# ‘They shouldn’t have to fight alone’: the families on the frontline of the Navajo Nation missing people crisis – photo essay

The disproportionate violence against Indigenous people is deeply felt on and around the reservation, where families must become their own investigators. Words and photography by Wayan Barre



Vangie Shortie sits in front of the grave of her sons Zachariah, who was murdered, and Cameron, who died in a car accident. Despite compelling evidence in the case, Zachariah’s investigation has stalled. A lack of communication from authorities has compounded Shortie’s frustration and sense of powerlessness. Photograph: Wayan Barre

## 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.



Navajo police meet about a missing person’s case in Kayenta, Arizona, on 19 November 2024. Photograph: Wayan Barre

“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.



Top: Joe Apachee’s family. Bottom left: Julian and Ashton Apachee inside their father’s house. Ashton says she feels ‘anger, frustration, and disappointment’ toward the Navajo administration. Bottom right: Joe Apachee started building the house before his death. Photograph: Wayan Barre

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.



Top: Calvin Martinez’s relatives at the family house. Bottom: Aldeena Lopez, Calvin Martinez’s mother. ‘Every evening, I walk around the house and think he’s coming back.’ Photograph: Wayan Barre

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.



Navajo police meet about a missing person’s case in Kayenta, Arizona, on 19 November 2024. Photograph: Wayan Barre

“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.



Top: The Navajo police department in Kayenta, Arizona. Bottom: Darlene Gomez in her office in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Photograph: Wayan Barre

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.



Road sign on US Highway 64 between Shiprock (Navajo Nation) and Farmington, New Mexico. Photograph: Wayan Barre

“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.
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