On May 15th, 2025, following the National Day of Awareness for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, the local band West Dakota Stutter put out a new song and music video; “Don’t Hitch a Ride on the Trail of Tears” is about the ongoing issue of murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls in Montana.

Band leader Neil Filo Beddow has been interested in this issue since the 90s: “NAFTA was a free trade pact made in Canada and Mexico, and from El Paso to Juarez, women were disappearing.” He explained that free trade created more jobs, which in turn created more vulnerability as women began working and commuting to work alone. Neil attributed much of the issue to misogynistic ideas. “That interfered with what they call machoism, male chauvinism. You know, ‘taking my job.’” Some of the numbers could be attributed to human trafficking or the cartel, and some of it was what Neil calls masochism. This issue inspired him to create the song “Shiny Black El Dorado.”

“I’m sure there is still a problem,” he says. “There definitely is on the Mexican border, in the Pacific Northwest, Alaska, Canada, and, of course, in Montana.” Rates of murdered and missing Indigenous women in Montana have been a concern for a long time, but the issue didn’t gain national awareness until 2018, following an influx of relevant articles across the country. Although awareness of the issue is more prevalent, it remains unchanged. 

The crisis is attributed to multiple intersectional issues surrounding Native people and reservations. According to the National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center, “there is a connection between domestic violence, dating violence, and sexual violence and the high incidence of missing and murdered Indigenous women in the United States.” This violence towards Native Americans has been experienced for centuries, with roots in colonization and genocide. The systematic erosion of tribal sovereignty has led to a lack of legal protections for Native people. Current federal Indian law is often referred to as a maze of injustice.

“There are so many reservations in Montana, and they’re in super dark areas,” Neil shares. Those who are hitchhiking are at high risk of being hit, or worse. “They get snatched up, or they go to a big gas station and get rides from truckers… just the human male is a piece of work.”

There is evidence that these numbers are underreported: According to the National Crime Information Center, in 2016 there were 5,712 cases of missing Indigenous women and girls, but the U.S. Department of Justice’s federal missing persons database only recorded 116 cases. This can be partially attributed to poor record keeping, racial misclassification, and bias in media coverage.

This miscommunication breeds more distrust among tribal authorities and Indigenous communities when interacting with state and federal police, creating a society in which Indigenous women are ten times more likely to be murdered in some regions. Groups like MMIWG demand justice for victims and raise awareness for Indigenous communities. Supporting grassroots organizations like these is a reliable way to contribute to the solution.

According to Neil, Mexico didn’t do anything about this issue in the 90’s; no news outlets would cover it. Since then, he has been deeply interested in this issue and our lack of discussion around it. One line in “Don’t Hitch a Ride On the Trail of Tears” really stands out: “Through cracks of bureaucrats, Indigenous disappears, and that’s a fact.”

Much of this issue comes from the complicated legal systems surrounding reservations: tribal police, state police, and the feds. The lyric, “Fighting over crumbs of broken feathers” references the childish bickering that ensues between these legal forces and how it doesn’t contribute to progress. “It’s like, come on you guys, talk to each other,” says Neil. This pretty much sums up his philosophy on progress: discussion is important, but not necessarily debate. “I’ve never been much of a debater, because there’s no solution, no compromise,” he says. “It can lead to arguing for the sake of arguing, just because you can.“ Neil feels that music can be a nice way of easing into these discussions. “Music sometimes has a way of tempering things that I think would [otherwise] be harder to talk about.”

To help others start conversations, Neil visited locations along the Trail of Tears, and sent the song to MSU Bozeman, the University of Montana, and Ninepipes Lodge in Browning, saying; “If you have any use for this song, to use it in a good way, feel free to download it.”
So many people are talking about this issue, but it stops there: it’s just talking. Neil mentions a lyric he enjoys: “I don’t know much and I can prove it. I open my mouth when there’s more to it.” At the end of the day, all we have is our perspective, and with that, we don’t know much. It also means that people are capable of learning and changing their minds about things, something that he feels is becoming unacceptable. “I’m 72; probably, in the last three decades I’ve changed my mind fundamentally about a lot of things, from religion to medicine to psychology, philosophy… just because I’m more experienced.”

Rigidity and lack of open-mindedness contribute to so many issues remaining unsolved. “I think you gotta be able to listen,” says Beddow. The song’s description states that, “we hope to create more awareness of the problem that will help lead to a lasting solution.” That comes from listening, collaboration, and compromise. 

Compromise is something West Dakota Stutter uses artistically as well, allowing each member to write their own parts to songs, then gathering to put it all together. As Neil says, “I’m not going to tell you what to do.” He felt this was important when working with the song’s videographer, who uses AI extensively. Initially, Neil was hesitant about the idea. “The part I know about AI is how deceptive it can be, how deviant it can be.” His idea for the video was to have imagery of Native women struggling on the Trail of Tears fade into imagery of a Native woman hitchhiking on a highway. The videographer thought this would be done well, quickly, and easily with AI. After putting some thought into it, Neil acquiesced, deciding that his philosophy of artistic freedom was the important thing. “If I didn’t like it, maybe I didn’t want to use it again; at least I would have tried it.” 

Individual artistic perspective is one of the main pillars of this piece. Neil met with a Native woman to discuss her perspective on the song and how it would be appropriate to proceed with some kind of collaboration with Native musicians. Understanding that white people can sometimes be insensitive when they don’t fully understand issues they are asking about, he felt that directly asking for “Native musicians” was quite different from asking for, say, a cellist, and might be inappropriate. She responded to his concern with; “Well, how about just making it from the chair you’re sitting in?” Our own perspective is all we really have, and trying to ignore that would likely diminish artistic value, so, “It’s [made] from where we’re sitting today. This is how we see it.”

The way Neil sees it, “I can’t do much about the world, but I can do a lot more community-wise.” I asked if he had any advice for those wanting to create political art that they might not directly relate to. One obviously wants to balance perspective with the experience of those oppressed, even if they are not involved. “Just feel strong about what you’re doing,” says Neil. You need to know what you want to do with your art and feel passionately about it, or the lack of passion will come through immediately. This passion is what inspires people like Neil and West Dakota Stutter to continue creating. Supporters of local music are the most important piece of the puzzle. “Without appreciators and encouragers, music would have a tough time,” concludes Beddow.