‘We have no justice:’ Are Native Americans the forgotten victims of police brutality? – Great Falls Tribune

Preston Bell was killed by police in 2017. He was one of three Native Americans killed by police in Montana that year.(Photo: Courtesy of Cheryl Horn)

Cheryl Horn knows exactly when her license plates expire.

She never drives with a broken tail light. If the small light above the license plate flickers, Cheryl fixes it. If she's in trouble, she does not call the police.

Cheryl does everything she can to avoid encounters with law enforcement because her nephew, Preston Bell, was killed by police three years ago.

After leading officers on pursuits through Billings, Preston ultimately parked outside of his mother's house, where officers found him. When Preston didn't respond to commands, the officers deployed pepper spray through his window and placed a spike strip behind his truck, according to the Billings Gazette. Prestonawoke, reversed the truck into a patrol car anddrove forward in the direction of two patrol cars, prompting officers to fire, according to multiple officers.

The officers then shot at him 74 times. He was 24 years old.

The Billings Police Department did not immediately respond to requests for comment for this story but reported at a judicial inquiry that from their vantage point, when Preston was driving, they feared officers had been killed by his truck. The Billings Gazette reported thatMike McCarthy, an instructor at the Montana Law Enforcement Academy, said the truck was being used as a weapon, and the officers were legally permitted to respond by shooting.

Cheryl said that after Preston's death, people were harsh, especially in online forums. Theyblamed and judged Prestonfor his choices, further devastating his grieving family.

Us Natives, we'veadapted to a lot. But how do you adapt to being killed?

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"People think, 'Oh, well. That's what he gets. He shouldn't have driven toward police,'" said Cheryl, who lives in Fort Belknap and is a member of the Assiniboine Tribe. "But you never hear about it from his perspective. Yes, he made choices.But, how do I explain to my sons that in a matter of six seconds, they shot at him 74 times? I want my kids to be resilient, but how can they be?"

Though Montana law requires an inquest, or judicial inquiry, whensomeone dies in police custody or after an officer-involved shooting, Cheryl fears her family will never see justice.

"Everyone in that jury was white and in their 60s. When I saw how they looked at us with disgust on their faces I knew how it was going to pan out," she recalled, adding that the jury foundthe shootingjustified.

While she was outraged and discouraged by theinquest, Cherylsaid she was not surprised.

"This is systemic. It's so darn deep. If you're Black or brown in this country, you're not safe," she said."Us Natives, we'veadapted to a lot. But how do you adapt to being killed?"

Preston Bell was killed by police in 2017 when he was 24 years old.(Photo: Courtesy of Cheryl Horn)

In 2017, Prestonwas one of 22 American Indians or Alaska Natives killed by police nationwide,according to the Washington Post's database.

A 2014 Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice report found that Native Americans were the most likely racial group to be killed by law enforcement, followed by African Americans between 1999-2011. Nationally, about 0.8% of the population identified as American Indian or Alaska Native alone, and between 1999-2011, they comprised 1.9% of police killings, according to the same study.

But not many people know that.

Data can also be skewed because theseencounters are underreported. Furthermore, many national databases tracking fatal encounters with law enforcementexclude Native Americans in racial and ethnic categories; consequently, Indigenous people can be misidentified, undercounted or labeled "unknown" or "other."

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As protestersdemandjustice for George Floyd, a Black man who died in police custody on May 25 in Minneapolis, many Native Americans in Montana are standing in solidarity with Black Americans. Floyd, 46, died after pleading for his life as a white police officer pressed his knee into his neck.The incidentsparked outrage, andprotestersflooded cities worldwide, including Great Falls, Helena, Bozeman, Missoula and Billings, calling for justiceandan end tosystemic racism.

With the spotlight on racism,many Native Americans, who also experienceoppression, discriminationand police brutality, want to be included ingrowing national conversations ofreform. But in many cases, violence against Native Americans is overlooked, andwhen an Indigenous person is killed by police, their families say they are met with criticism, judgment and racial stereotypes.

Native Americans aren't just overrepresented in incidents of police brutality.

Having survived government-imposed assimilation policies,massacres and other brutalities under colonization, many Indigenous communities endure multi-generational trauma,which manifests today ineconomic and social disparities.

When he was killed, everyone said, 'Oh, he's just another methhead.' But he's more than his addiction. He was a human.

The coronavirus pandemic has illuminated thisinequity, as it disproportionately ravages minority communities.

A May report from theAPM Research Labfoundthat the Indigenous COVID-19 mortality rateinNew Mexico, which contains portions of the Navajo Nation,is eight times higher than the white mortality rate.

American Indians are more likely than their white counterpartsto suffer from diabetes, obesity and high blood pressure butless likelyto have a personal doctor or health care provider. Additionally, Indigenous peoplehave a life expectancy of five-and-a-half years less than the U.S. population on average, according to the Indian Health Service.

Crystal Echo Hawk, founder and CEO of IllumiNative, an organization that works to increase the visibility of Native peoples, said these health disparities have been overlooked for years.

For decades, we have been fighting for the visibility of Native peoples. Now, this fight has become absolutely vital to ensuring that Native communities are not left behind or erased from the COVID-19 response," she said.

This information is out there and readily available. It's time non-Native people start paying attention.

Though Indigenous people account for 6.6% of Montana's population of about one million,they make up 17% of the adult incarcerated population in the state, and, on average, they account for 25% of the state's missing persons population.

American Indians are also more likely to be disciplined in schools and less likely to graduate.

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Ashley Haley, tobacco prevention specialist for the Little Shell Tribe and a Chippewa Cree tribal member, said forms of systemic racism impact Native Americans every day in Montana.

"We have experienced racism since the time of contact, and now it's reinforced through the justice and education systems," she said."So, from the time a child goes into the school system, they are taught a certain narrative, and that affects how they see themselves. This racism is everywhere, you hear it in the discourse, you see it online, and it'sespecially prevalent in towns that border reservations."

Joey Half (center) poses with his family in 2017.(Photo: Courtesy of Makalia Gutierrez)

Every so often, Makalia Gutierrez walks to her garage to holdher son'sold clothes.

She runs her hands over the shoes, pants, pullover and hathe wore on Nov. 4, 2017.Sometimes, she smells them.

Frank Joey Half Jr., who went by Joey, was killed by Billings police officers on that day in Novemberafter a standoff in a sporting goods store. He was 30 years old.

Police officers in Montana killed 40 people between 2013-2019, including Preston and Joey,according to http://www.mappingpoliceviolence.org.Of the 40 victims, 28were white, five were Native American and one was Latinx (a gender-neutral alternative to Latino or Latina). Six victims were categorized as "unknown." In this six-year span, Native Americans accounted for at least 12.5% of victims killed by police in Montana.

Makalia, 55, a member of the Crow Tribe,said Joeystruggled with addiction and had recently been released from a rehab center. He was high on methamphetamine during the standoff, and she wished his treatment program would have lasted longer.

Just as for the Horn family, Makaliasaid that when her son died, her family facedcriticism from the community.

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"He wasn't strong enough to be on his own yet," she said. "When he was killed, everyone said, 'Oh, he's just another meth-head.' But he's more than his addiction. He was a human, he was a brother, an uncle, and he was loved by everyone. We have a big family, and I want people to know that he wasn't alone."

When she's upset, Makalialikes to think back to the timewhen her son came over to fix her pipes.She remembers it was cold and rainy, and she doubted him. But Joeywas confident in his abilities.

Historically, Americans know little to nothing about Native communities. ... For many, we are out of sight, out of mind, so,we don't exist. But the issue is that this invisibility could be a matter of life anddeath.

"Mom, have faith in me," she remembers him teasing.

Joey fixed the pipes and took great pleasure in proving Makaliawrong.But he fell ill the next morning. Now, it was Makalia's turn to help him. She made her couch extra cozy, cooked soup and brewed tea. She loved taking care ofhim.

During the 10-hour standoff, Makaliasaid officers did not call her to say her son was in the store. Now, she is tormented by the memory, wondering if she could have made a difference.

"Maybe he would've come out alive," she thinks. "Or maybe I could've said goodbye."

Makalia said that her son waved a white shirt and held his hands in the air to signal surrender during the standoff.

At the inquest, officers reported that Joey kept a barrier between himself and officers at moments when his hands were in the air and had staged loaded guns in the store.The negotiator said that he never fully complied in droppinghis weapons, according to the Billings Gazette.

Ultimately, eight officers fired 116 shots at Joey.

Joey Half was killed by police in 2017. His mother, Makalia Gutierrez, fears their family will never see justice.(Photo: Courtesty of Makalia Gutierrez)

"Thecoroner told us that he didn't die right away. It makes me wonder, what was he thinking when he was lying there dying? Was he calling for me? Was he praying? Was he scared? Did he need me? Did he wish I was there?I wouldn't wish this on any parent," Makalia said.

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Just as in Preston's case, the inquest jury found the police justified in killing Joey.

"I didn't say a word at the inquest. I was so angry, and I knew if I said something, they would twist it around and make me look like just another 'angry Native,' so I kept my cool. But we have no justice," Makalia said.

Makalia said people have tried to help her cope withgrief, but she breaks down, sometimes crying in publicat the memory of her son.

"For me, there is no getting through this," she said."This will never go away, and I will never let him go."

Black Lives Matter protesters march from the Civic Center to the Missouri River Federal Courthouse on Friday, June 12, 2020.(Photo: RION SANDERS/GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE)

Though Native Americans are killed by police at disproportionately high rates, their deaths are not widely known.

Cheryl Horn said she thinksnon-Natives don't know about brutality against Native peoplebecause they "don't experience the sametrauma."

"They don't see our world," she said. "They don't know where we come from. I would love to know what it's like to be a common person who has never dealt with this trauma; I would love to know their advice for how we should handle this, but that's not my reality."

Natasha Stanfield LaForge, a member of the Crow Tribe and a mother to eight children, said that police treatNative Americans as if they are expendable.

"To them, we are unimportant andinsignificant," she said, adding that she worries for her three sons, one of whom has especially dark skin and is tall. "I've had conversations with himabout staying safe, especially after Preston was killed, but I'm still afraid all the time."

Stanfield LaForge said she's had a number of negative experiences with law enforcement,including being racially profiled and accused of crimes she didn't commit.

"It happens everywhere, all the time. But people don't know about this because we are ignored," Stanfield LaForge said.

Black Lives Matter protesters make their way across River Drive to the Central Avenue West Bridge on Friday, June 12, 2020.(Photo: RION SANDERS/GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE)

Crystal Echo Hawk said that when it comes to visibility, representation matters.

"Historically, Americans know little to nothing about Native communities," she said. "Schools don't teach about Natives, we aren't in media, television, film or entertainment. For many, we are out of sight, out of mind, so,we don't exist. But the issue is that this invisibility could be a matter of life anddeath."

JudithHeilman, executive director of the Montana Racial Equity Project,offered another reason as to why Native deaths are not widely discussed.

"It's because people aren't paying attention," she said. "This information is out there and readily available. It's time non-Native people start paying attention."

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The Montana Racial Equity Project has helped organize a number of Black Lives Matter protests in the state, and Heilman said the group is conscious about including Indigenous voices in the growing movement.

"So much of this nation's wealth has been built on the theft of Native lands and the enslavement of Black people," said Heilman,who is Black. "We have so much in common when it comes to oppression, racism and cultural and physical genocide, so it's great for us to be supportive of one another's efforts."

But some Native Americans are hesitant to speak up inthe Black Lives Matter movement, fearing their voices coulddistract from the message.

"I don't think this is a time for the Indigenous community to say, 'What about us?' It's no question that we are part of this conversation, but this is about the Black community. Supporting the Black community doesn't take away from our issues because they are parallel,"said Keila Bird, a member of the Blackfeet Nation.

Megan Whitford, Mckenzie Tommerup, and Jordan Jarman at the Black Lives Matter protest in Havre. Melody Bernard, a Chippewa Cree tribal member, organized the protest.(Photo: Courtesy of Melody Bernard)

Melody Bernard, a Chippewa Cree tribal member, organized a Black Lives Matter protest in Havre. A former law enforcement officer herself, Bernard said it's imperative that Native voices be amplified at a moment whenthe nation is listening.

"Now is everybody's time," she said."Every minority should get involved and be heard. Racism is everywhere, and we all suffer."

Alvin Windy Boy, 69, former Chippewa Cree Tribal chairman, said that it's rare for tribal leaders to have "a seat at the table" when it comes to discussions aboutrace and reform.

"Unfortunately, in Indian Country, we've neverhad the opportunity or ability to vent our concerns. I'm sure there will be a movement nationwide for racism in a broad sense, and I'd hope that tribal elders would be included in that," he said.

Systemic racism isn't the only form of discrimination Native Americans face.

Ashley Haley, who works for the Little Shell Tribe, said many Indigenous people encounter harmful stereotypes every day.

Black Lives Matter protesters march from the Civic Center to the Missouri River Federal Courthouse on Friday, June 12, 2020.(Photo: RION SANDERS/GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE)

"There is this type of thinking that Native Americans are poor, that we don't take care of our surroundings, that we have rampant drug and alcohol abuse, we live off the government and don't pay taxes," she said. "People think we are all like that. It's historic racism that's reinforced by multiple generations today."

Haley said that this racism is exposed whenpeople justify Native deaths.

"People will say, 'If he didn't do that, he wouldn't be shot.' I understand that. But it feels like the justice system as a whole wears kid gloves when it comes to dealing with white people, and they exert extra force on minorities. This is OK by the system, supervisors and judges because the public has deemed it acceptable," she said.

Haley said that when she buys coffee or groceries, she makes sure to go to the same stores, around the same time of day. She always addressesthe cashier by namewhen she pays, and she intentionally makes conversation.

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"I do this because if they know me and I know them, and if I use their name, then I'm validating that they are human, and they are forced to acknowledge that I'm human, too," she said.

Butlast week, when Haley went to the post office, a new employee was working. She didn't know his name. Aftera small mix-up involving her packages, she said the man publicly embarrassed her in front of a line of customers, accusing her of trying to steal from the government.

Black Lives Matter protesters rally along Central Avenue West in front of the Missouri River Federal Courthouse on Friday, June 12, 2020.(Photo: RION SANDERS/GREAT FALLS TRIBUNE)

"I felt so helpless," she said."It was so embarrassing. No matter how many degrees I have or how successful I am, someone can make me feel so less. It's those little things, those little acts of racism, that really make me jaded. We just want to be treated like we are human;we want to feel worthy, deserving of decency and respect."

Haley said sheplans to talk to a supervisorabout her experience, but she can't help but wonder if the encounter would have been different had she "just known the man's name."

"Maybe it would have helped," she said.

While Makalia Gutierrez and Cheryl Horn will never recover from Joey and Preston's deaths, both say the growing anti-racism movement gives them hope.

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'We have no justice:' Are Native Americans the forgotten victims of police brutality? - Great Falls Tribune