Utah tattoo shop’s flash sale raises $4,000 for missing and murdered Indigenous women

Editor’s note • This story discusses violence against Indigenous communities. If you need to report or discuss a case, you can call the StrongHearts hotline at 1-844-7NATIVE.

Midvale • As tattoo artist Sebastiana Lansing pulled into her business, Eminent Ink Tattoos, last weekend, she couldn’t believe how full the lobby was.

“It’s going to be crazy,” she said as she eyed the line that had wrapped around the block outside her Midvale shop.

Eminent Ink, a women-run tattoo parlor that opened in March, hosted a flash sale on Nov. 23 to raise funds for missing and murdered Indigenous women. What was planned as a one-day sale turned into a three-day event, as more than 300 people showed up in support. The shop’s tattoo artists donated 40% of their earnings to the National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center, raising nearly $4,000 — with plans to raise more as they work their way down the waitlist.

“People want to do something,” Lansing said. “Even if it’s these grassroot movements.”

Since 2014, American Indians, who make up 1.5% of the population, have accounted for 5% of Utah murder victims, according to a 2023 report from Wilder Research, a research nonprofit that partnered with the Utah Legislature’s Utah Murdered and Missing Indigenous Relatives (MMIR) Task Force.

The report also detailed shortcomings in Utah legal and social services in response to American Indian families seeking help to find their loved ones — such as police departments waiting months to report victims into the national database for missing persons and cold cases.

In the United States, according to a 2018 snapshot report by the Urban Indian Health Institute, 5,712 cases of American Indian and Alaska Native women and girls were reported to the National Crime Information Center in 2016, despite the U.S. Department of Justice federal database having only logged 116 cases. The study, analyzing 71 urban cities, found murder as the third-leading cause of death among American Indian and Alaska Native women.

“It’s unfortunate that we’re still talking about this because, from my perspective, it’s an epidemic,” said Rep. Angela Romero, co-chair of the Utah Legislature’s Murdered and Missing Indigenous Relatives Task Force. “There’s definitely more policy changes we have to do.”

A ‘flash sale’ goes viral

Eminent Ink’s viral TikTok reached 160,000 views as of Saturday and more than 20,000 likes and bookmarks combined. The event’s flyer, posted on the platform days before, earned just under 4,000 views.

Lili Deforest, who co-owns Eminent Ink with Lansing and has tattooed for more than three years, said she was at first shy about making the TikTok post.

“I hate putting my face on social media,” said Deforest, 27. “[But] I’m really glad I did. … It’s one of our most special events.”

Deforest and Lansing opened the shop to “create an open space” after feeling pushed out from other tattoo shops. Last week’s “flash sale” was the pair’s second charity event for missing and murdered Indigenous women. The first happened before Eminent Ink was launched, as Deforest and Lansing donated 100% of the proceeds they made at a tattoo studio, and raised $1,600.

“Knowing that people that you don’t even know want to come and support you, is amazing in itself,” Deforest said. “It brings me a lot of gratitude.”

Lansing, who is Purépecha (an Indigenous group in the northwest area of Michoacán, Mexico), said she put on the event to have others see that Indigenous people “are still here.”

Two weeks before the event, she worked with her in-laws — who are Navajo — to design tattoos. The designs they came up with were designed specifically for Native Americans, and feature a medicine wheel and bear claw.

“I wanted to reserve something for them because of how pushed away they’ve been,” Lansing said. “They need something special for them. And at this point and in this time in America, I think that’s imperative for them to feel empowered.”

The view from the line

Maria Garcia said she saw the TikTok post, as did her sister and sister-in-law. All three received the post on their “for you” page — which Garcia said was a sign to support the event.

Garcia, who is not Indigenous, said her ties to Mexico and El Salvador connect her to Native culture and communities “back home.”

“We are the minority out here. We don’t get much media attention when someone does go missing,” Garcia said, while waiting in the parlor’s enclosed lobby. “So I thought there’s no better way to put my money.”

Garcia and her family arrived just after 10:30 a.m. last Saturday, and were 10th on the waiting list — which eventually grew to more than 10 pages, filled front and back with more than 20 names scribbled on each.

After a three-hour wait, Garcia finally took her place on Deforest’s disinfected tattoo chair.

“I’m nervous,” Garcia told Deforest, taking a deep breath as the tattoo gun neared her forearm. Despite having six other tattoos, Garcia said she still felt the jitters before the first prick.

Garcia, originally from California, chose the design of a poppy, a reference to her native state’s official flower. But instead of the fiery orange of the California poppy, Garcia said she chose a vibrant red to represent the cause. According to the StrongHearts Native Helpline, the color red has been contemporarily used to “call attention to the invisible.”

In another chair, Jamie Walker remained stoic, despite tattoo artist Misty Anais’ continued jabs.

Walker said she came for the cause — and because she had nine tattoos previously, the last one two years ago. She was “way overdue for a tattoo,” she said.

Walker, whose son is half Native, said her tattoo will also serve to raise awareness for missing and murdered Indigenous people. Walker chose a red handprint for her forearm. The symbol, often painted across a mouth, represents Native women “whose voices are not heard,” according to the nonprofit Native Hope.

“Tattoos are a conversation piece,” Walker said. “We can’t just continue to ignore it. [My tattoo] will bring attention to it.”

Anais, who took to tattooing to “make connections with people,” agreed.

“There’s a way that we can bring attention to it,” said Anais, who said her family is Indigenous from Mexico. “Tattoos always bring conversation, so [this event] is a really good way to fund [the cause].”

Outside the shop, Aaron Tre and his cousin, Reilley Myrick, kept up with the slow pace of the winding line. Even as he felt the pressure of the clock (his shift at Roux restaurant was set to start at 2 p.m.), Tre said he decided to show up for the event because it “spoke out to [him].”

“[This cause is] not getting as much media as it should,” said Tre, 26. “I feel like a lot of people nowadays [are] not so much as ignorant but they just don’t know about the history of Native Americans.”

Tree and Myrick, both Diné and related by clan, had been waiting in line since 11:30 a.m. Myrick, while there to support his cousin’s upcoming nose piercing, said he was also at the event to “meet some other Natives.”

“People are a little shy,” he laughed, having not yet met anyone new. “I’m just waiting for someone to approach. … To meet some people, some friends.”

A push for legislation

On the legislative side, Rep. Romero has worked to raise awareness for missing and murdered Indigenous people through listening sessions in Utah’s Native communities. Her goal, she said, is to “build trust” with tribal members.

The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Relatives Taskforce, launched in 2020, is scheduled to sunset this Saturday, Nov. 30. Romero sponsored a bill in this year’s legislative session to extend the task force’s life to 2029; the bill passed in the House unanimously, but stalled in the Senate.

When the Legislature convenes in January, Romero said she plans to introduce a bill to renew the task force and allow it to operate until 2027. Even with new members coming into the House and Senate in the next year, Romero said she doesn’t see “any resistance” to the task force’s renewal.

“I don’t see it as a partisan issue,” Romero said. “I see it as something that everyone agrees has to be looked at and examined more, … [to] find ways in which we can close some of these gaps.”

Romero said the cause “is personal.” Her father was Shoshone-Bannock, and her grandmother was sent to live at a Native American boarding school. Working to renew the task force, she said, is a way to honor her family and ancestors.

Calling the cases of missing and murdered Indigenous women an “epidemic,” Romero said it’s important to “shine a light on it, because Native Indigenous populations, especially women and girls, they’re not disposable. They’re humans, just like everyone else.”