Uncovering truth for murdered indigenous women in North Carolina
An interview with Davidson County, N.C., journalist Antionette Kerr on taking on a vital story in North Carolina in a difficult media and political environment.
Subscribe and get independent journalism and an honest perspective about our political moment.
At Untold Story, I’m looking to work through and diagnose what ails political media coverage and deliver journalism that clarifies our American political moment. It’ll be a process. I’m Jeremy Borden, independent journalist, reluctant political junkie, with a sense that more of us need to tilt at windmills if the mess that has been made of the American Experiment is going to continue.
Last time, I made the argument that tending to our own backyards is vital for a better-functioning democracy. This time, I’m trying to practice what I preach — and show just how hard it is to do just that.
Politics vs. Reality
Photo by Josep Castells on Unsplash
I saw a headline buried somewhere in my Twitter timeline that surprised me: Ivanka Trump says feds will help solve cases of missing and murdered Native American women.
I immediately emailed Antionette Kerr to see what she thought. I had interviewed Kerr for this newsletter a few weeks prior about her investigation into the possible murders of dozens of indigenous women in North Carolina — my Q-A with her is published below, and you’ll want to read it to understand a little bit about what it’s like to try to find out the truth about something many people want to keep buried.
My first thought on that Twitter headline was, hey, if Ivanka Trump wants to use her perch in the White House to address the cause of the murder of indigenous women, well then that’s a win. It really doesn’t matter who it comes from, and, I would argue, it doesn’t even matter if Ivanka’s real goals are more about imagery than substance. If the unsolved murders of indigenous women gets the promised resources and attention, that is what matters.
Kerr, though, knew better. She emailed back: “I almost fell over! Meanwhile, Lumberton (Lumberton, N.C.) is on fire with murders. A lot is going on there right now. It's heartbreaking.”
She told me later that the Trump presser was a great example of something that looks like action when, on the ground, injustice is allowed to continue every day in communities of color. “Thirteen year old girls are being raped and murdered. You’ve got a huge issue going on. People are dying there [in Robeson County], and it’s entirely corrupt,” Kerr told me in a follow-up conversation.
Kerr also shared the response to the White House news of her reporting partner, Crystal Cavalier-Keck, who is in touch with those who have been working on MMIW (Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women) issues for years. “For some of the organizations and families, they found out the same way everyone else did, via press release,” she wrote in Women Advance, a storytelling collective Kerr also works on. Many who desperately want justice for their indigenous loved ones feel like Ivanka Trump wanted a quick photo-op, not a real effort for justice, she wrote.
Kerr, a longtime freelancer and newspaper journalist, has worked on uncovering the suspected murders of indigenous women in in Eastern North Carolina since January 2018. She has done that arduous work largely on her own and, at the beginning, with support from the Press On Freedomways Fellowship. She took it all on in addition to work as a media consultant for her own company, her work with Women Advance, and, until recently, her part-time column and editor gig at the Lexington Dispatch, which ceased after newspaper chain owner Gannett began to lay off staff at the Dispatch and elsewhere, including Kerr. (“I have so many side gigs,” she said.)
I met Kerr on a panel hosted by PEN America to talk about disappearing local news and what it means for rural areas. She told me about her investigation, part of which was published in May in the magazine Scalawag with a stark headline: North Carolina officials are ignoring a crisis of missing and murdered Indigenous women.
Her piece begins like this:
On the sunny spring day of April 18th, 2017, with a gentle breeze hardly blowing more than a whisper, neighborhood residents found the naked body of 36-year-old Rhonda Jones, a Lumbee woman, stuffed in a trash can in East Lumberton, North Carolina...
“These murders would be solved if they had been rich and white,” insists Rhonda Jones’ mother, Sheila Price.
Price founded an advocacy group, Shatter the Silence, which has a Facebook group of more than 4,000 members seeking answers. Shatter the Silence members have confirmed at least 31 Native women have gone missing or been murdered in eastern North Carolina since 1998, and they’re still investigating more than 200 cases that stretch back to the 1970s.
The story strikes at the heart of so many things going on in our society: for starters, what we think police do versus how they actually operate, the value society places on non-white lives and problems and a rural America that exists in many minds as a caricature of what it really is.
Law enforcement’s failure to classify the obviously suspicious deaths of so many women as homicides — and investigate them as such — has put Kerr in a fraught place.
“Some people in law enforcement really cautioned me about safety,” she said. One survivor turned up dead after going public with her concerns about the potential murders. “This is all the stuff that you didn’t learn in J-School. … You replay in your mind stories from survivors. How will this end?”
Kerr plans to keep going and investigating, however she can. I spoke with her about doing investigative journalism without the backing of a newsroom, the story behind the story and what’s next for her reporting.
We also spoke about a media environment that rarely allows new voices, especially people of color, into the world of investigative journalism. “I’m a freelancer and people trust me with soft stories but there aren’t a lot of people entrusting Black women writers doing this,” she said.
Interview edited for space and clarity and shared with Kerr beforehand to ensure I didn’t publish something that could put her in jeopardy. (She fixed a typo and made a couple cosmetic changes).
Taking on ‘suspicious deaths’ of women in rural North Carolina
Tell me about what led to this investigation and the Scalawag story.
I have family and friends in Robeson County and the Lumbee community. I started out doing the story for Women AdvaNCe, where I’m co-director, and we are designed to help people tell their stories. We don't consider ourselves investigative reporters, but people through that network started telling me about this.
They still haven’t classified or re-classified these deaths as murders. They will never show up on a MMIW database. One woman was found in a trash can, others naked ...they’re not considered murders? That alone, that’s what got me going to Robeson County three days a week.
When I started talking to people, people were alarmed and scared — Is there a serial killer? Why aren’t people in the media talking about it?
Antionette Kerr (right) and Crystal Cavalier-Keck at the PEN America event in Durham, N.C. in January. Photo provided by Kerr.
They sent me several pieces of coverage [from local news outlets] that were victim-blaming and egregious. They were straight copy and paste from police reports. These cases weren’t linked until after Megan [Oxendine] was found dead. She was found dead after she had been interviewed about Rhonda’s death, after an interview on television.
And that should tell you something about people’s trust — someone who spoke on camera, then within a few weeks was murdered. I use the term murder but the police don’t — they don’t consider this a homicide. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. Why aren’t people asking more questions about this?
After Megan’s death ... I got pulled in from friends and conversations with the families.
I applied for Freedom Ways fellowship through Press On. I thought ‘this is so deep.’ But I knew based on the pure level of fear that I even had. I generally am a features writer! I work in housing and women’s advocacy.
I needed help, advice on how to help protect sources, especially. This is all the stuff that you didn’t learn in J-School.
How did the fellowship help you?
I was in their first cohort and I applied to do research about these stories. A couple of things they offered was they offered training for investigative journalists who were in movement work. A couple were movement folks moving into a journalistic space.
We received a stipend. And they also had us on calls with different editors from the New York Times and other editors to understand how to pitch stories. I write for about 12 publications a year, and I know how to pitch a feature story but I didn't know how to pitch an investigative story. I had a buddy that was also doing some work in indigenous and native communities outside North Carolina. We created a system to check in and be safe .
How did you gain the trust of the families of those who may have been murdered?
Some family members really let me in in a way that I never would have imagined. I felt like I knew some of these women. There’s one family in particular where we say ‘I love you’ when we get off the phone. [Those relationships] have opened doors for other people in the community who are terrified. They say ‘I’ll gather folks at my house because they trust me.’
The other thing is just fear [for my own safety]. I started renting cars and doing some things I won’t share. Some people in law enforcement really cautioned me about safety. That is a risk I had to talk to my family about being willing to take. There are things that have happened I’ve had to report to law enforcement — creepy messages, nooses posted on columns I wrote [she later clarified: on a Facebook page that posted her a Dispatch column, since taken down]. It’s a hard time to be a journalist. People will threaten you. People call me a thug. People have accused me of hating police and I don’t. I have relatives serving in the National Guard right now who I pray for.
How afraid are you of law enforcement in these communities, especially since they appear to be a source of major resistance in looking into possible murders?
Lumberton and Robeson County have a history of law enforcement corruption — the Tarnished Badge stuff. Some of those folks are still there. They got rid of 22 police officers. [Note from a 2013 Fayetteville Observer story about the 2002 State Bureau of Investigation charges: In all, 22 lawmen, including former Sheriff Glenn Maynor, were charged with crimes, including pirating satellite television signals, kidnapping, perjury, drug trafficking, armed robbery and money laundering. Three former deputies remain in prison].
How do you deal with trying to get law enforcement records?
I spent three days trying to [get some basic records] - from Lumberton police and Robeson County police - the ride between the departments is the longest ride I’ve taken in my life. You replay in your mind stories from survivors. How will this end?
[Kerr said it has been a struggle to get even basic records from law enforcement, and that she fears for her own safety at times.]
What are some examples of law enforcement issues you’re trying to explore but have come up against a wall?
Kristin [“Christina” Bennett] was found in a gray blanket. Law enforcement wouldn't give me the autopsy report. Family members did give it to me and it shows that the medical examiner says they were told by law enforcement to discard the gray blanket. These three women were all found naked. There was no known forensic evidence that ties anyone to these victims’ bodies.
So my question as a person and a human being like how sophisticated does someone have to be to say that these women were murdered? … One stuffed in a trash can and another found naked in a field. They don’t have any forensic evidence attached to it?
I have probably 12 things like that I could tell you. Why did law enforcement tell the medical examiner to dispose of that gray blanket?
This is an active investigation - although the families are not feeling like it’s very active. The anniversary [of the 2017 death of Bennett] rolls around and the police say hey give us information! But the last person you interviewed died.
How has the Facebook group played a role in this?
Shatter the Silence keeps saying somebody knows, y’all know, come forward. But the fear of coming forward is real. When you read Megan’s story why would anyone come forward?
Sheriff Burnis Wilkins was around during Tarnished Badge. They also removed their ability to keep drug enforcement money because the FBI didn't trust them … they had their own illegal drug rings going. Some of these things that would come off of a Hollywood movie, you wouldn’t believe these indictments.
Now they can keep the [drug forfeiture] money. That just happened, now they’re able to keep the money.
The law enforcement officials who were around who might not have been implicated [in Tarnished Badge] are still there. And people are distrustful and scared and terrified.
But as for Shatter the Silence, they also started an advocacy network. They’re creating their own communication network outside of law enforcement.
On one of my posts, [Robeson County Sheriff] Burnis Wilkins posted about [a victim’s] mother - ‘sending prayers to you and your family.’ I honestly think that might have been an intimidation tactic. I’m like ‘you’re not going to intimidate me.’
That is one of the many creepy things that have happened.
Is part of the difficulty in investigating these murders that people won’t believe law enforcement could be involved?
I knew the coverage didn’t make sense to me. I don’t think any rational person reads the stories of these three women and the unwillingness to classify them as homicides as rational. It’s hard to believe and we don’t want to believe that.
I go back to Tarnished Badge. I said this reads like Training Day, this is a movie. And to know this is going on - I hope that’s not true. I hope they’re doing everything in their power to find out how these women died, but I can’t say that from what I’ve seen.
Since you’re not from Robeson County or Lumbee (note: a state but not federally-recognized Native American tribe), has that made the story harder?
Part of this conversation came up in the fellowship. I am not Native American and I would love to have relationships with Native journalists. But folks in the community that I've talked to felt like someone outside had to share these stories. So that was hard for me. As a Black woman I don’t like when other journalists come into Black communities — we aren’t obligated to tell you the backstory of our communities.
In this case, people had invited me to the conversation. I feel like that's important. We should defer to people in the community even if that means sharing a byline. I said I would come on if I could bring people I’d been working with. These are their stories and they have entrusted me with sharing them. There’s a level of safety and concern.
So the fear goes beyond the specific cases?
They’re afraid of violence. And who it’s happening from is different at different times. I’ve had a friend who has had her house shot into when she was working on other issues - related to climate and pipeline issues. It’s not a safe environment for people to come forward without a lot of care.
Some people are like ‘I don't care what happens to me, somebody is going to have to to tell this story.’ People have to make the choices they make. I feel like it takes all kinds.
I’ve been honored people would share their stories.
Were people relieved now that at least some of the story has been published in Scalawag?
Yeah I think people were relieved when I showed up and I think after the Scalawag story published people felt more comfortable.
What happens to your reporting and work now?
I had a major publication I pitched to and said they would do these stories and then COVID happened. So I got bumped. I couldn't make it COVID related, it's already complicated enough. I had to go back to the families and say I’m going to share this somewhere.
Tell me about how you get investigative work like this placed.
Placement has been hard and next to impossible. I am a Black women writer so let’s just be honest that my media contacts aren’t the best. I'm a freelancer and people trust me with soft stories but there aren't a lot of people entrusting Black women writers doing this.
I won’t get shut down. I'm pretty damn persistent. To quote Hamilton, young, scrappy and hungry. I’m scrappy. I'll publish it myself. I’d love to have an investigative type editing, which is why I don't want to put something out. I love good editing. My publication is more for storytellers than journalists. I would love to have some support and I'm also willing to work with other people. I'm not going to just bring in somebody the community doesn't trust. I'm open to real partnerships so it will happen.
How do you get the resources to continue to make this reporting happen?
I will continue as long as people continue sharing. And it will take awhile. The money from my fellowship ran out pretty quickly. I was spending two to three days a week in Robeson County renting cars and doing things I didn't expect to have to do. I didn’t sell a single story for them - other stories paid for this work. And I had to turn down other stories.
And maybe one day if I don’t place it it’ll go in a book. I thought even if I don’t have a place for something we’re writing history here. These untold stories are really powerful because so much of this history hasn’t been told.
Even if I don't get it into a publication, it’s important to put the stories out there.
More Good Reads
Substacker Matt Taibbi explores Thomas Frank’s (of What’s the Matter with Kansas fame) new book The People, No, to argue that Democrats wrote off the middle class and poor and ignored the kind of Bernie Sanders-ilk populism that could have made them successful. (The New York Times criticized Frank’s effort for failing to reconcile populism’s uglier, more racist history.)
Taibbi writes:
Frank ripped the political strategy of Clinton Democrats, who removed economic issues from their platform as they commenced accepting gobs of Wall Street money in a post-Mondale effort to compete with Republicans on fundraising. Gambling that working-class voters would keep voting blue because “Democrats will always be marginally better on economic issues,” New Democrats stopped targeting blue-collar voters and switched rhetorical emphasis to “affluent, white collar professionals who are liberal on social issues.”
The move seemed smart. This was the go-go eighties, we were all Material Girls (for whom the boy with the cold hard cash was always Mr. Right), and as Frank put it, “What politician in this success-loving country really wants to be the voice of poor people?”
While Clinton Democrats were perfecting a new image of urban cool, opponents were honing a new approach:
Republicans, meanwhile, were industriously fabricating their own class-based language of the right, and while they made their populist appeal to blue-collar voters, Democrats were giving those same voters—their traditional base—the big brush-off...
When you put it like that…
Police killings, looked at sideways and from a satellite orbiting the Earth
Vote for Trump in 2020. But just be willing to admit you’d have voted for George Wallace, too.
Peter Baker writes, surprisingly, in the New York Times:
To go back and read or listen to Wallace’s speeches and interviews from that seminal 1968 campaign is to be struck by language and appeals that sound familiar again, even if the context and the limits of discourse have changed.
Like Mr. Trump, Wallace denounced “anarchists” in the streets, condemned liberals for trying to squelch the free speech of those they disagreed with and ran against the elites of Washington and the mainstream media. He vowed to “halt the giveaway of your American dollars and products” to other countries.
“One of the issues confronting the people is the breakdown of law and order,” Wallace said at his campaign kickoff in Washington in February 1968. “The average man on the street in this country knows that it comes about because of activists, militants, revolutionaries, anarchists and communists.”
The debate over reparations often gets consumed on the right by the idea of handouts. What about righting wrongs, not perpetrated by individual acts of racism and violence but by collective acts of racism and violence on behalf of society as a whole? Try housing-based discrimination for whole communities, as writer and academic Eve Ewing broke down recently on Twitter:
Pre-COVID I was determined to go deep in a piece on chicken farms, an issue I had begun to scratch the surface on in doing a little reporting out in Robeson County. Alas, post-COVID it hasn’t happened yet, but my inkling that the story of Big Chicken in North Carolina and elsewhere is a massive under-covered story of the statehouse acting as corporate glad-hander was confirmed in part recently by the News and Observer’s Lynn Bonner, chronicling chicken farm’s explosive growth with no state oversight:
Industrial poultry operations don’t need state permits, so there is no public clearing house for information on where they are or how big they are.
But the environmental group’s report says the poultry operations are growing most quickly in the same counties where swine farms are concentrated.
The estimates in the report are based on satellite imagery from 2019 used to identify poultry operations, USDA agricultural census data to estimate numbers of birds, and the N.C. Agricultural Chemicals Manual to estimate how much manure they produce.
You know that thing I said just a minute ago? A few lines up? About 1968? Not really true, argues historian Rick Perlstein in CityMetric. As we try to create order from chaos, it’s good and right and necessary to look to history. But it’s also impossible while we’re living through the muck of our lives and the most chaotic presidency since … well, 1968 … maybe.
He says:
But thinking about history can also be a way to evade the present and not look at what's happening right in front of our nose. The fact of the matter is, we don't have a good picture of any of this. What we need right now is journalism. We'll have time to make these kinds of historical reflections later. We need to understand what motivates people. That's what's going to inform our political action going forward.
I have a fascination with understanding the myth of Reagan, given his preeminence in the conservative movement and ability to create moral order with a sub-current of racism. I ordered Perlstein’s new book, Reaganland: America’s Right Turn 1976-1980, if anyone is interested in book clubbing.