Yvonne Krumrey

State prosecutors will retry the sexual assault case against a former Juneau chiropractor facing 13 charges. They stated their intention to move forward at a hearing Tuesday.

Prosecutor Krystyn Tendy said the details of how many charges will be retried are still being determined. 

It’s been nearly three weeks since the sexual assault trial against a former Juneau chiropractor ended with two acquittals and 14 charges declared mistrial. Last week, the judge in the case dismissed one of those charges. That means that though Jeffery Fultz wasn’t found guilty, the remaining 13 charges are still active. Those are the charges the state may retry.

More than a dozen former patients have accused Jeffrey Fultz of sexual assault under the guise of medical care between 2014 and 2020 while he worked at Southeast Alaska Regional Health Consortium in Juneau. 

At a hearing Tuesday, Fultz’s attorneys said they are withdrawing from the case.

A representation hearing to determine Fultz’s future legal representation is scheduled for Sept. 30 at noon.

A Lingít master weaver is using viral monster dolls called Labubus to bring attention to Chilkat and Ravenstail weaving.

Listen:

In Lily Hope’s shop in downtown Juneau, she held up a tiny doll with an evil grin. 

“Some people are like, ‘why? Oh, please no. Why?’ It’s the you know, ‘what an ugly monster,’” she said. “And other people are like, ‘oh, please let me have one.’” 

Her shop was filled with pieces of weaving: earrings, formline robes, and pictures of models in more weaving. On her desk laid a green doll wearing a Ravenstail headdress, woven in pink, white and blue yarn.

“This one is Trans Pride, requested from an art collector in New York City,” she said.

Hope is a master weaver. She has dedicated her life to reviving Chilkat and Ravenstail weaving, and through apprenticeships and classes, she’s helped hundreds of Alaska Native people form their own weaving practice.

She’s also a mom of five. And those two worlds collided when her kids started asking for Labubus. 

“My three small children introduced me to the dolls and said, ‘Please, Mommy, please, mommy, buy these for us,’” Hope said

You may have heard of them. The dolls are all over the internet, with their fuzzy bodies, big colorful eyes, and pointy teeth. They are based on storybook characters. 

Hope said they come in “blind boxes” — generic packaging that leaves the contents a mystery — so part of the fun is finding which Labubu is in the box.

“Oh, yes, this is the whole rage, right?” she said. “It’s like, ‘Oh, I got Lychee Berry. Oh, I got, I got the Green Grape. Oh, now we need to get Soy Milk, Mama, let’s get Soy Milk.”

But in the craze, she saw an opportunity to continue to push Northwest Coast weaving into the spotlight.

“When somebody sees an Indigenized Labubu in a Ravenstail regalia,” Hope said. “They can be like, ‘Oh, where does that come from? Oh, what are those? Oh, what is Ravenstail weaving? Oh, wait, it’s related to Chilkat. Let’s go.’”

Lingit regalia is sacred attire that represents ancestral heritage and cultural identity.

Hope’s doll-sized regalia sets go for more than $600, and fine arts collectors all over the country are ordering them.

But for those who don’t want to shell out that much, Hope also sells kits for people who want to weave their own outfits for a doll. 

“It’s a way to get the work further into the world,” she said. “And kind of, you know, capture some people who wouldn’t necessarily come to Ravenstail weaving otherwise, but are like, ‘Oh, this is a way that I can dress my Labubu in traditional regalia, and I made it myself.’ That’s huge.” 

It’s a way of weaving your own story into the trend. And the little monsters look pretty cool, too. 

Tammy Jablonski Murphy said she had given up on the prospect of finding love before her first date with Joseph Murphy in the late 1990s. 

“But he kissed me, and it was like, ‘I’ll marry you right now.’ I mean, that’s how I felt in my heart,” she said. “I thought, ‘I can see me with you for the rest of my natural life.’” 

Instead, their years together were cut short.

Listen: 

Joseph Murphy died of a heart attack on Aug. 14, 2015 in Juneau’s Lemon Creek Correctional Center after guards refused him care. He was there on a protective custody hold — a type of hold intended to prevent someone from harming themselves or others while intoxicated. He wasn’t charged with a crime. 

Jablonski Murphy said her late husband had a heart condition, but it was treatable, and that he may not have died if he’d had access to his medications or medical care. She and Murphy’s family sued the state for wrongful death and settled out of court. 

It’s been 10 years, and Jablonski Murphy is still mourning. She wants to know if the state has changed its policies to prevent deaths like this in the future. 

“I want to know what’s changed,” she said. “Because if nothing has changed, I’m not laying my banner down, kid. I’m not.”

A KTOO investigation shows that the state did make some initial changes and the number of in-custody deaths decreased for a couple of years. 

But those changes were undone under Gov. Mike Dunleavy. The state has seen some of its highest number of deaths in custody per year under his administration – peaking at 18 deaths in 2022.

Leading up to Joseph Murphy’s death, his widow said he had relapsed into drinking after years of sobriety. He had quit drinking after leaving military service in Iraq a decade before. She says he was becoming progressively more suicidal. 

Jablonski Murphy helped him try to seek care at Bartlett Regional Hospital and other treatment facilities without success, and it culminated in the sequence of events leading to his death under a protective custody hold in prison. 

“He went to treatment. He was at the hospital. They sent him to the jail,” she said. “It just kept going, and I was watching him fall through every crack you can imagine.”

Then, one night in August a few days before Jablonski Murphy’s birthday, he told her she would be better off without him. She was afraid that if she fell asleep, he would hurt himself. So, she took him to Bartlett Regional Hospital. 

Staff there said he had to go to Lemon Creek Correctional Center. He wasn’t being charged with a crime. He was held on a “protective hold” intended to prevent people who are intoxicated from harming themselves or others. 

Jablonski Murphy said she tried to insist the officers let Murphy take his heart medication with him, but they didn’t allow it. Instead, the officers said they would call 911 if anything happened. 

Murphy died the next morning. 

Investigation and aftermath

By the time Murphy died, 25 people had died in Alaska Department of Corrections facilities in the preceding years. Then-Gov. Bill Walker had already ordered an investigation of the department prior to Murphy’s death. The investigation’s findings were released in a report in November of that year, and they were scathing. The report included an analysis of how Murphy died. 

The report said that video footage from the prison showed guards dismissing Murphy’s repeated calls for help. The video did not have any audio. 

One staff member said he was in the bathroom when he overheard Murphy saying he needed his heart medication. Another staff member responded, telling him, “I don’t care, you could die right now and I don’t care.”

Emergency medical services were called when a different staff member found him unresponsive on the floor. By then it was too late. Murphy had died of a heart attack. 

Dean Williams, who was special assistant to the Governor at the time, spearheaded the investigation. 

He said the law that allows for protective custody increased the danger Murphy faced in prison.

“Mr. Murphy was not there under any criminal allegation, but under a statute that was designed to protect him,” Williams said. “And unfortunately, the statute that was designed to protect him contributed to his death.” 

Williams said the staff of Lemon Creek misinterpreted the law — it says people can be held until they are sober, or up to 12 hours. Williams said the staff involved with Murphy’s death believed he had to be held for at least 12 hours, The state’s report said Murphy appeared sober  in the hours leading up to his heart attack and could have been released.

Williams said staff also exhibited a blatant lack of concern for Murphy’s well-being.

“They handled Mr. Murphy in a horrible way, in a cruel and callous way,” Williams said. “The man was having a heart attack in front of everyone, and nobody called 911.”

Williams later served  as DOC Commissioner from 2016 to 2018. He created an internal investigations system for Alaska’s Department of Corrections – a change to prevent more deaths like Murphy’s, he said.  

“The death of Mr. Murphy shocks our conscience, and it should, right?” Williams said. “But that was not the only one.” 

Williams said internal affairs units can thoroughly investigate deaths and find ways the system failed and can improve, instead of sweeping custody deaths under the rug. 

“That’s why you have internal affairs,” he said. “It’s not a luxury, it’s an essential component, which is why every other state has it.” 

But Alaska’s next DOC Commissioner Nancy Dahlstrom, under Gov. Dunleavy, dismantled the internal investigations unit in 2018. Legislators said the cut would save the state money. Dahlstrom could not be reached for comment. 

Alaska DOC hasn’t had internal investigations since. The department’s spokesperson said there are no plans to resurrect it. 

KTOO could confirm only that most states have internal affairs units. But Michele Deitch, director of the Prison and Jail Innovation Lab in Texas, said Williams was right — Alaska is the only state she knows of that doesn’t have internal investigation mechanisms. 

Some policy documents reference internal investigations, but Department of Corrections Spokesperson Betsy Holley said the department only conducts reviews, not investigations. She said the investigations are conducted by Alaska State Troopers “ensuring neutrality and objectivity.”

In recent years, deaths in Department of Corrections custody have garnered public outcry, and multiple lawsuits from the American Civil Liberties Union.  

There were 110 inmate deaths in DOC custody between 2015 and 2024. Two-thirds were reported as “natural” deaths, including Joseph Murphy’s.

 Juneau’s health care safety net

While changes in the state’s corrections department were relatively short-lived, Juneau health care services have changed in ways that could reduce the chances that someone in Joseph Murphy’s condition would end up in a state corrections facility at all.

Many people in crisis may now get help before they end up in a protective custody hold at Lemon Creek. Jodie Totten is the medical director of Bartlett Regional Hospital’s emergency department. She wasn’t working at Bartlett in 2015, but she said in the several years she’s been with the hospital, she’s seen changes to the landscape of care for people suffering from mental health and substance use conditions. 

Now, Totten said, Bartlett’s emergency services staff rarely sends patients to Lemon Creek Correctional Center. 

“I mean, we’re always trying to avoid having to have people go to Lemon Creek,” she said. “And there are a lot of other great options in the city that I think we should all be really proud of.”

Some facilities like Rainforest Recovery, a residential substance use treatment facility at Bartlett Regional Hospital, have closed in the meantime, limiting care options. 

But Juneau’s CARES teams —Community Assistance Response and Emergency Services – were formed in 2019.  Those teams are staffed by medical providers and emergency responders that help provide crisis care and follow up with patients who have long-term needs.

CARES also offers a sobering center, where people can recover from intoxication under medical supervision. 

With these programs, when someone is experiencing suicidal ideation, loved ones can request providers come to their home and offer support or intervention. 

And the support network may not be improving just in Juneau. Across the state, the numbers of protective holds halved in 2020. The decrease only continued, from 1,301 holds in 2015, to 379 in 2024. 

Murphy’s widow

Tammy Jablonski Murphy said the pain of losing her husband is still with her. She’s 66 years old, and she still works as a social worker. She helps people recovering from addiction and people reentering the community after incarceration. She said her work is a tribute to Murphy. 

“If I can help one person crawl through this fractured, broken system and come out the other end and be able to claim their life back and start over – get their families back, whatever they need to do – then that honors my Joe, and that’s what I’m all about,” she said. “That’s what I’m all about.” 

She doesn’t plan to retire anytime soon. And she doesn’t plan to let go of the memory of her husband, no matter how many years it’s been.

A jury has declared a Juneau artist not guilty of terroristic threatening. Mitchell Watley was accused of threatening the public in 2023, when he distributed printed notes featuring memes referencing school shootings around town.

Mitchell Watley was accused of four felony counts of terroristic threatening. His attorney argued that he was not intending to cause fear when he distributed the notes.

In March 2023, notes depicting an automatic rifle and the words “Feeling Cute Might Shoot Some Children” on a transgender pride flag were left in grocery stores and the State Office Building downtown. 

Police traced video surveillance footage to a car registered to Watley. He was arrested a few days later.

In the course of the trial, jurors heard from police, school administrators and Watley himself.

Former Juneau School District Superintendent Bridget Weiss testified that schools took the notes seriously.

“In my world, as a K-12 educator in the world we live in, a sick joke is a threat,” she said during trial proceedings. 

Juneau Police Department officers also testified that they were concerned about public safety when the notes were found, and that the department stationed extra officers near the schools that day. 

Watley himself took the stand to say he didn’t intend for anyone to be alarmed by the notes he left around town. 

His attorney Nicholas Polasky asked him if he thought people would perceive it as a threat. 

“No,” Watley replied. 

“Did the thought cross your mind?” Polasky then asked.

“Never,” Watley said.

Polasky argued that the incident did not meet the definition of a “true threat” — the crime Watley was charged with. 

“Broadly speaking – a true threat is something that objectively appears to be a threat and was meant to be a threat,” Polasky told KTOO over email. “It is not required [that] a person must intend to act on the threat, but the person must mean for the message to be a threat.”

Watley’s attorney said it was intended as a meme to spread Watley’s beliefs at the time that transgender people were dangerous. Watley said he was thinking about a Tennessee shooting that happened earlier that year. The perpetrator was a transgender person. 

According to the Violence Project, less than one percent of mass shootings in the United States have been committed by a transgender person. 

“I kind of assumed it would be like when we see a meme on social media,” Watley testified. “They’d look at it and form an opinion and move on.”

Watley distributed the notes on Transgender Day of Visibility, an annual event recognizing the obstacles transgender individuals face and their contributions to society. 

He’s an illustrator, and when he was arrested in 2023, local shops pulled his book from their shelves, pointing to the growing anti-trans climate that his notes perpetuated. 

Watley said that he doesn’t think about transgender people much these days. 

The trial against Watley lasted four days. The jury returned its not guilty verdict on Wednesday.

This is Tongass Voices, a series from KTOO sharing weekly perspectives from the homelands of the Áak’w Kwáan and beyond.

Juneau high school students Alivia Gomez and Maddie Bass are playing student debaters in Perseverance Theatre’s new play, “What the Constitution Means to Me.” 

The play reflects playwright Heidi Schreck’s experience as a teenager participating in constitutional debates in 1989, and how it influenced her understanding of the founding document of our government as an adult.

During the play’s run in Juneau, Gomez and Bass step into Schreck’s shoes and draw on their own experience in high school debate. 

Listen:

The following transcript has been lightly edited for clarity.

Alivia Gomez: I’m Alivia Gomez. I’m a senior at Juneau Douglas High School. I play debater in the performance, “What the Constitution Means to Me.” Aside from that, I’m also the debate captain of Juneau Douglas’s drama, debate and forensics team. I’m very proud to be. 

Maddie Bass: Hi, my name is Maddie Bass. I’m a sophomore at Juneau Douglas High School. I’m Alivia’s understudy for the role of debater, in “What the Constitution Means to Me.” I’ve also been debating for one year. 

Alivia Gomez:  I will say for I think debate, particularly, because a lot of the topics are politically focused, it really gives you a more open minded perspective going into things. Like, you’re kind of forced to hear these resolutions and you have your preliminary ideas about it. 

Like, for example, the topic for nationals last year was, “On balance, the benefits of executive orders outweigh their harms.” 

And of course, everyone kind of has their bias on it, but you’re kind of forced to consider both aspects of it and really consider, ‘Okay, I have to weigh these, these really hard factors.’ 

And I think that’s really helpful, not especially for younger minds, because I really believe that we need more young people politically involved.

Maddie Bass: Our world has drastically changed since Heidi Schreck was a teenager. And so it’s a really interesting way for the audience to see how, even though you know, Heidi was talking about the Constitution — what was it? 30 years ago — and it’s still just as relevant to us today.

I’ve learned the most about the laws of this country and how my own life has been shaped by the Constitution, from these past couple weeks working on this play.

You know, it’s the baseline for all the protections and all the harms for people in this country, which is something so fascinating and so scary at the same time. Yeah, yeah.

Alivia Gomez: Obviously, this script was written a while ago. But I really, truly think that what makes this play so special is that its importance is timeless. It will always be relevant in how we can better shape our democracy, the question of how we can get better as a country, which is really what the place centers around, and how we can fight for better, positive human rights for all of us, is really the theme that it shows. 

Maddie Bass: There are two different versions of the debate. So if you, if you go and watch this play, you’re going to see a coin flip. That coin flip is real. We don’t know which side we’re taking when we go into this performance. So there is that, that little bit of improvisation in there too.

Alivia Gomez: There’s also, yeah, a little room for mystery as to be arguing, which is going to be really cool, because we’re also going to be keeping tally of which way the audience votes, because the audience will be our judges.

The U.S. Department of Agriculture announced this summer it was moving to rescind the Roadless Rule, a 2001 law that protects large swaths of National Forest land from development. 

That includes more than half of the Tongass National Forest, where Juneau is located. On Saturday, more than 100 people gathered in the state capital to protest the move. 

It’s not the first time protections for the Tongass have been in question. The first Trump administration repealed protections for the Tongass National Forest specifically, which were reinstated by the Biden administration.

The USDA’s announcement called the Roadless Rule “burdensome, and outdated.” It said the rule threatens livelihoods and stifles economic growth. 

Alaska’s Congressional delegation unanimously supports the rollback of the Roadless Rule. U.S. Sen. Lisa Murkowski has said that most of the Tongass would still be protected without it — the parts of the forest that are already designated as wilderness. U.S. Sen. Dan Sullivan said rescinding the rule would open the door for economic growth in rural Alaska, and U.S. Rep. Nick Begch said the rule inhibits local management of forests. 

But protesters say Alaskans have more to lose in risks to the land and waterways than what they have to gain through further development. Lingít elders and fishing and tourism industry experts took the mic Saturday to deliver a message: the Roadless Rule should be left alone.

Kaatssaawaa Della Cheney told the crowd her mother had protested clear cutting on Haida Gwaii in Canada in the 1980s. She said when young people stepped up to form a blockade, their parents and grandparents came too. 

“The elders showed up with their regalia and put the young people aside and said, ‘We are going to form the line to keep machines away from our lands, our trees, are ways of life,’” Cheney said. “And that’s what they did.”

Now Cheney said, as an elder herself, she is speaking up in favor of keeping the Roadless Rule. 

Seikoonie Fran Houston is Áak’w Ḵwáan, who originally lived in Juneau. She said development threatens sacred salmon runs and Lingít burial sites.

“This was our territory, and it was taken away from us,” she said. “And now hundreds of hundreds of years later, here I am standing on the grounds of my ancestors fighting to try and protect what they had.” 

Houston said the damage to sacred land isn’t worth the potential financial gain.

And others said the financial math doesn’t actually add up in favor of rescinding the rule. 

Kate Troll has worked in fisheries and climate management in Southeast Alaska for more than 30 years. She says old growth logging, which the rule limits, is a very small piece of Alaska’s economy. And the rule protects resources the tourism and fishing industries rely on, which make up a far greater piece. 

“If doing right by the numbers — right by our economy — was the real objective, we wouldn’t be having this debate,” she said. “If facts really mattered, the Trump administration would realize there’s absolutely no overall economic benefit to be gained by tossing the Roadless Rule out.”

She said the forests serve as irreplaceable carbon sinks, which combat the effects of climate change.  

Xaawk’w Tláa Yolanda Fulmer advocated for the codification of the Roadless Rule, which is being considered by Congress. She said she wants the future of the Tongass to be guaranteed for her grandchildren. 

“So we don’t keep going back and forth with this whiplash politics that keeps happening to us, where one day we’re feeling safer and we’re feeling protected,” she said. “And the next it’s being ripped from us, just like our trees are being threatened.” 

Fulmer referenced a comment Rep. Begich made last month, saying that he’s heard Southeast Alaskans asking for the timber industry to be revived.

“You’re not listening to the people I’ve been talking to from Kichx̱áan all the way to Yaakwdáat that says, ‘Stay out of our lands. Leave our trees alone. Find another way,’” she said, using the traditional names for Ketchikan and Yakutat. 

The public can comment on the proposed rescission of the Roadless Rule through Friday, Sept. 19 at federalregister.gov.