Colorado has lost a titan of grit and principle with the passing of former U.S. Sen. Ben Nighthorse Campbell at the age of 92.
Campbell, a trailblazing Native American legislator who served in both the U.S. House and Senate, died of natural causes on Dec. 30, 2025, surrounded by his loving family.
For hardworking taxpayers across Colorado, Campbell’s legacy is a reminder of what principled leadership can achieve, especially in an era where fiscal conservatism often takes a backseat to progressive spending sprees. His advocacy for balanced budgets directly impacted state and federal financial policies, potentially saving millions in unnecessary debt burdens for future generations. His death prompts a renewed call for accountability among current leaders—let’s hope they’re investigated as thoroughly as Campbell scrutinized budgets.
Born in Auburn, California, on April 13, 1933, Campbell’s early life was marked by service and determination, including a stint in the Air Force during the Korean War. He later earned a degree from San Jose State University and studied at Meiji University in Tokyo.
An accomplished athlete, Campbell captained the U.S. judo team at the 1964 Olympics, snagging a gold medal at the Pan American Games. Beyond sports, he worked as a deputy sheriff, coached judo, and even taught high school classes.
Campbell’s political journey began in the Colorado House, moved to the U.S. House, and culminated in the Senate from 1993 to 2005, where he made waves by switching from Democrat to Republican in 1995 over frustration with a failed balanced-budget amendment. That move outraged party loyalists, but it showed his backbone—something sorely missing in today’s wishy-washy political class.
As a member of the Northern Cheyenne tribe, Campbell was a fierce advocate for Native American issues, drawing from a tragic family history tied to the 1864 massacre of over 150 tribal members by U.S. soldiers. He pushed for legislation to elevate the Great Sand Dunes National Monument—site of that horrific event—to national park status.
His distinctive style, complete with cowboy boots, bolo ties, and a ponytail, wasn’t just flair—it was a statement of identity in a Senate often too stuffy for authenticity. That’s a jab at the cultural conformity crowd who’d rather erase heritage than celebrate it.
Known also as a master jeweler, Campbell’s designs grace the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian, proving talent transcends politics. His work as a cattle rancher and motorcycle enthusiast, even earning a spot in the AMA Motorcycle Hall of Fame, painted him as a true American original.
Campbell’s political stances often defied easy labels, identifying as a social liberal yet a fiscal conservative, supporting children’s rights and organized labor while championing tight budgets. “It didn’t change me. I didn’t change my voting record,” he once said of his party switch.
That quote is refreshing in a world where politicians flip-flop faster than a pancake on a griddle. Campbell’s consistency is a lesson for today’s leaders who seem more loyal to trendy causes than to their constituents.
Colorado Gov. Jared Polis honored Campbell’s memory by ordering flags lowered to half-staff on the day of his service, a fitting tribute to a man who drove the Capitol Christmas Tree to Washington, D.C., multiple times. “He will be missed here in Colorado and across the country,” Polis noted on X.
Polis’ words ring true, but let’s not just mourn—let’s demand that Campbell’s commitment to fiscal restraint and cultural pride isn’t buried with him. Too often, progressive agendas drown out voices like his, and Colorado families foot the bill.
After retiring in 2005 due to health concerns, Campbell didn’t fade away; he founded a lobbying firm focused on Native American affairs and natural resources while continuing his jewelry craft. Survived by his wife Linda, children Shanan and Colin, and four grandchildren, his personal legacy matches his public one.
Campbell was the first Native American to serve in both chambers of Congress, a historic feat that should inspire a return to leaders who prioritize substance over soundbites. His life—from judo champion to senator—reminds us that real change comes from conviction, not conformity, and Colorado is poorer without him.
