Operation Not Forgotten: A Band-Aid on Native America's Pain?

The numbers hit like a gut punch. Over 4,300 open FBI investigations into violent crimes in Indian Country at the start of this fiscal year, with more than 900 tied to deaths and 1,500 linked to child abuse or sexual violence. These aren’t just statistics; they’re lives shattered, families broken, and communities left to bear the weight of a justice system that too often looks the other way. On April 1, 2025, the Department of Justice announced Operation Not Forgotten, a surge of 60 FBI personnel to 10 field offices to tackle this epidemic of violence against American Indian and Alaska Native people. It’s a bold move, no question, and one that promises accountability where it’s been desperately lacking.

But here’s the catch: it’s temporary. Six months, 90-day rotations, and then what? The longest and most intense deployment of FBI resources to Indian Country yet, they say, and still it feels like a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. For too long, Native communities have been screaming into a void about missing loved ones, murdered kin, and a violence that stalks their daily lives at rates most Americans can’t fathom. Homicide is a top killer for Native women, nearly four times higher than for white individuals. This isn’t a new crisis; it’s an old one, festering through decades of neglect, and Operation Not Forgotten, while a start, can’t be the end.

I’m not here to pat the Justice Department on the back for finally noticing. I’m here to demand more. This operation, with its forensic tools and U.S. Attorneys ready to prosecute, is what justice should look like every day, not just for six months. Native people deserve a system that doesn’t treat their pain as a seasonal priority, and we’ve got to ask: why does it take a splashy press release to get this kind of action?

Operation Not Forgotten isn’t working alone. The FBI’s teaming up with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and Tribal law enforcement, a partnership that’s already shown its teeth. In the past two years, this initiative has backed over 500 cases, recovered 10 child victims, and locked up 52 perpetrators. That’s real impact; kids brought home, families given answers. The latest phase builds on that, targeting field offices from Albuquerque to Seattle, places where Native communities have long begged for help. Add in the MMIP Regional Outreach Program, with its attorneys and coordinators embedded across five regions, and you’ve got a framework that could actually work.

Collaboration is the key here. The Safe Trails Task Forces, linking federal agents with Tribal police, have been grinding away at this for years, navigating a jurisdictional mess that’s tripped up justice since the Major Crimes Act of 1885. A 2022 agreement with the BIA clarified who does what, and it’s paying off. Operation Not Forgotten’s third deployment is proof: 25 indictments, 40 arrests, nine more kids saved. These aren’t abstract wins; they’re human lives pulled back from the brink. The FBI’s 200 agents dedicated to Indian Country, armed with cutting-edge forensics, are making a dent where silence once reigned.

Yet the temporary nature of this surge gnaws at me. Why stop at six months when the data screams for permanence? From 2021 to 2023, over 25,000 violent crimes against Native women were reported, and that’s likely just the tip of the iceberg, given spotty data collection. Historical trends are even bleaker; back in the ‘90s, Native people faced violence at more than double the national rate. This isn’t a problem you fix with a short-term blitz. It’s a systemic failure demanding a systemic answer, and anything less feels like a betrayal of the trust these partnerships are trying to build.

Some might argue this is about resources, that the FBI can’t sustain this level of focus indefinitely. To that, I say: find a way. Native communities aren’t asking for charity; they’re demanding what’s owed after centuries of broken promises. The Trump-era Executive Order 13898 kicked off this effort, sure, but let’s not kid ourselves into thinking it was altruism. It was a headline grabber, and now it’s on us to turn it into something lasting, not a political football kicked down the road.

The MMIP program’s outreach, with its trauma-informed approach, shows what’s possible when the feds actually listen. Five regional teams, working with Tribes and local cops, have cracked cases and raised awareness. But without locking in efforts like Operation Not Forgotten, we’re just spinning our wheels. Native advocates have been clear: temporary surges are better than nothing, but they’re not enough. Justice isn’t a guest star; it’s got to live here.

Let’s talk history, because this didn’t start yesterday. Over 84% of Native women have faced violence in their lifetimes, a 2016 study found, with sexual assault scarring too many. Homicide’s been a leading cause of death for Native girls and women under 45 for decades. From 1992 to 2001, violent crime hit Native people at 101 per 1,000, while the rest of the country sat at 41. Alcohol, poverty, and outsiders preying on these communities fuel the fire, but don’t mistake this for inevitability. It’s the fallout of forced displacement, treaty violations, and a government that’s often treated Native lives as disposable.

Operation Not Forgotten is a flicker of hope in that dark legacy. It’s the FBI, BIA, and Tribal cops saying, ‘We see you, and we’re coming for the monsters.’ But hope’s a fragile thing when it’s got an expiration date. The Not Invisible Act Commission and Executive Order 14053 laid out the playbook: sustained resources, cultural respect, real coordination. The MMIP program’s been running with that, hosting outreach events and pushing for better data. So why cap this surge at six months when the need stretches back generations?

Opponents might claim permanence costs too much, that the feds can’t stretch thin budgets further. But what’s the cost of doing nothing? More missing sisters, more murdered sons, more grief piled on a people who’ve carried enough. The Justice Department’s own stats show the crisis: 4,300 cases today, and that’s with underreporting. Native voices aren’t asking for a favor; they’re demanding a reckoning. Operation Not Forgotten proves we can deliver, so let’s stop pretending half-measures are heroic.

Here’s what it boils down to: Native communities can’t keep waiting for justice to show up on a six-month lease. Operation Not Forgotten is a lifeline, pulling kids out of danger and putting criminals behind bars. It’s the kind of effort that should’ve been standard years ago, not a special operation rolled out with fanfare. The FBI, BIA, and Tribal law enforcement have the tools, the will, and the results, 52 arrests, 10 kids saved, to prove it works. Now it’s time to make it permanent.

This isn’t about politics or optics; it’s about people. Mothers who’ve lost daughters, kids who’ve lost parents, Tribes who’ve lost trust in a system that’s failed them too long. Operation Not Forgotten can’t just be a chapter; it’s got to be the new normal. Anything less, and we’re admitting that Native lives are still negotiable. They’re not. Let’s fight for a justice that stays.