Victim politics gave us pro-Hamas activism and a powerful reaction in the form of Donald Trump, argue Shelby Steele and his son, Eli.
Tunku Varadarajan
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Leaders of the Federal Bureau of Investigation fired more than a dozen agents who kneeled amid Black Lives Matter protests in Washington, D.C. in the summer of 2020. Many of the agents had already been demoted or put on administrative leave.
One source told CBS News that the termination letter to the agents cited their alleged “lack of judgement” in their actions. The agents had been photographed kneeling after encountering protestors during the demonstrations that followed George Floyd’s death in May 2020. The kneeling had angered some in the FBI, but was also understood as a possible de-escalation tactic, the Associated Press reported.
The number of FBI employees terminated was not immediately clear, but two people told the Associated Press it was roughly 20.
The FBI Agents Association, which represents a majority of FBI agents, said that it “strongly condemns” the firings and urged Congress to investigate. The association accused FBI Director Kash Patel of violating the law and ignoring the agents’ “constitutional and legal rights instead of following the requisite process.”
“Leaders uphold the law – they don’t repeatedly break it,” the association said. “They respect due process, rather than hide from it. Patel’s dangerous new pattern of actions are weakening the Bureau because they eliminate valuable expertise and damage trust between leadership and the workforce, and make it harder to recruit and retain skilled agents—ultimately putting our nation at greater risk.”
An FBI spokesperson did not comment on the firings.
The firings come amid a broader personnel purge at the bureau as Patel works to reshape the nation’s premier federal law enforcement agency.
Five agents and top-level executives were known to have been summarily fired last month in a wave of ousters that current and former officials say has contributed to declining morale.
One of those, Steve Jensen, helped oversee investigations into the Jan. 6, 2021, riot at the U.S. Capitol. Another, Brian Driscoll, served as acting FBI director in the early days of the Trump administration and resisted Justice Department demands to supply the names of agents who investigated Jan. 6.
A third, Chris Meyer, was incorrectly rumored on social media to have participated in the investigation into President Donald Trump’s retention of classified documents at his Mar-a-Lago estate in Palm Beach, Fla. A fourth, Walter Giardina, participated in high-profile investigations like the one into Trump adviser Peter Navarro.
A lawsuit filed by Jensen, Driscoll and another fired FBI supervisor, Spencer Evans, alleged that Patel communicated that he understood that it was “likely illegal” to fire agents based on cases they worked but was powerless to stop it because the White House and the Justice Department were determined to remove all agents who investigated Trump.
Patel denied at a congressional hearing last week taking orders from the White House on whom to fire and said anyone who has been fired failed to meet the FBI’s standards.
,
Jacob Rosen and
contributed to this report.
Following an awkward interview moment at this month’s 82nd Venice International Film Festival that has gone viral on social media, Ayo Edebiri has apparently avoided the online discourse it sparked.
The Golden Globe winner recently opened up about the “uncomfortable conversation” she had with an Italian journalist about the Me Too and Black Lives Matter movements in Hollywood, noting that she “didn’t really pay too much attention” to the fan response.
“I think I’m less online than I used to be,” she said at a New York Film Festival press conference on Friday, according to People. “So I didn’t really, to be completely honest — and I love to lie, I make money lying. But yeah, I didn’t really pay too much attention.”
Edebiri added, “But, I mean, I think it was just a very human moment. And I think in a strange way, uncomfortable conversation, it’s kind of one of the many things our film is about. So shout out to tie-ins!”
In Luca Guadagnino‘s After the Hunt, premiering Oct. 10 in theaters, college professor Alma Olsson (Julia Roberts) finds herself at a complicated crossroads when her prized pupil Maggie Price (Edebiri) accuses her colleague Henrik Gibson (Andrew Garfield) of sexual assault, threatening to expose a dark secret from her own past.
AFTER THE HUNT, from left: Ayo Edebiri, Julia Roberts, 2025. ph: Yannis Drakoulidis /© Amazon MGM Studios / Courtesy Everett Collection
Despite being awkwardly excluded from a question by Italian journalist Federica Polidoro about what was “lost during the politically correct era” in Hollywood now that the Me Too and Black Lives Matter movements supposedly “are done,” Edebiri clarified that the “work isn’t finished at all.”
“Yeah, I know that that’s not for me, and I don’t know if it’s purposeful it’s not for me, but I just am curious,” said Edebiri after the ArtsLife TV reporter clarified her question was only for co-stars Roberts and Garfield during an interview promoting After the Hunt.
One fan on X praised Edebiri for handling the moment “with poise and grace,” as another called out Polidoro for “being unprofessional.”
Polidoro has since responded to the backlash, doubling down and defending herself against alleged online attacks. “I will not tolerate or accept defamatory or violent language, and I reserve the right to seek legal protection against those who, in recent days, have chosen to hide behind the digital mob to insult and attack me instead of seeking a civil and constructive discussion,” she wrote.
Glenn Garner
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Photo: Daniele Venturelli/WireImage
Did you know they have anti-wokeness crusaders internationally? Ayo Edebiri, Andrew Garfield, and Julia Roberts shut down leading questions from a journalist on the Italian press tour for After the Hunt. A video posted by Italian site ArtsLife TV shows a reporter asking Garfield and Roberts what “to expect in Hollywood after the MeToo movement and the Black Lives Matter are done.” Roberts, dumbfounded, asked a clarifying question. “Can you repeat that?” she asked. “And with your sunglasses on, I can’t tell which of us you’re talking to.” The reporter repeated that the question was for Garfield and Roberts — not Edebiri — and was what will Hollywood be like now that Me Too and Black Lives matter “are done” and “if we lost something with the politically correct era.”
Edebiri then interjected. “I know that that’s not for me, and I don’t know if it’s purposeful if it’s not for me,” she said. “I don’t think it’s done, I don’t think it’s done at all. Hashtags might not be used as much but I do think that there’s work being done by activists, by people every day that’s beautiful, important work. That’s not finished, that’s really, really active for a reason because this world’s really charged. And that work isn’t finished at all.” Garfield backed her up, saying both “movements are still absolutely alive.”
Edebiri added that media attention may skew people’s perception of what is or is not happening on the ground. “Maybe if there’s not mainstream coverage in the way that there might have been, daily headlines in the way that it might have been eight or so years ago, but I don’t think it means that the work is done. That’s what I would say.” That’s what she’d say if she was asked. But she wasn’t asked.
Bethy Squires
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Daunte Wright was killed on April 11, 2021, about ten miles from the spot where Derek Chauvin murdered George Floyd in front of a crowd of outraged onlookers. Wright also met his death at the hands of police officer, Kim Potter, who drew her service pistol instead of her taser and fatally shot the 20-year-old during a traffic stop. Potter was ultimately sentenced to a paltry two years for her crime and was released after 16 months.
According to APNews, now that Potter is back on the streets, she is looking to cash out on her criminal conviction by launching a speaking tour to wax poetic about her “mistake” by telling other police officers about her experience. It should go without saying that Daunte’s parents, specifically his mother Katie Wright, are none-too-pleased about it.
“I think that Kim Potter had her second chance. She got to go home with her children. That was her second chance,” Wright said. “I think that when we’re looking at police officers, when they’re making quote-unquote mistakes, they still get to live in our community. They still get to continue their lives. That’s their second chance. We don’t have a second chance to be able to bring our loved ones back.”
What makes this cockamamie scheme even more infuriating is that the person helping Potter execute this idea is the prosecutor who was supposed to help put her behind bars in the first place. Imran Ali resigned from the case citing “vitriol” and “partisan politics” that rubbed his tender yellow belly wrong.
“This is the definition of why I decided to walk away. You have somebody that recognizes the need for reform, recognizes the need for redemption, recognizes the need to engage. And still,” Ali said. “If you’re in law enforcement in this country, there is no redemption.”
With all due disrespect, f*** Imran Ali and f*** Kim Potter’s “redemption”. If she wants to “redeem” herself, there are a myriad of ways to do so without making money off of a dead Black man. Ali insists that these speaking engagements are about “reform” and teaching officers not to make the same mistakes that Potter did. However, the language in the contracts that Ali drafted for Potter’s “services” reads as follows:
“The officer, and the prosecutor who quit in protest, will deliver a dynamic presentation on the truth of what occurred, the increased violence and non-compliance directed towards law enforcement, the importance of training, and steps we can take in the future,”
Where exactly is the language of “reform”? This sounds more like “Kim Potter killed someone who deserved it and was treated very unfairly by society and if you kill someone who deserves it, then you will be treated unfairly also”
Potter’s September event was canceled in the wake of public criticism. However, she is still being asked by other police departments to come speak.
NWA was always, always, always right.
Jason "Jah" Lee
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CAPITAL REGION, N.Y. (NEWS10) — June 27 is National HIV testing day, and the New York State Department of Health says New York is at an all-time low of new infection rates. NEWS10 speaking with a local group on their efforts here in the capital region to help eradicate the disease.
New York has hit historic lows in HIV new infection rates since the pandemic’s height in the 1990s. However local HIV specialists say now is not the time to relax.
“The battle is not over. There are places and populations that are increasing in rates of infection, and we need to get those individuals identified and we need to help them get into the care that they need. Because there are things that we can do now that’ll make life normal and long lived,” said Kim Atkins, Executive Director Alliance for Positive Health.
New York’s new infection rates have plummeted 42% since 2011 from nearly 4000 new infections a year down to just over 2000 a year in 2022. 18% of new infections tested positive for AIDS and 69% of new infection rate diagnoses are people under the age of 40.
The Alliance for Positive Health has been providing free testing for nearly 40 years. “Testing needs to continue, and we need to identify people because people are still getting infected,” said Atkins.
And now, the Alliance for Positive Health teams can get to more people in further away places with their new mobility fleet. “This is the newer one we have a larger one that we could test two people at once. Recover 15 counties so we go all the way up to Plattsburgh and all the way down to Hudson and anywhere in between,” said Testing Supervisor Alliance for Positive Health, Niurka Diaz Gonzalez.
Chris Francis has been with the Alliance team for over 10 years and is part of the Care Coordination. He tells NEWS10 Reporter James De La Fuente about the importance of testing.
“I suggest people get tested every couple, of every two to three months. Especially if they’re sexually active.” Francis says testing is personal. “I care about my physical and mental health. It can take a toll on your mental health if you don’t get tested not knowing what you have or if you’re clean.”
As black and brown communities are adversely affected Chandler Hickenbottom, co-founder of Saratoga BLM says her organization is taking focus on testing, as well.
“As of right now we don’t have anything posted. But I think that is something that after having this conversation, I think it would be really great and important for us to start getting more involved in. So, joining the campaign to show the importance of not just getting tested in general, not just even for HIV, but for all sexually transmitted infections and STD’s. That is definitely very important,” said Hickenbottom.
A spokesperson with NYDOH says, “HIV in New York State has fallen to historic lows. At its peak in the mid-1990s, New York diagnosed nearly 15,000 new cases per year; that number was down to 2,318 in 2022.”
In addition to testing with Alliance for Positive Health, the New York State Department of Health Aids Institute has announced the launch of their free HIV self-test giveaway.
James De La Fuente
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These are laments, songs of revolution (both internal and societal), and recipes for change. Some feel like prophecies for the current moment and others feel like visions of even bigger seismic shifts. They speak best for themselves but they call all of us to join them. From Amiri Baraka to Octavia E. Butler, black poetry is truly something amazing to behold. In honor of Black Lives Matter, here are 20 revolutionary poems by black poets.
1. Poem About My Rights by June Jordan
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can’t
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can’t do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
stay there
alone
as I need to be
alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own
body and
who in the hell set things up
like this
and in France they say if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him if after screams if
after begging the bastard and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally you understand finally
they fucked me over because I was wrong I was
wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland
and if
after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to
self-immolation of the villages and if after that
we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what
in the hell is everybody being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father on the campus
of my Ivy League school and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria because he said he
was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying my tuition and
before that
it was my father saying I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a
boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and
that I should have had straighter hair and that
I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should
just be one/a boy and before that
it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for
my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me
to let the books loose to let them loose in other
words
I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.
and the problems of South Africa and the problems
of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white
America in general and the problems of the teachers
and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social
workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very
familiar with the problems because the problems
turn out to be
me
I am the history of rape
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
myself
I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it’s about walking out at night
or whether it’s about the love that I feel or
whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and indisputably single and singular heart
I have been raped
be-
cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the
wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic
the wrong sartorial I
I have been the meaning of rape
I have been the problem everyone seeks to
eliminate by forced
penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/
but let this be unmistakable this poem
is not consent I do not consent
to my mother to my father to the teachers to
the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy
to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon
idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in
cars
I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life
2. A Journey by Nikki Giovanni
It’s a journey . . . that I propose . . . I am not the guide . . . nor technical assistant . . . I will be your fellow passenger . . .
Though the rail has been ridden . . . winter clouds cover . . . autumn’s exuberant quilt . . . we must provide our own guide-posts . . .
I have heard . . . from previous visitors . . . the road washes out sometimes . . . and passengers are compelled . . . to continue groping . . . or turn back . . . I am not afraid . . .
I am not afraid . . . of rough spots . . . or lonely times . . . I don’t fear . . . the success of this endeavor . . . I am Ra . . . in a space . . . not to be discovered . . . but invented . . .
I promise you nothing . . . I accept your promise . . . of the same we are simply riding . . . a wave . . . that may carry . . . or crash . . .
It’s a journey . . . and I want . . . to go . . .
Derrick Austin
Disembark the Turners seem to say,
those starburst barges glowing in the dusk,
but I can’t read old Rembrandt,
his guarded eyes are jewels, like black men.
Even the loaned, marble busts
of kings and soldiers fail to arrest you.
It’s nearly closing time. The elderly linger,
rapt. Who has looked at either of you lately
with such tenderness?
Entering the narrow hall,
I ignore my favorite portraits, their ruffles
and bodices, carnations and powder puffs,
afraid to share my joy with you,
yet your bearing in this space—the procession
of your shoulders, the crowns of your heads—
makes them sing anew.
You are both good men.
Walk into the Fragonard Room. You both seem bored still.
It’s fine. Perhaps we can progress like these panels,
slowly and without words, here—the city
where I first knew men in the dark—
in this gold and feminine room.
4. Bullet Points by Jericho Brown
Jericho Brown
I will not shoot myself
In the head, and I will not shoot myself
In the back, and I will not hang myself
With a trashbag, and if I do,
I promise you, I will not do it
In a police car while handcuffed
Or in the jail cell of a town
I only know the name of
Because I have to drive through it
To get home. Yes, I may be at risk,
But I promise you, I trust the maggots
Who live beneath the floorboards
Of my house to do what they must
To any carcass more than I trust
An officer of the law of the land
To shut my eyes like a man
Of God might, or to cover me with a sheet
So clean my mother could have used it
To tuck me in. When I kill me, I will
Do it the same way most Americans do,
I promise you: cigarette smoke
Or a piece of meat on which I choke
Or so broke I freeze
In one of these winters we keep
Calling worst. I promise if you hear
Of me dead anywhere near
A cop, then that cop killed me. He took
Me from us and left my body, which is,
No matter what we’ve been taught,
Greater than the settlement
A city can pay a mother to stop crying,
And more beautiful than the new bullet
Fished from the folds of my brain.
5. Sci-Fi by Tracy K. Smith
There will be no edges, but curves.
Clean lines pointing only forward.
History, with its hard spine & dog-eared
Corners, will be replaced with nuance,
Just like the dinosaurs gave way
To mounds and mounds of ice.
Women will still be women, but
The distinction will be empty. Sex,
Having outlived every threat, will gratify
Only the mind, which is where it will exist.
For kicks, we’ll dance for ourselves
Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs.
The oldest among us will recognize that glow—
But the word sun will have been re-assigned
To the Standard Uranium-Neutralizing device
Found in households and nursing homes.
And yes, we’ll live to be much older, thanks
To popular consensus. Weightless, unhinged,
Eons from even our own moon, we’ll drift
In the haze of space, which will be, once
And for all, scrutable and safe.
Rita Dove
Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don’t look back,
the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits –
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours
to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You’ll never know
who’s down there, frying those eggs,
if you don’t get up and see.
7. Between the World and Me by Langston Hughes
And one morning while in the woods I stumbled suddenly upon the thing,
Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly oaks and elms
And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting themselves between the world and me….
There was a design of white bones slumbering forgottenly upon a cushion of ashes.
There was a charred stump of a sapling pointing a blunt finger accusingly at the sky.
There were torn tree limbs, tiny veins of burnt leaves, and a scorched coil of greasy hemp;
A vacant shoe, an empty tie, a ripped shirt, a lonely hat, and a pair of trousers stiff with black blood.
And upon the trampled grass were buttons, dead matches, butt-ends of cigars and cigarettes, peanut shells, a drained gin-flask, and a whore’s lipstick;
Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the lingering smell of gasoline.
And through the morning air the sun poured yellow surprise into the eye sockets of the stony skull….
And while I stood my mind was frozen within cold pity for the life that was gone.
The ground gripped my feet and my heart was circled by icy walls of fear—
The sun died in the sky; a night wind muttered in the grass and fumbled the leaves in the trees; the woods poured forth the hungry yelping of hounds; the darkness screamed with thirsty voices; and the witnesses rose and lived:
The dry bones stirred, rattled, lifted, melting themselves into my bones.
The grey ashes formed flesh firm and black, entering into my flesh.
The gin-flask passed from mouth to mouth, cigars and cigarettes glowed, the whore smeared lipstick red upon her lips,
And a thousand faces swirled around me, clamoring that my life be burned….
And then they had me, stripped me, battering my teeth into my throat till I swallowed my own blood.
My voice was drowned in the roar of their voices, and my black wet body slipped and rolled in their hands as they bound me to the sapling.
And my skin clung to the bubbling hot tar, falling from me in limp patches.
And the down and quills of the white feathers sank into my raw flesh, and I moaned in my agony.
Then my blood was cooled mercifully, cooled by a baptism of gasoline.
And in a blaze of red I leaped to the sky as pain rose like water, boiling my limbs
Panting, begging I clutched childlike, clutched to the hot sides of death.
Now I am dry bones and my face a stony skull staring in
yellow surprise at the sun….
8. A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde
For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;
For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
10. RIOT by Gwendolyn Brooks
A Poem in Three Parts
A riot is the language of the unheard.
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
John Cabot, out of Wilma, once a Wycliffe, all whitebluerose below his golden hair, wrapped richly in right linen and right wool, almost forgot his Jaguar and Lake Bluff; almost forgot Grandtully (which is The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Scotch); almost forgot the sculpture at the Richard Gray and Distelheim; the kidney pie at Maxim’s, the Grenadine de Boeuf at Maison Henri.
Because the “Negroes” were coming down the street.
Because the Poor were sweaty and unpretty (not like Two Dainty Negroes in Winnetka) and they were coming toward him in rough ranks. In seas. In windsweep. They were black and loud. And not detainable. And not discreet.
Gross. Gross. “Que tu es grossier!” John Cabot itched instantly beneath the nourished white that told his story of glory to the World. “Don’t let It touch me! the blackness! Lord!” he
whispered to any handy angel in the sky.
But, in a thrilling announcement, on It drove and breathed on him: and touched him. In that breath the fume of pig foot, chitterling and cheap chili, malign, mocked John. And, in terrific touch, old averted doubt jerked forward decently, cried, “Cabot! John! You are a desperate man, and the desperate die expensively today.”
John Cabot went down in the smoke and fire and broken glass and blood, and he cried “Lord! Forgive these nigguhs that know not what they do.”
THE THIRD SERMON ON THE WARPLAND
Phoenix
“In Egyptian mythology, a bird
which lived for five hundred
years and then consumed itself
in fire, rising renewed from the ashes.”
—webster
The earth is a beautiful place.
Watermirrors and things to be reflected.
Goldenrod across the little lagoon.
The Black Philosopher says
“Our chains are in the keep of the Keeper
in a labeled cabinet
on the second shelf by the cookies,
sonatas, the arabesques. . . .
There’s a rattle, sometimes.
You do not hear it who mind only
cookies and crunch them.
You do not hear the remarkable music—’A
Death Song For You Before You Die.’
If you could hear it
you would make music too.
The blackblues.”
West Madison Street.
In “Jessie’s Kitchen”
nobody’s eating Jessie’s Perfect Food.
Crazy flowers
cry up across the sky, spreading
and hissing This is
it.
The young men run.
They will not steal Bing Crosby but will steal
Melvin Van Peebles who made Lillie
a thing of Zampoughi a thing of red wiggles and trebles
(and I know there are twenty wire stalks sticking out of her
head
as her underfed haunches jerk jazz.)
A clean riot is not one in which little rioters
long-stomped, long-straddled, BEANLESS
but knowing no Why
go steal in hell
a radio, sit to hear James Brown
and Mingus, Young-Holt, Coleman, John on V.O.N.
and sun themselves in Sin.
However, what
is going on
is going on.
Fire.
That is their way of lighting candles in the darkness.
A White Philosopher said
‘It is better to light one candle than curse the darkness.’
These candles curse—
inverting the deeps of the darkness.
GUARD HERE, GUNS LOADED.
The young men run.
The children in ritual chatter
scatter upon
their Own and old geography.
The Law comes sirening across the town.
A woman is dead.
Motherwoman.
She lies among the boxes
(that held the haughty hats, the Polish sausages)
in newish, thorough, firm virginity
as rich as fudge is if you’ve had five pieces.
Not again shall she
partake of steak
on Christmas mornings, nor of nighttime
chicken and wine at Val Gray Ward’s
nor say
of Mr. Beetley, Exit Jones, Junk Smith
nor neat New-baby Williams (man-to-many)
“He treat me right.”
That was a gut gal.
“We’ll do an us!” yells Yancey, a twittering twelve.
“Instead of your deathintheafternoon,
kill ’em, bull!
kill ’em, bull!”
The Black Philosopher blares
“I tell you, exhaustive black integrity
would assure a blackless Amrica. . . .”
Nine die, Sun-Times will tell
and will tell too
in small black-bordered oblongs “Rumor? check it
at 744-4111.”
A Poem to Peanut.
“Coooooool!” purrs Peanut. Peanut is
Richard—a Ranger and a gentleman.
A Signature. A Herald. And a Span.
This Peanut will not let his men explode.
And Rico will not.
Neither will Sengali.
Nor Bop nor Jeff, Geronimo nor Lover.
These merely peer and purr,
and pass the Passion over.
The Disciples stir
and thousandfold confer
with ranging Rangermen;
mutual in their “Yeah!—
this AIN’T all upinheah!”
“But WHY do These People offend themselves?” say they
who say also “It’s time.
It’s time to help
These People.”
Lies are told and legends made.
Phoenix rises unafraid.
The Black Philosopher will remember:
“There they came to life and exulted,
the hurt mute.
Then is was over.
The dust, as they say, settled.”
AN ASPECT OF LOVE, ALIVE IN THE ICE AND FIRE
LaBohem Brown
In a package of minutes there is this We.
How beautiful.
Merry foreigners in our morning,
we laugh, we touch each other,
are responsible props and posts.
A physical light is in the room.
Because the world is at the window
we cannot wonder very long.
You rise. Although
genial, you are in yourself again.
I observe
your direct and respectable stride.
You are direct and self-accepting as a lion
in Afrikan velvet. You are level, lean,
remote.
There is a moment in Camaraderie
when interruption is not to be understood.
I cannot bear an interruption.
This is the shining joy;
the time of not-to-end.
On the street we smile.
We go
in different directions
down the imperturbable street.
Plant twelve date palms in a ring around the tarmac. Make them
tall, slight towers, leaning into the wind as princes do. Fear that
the sweetness of dates will churn your stomach. Plant them anyways.
Plant the pudge of his fuzzless face in the arrested time of a school portrait.
Plant his exotic name—found in a book that spelled dreams
of eminence and hope for an uncertain coupling—in your ear.
Know that whether it leaches into the soil or not, this ground
was watered with his blood. This tarmac turned a rioting red. Strike that.
There was a screech of brakes, and sirens howling like a cliché, then
a volley of pops that might have been a game if only
what came next was not such utter silence.
The tarmac was red. There was no riot.
Build a circle of palms and something to keep them safe.
Build a greenhouse around the twelve palms.
Yes, a green house. This land is not our land.
Dig up the tarmac, the dark heavy loam of this side of town.
Be sure to wear gloves as you dig through the brownfield’s
mystification. Once the Cuyahoga River was a wall of fire.
God knows how rain melts metal.
Dig into that earth and build
a foundation. Quarry it.
Let the little boys and little girls of Shaker Heights and Orange
bring a Game Boy or cellphone, or other toy made our of coltan that,
chances are, a little boy or little girl dug up by hand in the DRC.
Let the children lay their shiny toys in the foundation.
Seal up ground with molten lead. Die-cast its melted weight.
Yes, make a typecaster’s mold, and leave it a dull grey, like flint.
Stamp out a broadside, only set it in the foundation’s floor.
Let us read the letter that says this officer was unfit.
Let us go over it step by step, every time we walk toward the green
house of imaging what this boy’s boyhood should have been,
the fulfilling of his name, his promise.
Plant an oasis here. How is not my problem.
*
Let someone who remember how cook de rice.
Let she cook de rice with palm oil ’til is yellow an sticky.
Of course dem have palm oil in Cleveland. Dis no Third World we livin in.
Let she cook she rice an peas. Let she say
how she know to do it from a film she seen. In de film, dem people from
de sea island gone to Sierra Leone and dema find dey people,
dey people dat sing de same song with de same words. Come to
find out dem words is not jes playplay words, dem words for weeping. So dema
sit down together, an weep together, dey South Carolina an Sierra Leone family.
Dey weep over de war, an de water, an de fresh and de forgotten,
an dey cook dat rice ’til is yellow and sticky. Dey nyam it with dey hand,
outta banana leaf and de old, old man, him say,
you never forget the language you cry in.
Let all dem little girls from Shaker Heights skip the gymnastics meet.
Let dem come and eat rice and eat rice ’til they don’t want to eat rice no more
an let dem still have rice to eat. Let them lose their innocence.
Let horizons settle low.
Let dates and raisin and apples and nuts seem a strange mockery
of the new, the sweet, the hoped for. Let us share the matter.
Let us sit here under these date palms,
and haggle over whose fault it is. Let the rage that says tear this shit down
tear this shit down.
Let us start with the glass walls of the greenhouse, as a demonstration.
Let the rage that says I cannot speak not speak.
Let it suck speech into its terrible maw and leave us shuddering in silence.
Let the rage that says, black lives matter matter.
Let that other rage that says all lives matter be torn down. Let the matter with how
we don’t all matter in the same way churn up a monumental penitence.
Let the date palm offer us shade.
Let us ask why we are still here.
Let us lower eyes as we face his mother, his father, his sister.
“What a crowd! What a turnout!” —DONALD TRUMP, TO VICTIMS OF HURRICANE HARVEY
America you’re what a turnout great
Crowd a great crowd big smiles America
The hurricane is everywhere but here an
Important man is talking here Ameri-
ca the important president is talking
And if the heavens open up the heavens
Open above the president the heavens
Open to assume him bodily into heaven
As they have opened to assume great men
Who will come back and bring the end with them
America he trumpets the end of your
Suffering both swan and horseman trumpeting
From the back of the beast the fire and rose are one
On the president’s bright head the flames implanted
To make a gilded crown America
The hurricane is everywhere but here
America a great man is a poison
That kills the sky the weather in the sky
For who America can look above him
You’re what a great a crowd big smiles the ratings
The body of a storm is a man’s body
It has an eye and everything in the eye
Is dead a calm man is a man who has
Let weakness overcome his urge for death
America the president is talking
You’re what a great a turnout you could be
Anywhere but your anywhere is here
And every inch of the stadium except those
Feet occupied by the stage after his speech will
Be used to shelter those displaced by the storm
Except those feet occupied by the they’re
Armed folks police assigned to guard the stage
Which must remain in place for the duration
Of the hurricane except those feet of dead
Unmarked space called The Safety Zone between
Those officers and you you must not vi-
olate The Safety Zone you must not leave
The Safety Zone the president suggests
You find the edge it’s at a common sense
Distance it is farther than you can throw
A rock no farther than a bullet flies
say it with your whole black mouth: i am innocent
& if you are not innocent, say this: i am worthy of forgiveness, of breath after breath
i tell you this: i let blue eyes dress me in guilt
walked around stores convinced the very skin of my palm was stolen
& what good has that brought me? days filled flinching
thinking the sirens were reaching for me
& when the sirens were for me
did i not make peace with god?
so many white people are alive because
we know how to control ourselves.
how many times have we died on a whim
wielded like gallows in their sun-shy hands?
here, standing in my own body, i say: the next time
they murder us for the crime of their imaginations
i don’t know what i’ll do.
i did not come to preach of peace
for that is not the hunted’s duty.
i came here to say what i can’t say
without my name being added to a list
what my mother fears i will say
what she wishes to say herself
i came here to say
i can’t bring myself to write it down
sometimes i dream of pulling a red apology
from a pig’s collared neck & wake up crackin up
if i dream of setting fire to cul-de-sacs
i wake chained to the bed
i don’t like thinking about doing to white folks
what white folks done to us
when i do
can’t say
i don’t dance
o my people
how long will we
reach for god
instead of something sharper?
my lovely doe
with a taste for meat
take
the hunter
by his hand
“Give your daughters difficult names.
Names that command the full use of the tongue.
My name makes you want to tell me the truth.
My name does not allow me to trust anyone
who cannot pronounce it right.”
—Warsan Shire
Many of my contemporaries,
role models,
But especially,
Ancestors
Have a name that brings the tongue to worship.
Names that feel like ritual in your mouth.
I don’t want a name said without pause,
muttered without intention.
I am through with names that leave me unmoved.
Names that leave the speaker’s mouth unscathed.
I want a name like fire,
like rebellion,
like my hand gripping massa’s whip—
I want a name from before the ships
A name Donald Trump might choke on.
I want a name that catches you in the throat
if you say it wrong
and if you’re afraid to say it wrong,
then I guess you should be.
I want a name only the brave can say
a name that only fits right in the mouth of those who love me right,
because only the brave
can love me right
Assétou Xango is the name you take when you are tired
of burying your jewels under thick layers of
soot
and self-doubt.
Assétou the light
Xango the pickaxe
so that people must mine your soul
just to get your attention.
If you have to ask why I changed my name,
it is already too far beyond your comprehension.
Call me callous,
but with a name like Xango
I cannot afford to tread lightly.
You go hard
or you go home
and I am centuries
and ships away
from any semblance
of a homeland.
I am a thief’s poor bookkeeping skills way from any source of ancestry.
I am blindly collecting the shattered pieces of a continent
much larger than my comprehension.
I hate explaining my name to people:
their eyes peering over my journal
looking for a history they can rewrite
Ask me what my name means…
What the fuck does your name mean Linda?
Not every word needs an English equivalent in order to have significance.
I am done folding myself up to fit your stereotype.
Your black friend.
Your headline.
Your African Queen Meme.
Your hurt feelings.
Your desire to learn the rhetoric of solidarity
without the practice.
I do not have time to carry your allyship.
I am trying to build a continent,
A country,
A home.
My name is the only thing I have that is unassimilated
and I’m not even sure I can call it mine.
The body is a safeless place if you do not know its name.
Assétou is what it sounds like when you are trying to bend a syllable
into a home.
With shaky shudders
And wind whistling through your empty,
I feel empty.
There is no safety in a name.
No home in a body.
A name is honestly just a name
A name is honestly just a ritual
And it still sounds like reverence.
A certain doubleness, by which I can stand as remote from myself as from another.
— Henry David Thoreau
i
I didn’t choose the word —
it came pouring out of my throat
like the water inside a drowned man.
I didn’t even push on my stomach.
I just lay there, dead (like he told me)
& “I” came out.
(I’m sorry, Father.
“I” wasn’t my fault.)
ii
(How did “I” feel?)
Felt almost alive
when I’d get in, like the Trojan horse.
I’d sit on the bench
(I didn’t look out of the eyeholes
so I wouldn’t see the carnage).
iii
(Is “I” speaking another language?)
I said, “I” is dangerous.
But at the time I couldn’t tell
which one of us was speaking.
iv
(Why “I”?)
“I” was the closest I could get to the
one I loved (who I believe was
smothered in her playpen).
Perhaps she gave birth
to “I” before she died.
v
I deny “I,”
& the closer
I get, the more
“I” keeps receding.
vi
I found “I”
in the bulrushes
raised by a dirtiness
beyond imagination.
I loved “I” like a stinky bed.
While I hid in a sentence
with a bunch of other words.
vii
(What is “I”?)
A transmission through space?
A dismemberment of the spirit?
More like opening the chest &
throwing the heart out with the gizzards.
viii
(Translation)
Years later “I” came back
wanting to be known.
Like the unspeakable
name of God, I tried
my 2 letters, leaving
the “O” for breath,
like in the Bible,
missing.
ix
I am not the “I”
in my poems. “I”
is the net I try to pull me in with.
x
I try to talk
with “I,” but “I” doesn’t trust
me. “I” says I am
slippery by nature.
xi
I made “I” do
what I wasn’t supposed to do,
what I didn’t want to do —
defend me,
stand as an example,
stand in for what I was hiding.
I treated “I” as if
“I” wasn’t human.
xii
They say that what I write
belongs to me, that it is my true
experience. They think it validates
my endurance.
But why pretend?
“I” is a kind of terminal survival.
xiii
I didn’t promise
“I” anything & in that way
“I” is the one I was most
true to.
17. America Will Be by Joshua Bennett
Joshua Bennett
After Langston Hughes
I am now at the age where my father calls me brother
when we say goodbye. Take care of yourself, brother,
he whispers a half beat before we hang up the phone,
and it is as if some great bridge has unfolded over the air
between us. He is 68 years old. He was born in the throat
of Jim Crow Alabama, one of ten children, their bodies side
by side in the kitchen each morning like a pair of hands
exalting. Over breakfast, I ask him to tell me the hardest thing
about going to school back then, expecting some history
I have already memorized. Boycotts & attack dogs, fire
hoses, Bull Connor in his personal tank, candy paint
shining white as a slaver’s ghost. He says: Having to read
the Canterbury Tales. He says: eating lunch alone. Now, I hear
the word America & think first of my father’s loneliness,
the hands holding the pens that stabbed him as he walked
through the hallway, unclenched palms settling
onto a wooden desk, taking notes, trying to pretend
the shame didn’t feel like an inheritance. You say democracy
& I see the men holding documents that sent him off
to war a year later, Motown blaring from a country
boy’s bunker as napalm scarred the sky into jigsaw
patterns, his eyes open wide as the blooming blue
heart of the light bulb in a Crown Heights basement
where he & my mother will dance for the first time, their bodies
swaying like rockets in the impossible dark & yes I know
that this is more than likely not what you mean
when you sing liberty but it is the only kind
I know or can readily claim, the times where those hunted
by history are underground & somehow daring to love
what they cannot hold or fully fathom when the stranger
is not a threat but the promise of a different ending
I woke up this morning and there were men on television
lauding a wall big enough to box out an entire world,
families torn with the stroke of a pen, citizenship
little more than some garment that can be stolen or reduced
to cinder at a tyrant’s whim my father knows this grew up
knowing this witnessed firsthand the firebombs
the Klan multiple messiahs love soaked & shot through
somehow still believes in this grand blood-stained
experiment still votes still prays that his children might
make a life unlike any he has ever seen. He looks
at me like the promise of another cosmos and I never
know what to tell him. All of the books in my head
have made me cynical and distant, but there’s a choir
in him that calls me forward my disbelief built as it is
from the bricks of his belief not in any America
you might see on network news or hear heralded
before a football game but in the quiet
power of Sam Cooke singing that he was born
by a river that remains unnamed that he runs
alongside to this day, some vast and future country,
some nation within a nation, black as candor,
loud as the sound of my father’s
unfettered laughter over cheese eggs & coffee
his eyes shut tight as armories his fists
unclenched as if he were invincible
18. A Brief History of Hostility by Jamaal May
Jamaal May
In the beginning
there was the war.
The war said let there be war
and there was war.
The war said let there be peace
and there was war.
The people said music and rain
evaporating against fire in the brush
was a kind of music
and so was the beast.
The beast that roared
or bleated when brought down
was silent when skinned
but loud after the skin
was pulled taut over wood
and the people said music
and the thump thump
thump said drum.
Someone said
war drum. The drum said war
is coming to meet you in the field.
The field said war
tastes like copper,
said give us some more, said look
at the wild flowers our war plants
in a grove and grows
just for us.
Outside sheets are pulling
this way and that.
Fields are smoke,
smoke is air.
We wait for fingers to be bent
knuckle to knuckle,
the porch overrun
with rope and shotgun
but the hounds don’t show.
We beat the drum and sing
like there’s nothing outside
but rust-colored clay and fields
of wild flowers growing
farther than we can walk.
Torches may come like fox paws
to steal away what we plant,
but with our bodies bound
by the skin, my arc to his curve,
we are stalks that will bend
and bend and bend…
fire for heat
fire for light
fire for casting figures on a dungeon wall
fire for teaching shadows to writhe
fire for keeping beasts at bay
fire to give them back to the earth
fire for the siege
fire to singe
fire to roast
fire to fuse rubber soles to collapsed crossbeams
fire for Gehenna
fire for Dante
fire for Fallujah
fire for readied aim
fire in the forge that folds steel like a flag
fire to curl worms like cigarette ash
fire to give them back to the earth
fire for ancient reasons: to call down rain
fire to catch it and turn it into steam
fire for churches
fire for a stockpile of books
fire for a bible-black cloak tied to a stake
fire for smoke signals
fire to shape gun muzzle and magazine
fire to leap from the gut of a furnace
fire for Hephaestus
fire for pyres’ sake
fire licking the toes of a quiet brown man
fire for his home
fire for her flag
fire for this sand, to coax it into glass
fire to cure mirrors
fire to cure leeches
Fire to compose a nocturne of cinders
fire for the trash cans illuminating streets
fire for fuel
fire for fields
fire for the field hand’s fourth death
fire to make a cross visible for several yards
fire from the dragon’s mouth
fire for smoking out tangos
fire to stoke like rage and fill the sky with human remains
fire to give them back to the earth
fire to make twine fall from bound wrists
fire to mark them all and bubble black
any flesh it touches as it frees
They took the light from our eyes. Possessive.
Took the moisture from our throats. My arms,
my lips, my sternum, sucked dry, and
lovers of autumn say, Look, here is beauty.
Tallness only made me an obvious target made of
off-kilter limbs. I’d fall either way. I should get a
to-the-death tattoo or metal ribbon of some sort.
War took our prayers like nothing else can,
left us dumber than remote drones. Make
me a loyal soldier and I’ll make you a
lamenting so thick, metallic, so tank-tread-hard.
Now make tomorrow a gate shaped like a man.
I can’t promise, when it’s time, I won’t hesitate,
cannot say I won’t forget to return in fall and
guess the names of the leaves before they change.
The war said bring us your dead
and we died. The people said music
and bending flower, so we sang ballads
in the aisles of churches and fruit markets.
The requiem was everywhere: a comet’s tail
disappearing into the atmosphere,
the wide mouths of the bereft men that have sung…
On currents of air, seeds were carried
as the processional carried us
through the streets of a forgetting city,
between the cold iron of gates.
The field said soil is rich wherever we fall.
Aren’t graveyards and battlefields
our most efficient gardens?
Journeys begin there too if the flowers are taken
into account, and shouldn’t we always
take the flowers into account? Bring them to us.
We’ll come back to you. Peace will come to you
as a rosewood-colored road paver
in your grandmother’s town, as a trench
scraped into canvas, as a violin bow, a shovel,
an easel, a brushstroke that covers
burial mounds in grass. And love, you say,
is a constant blade, a trowel that plants
and uproots, and tomorrow
will be a tornado, you say. Then war,
a sick wind, will come to part the air,
straighten your suit,
and place fresh flowers
on all our muddy graves.
19. For My People by Margaret Walker
For my people everywhere singing their slave songs
repeatedly: their dirges and their ditties and their blues
and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an
unknown god, bending their knees humbly to an
unseen power;
For my people lending their strength to the years, to the
gone years and the now years and the maybe years,
washing ironing cooking scrubbing sewing mending
hoeing plowing digging planting pruning patching
dragging along never gaining never reaping never
knowing and never understanding;
For my playmates in the clay and dust and sand of Alabama
backyards playing baptizing and preaching and doctor
and jail and soldier and school and mama and cooking
and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Miss
Choomby and company;
For the cramped bewildered years we went to school to learn
to know the reasons why and the answers to and the
people who and the places where and the days when, in
memory of the bitter hours when we discovered we
were black and poor and small and different and nobody
cared and nobody wondered and nobody understood;
For the boys and girls who grew in spite of these things to
be man and woman, to laugh and dance and sing and
play and drink their wine and religion and success, to
marry their playmates and bear children and then die
of consumption and anemia and lynching;
For my people thronging 47th Street in Chicago and Lenox
Avenue in New York and Rampart Street in New
Orleans, lost disinherited dispossessed and happy
people filling the cabarets and taverns and other
people’s pockets needing bread and shoes and milk and
land and money and something—something all our own;
For my people walking blindly spreading joy, losing time
being lazy, sleeping when hungry, shouting when
burdened, drinking when hopeless, tied, and shackled
and tangled among ourselves by the unseen creatures
who tower over us omnisciently and laugh;
For my people blundering and groping and floundering in
the dark of churches and schools and clubs and
societies, associations and councils and committees and
conventions, distressed and disturbed and deceived and
devoured by money-hungry glory-craving leeches,
preyed on by facile force of state and fad and novelty, by
false prophet and holy believer;
For my people standing staring trying to fashion a better way
from confusion, from hypocrisy and misunderstanding,
trying to fashion a world that will hold all the people,
all the faces, all the adams and eves and their countless
generations;
Let a new earth rise. Let another world be born. Let a
bloody peace be written in the sky. Let a second
generation full of courage issue forth; let a people
loving freedom come to growth. Let a beauty full of
healing and a strength of final clenching be the pulsing
in our spirits and our blood. Let the martial songs
be written, let the dirges disappear. Let a race of men now
rise and take control.
Octavia Butler
Here we are –
Here we are –
Energy,
Mass,
Life,
Shaping life,
Mind,
Shaping Mind
God,
Shaping God.
Consider—
We are born
Not with purpose,
But with potential.
All that you touch
You Change.
All that you Change
Changes you.
The only lasting truth
Is Change.
God
Is Change.
James Weldon Johnson
(THE MOB SPEAKS🙂
See! There he stands; not brave, but with an air
Of sullen stupor. Mark him well! Is he
Not more like brute than man? Look in his eye!
No light is there; none, save the glint that shines
In the now glaring, and now shifting orbs
Of some wild animal caught in the hunter’s trap.
How came this beast in human shape and form?
Speak man!—We call you man because you wear
His shape—How are you thus? Are you not from
That docile, child-like, tender-hearted race
Which we have known three centuries? Not from
That more than faithful race which through three wars
Fed our dear wives and nursed our helpless babes
Without a single breach of trust? Speak out!
(THE VICTIM SPEAKS🙂
I am, and am not.
(THE MOB SPEAKS AGAIN🙂
Then who, why are you?
(THE VICTIM SPEAKS AGAIN🙂
I am a thing not new, I am as old
As human nature. I am that which lurks,
Ready to spring whenever a bar is loosed;
The ancient trait which fights incessantly
Against restraint, balks at the upward climb;
The weight forever seeking to obey
The law of downward pull—and I am more:
The bitter fruit am I of planted seed;
The resultant, the inevitable end
Of evil forces and the powers of wrong.
Lessons in degradation, taught and learned,
The memories of cruel sights and deeds,
The pent-up bitterness, the unspent hate
Filtered through fifteen generations have
Sprung up and found in me sporadic life.
In me the muttered curse of dying men,
On me the stain of conquered women, and
Consuming me the fearful fires of lust,
Lit long ago, by other hands than mine.
In me the down-crushed spirit, the hurled-back prayers
Of wretches now long dead—their dire bequests.
In me the echo of the stifled cry
Of children for their battered mothers’ breasts.
I claim no race, no race claims me; I am
No more than human dregs; degenerate;
The monstrous offspring of the monster, Sin;
I am—just what I am. . . . The race that fed
Your wives and nursed your babes would do the same
Today. But I—
(THE MOB CONCLUDES🙂
Enough, the brute must die!
Quick! Chain him to that oak! It will resist
The fire much longer than this slender pine.
Now bring the fuel! Pile it round him! Wait!
Pile not so fast or high! or we shall lose
The agony and terror in his face.
And now the torch! Good fuel that! the flames
Already leap head-high. Ha! hear that shriek!
And there’s another! wilder than the first.
Fetch water! Water! Pour a little on
The fire, lest it should burn too fast. Hold so!
Now let it slowly blaze again. See there!
He squirms! He groans! His eyes bulge wildly out,
Searching around in vain appeal for help!
Another shriek, the last! Watch how the flesh
Grows crisp and hangs till, turned to ash, it sifts
Down through the coils of chain that hold erect
The ghastly frame against the bark-scorched tree.
Stop! to each man no more than one man’s share.
You take that bone, and you this tooth; the chain,
Let us divide its links; this skull, of course,
In fair division, to the leader comes.
And now his fiendish crime has been avenged;
Let us back to our wives and children—say,
What did he mean by those last muttered words,
“Brothers in spirit, brothers in deed are we”?
Alice Walker
The Root / Peter Kramer
If I was President
The first thing I would do
is call Mumia Abu-Jamal.
No,
if I was president
the first thing I would do
is call Leonard Peltier.
No,
if I was president
the first person I would call
is that rascal
John Trudell.
No,
the first person I’d call
is that other rascal
Dennis Banks.
I would also call
Alice Walker.
I would make a conference call.
And I would say this:
Yo, you troublemakers,
it is time to let all of us
out of prison.
Pack up your things:
Dennis and John,
collect Alice Walker
If you can find her:
In Mendocino, Molokai, Mexico or
Gaza,
& head out to the prisons
where Mumia and Leonard
are waiting for you.
They will be traveling
light.
Mumia used to own a lot
of papers
but they took most of those
away from him.
Leonard
will probably want to drag along
some of his
canvases.
Alice
who may well be
shopping
in New Delhi
will no doubt want to
dress up for the occasion
in a sparkly shalwar kemeez.
My next call is going to be
to the Cubans
all five of them;
so stop worrying.
For now, you’re my fish.
I just had this long letter
from Alice and she has begged me
to put an end
to her suffering.
What? she said.
You think these men are the only ones who suffer
when Old Style America locks them up
& throws away
the key?
I can’t tell you, she goes on,
the changes
this viciousness
has put me through,
and I have had a child to raise
& classes to teach
& food to buy
and just because
I’m a poet
it doesn’t mean
I don’t have to
pay the mortgage
or the rent.
Yet all these years,
nearly thirty or something
of them
I have been running around
the country
and the world
trying to arouse justice
for these men.
Tonsillitis
hasn’t stopped me.
Migraine,
hasn’t stopped me.
Lyme disease
hasn’t stopped me.
And why?
Because
knowing the country
that I’m in,
as you are destined to learn
it too,
I know wrong
when I see it.
If that chair you’re sitting in
could speak
you would have it moved
to another room.
You would burn it.
So, amigos,
pack your things.
Alice and John and Dennis
are on their way.
They are bringing prayers from Nilak Butler and Bill Wapepah;
they are bringing sweet grass and white sage
from Pine Ridge.
I am the president
at least until the Corporations
purchase the next election,
and this is what I choose
to do
on my first day.
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Eden Arielle Gordon
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The city of Seattle has agreed to pay $10 million to settle a lawsuit brought by Black Lives Matter protesters who claimed that they were victims of excessive force during the 2020 demonstrations.
The settlement comes after years of legal battles and negotiations between the city and the protesters.
A group of 50 BLM protesters filed the lawsuit claiming that the Seattle Police Department was a bit heavy-handed during the demonstrations following the death of George Floyd.
Floyd died in 2020 during an arrest involving excessive force by former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin, sparking nationwide protests and unjustified race riots.
Doing the math, the settlement amounts to a $200,000 payment to each protester involved in the suit.
RELATED: Black Lives Matter Seattle Vows to Boycott White Businesses On Black Friday
A statement from the City Attorney in Seattle seems to indicate that the $10 million payday was simply a means to settle the matter and move forward.
“This decision was the best financial decision for the City considering risk, cost, and insurance,” he said. “The case has been a significant drain on the time and resources of the City and would have continued to be so through an estimated three-month trial that was scheduled to begin in May.”
It’s never really a good strategy to give in to extortionists, especially those who burned and looted your city for months on end.
You don’t reward a child who steals a cookie by giving them $10 to buy more cookies.
Attorneys for the Black Lives Matter protesters claimed that their clients suffered a whole host of injuries ranging from hearing loss and broken bones to “emotional damage.”
Will BLM use some of that money to pay for the emotional damage they caused local businesses?
Journalist Andy Ngo, who documented much of the rioting, explains that such payouts “encourage future rioting.”
RELATED: Lawless In Seattle: Anarchist ‘Autonomous Zone’ Preventing Police From Responding To Violent Crimes
According to various reports, the riots in Seattle caused millions of dollars in damages to businesses, public buildings, and infrastructure.
The Seattle Police Department reported that over 100 officers were injured during the protests, and many businesses were looted, vandalized, and set on fire.
The Seattle City Attorney’s Office estimated that the total cost of property damage and other expenses related to the riots was around $200 million.
This figure includes damages to private businesses, public buildings, and the cost of deploying law enforcement and other emergency services during the unrest.
Those businesses got a lot less than $10 million. In fact, business owners received $3,650,000 for damages caused by the Black Lives Matter protests according to court filings.
As for something you can’t put a price tag on, there were reports of two deaths that occurred during the Black Lives Matter protests in Seattle.
One of these incidents involved a 19-year-old man who was shot and killed in the Capitol Hill Organized Protest (CHOP) zone, and another involved a 32-year-old woman who was hit by a car while protesting on a closed section of Interstate 5.
Multiple other shootings took place in that seven-block area that police were forced to abandon during the “Summer of Love.”
What do you think about this? Let us know in the comments section.
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Former President Donald Trump drew cheers at a rally on Saturday after touting his endorsement from a “representative of Black Lives Matter” (BLM), despite the activist’s disputed affiliation within the decentralized movement.
Trump is currently among the packed field of candidates seeking the GOP nomination for president in 2024. In nationwide polling averages, he has consistently led the crop of candidates by significant margins, regularly garnering around 50 percent support from likely Republican voters, leading many to consider his nomination by the party next year inevitable.
Earlier this week, activist Mark Fisher appeared on Fox & Friends to discuss his endorsement of Trump, with the show touting him as a “BLM leader.” During his appearance, Fisher claimed that Trump has done “more for the Black community than any president I can think of in my lifetime” and decried the Democratic Party as “racist.”
BLM is a decentralized social movement focused on racism and other issues faced by Black Americans that has been more often associated with progressive politics, rather than the socially conservative policies embraced by Trump. While decentralized, the movement is represented by various prominent organizations at the national and state level, many of which have dismissed Fisher’s involvement with them and called his endorsement a “publicity stunt.”
Black Lives Matter of Rhode Island, which Fisher has touted his involvement in, told Newsweek in a prior statement that he was “no longer associated” with the group. Fisher is also the founder of an organization in Maryland called “BLM Inc.”
On Saturday, Trump spoke at a rally in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where he touted Fisher’s endorsement, drawing cheers from the crowd of supporters.
“Did you see where a very respected representative of Black Lives Matter, new England?” Trump asked. “New England endorsed Trump, he said. He didn’t necessarily say the Republican Party, he said Trump because what we have done in terms of opportunity zones, and jobs and jobs, historically, if you look at the black colleges and universities, 10 year funding.”
Newsweek reached out to the national arm of Black Lives Matter via email for comment.
In a joint statement to The Providence Journal, BLM Rhode Island and the BLM Rhode Island Political Action Committee denounced Fisher as an “imposter.”
“This is a publicity stunt,” the statement read. “The right-wing continues to use and amplify fringe Black voices to create an idea of broad support for their corrupt candidates.”
It added: “Continuing to call Mark Fisher a Black Lives Matter leader is disingenuous and inappropriate. Both the founder of BLM Rhode Island and BLM Rhode Island PAC have denounced Mark and have made it clear that he is an imposter.”
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.

Elijah McClain is dead and those responsible are getting six figures and jobs.
Nathan Woodyard was found not guilty of manslaughter and criminally negligent homicide and now, according to The Guardian, he’s getting his job back and a fat check to go along with it. A spokesperson for the city of Aurora says that a city law mandated that Woodyard be offered his job back as a result of the exonerating verdict. Woodyard was the first officer to contact McClain after police received a call about a man who “looks sketchy” and eventually put the 23-year-old in a chokehold that led him to exclaim, “I can’t breathe” multiple times.
“[Woodyard] has elected to reintegrate with the APD and is currently on Restricted Duty (not in uniform, no public contact, and no enforcement actions) pending next steps in the reintegration process,” a city spokesperson, Ryan Luby, said in an email
The caller made it clear to the 911 operator that McClain was not carrying any weapons and was not causing damage or behaving in any way that suggested that he was violent. There was no reason whatsoever for Woodyard and his goons in blue should have approached him with aggression, much less try to subdue or arrest him. The last words that Elijah McClain can be heard saying to officers are, “I’m so sorry. I have no gun. I don’t do that stuff. I don’t do any fighting … I don’t even kill flies! I don’t eat meat … I respect all life … Forgive me! All I was trying to do was become better.”
F**k this pig and the jury that let him slide on killing a young Black man. Amerikkka is trash.
Jason "Jah" Lee
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Staff article:
CLEVELAND, Ohio- Community activists opposing the recent deaths of jail inmates and a new multi-million dollar Cuyahoga County Jail slated for construction by county council will hold a rally and press conference on Monday, Nov 27 at 2pm in downtown Cleveland at the Justice Center outside of the jail at West Lakeside Ave and W. 3rd Street.
In a press release, activists, both Black and White alike, said they “demand answers from County Executive Chris Ronayne, who took office this year, County Sheriff Harold Pretel, and the county council members regarding four recent deaths in the jail. “
Activists say they will also use the occasion to address the recent police shooting of a community member during a wellness check in Garfield Heights, a largely Black Cleveland suburb.
The coalition, according to the press release, includes the Cuyahoga County Jail Coalition, No New Jail Cuyahoga, Black Lives Matter Cleveland, Inter-Religious Taskforce on Central America, and REACH.
Activists said that the protest will demand transparency and accountability for the four inmate deaths, immediate and substantive changes to the conditions in the jail, and a moratorium on the sale of the Justice Complex and building of a new $750 million jail complex until the systemic problems with leadership and staff problems are solved.
The recent inmate deaths, and a score of inmate overdoses show that jail officials are not adequately addressing medical needs of community members who are incarcerated, say activists. Furthermore, they say that two of the four deaths are under investigation due to questionable circumstances around their deaths. In the most recent case of Rogelio Latorre.
Cleveland.com wrote in an article that “It is unclear why Latorre was in the jail. Local and federal court dockets do not list him, and county spokespersons did not return messages seeking comment.” This is also fueling the controversy.
Since the stunning US Marshals Report in 2018 that found inhumane conditions for inmates, there have been some 27 known deaths in the jail, say activists And in 2022 alone they say there were seven known deaths and jail activists
A new jail complex will not solve the staffing and leadership problems that these deaths allegedly expose, activists say.
No New Jail Cuyahoga and REACH say they will speak about the tragic shooting of a community member by police during a wellness check in Garfield Heights.
The new jail , say activists, was rushed, is non-transparent, and is a costly project that will not do anything to help change conditions for incarcerated people in the county.
Cuyahoga County includes Cleveland and is Ohio’s second largest county out of 88 counties it is roughly 29 percent Black and is a Democratic stronghold, as is Cleveland, a majority Black major American city dealing with increased crime in the Black community and heightens unsolved murders of Black women.
Activists want more done as to the malicious prosecutions of Blacks and denial of indigent counsel to Black people by common pleas judges and the county.
The judges, say activists, are a huge part of the problem as to jail overcrowding and Blacks and others jailed illegally and they want to know what role, if any, the judges play as to heightened jail deaths since 2018.
One former jail inmate, speaking on condition of anonymity, said she has been jailed in the county at least three times for nothing by racist and wicked White judges and was allegedly told by inmates via the most recent time she was jailed that she would eventually be killed next and that police, crooked prosecutors, and some judges want her murdered to silence her when the time is right. They want to get it done without getting caught, she said.
Clevelandurbannews.com and Kathywraycolemanonlinenewsblog.com the most read Black digital newspaper and blog in Ohio and in the Midwest Tel: (216) 659-0473. Email: editor@clevelandurbannews.com. We interviewed former president Barack Obama one-on-one when he was campaigning for president. As to the Obama interview, CLICK HERE TO READ THE ENTIRE ARTICLE AT CLEVELAND URBAN NEWS.COM, OHIO’S LEADER IN BLACK DIGITAL NEWS.
editor@clevelandurbannews.com (Kathy)
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The “alleged” murder of Tyre Nichols was another soul-crushing example of how police treat the citizens that they swore to protect, especially the Black citizens. What makes this case particularly galling is the fact that all five of the “blue lives” that worked together to end Nichols’ are Black men. It really be your own people. In the aftermath of the viral killing, all five men, Demetrius Haley, Justin Smith, Emmitt Martin lll, and Taddarius Bean, and Desmond Mills (the bald man pictured in the middle of the above photo), were indicted for federal civil rights crimes in addition to Tennessee state crimes including second-degree murder.
According to KSL, Mills has formally entered a guilty plea to one count each of excessive force and witness tampering. In exchange for his guilty plea, the report states that Mills has agreed to cooperate with prosecutors which suggests that he will testify against his former colleagues in order to knock down his potential prison sentence from life to fifteen years. Tables turn fast when lawyers start throwing that four-letter L-word around.
Ubiquitous civil rights attorney Ben Crump and his partner Antonio Romanucci are representing the Nichols family and spoke on the gravity of Mills’ decision to cooperate saying, “This is a monumental shift in policing today, watching another police officer who will testify against his own,” according to Daily Memphian.
Action News 5 is reporting that four aforementioned former cops will appear in Shelby County Court today Monday, Nov. 6 to answer for the state charges against them including the second-degree murder charge.
Shelby County District Attorney Steve Mulroy, the lead prosecutor in the case, made it very clear what he expects from Mills if he wishes to dodge a life sentence in prison, via Action News 5:
“He is fully cooperating and we expect him to continue to fully cooperate, answering all questions truthfully, testifying to his role in the incident and what he saw the other defendants commit at the same incident,” said Steve Mulroy the Shelby County District Attorney. “And if he deviates from that, if he does not cooperate or he provides anything less than a truthful testimony than the deal is off.”
Not too often that a cop is willing to point the finger at his cop friends under oath. Hopefully, this will inspire some level of change and accountability amongst officers but we won’t be holding our breath.
Jason "Jah" Lee
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Lisa McNair drove from her home in Birmingham to Alabama’s state legislature in Montgomery last year for a forum about “divisive concepts” legislation being pushed by state Republicans. The GOP bill would have severely limited how educators could teach about race and racism.
McNair believed the bill would force students to learn an inaccurate account of American history — and about the tragic incident that had devastated her own family.
When it was McNair’s turn to speak, she stood at the microphone with a picture of her sister.
“I, too, want to oppose that bill because I feel that that bill will inhibit the teaching of the life of my sister, Denise McNair,” she said. “Her story is not CRT or whatever that is, because I really don’t know, and I really don’t care. But it’s true history.” (CRT refers to critical race theory, a college-level academic theory about systemic racism. In recent years, Republicans have used the term to refer to any education about race, and have increasingly sought to remove such lessons from classrooms around the country.)
Sixty years ago, on Sept. 15, 1963, McNair’s sister, Carol Denise McNair, was one of four Black girls killed in a bombing at the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham. The bombing of the predominantly Black church outraged the country and helped fuel the Civil Rights Movement.
McNair told HuffPost she saw state Sen. Jabo Waggoner, one of the 12 Republican co-sponsors of the bill, tear up after hearing her testimony. She gave him a T-shirt with Denise’s face on it after the forum.
The legislation would have prohibited students and employees of Alabama schools, state agencies and universities from learning any “divisive” concepts, including that “fault, blame, or bias should be assigned to a race, color, religion, sex, ethnicity, or national origin,” or that a student or employee should “assent to a sense of guilt, complicity, or a need to apologize,” due to their race or national origin.
The bill never made it to the state Senate for a final vote.
Republican lawmakers made a second attempt to pass the bill in June, but they weren’t successful. Despite meeting McNair, Waggoner still supported the legislation and sponsored it a second time. His office did not respond to HuffPost’s request for comment.
Alabama Republicans are discussing reintroducing the legislation again, Republican sponsor and state Rep. Ed Oliver said this summer. (Oliver’s office did not respond to HuffPost’s request for comment on the legislation.)
“I do believe me being there that day helped them to think differently about voting for that bill,” McNair told HuffPost. “You have to come in and talk to people where they live. You have to put a human face on it, and that is why you have to be in front of our legislators and state senators — because they work for us.”
McNair is happy Alabama hasn’t yet adopted a “divisive concepts” law, but for her and other survivors, it was a brutal reminder of how far the U.S. still has to go.
“It is hard to believe that 60 years later, we still are having such major racial issues,” said McNair, who was born a year after her older sister was murdered. “We never will forget what happened to Denise and the other girls. It was a turning point in our lives. My parents, that was their only child. They did not have any other children at the time. It never left them. They grieved for her till the day she died.”
Carol Denise McNair, Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley and Carole Robinson all died after four members of the Ku Klux Klan set off a bomb at the 16th Street Baptist Church at 10:24 a.m. that September day. McNair was 11 years old; the other three girls were 14.
Thomas Edward Blanton, Bobby Frank Cherry, Robert Chambliss — and, it is suspected, Herman Cash — planted at least 15 stacks of dynamite with a timer under the steps of the church. An anonymous man called the church, and a teenage Sunday school secretary answered.
“Three minutes,” the caller said, then hung up.
One minute later, the church exploded. At least 22 people were injured during the bombing, including Collins’ 12-year-old sister, who had pieces of glass implanted in her face and was blinded in one eye.

At the time, Birmingham was one of the most racially segregated cities in the county. It even became known as “Bombingham” because so many Black residents’ homes were bombed by white supremacists.
By the start of the 1960s, the Civil Rights Movement was underway, with Martin Luther King Jr. largely leading the charge in the South. He worked closely with Fred Shuttlesworth, a minister in Birmingham, to establish the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and the Birmingham Campaign, an effort to bring national attention to the mistreatment of Black people in the city.
Following the Montgomery bus boycott, where King and other members protested segregated public transportation, King wrote his now-famous letter from Birmingham jail in 1963 — just five months before the church was bombed.
On May 2, 1963, thousands of children left school and gathered at the church to march in downtown Birmingham against racial injustice. The protest became known as the Children’s Crusade. They were met violently with water hoses, police dogs, beatings and arrests.
Many of the tactics were provoked and influenced by the racism of Theophilus Eugene “Bull” Connor, who served as Birmingham’s commissioner of public safety. Despite the police brutality, the children proceeded with their demonstration. It prompted the Department of Justice to intervene and influenced then-President John F. Kennedy to express his support for civil rights legislation.

Activists also blamed then-Gov. George Wallace, a loud segregationist, for inspiring the racist acts. The same year as the church bombing, Wallace proclaimed in his inaugural address, “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” He also hired Asa Carter, the founder of a local Ku Klux Klan chapter, as his speechwriter during a campaign in which he often blamed integration as the reason for an increase in crime.
Two of the men behind the bombing, Blanton and Cherry, were not sentenced to prison until nearly 40 years later. Chambliss wasn’t tried and convicted for the death of McNair’s sister until 1977. And Cash died in 1994, having never been indicted on any charges.
McNair believes that if the “divisive concepts” bill had been enacted, it would have not allowed the tragedy of the bombing to be told in detail.
“[The bombing] is the story of our shared American history, and it needs to be told,” McNair said. “Little white children, and all children, need to know, because this is what happened.”
A white supremacist rally was supposed to take place in Birmingham on Sept. 15, and white teenagers Larry Joe Sims and Michael Lee Farley were among those who planned to attend. But the rally was canceled due to the bombing.
So the two boys bought a Confederate battle flag and attached it to a scooter as they went into a predominantly Black neighborhood. They carried a .22-caliber pistol they had purchased three days earlier. They saw a young boy, Virgil Ware, and his brother riding a bicycle. Farley told Sims to shoot the gun and scare them.
Sims ended up shooting Ware in the chest and face, killing him. An all-white jury convicted Farley and Sims of second-degree manslaughter and sentenced them to seven months of jail, but the cases were suspended by a judge and changed to two years of probation.

Dale H. Long, a lifelong Birmingham resident who also survived the bombing, remembers the bombing and Ware’s killing the very same day, as well as the police killing of another Black boy, Johnny Robinson.
“That is what critical race theory is about. They don’t want people to know, they don’t want their kids to know [about other tragedies],” Long told HuffPost. Sims used Ware “as target practice,” he said.
Long’s parents used to tell him not to go outside for any reason, especially when demonstrations were happening in the city. Black kids weren’t allowed to attend pools with white people, let alone use the same bathrooms or drink from the same water fountains.
“We did not have the luxury of traveling a lot and enjoying the amenities of the local museum. A lot of the activities took place at church,” Long told HuffPost.
Long, who attended Sunday school and played in the orchestra with Denise McNair, lived two blocks from Shuttlesworth and remembers the minister’s home being bombed. “We knew it, because it shook ours,” Long recalled.
McNair says there is a “sadness” that 60 years later, America is still having major issues with race. While she wishes the country would take more steps forward, she remains optimistic.
“I just wish that we weren’t in this place and that we should be further along. That is part of what I think. I hope that we will try to do better. I like to think so many more of us don’t want racism and will stand up against it,” McNair told HuffPost.

“But I still see people voting for politicians who espouse racist ideals, and it is hard to believe so many people would vote for a politician who espouses these ideas and not see them for who they are.”
Last year, she spoke to civic leaders in Pensacola, Florida, about her family’s experience. But one local school canceled her separate speaking engagement and another cut her speaking time short to avoid discussions related to critical race theory, according to McNair, which Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has aggressively railed against.
Long also said he’s worried by DeSantis’ actions, particularly after the governor and presidential candidate said recently that Black people benefited from slavery.
“They are taking away our history. They find something wrong with teaching Black history,” he said. “You can talk about the Revolutionary War or Boston Tea Party, but they don’t want to talk about slavery because it makes them look bad.”

WASHINGTON (AP) — A judge on Friday awarded more than $1 million to a Black church in downtown Washington, D.C. that sued the far-right Proud Boys for tearing down and burning a Black Lives Matter banner during a 2020 protest.
Superior Court Associated Judge Neal A. Kravitz also barred the extremist group and its leaders from coming near the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church or making threats or defamatory remarks against the church or its pastor for five years.
The ruling was a default judgment issued after the defendants failed to show up in court to fight the case.
Two Black Lives Matter banners were pulled down from Metropolitan AME and another historically Black church and burned during clashes between pro-Donald Trump supporters and counterdemonstrators in December 2020.
The destruction took place after weekend rallies by thousands of people in support of Trump’s baseless claims that he won a second term, which led to dozens of arrests, several stabbings and injuries to police officers.
Metropolitan AME sued the Proud Boys and their leaders, alleging they violated D.C. and federal law by trespassing and destroying religious property in a bias-related conspiracy.
Proud Boys leader Henry “Enrique” Tarrio, of Miami, publicly acknowledged setting fire to one banner, which prosecutors said was stolen from Asbury United Methodist Church.
In July 2021, Tarrio pleaded guilty to two misdemeanor criminal charges of property destruction and attempted possession of a high-capacity magazine.
He was sentenced to more than five months in jail.
Tarrio and other members of the Proud Boys were separately convicted of seditious conspiracy charges as part of a plot to attack the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, in a desperate bid to keep Donald Trump in power after the Republican lost the 2020 presidential election.

One year ago, Brooklyn Hough was a cashier at Tops Friendly Market, located on Buffalo’s east side. She was 22 years old and working to support her two children. Hough was just going out for her lunch break on a typical, quiet Saturday.
Then Payton Gendron arrived at the store. He carried out a racist shooting spree that would shock the nation and traumatize the city.
Hough heard gunshots and then screaming. At first, she thought the store was getting robbed. She fled through the back of the store.
“I did not see the killing, but I did see the bodies,” Hough told HuffPost.
She tried to call her boyfriend but his phone was dead, so she called her mother. Her mother could hear other people screaming, too.
Gendron murdered 10 Black people and injured three others. In his 180-page manifesto, the 18-year-old said he was fighting back against the “Great Replacement,” a dangerous white supremacist ideology that claims the government and Democrats are deliberately replacing ethnic Europeans with non-Europeans to gain political and cultural advantage.
Heather Ainsworth for HuffPost
In February, a state judge gave Gendron 11 consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. Right before the judge handed down his sentence, a family member of one victim berated the shooter and another man lunged at him, which temporarily halted the proceedings.
For Hough and others in Buffalo, the shooter’s calculated acts of violence caused pain that will exist for generations in the community. The May 14 shooting is remembered by local activists as “514.”
The grocery store shut down after the killings, though it’s now open. Hough had to find other ways to pay her bills and support her young children, so she took another job working as a cashier elsewhere. Along the way, she became a part of a support group with local activist Myles Carter and others that discusses demands on behalf of the massacre survivors and help for their predominantly Black community.
Hough and Carter both remember when President Joe Biden came to town in the days after the tragedy. He talked with the family members who lost loved ones and the people who were injured, though Hough wishes he had met with other people who were in the store, too.
Ten days after the shooting, another 18-year-old went to Uvalde, Texas, and fatally shot 19 children and two teachers inside a school. Seventeen others were injured but survived the attack. National attention quickly turned to Texas.

NICHOLAS KAMM via Getty Images
Carter says that Black people and Black communities have been terrorized for years — and that locking up the killers, while necessary, isn’t enough.
“For us, Peyton Gendron is the person who injured us. But Peyton Gendron is a foot soldier in the sea of white supremacy. We don’t have any real justice here because he is one of many. And you can see it happening in history over and over again,” he said.
Racism existed in Buffalo long before Gendron — he wasn’t even the first killer to target the city’s Black population.
Four decades ago, a serial killer preyed on Black men in the city, despite residents’ pleas for police to connect the dots and stop the violence. Beginning in 1980, a man named Joseph Christopher slayed men with a .22 caliber pistol, seemingly at random except with regard to their race — they were all Black men.
Local Black leaders called on city officials to investigate the killings as a conspiracy, but members of law enforcement were still working to draw connections between them.
The killings caught the attention of national civil rights activist Rev. Jesse Jackson at the time, who was working with his Rainbow PUSH Coalition. Jackson came to Buffalo to meet with more than 600 Black residents in the area.
During the funeral for one of the victims, a carload of white people drove by showing a mannequin with red-painted head wounds and threw red paint on the victim’s funeral hearse.
Christopher was ultimately arrested for killing a 14-year-old Black boy and three men, though he was suspected of many other murders, including those of some Black men who were mutilated or even had their hearts ripped out.

Dennis Floss/Associated Press
To this day, the city is plagued by instances of racism, including some emanating from the Buffalo police. In 2006, a Black officer named Cariol Horne was fired from the department and lost her pension after she stopped a fellow officer from choking a Black man while he was handcuffed.
Fourteen years later, in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder, Buffalo would adopt what would become known as “Cariol’s Law,” which requires officers to intervene if another officer is using excessive force.
More recently, Buffalo Police Capt. Amber Beyer was named in a lawsuit and reassigned within the department after Black staff said she went on a racist tirade. The suit describes Beyer launching into a 20-minute rant and saying that Black men were all unfaithful to their wives and that Black people commit more crime than white people.
“White officers get PTSD from working in Black neighborhoods — like the East Side of Buffalo — but Black officers do not because they are used to violence and Black people commit more violent crime than White people,” Beyer allegedly said, according to the lawsuit.
The lawsuit also alleged that Beyer discriminated against Black employees by offering overtime hours to white officers with the least seniority to attend conferences and events.
Beyer was reassigned within the department and admitted to violating its rules and regulations after she received a 30-day unpaid suspension. She took implicit bias training following an internal affairs review.

Heather Ainsworth for HuffPost
Carter himself is suing the city’s police department after police tackled and arrested him while he was being interviewed by a local television station in June 2020 amid protests following the murder of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. The video went viral and Carter was charged with obstruction of governmental administration and disorderly conduct, though those charges were dropped the following month.
Carter does not believe there was any change in his city after the mass shooting. “The people who are dealing with the tragedy of 514 are still locked in their houses and not working,” he said.
Carter and Hough want financial and mental support for survivors, reimbursement for purchases made at Tops on the day of the shooting and support for self-defense training.
While Hough was working at Tops, the state increased the minimum wage to $13.20, but it still was not enough to make ends meet. She would like Buffalo Public Schools, the school district from which she graduated, to get much more attention and money.
Five city schools were recently included on a list of underfunded and high-needs schools in the state, according to a report from the New York State Education Department. (In March 2021, Democratic New York Rep. Brian Higgins announced Buffalo schools would receive $814 million plus an additional $232 million from the American Rescue Plan.)

Heather Ainsworth for HuffPost
Meanwhile, Hough harbors a deep worry that more young white males are being influenced by racist mass murders.
“These kids are getting these ideas that they don’t like Black people. There are evil people in this world waking up and wanting to kill people. Taking mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and uncles from their family. And it is happening too much,” Hough said.
She said that if people make it out of Buffalo, that is an accomplishment. She and other survivors and activists are calling for more work opportunities for Black people.
“If you get out of Buffalo and you are successful, kudos to you,” Hough said. “I feel like the state and government designed Buffalo to be like this; no one is motivated to try to make it.”
And she is still waiting for the government to do something about gun violence in the country.
“This is America, this is what they do. Before this, there was another one and another one. And it is the same cycle, nothing being done for people and nothing being done for gun violence.”

Heather Ainsworth for HuffPost

Sound bites of Malcolm X’s quote about America’s disrespect towards Black women and activist Tamika Mallory condemning Kentucky’s Attorney General Daniel Cameron for his handling of Breonna Taylor’s murder accompanied Megan’s proclamation. That proclamation? “We need to protect our Black Women.” Read her New York Times op ed “Why I Speak Up For Black Women” here.
Through no fault of her own, Megan has indirectly become the face of violence against Black Women. She was the victim of gunshot wounds to both feet after attending Kylie Jenner’s pool party in July. In August, she revealed that it was Tory Lanez who shot her allegedly. Her accusations on Instagram Live were a cause for speculation. There had been rumblings on social media that Tory was the shooter, but now Megan’s credibility suddenly came into question.
Megan’s situation is a recurring narrative that exists in Hip-Hop. Black women have had to bear the brunt of misogyny and disrespect at the hands of their male counterparts. In the form of abrasive lyrics, the presentation of women as objects in music videos, and failing to use their male privilege to act as advocates, Rappers have also perpetuated the disregard for the safety of Black Women. This attitude, like most of Hip-Hop culture, is the spawn of a much larger societal issue.
According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, 41.2 percent of Black women have experienced intimate partner physical violence in their lifetime. An estimated 51.3 percent of black adult female homicides are also a result of DV. Megan and Tory didn’t publicly admit to being in a relationship. But the way they kept each other company before the shooting and with Tory ambiguously referencing the situation on his latest album, ‘DAYSTAR’, a romantic connection isn’t too far fetched.
Black women are often the subject of hate and ridicule when the focus is on their craft as well. Over the summer, Megan and fellow femcee Cardi came under fire for the salacious song and visual to their collaboration “WAP.“ The response to “WAP” saw Cardi and Megan labeled as deviants and smut peddlers instead of talented, successful women embracing their sexuality.’While some defended Cardi and Megan’s right to showcase their “assets” unapologetically, Many felt that their display was the end all be all to moral decency.
The backlash that “WAP” received wasn’t just because of its sexual content. There have been other instances where a Black Woman entertainer became a target for her views. In 2016, Beyonce sent the far right into a frenzy with her Super Bowl Halftime Show Performance. The pro-Black imagery and presumably “militant” energy saw the likes of Tomi Lahren attack Beyonce for using the NFL’s biggest game of the year to let the world know Black Lives Matter.
Black women are also victims of being mocked for their identity and style, only for them to be praised and mimicked when taken on by women of other races. The term “Blackfishing” has become a topic of discussion in and of itself. Non-Black women pretending to be Black Women to gain access to predominantly Black spaces has become a growing trend; Rachel Dolezal and Jessica A. Krug are two examples. Dolezal’s misrepresentation led her to become a chapter president of the NAACP, while Krug’s perpetrating left both her students and colleagues at George Washington University hurt and confused.
Megan’s message from her SNL performace was further amplified in an op-ed she penned for The New York Times titled “Why I Speak Up for Black Women”. Megan covers a myriad of topics from the plight of Black Women in America to fans and critics trying the pit her against other rappers who share the same gender. She goes on to highlight how it’s ridicoulous that the phrase “Protect Black Women” is “controversial”. “We deserve to be protected as human beings.” Megan writes “And we are entitled to our anger about a laundry list of mistreatment and neglect that we suffer.”
“Protect Black Women” isn’t a rallying cry for the sake of performative activism. It’s a statement that encompasses the overall need to defend Black Women in every capacity. Whether it’s an ER technician from Kentucky or a platinum-selling rapper, the guardianship of Black Women’s safety needs to be a priority. Their contributions to pop culture and civilization are vast and priceless.
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Attorney General Merrick Garland says civil rights probe documented excessive force and bias against Black residents.
United States Attorney General Merrick Garland has announced that a government probe into the Louisville Metro Police Department (LMPD) following the 2020 death of Breonna Taylor found a culture of excessive force and systemic civil rights abuses.
The investigation also documented instances of invalid warrants being used, unlawful traffic stops as a pretext for searches, and discrimination against Black and disabled residents.
In a press conference on Wednesday, Garland said that the US Department of Justice (DOJ) would negotiate a “consent decree” with the city to address the findings and enact reforms.
“Shortly after we opened the investigation, an LMPD leader told the department Breonna Taylor was a symptom of problems that we have had for years,” said Garland. “The Justice Department’s findings and the report rate that we are releasing today bear that out.”
The announcement comes amid scrutiny over the culture and practices of US policing, particularly in the wake of several high-profile deaths, particularly in the Black community.
Louisville, Kentucky was the site of a fatal 2020 shooting that sparked widespread outrage.
Breonna Taylor, a 26-year-old emergency medical technician, was in her apartment in March 2020 when police executed a “no-knock” warrant shortly after midnight, entering her home with little warning.
Believing the apartment was under attack, Taylor’s boyfriend, Kenneth Walker, fired a gun, and the police shot back. Taylor died in the ensuing gunfire.
Taylor’s death, and that of George Floyd in Minneapolis, Minnesota, led to protests around the country over racial discrimination and police tactics.
No-knock warrants are a controversial but widespread practice in US policing. Garland prohibited their use by federal law enforcement agencies in 2021. Louisville and the state of Kentucky have also moved to ban or restrict the use of no-knock warrants.
On Wednesday, Garland stated that the probe found that some Louisville police officers conducted searches based on invalid warrants and that others were unlawfully executed, with no prior warning before police forcefully entered a room.
The DOJ is also pursuing criminal cases related to Taylor’s death, separate from Wednesday’s findings. Four current and former Louisville police officers were charged with federal crimes, including conspiracy and drafting a false affidavit to obtain the search warrant for Taylor’s apartment.
Garland has said that the warrant was based on “false and misleading” information.
The botched raid on Taylor’s apartment resulted in no evidence of criminal activity, and in 2022 former detective Kelly Goodlett pleaded guilty to federal charges that she had helped falsify the search warrant.
The killing of Taylor in Louisville and Floyd in Minneapolis prompted “pattern or practice” probes into their respective police departments by the DOJ in 2021.
The findings of the Minneapolis probe have yet to be released.
“To the people of Louisville: You have shown meaningful engagement on issues of reform,” Garland said on Wednesday. “Together we can make true progress and ensure the durability of reforms.”