of systemic neglect, poverty, violence, and jurisdictional chaos that allows people—especially women and children—to fall through the cracks.
Why is it important to take an intertribal approach?
Because we’re all connected. Most Native people today are from more than one tribe. Our families are intertribal, our powwow circuits are intertribal, and so are our urban communities. Billings, for example, is home to people from over 80 tribal nations, not just the Montana tribes. That means we have to take a collective approach, especially because traffickers and predators don’t respect tribal boundaries—they exploit them.
Your organization blends education, consulting, and advocacy. What does that look like day to day?
Some days, I’m in classrooms teaching kids about plants, history, and MMIP. Other times, I’m helping organizations decolonize their mental health services or doing presentations on cultural competency. I’ve also testified at the legislature and supported bills like Allen’s Law, which protects kids in foster care.
Right now, I’m shifting more into mental health-focused work, especially youth prevention and intervention. If we can help kids regulate their emotions and recover from trauma early, we can reduce future MMIP cases. It’s all connected.
What keeps you grounded and motivated to continue?
Art, therapy, my faith, and my community. I’ve got a great therapist. I pray. I paint. And I surround myself with strong Native women who remind me that I’m not alone. I also know when to take breaks—I just started a month-long pause from outside projects to regroup. If you don’t care for yourself, you can’t care for your community.
Is there a teaching or value that guides your advocacy?
Yes—life is sacred. I follow the seventh-generation teaching, and I’m Christian, so I also believe in loving your neighbor and “thou shall not kill.” When I do this work, I remind myself that I’m building a future for people I may never meet. That helps me keep going when the cases get really hard.
What do you hope people walk away with when they hear you speak or attend your events?
I want them to see that it’s possible to build genuine relationships with tribal communities. We’re not as separate as people think. Whether we’re talking about Medicaid, clean water, or missing persons, we all have shared interests. But we need humility, grace, and patience to work through cultural and communication barriers.
What are the biggest challenges you face in this work?
The weight of the tragedy. The stories that stay with you. I’ve worked cases where kids were found deceased after being missing for weeks, and the systems failed them over and over. I’ve seen families fall apart, people relapse, others take their own lives out of grief. The trauma doesn’t just affect the victim—it spreads through the whole community. It’s hard to hold that much pain and still have hope.
Anything else you’d like to share?
We have to become more solution-oriented. Raising awareness is important, but we can’t stay in the grief. We need to start building systems that prevent this from happening in the first place—whether that’s through mental health, youth services, legislation, or education. That’s the shift I want to see in this movement. That’s what I’ll keep working toward.