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On a cold January evening in 2021, Joey Apachee, a Navajo father of two, set out to meet a friend near the water tower in Steamboat, Arizona. Hours later, he was found beaten to death. However, despite a confession from a suspect, no trial has taken place. Joey’s father Jesse Apachee, a retired police officer, says the family feels abandoned by the Navajo Nation’s justice system.
Indigenous people experience violence at alarmingly high rates. According to the Urban Indian Health Institute, in some parts of the US, Indigenous women are murdered at a rate 10 times higher than the national average. Additionally, 10,123 Native American people were recorded as missing in 2022, though the real tally is probably higher due to inconsistencies in reporting and data collection. In recent years the crisis has expanded to affect more men and boys, who now account for 46% of missing person cases.
This crisis, referred to as the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Relatives (MMIR) crisis, is deeply felt in the Navajo Nation, which spans parts of Arizona, New Mexico and Utah.
As of February 2024, the Navajo police department reported 73 missing individuals (some of whom have been missing since the 1970s). Of those, 51 were men and 22 were women. Across this vast and isolated landscape, Navajo families are often left to search for their loved ones, or else clues to their loved ones’ deaths, with little to no assistance from law enforcement agencies. Depending on the case, those agencies might include the Navajo Nation’s own authorities, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the FBI or state police.
“Mom, I’m going home.” Those were the last words Calvin Willie Martinez spoke to his mother, Aldeena Lopez, when he called her from a truck stop on his way back from Albuquerque, New Mexico, in May 2019. He never made it.
The years leading up to Calvin’s disappearance were marked by profound loss: his girlfriend and youngest son perished in a house fire in 2014, a tragedy that weighed heavily on him though he remained close with his family. Jurisdictional challenges have impeded the investigation into his disappearance: Albuquerque police initially refused to take the case because Calvin was from Farmington, a border town near the Navajo reservation, and Farmington’s police pushed the case to yet another jurisdiction.
As the investigation drags on, Aldeena makes repeated trips to retrace her son’s last known steps, clinging to the hope that she might uncover a lead. “I went to all the stops from Farmington to Albuquerque. I think I am doing the right thing,” she said.
Darlene Gomez, the only lawyer in the US providing pro bono representation for MMIR cases, has seen first-hand the slow, indifferent response from various law enforcement agencies. “There is a lack of resources, training, accountability, transparency and emergency response,” she said. “Families have to become their own investigators. They’re the ones putting up posters, following leads, demanding accountability.” Many families rely on grassroots networks, online campaigns and advocacy groups to keep their cases alive.
The Navajo police department’s Missing Person Unit, one of the few dedicated MMIR law enforcement teams in the region, is tasked with partnering with search-and-rescue teams and working closely with families to document and track cases. But with just one sergeant, four patrol officers and three civilian staff members, it faces an overwhelming caseload. Overall, the Navajo police department has approximately 210 officers to patrol the entire Navajo Nation – a vast area roughly the size of West Virginia. With limited personnel and funding, they struggle to respond effectively to the MMIR crisis.
Border towns near the reservation, where many Navajo residents travel or move to for work, have also long been sites of violence and disappearances. But law enforcement coordination between tribal, state and federal agencies remains fractured, leading to cases that fall through the cracks. Families often find themselves shuttled between jurisdictions, each unwilling or unable to take full responsibility for an investigation.
The Navajo Nation president, Buu Nygren, acknowledges the severity of the crisis, saying that it would be “a very difficult task to guarantee the safety of the Navajo Nation” while individuals continue to go missing. Meanwhile, Richelle Montoya, the first woman elected vice-president of the Navajo Nation, has made MMIR a priority, advocating for policy changes and increased resources to keep Navajo residents safe.
“These families shouldn’t have to fight alone,” she said. “We need real, structural change – better coordination, better funding and more accountability.”
In the absence of meaningful administrative action, the families have become the frontline in the crisis as they try to bring their missing relatives home. For them, there is no option but to keep searching.
