Inside the University of Montana’s Maureen and Mike Mansfield Library, Donovan Taylor stretched his arms across a wooden conference table holding his phone, which was recording, up to two gray speakers. He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes as he listened to a 1968 recording of a Cheyenne love song. 

Next to him, Theresa Small, a member of the Northern Cheyenne Tribal Council, leaned closer to the speakers and cupped a hand to her right ear, trying to hear the drums and singers through the lo-fi audio. 

After months of consultation with the school, a group of about a dozen Northern Cheyenne elders and cultural leaders traveled from the southeastern Montana reservation to the University of Montana in Missoula last week to review and reclaim ownership of dozens of culturally significant items, recordings and documents in the university’s collections. When such belongings are returned to tribal ownership, Indigenous leaders say, community members regain connection to their identity, ancestors and history.

“They don’t sing like that now,” Taylor, a traditional singer himself, told the group after the song ended. “We’re losing our culture.” 

UM has digitized dozens of audio recordings of Cheyenne songs and interviews with elders, which were originally recorded on cassettes or wax cylinders by anthropologists or professors. But the digitizations are imperfect. Some of the recordings sound slow and garbled, like the speakers are underwater. Others make the voices of Northern Cheyenne elders sound high-pitched, like chipmunks. 

Taylor asked Wallace Bearchum, chair of the Northern Cheyenne Cultural Commission, to play the Cheyenne love song again. He closed his eyes again as drums filled the room.

“I’m going to try to learn it,” he said. “Bring it back.”

Universities, museums and other institutions nationwide house Native American ancestral remains, cultural artifacts and belongings. Sometimes, the items have been donated. Other times, an employee may have purchased or unethically obtained tribal belongings for research purposes. It’s often unknown how the possessions were originally taken from tribes, whether they were stolen from graves or traded. 

The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, enacted in 1990 and commonly known as NAGPRA, establishes processes by which tribes can request the return of belongings and ancestral remains from institutions that house them. But in the more than 30 years since it passed, many institutions remain noncompliant with the law. ProPublica reported in 2023 that about half of the institutionally held remains of 210,000 Native Americans had not been returned. 

In 2024, new NAGPRA provisions strengthened tribal authority in repatriation processes, requiring institutions that receive federal funding to get tribal consent before displaying or providing public access to tribes’ cultural belongings. New regulations also require institutions to consult with tribes on all tribal belongings within a five-year deadline.

Complying with NAGPRA is rarely straightforward. Institutions, which may hold thousands of items, must identify which tribe an item belongs to and contact appropriate people within the tribe to facilitate its return. UM in 2023 hired Courtney Little Axe, the school’s first full-time NAGPRA repatriation coordinator and collections manager, and during the 2025 legislative session lawmakers passed a state budget that included a $367,665 appropriation to UM to support repatriation efforts. That money, Little Axe said, was used to establish a student NAGPRA team at UM, with one student repatriation liaison assigned to each tribe in the state. 

But most educational and historical institutions in Montana don’t have a full-time role dedicated to repatriation. Montana State University works in conjunction with the Museum of the Rockies in Bozeman on repatriation work. A spokesperson for MSU said the university’s sociology and anthropology departments reached out to 14 tribes in Montana, Idaho and Wyoming in 1996, but no claims were made on items in the school’s possession. The Museum of the Rockies, the spokesperson said, has contacted at least 21 tribes since the 1990s and repatriated several items.

As of Jan. 6, 2025, UM reported having made 83% of more than 200 funerary objects in its holdings available for return to tribes, according to ProPublica’s repatriation database. MSU reported having made none of the 49 funerary objects in its possession available for return, according to the same data. 

Bearchum said that since the new NAGPRA provisions were enacted, he’s heard from institutions across the country that possess, and want to return, Northern Cheyenne belongings. The problem, he said, is that the tribe doesn’t have appropriate facilities to receive and store them. 

“The issues are money and manpower,” he said, adding that building a temperature-controlled repository with fireproof displays and security could cost millions of dollars.

Inside the social sciences building on UM’s campus Wednesday afternoon, Northern Cheyenne Council member Theresa Small held her hand over a beaded pipe bag displayed on a table alongside other items in UM’s collection. 

“Hmm,” she said. “This has come a long way to be here.” 

Tribal elders and cultural leaders walked around the table, examining the items — a beaded pouch, moccasins, dolls and pipe bags. The designs, colors and materials, they said, tell a story. A bag had been repurposed from a pair of beaded leggings. The soles on a pair of moccasins were made from a parfleche bag. 

“They used everything they could to survive,” Little Axe said.

Bearchum pointed to a pair of green, blue and gold beaded moccasins. The symbols — representing a tipi, thunderbirds, and the sun — tell stories of how Northern Cheyenne people hunted and held ceremonies, he said.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking at the shoes. “Our people are smart.”

Annie Bement, an elder, pointed to a doll with solid blue leggings. 

“I’m not sure that one’s ours,” she said. Others in the group nodded. 

Mikaylia Yellowrobe, a UM repatriation liaison for the Northern Cheyenne Tribe, and Northern Cheyenne herself, stuck a coral-colored Post-it note to the table near the doll.

“Needs more research,” she scribbled. 

Bement, 78, never expected to see items like this in her lifetime. She grew up speaking the Cheyenne language at home, but speaking Cheyenne at school came at a cost. She attended St. Labre Indian School, a Catholic boarding school on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation, in the 1950s and 1960s. It was one of hundreds of schools nationwide that operated with the explicit mission of assimilation. 

“We were slapped for speaking [Cheyenne],” Bement said. “We had to put our hands on a table and were hit with a ruler to be punished.”

Assimilation efforts like those implemented in the boarding school era have contributed to the widespread loss of cultural knowledge and language. Three of the 12 Indigenous languages historically spoken in Montana are considered critically endangered, meaning their youngest speakers are elders who speak the language infrequently, according to a 2020 Montana Budget and Policy Center report. Bement is one of just 300 fluent Cheyenne speakers alive today.

“Our values, our stories, our history is contained in the language,” Bearchum said. “It relates to our identity.” 

Small said hearing elders speak Cheyenne on old recordings “is a treat.” She hopes they’ll be used to educate young people on the reservation. Connecting with history that was once taken from tribal members, she said, is restorative.

“Without the ability to see where we came from, we’d be wandering,” Small said. “This is who we are. This is our identity.”

Standing before a crowd of Northern Cheyenne community members and university representatives on Wednesday evening, Northern Cheyenne Tribal Historic Preservation Officer Teanna Limpy and Little Axe signed several agreements to establish tribal stewardship and formally transfer ownership of the belongings in UM’s possession to the tribe. 

While it has chosen to continue to house the belongings at the university, “The tribe will now have full authority in what we do, how we handle items, how we store them, how we move them between buildings, and if we educate people using specific belongings or not,” Little Axe said at the signing event. “This gives the tribe authority over their own story.”

Limpy told the crowd she hopes the tribe will one day have a museum to house the belongings. 

“This is just the first step,” she said, as the crowd cheered.

The post ‘This is who we are’: Northern Cheyenne Tribe reclaims cultural belongings from UM appeared first on Montana Free Press.

In January, the federal government charged Roberto Orozco-Ramirez, a 42-year-old father of four and auto mechanic, with illegal reentry into the U.S., a felony. 

While Orozco-Ramirez has lived for more than a decade in Froid, a town of 195 people in northeast Montana, he’s legally a citizen of Mexico. Court documents allege that he was removed from the United States by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in 2009.

Orozco-Ramirez’s arrest has shaken the tiny, conservative town of Froid, where some residents have shown support for him through protests, meal trains, donations, and by driving hundreds of miles to attend his court hearings in Great Falls. It’s also captured the attention of people far beyond Montana. Orozco-Ramirez has been held in the Cascade County Detention Center since Jan. 27. The primary concern of his neighbors and family is deportation.

As the story has played out, we found ourselves wanting to know more about the illegal reentry charge. What exactly does it mean, how common is it, and what does it have to do with deportation? And what might it mean for Orozco-Ramirez and his family if he is convicted in the coming months? Montana Free Press spoke with seven criminal defense and immigration lawyers to find out. 

Illegal reentry is a criminal charge accusing a person of returning to the U.S. after having previously been removed from the country. While illegal entry into the U.S. is typically treated as a misdemeanor, illegal reentry is a felony, meaning the penalties and consequences are more severe.

“[Illegal reentry] is more harsh,” said Josh Kolsrud, a criminal defense attorney in Arizona who previously served as a federal prosecutor. “It is more aggravated to have an official, like an immigration judge, order you to be excluded from the country and then you come back, as opposed to just a first-time entrant who’s never been ordered out.”

Illegal reentry is one of the most common federal criminal charges in the country. In some years it’s prosecuted more often than illegal entry. In 2024, more people in the U.S. were sentenced for immigration-related offenses — including illegal entry and reentry — than for fraud, sexual abuse and firearm charges combined, according to the U.S. Sentencing Commission. In Montana, from 2015 to 2024, 99 people were sentenced for immigration-related offenses. 

President Donald Trump has made mass deportation a cornerstone of his administration’s agenda, and in 2025 criminal immigration prosecutions have increased, according to the Transactional Record Access Clearinghouse. 

A person found guilty of illegal reentry can face up to two years of imprisonment, $250,000 in fines and one year of supervised release, though jail time and fines can vary depending on the specifics of a case and a defendant’s criminal history. 

Illegal reentry is easy to prove and hard to fight, lawyers told MTFP. Prosecutors can point to documents detailing a person’s past removal from the U.S. and then show evidence that the person was found in the U.S. without permission to return. 

Lawyers defending people accused of illegal reentry have a few options. A judge can dismiss charges if an individual can prove that they are a legal citizen. Attorneys can also challenge their client’s initial removal from the U.S. and argue that the person’s constitutional rights were violated during the deportation process. Some lawyers have argued that the illegal reentry charge was created for discriminatory purposes and disproportionately affects people from Latin America.

But challenging illegal reentry on any of those fronts is difficult. Nate Crowley, a California-based defense lawyer whose firm handles illegal reentry cases, said people charged with illegal reentry often plead guilty to receive a lesser sentence. In 2024, 97% of people charged with immigration-related offenses in the U.S. pleaded guilty, according to the U.S. Sentencing Commission.

At a court hearing in Great Falls on Feb. 9, Orozco-Ramirez pleaded not guilty to his illegal reentry charge. 

Regardless of whether Orozco-Ramirez is found guilty or not guilty of illegal reentry, immigration lawyers told MTFP, he will likely still have to contend with severe consequences of his arrest, including deportation.

Immigration courts operate separately from criminal courts, and lawyers say the two systems don’t exactly work together, though they often overlap. The consequences Orozco-Ramirez could face are outlined in a 1996 law passed under President Bill Clinton that significantly tightened U.S. immigration policies, adding harsher penalties for people entering the U.S. illegally. The law also established expedited removal processes that allow the Department of Homeland Security to deport some people without an immigration hearing.

Randall Caudle, an immigration attorney for a Missoula-based law firm, said federal immigration agencies track criminal cases like Orozco-Ramirez’s. So even if Orozco-Ramirez serves prison time for the criminal illegal reentry charge, immigration officers could detain and deport him upon his release without a hearing. 

During Orozco-Ramirez’s Feb. 9 arraignment hearing in Great Falls, a lawyer representing the federal government argued that Orozco-Ramirez should remain in jail rather than be released, calling him a “flight risk.” Some Froid residents, who drove seven hours one-way to pack the courtroom, shook their heads in disbelief, and many were confused when Orozco-Ramirez’s public defender chose not to argue for his release. 

According to Caudle, if Orozco-Ramirez had been released from jail while his court case continued, federal immigration agents “could just pick him up and remove him” from the U.S. — a penalty made possible through the Clinton-era law. It happens often enough to inform some lawyers’ strategies in criminal court, Caudle said. 

“If we have someone arrested for something and they don’t have legal status, or they have immigration issues, often we’ll tell their family, ‘Don’t bail them out,’” Caudle said. “Because as soon as you bail them out, ICE is going to pick them up and remove them.”

The 1996 law also states that a person who illegally reenters the U.S. after having been removed once is subject to a “permanent bar” from ever accessing immigration benefits, including a Green Card. 

Orozco-Ramirez’s 19-year-old son, Roberto Orozco Lazcano, who is a U.S. citizen, said he is waiting to turn 21 to file a petition to sponsor his father’s lawful permanent residence in the U.S. A permanent bar would make Orozco-Ramirez ineligible for that kind of petition, Caudle said. 

“Technically, after 10 years of being outside the country again, you can file for a waiver of the permanent bar, but that’s almost never granted,” he said. 

The post A Froid mechanic was charged with illegal reentry. Here’s what that means. appeared first on Montana Free Press.

GREAT FALLS — Wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt with his father’s diesel shop logo on the front, Roberto Orozco Lazcano, 19, leaned forward on the wooden court bench in a federal courtroom. 

He clenched his hands and tapped his foot on the floor. His younger brothers, Eduardo, 16, and Aaron, 14, and their high school classmates sat beside him, all wearing the same black Orozco Diesel sweatshirts.

The kids whispered and fidgeted. When the brothers’ father, Roberto Orozco-Ramirez, walked in, the room fell silent. 

Orozco-Ramirez surrendered to law enforcement on Jan. 25 after Border Patrol agents had been staged outside his home and business for several days. Originally from Mexico, Orozco-Ramirez is an auto repair shop owner, Little League coach and father of four. He’s been living with his family in Froid for more than a decade. 

The U.S. government alleged in court documents that Orozco-Ramirez had returned to the U.S. illegally after being removed once by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in 2009. It also accused Orozco-Ramirez of threatening a federal officer when Border Patrol agents, in plain clothes and unmarked vehicles, approached him at his auto shop on Jan. 15. He’s been in jail for more than two weeks.

Orozco-Ramirez’s arrest has rocked Froid, a tiny town in northeast Montana home to just 195 residents. The way the town rallied around the sole Mexican family in town has captured the attention of people far beyond the community. His story has been shared by national media outlets. A coffee shop in Helena donated its proceeds for a day to Orozco-Ramirez’s legal fund. And several people who’ve never met Orozco-Ramirez or his family drove hours to show their support at his hearing.

On Monday, federal Judge John Johnston confirmed that a grand jury had charged Orozco-Ramirez with illegal reentry to the U.S., a felony that carries a maximum sentence of two years imprisonment and up to $250,000 in fines. People convicted of illegal reentry can also be barred from accessing benefits like obtaining a green card, or from returning to the U.S. The government’s earlier allegation that Orozco-Ramirez had threatened a federal officer, noted in the initial complaint, was not included in the indictment. 

Beyond jail time and fines, deportation is the big concern for many Froid residents. The Orozco boys said their uncles, who were living in Montana, were both deported after being apprehended by Border Patrol in March and July of 2025. Their father’s arrest comes as the Trump administration deploys federal immigration agents in American cities, pushing for mass deportation, sometimes without clear processes. 

In the courtroom on Monday, Orozco-Ramirez pleaded not guilty to illegal reentry. The judge said he could request a future detention hearing, where his lawyer would have an opportunity to advocate for his release. But an attorney representing the federal government argued Orozco-Ramirez should remain in jail, calling him “a flight risk.” 

Froid residents shook their heads in disbelief. 

Surrounding the Orozco boys outside the courthouse after the hearing were almost a dozen friends and neighbors wearing the black sweatshirt with their father’s diesel shop logo. 

T-shirts and sweatshirts with that logo have become a common sight in Froid in the two weeks since Orozco-Ramirez’s arrest, worn by youth and adults not typically prone to taking public stances on immigration issues. His neighbors were eager to telegraph that he belongs.  

“It’s just the right thing to do,” Chase White, who coaches the Froid/Medicine Lake boys’ basketball team, said of wearing the Orozco Diesel shirts. 

The gear has also sparked some pushback, highlighting the complicated dynamics around immigration enforcement unfolding in one small Montana town. 

HOW THE SHIRTS CAME TO BE

Laurie Young, who serves on Froid’s Town Council and works as a school cheer coach, makes custom clothing as a side gig. When her son, in the same grade as one of the Orozco boys, asked what the basketball team could do to show its support, she immediately thought of t-shirts. 

It didn’t take long for Young to make dozens of white long-sleeve shirts with the Orozco Diesel logo on the front and “OROZCO” in big black letters on the back. Inside the Medicine Lake School gym north of Froid, on Saturday night, the Froid/Medicine Lake boys basketball team wore the shirts as they warmed up. Located 12 miles apart, the tiny Froid and Medicine Lake schools combine to form sports teams.

About 250 fans stomped on bleachers and cheered as the Froid/Medicine Lake team faced off against the Bainville Bulldogs, a friendly rival. Aaron Orozco Lazcano grabbed the ball. He paused in a low athletic stance and looked up at the basket. 

At 5 feet 5 inches tall and with a quiet demeanor, Aaron is an unassuming player. He looked down, dribbled around a defender and scored from the three-point line. The gym, packed with more people than Froid’s population, erupted in cheers. Aaron’s brother and teammate, Eduardo, patted him on the back.

Their father — who normally never missed a game, and who often shouted strategy to his sons in Spanish — was hundreds of miles away in Cascade County jail. Their mother, too fearful to leave her home, wasn’t there either. 

Even so, visible support from the community surrounded the boys in the gym. Their coaches wore t-shirts with their father’s auto shop logo. Some fans in the stands wore similar shirts and sweatshirts. Others wore white and gray bracelets with the words “OROZCO STRONG” in big blue letters.

“The shirts the teams were wearing were a big release for the kids,” said Marvin Qualley, a spring wheat farmer and school bus driver in Froid. “They saw the community behind the Orozco family, but they weren’t doing anything. So the shirts were the way for them to show support.”

But on Facebook, some residents questioned whether the clothes were made with taxpayer dollars. Others criticized them as an anti-law enforcement gesture. Young took to Facebook to clarify that she’d paid for them herself.

In Froid, public stances come with risk. Disagreements can cost a local business its customers and a family its livelihood. 

“The population is so small that it can’t be divided by how you voted,” said Froid Mayor Sheri Crain. “We live too close together. If we started drawing lines, you wouldn’t have any friends left. You wouldn’t have community.”

OROZCO BOYS

Their father’s arrest has also thrust the Orozco boys, who are U.S. citizens, into an uncomfortable spotlight. As the story has spread across Montana and beyond, online comments have flowed in both from people looking to support the family and from those who criticize their father for not obtaining legal citizenship. 

“Could have used those 10 years to get his citizenship,” one commenter wrote when Montana Free Press shared the story. “If you’ve been in the country ten plus years, set up a business, and pay taxes and successfully evaded immigration officials that long, I’d say the [Department of Homeland Security] can go to hell,” another commenter wrote. “He sounds like someone that this country wants.”

Roberto Jr. said he wishes more people understood the reality of gaining citizenship in the U.S.

“People have to realize that if citizenship was as easy as going online, filing something and then getting your citizenship, nobody in the United States would be illegal,” Roberto Jr. said. 

The boys say they’re grateful for the community support, but it can also make them feel self-conscious. 

“It’s weird,” said Eduardo, a high school junior. “Going to games, they support us, wearing shirts and sweatshirts and everything, but I just feel like I’m being watched all the time.”

Roberto Jr. said he worries whether he’s “talking too much or laughing too much” in the stands during his brother’s basketball games.  

“I kind of sit there like, ‘Dang, people might think that I’m OK and that we don’t need the help,’” he said. 

But the boys and their mother aren’t OK, family members said. The boys are still shaken by the feeling that Border Patrol was following them, even though they hadn’t violated any laws. In the week leading up to their father’s arrest, classmates and parents said they noticed Border Patrol vehicles outside their home and their dad’s shop.

Aaron and Eduardo were scared enough to stay home from school for a week. Roberto Jr., a freshman at Williston State College in North Dakota, began taking classes entirely online so he could be home with his family in Froid. The three older brothers have tried to work on some of the vehicles left at their dad’s shop, doing small jobs like an oil change or replacing antifreeze, but their skills are nothing like their father’s. At home, they do their best to keep their 7-year-old brother, Ricardo, distracted. 

“We told him that my dad was on vacation in Hawaii,” Roberto Jr. said. 

The hardest part of their father’s arrest, the boys said, is not knowing what could happen next. 

Though deportation proceedings would play out in a separate immigration court, Randall Caudle, an immigration attorney for a Missoula-based law firm, said federal courts will typically dismiss illegal reentry charges if a person is willing to self-deport and return to their home country. But many residents don’t make that decision lightly, Caudle said.

“There have been people being deported to Mexico and going back to their hometown that they haven’t been to in forever and finding it’s controlled by a cartel,” he said. “So they’re going back to a dangerous place that’s very different from what they left and that they’re not familiar with anymore.”

Outside the courthouse after their father’s brief hearing on Monday afternoon, the Orozco boys huddled with the friends who had accompanied them on the 400-mile drive from Froid. 

Ultimately, the hearing left them with more questions than answers. The group made plans to stop for coffee and gas before starting the seven-hour trek home. 

Wearing a mustard-yellow sweater, Jill Joyce walked into the sea of black Orozco Diesel hoodies. She had read about the case and driven three hours from Gallatin Gateway to show her support. She had picked up a friend in Helena, and another friend drove from Neihart, about an hour south of Great Falls. 

“So,” Joyce said, walking up to the Froid residents. “Where can I get a sweatshirt?”

The post With shirts, Froid residents show support for neighbor after Border Patrol arrest appeared first on Montana Free Press.

When Bob Burns got a call from a family member about a small electrical fire at the Cattle Baron Supper Club, his first thought was, “It can’t be anything major.”

The iconic restaurant and landmark in Babb had seemed indestructible, surviving freezing temperatures and hurricane-force winds. The 10,000 square foot building, made to look like a log cabin lodge, had been in his family for generations.

But Burns was stunned when he drove to the site on the evening of Jan. 14. He watched as blue flames licked the roof and thick black smoke billowed into the cold winter air. 

Burns, 82, helped build expansions to the famous steakhouse years ago. His mind immediately went to the foam insulation spray he’d used in the early 1980s. The flammable foam acted like gasoline on the fire. He called his wife, Charlene Burns. 

“It’s gone,” he told her, as the flames rose. 

Charlene, 76, didn’t believe it. She raced to the site, but could see the flames from a mile away. She pulled over and took a photo of the orange sky behind the dreamcatcher hanging from her rearview mirror. 

“All of our dreams went up in smoke,” she wrote on Facebook that night. 

The Cattle Baron Supper Club was a hallmark of Babb, a tiny town home to about 130 people on the eastern edge of Glacier National Park on the Blackfeet Reservation. For community members, the Cattle Baron was the go-to spot for date night, anniversaries, celebrations and even weddings. For tourists visiting the park, the restaurant was known for its juicy steak, iconic bread and thoughtful display of Blackfeet culture. 

The Cattle Baron employed hundreds of people — including at least 60 of Bob and Charlene’s grandchildren — in a place where there aren’t a lot of jobs. It was a community hub in a town without a community center, public park or even many sidewalks. It was a source of pride and a bastion of Blackfeet culture and identity.

After community members came together to clear the rubble, the Burns have vowed to rebuild. 

“We’re going to take one more run at it,” Bob told Montana Free Press in a recent interview. 

FROM ROUGH AND ROWDY TO FAMILY FRIENDLY

Before becoming the Cattle Baron, the building was the Babb Bar, a small, roadside establishment where fights frequently broke out and the regular crowd was known to be rough and rowdy. Burns bought that bar from his father in the 1970s. 

“You can’t imagine how much fun it was,” he said. “It was nuts.”

He remembers telling a visiting reporter at the time that the bar wasn’t as rowdy as its reputation implied — only for a woman to ride inside on a horse, a man to drive in on a Harley and another customer to come in with a bear cub. 

“Those are isolated incidents,” Bob jokingly said he told the reporter at the time. 

In the 1980s — after he married Charlene and as he became more in touch with his Blackfeet culture — Bob built a large addition to the building. Soon after, the Babb Bar became the Cattle Baron Supper Club. 

The Burns served grilled steaks, bread baked from Bob’s mom’s recipe, salad dressing made from Charlene’s mom’s recipe and a famous secret sauce, to which both Bob and Charlene contributed ingredients. 

A pictograph timeline painted on the building’s interior walls depicted Blackfeet history. It started with the “dog days,” said Lockley Bremner, Charlene’s son, who worked as a floor manager for the Cattle Baron.

“The Blackfeet used dogs to transport lodges,” he said. 

The pictograph timeline included images symbolizing the smallpox epidemic and the 1870 Baker Massacre, where the U.S. Cavalry attacked a peaceful Blackfeet camp, killing nearly 200 people. The timeline chronicled a period from the 1800s to 1970s where the government forced Indigenous children to attend Christian boarding schools where they were punished for speaking their language or practicing culture. It also followed the tribe’s modern accomplishments and stories of resilience, like the establishment of Blackfeet Community College in 1974 and current language revitalization efforts. The final picture on the timeline, Bremner said, was a computer.

“People came to see the mountains,” he said of Glacier tourists. “But when they came to the Cattle Baron, they learned about the people that inhabited the area for hundreds of thousands of years.”

It was Charlene’s idea to incorporate family and tribal history into the restaurant’s placemats. One placemat told the story of Charlene’s grandfather, Sam, who played football at Carlisle Indian Industrial School with Jim Thorpe, who later became the first Native American to win gold at the Olympics. Another told the story of Bob’s grandmother, May, a Native entrepreneur in the early 1900s. One detailed the story of Running Eagle, a well-respected Blackfeet woman warrior.

“People loved the placemats,” said Charlene’s daughter, Lona Running Wolf. “We couldn’t keep them in stock. They were for the tables, we even had them laminated, but they’d be stolen constantly. We were always replacing them.”

Because of its proximity to Glacier National Park, Running Wolf said, the Cattle Baron regularly served people from all over the world. The incorporation of Blackfeet culture, she added, played a critical role in the education of the public. 

“It showed the world that Native people are not stereotypes, inferior or incapable,” she told MTFP in a recent interview. “They showed through the restaurant the strength of their ancestors and family and culture.”

Running Wolf, who waited tables at the Cattle Baron, said she regularly encountered patrons who didn’t know Native Americans existed. 

“They couldn’t believe the place was Native-owned,” she recalled. “They thought we still lived in tipis. ‘Where are the real Indians?’ they’d sometimes ask, thinking of something in the past. But we were standing in front of them as real Indians.”

Customers weren’t the only ones learning about Blackfeet history and culture at the restaurant. Charlene made sure that everyone who worked there could walk patrons through the pictograph timeline and explain content on the placemats. That philosophy proved to be life-changing for Courtney Stone, who grew up in the South and worked at the Cattle Baron in the summer of 2000 when she was 19 years old. She still remembers the Blackfeet history classes she attended at the Cattle Baron on Wednesday evenings. 

“The warmth, inclusivity, lack of judgment and genuine joy that Char brought to those meetings really intrigued me,” Stone said. “I soaked it all in.”

When she returned to college that fall, Stone changed her major to concentrate on Native American literature. Reading about tribes’ histories and cultures, she said, “changed how I view the world.”

“Understanding where we live makes us better members of where we live,” she said, adding that she hopes to pass the knowledge she learned at the Cattle Baron on to her children. 

COMMUNITY SUPPORT

On Jan. 19, five days after the fire, Courtney’s brother, Sanford Stone, organized a community cleanup of the site. People brought their Bobcats, tractors and big green dumpsters to haul away the wreckage. Others brought food and water. 

The cleanup was one of several community efforts to support the Burn’s family. Bob and Charlene’s granddaughter, Kelsie, launched a GoFundMe the night of the fire. As of Feb. 4, three weeks after the fire, it had raised more than $34,000 for the Burns, who said they could not afford fire insurance on the old building. 

Bob and Charlene say they plan to use the money to rebuild, but this time, their eight children will take the lead. 

“It’s going to be all of us working together,” Charlene said. “And now we’re done with phase one: the clean up.”

By Wednesday, a small modular structure with white siding and a gray roof sat on the site of the old Cattle Baron. 

“The mini Babb Bar arrived today,” the restaurant announced on Facebook. “It’s already starting to come to life.” 

The post Iconic Montana supper club vows to rebuild after a devastating fire appeared first on Montana Free Press.

This story was updated on Jan. 28 at 7:09 p.m. to reflect new developments. 

Community members first noticed the Border Patrol cars in early January.

Though Froid — a tiny town in northeast Montana — is just 50 miles from the U.S.-Canada border, Border Patrol cars are not a common sight outside of the occasional gas station stop. About two weeks ago, however, residents told Montana Free Press that the number of Border Patrol vehicles increased. Two cars were stationed outside a local auto repair shop and one near the shop owner’s house, they said.

It didn’t take long for word to spread in the small community of about 195 people that the federal immigration agents were watching 42-year-old Roberto Orozco-Ramirez. The father of four, who is technically a citizen of Mexico, has lived in Froid with his family for more than a decade, long enough that the local auto repair shop, Orozco Diesel, bears his name. 

Orozco-Ramirez, his wife and their four sons are fixtures in the small community. His sons are active in school sports, and Orozco-Ramirez coached baseball Little League teams in his spare time. He built an auto shop where community members say he went above and beyond for customers. Though Orozco-Ramirez worked long hours, Froid residents say, he made time for school and community events, often showing up in his work clothes. 

As of this week — following a sequence of events that is forcing a deeply red town to confront their own complicated beliefs on immigration — it’s unclear if he will be in the United States much longer. 

On Sunday, Border Patrol arrested Orozco-Ramirez and he was transported to Roosevelt County Jail, about 67 miles from his house. The U.S. government charged him with illegal reentry into the country and threatening a federal officer, criminal charges that could ultimately result in hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines, imprisonment or deportation. On Wednesday afternoon, he appeared in federal court in Great Falls. A U.S. Department of Justice lawyer wearing a black suit advocated for Orozco-Ramirez to remain in detention, calling him “dangerous.” Several of the dozen or so Froid residents, who had driven seven hours to show their support for their neighbor, shook their heads.

A public defender rebutted this, referencing a previous statement by the local sheriff stating he “posed no danger to the community.” Court documents say Orozco-Ramirez has no criminal history.

Ultimately, federal Judge John Johnston set a preliminary hearing, where a judge will determine if there is enough evidence for the case to proceed, for Feb. 5 and a detention hearing, to determine whether he should be released on bail throughout his case, on Feb. 9. He will remain in detention until then. 

Exiting the courtroom after the hearing, Orozco-Ramirez’s son, Roberto Orozco Lazcano, 18, hugged his two younger brothers. Neighbors embraced, wiping tears from their eyes. “It’s nonsense,” Brittney Nordlund, who works in Froid Public Schools, said of the allegation that Orozco-Ramirez is “dangerous.”

“They’re lying,” Rachel Sundheim, another Froid resident, said through tears. “He is the role model we want in our community.”

Their decision to travel nearly 400 miles — one way — to the hearing, which lasted all of eight minutes, was just the latest of many community efforts to show their support for their  neighbor. Though the vast majority of Orozco-Ramirez’s neighbors voted for President Donald Trump, who has made vows to deport “illegal aliens” a centerpiece of his administration, the town has rallied to support him — since his arrest they have demonstrated their outrage at Border Patrol through protests, letters to lawmakers, public Facebook posts and now their presence in the courtroom. 

“The community responded more than I ever thought,” said Orozco Lazcano, a freshman at Williston State College in North Dakota, who returned to Froid last week when his dad called and said Border Patrol was staged outside his business. “They’re giving us help I didn’t know we needed.” 

WHO IS ROBERTO OROZCO-RAMIREZ?

Most people in Froid work in agriculture, producing wheat, alfalfa and barley and raising cattle. Others work in the school, post office, bank, or oil fields. Liz Melbourne, who graduated from Froid Public Schools and whose kids now attend school there, described the 0.6 square mile town as a “storybook” community and called the recent incident with Orozco-Ramirez — one of just 11 or so Hispanic residents according to Census data — “eye-opening.”

“I think it pretty much rocked everybody’s world to see something like this,” said Melbourne. On Sunday, just before she learned that Border Patrol agents had taken Orozco-Ramirez away, Melbourne stood for five hours with a handful of protesters on the side of the road near Orozco-Ramirez’s business.

Melbourne, who doesn’t describe herself as Republican or Democrat, said she understood Trump’s immigration policy to be about arresting and deporting people who were living in the U.S. illegally and who had also committed crimes. That’s one reason why Orozco-Ramirez’s detainment came as a shock. 

“They weren’t criminals,” she said. “Roberto is a father, he opened his own business. He has a great family. They’re just model citizens.”

The other shock, for Melbourne and her neighbors, was that Trump’s national immigration crackdown had extended beyond big cities, like Chicago and Minneapolis, and infiltrated her small town. 

“That’s my fear,” she said. “It’s that I’m living in a small town and now this is in my backyard.”

To resident Laurie Young, Orozco-Ramirez and his family embodied the American dream. 

“When they moved here, they never asked for anything,” she told MTFP in an interview Monday, choking back tears. “They bought a home, put their kids in school, they built that business from the ground up. They just worked their butts off. … When I think of people coming to the U.S. for a better life, I just can’t imagine any family doing more than he has.”

Orozco-Ramirez’s diesel shop in Froid provided crucial services to community members who would otherwise have to drive an hour to Williston, North Dakota, for repairs. Keith Nordlund, a technician at a local power plant who attended the hearing with his wife Brittney, said Orozco-Ramirez once worked through the night, and in cold winter temperatures, to repair a school bus that had lost heat. 

“He did it for the school,” Nordlund said. “He did it for the kids to ensure they’d have a safe ride. He’s always looking out for everybody else. He’s doing what he can to help anybody and everybody.”

Nordlund, who’s been in touch with Orozco-Ramirez’s family, said it was obvious that Border Patrol was targeting them over the past month. Orozco-Ramirez’s children, who range in age from second grade to college, told him they couldn’t leave their house without being pulled over.

“Anytime they took off driving, Border Patrol would wait until they’re a ways away, pull them over, check the vehicle, make sure there was nobody else inside of it and then just send them on their way,” he said, adding that Orozco-Ramirez’s children were born in the U.S. and are American citizens. “They would follow them to and from school. It got so bad, all of the kids are no longer in school.” 

In a school of 81 students from pre-kindergarten to 12th grade, Young said, those  absences felt “loud.” 

Young, another community member, confirmed that Border Patrol was often parked one block from school. “We have three streets in town. There was no avoiding them!” she said

“The kids don’t know what to do for their friends,” she said, adding that her son is friends with Orozco-Ramirez’s son. “And it’s so hard to explain to them. How do you explain that this is the culture of our country right now? There’s no good way.”

Representatives for Border Patrol did not respond to a request for comment on how they interacted with Orozco-Ramirez’s children. 

WHAT HAPPENED?

According to court filings, in March and July, two of Orozco-Ramirez’s brothers were apprehended by Border Patrol in Scobey and Bainville, two other small towns in northeast Montana. Orozco-Ramirez was then identified by Border Patrol agents in the area who believed he was in the U.S. illegally. The complaint alleges that Orozco-Ramirez “was removed” from the U.S. in 2009 by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

On Jan. 15, wearing plain clothes and driving in unmarked vehicles, according to the complaint, Border Patrol agents knocked on the door of Orozco Diesel. Orozco-Ramirez was suspicious of the officers and refused to let them into the building, according to court documents. Border patrol agents also accuse him of yelling threats at them as they left the area and throwing a two-by-six piece of lumber in their direction as they drove away. 

Young was not present at the time of the arrest. But the neighbor was sympathetic of a desire to throw something and yell at plain-clothed agents driving in unmarked vehicles.“ They tried to force their way in. Came back with rifles. If anyone showed up to our door in regular clothes, I would do the same thing,” she said.

On Sunday, the Roosevelt County Sheriff’s Office announced in a Facebook post that a man, later confirmed to be Orozco-Ramirez, had surrendered to local law enforcement after Border Patrol agents were staged near a business in Froid. 

“It’s important to note that the man and his family have been productive members of the community and have had no negative interactions with local law enforcement since they moved here over a decade ago,” the Facebook post reads. “The man posed no danger to the community at any point during this incident.”

The complaint states that there is no record within the Department of Homeland Security that he applied for permission to re-enter the United States after he was removed from the U.S. by ICE in 2009. The complaint also states Orozco-Ramirez “was identified as a Surenos gang member when initially encountered in Logan, Utah.” Representatives for Border Patrol did not respond to questions about how the agency made that determination or what allegedly happened in Utah. Border Patrol made similar gang allegations in three other Montana cases in 2025 that defense attorneys disputed and judges later dismissed.

Alex Rate, legal director of ACLU Montana, said that references to gang affiliation can lack credibility. 

“We have seen that this administration has trumped up allegations of criminal behavior or gang participation in order to justify the detention and removal of an individual who otherwise had no gang affiliation or criminal history,” he said. “It’s been weaponized in a way that’s particularly harmful to immigrants and immigrant communities.”

Froid residents said they were stunned by the gang accusation. 

“That may work in a big city where people don’t know each other,” Young said. “That won’t work here.” 

The penalty for illegal re-entry in the U.S. is up to two years imprisonment and a $250,000 fine, and the penalty for threatening a federal officer is up to six years imprisonment with a $250,000 fine. Either conviction could lead to deportation.

COMMUNITY ACTION AND CONCERN

Just before Orozco-Ramirez was detained Sunday, a handful of Froid community members stood on the side of the road near Orozco Diesel holding signs in support of his family. Passersby honked and waved in support. One flashed a middle finger, according to Melbourne, who attended the protest. 

And hours after the Roosevelt County Sheriff’s Facebook post went up that evening, Froid residents began circulating a digital flyer, showing photos of Orozco-Ramirez and his family, reading “STAND WITH THE OROZCO’S” in big, block letters. Others encouraged people to write and call members of Montana’s delegation expressing concern. Some people, Nordlund said, collected donations to cover Orozco-Ramirez’s legal fees; others organized a meal train for his family. Young asked people to share personal statements and photos showing Orozco-Ramirez’s community involvement, should they be helpful to the family in court. 

A sample email template addressing Montana elected officials that’s circulating among Froid residents describes Orozco-Ramirez as “a respected and deeply rooted member of the community” and encourages Montana lawmakers to review his case. It also asks leaders for guidance “in determining whether any lawful pathways may exist that could allow Mr. Orozco Ramirez to pursue legal status.” Nordlund, whose son is friends with Orozco-Ramirez’s son, said he sent the email to Gov. Greg Gianforte and Sens. Steve Daines and Tim Sheehy.

Attending the hearing on Wednesday was the next logical step. Some neighbors carpooled in large SUVs. Orozco-Ramirez’s sons drove together, leaving their terrified mother and second-grade brother back in Froid. Kate Eby, a nurse in Great Falls who had never met Orozco-Ramirez, was amongst their midst. She said she heard about the hearing in Great Falls from a coworker who lived in Froid. She made sure to attend and show her support.

“It’s easy to look at Minneapolis and say it’s far away, and that doesn’t happen here,” she said. “But it does. And it’s not the same. Compared to big cities, we’re lacking resources. We’re lacking numbers. But to have community in Montana, the boundaries have to be a little bit bigger. I wanted the family to know we’re here.”

When people are taken by law enforcement, transferred to facilities and deported, she said, it’s hard to know where they end up.

“Paying attention like this keeps people safe,” she said. 

Nordlund, who expressed his support for Orozco-Ramirez on Facebook, said he’s mostly heard from people who want to help but has also received some criticism.

“They said, ‘I can’t believe you’re helping them. I can’t believe you’re doing this,’” he told MTFP. “I said, ‘You know what? Up until six months ago, I didn’t know Roberto was illegal. And he is my friend. His status doesn’t change that I am his friend.’ Do I agree with him being here illegally? No, I actually don’t. But all I can try to do is help him become legal.” 

The post When Border Patrol arrested a beloved mechanic in Froid, Montana, neighbors were forced to reckon with national immigration policy appeared first on Montana Free Press.

Montana State Auditor James Brown announced Tuesday that his office had identified and worked to remedy a health care fraud scheme that targeted Native Americans.

In a Thursday phone interview with Montana Free Press, Brown and members of his staff said fraudsters visited reservations in Montana and pressured people, particularly those who appeared unhoused, to sign up for Affordable Care Act plans with the promise that they’d receive free rehab treatment at a high-end facility in another state, and in many cases, California. They also provided transportation. 

Brown’s staff said people affected by the scam reported feeling immense pressure, almost amounting to coercion, to comply. Once people arrived at these fraudulent treatment centers, their condition was reported as needing emergency attention, which means insurance companies by law cannot deny treatment, according to Brown’s office. Fraudsters would then bill insurance companies for treatments that did not occur, were not needed or, according to a news release from Brown’s office, “performed at greatly inflated prices.” In one instance, Brown’s office told MTFP, fraudsters billed more than $900,000 for treatment for one person.

Brown and his staff said perpetrators took advantage of several gaps in the health care system. First, while non-Natives must enroll in Affordable Care Act plans during a specific time of year, provisions allow members of federally recognized tribes to sign up anytime. In the case of this fraud scheme, that provision meant fraudsters had more opportunity to approach and coerce Native Americans to enroll in Affordable Care Act plans. 

Second, Montana has three Affordable Care Act insurance providers, and one of them, called PacificSource, covers Montanans for out-of-state treatment. That meant fraudsters in other states could bill a Montana insurance provider for care administered elsewhere. 

Third, Brown’s staff said, people have figured out how to get around certain eligibility requirements in the federal system. They pointed to a recent Government Accountability Office report that found significant fraud risks in the advance premium tax credit, a program that lowers monthly health insurance costs for eligible people buying plans in the Health Insurance Marketplace. The report found that the federal Marketplace “approved coverage for nearly all of GAO’s fictitious applicants.”

Brown said federal entities approved the rescission of 80 fraudulent insurance sign ups, allowing his office to claw back more than $23.3 million. His office has identified 207 total enrollments suspected of fraud, which they say could represent $54.7 million in unjustified claims.     

In 2023, Native Americans in Montana were similarly targeted in a Medicaid fraud scheme in which treatment centers billed the state of Arizona thousands of dollars per patient for services that were never provided. The scam targeted Indigenous people because a loophole in Arizona’s American Indian Health Program allowed individuals to serve as a treatment facility. Hundreds of people have been criminally charged for their alleged participation in that scheme. 

Brown, who is in touch with other insurance commissioners nationwide, said he is warning leaders, particularly those who represent states with sizable Indigenous populations, to look out for similar scams. 

His office said that because the scheme occurred on tribal land, it will be up to federal authorities to bring charges against perpetrators. Brown said his office has been in contact with the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office. 

The scheme, Brown said, could significantly change insurance coverage for Montanans in the future. Some companies could limit their coverage for out-of-state services, for example. 

“When scammers bill $10,000 a day in fake enrollments, premiums rise, provider networks shrink, and families pay more for worse care,” he said in a Jan. 21 news release. “Fighting fraud is how we protect affordability.”

Brown’s staff encouraged Montanans to stay vigilant. If something sounds too good to be true, they warned, it probably is. 

The post At least 80 Native Americans in Montana victimized in health care scheme appeared first on Montana Free Press.

The owners of a McDonald’s in Ronan on Friday apologized after a viral video appeared to show an employee refusing service to the Browning High School wrestling team. 

The 14-second video, reportedly recorded on Thursday, shows a man who appears to be an employee saying, “Browning school is not allowed. We’re not allowed to serve you guys.”

A student can be heard mumbling, “I guess they don’t like Indians here.” Browning is located on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation in northwestern Montana.

Located on the Flathead Reservation, Ronan is home to nearly 2,000 people, the majority of whom are white, according to U.S. Census data.

Tara Tatsey of Browning said her son, who is on the wrestling team, sent the video to her. She then shared it on Facebook, where it amassed more than 150,000 views and 650 shares in less than 24 hours. 

The video sparked widespread outrage. Some Blackfeet community members speculated that the team was turned away for racist reasons, others suggested boycotting McDonald’s.

Browning Public Schools Superintendent Rebecca Rappold released a statement Friday saying that the boy’s wrestling team was denied service.

“This incident is being fully investigated and appropriate steps will be taken, including legal steps, if necessary,” she wrote. She applauded the team and coaches for responding “with dignity even when the management of the Ronan McDonald’s did not treat them with dignity.”

“[Browning Public Schools] will not stand down and walk away, this matter will be fully investigated and pursued to ensure this treatment does not continue,” she wrote. She did not clarify who would do the investigation and did not immediately reply to a request for comment from MTFP.

Responding to a request for comment, Chris and Melissa Crawshaw, who own the McDonald’s franchise in Ronan, said the incident “was the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“We sincerely apologize for the frustration this has caused,” they said in a written statement shared with MTFP through a McDonald’s spokesperson. “We’ve addressed the situation with our team and personally reached out to Browning High School to make things right. Let me be clear: Everyone is welcome in our restaurant. We’re honored to serve the Ronan community and look forward to welcoming all students at any time.”

Rappold did not immediately respond to a request for comment Friday afternoon on whether she had heard from the McDonald’s owners. 

The post McDonald’s owners apologize after Browning wrestling team denied service appeared first on Montana Free Press.

Less than 24 hours after terminating about $2 billion in substance abuse and mental health grants nationwide, the Trump administration reversed itself and restored the funding.  

In Montana, state public health officials and advocacy groups told Montana Free Press Wednesday that local suicide prevention, addiction recovery and other mental health programs had lost millions of dollars in federal funding overnight. Many expressed shock and confusion after receiving a letter from the U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, also known as SAMHSA, which said grant money that had already been distributed would be clawed back.

In a Thursday morning email to the Montana state health department, however, officials with SAMHSA directed the state to “disregard” the previous notification canceling the grants. The email was shared with MTFP by a state health department spokesperson.

“[T]he termination of your federal award, previously communicated on January 13, 2026, pursuant to 2 C.F.R. § 200.340(a)(4), is hereby rescinded,” the federal notice read. “Your award will remain active under its original terms and conditions. Please disregard the prior termination notice and continue program activities as outlined in your award agreement.”

The email did not provide an explanation for the sudden reversal. The state spokesperson, Jon Ebelt, told MTFP that the notices referred to two grants totalling roughly $2 million annually: the Partnerships for Success grant that aims to reduce youth substance misuse, and the Strengthening Families Initiative that works to prevent substance use disorders among pregnant and postpartum women.

Lewis and Clark Public Health Officer Drenda Niemann also confirmed to MTFP that her office received notice that the termination — which would have ended a $125,000 suicide prevention grant — had been rescinded. 

“We will continue to have the grant funds for suicide prevention work through September 2026 as originally planned,” she wrote in an email Thursday. 

Missoula County received notice that funding was being restored for the Systems of Care program, which expands mental health and supportive services for youth and families, according to communications manager Allison Franz. The county, Franz said, is still waiting to hear the status of a grant supporting the Frenchtown Community Coalition.

Casey Schreiner, chief strategy officer at Alluvion Health in Great Falls, said the organization received notice Wednesday that a $545,000 grant for a program addressing substance abuse disorder among young people was cut. Organization leaders began speaking with staff members on the program about potential impacts, but by Thursday, Alluvion received notice of the reversal. 

“It does not go without hiccups because you still had to have some hard conversations,” Schreiner said. 

Johns Hopkins Center for Indigenous Health, which on Wednesday announced the cuts would cancel a substance use prevention project on the Rocky Boy’s Reservation, wrote in a Thursday statement it was “tremendously relieved” to see the terminations reversed. 

“Yesterday was such a challenging one for our staff and the families we serve,” the group wrote in a public Facebook post. 

Also on Thursday morning, a spokesperson for U.S. Sen. Steve Daines emailed a MTFP reporter a link to a POLITICO article stating that the grants had been reinstated, with no other context or statements.

Daines’ office had not responded to Wednesday’s inquiries from MTFP about the cuts. A spokesperson, Gabby Wiggins, did not reply to an additional request for a statement from Daines about the reversal or a question about whether the senator had communicated with the Trump administration about the grant cuts.

Reporters Katie Fairbanks, JoVonne Wagner and Matt Hudson contributed to this story.

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