Those who knew and loved Marlene Johnson say she was in constant motion -- either behind the scenes, or on the forefront of the major issues that have shaped life for Alaska Natives for more than 60 years.
The Lingít leader died on Jan.25 at the age of 90.
“People don’t realize how different Alaska would be without her, certainly Alaska Native lives,” said Vera Starbard, Johnson’s granddaughter, known for her poetry and as a screenwriter for national programs like the PBS hit series Molly of Denali and the TV drama, Alaska Daily.
Starbard says her grandmother sent her a steady stream of job leads, a sign that she found her chosen career to be too quiet and sedentary. Yet it has given Starbard plenty of time to reflect on her grandmother, enough to begin work on a play about how she became a voice for change.
Advocacy for ANCSA
Johnson’s role in the passage of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act is one of her biggest legacies. Today, ANCSA remains the nation’s largest land claims settlement in history – legislation she helped to steer through Congress during the 1960s, legislation that changed Alaska forever.
It wasn’t an easy time to be a Native in politics, or a woman.
“The men had the voice. They were out front, and they were the speakers,” Irene Rowan said. “But somehow, Marlene became a voice among all those men. I often wondered, how did she do it?”
Back then, Rowan worked for the federal government and became part of an ANCSA support group called “Alaskans on the Potomac.”
As a woman trying to navigate a male-dominated world, Johnson was an inspiration, said Rowan. “She was royalty. People looked up to her. She was rich. She was rich with knowledge and with enthusiasm,” she said.
Rosita Worl, another up-and-coming Lingít leader in those days, also learned from Johnson.
“She exemplified what we know and recognize as a leader, and they don’t come along very often,” Worl said, maybe once in a lifetime.
“I don’t think people thought of her as a woman or a man. They just admired her leadership capabilities,” Worl said.
Breaking barriers
Vera Starbard says she marvels at how her grandmother was able to break through gender and race barriers.
“She always insisted on being taken seriously,” Starbard said, “but at the same time, she had to figure out how to maneuver in that world, let her voice be heard, when literally some people would not hear it.”
Starbard says people forget that Johnson was a single mom, who not only raised six kids, but was also a businesswoman. She co-owned a regional air taxi service in her home village of Hoonah and became one of the first women to lead a Native corporation. For more than a decade, she served on the Sealaska board. Johnson also helped to found many of the educational organizations and non-profits that make up today’s social service safety net.
A 2009 interview with Dr. Thomas Thornton, an ethnologist at Sealaska Heritage Institute, offers clues about the source of Johnson’s passion for public service. Johnson told him about the racism she encountered in Juneau, where her family moved in the late 1940’s so she could attend high school.
“I shouldn’t confess doing anything wrong in my life,” Johnson laughed, as she described an ongoing late-night mission that she and her girlfriends carried out.
“A few of us that were considered “Breeds” would go down the street and rip the signs off the bars, and there were bars all up and down South Franklin Street that aren’t there now, that said ‘No Coasties. No Indians. No dogs allowed.’”
She said Coasties was slang for Coast Guard members, who had a reputation for getting into fights—and like Natives and dogs, were unwelcome.
The path to power
Somewhere along the line, Johnson evolved from an activist into a statesman, and Native corporations, with their growing wealth and resources, became a vehicle for change.
“Without ANCSA, we would be back where we were in the early ‘60s, where discrimination would still be here? I am a firm believer of that,” Johnson said.
Emil Notti, the first president of the Alaska Federation of Natives, the main group which led the land claims fight, said Johnson overcame the chauvinism of the day through her hard work and understanding of the issues.
“She stood on her own, her qualifications,” Notti said. “She wasn’t put there because she was a woman. She was put there because she was an effective advocate.”
Notti says Johnson worked well with different factions of Alaska Natives, who resisted compromise, a role pivotal to the passage of ANCSA. Notti believes her experience with the Alaska Native Brotherhood honed her skills as trusted and persuasive negotiator.
Tireless advocacy
Over the years, Notti said, he watched her sphere of influence continue to grow.
In a 2011 interview with the late journalist Nellie Moore, Johnson mapped out how Alaska Natives could become agents of change.
“Alaska Natives, I don’t care where you’re from, need to be involved. They need to sit on boards. They need to sit on commissions,” she said. “The Alaska Native perspective needs to be heard, that we aren’t sitting on a stump doing nothing -- that we are just like everybody else,” Johnson said. “We have a brain, and we use it. We have muscles and we use it. And we have respect for each other, and we don’t call other people names like they sometimes call us.”
Not long before Johnson died, Notti and Willie Hensley, another leader in the claims fight, visited Johnson in Juneau. Notti said, when he realized her time was almost over, he felt a wave of loneliness -- because there are only about a dozen people still alive who really know the story of ANCSA.
“There are 500 stories. Everybody who was involved has a story. You look at the same event, see it different. You get all kinds of stories. But in there, somewhere, is what really happened,” Notti said. Now there is one less voice in the ANCSA band of warriors.
Notti says every momentous historical event spawns a “greatest generation,” and ANCSA was one of those that brought out the best in Alaska Natives, who accomplished what many believed was impossible.
As the Northern Lights danced, Marlene Johnson departed
And for Rosita Worl, Marlene Johnson was one of those who rose to the occasion and became a force to be reckoned with.
“The night before she left us, we had just spectacular Northern Lights. That said to me, those are our warriors, ready to embrace this leader in the spirit world.”
But for her family, Johnson’s exit was more down-to-earth. Vera Starbard says her grandmother, in her last days, was telling jokes -- bad ones at that. “And she said, ‘Boy I better talk more. Those will be my last words,” Starbard said. “She was very aware of what was happening and still going to make a joke out of it.”
When everybody laughed, Starbard was reminded that it was Johnson’s keen sense of humor that was her secret weapon in life. It disarmed her opponents and endeared her supporters.
“It was a mass of privilege being Marlene Johnson’s granddaughter,” she said, “but I miss the woman who made wild strawberry jam really well.” “
