fort belknap

This month, we had the opportunity to speak with Iris Johnson, a dedicated community organizer from Fort Belknap and a proud citizen of the Gros Ventre and Assiniboine Nations. With deep roots in the Stiff Arm and Johnson families, Iris has spent her life working in tribal programs, supporting youth, and empowering her community through civic engagement. From starting out in local youth centers to becoming a key voice for voter rights and grassroots advocacy, Iris’s journey is grounded in service, resilience, and a powerful commitment to generational change.

Tell us about yourself—your tribal affiliation, where you grew up, your family, the schools you attended, and what you’re doing now.

I grew up in Fort Belknap—my whole family was raised there. I’m Gros Ventre and Assiniboine, from the Stiff Arm and Johnson families. My Stiff Arm family is from Hays, and my Johnson family is from Fort Belknap Agency. I graduated from Harlem and started college at Aaniiih Nakoda College.

I’ve worked in all kinds of roles with the tribe in Fort Belknap. My background is really diverse, but no matter where I’ve gone or what job I’ve had, I’ve always felt drawn back to the community—especially the kids. Becoming a community organizer was a natural fit because that’s what I already do: I go out, help people, talk to them, and offer guidance. Even though the election is over, I’m still out there doing the work. When there’s a bill at the State Legislature that needs testimony, I help bring people together to watch and engage.

My whole family has always stayed connected to the community. Growing up, there were five of us kids, and both my mom and dad worked. My dad even started a little league program in Fort Belknap, and since he coached, we all had to play. Now, a lot of the kids I grew up playing ball with are parents too—and we’re all trying to bring that program back. It’s about giving back to the community because, for me, it’s always been home.

“That’s what organizing is really about: seeing what’s going on in the community, understanding how people are coping, and figuring out where you can help fill in the gaps.”

What motivated you to step into community organizing and advocacy?

When I first started out, it was just a job. But once I got involved with what Western Native Voice was doing, it got really interesting. What really hooked me was working with my niece Katie—she brought in a lot of young people. We saw a big youth turnout this year.

We gave a presentation at the high school, and after that, some of the seniors reached out to my daughter and asked, “Can your mom take me to register to vote?” That was really inspiring—to see all these young people stepping up. The ones who had just turned 18, the college students—we had a lot of them show up. It was truly inspiring.

What’s been the most rewarding part of community organizing for you?

My favorite part of community organizing was door knocking—going door to door and meeting people. I met so many folks who knew my family. I never knew one of my grandmothers because she passed when my dad was really young, so through those visits, I got to make connections with people who knew her and shared stories I’d never heard before.

That meant a lot to me. My mom’s family is from Hays, and if you know our reservation, it’s kind of divided—river side and mountain side. So I didn’t interact with one side of my family a lot. Getting to knock on doors in each area gave me the chance to meet people from all over. A lot of times, people would open the door, see me, smile, and recognize me as my dad’s child. That opened the door, literally, for conversation.

“That’s where generational trauma comes in, I think. And honestly, that was the hardest part—knowing you couldn’t help them or even talk to them, and just watching them walk away.”

I’d sit and listen to what people were going through—what challenges they were facing—and it felt good to be welcomed into their homes. That’s what organizing is really about: seeing what’s going on in the community, understanding how people are coping, and figuring out where you can help fill in the gaps. That connection—just getting to meet people, hear their stories, and catch up—was my favorite part.

I really enjoyed getting out in my community. It was way more welcoming than I expected, especially with the door knocking. I was kind of nervous about that at first. But Western Native Voice made a big impact in Fort Belknap.

Can you share one of the biggest challenges you’ve faced while organizing in your community?

Our biggest challenge was that, while a lot of people were really responsive to what we were doing, there were a few—just a small handful—who wanted nothing to do with us. They’d shut the door on us, and no matter how many times we tried, they just didn’t want to engage.

That’s where generational trauma comes in, I think. And honestly, that was the hardest part—knowing you couldn’t help them or even talk to them, and just watching them walk away. That’s the part that sticks with you. It hurts because it feels like you lost someone. Seeing anyone turn away and say, “No, I’m not doing it,” that’s probably the most difficult part of the work.

One thing that really gets to me—and still does—is when people say, “My vote doesn’t matter. One vote doesn’t change anything.” I always tell them, maybe one vote doesn’t seem like much on its own, but it’s not just about you. If you—and your whole household—decide not to vote, that adds up. But if your whole household does vote, that matters. That makes a difference.

That was one of the biggest things we dealt with this past election. People would say, “My vote doesn’t matter,” and I’d have to stop, take a moment, and say, “Yes, your vote does matter.”

How do you navigate those difficult moments in your organizing work?

Even now, I still talk to people just as a friend. I’m not trying to do anything—just checking in to see how they’re doing. Sometimes, you’ve got to let it go and not push too hard. At the end of the day, these are still our friends and neighbors.

I think that was my biggest strength coming into this job—I was really grassroots. I knew everyone. I could walk into just about any house, knock on the door, and look in the fridge. That’s how close we were. Being able to help my people and bring them together meant a lot to me.

Now, with testimonials and Zoom, I meet with an elder group at lunch, let them watch the state legislative sessions online, and show them how they can participate if they want to. And it’s nice—it’s good to see that people are still interested in what we’re doing. They see me around and ask, “What do you guys have going on now?” Western Native Voice made a big impact in Fort Belknap. We really did.

What drives you to keep showing up and supporting your community, especially the youth?

One of the coolest things about our school board right now is that it’s mostly Native—actually, I think it’s all Native. With the school board election coming up, it reminded me of something that happened about six years ago. I was running the youth center, and a few people told me I should run for council. I said no. I knew if I got in, I’d be calling people out, holding them accountable—telling them, you’re going to answer your phone, you’re going to do your job.

And that’s always been my thing: accountability and community.

Right now, in my free time, I’m starting an afterschool group because we have nothing for the kids—no building, no programs. Our community building was given away to one of the programs, so we lost that space. I was planning to rent the church for two hours a day just so the kids would have somewhere to go. When the woman at the church found out what I was doing, she told me, “You don’t have to rent it—you can use it for free.” That meant a lot.

It’s all for the kids. That’s what I’ve always come back to—giving back to the community, especially the young people. Not every kid has a safe home. Not every kid gets tucked in at night. They need a place to go. A safe place. That was always my thing. I used to tell the kids, If you don’t feel safe, you come see me. I’m not going to call the cops.

When we ran the youth center, we had kids who stayed overnight because they didn’t want to go home. They’d say, “This is what’s going on in my house,” and I’d say, “Okay, then I’ll lock the door, check on you in the morning, and here’s my number.” That’s where the hurt is in my community—and that’s where I’m always drawn back to.

“It’s all for the kids. That’s what I’ve always come back to—giving back to the community, especially the young people.”

It’s kind of full circle. My mom helped write ICWA. She was in social services for 27 years. That stuck with me. And my dad—this kind of work meant a lot to him too. It’s just in me.

How has voting become a tradition in your family, and what did that look like during the last election?

You know that whole “Make Voting a Family Tradition” campaign? It already is in our house. We’ve got the typical grandma’s house—my mom’s place. All my nieces and nephews live with her, and we all live right next door. My kids and I are literally just a few steps away. So on election day, we all come together, gather everybody up, and I bring the ballot.

I handed the paper to my mom and said, “Mom, who do we vote for?” That’s how it’s always been—she used to give everyone their ballots and tell us what to do. That’s just what election day is in our family. But this past year, I brought all my nieces and nephews over, we sat down, and when I asked my mom who we should vote for, she looked at me and said, “Well, you’re the one who’s involved—you tell us who to vote for.”

How have you seen your work impact your community or the people around you?

One of the most powerful things we did was reaching out to folks with felony convictions—people who had been out on the street for a while and hadn’t registered or voted in years. Convincing them to come in and register was tough. A lot of them were worried, saying things like, “If I register, the system’s going to find out where I’m at.”

We decided to dedicate a day just to focus on that. The idea came to me, and we went out and talked to as many of them as we could, letting them know: you’ll be okay, you’re not doing anything wrong. And it worked—we actually got seven people registered that day.

Some had just gotten out of jail and didn’t want anything to do with voting. Others hadn’t voted in years. A few didn’t even think they could vote because they were felons. There were probably three or four people like that who were just misinformed. Felons lose out on a lot of rights, so it made sense they thought voting was one of them.

That’s where the Western Native Voice flyer helped. It explained things clearly, and we handed it out to show them they could vote. We even took them to the county election office. I really appreciated our election officer. We didn’t start off on the best foot, but we ended up getting along great. I brought one man in personally and had her talk to him. She explained it clearly: “Yes, you get to vote.”

Some folks were still scared or skeptical, but we walked them through it. We told them, “You’re not breaking any rules. This doesn’t impact anything but your right to vote.” And once they heard that, many were relieved. Some of them just didn’t know they had that right.

What did you learn from helping people who felt like voting wasn’t possible for them?

We worked with people who thought they had too many barriers—like voting wasn’t even an option for them. But we kept saying, “Nope, we can do this. We will do this.” And honestly, offering rides was one of the coolest parts of it all. We’d take people to the election office whenever they needed, and we helped folks who hadn’t voted in years—but once we walked them through the process, it really did make a difference.

One woman I had worked with before had a granddaughter who had just turned 19 and wanted to register. She wanted to know how it all worked. So I picked her up, took her to the election office, and sat her down with our materials and the informational pamphlet. After going through it, she said, “I really want to vote. I want to do this. Can you come with me?” I told her, “I can pick you up and walk you in, but I can’t sit with you and tell you step by step what to do. You’ve got to do that part yourself.” And she said, “Okay, that’s all I needed.”

We had a few moments like that. One was a high school senior who knew my daughter. He asked her, “Hey, can you ask your mom to pick me up after school?” She was like, “For what?” And he said, “I need to register to vote.” She called me and said, “Mom, can you give someone a ride after school?” I said, “Absolutely.”

Who has had the greatest impact on your journey—personally, professionally, or both?

Hannah Has Eagle—she’s the one who taught me so much when we were both working at the youth center for young people. She showed me that you don’t need to rely on money to make things happen. Back then, we were always saying, “We can’t do this—we don’t have any money.” But that wasn’t her mindset. She always said, “If we can’t buy it, we can make it. If we can make it, we can sell it.”

She was a big driving force for me. She always had this attitude of don’t let anything stop you. And what I love about Hannah is that she’s down to earth, but she also goes deep—she brings spirit into the work.

If I ever asked, “Why are we doing this right now?” she’d say, “Because the Creator said so,” or “Mother Earth gave us what we needed to do this.” She teaches traditional games, and she would come in and pull off the most amazing things. She found ways to fund everything—getting all these kids to camp at powwows for free. All they had to do was bring us a permission slip, and we had the tents ready. It was really cool.

Hannah is real grassroots. You’ve got people who say, “Oh, you want to go over there? Those people are just hobos, they drink all the time.” Not Hannah. She went right over there—because she has elders in the house. She walked through the door, loaded the guys up in wheelchairs, and took them down to vote. Some of those folks hadn’t voted in years.

Hannah has always been a major influence in my life. So when I became a field manager, it felt kind of wild to be the one hiring her as one of my organizers. I couldn’t even boss her around! I’d go up to her and ask, “Should we do this today? Should we do that?” And she’d just smile and say, “Well, boss lady…”

I always tell her—I may come with the plans and the energy to get things done, but I still can’t boss her around. She’s been my mentor for too long.

What advice would you give to younger generations who want to get involved but may feel unsure of where to start or whether they can truly make a difference?

Don’t be afraid—just go for it. Never feel scared to speak up or ask questions. It doesn’t matter what it’s about—always ask. Don’t ever feel stupid for wanting to learn or needing help.

It’s funny, because coming from my Iris side—my Fort Belknap side—people always said, “She’s really smart, she can do this.” That side is real professional and put-together. And then there’s Big I—that’s me too—kind of wild and a little crazy. But look where I am now.

That’s what I tell all the kids: If I can do this, you can do this. Never stop dreaming. Go after whatever you want.

Why do you think it’s important for Native communities to participate in voting and policymaking?

Because we need to be heard. We’ve been taken advantage of for so long, and it has to stop somewhere. The moment we stop speaking up, we leave the door wide open—and they’ll take whatever we have left. And we don’t have much left as it is.

When people go quiet, that’s when they get ignored and forgotten. That’s why I believe everyone—whether it’s one voice or many—needs to keep speaking up.

In your opinion, what is the biggest challenge facing Native communities today—especially here in Montana?

One of the biggest challenges is being afraid of our own power—thinking, “I can’t do that. I’m just a rez kid.” We stop ourselves before we even start. There’s a lot of self-doubt, especially among our youth.

That’s what I tell all the kids: If I can do this, you can do this. Never stop dreaming. Go after whatever you want.”

And it’s tough, because so many of these young people are incredibly smart. They know what they want, but they’re scared. They think, “I’m from this little place, I can’t do that.” But I always tell them—don’t be afraid. There are so many rez kids who are capable of doing big things.

I tell that to everyone I meet. My daughters get mad at me—“Mom talks to everybody!”—but I know the kids. I care about them. I always say, don’t be afraid, and don’t worry about what other people think. That’s a tough one these days, especially with social media.

And I always use myself as an example. I tell them, come on now—if Big I can do it, you can too.

How do you think voter turnout will look in Fort Belknap in 2026?

I think we’re going to see more people come forward, especially after how the last election turned out. I believe voter turnout will be stronger—more people are going to feel motivated to show up and vote this time.

In your opinion, what is the most pressing challenge facing the Fort Belknap community today? What community issue do you believe requires the most immediate attention?

Right now, it’s things like the food banks and healthcare that have people worried. A lot of folks are concerned about what’s going on, but many weren’t prepared—there wasn’t a backup plan.

In our community, we’re strong. We talk to each other. I told people, now’s the time to watch out for your neighbors. It’s time to come together as a people and take care of one another.

When the Head Start program started shutting down, I told them—this is where that village concept comes back in. Grandmas will start babysitting, aunties will step in. We can fill in the blanks.

Everybody’s panicking, but I keep saying: we can help each other. Maybe we’re not going to get this funding or that support, but we can come together. Not just here—people all over the world can come together like that.

When you think about the future, what do you hope to see for your community?

One of the biggest issues I see in my community is that many of our leaders are old school. Out of respect, we continue to hold space for them, but they’re often afraid of change. And if we don’t change, we’re never going to grow into what we could be.

I’d love to see us become more self-sufficient—or at the very least, be able to better help ourselves. There’s a project I’ve been fighting for, something that could really benefit our community because we have so much land. But some of the older people on our council aren’t familiar with it or don’t understand it fully, so it’s been stalled. It’s frustrating, because it could really move us forward.

That’s part of why I don’t work for the Tribe anymore. In tribal jobs, it often becomes, “This is how so-and-so taught me,” and that just keeps getting passed down. One person teaches another, then that person teaches someone else, and six generations later, people are just repeating shortcuts. No one actually learns how to do the job right.

That’s why I want to see real change. We can’t keep doing things the way they’ve always been done. Something has to shift.