OPINION — When someone goes missing, every minute matters. Yet for years, many families have learned the hard way that not every disappearance triggers an alert powerful enough to mobilize the public.
Too often, loved ones have fallen into the space between existing systems, not young enough for an Amber Alert, not old enough for a Silver Alert, and left without the broad community awareness that can save lives. The Turquoise Alert was created to address that gap.
It exists because people like Emily Pike — the 14-year-old San Carlos Apache Tribe member whose remains were found Feb. 14, 2025, after she went missing from a Mesa group home — deserve to be seen, searched for and protected with urgency.
It exists because unexplained disappearances do not fit neatly into age categories. And it exists because communities can and do make a difference when they are informed and empowered to help.
The Turquoise Alert applies when a person under the age of 65 goes missing under unexplained or suspicious circumstances and law enforcement believes the individual is endangered. Before the alert is issued, authorities must confirm that all available local resources have been used and that there is enough descriptive information for the public to assist in locating the missing person.
This is not an alert issued lightly. It is issued when there is a real concern for safety and when time is critical. For families, those distinctions matter less than the fear they are living with. When someone they love disappears, the question is not which category they fall into. The question is whether help will come in time. That is where the Turquoise Alert fills a vital role.
Unlike Amber Alerts, which focus on child abductions, or Silver Alerts, which are designed for seniors with cognitive impairments, the Turquoise Alert recognizes a reality that families have long known. Danger does not wait for age thresholds. Vulnerability is not defined by a birthdate.
Many missing adults face serious risk due to mental health challenges, domestic violence, trafficking, medical conditions or unknown threats. Prior systems left these individuals without a statewide mechanism to quickly activate public awareness. The Turquoise Alert was designed to close that gap.
But an alert alone is not enough.
The Turquoise Alert relies on community vigilance. It depends on people paying attention to their surroundings, checking the details shared and being willing to act if something seems off. A glance at a license plate. A remembered face at a gas station. A call that says, I am not sure, but I want to report what I saw.
These moments save lives.
In cases like Emily Pike’s, which remains unsolved, the pain families carry is compounded by the feeling that more could have been done sooner. The Turquoise Alert represents a promise that lessons learned will lead to action. That we will not wait quietly when someone disappears under concerning circumstances. That we will ask the public for help when help is needed.
Community involvement does not mean panic. It means awareness. It means understanding that when an alert is issued, law enforcement has already determined that the situation is serious and time sensitive. It means recognizing that public eyes can reach places officers cannot immediately access.
Every person who shares an alert, keeps an eye out or reports a tip becomes part of a larger safety net.
The Turquoise Alert is still gaining awareness, and that awareness is critical. An alert only works if people know what it is and why it matters. Families need to know that this tool exists. Communities need to know that their role matters. And decision makers need to continue supporting systems that prioritize human life over rigid categories.
Emily Pike’s story is a reminder that missing persons are not statistics. They are daughters, sons, friends, neighbors and loved ones. The Turquoise Alert honors that truth by refusing to let people disappear quietly.
It asks us to look up. To pay attention. And to care enough to help. Because sometimes, the difference between loss and rescue is simply whether enough people were watching.
Olivia Lemorrocco is vice president of operations for a Phoenix-based personal injury law firm. Please submit comments at yourvalley.net/letters or email them to AzOpinions@iniusa.org. We are committed to publishing a wide variety of reader opinions, as long as they meet our Civility Guidelines.
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