The murder rate in Indigenous communities nationwide is more than twice the national average. It’s a statistic then-U.S. Rep. Deb Haaland cited four years ago at a legislative hearing.
“While there are many programs and resources that can be used to combat violent crimes in Indian Country, there’s no overarching plan or strategy to do so,” she said.
Prior to her appointment as the nation’s first Indigenous Cabinet secretary, Haaland, a Laguna Pueblo citizen, was a crusading member of Congress, representing New Mexico.
“More importantly, a real solution cannot be found without the voices of Indigenous survivors,” Haaland said, “which is what is so special about this bill.”
The law established a commission to study where the departments of Justice and Interior could do better. Both have lots of influence over law enforcement in Alaska and Indian Country.
After it was signed into law in 2020, Haaland said her Not Invisible Act would hold the federal government accountable for the overwhelming number of Indigenous people who go missing or are murdered in the U.S. each year.
Haaland said it was essential for Alaska Natives and American Indians to help write a comprehensive plan to focus federal resources to fight crime where they live. A year later, she was appointed U.S. Secretary of Interior — leader of one of the agencies she’d taken to task.
It’s a crisis playing out even in remote communities, like Aniak, in western Alaska. The tiny community of about 500 people live nestled on the banks of the upper Kuskokwim River.
The Not Invisible Act Commission identified lots of reasons why Indigenous people in places like Aniak experience high rates of violent crime. One is substance abuse.
In 2017, an intoxicated man shot his girlfriend and killed another man here with an AK-47.
”And not only the family of the victim, the whole community became victims,” said Aniak Traditional council Administrator Laura Simeon.
The commission also identified a severe shortfall in funding for things like tribal courts, victim specialists and services to combat domestic violence. In many cases crimes go unreported.
“We can’t reach out and ask people if they need help. They have to come and ask for help,” said Breanna Simeon. She works with victims of crime on behalf of the Aniak tribe.
The tribe has a makeshift domestic violence shelter, two bedrooms in a small house that used to serve as tribal offices. Both are empty, save for a few dead house flies that litter the floor. It’s a resource only available to Aniak Tribal members, who account for about half of Aniak’s total population.
The Not Invisible Act Commission says Indigenous communities face an “alarming deficiency” of emergency shelters. And, it says, there just aren’t enough police.
There used to be a state-funded local police officer next door, but hiring an officer who is from the community is challenging and that position hasn’t been filled since at least 2017. Simeon says things felt safer back then.
“I think so,” she said. “ My friend and I used to go late-night running and like conditioning, get in shape, and we were out past curfew and he made us run all the way home…”
Two state troopers work in Aniak, on two-week rotations. They also serve 15 other roadless communities spread across more than 200,000 square miles. They declined to be interviewed.
Laura Simeon said people here don’t rely on them. “And then maybe the trooper will show up the next day…or a couple days after. It’s not on the spot, when they’re most likely needed the most,” Simeon said.
There are similar problems in the Lower 48 — like on the Navajo Nation in the Desert Southwest — which covers as much territory as the state of South Carolina.
“So, one of the big issues that we are facing on the Nation is that we are at a shortage of manpower when it comes to public safety,” said Eugenia Charles-Newton.
A Navajo Nation council delegate, Charles-Newton also chairs the Nation’s Law and Order Committee. She also said there isn’t enough law enforcement and even if there were, police alone won’t reduce violent crime.
“So, it’s a combination of resources, it’s a combination of changing the laws and a really big part of that too is that Congress needs to understand that these things are happening here in Indian Country,” she said.
Back in November, the Not Invisible Act Commission submitted its final report. It offered more than 300 recommendations for changes at the U.S. Departments of Justice and Interior.
Both agencies missed the legally required deadline to respond by more than a month.
“For me personally, we don’t want this commission report to sit on the shelf,” said Tami Jerue, an Alaska-based Not Invisible Act commissioner.
The Departments of Justice and Interior’s response only directly addressed a fraction of the commission’s recommendations. It noted many would require additional funding approved by Congress or changes to federal law.
“It seems like it’s a bit of a non-response and only because, you know, needing action is the important aspect of this report,” Jerue said. She’s among a number of commissioners who have expressed disappointment in a process they said was rushed. Over eight months, the commission hosted several field hearings, but commissioners say the setting wasn’t supportive enough for Native people who traveled long distances to offer often gut-wrenching testimony about their experiences in their communities.
Indigenous people have held Deb Haaland in high regard since she became the first-ever Indigenous cabinet secretary, so a lot of people are hesitant to criticize her. But a number of commissioners say their confidence in her ability to champion Indigenous needs is slipping.
Secretary Haaland’s staff declined multiple requests for interviews. Staff with the Department of Justice also declined to comment.
Commissioner Tami Jerue is working on a counter-response for agencies because she’s eager to see action taken on the commission’s actions moving forward.
