FIELD NOTES #6 - A FAMILY FRIENDLY AFTERNOON

I-40 West, Northern Arizona – November 21, 2025

The relief I felt while getting pulled over by an Arizona highway patrolman instead of a tribal police officer was palpable, like a massive weight being lifted from my shoulders. 

“You know you were doing 120 in a 75, right?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I responded without any hesitation. “And I’ll take the ticket.” 

The sunburnt patrolman seemed to appreciate my sincerity. He wrote me a ticket, shot me a follow on Instagram and sent us back on I-40 toward Flagstaff. 

"Your court date is on the thirtieth in Holbrook. Take care.”

Ordinarily, I'd be bummed to get a $125 dollar speeding ticket. Not today though.

To be back in civilization – where due process exists – was truly something special. I knew the Navajo Reservation was no joke in terms of poverty, but not that its president had created a North Korea-like surveillance state wherein any journalist poking around too much would be tracked down like Julian Assange by authorities whose primary goal is to stop the press from asking about President Buu Nygren.

For context, Buu was elected in 2021 at just 32 years old, making him the youngest tribal president in U.S. history. He ran on a Zohran-style platform of replacing the ‘old guard’ of corrupt officials who shilled for uranium corporations and gave cabinet positions to their under-qualified nephews. During his campaign, Buu opened up a skatepark with Tony Hawk and seamlessly kickflipped his way into power shortly after. 

Less than a week after his victory, he imposed a total media blackout and stopped speaking to reporters. He still hasn’t done a single interview with a news outlet since taking power. His only communication with the outside world has been through a weekly Facebook broadcast or through brief quotes in the reservation’s state-owned newspaper, the aptly named ‘Nygren Times.’

The Nygren Times is a pathetic, full-color propaganda rag that has been placed in every gas station, school and feed shop on the rez. It reads like the Granma newspaper I once picked up as a teenager in Cuba, a government-funded publication dedicated to glazing the Castro regime and combating yanqui narratives. Just a series of press releases masquerading as feature stories, with dummy authors and all. 

I picked up my first copy around two days ago over at Leupp Elementary, where we were documenting the school’s full-immersion Navajo Language program and trying to stop kids from saying “six seven” to focus on the survival of their ancestral tongue. I noticed that copies of the Nygren Times were loaded into newspaper racks near all of the school’s main entrances, so I decided to give one a scan. 

The centerfold story was a juicy one – the TRUTH about the ‘missing’ $24 million dollars.

Principal Chee, a super cool dude who went out of his way to secure release forms from sixty parents prior to our arrival, saw me reading the story and chimed in. 

“You know the Navajo Times used to be there,” he said, referring to the highly respectable publication that has been operating on the reservation since 1959.

This switcheroo was likely calculated. For years, The Navajo Times have been investigating Nygren for ethics violations, sexual harassment and the misappropriation of $24 million in grant money that was supposed to go toward building affordable housing and locating the remains of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women.

The Times' reporting is thought to be the driving force behind the growing movement to remove him from office, which a majority of tribal council members voted in favor of just a few months ago.

“What do you think about Nygren, Principal Chee?” I asked him.

“No comment.”

Cameras weren’t even rolling and mic's were cold. Chee's hesitance was a bit surprising. Though as the day continued, we ran into similar roadblocks in conversation with other tribal members. The wind seemed to switch directions when we asked rudimentary questions about Buu Nygren, as if there’d be consequences behind casually discussing such matters with an outside reporter.

Yet somehow, Nygren agreed to an interview with Channel 5 a couple days ago. Why? 

Well, technically our dawg Kenneth Shirley asked his cousin to text Buu's 22-year-old niece who successfully convinced her uncle to make time for us, but the way Kenneth saw it, this was all a matter of publicity.

“He loves clout, bro."

Buu’s affinity for the flashier things in life is, according to Kenneth, a recurring joke on the rez.

For example, it’s common to point to a dilapidated structure or mangled power line and suggest that it would have been fixed if Nygren wasn’t blowing tribal funds on penthouse suites at the Bellagio or on turquoise jewelry at the Santa Fe Indian Market – sort of the Navajo equivalent to ‘thanks Obama.’ 

The stereotype of Buu as a vain hypocrite was recently reinforced when Nygren took a selfie with President Trump less than a month after Trump’s Columbus Day Proclamation, which officially de-commemorated Indigenous People’s Day, calling it the product of “left-wing radicals” who were attempting to slander “one of the most gallant and visionary men to ever walk the face of the earth.”

Bear in mind, this is a few weeks after Buu's office issued an Indigenous People's Day press release, encouraging tribal members boycott Columbus Day as a "reminder to the world that we are still here."

Oh – and also, a month after he decided to break his promise to the neighboring Havasupai Tribe by allowing a Canadian mining company called Energy Fuels Inc. to haul Uranium in-and-out of the reservation. We covered their protest earlier last year, if you guys can remember.

"So in that context, think about it," Kenneth explained. "Buu probably assumes you don't know about any of this shit and that you're just making a documentary about the language. So this is his chance to be a hero to 3 million YouTube subscribers who probably won't do the extra research to see what he's really about."

To Buu's credit, Navajo language preservation is one field in which his administration has excelled. In the December of 2024, he made it the Nation's official language and has allocated a great deal of funding to language-immersion programs across reservation.

It all began to make perfect sense. Nygren wanted to use Channel 5 as a reputation laundering service, much like Donald Trump did with Joe Rogan and Theo Von during his last campaign.

"Alright, got it," I told Kenneth. "What time is our appointment?"

“Buu’s assistant confirmed that we can start at 3:30.”

We were standing together outside of presidential office in Window Rock, an adobe building adorned with the tribe's circular seal.

Suddenly, we began to hear the harsh crackle of truck tires barreling down a nearby gravel road. An unmarked Chevy Silverado emerged from a cloud of dust, pulled in and screeched to a halt a few feet behind us.

"Navajo Nation Film Office!" two uniformed men announced. "Put the cameras down and present your permits immediately."

Kenneth looked puzzled. Permits? The men rushed toward us with rage in their eyes. One was a built, stubby man wearing a full-face gaiter like an I.C.E. agent. The other was a wiry, stoned-looking teenager with a scraggly neckbeard.

"We don't need filming permits. I am from the reservation, here's my tribal I.D. card," Kenneth told them. They barely glanced down at his I.D.

"That doesn't matter, you brought these guys," the stubby one said, pointing to me and our two-man crew. "And we can't have more outsiders coming and trying to make content without being authorized through the proper channels. Too many content creators come to the reservation, film our people, and we see nothing from it."

He continued with a self-righteous monologue about 'poverty porn' that anyone with half a brain could tell was a steaming crock of horse shit. There is no budding industry of content creation revolving around Native reservations. Liberals are too shrouded in settler guilt to cover Rez issues and conservatives just don't care. Native-related videos are consistently the lowest-engaged-with pieces of content on our channel. There was obviously a deeper motive behind this confrontation. Kenneth cut him off mid-sentence.

"Alright look man, here is an email I got fifteen minutes ago from the secretary of the literal sitting president of the Navajo Nation, confirming an interview with Buu that is supposed to be right now. Can we please just go inside?"

As Kenneth held his phone up to show the stubby 'media rep' his email confirmation, his scraggly companion interjected with a veiled threat that would have been scary if it didn't look like he'd faced six backwoods before his shift.

"We know who you are and where you live."

"What?" Kenneth asked.

The scraggly bastard's reply was stern.

"No film permit, no interview with Nygren."

One of them went and fetched a clipboard from the truck with permit application paperwork attached, put a ball-point pen in Kenneth's hand and stared him down ferociously.

"And what happens if I don't fill this out?"

"We'll wipe your memory cards and you'll all be detained."

Without hesitation, Kenneth began filling out the forms. The footage on these cards – most of which was shot at local elementary schools – was too solid to lose. As Ken scribbled away, I decided to ask the officials a clarifying question.

"So when will we know if our filming permit is approved or denied?" I asked.

"Probably within a couple hours."

"And what happens if it gets denied?"

"Well, you'll have to give us your memory cards."

At that exact moment, I connected the dots and figured out what was happening. The 'Navajo Nation Film Office,' who issue all filming permits on the reservation, work directly for Buu Nygren. Nygren, who, again, hasn't talked to a single journalist since his election, has a vested interest in making sure that we don't ask him about the $24 Million, Trump, Energy Fuels Inc., the Nygren Times, or all of the other things that folks on the Rez are terrified to speak about. He has deployed these two misfits to both rattle us and initiate a permit application process that, if denied, would result in the destruction of our footage. Now who has the supreme authority to deny our application? Buu does!

This meant that we were walking into an interview where any perceived sleight or hardball question would mean that our entire shoot be wiped from the face of the earth. Checkmate. And worst of all, this is all enabled by a tribal permitting system that was intended to benefit Native Americans from exploitation by Hollywood's spaghetti Western-industrial complex.

"Alright, should be all done," Kenneth said, then handed the clipboard back the non-homies.

After snapping a few iPhone photos of our group, the media reps drove off and left us to our appointment. Like clockwork, the double-doors of Buu's presidential office swung open. A plump young professional in a quarter-zip emerged to greet us. Apparently, he'd been watching that whole interaction unfold.

"Man, that so was crazy!" he exclaimed. "Who even were those guys?"

Window Rock has a population of 2,300 people and 'those guys' work at the office directly next door. The notion that this young man didn't know exactly what was going down was so laughable that we could barely keep it together. Still, we kept it P.

"I know, right?" I replied. "My name is Andrew Callaghan, it's so great to meet you. What's your name?"

"So my name is James, I am Buu Nygren's assistant. Go ahead and set up in his office and the President will be with you shortly."

James escorted us into Buu's office, a wood-paneled room where no journalist has been before. On his desk, there was a laminated print-out of his Trump selfie next to a white statue of Mormon prophet Joseph Smith.

We carefully set up our studio lights around his personal items and moved a few chairs around to create a decent two-chair, three-camera setup.

"Bro. I can't believe this is actually happening right now," Kenneth said as we laid the final touches. "No pressure, but you got the whole Rez on your back."

I sat in my chair across from the seat where Buu would soon be sitting, imagining myself talking to him, delicately asking a question about his 'haters' that may lead to an unprovoked rant about the missing $24 million in a way that gives me the material I need without setting off any alarms.

James walked back into the office to check on us. At that point, it was nearly thirty minutes past our schedule time and Buu was nowhere to be found. We were getting a bit squirrely.

"Hey James, any idea when he'll be here?"

"He's just in a meeting right now, he will be in shortly after."

I looked over at our producer Juan, who was anxiously looking down at his iPhone in a way that always means bad news. He walked over and handed me his phone. It was a press release from the Navajo Nation Council issued less than an hour prior:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Special Prosecutor Kyle T. Nayback filed a formal ethics complaint in the Navajo Nation District Court, alleging multiple violations of the Navajo Nation Ethics in Government Law by Navajo Nation President Buu Nygren. The complaint outlines a series of alleged governmental misconduct between January 2023 and May 2025. The complaint seeks remedies that includes the immediate removal of President Nygren from office, disqualification from public office for five years, forfeiture of compensation for 30 days to one year, public reprimand, and a requirement to pay restitution to the Navajo Nation.

"What the fuck?" I whispered to Juan, assuming that Buu's office was wired for audio. "That's happening right now?"

"Yes."

The 'meeting' that James said Nygren was attending was actually a Special Prosecutor disposition happening less than three doors down from his office.

Right on time, quarter-zip James walked back in.

"Hey guys. I regret to inform you that the president cannot see you today."

"What the fuck, why?" I asked.

"We feel that your content isn't family friendly."

Fair enough.

AC