With a computer science degree from Arizona State and a master’s in engineering from Johns Hopkins, April Tinhorn started climbing the technology ladder. She held positions of increasing importance, including her role as software engineer with IBM. Then uncertainty crept in; she began imagining her career 10, 20 years in the future, and what she envisioned was not satisfying. Tinhorn, Hualapai and Navajo, felt she was at the crossroads between opportunity and purpose. Even as a computer scientist and a calculated risk-taker, she knew it was time to veer off her carefully constructed path.
While holding a full-time job in the late 1990s, Tinhorn was approached to build a website as a side project by an organization that had been looking for a Native developer. Tinhorn decided to build the website, and then she took a leap of faith to start her own business. She felt she was getting a call — that she needed to go home — so she opened her first office on the Hualapai Reservation at the rim of the Grand Canyon.
Tinhorn Consulting started its business with web development and expanded into tribal liaison services, strategic planning, team building, and digital marketing. For almost a decade now, the business has been all about disrupting perceptions. “Disruption is an intentionally charged word meant to make folks react,” Tinhorn says. “Disrupting is positive change to me, particularly disrupting the image of Native Americans in the U.S. and globally.”
Since its inception, Tinhorn Consulting has invested in Native women business owners and entrepreneurs. The firm is at the forefront of initiatives like Project Dreamcatcher, which Tinhorn describes as a “business boot camp” that features award-winning professors and builds meaningful connections. Tinhorn leverages storytelling through social media to feature up-and-coming Native women leaders, disrupting perceptions with every posting. “Growing up, we were told that we are not destined for these different careers and opportunities,” Tinhorn says. “But we do have choices. We get to pick. I want my daughter and everyone to see this. A lot of our dreams begin with what we see.”
She is equally passionate and deeply concerned about the digital divide. When Tinhorn was invited to speak at a global conference in Mongolia, she was impressed by the breadth and quality of internet availability, even in the most remote areas. “Internet is the great equalizer. If you don’t have access, you get left behind. And we are seeing this amplified in America now.”
Tinhorn participated in the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN) fellowship program as one of the two inaugural Indigenous fellows at the ICANN conference in India, and later as a business fellow at the ICANN Forum in Johannesburg. While ICANN plays a coordinating role in the internet’s naming systems, it also has a large impact on the expansion and evolution of the internet. And the more Tinhorn understands, the more she believes she can help.
In one effort to bridge the digital divide, Tinhorn’s firm worked on a project through the FCC’s E-Rate program, which helps schools, libraries, and state agencies secure funding for technology infrastructures. “Part of our work was going out to different tribal organizations to bring awareness to this program,” Tinhorn says. “The application process is daunting, but what you can do with the funding in schools and libraries is amazing.”
Recently, Tinhorn Consulting worked with Triia, an e-consignment platform for Native American goods, art, and crafts. A successful platform was needed in response to the pandemic as Native artists and vendors who depend on festivals, art shows, and gatherings for sales continue to suffer economically. Tinhorn was brought on for a short, intense launch campaign to build trust, which was crucial, as well as awareness of the e-commerce site. “Not every artist can handle the shipping, knows how to build a website, or has access to the internet,” Tinhorn says. “It was great to help with this launch because if artists have their income, it helps our community.”
The pandemic also gave birth to Tinhorn Consulting’s “Eat, Learn and Grows,” bringing in experts to share their experiences on a range of topics. Anyone could join the virtual talking circles. The firm also has launched a webinar series focused on igniting business connections via Zoom. The aim is to help different tribal entities and organizations get back to business in new, safe, and innovative ways. “I may not code anymore, but it is still about being able to creatively problem solve any underlying issues,” Tinhorn says. “And that’s what we’re doing every day.”
In college Steve Rigdon learned lifelong lessons as a wildland firefighter. The backbreaking work pushed him to his physical limits. He learned when to fight and when to run, but the biggest lesson was spiritual and humbling. “Nobody’s been able to tame the wilderness,” he says. “Not even Native Americans.” Today as general manager of Yakama Forest Products (YFP), he knows that “what we can do is work with the forest to try to find opportunities where they may lie, be sensible about it, and create a continuous relationship.”
YFP is the only Native-owned sawmill in the Northwest, and the company manages 400,000 acres of tribal land in southwestern Washington. Each year the mill in White Swan processes 55 million board feet of ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, and grand fir that’s then sent to secondary mills to be turned into window frames, skylights, door moldings, and outdoor decking for home builders and remodelers.
Though Rigdon, Yakama Nation, fought fires and his great-grandfather helped establish the College of Forestry at Oklahoma State, in college he planned to be an engineer or teacher. But when the tribe offered to pay his tuition if he became a forester, he earned his BS in forestry and wildland conservation at the University of Washington. After starting out as a timber sales officer, he worked his way up to assistant forest manager.
“People took a chance on me and believed in me,” says Rigdon. “They wanted to build on the hard work and sacrifices of their ancestors.
I’m a product of that, and I continue to pay it forward. It’s important that our young people have the courage to believe in themselves and achieve their dreams.”
Rigdon and YFP put people ahead of profits. Though the company was established in 1996, the tribe has commercially managed its land for decades. When COVID hit this past spring, the mill closed. “It cost us dearly financially,” he recalls, but the vast computercontrolled facility had to shut down to prevent spreading the virus. “We value our labor force more than the bottom line,” says Rigdon. “Our legacy is not about money. Our legacy is about helping people. Lives are more valuable than monetary losses.”
As part of that commitment to people and the next generation, the company partnered with Heritage University in nearby Toppenish, Wash., to create Environmentors, a program that pairs high school students with business mentors who introduce them to STEM careers, lead field trips to the forest, and help with research projects.
“YFP is the one company that’s always been there for our students,” says Jessica Black, who heads the Center for Indigenous Health, Culture and the Environment at Heritage. “YFP has always made sure its people have made working with youth a priority,” she says. “They really care.”
Yakama also conducts industrial forestry educational outreach not only with the Intertribal Timber Council but also with the University of Georgia and the University of Washington. “We want our community to know we use our forests in the most responsible manner possible to make them more resilient,” says Rigdon.
Just as his ancestors worked in harmony with the forest, Rigdon sees the milling industry as a modern version of how tribes once cared for their woodlands. Throughout their history, the Yakama people beneficially applied fire to the landscape as a land management tool. “Today we are the tool that mimics the disturbances of fires, insects, and disease,” he says, pointing out that skilled foresters can manage the health of the forest more selectively than just accepting devastation caused by climate change, catastrophic fires, epidemics, and insect outbreaks.
“The timber industry is a purposeful, sustainable career option,” says Rigdon. “It allows you to be part of a team in a field that’s more important than the individual. You take the experiences, sacrifices, and teachings of our ancestors and elders and apply them to today’s technology to create something beautiful you can be proud of.”
— George M. Spencer
