Rosalie Fish first captured national attention in 2019 when she ran across the finish line at the NAIA Outdoor Track and Field National Championships with a red handprint painted across her mouth and the letters “MMIW” on her leg. The image spread rapidly across social media and news outlets, introducing many Americans to both a talented Indigenous athlete and a crisis that had long been ignored outside Native communities. Her story is one of athletic achievement, cultural pride, and an unwavering commitment to using her platform to advocate for missing and murdered Indigenous women.
Fish, a member of the Cowlitz Tribe of Washington State, grew up in the Seattle area before attending Iowa’s Central College to compete in cross country and track. Her decision to become a visible advocate was not a momentary protest but a deliberate choice rooted in her identity, her family’s teachings, and a sense of responsibility to Indigenous women across North America. Understanding her journey means understanding both the barriers Indigenous athletes face and the power of sports as a platform for social change.
Early Life and Cultural Foundations
Fish was raised with a strong connection to her Cowlitz heritage. The Cowlitz Tribe, originally from the Pacific Northwest, has a long history of resilience and cultural preservation despite decades of displacement and attempted assimilation. Her family ensured she understood her identity from a young age, taking her to powwows, teaching her traditional crafts, and sharing stories about the tribe’s history.
In interviews, Fish has described how her mother and grandmother instilled in her the importance of speaking up for those who could not speak for themselves. This principle would later become central to her activism. Growing up, she participated in tribal events and maintained close ties with her extended family and community, grounding her in a sense of belonging that many urban Indigenous youth struggle to maintain.
Fish began running in middle school and quickly discovered both a talent and a passion for the sport. Running became more than physical activity. It became a way to process emotions, set goals, and carve out space for herself in environments where Indigenous representation was often scarce. By the time she reached high school, she was competing at a level that caught the attention of college recruiters.
The Decision to Compete in College
Choosing to attend Central College in Pella, Iowa, meant leaving behind her support network and moving to a state with a significantly smaller Indigenous population. For many Native students, predominantly white institutions can feel isolating. Fish had to navigate being one of the few Indigenous people on campus while also managing the demands of being a student-athlete.
She joined Central’s cross country and track teams under the guidance of coach Brandon Sturman, who supported both her athletic development and her advocacy work. The college environment presented challenges, including moments where classmates or competitors lacked awareness of Indigenous issues. However, Fish also found allies and used these moments as opportunities to educate others.
Balancing athletics with academics and cultural responsibilities required careful time management and emotional energy. Fish majored in psychology and planned to eventually pursue graduate studies, maintaining a focus on her future even while becoming increasingly visible as an activist. Her discipline on the track translated to her studies, and vice versa. Both required persistence, patience, and the ability to push through discomfort.
Understanding the MMIW Crisis
Before Fish brought national attention to the issue, the crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women had been escalating for decades with minimal media coverage or political response. Indigenous women face murder rates more than ten times the national average in some regions. Many cases go uninvestigated or unsolved due to jurisdictional confusion between tribal, state, and federal authorities, as well as systemic neglect and prejudice.
The acronym MMIW stands for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, though advocates often expand it to MMIWG2S to include girls and Two-Spirit individuals. The movement to raise awareness began in Canada through grassroots organizing by Indigenous women and families who had lost loved ones. The red handprint over the mouth has become a symbol of the movement, representing the voices silenced by violence and the silence of institutions that fail to act.
Fish learned about the crisis through her community and through independent research. She read about cases like that of Savanna LaFontaine-Greywind, a pregnant Spirit Lake Tribe member murdered in North Dakota in 2017, and the thousands of other Indigenous women whose disappearances received little attention compared to cases involving white women. This knowledge weighed on her, and she felt compelled to act.
The 2019 NAIA National Championships
Fish qualified for the 2019 NAIA Outdoor Track and Field National Championships in the 3000-meter steeplechase and the 1500-meter run. She had been thinking about how to use the platform for advocacy and decided that the national stage was the right moment. With the help of her teammate and friend Tristin Kiel, she applied the red handprint and painted the letters on her body before competing.
The reaction was immediate. Photographs of Fish running with the symbols visible on her skin circulated widely. Reporters asked her about the meaning behind the imagery, and she used every interview as an opportunity to educate viewers about MMIW. She spoke clearly and passionately, naming the issue and calling for action.
Fish went on to become an NAIA national champion in the 3000-meter steeplechase and earned All-American honors. Her victory gave her an even larger platform. In post-race interviews, she continued to redirect attention to the cause, refusing to let her athletic achievement overshadow the reason for her protest. This approach demonstrated the deliberate and strategic nature of her activism. She was not seeking attention for herself but using her moment in the spotlight to amplify a message.
Indigenous Representation in College Sports
Fish’s visibility as an Indigenous athlete highlighted a broader issue in American sports. Indigenous people are significantly underrepresented in college athletics, and those who do compete often face stereotypes, tokenization, and ignorance. Mascots and team names that use Native imagery contribute to an environment where Indigenous students are seen as symbols rather than individuals.
For Fish, running with the MMIW symbols was a way to reclaim visibility on her own terms. Rather than being erased or reduced to a caricature, she presented herself as a proud Indigenous woman with something important to say. Her presence at nationals challenged assumptions about who belongs in collegiate sports and what Indigenous athletes can accomplish.
She has spoken about the importance of seeing other Indigenous athletes succeed. Representation matters not only for the athletes themselves but for Native youth who may not have considered sports as a path. Fish has encouraged young Indigenous runners to pursue their goals while staying connected to their communities and cultures, showing that success does not require assimilation or erasure.
Advocacy Beyond the Track
After her initial protest, Fish continued to speak about MMIW and Indigenous issues. She participated in events, gave interviews, and used social media to share information and resources. Her advocacy extended beyond raising awareness to supporting concrete policy changes, including improved data collection on missing Indigenous persons, better coordination between law enforcement agencies, and stronger protections for Indigenous women and girls.
Fish has emphasized that awareness is only the first step. She encourages people to learn about the issue, support Indigenous-led organizations, and contact elected officials to demand action. She has highlighted organizations like the National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center and Native Hope, which work on the front lines of these issues.
In addition to her work on MMIW, Fish has spoken about other challenges facing Indigenous communities, including environmental justice, mental health, and educational access. Her holistic approach reflects an understanding that these issues are interconnected and that addressing violence against Indigenous women requires addressing the broader systems that marginalize Indigenous peoples.
Legacy and Continuing Impact
Rosalie Fish’s story is still being written. She has inspired other athletes to use their platforms for advocacy, showing that sports and activism can coexist. Her example has been particularly meaningful for Indigenous athletes who may have felt they had to choose between their athletic pursuits and their cultural identities.
The impact of her visibility extends beyond sports. By bringing MMIW into mainstream conversations, she contributed to a growing movement that has led to legislative action, including the passage of Savanna’s Act and the Not Invisible Act in the United States. These laws aim to improve coordination between agencies, increase data collection, and address the crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous people. While no single action can solve such a deeply rooted problem, each step forward matters.
Fish continues to run, study, and advocate. She has shared that she hopes her legacy will be one of service to her community rather than personal fame. Her focus remains on the women and families affected by violence, and she approaches her platform with humility and responsibility.
How to Support the MMIW Movement
For those inspired by Fish’s story and wanting to take action, there are several meaningful ways to support the MMIW movement. Education is the starting point. Learning about the history of violence against Indigenous women, the jurisdictional complexities that hinder investigations, and the specific cases in your region can help break the silence that allows this crisis to continue.
Supporting Indigenous-led organizations is another critical step. Groups like the National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center, Native Women’s Shelter of Montreal, and grassroots organizations in your area are doing the day-to-day work of supporting families, advocating for policy change, and providing resources. Financial contributions, volunteering, and amplifying their work on social media all make a difference.
Contacting elected officials to express support for legislation addressing MMIW is a concrete action. Ask your representatives to support funding for tribal law enforcement, improved data systems, and programs that address the root causes of violence against Indigenous women. The more voices join this call, the harder it becomes to ignore.
Finally, challenge stereotypes and misinformation when you encounter them. The erasure of Indigenous peoples in media and popular culture contributes to the indifference that allows violence to continue. Speaking up in conversations, sharing accurate information, and centering Indigenous voices all contribute to a culture where Indigenous women are seen, valued, and protected.
Navigating College Recruitment as an Indigenous Student-Athlete
The path from high school athletics to collegiate competition presents unique challenges for Indigenous athletes that extend beyond the typical recruiting concerns of performance times and academic qualifications. Fish’s experience recruiting to Central College illuminates structural barriers many Native students face when pursuing athletics at predominantly white institutions. College recruiters rarely maintain consistent relationships with schools on or near reservations, and recruiting pipelines tend to bypass Native communities entirely. Many Indigenous student-athletes find themselves discovered almost by accident rather than through systematic scouting.
Fish had to proactively reach out to coaches and programs, sending emails, making calls, and advocating for herself in spaces where Indigenous representation was minimal. The financial burden of campus visits posed another obstacle. While some programs cover official visits, unofficial visits during the decision-making process often fall to families. For students from communities facing economic disparities, these costs can eliminate options before the process fully begins. Fish navigated these hurdles with family support, but not all Indigenous athletes have access to the same resources or guidance.
The cultural isolation that can follow recruitment decisions compounds these challenges. Once on campus, Indigenous athletes may encounter well-meaning but ignorant questions about their identity, assumptions about their background, or complete erasure in conversations about diversity. Some find themselves tokenized, asked to represent all Native people in classroom discussions or campus events without compensation or consideration for the emotional labor involved. Others face more overt hostility, including racist mascots and fans who dismiss Indigenous concerns as oversensitivity. Fish’s decision to attend Central College required weighing these possibilities against athletic opportunities, a calculation many Indigenous student-athletes must make with limited information about the campus climate they will encounter.
The Training Demands of Distance Running at the Collegiate Level
Competing in distance events like the 3000-meter steeplechase and 1500-meter run requires a training regimen that transforms an athlete’s daily life. Fish’s training schedule during her collegiate career involved morning runs before classes, afternoon workouts focused on speed and endurance, strength training sessions, and recovery protocols including stretching, foam rolling, and adequate sleep. The steeplechase, her signature event, adds technical complexity to the physical demands. Athletes must clear 28-inch barriers, including a water jump, seven times per lap while maintaining race pace. The event requires not only cardiovascular fitness but coordination, timing, and the ability to absorb the impact of landing in water after each barrier.
Collegiate distance runners often log 50 to 70 miles per week during peak training phases. This volume places significant stress on bones, joints, and connective tissue, requiring careful periodization to prevent injury. Coaches monitor training loads and adjust workouts based on how athletes respond. Fish worked with Coach Brandon Sturman to balance pushing her limits with allowing adequate recovery. The mental aspect of distance training also demands attention. Long training runs can become monotonous, and race performances depend on the ability to tolerate discomfort for extended periods. Many distance runners develop mental strategies, including mantras, visualization techniques, and segmented thinking, to manage the psychological demands of competition.
Nutrition plays a critical role in supporting training at this level. Collegiate athletes must fuel their bodies adequately to support recovery and performance while managing the logistical challenges of dining hall food, limited cooking facilities in dorms, and the time constraints of a student-athlete schedule. Fish balanced these demands while maintaining her academic responsibilities as a psychology major and her commitment to advocacy work. The discipline required to manage all these elements simultaneously mirrors the persistence her activism demands. Both require showing up consistently, pushing through difficulty, and maintaining focus on long-term goals despite immediate discomfort.
The Symbolic Power of Athletic Protest
Fish’s decision to compete with the red handprint and MMIW letters positioned her within a tradition of athlete activism that spans decades and crosses sports. The relationship between athletics and political expression has always been complicated. Athletes possess unique visibility, their bodies displayed on screens and their performances celebrated in public forums. This visibility makes athletic spaces potent sites for protest, but it also exposes athlete-activists to significant backlash. The history of Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising their fists at the 1968 Olympics, of Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf refusing to stand for the national anthem, of Colin Kaepernick kneeling, demonstrates both the power and the risk of using athletic platforms for social commentary.
What distinguished Fish’s protest was its integration into her body itself. The red paint transformed her skin into a canvas, making the message inseparable from her physical presence as she competed. Unlike a sign held during a podium ceremony or words spoken in an interview, the handprint and letters moved with her through every stride. This choice meant the message could not be cropped from images or edited from footage. It forced viewers to confront the reality it represented even as they watched her athletic achievement. The discomfort some viewers felt reflected the power of this approach. Silence around MMIW had persisted partly because the issue could be ignored. Fish made ignoring it impossible for anyone watching her race.
The response to her protest revealed the double standard often applied to Indigenous advocacy. While some praised her courage and the effectiveness of her approach, others criticized her for bringing politics into sports. This criticism reflects a broader pattern where advocacy by Indigenous people and other marginalized groups is labeled political and therefore inappropriate, while the status quo that marginalizes them is treated as neutral. Fish’s calm, consistent responses to critics demonstrated her preparation for this reaction. She had anticipated the pushback and chosen to proceed anyway, understanding that the discomfort her protest generated was precisely the point. Silence had not protected Indigenous women. Perhaps visible discomfort could spur action where quiet acceptance had failed.
Jurisdictional Complexity and the MMIW Crisis
Understanding why the crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women persists requires grappling with the jurisdictional maze that governs law enforcement in and around Indigenous communities. The legal framework created by the Major Crimes Act of 1885, Public Law 280, and subsequent court decisions has produced a system where responsibility for investigating crimes depends on the location of the crime, the identity of the victim and perpetrator, and the nature of the offense. In many cases, this means no single agency has clear authority, or multiple agencies have overlapping authority that leads to confusion and finger-pointing rather than effective investigation.
On many reservations, tribal courts have limited jurisdiction over crimes committed by non-Natives. The Violence Against Women Act of 2013 restored some tribal jurisdiction over domestic violence cases involving non-Native perpetrators, but this authority remains limited and does not extend to other violent crimes. When an Indigenous woman goes missing or is found murdered, determining who has authority to investigate can delay critical early response. If a crime occurs on tribal land but involves a non-Native perpetrator, if the victim is Native but the crime occurs off-reservation, if the perpetrator’s identity is unknown, these variables trigger different legal frameworks that can leave families navigating a labyrinth of agencies, none of which take full responsibility.
Data collection failures compound these jurisdictional problems. Many law enforcement agencies do not consistently record the tribal affiliation of victims or perpetrators. The FBI’s National Crime Information Center has improved its data on missing Indigenous persons, but gaps remain. Some cases fall through the cracks entirely, never entered into databases that might connect patterns or alert investigators to serial perpetrators. Families searching for missing loved ones often find themselves passed from agency to agency, each claiming another has jurisdiction. The emotional toll of this bureaucratic maze, layered onto the grief and fear of having a missing family member, adds institutional betrayal to personal tragedy. Fish’s advocacy has emphasized that legislative fixes like Savanna’s Act and the Not Invisible Act represent progress, but their implementation requires sustained attention and funding to close the gaps that have allowed this crisis to continue.
The Mental Health Dimensions of Indigenous Student-Athlete Experience
The intersecting pressures faced by Indigenous student-athletes create mental health challenges that deserve more attention than they typically receive. Fish has spoken about the emotional weight of being a visible advocate while managing athletic competition and academic responsibilities. This burden falls disproportionately on Indigenous students at predominantly white institutions, who often find themselves in the position of educating classmates, teammates, and coaches about Indigenous issues while simultaneously processing their own feelings about these topics.
The concept of cultural taxation describes this phenomenon. Indigenous students are frequently asked to serve on diversity committees, participate in cultural events, and provide the Indigenous perspective in class discussions, all without recognition that this labor adds to their workload and emotional burden. Student-athletes face additional pressures. The time demands of training and competition already leave little margin for additional commitments. When advocacy work gets added to this mix, the result can be exhaustion, burnout, or mental health struggles. Fish navigated these pressures while also processing the emotional weight of the issue she championed. Engaging consistently with stories of violence against Indigenous women, hearing from families who had lost loved ones, and fielding media questions about traumatic topics requires emotional resources that competing demands can deplete.
Support systems make a critical difference. Fish has credited her family, coach, and teammates with helping her manage these pressures. The presence of allies who understood her commitments and supported her advocacy reduced the isolation that many Indigenous students feel. However, not all Indigenous student-athletes have access to similar support. The mental health resources available on college campuses may not include providers with experience in Indigenous cultural contexts or understanding of historical trauma. Fish’s openness about these challenges has helped bring attention to the need for mental health support tailored to Indigenous student experiences, including spaces where Indigenous students can process their experiences without having to explain or justify their feelings.
Building Sustainable Advocacy Platforms as a Student
One of the most challenging aspects of Fish’s story, and one that receives less attention than her protest itself, is how she sustained her advocacy while completing her education and athletic career. The burst of attention following the 2019 championships could have been a single moment that faded as news cycles moved on. Instead, Fish developed a sustained practice of advocacy that integrated with her life as a student. This required intentionality, boundaries, and a clear sense of purpose that extended beyond reaction to immediate events.
Sustainable advocacy begins with clarifying goals and limits. Fish focused on MMIW as her primary issue, using her platform to direct attention and resources to that cause rather than attempting to address every issue affecting Indigenous communities. This focus allowed her to develop depth of knowledge, build relationships with organizations working on the issue, and speak with authority in interviews and appearances. She also learned to assess opportunities, choosing those that aligned with her goals rather than accepting every request that came her way. The willingness to say no, even to worthwhile opportunities, protects against burnout and ensures that advocacy remains effective rather than depleting the advocate.
Integration with existing commitments also matters. Fish found ways to incorporate her advocacy into her academic work, using her psychology studies to deepen her understanding of trauma and healing. She connected her advocacy with her athletic discipline, drawing parallels between the persistence required in distance running and the persistence needed to sustain attention on MMIW. These connections made advocacy feel less like an additional burden and more like an extension of her existing identity. For other student-athletes considering advocacy work, Fish’s example demonstrates that integration matters more than volume. A consistent, focused voice contributing to existing movements can be more sustainable and effective than attempting to lead every charge. The goal is not to do everything but to contribute meaningfully to something, in ways that can be maintained alongside other responsibilities.
Indigenous Women in Distance Running: A Broader Context
While Fish’s achievements stand on their own merit, placing them in the context of Indigenous women’s history in distance running reveals deeper patterns of excellence and perseverance. Indigenous women have long been underrepresented in elite distance running despite cultural traditions that value endurance and persistence. The barriers include economic constraints that limit access to training facilities and competition opportunities, geographic isolation of many Indigenous communities, and the recruiting biases that overlook Native athletes. Yet Indigenous women have carved out space in the sport, often while carrying additional responsibilities that their non-Native competitors may not face.
The Native American running tradition runs deep. Many tribal cultures incorporate running into ceremonies, daily life, and spiritual practice. Running as prayer, running as connection to land, running as community responsibility, these traditions predate modern competitive running and continue to influence how Indigenous runners approach the sport. Fish has spoken about the meaning running holds beyond competition, connecting her athletic practice to her cultural identity. This perspective differs from approaches that treat running purely as a means to competitive success. For Indigenous runners, the sport can carry layers of meaning that include but extend beyond performance metrics.
Contemporary Indigenous distance runners are building networks of support and representation. Social media has enabled Indigenous runners to connect across distances, share training tips, celebrate achievements, and encourage young runners. Representation at the collegiate level matters for this ecosystem. When young Indigenous runners see athletes like Fish competing at national championships, the possibility becomes concrete rather than abstract. The path from reservation or urban Indigenous community to college athletics becomes visible and navigable. Fish has engaged with this mentorship role, speaking to young runners and encouraging them to pursue their goals without abandoning their cultural identities. Her message emphasizes that success does not require assimilation, that Indigenous runners can compete at high levels while remaining connected to their communities and traditions.
Frequently Asked Questions
Who is Rosalie Fish and why is she significant?
Rosalie Fish is a Cowlitz tribal member and college athlete who gained national attention in 2019 for competing in the NAIA Track and Field National Championships with a red handprint and MMIW painted on her body. She used her platform to raise awareness about missing and murdered Indigenous women, becoming both an NAIA national champion and a prominent advocate for Indigenous rights.
What does the red handprint symbolize?
The red handprint across the mouth has become a symbol of the MMIW movement. It represents the silence imposed on Indigenous women through violence and the silence of institutions that fail to investigate or address these crimes. The symbol has been used in protests, art, and advocacy to demand justice for missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and Two-Spirit individuals.
What are some barriers to solving MMIW cases?
Solving MMIW cases is complicated by several factors, including jurisdictional confusion between tribal, state, and federal law enforcement; underfunding of tribal police departments; lack of comprehensive data on missing Indigenous persons; and bias that leads to cases being dismissed or deprioritized. Advocates are pushing for better coordination, improved data systems, and increased resources for investigations.
How can I learn more about Indigenous issues?
Start by seeking out Indigenous voices and sources. Follow Indigenous journalists, activists, and organizations on social media. Read books and articles by Indigenous authors. Attend events hosted by local Indigenous communities if invited. Look for educational resources from organizations like the Native American Rights Fund and the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian. Approach learning with humility and a willingness to listen.
What legislation exists to address the MMIW crisis?
In the United States, Savanna’s Act and the Not Invisible Act were both signed into law in 2020. Savanna’s Act aims to improve law enforcement coordination and data collection on missing Indigenous persons. The Not Invisible Act established a joint commission to develop recommendations for addressing violent crime against Indigenous peoples. These laws represent progress, but advocates emphasize that implementation and additional action are needed.
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