While growing up in northeastern Oklahoma, Sophie Staires' mother enrolled her and her siblings in the Cherokee Nation. Still, the family had little involvement in traditional Native ceremonies and customs.

"It was talked about more as a sort of heritage or a people that we came from more than it was people that we were," she says.

Only after Staires received her bachelor's degree at the University of Colorado Boulder did she start exploring what it means to be Indian. For her master's degree thesis at Hood College, she wrote about sexual violence toward Native women. The injustices she found inspired her to go to law school.

Unfortunately, Staires ran into an obstacle that many Native Americans face: She had no mentors to show her the way. 

She found her way to the American Indian Law Center Inc. Pre-Law Summer Institute in 2021, and she found that the program designed for aspiring Native American lawyers offered the specific support and encouragement she needed to feel confident and prepared to attend law school. The boot camp reinforced her desire to become involved in legal issues facing Native people, and she learned a lot about law school expectations.

But then she ran into another piece of reality. On the very last day of the two-month program, a professor said: "Law school is going to be really hard, and sometimes you're going to feel out of place. Just remember—this is a system that was not designed for you. It was designed to exclude you."

With plans to attend Sandra Day O'Connor College of Law at Arizona State University, Staires admits hearing that was "a bummer, but also freeing and empowering," she says. “Like, it'll be OK, even if it doesn't just fit like a glove right off the bat.”

Aspiring Native American lawyers face a host of unique challenges in their journeys to, through and beyond law school, even as law schools and legal associations offer support throughout the pipeline all the way to their first job.

Research about Native and Indigenous law students and lawyers uses a variety of criteria, making it hard to compare facts and figures. But all point to the same fact: Native and Indigenous people are underrepresented in the legal profession, starting in law school.

While the 2020 census shows American Indians and Alaska Natives account for just over 1.1% of all people living in the United States, only 0.4% of law students and 0.7% of attorneys were Native Americans in 2022, according to ABA data.

There's an unmet need for Native American attorneys within the 574 federally recognized tribes and outside of them, says Rodina Cave Parnall, the American Indian Law Center executive director. "More laws and regulations apply to Natives and their lands than any other group in the United States," she says.

Title 25 of the U.S. Code, the section pertaining to Indians and tribes, has 50 chapters related to everything from the Bureau of Indian Affairs to the allotment of Indian Lands to Indian Tribal Justice Technical and Legal Assistance. That makes legal issues touching on Native lands or involving Native people uniquely complex.

"It is hard to be an effective advocate for or opponent against a Native person or a tribal government if you lack a basic understanding of the relationship between the federal, state and tribal governments," Staires says.

For example, protecting natural resources is important to Native American culture. Often, land is held in trust by the U.S. government for tribes, making questions about how to steward it and whose regulations apply tricky to navigate, Staires says. "If it's in Indian Country, must the state regulate it, or can the tribe regulate it, or does the U.S. regulate it?" she asks.

Criminal cases on reservations also can become a tangled web. "Whose jurisdiction it is might change depending on if the perpetrator is Native or if the victim is Native, or if it occurred on fee land or allotment land or trust land or state land," she adds. "It's just outrageously complicated."

As a result, tribal leaders want Native attorneys who understand their mission and are ready to engage in the issues tribes face on a daily basis working with the federal and state governments and other tribes, says Parnell, who is of Quechua/Peruvian Indian descent.

"U.S. policies toward American Indians have created massive poverty, mismanagement of trust funds [and] natural resources, destruction of sacred sites, loss of language and culture and health issues," she says. “It was done strategically.”

Few Native lawyers mean few role models.

"A lot of Native students don't even consider law because they don't know other Native American attorneys," says ABA Immediate Past President Mary Smith, the first Native American woman to hold that post. 

"Students just need to have somebody tell them that, 'Hey, you can be an attorney,'" adds Kathlene Rosier, executive director of the Indian Legal Program at ASU Law. "'We believe in you.'" 

Native people have a complicated history with the education system, leading to mistrust that discourages students from considering college and law school, says Robert Saunooke, past president of the National Native American Bar Association. "Your grandparents were put in a boarding school. And they cut their hair and said, 'Don't speak your language,'" he explains. "'We're going to train you to be non-Indian.'" 

For those interested in law school, diversity, equity and inclusion efforts and resources don't offer enough focus on Native Americans—and they simply don't work, says Smith, who is a member of the Cherokee Nation. "Native Americans get lumped in with the rest of the whole diversity pie." 

Jasmine Neosh, a 3L at the University of Michigan Law School and a member of the Bear Clan of the Menominee Indian Tribe, feels Native law students are almost invisible. "Indigenous students aren't considered," she says. "We have such low numbers that oftentimes it's very easy to overlook us, even amongst other people of color." 

To counter this, Native-focused groups and law schools with relatively large Native student populations have created their own support systems for aspiring lawyers. 

While the U.S. Supreme Court decision on Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard extinguished many diversity initiatives, Native Americans are shielded by Morton v. Mancari. The 1974 case holds that "Indian" is a political classification and not a racial one. "So they can be treated differently," says Smith, meaning Natives aren't covered by the Supreme Court's Harvard decision.

The Pathway to Law Initiative, a free five-day workshop, focuses on helping Native students get into law school, offering LSAT prep, practice tests and mentoring to students throughout the process.

"The LSAT is really a challenge for a lot of students. They didn't know how to prepare for it properly. They didn't have money for prep courses," ASU Law's Rosier says.

The 9-year-old program is sponsored by ASU's Indian Legal Program, Michigan State University College of Law's Indigenous Law Program, the University of California at Berkeley School of Law and the American Indian Law Center, and it claims more than 1,500 alums, Parnall says.

"Pathway really helped me figure out the timeline," says Neosh, who grew up splitting her time between the reservation in Wisconsin and Chicago.

She received a bachelor's at the College of Menominee Nation, which inspired her to practice law and support her community. "Being able to actually meet all those deadlines and figure out what I needed to do–I wouldn't have been able to do that without it."

Once they take the LSAT and apply to law school, Native students can then attend the eight-week Pre-Law Summer Institute.

Each year, up to 36 students with tribal affiliations can attend the boot camp offering four noncredit law school-style classes–two first-year law classes, an advocacy/writing class and a class on federal Indian law. While tuition is free, travel expenses are out of pocket.

Students learn how to read a case, outline, take an exam and write legal memos and appellate briefs along with participating in a moot court, Parnall says. The program builds friendships among students, aiming to keep them connected and supporting each other through law school and beyond, she adds.

The close examination of federal Indian law, however, can be eye-opening for students, Native attorneys say.

"Students are like, 'Really? Is that what the law says?'" Parnall says. "It seems like an insurmountable set of obstacles because of the decisions in Indian law and how tribes are described and their status. It seems like this withering away of interpretations of sovereignty, of jurisdictions."

"All you need to know about America and the Native American legal program is the word racism," adds Saunooke, a member of the ABA Section of Civil Rights and Social Justice. "This American [legal] system is always seen as better than whatever the tribes come up with. That's a racist idea."

"Many will tell you from day one: 'I want justice for my tribe. I want to participate in fighting the increase in attacks on tribal sovereignty,'" Parnall says.

Sixty-nine law schools had at least one class focused on Indian law in 2021, according to the NNABA. Some, like the University of Arizona James E. Rogers College of Law and the University of Oklahoma College of Law, offer a certificate or an LLM, respectively, in Indigenous peoples law. Four U.S. law schools have had Native deans.

To encourage Native students to become tribal attorneys, ASU Law and Diné College created a bachelor's and two master's degrees focused on Navajo law, ultimately preparing students to take the Navajo Nation bar exam. Any enrolled member of a federally recognized tribe does not need a JD to take the Navajo bar.

ASU Law's JD program with an Indian Law Certificate offers a mix of courses, including economic development in Indian Country; tribal energy; and Indian law and taxation. Traveling classrooms bring students to Alaska, Nebraska or Washington, D.C., to study different aspects of Native law, Rosier says. In the mandatory Indian Legal Clinic course, students work with Native people.

Working on tribal land in tribal courts while in law school was invaluable, Staires says.

"The clinic is sort of the big thing. Everything that might be a really simple answer off the reservation can get really complicated," she says. "All of a sudden, all of the rules shift." 

Eldred Lesansee, born and raised in the Pueblo nations of Jemez and Zuni in New Mexico, chose Columbia Law School based on its reputation for international law, and he has served as a legal extern at the United Nations. He'd attended Stanford University as an undergrad, but moving to New York City was a harsh change.

"I'm used to seeing horizons, sunsets, sunrises, just endless beautiful landscapes in New Mexico," the 3L says. "And here, it's hustle and bustle. It's just a different vibe."

He feels alone, not knowing anyone from his community who was a lawyer and now just one of nine Native Americans among Columbia Law's 1,300-plus students.

"It's isolating," Parnall says. "That kind of stress can really affect a student's performance and achievement." 

At Michigan Law, Neosh found community at the Native American Law Students Association chapter.

"As soon as I walked in, I felt all of this tension leave my shoulders that I didn't even know was there," says Neosh, now serving as the public relations director for National NALSA. (Lesansee is its president.) "Native people need connections so bad. I always liken us to aspen trees. We might be one little tree, but we're growing together, and we need each other."

Like all law students, Native Americans find campus "a crazy competitive place," Rosier says, but many face extra financial pressures. "Some are sending their financial aid back home to their families. It's really stressful."

Some law schools, such as UCLA School of Law, offer financial support specifically for Native students, and some scholarships are available through the NNABA and American Indian College Fund.

But many students must take out loans–counter to Native culture beliefs.

"Back home, we don't have that," Lesansee says. The loans add pressure. “For me, I think, 'What if I'm not able to pay it? Then the burden shifts to my family.'”

On campus, misunderstandings can happen over practicing traditions, often tied to a specific place, says Elizabeth Kronk Warner, dean of the University of Utah's S.J. Quinney College of Law.

For instance, when a loved one dies, some tribes demand specific rituals must be followed on tribal lands, which mandates going home.

"In some tribes in Michigan, there's a requirement that when somebody passes, you actually keep a fire for three days," adds Kronk Warner, a citizen of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians. “Unlike folks who can practice their religion in different churches, mosques and temples, we don't have that luxury.”

Native students face extra challenges to pass the bar. In 2023, 84% of white first-time test takers passed the bar, compared with 68% of Native Americans and 62% of Native Hawaiians, according to the ABA. Native women reported a lack of resources for tuition, books and bar exam prep, according to a 2023 study published by the ABA Commission on Women in the Profession and the NNABA.

"It really takes a toll on them–especially when they are trying to help support their families," Rosier says. "A lot of them have to work while they're studying for the bar–that really hurts."

To temper those disadvantages, Rosier created the free early start bar course for all students in the Indian Legal Program to help 3Ls prep before their summer bar study. It has expanded to include other ASU Law students.

For those aspiring to work for their tribes, finding meaningful summer positions is tricky. Most law school career services don't offer help in finding tribal law jobs.

"And a lot of those positions aren't paid–they have to do it for free," Parnall says.

The National Association for Law Placement Native and Indigenous Peoples in the Legal Industry Task Force aims to change that, developing resources to support career service officers, says Nikia Gray, NALP executive director and a member of the Osage nation.

To help students navigate the job search, Utah's Quinney Law launched Cutting Sign to the Legal Profession, an annual free two-day boot camp open to tribal citizens with Native attorneys who practice tribal law mentoring students. Sessions include how to write a cover letter, how to write a resumé and interviewing skills.

While more than 60% of Native attorneys practice Indian law or federal Indian Law, according to the NNABA, some don't, Kronk Warner says. "Native students are often pigeonholed."

Neosh, for instance, aims to first enter private practice. "I want to slay as many dragons as I can," she says. "Eventually, I want to go back to my tribe to give back all the guidance given to me."

In general, Native American/Alaska Native graduates are more likely than their peers to work in government or public interest organizations, according to NALP, and less likely to work in private practice. Native attorneys account for just 0.17%–less than one-fifth of 1%–of all BigLaw attorneys.

"When I disaggregate the data by different racial and ethnicity categories, we see improvement over time in every single group [for BigLaw employment], except for Native Americans and Native Hawaiians," Gray says.

That same lack of representation is found on the bench. With only a handful of Native judges on state and federal benches, a strong pipeline to the judiciary is imperative, Smith says. "There still has never been a Native American on the federal appellate," she adds. "I would hope that there will be a Native American on the U.S. Supreme Court too." 

The ABA's 23-year-old Judicial Clerkship Program, sponsored by the ABA Council for Diversity in the Educational Pipeline and the ABA Judicial Division, brings together judges and law students from diverse backgrounds for a three-day intensive workshop.

In 2010, when Saunooke joined the clerkship program as chair of the ABA Tribal Court Council in the Judicial Division, no Native students had ever attended the program.

"Since 2013, we've had 31 Native American attendees of that program go on to clerk for federal, state and other judges," he says.

Staires participated in the 2023 ABA program. Since then, she has finished an externship at the U.S. Department of Justice in the Environment and Natural Resources Division, Indian resources section. And now, after graduating in May 2024, she is serving as a clerk for the Alaska Supreme Court.

Ultimately, she sees herself working for the federal government. "The trust responsibility to Indian tribes is a really fascinating and really perplexing area," she says.

"The daily lives of so many people in Native communities are affected so much by this legal history, and they have no idea about how those laws work," she adds. “We need more representation, not just doing federal Indian law work, but in all aspects of the legal field to be a resource to our communities.”