Dig – Details, episodes & analysis

Alleged victims of the Stoners find each other online and band together to demand justice. But they find themselves running up against police and prosecutors who want them to stay quiet. Hearing stories like this one can bring up painful feelings and memories, especially if you're a trauma survivor yourself. If you need to talk, you can reach the RAINN National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-HOPE, or visit RAINN.org and click get help now for free, 24/7 support. If you’re experiencing a mental health crisis, call or text 988.Learn more about preventing sexual misconduct and abuse by K-12 school employees (PDF)If you have information about this case, or you think there’s something we should know that we haven’t reported here, please contact Jess Clark at jclark@kycir.org or 502-814-6541.Our work is community funded. To help us keep digging, visit kydig.org and click donate.

17-year-old Aryalle Stoner runs away from home and tells the police that her father, Ronnie Stoner, has been sexually abusing her for years. The cursory investigation that follows is representative of a larger issue with child sex abuse investigations in Louisville.

Hearing stories like this one can bring up painful feelings and memories, especially if you're a trauma survivor yourself. If you need to talk, you can reach the RAINN National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-HOPE, or visit RAINN.org and click get help now for free, 24/7 support. If you’re experiencing a mental health crisis, call or text 988.

Learn more about preventing sexual misconduct and abuse by K-12 school employees (PDF)

If you have information about this case, or you think there’s something we should know that we haven’t reported here, please contact Jess Clark at jclark@kycir.org or 502-814-6541.

Our work is community funded. To help us keep digging, visit kydig.org and click donate.

Even as city leaders were making big promises about the model city they claimed Louisville was going to become, they were making decisions that undermined those policing reform goals. In 2016, there were 117 homicides in Louisville — at that point, the most in decades. Police responded with a “People, Places and Narcotics” strategy that targeted some Black neighborhoods with aggressive patrols.

In 2016, the police chief laid out his vision: Louisville was going to become the kind of place where everyone across the city, no matter what neighborhood they lived in, would get the same treatment from the police — policing that’s about your protection, and safety. But that’s not what happened.

Barbecue chef David McAtee, the man they called Yaya, was a staple at 26th and Broadway in Louisville’s predominately Black West End. He was a friend to everyone who stopped by for a meal — including many police officers.

For years, Louisville had claimed to be building bridges between police and Black communities. Yaya was one of those bridges. Here’s what happened to him, and how.

Louisville, Ky., the city now known for the police killing of Breonna Taylor, once made ambitious promises to transform its police department and mend its relationship with the Black community. Just five years before they killed Breonna Taylor in her home, Louisville considered itself a model city for police reform. 

In a joint KyCIR/Newsy investigation, insiders and documents reveal the systemic barriers and choices made by city leaders and the Louisville Metro Police Department that led to its failure to meaningfully change. How did Louisville go from a national leader in policing to the face of a national movement protesting the police? Find out in the next season of Dig, coming soon.