editorials

Many Minnesota journalists were introduced to the unique challenges of reporting on Native American life, culture and reservation politics after the Red Lake school shooting in 2005.

One Star Tribune reporter, who'd flown into Red Lake just hours after the tragedy, tried to describe it to colleagues who followed later by car. There were no street signs. Roads sometimes were muddy paths through the woods. There was a deep distrust of outsiders, and they were not allowed to set foot in the lake or other sacred areas. The reservation itself was a sovereign nation dominated by clannish, charismatic leaders. "Consider this your first foreign assignment,'' the weary reporter advised.

It didn't take long for Twin Cities media to develop a deep appreciation for the journalist many met for the first time in those tumultuous days: Bill Lawrence. The founder of the Native American Press/Ojibwe News, Lawrence had long driven these same roads and grappled with the same challenges as he covered the Upper Midwest's sprawling, often overlooked reservations.

His beat may have been the most difficult, dangerous and yet rewarding news assignment in the state. Lawrence did an outstanding job, which is why his recent decision to close his newspaper after a terminal cancer diagnosis is a huge loss.

For 21 years, he celebrated regular people's accomplishments while becoming one of nation's most ferocious tribal government watchdogs. Lawrence exposed financial irregularities in tribal government, and in the 1990s, his work helped put several tribal leaders behind bars on corruption charges. His passion for the truth was rewarded with bullet holes through his Bemidji office windows. "He had what I call a ruthless integrity. It's meant as a high compliment,'' said longtime friend and retired Minnesota Court of Appeals Judge Jim Randall. "He was by far the clearest voice for human rights and social justice for native people as I've ever met.''

This week, while receiving hospice care in Sun Valley, Idaho, Lawrence, 70, proudly recounted his work, saying his newspaper's mix of hard news and features helped readers "get the heartbeat of what reservation life is like ... I wanted to show the achievements of native people as much as I could.'' Yet his weakened voice also conveyed regrets about the stories he will not get to. And, what will happen when his newspaper is no longer crusading for the people? "There is still a lack of open government and lack of accountability,'' Lawrence said.

Unfortunately, it's not clear who will ask the hard questions in Lawrence's place, but someone needs to. There are upcoming tribal elections this spring in Red Lake and elsewhere. Poverty and alcohol abuse continue to plague reservations. Native Americans are migrating back to reservations in greater numbers, bringing big city expectations and problems with them. Casino finances remain shrouded in far too much secrecy.

Lawrence's work is not only a reminder of the value of a free press, but also that important, meaningful journalism can be done far from the power centers of Washington, D.C., or New York City -- and without the benefit of a big media byline. Lawrence inspired and nurtured several generations of Minnesota journalists. While they cannot replace Lawrence's unique voice, they owe it to him to continue his crusade. "Will someone take up the cudgel?" said Randall. "Someone always does if the cause is right.''