Vanishing Voices: The lives behind the crisis of missing indigenous people in Oklahoma

In the far corners of Oklahoma, where tribal lands stretch across rolling plains and red clay roads, the names of the missing echo through community halls, family kitchens, and candlelit vigils.

Behind each name is a story—of love, struggle, resilience, and heartbreak. The crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous People (MMIP) is not just a statistic. It is a tapestry of lives interrupted, families left searching, and justice delayed.

Brandon Hummel, a 28-year-old Choctaw citizen from Atoka vanished on January 23, 2024.

A devoted father of two young children, Brandon was known for his easygoing nature and deep love for his family. “He adored those kids,” said his mother, Deana Floyd. “Even when he got in trouble, he was never a bad guy. He just had some struggles.”

Brandon had a history of addiction and legal troubles, but by 2024, he was trying to turn his life around. He left behind his phone, tablet, and personal belongings--items he never parted with.

Despite his past, Floyd said law enforcement’s response was dismissive. The Atoka County Sheriff’s Office passed the case to Choctaw Lighthorse Police, who, according to Floyd, showed little urgency. “They just wanted to shove it over to the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” she said.

His case languished in jurisdictional limbo, with tribal, state, and federal agencies slow to coordinate. A BIA agent assigned to the case left without explanation, and his replacement was based in Tennessee due to staffing shortages in Oklahoma.

Trey Glass, 19, of Kansas in Delaware County , was a senior at Oaks High School and a member of the United Keetoowah Band. He loved playing basketball, stickball, and marbles with his cousins. “He was full of life,” said his cousin Emma Sanders. “He brought people together.”

On December 17, 2023, Trey disappeared after an evening with friends. His body was discovered four months later in a well on the property of a former police chief in Delaware County. The autopsy listed the cause and manner of death as “unknown,” citing advanced decomposition.

Trey’s family had searched tirelessly, often without support from local law enforcement. Sanders became the family’s spokesperson, navigating tribal and federal systems to demand answers. “We still deserve answers,” she said. “I won’t let Trey be forgotten”.

Ida Beard, a 29-year-old mother of four and member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes, vanished on June 30, 2015, while walking home in El Reno. She lived with her blind mother and was known for her kindness and community involvement, often volunteering at Sunday school,

Her disappearance was met with indifference. It took two weeks for police to accept a missing persons report. Years passed before her mother and a friend were interviewed7.

Ida’s cousin, LaRenda Morgan, turned grief into advocacy.

Her efforts led to the passage of Ida’s Law in 2021, establishing a liaison office within the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation to coordinate MMIP cases. “I told her mother, ‘Ida’s life mattered,’” Morgan said.

Oklahoma ranks second in the nation for missing Indigenous persons. The MMIP crisis is fueled by jurisdictional confusion, racial misclassification, and systemic neglect. Federal databases like NamUs often underreport Indigenous cases, and families are left to navigate fragmented systems alone.

These stories—Brandon’s, Trey’s, Ida’s—are not isolated. They are part of a broader narrative of resilience and advocacy. As red dresses sway in the wind and families gather in remembrance, the call is clear: these lives must not be forgotten.

The crisis demands not just awareness, but action.