SOLDOTNA — Alaska Republican Party leaders on Saturday reelected Carmela Warfield to continue serving as chair, two years after she was first chosen for the role.

The vote took place during a statewide convention in Soldotna, where more than 200 delegates from across the state gathered under garlands of Alaska and U.S. flags to update the party platform and hobnob with both elected officials and candidates.

Warfield was challenged for the chairmanship by Zackary Gottshall, who called on Alaska GOP leaders to do more to oppose elected Alaska Republicans who work across the political aisle.

Warfield beat Gottshall in a 165-45 vote, after Gottshall accused Warfield of appearing “more focused on building personal political visibility and securing endorsements for another term than organizing a serious effort to replace the seven Republican legislators caucusing with Democrats or challenge Sen. Lisa Murkowski.”

Warfield, ahead of Saturday’s vote, said “the Alaska Republican Party is stronger when we focus on what unites us instead of what divides us.”

Warfield now enters her third year at the helm of Alaska’s largest political organization. She has tightly controlled the party’s public image, declining numerous interview requests from the Daily News during her tenure.

In a departure from the norm, Warfield allowed reporters to attend only five hours out of the two-day convention, denying reporters access to debates on the party rules and a forum featuring several gubernatorial candidates.

Cheerful party staffers were stationed at the entrance to the Soldotna Field House to ensure no reporters had access to the building beyond the allotted window.

But during a brief window of access, divisions over the GOP’s direction and operations were on full display. Delegates spent roughly an hour debating whether to add a sentence to the party platform supporting “granting personhood of the unborn at conception.” The motion ultimately failed 89-109.

Factions of the Alaska GOP have long been critical of elected party members who work with Democrats or deviate from the party platform, which already formally opposes same-sex marriage and abortion access, and supports teaching “the historical Judeo-Christian foundation” of the U.S. in schools.

The party has a long history of attempting to keep its elected members in line and punishing those who stray.

Party leaders in 2021 censured Murkowski, a Republican who has served in the U.S. Senate since 2002, after she voted to impeach President Donald Trump. They also voted in 2021 to censure Republican Eagle River state lawmaker Kelly Merrick after she supported a bipartisan coalition in the Alaska House. But after both Murkowski and Merrick won reelection in 2022, defeating party-backed challengers from the right, party leaders promised to turn away from censuring GOP candidates for a period of at least two years.

Since then, the number of Republicans in the Legislature joining bipartisan legislative coalitions has grown, despite party leaders’ consternation.

In the Alaska Senate, a 14-member bipartisan majority includes five Republicans. In the House, the 21-member majority includes two Republicans. Republican leaders of the bipartisan coalitions did not attend the Saturday convention.

Under Warfield’s leadership, the Alaska Republican Party has aligned itself closely with Trump, who in turn has endorsed Warfield, along with U.S. Rep. Nick Begich and U.S. Sen. Dan Sullivan, who are running for reelection this year.

Trump has also voiced support for the repeal of Alaska’s open primary and ranked choice voting system, which has weakened the party’s tight control over candidate selection.

Both opponents and supporters of Alaska’s voting system, which was adopted by Alaskans in 2020 and withstood a repeal effort in 2024, say it had aided moderate political candidates who are willing to work across the political aisle, ensuring they can more easily withstand challengers from the right.

The Alaska GOP has made repealing the voting system a key tenet of its efforts in the 2026 election. A successful repeal would enable the party to again assert more control over the Republican primary process,

Party leaders on Saturday also elected Jason Perry, a Baptist pastor, as the new Alaska GOP vice chair. Perry received 161 votes in a three-way race against Paul Bauer Jr., a former Anchorage Assembly member who received 23 votes, and Jeanne Reveal, a party district chair on the Kenai Peninsula who received 22 votes.

Voting on party leaders and resolutions was almost derailed — again — by party leaders’ concerns over using an online system to tally the votes of more than 220 delegates.

Several party members said they wanted to use paper ballots instead of “clickers” that allow delegates to cast votes in real time. A similar motion was made during the 2024 convention.

But the idea this year was met with exasperation and outright derision from some longtime party members. Brett Huber — state director for Alaska’s chapter of Americans for Prosperity, a conservative advocacy group — openly chided some of the delegates.

“Everybody agrees on God and country. Everybody. And then we forget that and fight amongst ourselves,” said Huber.

“If we remember what brought us here — God and country — and we quit misbehaving, we may win,” he added.

“Honor at Last”

By Aurora Hardy; Epicenter Press, 2026; 146 pages; $14.95 paperback; $7.99 Ebook.

How does one write about a family member she hardly knew? In Aurora Hardy’s case, the answer came as a “fictional biography.” Although her new book never says outright that her novel is anything other than “based on a true story,” a reader might infer that the main character — Sonny — is her own father. In interviews, she has said that is the case, and that she built her story from what she could research and learn from other family members about the man who left his wife and daughter when she was 4.

The portrayal, a sympathetic one, swings back and forth between the life of an ailing Yup’ik man sitting outside his sister’s fish camp in 1978 and his memories of everything that has come before.

The most detailed sections of the book come early, concerning Sonny’s birth, early years, and especially his time in the Alaska Territorial Guard, also known more commonly as the “Eskimo Scouts,” beginning when he was just 12. “Honor at Last” could be considered, at least in part, a history of the Guard. Hardy presents that history from the point of view of a young person living on the lower Yukon, frightened by news of the Japanese invasion of the Aleutians, and proud to be a protector of his homeland.

Early on, a plane arrives with Maj. Marvin “Muktuk” Marston and Territorial Gov. Ernest Gruening, who make patriotic appeals and enlist volunteers. Sonny, whose skill with a rifle is attested to, is allowed to join and then works with his father to drill, cache supplies, keep trails open, patrol the river and coastline, identify foreign planes, and radio authorities to give and receive reports. On two occasions — likely fiction, but representing the work of the Guard — Sonny and his father shoot down a Japanese bomb balloon and search for a missing plane.

[Book review: A scholarly new perspective on the roles of Alaska Natives in World War II]

Hardy emphasizes the many changes that came to Native villages during the war years, the intense patriotism of villagers, and the sacrifices they made by forgoing their normal routines, rituals and especially their subsistence practices. “The unity of purpose empowered the Yupik men. Old men dug deep into their remaining strength while young boys grew in purpose and care while serving in the Guard.”

By the end of the war years, Sonny had contracted tuberculosis. While he yearns to join his friends in signing up for additional military service, his health requires multiple hospitalizations in Bethel. There, removed from his village and its ways, he is exposed to white culture and meets and marries a blue-eyed nurse.

In Hardy’s telling, Nuliaq — Yup’ik for “wife,” the name used throughout — is loving but manipulative. She insists on moving to Kodiak, where she’d first worked as a nurse, and then, after the 1964 earthquake, to Fairbanks, where the couple experience overt racism, then to caretake a remote mining camp where they spend a very cold winter. Nuliaq learns of Native allotments and moves the family, now with a small daughter, Bun, to Chitina. There, they build a cozy home on land “abundant with life and natural resources.”

Sonny, always a hard worker and devoted family man, is twice cheated by men who hire him, once of an entire summer’s earnings. He had never learned to read and write and depended on trust. He is at last forced to go to Anchorage to find work, never to return to his embittered wife and confused daughter. He also never returns to his home village.

After he leaves, Nuliaq refuses to speak of Sonny or to allow any contact with him, and Bun grows up without knowing anything of her father except what she later learns from his relatives. She had felt loved by him and held onto one particular memory, a time when he “read” a familiar storybook to her; instead of reading the words she knew almost by heart, he made up his own story, one infused with Yup’ik knowledge and teachings.

Bun, seemingly a stand-in for Hardy herself, many years later comes across a news item about the U.S. Army discharging members of the Alaska Territorial Guard from service. Bun fills out the required paperwork and, in 2007, nearly 30 years after her father’s death, receives the document granting him an honorable discharge. Hardy concludes, imagining Bun’s reaction: “He had served as a Guard member when his country asked him to help fight the war. He had used his Guard training to overcome challenges for the rest of his life.”

Fiction serves history well when it brings to life people who lived it. Through her personal connection and research, Hardy has shown what the World War II experience in Western Alaska could have meant for a young man, and how his service may have influenced the rest of his life.

Between 1942 and 1947, 6,389 volunteers from 107 Alaska communities served in the Guard as a military reserve force of the U.S. Army. They were as young as 12 and as old as 80, mostly too young or old to be eligible for conscription. It wasn’t until 2000 that Sen. Ted Stevens introduced a bill to direct the Secretary of Defense to award Guard members honorary discharges; this was signed into law by President Clinton. Only then did Guard members receive veteran status and eligibility for federal benefits. The youngest of those who served, if still alive, were then in their 70s.

[Book review: ‘The North Face of Summer’ offers a compassionate look at an Alaska conflict]

[Book review: Steeped in Inuit culture, ‘Leave Our Bones Where They Lay’ offers a universal message]

From our collaborating partner “Living on Earth,” public radio’s environmental news magazine, an interview by host Steve Curwood with Alannah Hurley, executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay.

In 2001, a Canadian mining company proposed a massive gold and copper mine at the headwaters of Bristol Bay, a pristine water system on the coast of the Alaska Peninsula that’s home to the largest sockeye salmon run in the world. The salmon support a thriving ecosystem and are a cultural and economic lifeblood for native Alaskans, who have stewarded the land and water for thousands of years. 

As the company moved ahead with plans to build the largest open-pit mine in North America, those Indigenous communities joined together to bring it to a halt. In 2023, they secured a rare “EPA veto” of the proposed Pebble Mine, and the 2026 Goldman Environmental Prize for North America recognizes an Indigenous leader in this fight.

Alannah Hurley is the executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay. Her Yup’ik name is Acaq, her great-grandmother’s name. She is the winner of the 2026 Goldman Environmental Prize for North America. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

STEVE CURWOOD: Before we start talking about your work protecting Bristol Bay, paint us a picture of the bay. What makes this such a special place?

ALANNAH HURLEY: Bristol Bay is an extremely special place. It has all the different types of terrain in Alaska, in one place. Where I live, at the mouth of the Nushagak and Wood River, we have everything from tundra and wetlands to mountains, freshwater lakes, freshwater rivers, the muddy waters of Nushagak Bay, [and] the beautiful, crystal-clear ocean waters as you go west towards Togiak and Twin Hills. It’s really untouched, pristine beauty—all of Alaska’s majesty in one place. It’s so pristine you can still hunt and fish and pick berries and eat them straight from the land. You can drink right out of the lake and rivers. It’s paradise. 

CURWOOD: Bristol Bay has huge environmental significance, but it’s also important to many human communities. I had been told that it produces more than $2 billion of annual revenue from sockeye salmon fishing alone, it’s also an important food source and cultural site for Indigenous communities, First Alaskans. Talk to me about what the bay means to the people in the area.

HURLEY: There are three different Indigenous groups in Bristol Bay—the Yup’ik people, the Dena’ina people, and the Alutiiq people. Our homeland has been stewarded by our people for thousands and thousands of years. They’ve taken care of this place and entrusted it to us. Our lands, our water, and everything that that entails—the salmon, the moose, the caribou, the bears, us, our freshwater fish, our berries, our plants, our medicines—we very much view it as all very connected. Anything that happens to our lands and waters happens to us. It is everything to us. It is the health of our people, physically, culturally, spiritually. It sustains us. It nourishes us. We’re so blessed to be able to live in the ways that our ancestors have lived. That kind of foundation is really critical in understanding our perspective and wanting to protect our home. 

CURWOOD: In 2001, the Northern Dynasty Minerals mining company proposed the development of what’s called the Pebble Mine. It would have been the largest open-pit mine on the continent, one of the biggest, I guess, in the whole world. What would have been the environmental impact of such a project?

HURLEY: The environmental impact of the Pebble project would have been devastation. If you look at a map of Bristol Bay, there are two major river systems, the Nushagak and the Kvichak. The Pebble Mine would be located at the connected headwaters of both. You literally could not have picked a poorer location, and in my opinion, it’s [the] creator’s test to the people: What are you going to choose? But you could not have picked a worse location to put a low-grade acid-generating project that would have to store tens of billions of tons of toxic waste in perpetuity. 

That picture is not a question of if something will happen, but when, especially in an earthquake-prone zone, and in a very hydrologically interconnected place. They’re like the veins of the bay—all of that water is connected. Our people, very early on, came out opposed to the project, because we knew that it would mean the utter devastation of our watershed, our fishery and our people.

CURWOOD: Some say that there are literally hundreds of billions of dollars worth of copper and gold and other minerals in the area for the Pebble Mine. Sounds like a lot of money, but you didn’t see this as good news for your community if this got developed.

HURLEY: No, we did not. Early on, before we learned about what type of ore it was, where it was located, what it would mean, what the tilings would mean, people were actually excited for some type of diversification of the economy. Fisheries can be pretty volatile, and that’s how a lot of people would survive in the cash economy as commercial fishermen. 

But it did not take long to learn about those things, the dangers and the threat and the risk that that would cause to our people, and very early on, the vast majority of Bristol Bay’s people said, “No way, this is not worth the risk.” You cannot put a price tag on our water and what salmon mean to us as a people. This would be an existential threat to our ability to continue to be Indigenous people in this region, and we will not stop fighting until it is stopped.

CURWOOD: My understanding of Alaskan politics is that at the state level, there wasn’t a huge amount of pushback against this Pebble Mine proposal.

HURLEY: Our people’s concerns were really falling on deaf ears at the state level. We saw the state rewrite our area management plan illegally, without proper input or public process or consultation with our tribes. We saw the governor at the time try to pave the way for a mining district, and we’re still working to rectify some of those issues in that rewritten management plan to this day. And we’re still having issues with the state government pushing a project on Bristol Bay and Alaskans that they’ve proven for the last 20 years that they just do not support. 

Because our concerns were falling on deaf ears at the state level, our tribal governments saw the federal government as the place to put some energy, and that was where the petition to the EPA came from, because the state was not listening. They were doing the exact opposite, to really grease the skids for the company to move forward.

CURWOOD: How did the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency respond?

HURLEY: The tribes petitioned in 2010 to prohibit all mines like Pebble within the Bristol Bay watershed. The EPA came back and said, “We’re not going to act on a prohibition immediately under our authority under the Clean Water Act, but we are going to study Bristol Bay. We want to do an assessment. And we want to ask, is this place really unique, and what does this fishery mean to the state and people? If this type of development, large-scale hard rock mining, were to move forward, what kind of impact could that have on the waters and people?” 

They took three years to do a bunch of studies. They were in a lot of different communities. There was a lot of peer review to answer those questions, and after that very long, drawn-out assessment, they determined what our people had been saying all along: that this type of development would devastate the water and everyone who was sustained by that water, and so that was really the basis for their action that came later. 

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CURWOOD: At the end of the day, how did things turn out with the EPA?

HURLEY: It was a bit of a roller coaster between the different administrations, but it’s really a testament to the dedication of our people and our region that regardless of the administration, regardless of winning and losing court cases, they did not give up. And so the EPA, in January 2023, finalized protections to stop the project.

CURWOOD: What’s the risk that the Trump administration number two could reverse all of that?

HURLEY: There is very much still a risk that that could happen. The company,Northern Dynasty, the state of Alaska and a few others have challenged the EPA protections in court, which we anticipated they would. 

So far, the Trump administration has continued to defend [the] EPA’s action in court, but that is ongoing litigation, and we’re not putting all of our eggs in that basket with how unpredictable this administration has been in other arenas. We’re definitely remaining extremely vigilant. And we’re continuing to defend the protections in court, and we also are working on legislation that would address the other 20 active mining claims throughout the watershed. 

While we’ve made great progress, unfortunately, Pebble isn’t the only mining claim in the region, and so we’re working really hard to put this type of development to bed for good, so that our kids aren’t destined to fight project by project, now into eternity.

CURWOOD: As executive director of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay, how important would you say tribal cooperation has been during this fight?

HURLEY: Tribal unity and cooperation has been absolutely critical. I think in any instance where a coalition is working to protect a place, having Indigenous people leading and center of the effort is absolutely critical. Local people need to be at the forefront of these fights, and without that unity in the bay, there’s no way we would be where we’re at today.

CURWOOD: You were involved in building that coalition, including Native Alaskans, but also other political constituencies, the commercial fisherpeople and such. What was it like to build a coalition like that?

HURLEY: In the case of United Tribes of Bristol Bay, it was really about centering and amplifying the tribal voice and holding the government accountable for government-to-government consultation. There was real unity in that. 

I think anytime you’re building a coalition, it can be challenging. I mean, it’s hard to get five people to agree to where you’re going to go to dinner, let alone 15 tribal governments from different cultural backgrounds who historically didn’t always get along, coming together to fight a common enemy for our continued existence as Indigenous people. That threat really brought us all together in ways that we had never seen before, and that also translated out to non-native groups, commercial fishermen, the conservation community. These aren’t people who usually get along. We’re used to fighting over fish, not working together to protect them, and so anytime you bring different groups together, there’s going to be bumps in the road. 

At the end of the day, the connections between people, the relationships and the commitment to work [got us] through hard moments—and there were a lot of hard moments. A commitment, especially by non-native folks, to be in a respectful relationship with native people and us having that requirement that if we are going to be partners, this is how we expect to engage, helped lay the groundwork for a successful coalition. That’s never easy, it’s never pretty, but it was really the people-to-people relationships, those connections, that held us together even in the hard times. 

CURWOOD: You’ve spoken about your grandmother’s influence and the values that propelled you through this journey. What lessons have you learned that have motivated you to keep going?

HURLEY: My grandmother was Mancuaq; I was raised with her in Clark’s Point in Bristol Bay. And it’s hard for me not to get emotional talking about her, because even now, even in all the different experiences in my life, everything important, the most important things that have helped me navigate life in a way that has been good and, you know, really grounded in love and respect and kindness came from her. Also the ability to persevere when things are tough. She passed away in 2019. 

I obviously still miss her a lot. She provided me with the foundation of values, of how to move forward and live in this world in a good way. Our people have had those teachings for centuries—timeless, timeless teachings of what it means to be a good, real human being on the planet. And that foundation has helped me in life in invaluable and countless ways, and it continues to do so every day.

CURWOOD: What do you see for the future of Bristol Bay? 

HURLEY: The future of Bristol Bay is beautiful. We are still struggling with the impacts of colonization, but we have only begun our healing, our reclamation, our revitalization of who we are as Indigenous people. 

We have been so lucky that even through all of those challenges, our people have been able to remember and retain and still pass on our values and way of life. I feel like the potential to be a model of sustainability for the world led by Indigenous communities in modern society is boundless, and I’m really excited and hopeful that our region can shift from having to put our energy in defense of our homelands, to now help build something beautiful and tackle some of the tough issues that we’re facing.