And in Alaska, a hyper-competitive race for an open U.S. Senate seat could return former Rep. Mary Peltola, the first Alaska Native elected to Congress, back to Washington.
Their victories would mark a significant stride toward better representation for Native American women in American politics, making them more visible in the halls of power and giving voice and lived experience to issues that significantly impact this population, from unequal pay to the epidemic of violence facing Native American women.
Mary Peltola poses for a portrait in her office on February 9, 2023, in Washington, D.C. (Tom Williams/CQ-Roll Call/Getty Images)“Our democracy functions best when it accurately reflects the people it seeks to represent, and so having a Native American woman serving in the United States Senate is good for our democracy,” Flanagan said in an interview with The 19th. “Being an Ojibwe woman is not a hat that I put on and take off. I’m a Native woman every day. I know that you know when I get to Washington, I’m not going by myself. That I am bringing Indian country with me.”
In Tuesday’s primary in Minnesota, Flanagan defeated Rep. Angie Craig, a moderate lawmaker who represents a suburban district south of Minneapolis, by promising to deliver “bold” change with the backing of top progressive leaders. Flanagan heavily criticized Craig over her past support of a Trump-backed immigration enforcement law to win in a state rattled by the administration’s violent immigration enforcement campaign last winter.
Native American women are about 1.5 percent of the U.S. population but have been historically underrepresented as elected officials. To reach equitable representation in Congress, voters would need to elect at least seven Native American women to Congress; right now, there is only one: Rep. Sharice Davids of Kansas, a member of the Ho-Chunk Nation.
Haaland and Davids became the first Native American women to ever serve in Congress when they were sworn into office in 2019. In 2020, Rep. Yvette Herrell was elected to represent New Mexico’s 2nd Congressional District, becoming the first Republican Native American woman in Congress. Herrell, who is a member of the Cherokee Nation, lost her seat to Democrat Rep. Gabe Vasquez in 2022. Peltola joined Congress following a special election in 2022; she lost a reelection bid in 2024.
After her inauguration, Haaland said she was “very grateful” to not be the only Native American woman in Congress. The partnership she developed with Davids, Haaland said, became important as they worked to combat the epidemic of violence against Native Americans, particularly women, who face murder rates at 10 times the national average.
“When I first was elected to Congress, nobody was talking about it on a national level, and it was me and Sharice Davids who really worked hard to bring it to the attention of our colleagues in the House,” said Haaland, who held the first House hearing on murdered and missing Indigenous women while in Congress and, during the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act, advocated for victim services funding for Native American women in state courts. Later, as interior secretary, she created a specialized unit focused on the issue within the Bureau of Indian Affairs.
“It’s going to be steady work by caring people who really want to ensure that we’re making progress on this issue,” Haaland said.
Flanagan said that she is committed to carrying on this work and that she will bring her experience in Minnesota to the table. In Minnesota, Flanagan pushed for the creation of the nation’s first state-level office focused on the issue. Since its creation in 2021, the office has become a key liaison for families navigating the complicated law enforcement system, pushing for clear data to make sure victims aren’t invisible and forging new training standards for Minnesota police officers.
The office itself was the product of Native women “in decision-making roles and roles of authority,” Flanagan said. She worked with four other Native American women serving in the state’s legislature at the time to push for attention to the issue.
Flanagan said she is also deeply concerned by funding cuts and layoffs that the Trump administration has made to programs that benefit Native American tribes. The Trump administration fired a significant number of federal workers at the Bureau of Indian Education, which operates or funds more than 175 K-12 schools and two higher education institutions. The administration terminated the leases for a dozen Indian Health Services (IHS) offices, and sought to lay off almost 1,000 IHS workers, reversing that last decision only after an outcry. Staff for the Interior Department’s Bureau of Indian Affairs is down by 11 percent, which a government watchdog said has created critical vacancies in an already strained agency tasked with overseeing programs that support law enforcement, schools and the management of natural resources. Many of the services that the federal government funds or provides to tribe members are the obligations of centuries-old treaties.
“The bare minimum that we should expect — like the floor — should be that the federal government honors treaty rights, tribal sovereignty and upholds trust responsibilities,” Flanagan said. “We’ve never done that as a federal government before, but perhaps it will help having the voice of a Native woman serving in the United States Senate to be able to do that work.”
Flanagan will face former NFL broadcaster Michele Tafoya in the general election this November, according to projections. Tafoya, who had the backing of the National Republican Senatorial Committee, is seen as a strong recruit from Republicans with relatively moderate views on abortion bans and gun control laws.
Haaland’s nomination for New Mexico governor is in itself historic: The first Native American woman to be nominated for governor by a major party was Democrat Paulette Jordan, who ran to lead Idaho in 2020 — just six years ago.
Haaland emphasized that her history-making potential is not central to her run for office, and yet, an important step for representation of Native Americans in government.
“It’s not why I’m running, but it’s who I am,” Haaland said. “When we’ve had the Trump White House denouncing diversity, equity, and inclusion, it’s a reminder to people that representation truly does matter and that there are other voices out there. It’s not business as usual in this election.”
Democratic gubernatorial candidate Deb Haaland hugs and greets supporters following her speech during a primary election night watch party after winning the Democratic nomination, on June 2, 2026, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. (JON AUSTRIA/AP)
Both Haaland and Flanagan, representation of their Native American roots has been immediately visible. Haaland is known for wearing jewelry designed by Native American artists from across the country; Flanagan for wearing clothing designed by Native American designers, inspired by Native American traditions. If she’s elected to Congress, Flanagan said, people can expect more of that.
“It’s so funny, sometimes people — I like to say, dudes online —are like, that’s not what a lieutenant governor is supposed to dress like. And I’m like, well, I am the lieutenant governor, and this is how I dress,” she said. “I want my daughter, and I want other young Native people to see that you can be your full Indigenous self in every place and space.”
For Flanagan, the value of representation comes across on the campaign trail, and in her daughter’s own outlook as a future leader.
“When I hear Siobhan call Deb Haaland Auntie Deb, or when I’m on the campaign trail and young Native women and girls are calling me Auntie Peggy, it is one of the most powerful things that has happened on the campaign trail.”
Peggy Flanagan Could Make History for Native American Women in November. She’s Not the Only One. was originally published by The 19th and is republished with permission.
When the Gambles finally were able to cast their ballots, neither of them took it lightly. Joseph kept in his wallet his poll tax receipt to prove that he had paid the additional fee imposed on Black voters before they were allowed to vote — often a cost-prohibitive barrier and an insult to citizenship for those who could afford to pay. He and his wife captured the significance of the moment by dressing in their Sunday best; Nellie made sure to carry her best pocketbook.
She would take her granddaughter, LaTosha Brown, to the polls and let her pull the lever. Brown did not know why, but she learned early that voting was important and special.
Brown registered to vote as soon as she turned 18, moved by a passion that extended beyond her ability to vote. Brown was also obsessed with power: who has it, who doesn’t and how those who have it use it. Because she recognized early that voting is a means of wielding power in our democracy, she became a voting rights activist.
LaTosha Brown’s grandparents, Joseph and Nellie Gamble (left), taught her the value of voting by bringing her with them to the polls to cast their vote. (Courtesy LaTosha Brown)
In 2016, Brown co-founded Black Voters Matter as a means of formalizing her life’s mission to show Black Americans their power to have a voice on all kinds of choices that directly affect them. In the decade since, she has helped Black voters win elections across the South, orchestrating successful on-the-ground get-out-the-vote campaigns across Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, Florida and Louisiana. As President Donald Trump has accused Black voters of fraud, she has carried on, her headquarters a 45-foot-long bus emblazoned with bold phrases like “WE GOT POWER!” and “WE WON’T BLACK DOWN!”.
Black women have fought to expand and protect democracy, even when they were excluded from it at our nation’s founding. Brown has understood that since her early days in the modern-day movement, registering Black voters and making sure they cast their ballots. Her work is centered on strengthening this connection between intention and action. She knows that’s one of the paths for change.
“We’ve reduced voting as just this action, or this thing of being participatory,” she said. “The evidence that I am human is based on the power of choice.”
Equality and freedom for all are founding premises of the United States. As the country marks its 250th anniversary, access to either of these beliefs is still grounded in exclusion. LaTosha Brown is among the Black women pushing for change, part of a lineage of revolutionaries waging a fight for full citizenship as some in our country continue to try to exclude them from the promises and privileges of our democracy.
For Brown, voting is more than a right. It is sacred, the physical manifestation of human agency. It is a declaration of victory in a hard-fought battle. Her own grandparents weren’t political or activists, but they knew they should have a say in who makes the laws they abide by — and in who represents them.
“There’s still an ongoing fundamental attack on our right to vote, because America has always fundamentally attacked our humanity. The right to vote and our right as a human being are intricately tied together. They’re not separate and apart.”
Much of America’s journey since 1776 has been one from exclusion to belonging, and Black women have been among those leading the charge to perfect our union as one that is inclusive and more truly representative.
The rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness declared in our nation’s founding document are, in many ways, unlocked by one’s right and ability to vote. The authors of the Declaration of Independence wrote about a government “deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”
The right to vote was not initially extended to those who were not white male landowners; that had to be written into our Constitution more than a century later — for Black men at first and then for white women. Black women were among the others who would fight for another half-century for their access to the ballot. For them, the fight to ensure America honors the ideals articulated in the Declaration of Independence, an aspirational roadmap to a just society, is not over.
Their access to the ballot box came with the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, after Black Americans and others bled and died across the South in yearslong battles waged against legal and civil efforts at subjugation. The law stood for years as the crown jewel of the Civil Rights Movement. In its wake, millions of Black Americans registered to vote and exercised their power at the ballot box, helping to elect a record number of Black politicians at the local, state and federal levels.
Today, we face a new contradiction: Many Americans are celebrating our democracy — some as a finished product — yet the right to vote, perhaps the most tangible expression of our citizenship, remains unequal for all.
Decades of progress came undone in April, when the Supreme Court dealt a final blow to the Voting Rights Act in a landmark case that cleared the way for politically driven racial gerrymandering. Within hours of the ruling, states moved to redraw their maps to consolidate Republican power and eliminate districts represented by Black elected officials. By redrawing the lines of congressional districts, Republican-led legislatures in Louisiana, Alabama, Tennessee and other Southern states have diluted or altogether undone majority-Black districts, weakening — if not entirely eliminating — the ability of Black voters in the region to choose who speaks for them in Washington.
To have a vote is to have a voice in American politics. The question at this milestone for democracy is whose voice will still matter headed into our next 250 years.
Brown was at the nail salon with her aunt Ella Gamble Wilmer when news of the Supreme Court ruling broke — and it broke the 92-year-old Orville, Alabama, native, who told her niece as she wept: “I never thought we’d be back here.”
Brown was initially in shock at the decision. Then she felt betrayal. Then, something else entirely set in.
“All they did is put more gas in my tank,” Brown said.
Less than a month later, Brown was back in Selma, leading a coalition of civil rights groups, faith leaders and activists across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in the spirit of the 600 foot soldiers who risked their lives attempting to march across it for voting rights on March 7, 1965. The march was the catalyst for the passage of the act in August of that year.
The coalition Brown led in Selma has launched Freedom Summer, a nod to the 1964 campaign of the same name to register Black voters in Mississippi. Over the next few months, organizers will be holding events in at least a dozen cities, registering and mobilizing voters ahead of the midterm elections.
Now is the time for Black voters to think differently and plant the seeds for the next 250 years of American democracy, Brown said.
“We have to shift from seeing ourselves just as citizens of this nation and start seeing ourselves as founders,” she said. “It is clear that what we have in place right now is woefully insufficient. In this moment, where everything is being torn down, we should be spending a lot of time and energy around organizing ourselves and our visions around what will we build next.”
There will never be true democracy without choice, and a country that excludes its citizens cannot fully claim – or celebrate – our founding ideals.
In America, to vote is to belong. May we continue our journey towards belonging, away from exclusion, so that the promise of liberty and equality becomes real across our United States.
Her Grandparents Fought To Join American Democracy. She’s Fighting To Complete It. was originally published by the 19th and is republished with permission.
