We Deserve Better: Honoring the Life and Loss of Jonathan Joss

Jonathan Joss, the Indigenous actor known to many as the voice of John Redcorn on King of the Hill, has been killed in what appears to be a targeted, hate-fueled attack. Authorities are investigating the fatal shooting, which occurred during what should have been an ordinary visit to check the mail. Instead, it became the final chapter in a long, terrifying campaign of harassment.

For many, Joss wasn’t just a familiar voice on television—he was a lifeline. A Lipan Apache and Comanche actor, he brought one of the only visible representations of Native identity to mainstream TV for a generation that grew up almost entirely erased from pop culture. John Redcorn might have been animated, often misused by writers, but the power of Joss’s performance made the character meaningful. In a media world where Indigenous characters are still rare, still sidelined, that mattered.

But Joss’s impact extended far beyond one cartoon. He built a decades-long career as an actor, storyteller, and advocate—pushing against Hollywood’s limits, taking on roles in The Magnificent Seven, Comanche Moon, Walker, Texas Ranger, and Parks and Recreation. He used his platform to advocate for better Indigenous representation and never allowed himself to be reduced to a stereotype.

Now, instead of celebrating his contributions, we are mourning a life stolen violently and needlessly.

Joss’s death was not an isolated incident. It came after years of threats, intimidation, and harassment directed at him and his husband, Tristan Kern de Gonzales. The couple had been targeted repeatedly by people in their area who expressed open hostility toward their relationship. Homophobic slurs, threats to burn their home, and acts of cruelty—including the apparent killing and display of one of their dogs’ remains—were part of the pattern they endured. They reported the threats to law enforcement multiple times. Nothing was done.

When the couple returned to the site of their former home to check the mail—already grieving what they had lost—they were met once again with horror. The discovery of their dog’s remains, laid out in plain view, caused them deep anguish. As they cried and called out in pain, a man approached, shouted slurs, and raised a gun. Joss, unarmed and unthreatening, pushed his husband out of the line of fire. He was shot in the process and died saving the man he loved.

They were newlyweds. They had chosen Valentine’s Day to commit their lives to each other. They were planning their future, looking for a new home, imagining what came next. But for someone in their community, two men loving each other was too much to bear.

This was a hate crime.

And yet, the silence from mainstream media has been deafening. While headlines readily elevate the deaths of others—particularly when they fit a certain narrative—Joss’s murder has not received the attention it deserves. Perhaps because he was Native. Perhaps because he was gay. Perhaps because this country is still more comfortable with burying these truths than confronting them.

What we do know is this: Jonathan Joss was beloved. By his family, by his fans, and by the Native communities who saw him as one of the only people to break through an industry that so often keeps our stories out. His husband, Tristan, has vowed to protect his legacy and keep the life they built together alive in memory and in truth.

Joss’s death isn’t just a private loss. It is a public reckoning. It asks uncomfortable questions: about who gets protected, who gets remembered, and who gets to be seen in life—or in death.

He deserved better. We all do.

Support Indigenous and LGBTQ+ Rights in Jonathan’s Honor:

If you’d like to help protect the rights of Indigenous and LGBTQ+ people facing violence, or support those working to change media representation, consider donating to:

• IllumiNative

• GLAAD

• The Native American Rights Fund

• Transgender Law Center