title: New Podcast: The Walk Home
author: Outsiders
contenttype: podcast
publication: Outsiders
published: 2022-09-07T03:30:00-04:00
sourceurl: https://cpa.ds.npr.org/s148/audio/2022/08/the-walk-home-episode-1-for-outsiders-feed.mp3
word_count: 4953
Hey, this is Will James. It's been more than two years since outsiders first came out. The idea back then was pretty simple. Could we help people understand this impossibly complicated topic, homelessness? By zooming in on just one thing happening in one community, and a lot of you told us the answer was yes. So now we're trying it again. We've got a new podcast coming out by the same collaboration that brought you outsiders. KNKX Public Radio in the Seattle Times. My colleagues and I have been working on this new podcast for a while. It's called The Walk Home. Instead of covering homelessness, this new podcast focuses on a killing that happened about 30 miles north of Olympia into coma, Washington. One night in March 2020, a man named Mani Ellis started walking home on a Tacoma street. He encountered police and he died there. This was about three months before George Floyd was killed in Minneapolis. And it was kind of a different world. Not a lot of people took notice of Mani's death. But his sister had a feeling something was wrong with the story police were telling. So she started her own investigation. That set off a chain of events that changed the history of Washington state. And because of the timing of Mani's death, this case offers a window into the whole racial justice movement of 2020. What it meant, what changed, and what's still undone. So here is the first episode of The Walk Home. To get the whole eight-part series, look for The Walk Home by KNKX in the Seattle Times wherever you get your podcasts or go to thewalkhomepodcast.org. This podcast includes descriptions of violence and death. Please take care while listening. It's late May 2020. Tens of thousands, maybe even millions, of people are waving signs and marching through cities across America. They're protesting. One crowd moves through downtown Tacoma, Washington under a gray Pacific Northwest sky. A woman in a black hoodie, a little apart from the crowd, follows the sound of the chanting. Can't see me. Monet Carter Mixon gets closer to the heart of the action, weaving through the ground. For many of them, this protest is about the death of George Floyd, 1700 miles away in Minneapolis. To Monet, this protest is an opportunity. She asked people marching around her if they know about something that happened right here in Tacoma three months earlier to a different black man. If you guys saw anything hurt, you know anybody that saw anything hurt, you know, message me. Hit me up. I know you don't want to talk to the police, but contact me. Let me know. I saw someone with his picture, I was like, you know who that is. And then she was like, no, that's my brother. He was killed. Monet's older brother, Manuel Ellis, everybody called him Mani, was walking home one night when he crossed paths with police on a Tacoma street corner. He died there. That's all Monet really knows. So she came to the protest looking for answers to try to figure out what the hell happened that night. Do you know anybody that saw anything like that's what I was doing? And I had spoke to everybody like in the crowd and I, you know, I just said like, if you guys know anybody in the Elizabeth area, if you know what happened, like just just hit me up. Monet doesn't know how long this moment will last, but all of a sudden the deaths of black people at the hands of police are international news. They become symbols of these deep pervasive problems in society. For whatever reason, lots of people are paying attention to George Floyd's death. Maybe Monet thinks they'll pay attention to Mani's too. She can find a way to take advantage of this moment. She has a chance at figuring out the truth about how Mani died. From K&K's public radio in the Seattle Times, this is The Walk Home. I'm Maya Aina. I grew up here in Tacoma. I think most people can remember where they were when they heard about George Floyd. Maybe they saw the viral video. I heard about it, but I didn't want to see it. To this day I still haven't. I've never needed to. My mind was already full of stories of black children, men, and women being killed or brutalized. First I learned about them as historical events like Emmett Till. Then I inherited stories from my parents about Rodney King and from my older brothers about guys like Sean Bell. Then I started collecting my own names. My first was Trayvon Martin, then Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland. By the time I heard about George Floyd, I was tired. Really tired. Then I started seeing the name Mani Ellis come across my timeline. To be honest, by that point, I wasn't just tired. I was numb. It wasn't until I moved back home to Tacoma and learned more about Mani from my friends that I realized what actually happened. Mani's death brought a reckoning to my hometown. The way George Floyd's killing did for America. A lot of people here feel that Tacoma is really special. People think that Tacoma is sometimes immune from these things that happen in the world. I think it made people realize that shit really happens. There was a dark cloud. It felt very heavy, very dark, and very hard to avoid. It really said in for me that all of America is being affected by this and my own city is in danger. The people around me need protection. You could feel our city crying. We feel like it felt very grieved. Everything felt so grieved. Because of that close knit feeling in Tacoma, like, okay, that was somebody that I knew. Or if I didn't know him personally, I knew a sister. If I didn't know a sister, I knew somebody who really loved him. That combination of things was kind of a wake-up call for people to be like, oh, we have a problem here. But Mani's story, this story that grieved my city, this wake-up call almost went unheard. The only reason we know about this story is because of one woman. She challenged the media, the police department, and local officials, the state government, even her own family at times to get answers. Mani's little sister, Monet. My colleague, Curry Plogue, has spent two years reporting this story and getting to know her. When I asked Monet Carter Mixon to describe herself, the first thing she says is, I'm a mom. She has six kids, all of them are under 13. I'm kind of just like a regular, regular person. I don't feel like I'm anybody. But that, she was a single mom for a long time. But now she's a newlywed. And her family is everything. I'm a homebody. I don't really like to party to do that other stuff. I picked up hiking when I met my husband, which I never would have thought in a million years that I would be a hiker. But here I am. What stands out about Monet is how brutally honest she is. She doesn't have time to dance around stuff. Even when she talks about horrible things, especially when she talks about horrible things. It kind of threw me off at first. Her tone doesn't change much. She just shuts off her feelings and tells the facts. One of the few times she couldn't shut them off was when I asked her about a phone call. I want to talk about that day. At any point in time, if there's something that you don't want to talk about or if you need to take a break, you just let me know. Okay. Okay. Sorry. I'm getting emotional now. I hate that. The good, like, I don't mind talking about the good or just like our relationship because it helps me. Like it makes me feel like it's real. It was genuine. Like all of that. But then like the fucked up stuff, like what they did. I literally like like last night I had a nightmare. This phone call came in early March 2020, three months before she showed up at that protest, looking for answers. George Floyd was still alive in Minneapolis. People were worried about a new coronavirus spreading around the world. Monet was in her late 20s trying to balance raising five kids on her own and a new job answering phones for a hospital system in Tacoma. I was really stressed out because my kids were acting up in school. I was worried that I wasn't going to, because they have probation periods with jobs. So I was worried that I wasn't going to keep my job because I didn't have all the support that I needed. It was just a lot. Well, she was at work. Monet missed a call. Man, my name is Rich. I'm with the Pierce County Medical Examiner's office. You can give me a call at area 253. Monet had a newborn at home. She was breastfeeding and taking regular pumping breaks at work. So on my way to go pump, I called him back and he introduced himself. Hi, my name's Rich. I'm from the Pierce County Medical Examiner's office. It's now a good time to talk and I was like, yeah, I'm at work. I'm going to rate a pump so I have time. And he was like, oh, you're at work. He's like, what are you in a safe place? Like, you're not driving or anything. Are you? No. Like, why are you asking me if I'm driving? And he was like, well, I had your name as an emergency contact for a manual Ellis. And I was like, yeah, that's my brother. Is there a chair? Can you sit down? And I'm like, what? Why are you asking me all these questions? Like, what are you calling me for? Dude, I'm trying to pump. Like, I'm on a schedule. I've got stuff I have to do. He said, okay, well, I just want to, you know, that I have your brother's body here with me. What? Your brother? He passed away early this morning. What? Man, he doesn't really remember what happened next. She thinks she threw her phone. I don't know. I flipped out. I was crying. I like fell to the ground. I know. I'm pretty sure everyone's had their heart broken before, you know, like, like your first love and that, like, pain, like, in your chest where like, you just can't breathe. You can't eat. So imagine like that times 20. That's what it feels like. First, she called her mom, Garcia. I just said like, you know, man, he's gone. She's like, gone. What do you mean gone? Gone. Where? What are you talking about? You're supposed to get work. Why are you calling? I'm like, he's dead, mom. He's dead. They just called me and said he's dead. Monet has another older brother, Matthew. She called him next. He was angry. I remember he was like, what are you talking about? What are you talking about? He was really, really angry. And immediately, me and my brother were just like, like, what happened? Mani was 33 older than Monet. But his sister had a reputation in the family. Still does actually. They call her the little big sister. I couldn't really be the baby because in like, in a black household, black daughters, especially first born black daughters, you're the oldest. If the kitchen was messed up, if the bathroom was messed up, the bathroom that I didn't even use, usually it was Mani that was messing everything up. Monet, why don't you clean this up? Why didn't you do that? Once I got to be about like seven, eight years old, I had to grow up. Despite all of that, she didn't take herself too seriously. Matthew, the oldest, was the mature one. Mani was the clown. Monet was more like him. She always wanted to tag along and keep up. She says in the family, they were the free spirited ones. And they understood each other. Monet says she and Mani were both sexually abused by family members as kids. They each found their own ways to cope. As they grew up, Monet became the stable one. Mani was the one who needed stability. Over the years, Monet pushed Mani to get treatment for mental illness and drug addiction. Mani even lived with her on and off. He loved my kids. He was my designated babysitter. When they would have to take a time out from daycare school, that's where they would go with their uncle Mani. All the births, he was there. He was just like my, he was my brother of course, but as we got older, like he just was really like my best friend. But everybody in the family worried about Mani a lot. Where he was sleeping, what he was doing. Monet quickly figured out when it was fine for him to come around her and the kids. And when it was best for him to stay away. Then just a few months before Monet got this call. Mani's family started noticing a change. Mani had moved into a sober home where he was figuring out what he would do next. He was going to church three or four days a week. Monet had just talked to him two days earlier the night before he died. They talked on the phone for five hours. We had a really like long end-up conversation about like religion. There is a God. I know that there's a higher power. And I know that like it's something, you know. But the way that I am, if something doesn't make sense, I'm going to question it and question it. I'm going to harass you and press you about it. Because it's like, no, something's not at it now. Because there's so much like bullshit associated with it. This is who they are. Monet is a questioner. Mani, she says, was a diplomat. He didn't try to change your mind. He tried to make her feel better about her doubts. And he opened up to her about finding religion again. He always talked about church and then like the different people at the church and there are different personalities and how he, you know, he kept saying like, I really found my purpose like I'm enjoying this. Like that's what I needed. I just needed to get back to like going to church and like being in the band. Because that's basically like how I get a high. Like it made, I feel like good when I do this. You had sent me videos of him playing the drums. Like, what did you think of that? You think of a good job? Mani's never just sat down and said, this is what I want to do with my life. I found this. Like I see where my life has headed and I want to go in this direction. He's never done that. I was really proud of him. Mani having that conversation and ending up dead the next day. It didn't make sense. What happened? How did he die? But when Monet walked into her mom's living room that day, where her family was waiting for her, their heads were somewhere else. They were talking about burying Mani. Why are we talking about funeral arrangements? In my head I was thinking we can't put him into the dirt until we figure out what happened to him. Then Monet is oldest brother Matthew sent her a news article he had seen on Facebook. He didn't think anything of it when he first saw it. Just a typical story in Tacoma. But now that they knew Mani was dead, this article read differently. It was from Tacoma's newspaper, the news Tribune. Okay, so a man died within minutes of being arrested, Tuesday, for repeatedly hitting a Tacoma patrol car and struggling with officers, according to the Pierce County Sheriff's Department. The 33 year old has not been identified. This article doesn't mention Mani's name, but as Monet read the details, she quickly realized the story was about him. It tells law enforcement's version of what happened. Okay, so official said he showed symptoms consistent with excited delirium, but a cause of death has not been determined. Excited delirium often includes a tempset violence, unexpected strength, and very high body temperature. Excited delirium is the explanation police give when someone acts bizarre, paranoid, and violent. It seems to have superhuman strength. Overheats and in some cases suddenly dies, usually because their heart stops. But doctors disagree about whether it's real or not. Monet keeps reading. The incident occurred about 11.20 p.m. when the man ran up to a patrol car at the intersection of 96th Street, South and Ainsworth Avenue, and began striking the vehicle. Officers notified dispatch they needed backup and got out of their patrol car. As the officers exited their vehicle, they were immediately attacked by the man Sheriff's spokesman Ed Troyer said, they struggled with the man for two minutes as to come a police officers and Sheriff's deputies responded to the scene. Police managed to handcuff the man, but he allegedly, he allegedly continued to struggle. How the fuck is supposed to handcuff somebody, but they still struggle? And if they are handcuffed, why are you... The article says firefighters showed up, man he lost consciousness. They tried reviving him for 40 minutes, but he never woke up. That's what the story says about man's death. The rest of it is about an arrest he had six months earlier. He was awaiting trial on a second-degree robbery charge after allegedly holding up a Tacoma fast food restaurant on September 21st. In that incident, the man punched several employees and ran outside, stripped off his clothes and sprinted down the street. Deputies used a stun gun on the man because he resisted arrests and struggled court records say. He allegedly told paramedics he was high on methamphetamine in marijuana and didn't remember what happened. This story from law enforcement, it has an implicit message that man he was a criminal with a record who used drugs. The type of person who would attack a police car for no reason and fight with officers. The type of person who would have a sudden medical episode and just stop breathing. The message is that the circumstances of man he's death are normal, something tragic that just happens sometimes. But to Monet, the man he in that article sounded like a stranger. I was in disbelief. Man he's not going to fight anybody or hit anybody, especially if he was in his right mind. Even if he was in his wrong mind, he would still try and smooth chalk his way out of something. But be aggressive towards someone that has complete basically control over you and your freedom. He's not going to risk that. Monet was in shock. She was grieving. But there was another feeling nagging at her. That there was more to the story. Long term projects, it's a lot. It's like putting together a 100,000 piece puzzle after all the pieces have been dumped out of a helicopter. You've got to go digging for all these facts and then figure out how they all fit together. It's worth it though. I think storytelling with depth and context is so important right now because frankly, this is a confusing time to be alive. That's why I'm asking you to help K&KX make more projects like The Walk Home. By donating at KNKX.org today, I really appreciate it. Let me take you to my hometown. When you're driving on the Interstate South from Seattle, and about 40 minutes you get to this messy set of lane changes and overpasses, there's always construction, there's always traffic. To the right, you see a hill covered in buildings, a dome-shaped event venue rises up along the road, taps at Tacoma Dome. Steam pours out from industrial buildings on the port. This is how a lot of people see Tacoma, Washington, from the freeway. Just passing through. Tacoma is a second city, just like that Oakland San Francisco relationship, or a St. Paulin Minneapolis, Tacoma has a bigger, more famous city nearby, Seattle, and it gets compared to it all the time. We have our own flavor. Tacoma just has a very specific aura, and it's just so comfortable, like being around people that are from Tacoma because it's just like, I don't know, it's just cozy. I genuinely feel like it's like being around the side of the family that you like the most. Yeah, you gotta be a certain way around the other type of family, but this family is just like all your cousins. It can be a little rough around the edges, but if you want to find space to be you to figure out who you are, Tacoma is a good place to start. A lot of outsiders don't get it, though. They might know Tacoma from the TV show Cops, or maybe they've heard it's where serial killer Ted Bundy grew up. Whether it's because of media coverage, a history of gang violence, a history of being working class, smaller, poor, blacker. People who don't live here think it's more dangerous than other places. They think it stinks, literally. Okay, to be fair, it kind of does, but it comes from the point they call it the Tacoma Aroma. It kind of smells like a fart, but it's really not as bad as people make it seem. The obvious thing is, is like people know about Tacoma Aroma, and like if it's all that you know, then like whatever. Like there was this tension, like all your front Tacoma, you know, whatever, Tacoma Aroma, or your ghetto, your thing. How many people be like, oh you're front Tacoma, you know, just like, oh, maybe I shouldn't eat myself. You know, even that within Tacoma is the same thing, right? So like, when I would talk to folks in Tacoma, I'd like, I'm a teacher, and they're like, oh, where do you work? Oh, I work in Lincoln High School. Oh, and we call that the Lincoln O. A lot of the like Tacoma is hoods Tacoma. This is really just veiled anti-black racism, whether people want to like acknowledge that or not. In the Pacific Northwest, one of the widest areas of the country, Tacoma is one of the blackest cities. Growing up here, you learn to expect the jokes, the sneak disses and the skeptical faces. We all have our own defense mechanisms and comebacks. Even people who move here learn pretty quickly, what's up? We'll post something like just a pretty picture of the city or something, we'll say like something positive about the city and someone will just take an opportunity to share their negative opinions of the city. That's Sierra Hartman. He and Sarah K. Co own a popular hyperlocal magazine celebrating the town. Someone decided to leave a review on their site, but it wasn't a review of the mag. It was a review of Tacoma. One star. It was like great place if you'd like to get raped and murdered. Yeah, for like the entire 20th century, everyone in the world, really and especially in the region, just looked down on Tacoma. You know, it was the Gritty Port city and they always said it like as a derogatory term. And when you've been shit on for so long, you take on a certain attitude. Come here or don't. Have fun or don't. Like I'm not gonna beg you. I just lean into it. Like yeah, Tacoma is terrible. Like there's nothing fun to do here. You'll probably get murdered in your car storm. Come hang or go let. The underdog ship on your shoulder, you will not disrespect my townness that the city has. It's something that I appreciate. Some people make that adjustment or like they won't say they're from Tacoma after getting so much of that pressure versus like I feel like a lot of us end up being like standing our ground. And so people want to talk shit about us. We don't care. There's nothing else that I'd rather represent. If you want to come here and experience it for yourself, that's awesome. And you can like it or leave it. Tacoma versus everybody. Period. For better or for worse, like Tacoma will ride forward Tacoma. From people saying things like, oh Tacoma, it has a smell. Or Tacoma is Tacoma as people like to say, which is both an insult to Tacoma and Tacoma. I'm 100% you know, but like if somebody says those things, they better not be somebody who's not from Tacoma. Almost a hundred thousand people follow a Facebook page where people post about crime in the city. Photos of missing cars, thieves caught on doorbell cameras. They're kind of making fun of Tacoma and playing up all the worst stereotypes about it. The page is called Tacompton Files. And this of all places is where Monet's investigation into her brother's death begins just a couple days after Manny died. While everyone is still taking in the news, Monet's brother Matthew tells her about a post online by the person who runs the Tacompton Files. A recording of police radio chatter from that night posted to YouTube. The video's title is Death While In Custody. I first thought it was a video, but it was just the sound clip. They're asking for assistance. She listens as a dispatcher and officers talk back and forth. It's hard to tell what's going on or even what they are saying. But once in a while, Monet catches snippets of what is happening at the scene. An officer asks for hobbles to restrain someone's legs. A burst of sirens. Then two seconds of audio. One more time, a little slower. Can't breathe. It's Manny. Someone at the scene clicked on a radio for two seconds. And in those two seconds, it captured Manny saying, I can't breathe. I just cried because I heard the plea in his voice. He was scared. And he was begging for them to let up so he could catch a breath. I don't think Manny knew that he was going to die that night. You said that your brother sounded like he was scared when you heard that. Have you ever heard him sound that way before? Yeah. When we were little, because my dad was really abusive. And so when he would beg and plead to not get a weapon, that's how he would sound. Like desperate. Like please, don't please. Is that how you knew something wasn't right? Yeah, for sure. Manny crying out that he couldn't breathe. I was never mentioned before. The newspaper article, The Story by Police, it casts Manny as an aggressor, not someone who was scared. It had been just a couple days since Monet found out her brother died. And she already had a feeling something was wrong. It like validated what I already knew. So the first thing was how the news was delivered. The second thing was this article that made any sense because it didn't speak to Manny's character or who he really was. The third thing was the audio. That was the final thing. That was the affirmation. This moment would change Monet. Eventually it would change Washington state law. And it would bring a national divide about racism and policing right here to Tacoma. The story that nobody paid attention to would set up what promises to be one of the most important trials in Pacific Northwest history. We want to know what Manny's life meant and what his death means now. What happened to him can tell us something about the protest movement we all just lived through, something we're still grappling with. What really changed? And can we actually hold anyone accountable on the next episode of The Walk Home. Monet's investigation collides with the racial justice movement of 2020. We're getting thrown flashbangs right where we're standing there. And in the chaos of that moment, a new piece of information surfaces. The Walk Home is a production of KNKX public radio in the Seattle Times. It's written and produced by Carrey Plogue, Lil James and me, Maya LaIna. We had help reporting this episode from Seattle Times senior investigative reporter Patrick Malone. Our editor is Tierra Dineau. Our executive producers are Flora Angeladavila and Jonathan Martin. Bethany Denton is our mixed engineer. Music comes from Tacoma artists. Will Jordan, Marcel E.C. Augustin and Quincy Q. Henry. Thank you to Jimika Scott, Levan White, Rachel Askew, Jordan Bryant, Nate Bowling, Danielle Bender, and Louise Camaque. Our logo is by Rotator Creative. Additional audio comes from the Seattle Times videography team, researched by Miyoko Wolf, and special thanks to the Ellis family for sharing their story. So that was the first episode of The Walk Home, a new podcast by KNKX public radio in the Seattle Times. Look for it on your favorite podcast app or go to thewalkhomepodcast.org. And once you find it, please subscribe and give it a rating. Thanks a lot.