Tearing down the monuments to Thieves

By CrimeThinc

The day before classes began at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the state’s flagship public university, a crowd led by students of color and anarchists tore down the Confederate statue, “Silent Sam,” which has dominated downtown Chapel Hill for over a century. You can read about the events in the campus paper and a variety of corporate news sources, some of which are remarkably supportive of this use of illegal direct action. The following is a report by participants, including a strategic analysis.

Silent Sam has been a flashpoint for anti-racist struggle for at least fifty years. It was donated to the university and erected in 1913 during the Jim Crow era by the United Daughters of the Confederacy. Capitalist, racist, and KKK-supporter Julian Carr, for whom the neighboring town of Carrboro is named, boasted during a speech at the statue’s dedication that he had, just yards away from the monument and under the gaze of Federal soldiers, “horse-whipped a negro wench, until her skirts hung in shreds” because she had insulted a white woman. Protesters threw paint on the statue when Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered in 1968; demonstrators gathered around it to remember two black men, James Cates, who was murdered on UNC’s campus by a white motorcycle gang, and William Murphy, who was murdered by a NC highway patrolman, in 1971. A crowd marched on the statue when the police officers who beat Rodney King were declared innocent in 1992.

The latest cycle of protest began the day after the bloody clashes of August 12 in Charlottesville, Virginia, when two hundred people gathered around the statue to hear anti-fascists returning from Charlottesville describe their experiences. Activists defied police orders and climbed the statue in order to shroud it in black fabric. The following day, demonstrators in neighboring Durham, North Carolina toppled the Confederate monument in their downtown in broad daylight—a feat for which no one was ultimately convicted.

One week later, on the first day of the fall semester, more than seven hundred people gathered at Silent Sam for an anonymously-organized raucous demonstration advertised as “The First Day of Silent Sam’s Last Semester.” During the demonstration, students chased police after they arrested a protester for donning a bandanna; some blocked the police car in which officers sought to abduct the arrestee. That night, demonstrators also marched on the university president’s house, blocking part of the main street in Chapel Hill. The police erected metal barricades around the statue and mobilized at least a hundred officers in riot gear to control the crowd. You can read a full report back from the event here.

That night, a sit-in began at the statue. The occupation continued for a week before it was forcibly shut down by police. Organizers then began a protracted campaign utilizing a diversity of tactics, arguably culminating in last night’s toppling.

The sympathies of local police have long been obvious. They led the charge to gentrify the nearby historically Black neighborhood of Northside, carrying out a SWAT team raid in 1990 that targeted an entire city block, in which whites were permitted to leave the area while over 100 Black people were detained and terrorized. When the same network of people that organized the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville organized a rally at Peace and Justice Plaza in Chapel Hill on June 17, 2017—including a speech from “Augustus Sol Invictus” (Austin Gillespie), well-known fascist and headlining speaker at “Unite the Right”—police not only mobilized to protect them, dragging away anti-racist protesters, but also smirked while putting their hands over their hearts as the fascists played the national anthem. In 2017, an undercover police officer infiltrated the sit-in and spied on student activists. The university spent $390,000 during the 2017-2018 school year on police and security for the statue.

On April 30, 2018, Maya Little, one of the sit-in student organizers, doused Silent Sam in paint and her own blood, contextualizing the statue in the real legacy it upholds. She was arrested and currently faces both criminal charges and university charges that could result in her expulsion from the university. At the end of the spring 2018 semester, at a panel discussion following a screening of a student documentary about resistance to the statue, Maya and several other Black women described meeting at the demonstration against Silent Sam on the first day of the fall 2017 semester. Panelists enjoined the attendees to get rid of the statue by any means necessary, to thunderous applause.

At 7 pm on August 20, 2018, hundreds gathered for an unpermitted rally at Peace and Justice Plaza, the site of a hunger strike against segregation in the 1960s and the Occupy Chapel Hill encampment in 2011, among many other events. The demonstration opposing institutional white supremacy at UNC was called in solidarity with Maya Little, whose trial had previously been scheduled for that day.

Four tremendous banners, fully 20 feet tall, were suspended on bamboo poles, almost concealing the courthouse façade. One proclaimed “FOR A WORLD WITHOUT WHITE SUPREMACY”; another listed the names of people who died at the hands of white supremacists, institutional or otherwise, in the local area. A student opened the rally with a beautiful rendition of the Black national anthem, followed by powerful speeches from Maya Little and Black graduate students Jerry Wilson and Cortland Gilliam, who announced that they would wear nooses around their necks until the statue was removed. The speeches, the applause, and the diversity of the crowd made it clear that a wide range of people of all walks of life were in agreement not only that the statue had to go, but also that the police who defended it had no legitimacy.

Some demonstrators distributed Carolina blue bandannas emblazoned with the words “Sam must fall”—using the school colors to associate escalated resistance with school spirit. At the demonstration against the statue a year earlier, police had violently arrested a lone masked individual. This time, masking was made to be a collective and participatory expression of opposition to the statue, not a security practice that could isolate those who employed it.

At the conclusion of the speeches, demonstrators bearing the four tremendous banners marched across the street onto UNC campus. Police immediately attempted to force demonstrators to remove their masks; to their surprise, unmasked demonstrators defended masked ones. A melee ensued in which one officer began to pull his gun in the chaos—an absurd and cowardly impulse that could have ended in tragedy. They managed to arrest one demonstrator, but the sight of flailing, outmaneuvered officers made it clear that the police were not able to enforce their authority by their customary violence. It may also have confused them that they could not single out masked demonstrators without the entire crowd responding.

Surrounded and outnumbered, police were forced back as demonstrators surrounded the statue and began to erect the massive banners. Clashes continued as people zip-tied the bamboo poles together and set up guy lines bracing the poles, creating a freestanding piece of art that concealed the statue from view in all directions. One white supremacist attempted to intervene, tearing a banner from one of its poles before demonstrators compelled him to retreat; other demonstrators climbed onto the statue to repair the banner. (Reportedly, after these scuffles, police were instructed to keep “a safe distance” from the demonstrators.) Soon, the crowd of hundreds surrounded the statue, chanting triumphantly and holding the police and white supremacists at bay. As night fell, protesters spoke and led chants through a megaphone and music played over a PA system.

The police and their white supremacist colleagues watched from a distance. Throughout the night, fierce anti-police chants resounded throughout campus and downtown:

“No cops! No Klan! Get rid of Silent Sam!”
“No justice, no peace! No racist police!”

Eventually, without a formal decision being made, a part of the crowd set out for Franklin Street, the main thoroughfare of downtown Chapel Hill. Others filtered after them, linking arms to block the entire street and marching until they reached the intersection at the center of downtown. Marchers fanned out to form a perimeter, blocking the intersection in all four directions, as students of color led chants over the megaphone. Soon after, word reached the demonstrators that the small number of people who had remained at the statue were surrounded by police. Chanting “Whose streets? Our streets!”, demonstrators pushed past police vehicles and defended themselves from white supremacists as they retraced their steps down Franklin Street.

The march returned to the statue to find that police had forced the remaining demonstrators away from the statue and surrounded it with a line of officers. The crowd surrounded the police line and advanced on them. After a tense standoff, the officers were forced to withdraw, not wishing to end up in another brawl. A couple fights broke out with white supremacists, most likely of the organization “ACTBAC.”

This time, someone had a rope. It was affixed to the statue behind the screen of the banners, and the crowd began to pull. At first, most people assumed that this would be fruitless, as it was rumored that the statue was better constructed than the one that people had pulled down in Durham a year earlier. But after a few seconds, a great grinding sound rang out, inspiring wild cheering and renewed efforts—and finally the statue came ripping through the banners, toppling to the ground.

Joyously chanting “I BELIEVE THAT WE WILL WIN,” demonstrators embraced and danced around the toppled monument, heaping dirt onto it. Thunder rolled overhead and the clouds opened with the showers that had been expected all night. As celebrants made their way into the night, police were forced to stand guard over the toppled monument in heavy rain until it was loaded into a dump truck around midnight.

Make no mistake: the administration of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill could have moved the statue decades ago. They could have moved it last year, when hundreds of people gathered around it the day after Heather Heyer was murdered in Charlottesville, or a week later when several hundred students returned. The administrators claimed that a 2015 law prevented them from moving or destroying the monument—but they could have done what the demonstrators did, if only they were honorable enough to risk their comfort and status for the sake of the students they pretend to serve.

It is instructive that the statue was not removed by the university administration, nor as a result of reformist petitioning. It was removed by courageous and uncompromising direct action—the most efficient and effective way to make changes in a society dominated by oppressive authority. This lesson will surely not be lost on the students who are beginning their fall semester at UNC today, many of whom got their first taste of protest last night.

This demonstration had all the necessary elements for success. It centered the voices of those most affected by white supremacy; it involved a broad range of people from different parts of society; it employed both artistic expression and practical tools; and the participants were united in their willingness to assert themselves and defend each other. Although the demonstration a year earlier had involved considerably more people, the participants had been more hesitant to assert themselves. Since then, a necessary evolution had taken place in what demonstrators felt empowered to do.

Rumors had circulated that Emergency Medical Services personnel were briefed on tear gas decontamination in advance of the demonstration, but in the end, the police were not able to mobilize a successful defense of the statue. There are several possible explanations for their failure. The variety of participants made it very difficult to use brutal force without injuring random students, alumni, and business owners, which would have delegitimized the university even more than the toppling of the statue. The massive banners and Carolina blue bandannas were useful tools, but they were also works of art that centered the narrative of the demonstrators, creating a situation in which police would have provoked even more outrage if they had attempted to confiscate or destroy them. The police may have not anticipated that the demonstrators would be so fierce and numerous, as many less militant demonstrations had taken place over the preceding year. Finally, it’s possible that the authorities were not able to mobilize the will to deploy the necessary numbers and weaponry, despite exhortations from some institutional defenders of the legacy of white supremacy who were determined to preserve Silent Sam at any cost.

The demonstrators who tore down the statue achieved a momentous victory. Refusing to accept that the movement against Confederate statues had peaked in 2017, they took the offensive in a month that had previously been dominated by rearguard struggles against fascists and the police who defend them. A great part of the credit for the victory goes to Maya Little for reigniting the struggle last April and for appearing at the August 20 demonstration to inspire people with her words and staunch resistance, but countless people kept the movement against the statue alive from one phase to the next, from the researcher who dug up Julian Carr’s racist speech at the statue dedication to the brave people who pulled it down.

Congratulations to all.

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White Manager Called Police on Black Customer Over Coupon

By David Z. Morris

CVS has apologized after a white store manager in Chicago called police on a black customer who was attempting to use a coupon that store staff accused her of counterfeiting. CVS said it is investigating the manager, who has himself been accused of fraud in a local political fight.

The incident was first described on Facebook late Friday by Camilla Hudson, the 53-year-old victim, in a post that quickly went viral (though according to Hudson, the post has since been removed by Facebook for unspecified violations).

Hudson, who is black, later described the events in detail to Block Club Chicago, saying that she entered a CVS at 6150 North Broadway, and attempted to make a purchase using an automated checkout machine. She was unable to use a coupon for one of her items at the machine, and was offered assistance by store manager Morry Matson. He called for a second manager, whose name is unknown. That manager, according to Hudson, accused her of counterfeiting the coupon she was trying to use.

“He was nasty, he was unprofessional, he was dismissive, he was accusatory,” Hudson later told Block Club. “His entire tone and demeanor was offensive and problematic.”

Hudson asked that the managers call CVS’s corporate offices to resolve the issue, and followed and filmed one of the managers when he walked away from her. She claimed to Block Club that she was “not yelling, I did not raise my voice, I did not use profanity”. Matson then told Hudson that he had called the police.

Matson then called the police a second time while Hudson stood nearby, capturing the call on video.

According to Block Club, the call was relayed to responding officers as an “assault in progress.” Hudson said the police officers who arrived were “not awful,” but did say that Matson had the authority to ask her to leave the store, which she did.

CVS has since apologized to Hudson, and now says it will conduct an investigation into the incident. The pharmacy chain also stated that it “does not tolerate any practices that discriminate against any customer and we are committed to maintaining a welcoming and diverse environment in our stores . . . Profiling or any other type of discriminatory behavior is strictly prohibited.”

Matson was reportedly a delegate for Donald Trump during the 2016 campaign, and has worked on behalf of the Log Cabin Republicans, an LGBTQ cohort of that party. Matson is also a candidate for alderman of Chicago’s 48th Ward. In campaign literature found by Block Club, Matson emphasizes his alignment with the “Silent Majority,” “Moral Majority,” and “Law and Order.” Despite those purported values, Matson was in a separate instance accused by Chicago’s Board of Election Commissioners of falsifying signatures on a ballot measure.

“As a woman, as a black woman, as a native Chicagoan, I’m just tired of it,” Hudson told Block Club. “I’m tired of it.”

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Mexican man, 92, attacked in CA by woman who told him ‘go back to your country,’ witness says

By CNN

Authorities are searching for multiple suspects following an attack on a 92-year-old man in South Los Angeles last week that a witness said was racially charged.

Rodolfo Rodriguez, a Mexican national who was visiting family, said he was attacked as he was taking a walk on the Fourth of July.

Through a translator he said he was “just walking to the park” when he brushed by a woman with her young daughter.

“He accidentally tapped the little girl by accident when he was walking,” past them, the translator said.

Then the woman attacked him with a concrete block.

“She just tossed him to the floor and she started beating him,” the translator said.

Rodriguez said a bystander photographed the attack with her phone and drew the woman’s attention.

She then threw the block at her.

“If it wasn’t for that lady that helped him, she would’ve probably killed him,” the translator said.

The witness spoke to KCBS in L.A. and said she asked the woman why she attacked the man.

“When I take the picture, she said, ‘Oh, he tried to touch my girl,’” she said. “I saw everything, this is a lie.”

She added that she heard the woman saying “go back to your country” to Rodriguez.

Rodriguez suffered a broken jaw, two broken ribs and broken cheek bones.

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department said there were possibly three to four other men who joined in the attack.

The sheriff’s office is reviewing the cellphone images.

Copyright 2018 CNN. All rights reserved.

Laquisha Jones was arrested Tuesday night and charged with assault with a deadly weapon in the brutal mob attack on 92-year-old Rodolfo Rodriguez, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Jones is being held on $250,000 bail.

Authorities are still searching for four other assailants allegedly involved in the beating of Rodriguez, who is recovering from bruised ribs, a broken cheekbone, and face and head injuries, according to KTLA.

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America‘s criminal justice system is racist

America’s criminal justice system is racist

By Ezra Klein

The American Civil Liberties Union tried to produce a comprehensive report on the militarization of America’s police forces. But they couldn’t. “The militarization of policing in the United States has occurred with almost no public oversight,” they concluded. “Not a single law enforcement agency in this investigation provided records containing all of the information that the ACLU believes is necessary to undertake a thorough examination of police militarization. Some agencies provided records that were nearly totally lacking in important information. Agencies that monitor and provide oversight over the militarization of policing are virtually nonexistent.”

The people charged with protecting us are afraid of what will happen if we know what they’re doing.

But the ACLU did discover something worth knowing: after aggregating the reports and data on SWAT raids they could find, they found that the militarized police operations were overwhelmingly aimed at minorities. “Overall, 42 percent of people impacted by a SWAT deployment to execute a search warrant were Black and 12 percent were Latino. This means that of the people impacted by deployments for warrants, at least 54 percent were minorities.” (For comparison, 72 percent of Americans identified as white in 2010.) The feel of the police presence is much more militarized in minority communities than white communities.

There was a time when crime drove American politics. It was a top issue in 1984, and 1988, and 1992. The infamous Willie Horton ad was about race, but it was also about crime. The crack epidemic was ongoing, and murders were rising, and people were afraid.

Washington’s answer was cops, prisons and harsher sentencing rules.

Today, the crack epidemic is over, the murder rate has fallen, and Americans feel much safer. But cops, prisons and sentencing rules are coming back as an issue. This time, though, they’re not seen as the answer. This time they’re the problem.

There is no reason to be subtle on this point: the American criminal justice system is racist.

White and black people are similarly likely to use drugs, but black people are 3.6 times likelier to be arrested for drug use than white people — a disparity that has grown much worse in recent years. That’s because America’s criminal justice system is racist.

Until 2010, triggering the mandatory 5-year sentence for cocaine, which is used more often in the white community, required possession of 100 times as much of the drug as for crack, which is used more heavily in the black community. After the 2010 reforms, the disparity was brought down to a (still huge) 18:1. That’s because America’s criminal justice system is racist.

Prison sentences for black men tend to be almost 20 percent longer than prison sentences for white men who commit similar crimes. That gap actually widened after 2005, when the Supreme Court gave judges more control over sentencing. That’s because the criminal justice system is racist.

The result is that more than 60 percent of the people in prison are minorities. The Sentencing Project estimates that among black males in their 30s, more than one in 10 is in prison on any given day. That’s because our criminal justice system is racist.

New York’s stop-and-frisk program gave police the power to stop people on the street for essentially no reason. More than 80 percent of those stopped were black or Latino (and 88 percent of those stopped were not charged with any crime). That’s because our criminal justice system is racist.

African Americans are often hugely underrepresented on police forces. In Ferguson, MO, for instance, the city is 67 percent black, but just three of its 53 police officers are. Incidents of excessive force are commonplace, and increasingly, there’s a list of young black men who have died for no other reason than that they ran into a police officer at the wrong time and in the wrong way. The result, as UCLA’s Darnell Hunt says, is that “there’s a standoff attitude between police and the communities.”

Something very dangerous has happened here: we have let the people and the system that’s supposed to protect our communities become a threat to some of them.

Why the racial disparity in marijuana arrests? By Claudine Ewin, WGRZ

When it comes to marijuana possession in the City of Buffalo, it’s clear there is a racial disparity in who is arrested.

“18% of the population of Erie County are people of color, but they made up 76% of the arrests for marijuana possession,” according to the Partnership for Public Good.

“In Buffalo about 80% of marijuana arrests are African American” said Rebecca Town, a public defender for the Legal Aid Bureau in Buffalo. She is in City Court daily and sees the faces of those going before judges. “If I get a White client who has been arrested for marijuana, usually they’ve been a little more blatant in the use of marijuana, they might have been smoking in public at a park, or a concert.”

Andrea Ó Súilleabháin, Deputy Director for the Partnership for the Public Good, backs up the reason to legalize recreational marijuana. “We believe that regulating and legalizing marijuana and having it be a substance that’s out there in a similar way to alcohol where it’s legal for people 21 and over it’s actually highly restricted for those who are not, would improve public safety, would restrict access to marijuana for minors and youth, and would actually save public money because we wouldn’t be wasting as many dollars as we are on arresting people for simple possession and moving them through the criminal justice system.”

According to the Partnership for Public Good, in Erie County from 2012-2016, nearly 2,700 people were arrested for simple low level possession of marijuana. 2,100 of them were in the City of Buffalo.

New York State Assemblywoman Crystal Peoples-Stokes calls it “madness,” but she’s not just talking she’s pushing for action. There’s a proposal in the New York State Legislature to deal with people caught with a small amount of marijuana. “I think marijuana should be legalized, taxed and regulated in the state of New York.”

Assemblywoman Crystal Peoples Stokes wants to end the marijuana prohibition, even seal records for prior marijuana arrests. “I’m not the person who thinks people should use marijuana, but I know that they do and because they do, they’re going to go to where it is legal. Quite frankly those are dollars that are walking out the door.”

In 1977 New York State decriminalized the use of marijuana. You can have 25 grams or under for your personal use right now. “The thing is you can’t have it in public. It can’t be in public view.

There’s this loophole in the law that allows folks to be arrested if they get stopped and asked to empty their pockets.”

For the Assemblywoman, it’s a social justice issue. “If you think about the mass incarceration of black and brown people based on marijuana arrests alone and the number of their families and children that have been destroyed putting them through a court system where they have done nothing violent, these are non-violent crimes. Children are in foster care, families are separated, communities are destroyed. All of that costs a lot of money,” said Peoples-Stokes.

Sherman Webb-Middlebrooks is an Open Society Fellow who was arrested in the past for a low level marijuana charge. He ended up in the Erie County Holding Center thinking “why am I sitting in the same room with murderers, rapists, thieves, drug dealers,” for a little bit of weed.

The impact of the arrest can alter a person’s life forever. “Being unable to get financial aid to further their education because they might have slipped up and sold some weed back in the day, but didn’t hurt anybody,” according to Webb-Middlebrooks.

Governor Andrew Cuomo wants a feasibility study to examine legalizing marijuana for recreational use. It could be a game-changer when it comes to people being arrested and ending the racial disparity.

An Emerson College poll found that legalizing and taxing marijuana was favorable to 60% of Voters as a way to erase New York’s budget deficit.

Ó Súilleabháin said, “it would take the profit from the new marijuana industry and reinvest it into communities that were most effected by the war on drugs.”

Here’s how it would be broken down:

25% of proceeds and tax revenues would be invested into education.

25% into drug treatment and addiction programs

50% into local initiatives through small grants that improve the health and well being and education opportunities in communities effected by racial disparity enforcement.

Kids Escaping Drugs is against legalizing marijuana. Jodie Altman said their young clients have told them that they “started with marijuana, alcohol and nicotine. 27 years later kids are shooting heroin and using pills, and using meth and everything else. They will tell you, that’s where they started when the marijuana didn’t do it anymore for them then they progressed on. To me that says it’s a gateway and in terms of legalizing it, why would we do that.”

What is not disputed is the racial disparity and the underground economy of selling marijuana that police will tell you leads to violence.

© 2018 WGRZ

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The Destruction of Black Wall Street

By Josie Pickens, Ebony

Greenwood, Oklahoma, a suburb of Tulsa, was the type of community that African Americans are still, today, attempting to reclaim and rebuild.  Black Wall Street was modern, majestic, sophisticated and unapologetically Black. Tragically, it was also the site of one of the bloodiest and most horrendous race riots (and acts of terrorism) that the United States has ever experienced.

Today marks ninety-two years since as many as 300 African Americans lost their lives and more than 9,000 were left homeless when the small town was attacked, looted and literally burned to the ground beginning in 1921.  It’s impossible, however, to realize what was lost in Greenwood, which was affectionately known as “Black Wall Street.”

The Greenwood community seems almost imagined when we examine it through a historical lens.  The oil booms of the early 1900’s had many moving to Tulsa for a shot at quick economic gains and high life, and African Americans hoped to prosper from the new industry as well.  Tulsa, like many cities and towns throughout the US, was hostilely segregated, with African Americans settling into the northern region of the city.  As we often saw before integration, Blacks in the area created entrepreneurial opportunities for themselves, which housed an impressive business center that included banks, hotels, cafes, clothiers, movie theaters, and contemporary homes.  Greenwood residents enjoyed many luxuries that their White neighbors did not, including indoor plumbing and a remarkable school system that superiorly educated Black children.

It was pure envy, and a vow to put progressive, high achieving African Americans in their place that would cause the demise of the Black Mecca many called “Little Africa”, and its destruction began the way much terrorism, violence and dispossession against African Americans did during that era.  A young White woman accused a young Black man of attempted sexual assault, which gave local mobs and White men acting as police just cause to invade the unsuspecting community. On the malevolent and horrifying attack, Linda Christenson writes the following:

“The term “race riot” does not adequately describe the events of May 31—June 1, 1921 in Greenwood… In fact, the term itself implies that both blacks and whites might be equally to blame for the lawlessness and violence. The historical record documents a sustained and murderous assault on black lives and property. This assault was met by a brave but unsuccessful armed defense of their community by some black World War I veterans and others.

During the night and day of the riot, deputized whites killed more than 300 African Americans. They looted and burned to the ground 40 square blocks of 1,265 African American homes, including hospitals, schools, and churches, and destroyed 150 businesses. White deputies and members of the National Guard arrested and detained 6,000 black Tulsans who were released only upon being vouched for by a white employer or other white citizen. Nine thousand African Americans were left homeless and lived in tents well into the winter of 1921.”

Recently, the mother of a Palestian activist friend of mine asked me why African Americans don’t fight harder for reparations. It was a difficult question to answer, but my most immediate response centered on the historical erasure of communities like Greenwood and the state-sponsored violence against African Americans that created its expiry.

Even after slavery was abolished, any advancements towards the American dream, that Blacks paid most dearly to establish, was met with revulsion and terror, often from those whose legal obligation was to serve and protect.  For that a debt is surely owed.

Further, when we consider the deaths of those Black Tulsans and the inevitable property loss that followed, we again see one example of many that proves how wealth inequities and disparities became a part of the substance of this nation- inequities and disparities that must be considered before we go blaming Black youth for the catastrophes this nation has endorsed.

And as we consider what has become the new face of terror, we should never forget that Greenwood was bombed from the sky by White local and national law enforcement organizations.

To learn more about the attack on “Black Wall Street,” check out Scott Ellsworth’s account here. Never forget.

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