Preparing Tax Returns in Remote Alaska Showed Pro Bono’s Value

While friends and colleagues were planning spring break trips to warmer climates, I went to Alaska in late February to prepare tax returns in remote villages. I agreed to this unusual pro bono work because it offered adventure, an opportunity to learn about a new culture, and a chance to help people.

What I didn’t fully appreciate at the time was just how completely the trip would deliver on all three.

It’s a cliché that volunteering benefits the volunteer as much as the community, but clichés exist for a reason. I arrived in Alaska believing I was bringing a skill set that could make a difference. I left with a much deeper understanding of how profoundly people can care for one another, even in the harshest conditions and with the fewest resources.

I traveled as part of a six-person team selected to represent the ABA Tax Section, visiting two remote tribal villages in western Alaska with Harvard Law School lecturer Mandi Matlock and former Maryland Taxpayer Advocate Elena Fowlkes, where we prepared over 150 tax returns. We left Anchorage on Feb. 22 for Bethel (pop. 6,335). From there, we were scheduled to board a six-seater plane to Goodnews Bay (pop. 258), or Mamterat in the local Yupik language.

Thwarted by the whiteout conditions, with Bethel’s only hotel fully booked, we spent the night in a local church that took us in on a moment’s notice and provided cots, warm showers, and a stocked kitchen. It was our first taste of the generosity we would encounter again and again in Alaska.

The weather still wasn’t cooperating the following morning and wasn’t expected to clear up the rest of the day. To avoid losing more time that could be spent helping taxpayers, we were re-routed to our second village on the “ice road,” otherwise known as the frozen Kuskokwim River. Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves in Napaskiak, another Yupik village (pop. 509), where we set up our makeshift return preparation office in the repair shop of the local tribal office.

Once word spread that the tax preparers had arrived, groups of villagers flooded the office with their tax records, along with warmth, laughter, and easy conversation. A group of women tried to teach us Yupik words and phrases, a small child doodled on our brochures, and one taxpayer after another shared their lives and stories as we helped them file their returns.

We began the day at 9 a.m. and worked until 9 or 10 p.m. each night. Yet the days flew by.

Any anxiety I may have had about asking complete strangers about their family structure and financial status was erased by the relief that came with telling them they would be receiving a refund. Much of western Alaska lives well below the national poverty line, and while state and tribal dividends help, almost every family I met struggled to make ends meet and relied on the earned income tax credit and/or the child tax credit to help them through the long winter months.

For one of my clients, his refund meant affording to repair his boat’s motor, which had been flooded during a 2025 tsunami, allowing him to fish again come spring. For another, it meant affording a wedding with his fiancée after a year of unimaginable grief—they had lost a child the year before.

Despite these hardships, the people of Napaskiak were incredibly generous. Their strong sense of community even extended to us, three temporary visitors.

The local priest and his wife drove us home on their snowmobile one night when the tribal office ATV wouldn’t start (because it was minus 25 degrees). A school cafeteria worker saved us pasta and meatballs from lunch one day so we’d have something to eat when we returned to the school, where we slept that night. No fewer than three villagers offered to drive us back to Bethel when our original ride couldn’t make it because of our scheduling changes.

When we finally were able to fly into Goodnews Bay, with a terrifying landing on an air strip covered in ice, the villagers continued to surround us with kindness. The tribal office administrator and her boyfriend, both barely old enough to vote, happily shuttled us back and forth from the office to the local school that served as our lodging.

One taxpayer, inspired by our interest in the local subsistence farming and hunting culture, came back the day after we completed her return to gift us meat from a moose her family had just hunted. Others proudly showed us the crafts, sealskin hats, and jewelry they made—many of which we purchased as reminders of our amazing journey.

I have such gratitude for the people of Napaskiak and Goodnews Bay, and for the Alaska Business Development Center that organizes these trips. Without them, I never would have appreciated the profound need for tax professionals to share their expertise with geographically isolated communities, or to meet those taxpayers where they are. We all know how complex and intimidating tax can seem; imagine the impact if we all committed to helping demystify the process for just one taxpayer each year.

We are living proof that tax is anything but boring—it’s personal, practical, and deeply human. It reaches into the most remote corners of the country, into villages accessible only by frozen river or small plane, and it matters there as much if not more than anywhere else.

This article does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Bloomberg Industry Group, Inc., the publisher of Bloomberg Law, Bloomberg Tax, and Bloomberg Government, or its owners.

Author Information

Melissa Wiley is a partner at Kostelanetz focused on administrative tax controversy, including audits and cases before the IRS Office of Appeals.

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