On a picturesque island just a 30-minute ferry ride from downtown Seattle, Juanita Perez described losing a recent race for a delegate seat for the Tlingit and Haida tribes:

“I didn’t have all the tools to do it the right way,” she said.

It was a recent weekend in April and the third day of an advocacy boot camp put on by the Native Action Network, a non-profit in Seattle, Washington. She was sitting in a circle of more than a dozen Native women going over the challenges of running for office as a Native woman and the political positions they were each interested in pursuing.

The event, a first for the organization, was designed to help more “Native womxn” run for office at every level.

The 20 participants from 17 different tribes had traveled to the meeting space from across Washington state and Oregon. There was a PhD student, a school district board member, a child advocate, a Native American education liaison, real estate brokers and an undergraduate student.

Some, like Perez, had already tried their hand in the political realm, while others were still getting acquainted with the prospect.

But each one had put their life on hold as they explored the idea of taking a seat at the decision-making table that too often leaves out Native women. And in the process, they had each found a loyal support system in each other.

In 2020, the Center for American Women and Politics, which has tracked female political candidacies for 30 years, identified a record 18 women who identified as Native American as running for US congressional seats, with two winning in the House. The center’s figures don’t include Yvette Herrell, who is a member of the Cherokee nation and was elected to the House.

The following year, Representative Deb Haaland, an enrolled member of the Pueblo of Laguna, became the first Indigenous cabinet secretary in US history.

But American Indian or Alaska Native women account for 1.1% of the population, and yet they, in combination with Native Hawaiian women, still make up just 0.2% of all voting members of Congress.

In other words, they continue to be largely left out of the decision-making at the highest levels of the country, despite the fact, as Leah Salgado, chief impact officer for the Native women-led organization IllumiNative, explained it, that their “very existence is a political issue”.

Now, as the country heads into the midterm elections, the bootcamp is meant to build on the momentum of past years by creating a space that, unlike many other campaign trainings, was Native specific, said Iris Friday, president and co-founder of Native Action Network.

“It makes all the difference when you get all of these women in the room and they have a safe space where they can have open, honest conversations and dialogues,” she said. “It’s just so powerful to see what transpires at the end of the day.”

There appear to be nine women who identify as Native American running for US congressional seats in the upcoming elections, said Kelly Dittmar, director of research for the Center for American women and politics, the second highest number to date. That number could still increase, as more than 100 women have registered their candidacy without stipulating their race.

Salgado said it’s important to understand the historical context surrounding Native people and the country’s political system. Native people were not granted citizenship in the US until 1924, and then it took more than three decades before they were considered eligible to vote in every state.

“Native people stepping into a place where we’re training and putting forth efforts to ensure Native people have access to the political process is necessary and important because we haven’t always had access to it,” she said.

Although still fairly rare, she said she has noticed a slight increase in training sessions like this one. But, she said, getting Native women into leadership roles is just one step. It’s also about helping them once they are there.

“It also has to be about what are the ways in which we’re making sure that they’re supported through all of this because you don’t get elected and then the racism stops,” she said.

In a series of detailed sessions, the boot camp participants were taught about fundraising, Pacs, communication styles and crafting their individual message. They heard from the Washington state senator Mona Das, a Democrat, and the Suquamish Tribe council member Windy Anderson.

On Saturday morning, a professional photographer took their headshots. By Sunday, their bags were full of such books as Lead from the Outside by Stacey Abrams and Run for Something by Amanda Litman.

Each day the women sat along long wooden tables, sharing meals together. There were spontaneous discussions on Indigenous language revitalization and blood quantum. In the evenings they stayed together in nearby lodges.

In the following months, they will have at least three additional training sessions, including one on public speaking in July.

Lafaitele Faitalia, 38, who is Tongan and Samoan, is considering a run for the Washington state house. The training taught her about bringing her authentic self, she said, while at the same time it helped her understand Pacs and the daunting prospect of fundraising.

“If you’re not exposed to the political systems in the US; if you don’t know what that looks like, [or about] navigating these systems, but you want to make change and you want to run for office, it’s going to be intimidating,” said Faitalia, who is a chief in Samoa and serves on Washington state’s commission on Asian Pacific American affairs.

Lisa Young, 59, who is Tlingit and Navajo, has spent 15 years working as a finance director for city government, but is now considering a campaign for city council in her small home town of Redmond, Oregon. She said she wants to give a voice to its small Native population, along with its other minorities, as well as immigrants.

“[Being] here allowed me to re-energize and say I can be that person of service even though I know there’s going to be barriers,” she said. “I think these women strengthened me a little bit. Enough to say, OK, I’m less afraid today than I was before.”

Claudia Kauffman, vice-president and co-founder of Native Action Network, is very familiar with what it’s like running for political office as a Native woman. In 2007, she was sworn in as the first Native woman elected to the Washington state senate.

But, she said, it was a moment more than 25 years ago, when she was working for the Indigenous activist Bernie Whitebear, that helped to spur her to run. They were at the state capitol in Olympia, meeting with lawmakers to try to get funding for afterschool programming for Native children.

“They’re just people just like you and me,” he told her.

She remembers thinking, “If they’re just people, then why not me?”

Now, through this advocacy boot camp, she is trying to have a similar impact on these Native women, no matter what type of position they may be seeking.

“Our job, our duty, is to cultivate future leaders, the next generation of leaders that we have within our community that we know are strong and resilient and committed,” she said.

By the third day of the training, when organizers asked the group whether they were inspired to run for office, six women raised their hands, with two others saying they wanted to explore getting seats on boards and commissions.

Perhaps just as important was how quickly the women had become each other’s steadfast supporters.

On that final day of the bootcamp, when Perez described losing the race, within seconds participants responded with messages of support.

One encouraged her to go bigger if her tribal community wasn’t receptive to her. Another said she had connections at the tribe, and offered to help. Then a third told her: “You’re not alone.”