Category Archives: Black Lives Matter

The Wendys where Rayshard Brooks was killed, on June 13, 2020. Photo: Joshua Rashaad McFadden/The New York Times/REDUX

Two weeks after uprisings sparked by the murder of George Floyd left Atlanta littered with ashes, protesters flooded the citys streets once more. The police had killed again, and this time the victim was an Atlantan: 27-year-old father and music lover Rayshard Brooks, shot in the back twice by Atlanta police officer Garrett Rolfe. The Wendys where Rolfe killed Brooks the day before went up in flames, lighting up the night as protesters chanted and mourned, decrying a system that disproportionately takes the lives of Black people as a matter of course.

You are disgracing our city, Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms had declared when the protests broke out two weeks earlier. Bottomss admonishment was celebrated by pundits and politicians, winning her a national profile. If you care about this city, then go home, she urged.

But protesters filled the streets precisely because they cared so deeply. Six years after the first round of Black Lives Matter uprisings, it felt to many that the system had not fundamentally shifted. The 2020 protests popularized the demand to defund the police and invest instead in community-based safety and well-being a demand that many organizers in Atlanta had been working to make reality for the previous two decades.

Despite those efforts, the citys leadership responded to the 2020 uprisings with a mix of co-option, half-measures, and brutal police repression a pattern the city has long practiced. Indeed, the reaction to Rayshard Brookss killing was in some ways predictable the result of decades of sweeping police violence under the rug and disregarding organizers demands.

In 2006, 92-year-old grandmother Kathryn Johnston was murdered by Atlanta Police Department officers in her home after officers entered under a no knock warrant, the same type of warrant police had when they killed Breonna Taylor 14 years later. In response, civil-rights leaders, including Joseph E. Lowery, a onetime confidant of Martin Luther King Jr., led the charge to revive civilian oversight of police, in the hopes of exposing the pervasive violence that the department had historically kept quiet. At the same time, community members gathered at a local church to demand consequences for the officers and broader reforms.

Following the outcry, the city established the Atlanta Citizen Review Board in 2007. Many hoped this would begin a process of accountability, but two years later, the ACRB still had little authority to address police misconduct. It could not, for instance, force officers to testify or otherwise cooperate with investigations. City leadership had purported to concede a demand but refused to cede any power.

By the time Johnstons killers were convicted, the high-profile murder of a local bartender had fueled a narrative of rising crime and calls to increase policing. In response, a group of public defenders, local organizers, service providers, and those living in police-saturated neighborhoods formed Building Locally to Organize for Community Safety. (Tiffany Roberts, who co-wrote this story, is a co-founder.) BLOCS advocates knew that the criminal convictions of officers would not change the devastation that tough-on-crime tactics continued to have on their communities, and they began working for more substantive accountability.

In 2010, BLOCS won more power for the ACRB, and the next year, the organization pushed the city to dismantle the APDs paramilitary Red Dog Unit, the source of frequent complaints of excessive force. The year before, the unit had raided the Atlanta Eagle, a gay bar in midtown Atlanta, and assaulted patrons. Red Dog had also been accused of performing unconstitutional public strip searches of predominantly Black men. Community members cheered at the news of Red Dogs dissolution, but the city quickly replaced the unit with APEX a brand-new militarized APD squad that would come to perform many of the same functions as its predecessor, conducting raids in what it called high crime areas.

In 2014, when Officer Darren Wilson murdered Michael Brown in Ferguson Atlanta protested with the rest of the nation. A year later, Atlantas official Black Lives Matter chapter was founded. By the time hundreds of protesters blocked an Atlanta interstate in 2016 leading then-Mayor Reed to ahistorically opine that Dr. King would never take a freeway the citys response to demonstrations and policy advocacy had become increasingly hostile, with officials eagerly deploying law enforcement to combat the growing movement.

Despite opposition, organizers notched crucial wins, including the creation of what is now called the Policing Alternatives & Diversion Initiative, which would reduce police contact with those criminalized for poverty; significant reforms to the citys cash-bail system; the (still unfulfilled) promise to close the city jail; and the dissolution of federal contracts with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

At the same time, police murders in Atlanta continued apace, taking the lives of Alexia Christian in 2015, Deravis Caine Rogers in 2016, Deaundre Phillips in 2017, and organizer Oscar Cain Jr. in 2019. And efforts by regressive councilmembers, municipal judges, and APD allies to roll back key reforms began almost as soon as they were passed.

In 2020, the citys response to the uprisings was marked by brutal police repression, even as the governor of Georgia deployed the National Guard. Police were deployed to quash protests, often trapping protesters in Atlantas famous Centennial Olympic Park before shipping them off to the closest jail. Using tear gas, rubber bullets, and sheer force, police injured and arrested protesters throughout the summer. During just two weeks of demonstrations, police arrested roughly 600 people, cycling hundreds through already overcrowded jails in the middle of a deadly pandemic.

The Bottoms administrations response to Brookss death a mix of superficial proposals and police repression was more evidence that the old ways were not working. After convening an advisory council to issue emergency recommendations on use-of-force policies for the Atlanta police, the mayor cherry-picked just under half of the suggestions, generally electing to investigate or study rather than substantively address the issues that led to Brookss death. Even as the call to defund the police reached the mainstream, Bottomss administration insisted instead on the need for additional training and protocols. But as protesters in the streets made clear, these reforms as envisioned and practiced by the city had failed to stem the violence.

Rolfe, Brookss killer, was himself evidence of tepid reforms inability to resolve the crisis. Indeed, on paper, he is the ideal modern, reformed officer. He had reportedly undergone 2,000 hours of training, including sessions on de-escalation tactics, cultural-awareness training, and instruction on use of deadly force. None of this preparation stopped him from killing Rayshard Brooks.

Most recently, in 2021, Mayor Bottomss administration worked closely with the Atlanta Police Foundation one of policings fiercest defenders in Atlanta to create plans for a police training facility, named Cop City by organizers who rose up to fight it. If built, Cop City would require the partial destruction of critical green space in Atlanta and far outstrip the training facilities of the much larger L.A. and New York police departments. As one of Bottomss last major projects before leaving office, Cop City would expand the footprint of policing in Atlanta just one year after mass protests calling to defund the police.

Even still, hope remains. Organizers continue to build support for alternatives to policing, pick up electoral wins, practice mutual aid, and form creative coalitions to meet the moment, while ongoing protests send a clear message: As long as political leadership relies on policing to resist, sidestep, and quash demands for transformation, police will continue to kill, and cities will continue to burn.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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The Failure of Police Reform - New York Magazine

President Obama in 2009. Photo: Pete Souza/The White House

I was 17 when President-elect Obama walked across the stage in Grant Park with his Black, beautiful, accomplished wife and their two young Black daughters to give his acceptance speech. Its a hazy memory. The morning after, still groggy, I wondered if I drifted during coverage and dreamt it. Coming out of her bedroom, slow and curious like a shadow, my mother stood beside me, mouth agape at the television screen. I cant believe it, she whispered, as if not to awaken some alternate reality. It was what one might imagine a fantastical, spectacular culmination of thousands of years of struggle to feel like. It was satisfying, the spite of it all: this Black man, on this stage, with his Black family, knowing there were witnesses who doubted his legitimacy or, worse, would rather see him dead than occupy the White House. Id never felt that high of representation mirroring me.

President Obama was president for eight years. Im 30 now and staring down the greatest threat to African American voting rights in generations. A climate crisis threatens the livelihoods of the Black and poor, of the Black and coastal, of the Black and immigrant. We face a wealth gap that has only worsened in the last decade, leaving Black communities even more vulnerable to the failures of late-stage capitalism than they already were before the First Black Presidency. As the killings of Trayvon Martin and Freddie Gray, the loop of uprisings that followed, and the anti-capitalist, socialist movement of Occupy Wall Street shaped our perspectives, young people of the Black Lives Matter generation learned quickly, and with much devastation, that representation had a hole in it where our ideas of justice rooted in policy dematerialized. We had set the bar too high. We expected our first Black president to decry the actions of the racist police, to call off the dogs and stand unequivocally with protesters to somehow inherit Martin Luther King Jr.s project of disarming white supremacy and see it through to a different end. He didnt. He hedged and stood tall in two-sides-ism, calling angry civilians thugs and their uprising a counterproductive distraction to the more peaceful protesters doing things the right way. What we expected of the Obama administration was beyond what the framework of the presidency allowed. That was a heartbreaking realization. Some of us came to it sooner than others.

Police departments and some communities have to do some soul-searching, Obama said in an address to the nation the afternoon after Baltimore burned following Grays funeral. But I think we as a country have to do some soul-searching.

Try as we might, no generation can escape the solipsism of disappointment. I blush some at the reality that there are plenty who came before us, those elders and mentors and teachers who organized in labor movements of the 70s and 80s, radical Black feminists of the Combahee River Collective who studied socialist theory, and antiwar movements of the 60s. They were plenty skeptical. And said as much. In the practice of our politics, the Combahee River Collective Statement drafted in 1977 says, we do not believe that the end always justifies the means. Many reactionary and destructive acts have been done in the name of achieving correct political goals. It feels like a warning. Learning from the scholarship of the organizers who came before us mightve cost us less suffering.

In essence, President Obama did exactly what he was supposed to do, what every white man in this position before him had done prove to America that he was president for all, subject of and beholden to loyalty to country. For some Black Americans, the talented-tenth generation, older and more keen on respectability, this was evidence of progress, proof positive that hed fulfilled the ultimate goal of assimilation permission to be free from the obligations and limitations of race. For my fellowship, the generation of Occupy Wall Street and Trayvon Martin, such wish-fulfillment was a loss. When Obama was on the campaign trail for president, there was still a part of him that was ours: He was supposed to be the Organizer from Chicago. Wed heard that he had cut his teeth on the stones of our history. But the day he crossed that stage as president-elect, he became the figurehead of the elite, of the ruling class, a symbol of its evolution toward a new racial permeability the kind that exists to create a new, racially integrated class of leaders only meant to continue the project of neoliberalism and its genesis, white supremacy.

What my generation started to learn about power the day of Obamas Baltimore remarks was that the power of the people might never translate to the presidency. That emulating the power structures that govern us could only get us so far. Most critically, we started to learn that, regardless of how successful representation might appear, representation alone isnt The Work. One too many Cousin Pookie references on top of President Obamas suggestion that Black poor mothers feed their children cold Popeyes for breakfast, and weve seen representations ugliness made plain.

Already, were seeing reticence and a growing collective side-eye reflected in recent elections, where Black candidates and electeds struggled to ignite the Democrats most reliable base through the fog and fatigue of a post-Obama, post-Trump world. In New York City, where new mayor Eric Adams has already begun to reinstate archaic, racist policing strategies like the controversial Anti-Gun Police Unit to go with his general cop rhetoric, or in San Francisco, where nearly a decade ago, the states top cop would refuse to investigate and prosecute a series of killings by police, yet go on to become the current vice-president of the United States, theres an asterisk next to the value of political representation, a gnawing feeling that it may have been a bad gamble. Perhaps weve opened the proverbial door so wide that it smacks us in the ass. Weve sat on Americas throne, history has been made in name but in Georgia, Stacey Abrams gears up to run a race she should never have lost in the first place as franchisement for Black voters is rolled back little by little each decade. Weve earned our skepticism.

Representation has, in many ways, gotten us closer to the truth about how our politics actually work. And its taught us everything we need to know about power: that its a limited resource. That figureheads of democracy are just figureheads unless the tools of democracy belong equally to the people furthest from the power structure. It taught us that while the ruling class has racial permeability, our ability to move through the corridors of power doesnt inherently constitute an ability to change the structural functions of power to empower. And it taught us that no matter who owns the keys to the White House, the power and persuasion of the executive branch will likely bend toward it. So, like any scarred romantic, young Black voters are more guarded of our vote, less tolerant of the two-page pamphlet on jobs and crime that many candidates have gotten away with calling race-conscious policy. Its forced everyone to get more specific about what it really looks like to leverage the power of the federal government to protect and advance the rights and liberties of Black people.

When we hit the streets after the killings of Trayvon and Freddie Gray, we were demanding that Black children be free from racist policing a general, while powerful, demand. Ten years later, after countless broken promises, reckoning only with police violence is a cop-out; were continuing the legacy of Occupy Wall Street, of Black feminist organizers, and are instead building coalitions focused on ending the police state. The priority shift should hardly feel surprising. Some of the same organizers and voters who marched at the height of the Black Lives Matter movement, and sat in the cold during Occupy as teenagers, are now adults. Theyre also community organizers and national leaders done with rising through ancient ranks of control to build power. For them, reform isnt enough. Neither are the old tactics of slow and steady restructuring or the persuasion of relatability and charm.

When we say we want leaders who represent us, we mean leaders who represent us on the issues, who represent those bound to these systems of power. Any candidate who wants the vote of the people who have time and time again been let down by a nation that has promised so much and delivered so little will have to speak the language of progress meaningfully to win meaningful results.

But I cant, in good faith, say that representation politics have given us nothing. I loved the dream of the First Black President, and cherished the idea of President Obama. I can admit that I was still moved by the poetics of what representation could mean, by the endless metaphors it offered up about Blackness survivability and resistance. But what I discovered is that representation is, fundamentally, a metaphor. And a metaphor is made up of two parts, what Jericho Brown calls, the tenor and the vehicle. The vehicle of the metaphor, in its most literal sense, brings you closer to the thing you want to know more about, moves you closer to meaning. We say, There is power in representation, because power is the thing we want to know more about. And when we talk about representation in our politics, what were trying to understand is how power works and then how to emulate it. This is representations true utility: it tells us what we need to know about power so that we can get around it. Its not the nail; its the hammer.

Perhaps President Obama, his quixotic nature soon replaced by the gray hairs and hard truths of his first term, felt himself trapped by representation. Trapped by the surveillance and vitriol associated with representation, by the weight and responsibility of being the first. Maybe he wanted to act up! Perhaps he dreamed of being the kind of president who could achieve universal health care, cut incarceration rates, and erase the myth of Black inferiority. And perhaps some of the grays can be attributed to late nights wondering whether Black people might understand just how much self-sacrifice went into doing that job with his head down all so that some snotty-nosed, morally superior kid who grew up seeing his face on the news could come along and feel self-affirmed enough to critique him. It would be an awkwardly fair irony.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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The Fallacy of Representation - The Cut

September 1, 2016, in San Diego, California: Eric Reid (No. 35) and Colin Kaepernick (No. 7) of the San Francisco 49ers kneel on the sideline during national anthem, as free agent Nate Boyer stands, before the game with the San Diego Chargers at Qualcomm Stadium. Photo: Michael Zagaris/San Francisco 49ers/Getty Images

Unless you know what to look for, its not clear why the photo is notable, let alone historic. It shows a football field, Levis Stadium in Santa Clara, California, before the start of a game. The teams are on their respective sidelines. Nothing is happening. The playing surface is still smooth, and if anything stands out, its the 50-yard-line logo: SF, for San Francisco. If you arent looking closely for the player wearing No. 7, the only one sitting down, youll probably miss him.

But hes there, a red speck near the bottom of the frame. Colin Kaepernicks protest would soon upend the world of professional sports, though nine months earlier, his body had betrayed him. He had lost his starting-quarterback gig to a younger player and suffered a season-ending labrum tear in his shoulder that required surgery. He was 29 years old and three years removed from his Super Bowl appearance, and success had eluded him since then. Criticisms he had faced since becoming a starter that he was physically impressive but cognitively limited, uneasy in the pocket and unable to read defenses had fueled the broad impression that he was little more than a body.

So by August 2016, when a reporter named Jennifer Lee Chan photographed Kaepernicks first documented refusal to stand during the national anthem, igniting a controversy that led to his vilification by the Trumpist right and his blackballing by the leagues owners, the ailing quarterback wasnt just out for justice. He was seeking control.

A paradox of professional athletics is how mastery over ones body facilitates its surrender. Few jobs call for such exhaustive submission to the dominion of other people. Players spend years fine-tuning muscles most people dont even know exist, breaking them down and rebuilding them to perform astonishing feats under duress, only to realize that autonomy is an illusion. Team executives use athletes as assets to trade and discard as it suits them, while spectators project and process their neuroses through the players.

Kaepernicks battle raged on two fronts. A maelstrom of circumstances gave the Black Lives Matter movement its unique contours, and one of the more striking aspects was the involvement of high-profile athletes, many of whom were negotiating professional reckonings at the same time. This was not a coincidence. When LeBron James led his Miami Heat teammates in their silent protest after the killing of Trayvon Martin in 2012, he was less than two years removed from his infamous Decision to leave the Cleveland Cavaliers and join rivals Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh in South Beach to form the NBAs first modern superteam an alliance of stars who would have, in years past, sought championships as leaders of their own franchises.

The next half-decade saw James smeared as a traitor and accused of ruining the sport. Since then, the formulation he pioneered has become the league norm, heralding a departure from the days when players settled for the hand fate dealt them when they were drafted. A new age had come, marked by greater self-determination over how and where their bodies were deployed.

Variations on this theme echoed across sports. In womens athletics, it often materialized in disputes over equal pay. The killing of Michael Brown by a Ferguson, Missouri, police officer in 2014 came months into an intensifying debate about WNBA players flying overseas for money. Brittney Griner, it was reported, earned 12 times more to play in a Chinese league during the WNBAs off-season than she received during her entire rookie campaign with the Phoenix Mercury. The resulting discontent rippled outward; after the killings of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling in 2016, WNBA players wore BLACK LIVES MATTERemblazoned shirts to their pregame warm-ups and declined to talk to reporters about anything besides police violence, resulting in fines from the league.

The U.S. womens soccer team was fresh off their victory at the 2015 World Cup when Megan Rapinoe knelt during the national anthem in solidarity with Kaepernick. They were embroiled in their own push for equal pay, premised on the absurdity of earning less money than their flailing male counterparts. Tennis star Naomi Osaka has made her support for the Black Lives Matter movement an exception to her reluctance to speak in public. Simone Biles, the most decorated gymnast in history, became an outspoken supporter of the movement as she openly assailed her professions sanctioning body, USA Gymnastics, for enabling the sexual abuse of its athletes by Dr. Larry Nassar.

For his part, Kaepernicks dilemmas werent limited to his injuries or deteriorating relationship with the 49ers. Revelations about the long-term effects of concussions among NFL players had recently turned litigious, forcing the league to admit, after years of lying and thousands of lawsuits from ex-players, that football and chronic traumatic encephalopathy were linked.

All of these conflicts dealt with a basic question how athletes might take greater control of the way their bodies are used that was coming into focus for the players long before the misuse and abuse of human bodies became a national fixation. And for many, these concerns would only get more entwined. When NBA players initiated a wildcat strike during the COVID-disrupted homestretch of the 2020 season, it was nominally about getting more league support for that summers protests. But the strike followed a series of physical attacks against their fellow players by the police. Thabo Sefolosha, then a forward for the Atlanta Hawks, had his fibula broken by cops outside a New York City nightclub in 2015. Milwaukee police officers assaulted thenBucks guard Sterling Brown in a Walgreens parking lot in 2018.

Historically, the challenge of such paradigm-shifting moments has been less about drawing attention to these outrageous injustices to energize the public than funneling that energy into lasting solutions. Just as the advantages of athlete involvement in the Black Lives Matter movement were self-evident its help in mainstreaming once-marginal ideas about racism and policing, for example so were its drawbacks. A celebrity milieu begets celebrity-driven problem-solving. The NBAs strike broke not after radical changes to how this country addresses public safety but after some players phoned Barack Obama, who advised them to establish a social-justice committee and keep playing. The banner result was the leagues making some of its arenas available as voter precincts in the 2020 election almost a cruel joke, in retrospect, given how ineffectual the subsequent Congress has been in passing police reforms.

Elsewhere, the athletes particular mix of concerns, social and professional, skewed queasily and predictably toward the latter. The glaring refusal of many NBA players to admit that the Chinese governments abuses of the countrys Uighur minority were, in fact, bad China is a huge revenue generator for the league often overwhelmed their cries for human rights in the U.S.

One thread stands out, though: the galvanizing potential of feeling precarious. The psychic bridge that links the worries of a teenager walking home in suburban St. Louis to those of a multimillionaire athlete in Santa Clara is clear once you recognize that both look in the mirror and see a body in peril. This is not to equate the two but to note their rare convergence over the past decade and to ask what its rareness says about the long-term durability of their shared response. Can precarity felt by rich and famous athletes sustain ten more years of their investment in this movement? The only certainty, for now, is that the police will give them plenty of opportunities to show us.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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Black Athletes and the Value of a Body - New York Magazine

This Black History Month, Apple is encouraging you to go for a walk with activist Ay Tometi, one of the founders of Black Lives Matter.

Tometi has recorded a new episode of audio experience "Time to Walk" on Apple Watch, which will be released on Fitness+ on Feb. 7.

For those unfamiliar with "Time to Walk," the series features episodes of influential people talking about their lives as you take your daily stroll around your local park. In Dec. 2021, Prince William lent his voice to an episode, reflecting on the importance of mental health. Previous speakers include Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, Shawn Mendes, Uzo Aduba, Naomi Campbell, Randall Park, Draymond Green, Camila Cabello, and Min Jin Lee. Episodes are usually around 25 to 40 minutes long.

During Tometi's episode, she reflects on the murder of Trayvon Martin and how it impacted her activism, and how changing her name made her think differently about life.

You can listen to Tometi's "Time to Walk" episode using wireless headphones through Apple Watch's Workout app with a Fitness+ subscription.

If you're more into running, then there's another offering that might interest you. Also on Feb. 7, "Time to Run" (the running version) will launch a new episode featuring Fitness+ trainer Cory Wharton-Malcolm, as he coaches runners through the city of Atlanta, Georgia, passing the Birth Home of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the International Civil Rights Walk of Fame.

Apple is launching a number of other features and products in time for Black History Month, including a special edition AppleWatch Black Unity Braided Solo Loop and matching Unity Lights watch face inspired by Afrofuturism.

The App Store will also be shining a light on apps that promote Black people's wellbeing and health. And Apple Maps will enable users to learn more about Black history and Black-owned businesses through curated Guides.

While these features are great, it would be remiss not to mention that Apple employees have requested a re-investigation into past complaints of racism at the company. In an open letter, Apple employees stated they had raised complaints of discrimination only to be met with inaction from company's HR team.

"Apple prides itself on its commitment to diversity, equity, and an environment where every person is able to do their best work; however, in practice, this is far from the case," reads the letter. "Our experiences with the People team in dealing with harassment and discrimination have left many of us more vulnerable."

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Apple takes us for a walk with Ay Tometi, one of the founders of Black Lives Matter - Mashable

The horse is making a name for himself!

The first Black family in Texas to race quarter horses has named their newest steed Black Lives Matter.

The Hatley Bros. Racing Stables is a family-owned establishment, created six decades ago by James Hatley Sr. His granddaughterKeeundra Hatley-Smith told Because of Them, We Can that he"was the first African American to race quarter horses in the state of Texas from the 60's to the early 90's."

Hissons KeElronn and James Hatley Jr. have now taken over for him, owning and operating the business. Recently, the family bought a new steed for their stable, giving the horse a unique name, Black Lives Matter. The Hatleys say they put a lot of thought into the name, hoping to use it as a way to consistently bring awareness to the condition of Black people in America and leave its mark on race attendees whether the horse wins or not.

We named him Black Lives Matter because we knew he was special and want to bring our culture to the sport, Hatley-Smithsaid.

KeElronn took to social media to share a video of the new horse being registered by officials.

So far, the horse has competed in a number of races, KeElronn and his family taking to social media to share the most recent one at Louisiana Downs. Black Lives Matter began in last place, quickly beating out the other horses to prove himself victorious, winning as the family cheered him on and celebrated.

The legacy of Black cowboys is currently experiencing a resurgence in popular culture with more spotlight being placed on those keeping the history alive across the country like the Fletcher Street Urban Riding Club, various films paying homage to legendary Black cowboys, and the work of photographers like Ivan McClellan intent on documenting the stories of Black cowboys.

Here are a few photos thatKeeundra shared with Because of Them, We Can that show her family's rich history in racing horses.

The naming of the Hatley horse helps keep the necessary conversations going, even if it is a bit overt in messaging. Currently Black Lives Matter is resting and gearing up for his next race, which is scheduled for April 2022.

Photos Courtesy of Keeundra Hatley-Smith

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First Black Family In Texas To Race Quarter Horses Names Newest Steed 'Black Lives Matter' - Because of Them We Can

Ramsey Orta was a friend of Eric Garners for five years. He watched as police officers Justin DAmico and Daniel Pantaleo stopped Garner and attempted to arrest him on July 17, 2014. He was recording as Pantaleo held Garner in a choke hold that was banned by the NYPD and as his friend uttered his final words: I cant breathe.

Orta has since had a series of run-ins with the judicial system, facing numerous arrests and serving prison time on drug and gun charges. Orta alleges that police have been trying to get revenge on him. In 2021, Orta published a book, A Shot in History: the Poisoned System.

Ramsey Orta filmed the killing of his friend Eric Garner outside a Staten Island beauty store at 3:30 p.m. on July 17, 2014.

Here, the same location at 3:30 p.m. on January 22, 2022.

Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden

I had just gotten home from work, and from picking up my daughter, and was on my way to get something to eat when I ran into Eric at a KFC. I got my food and walked outside to where he was, and stopped to ask him for a pack of cigarettes. We started talking. In the midst of that conversation, a fight breaks out between two people. He jumps up and separates them and, as hes doing that, two police ride over and immediately jump out and go straight to Eric while the other two people walk off like nothing happened.

Eric asked Officer Justin DAmico, What happened? Why did you stop me? DAmico said he just saw him sell cigarettes. Then Eric just started screaming, saying he was crazy, he was lying, and telling him to get out of here.

Pantaleo just kept saying, We saw you selling cigarettes. There were games being played. Thats when I pulled my camera and started recording, because a week earlier, I actually recorded an incident on that same spot, where police beat somebody else up too.

Eventually Pantaleo grabbed Eric and started choking him, wrestling with him. Eric was standing his ground for a little while, trying to stand up. Hes a big guy. But he eventually got tired. When they finally fell on the floor, and he was trying to get Erics hands cuffed behind his back, Pantaleo didnt let him go. Im just standing there recording, watching, watching my surroundings. And then I see Eric stop breathing. His eyes just rolled back.

Eric was lying there for a good ten minutes. And the police officers were acting like he was alive, bullshitting for the crowd, talking to him like, Oh, Mr. Garner, come on. You got to get up. And Im standing there, screaming, Yall n- - - - - killed him. Yall know hes dead.

Paramedics ended up walking Eric to the ambulance. Its a crowd circling around us. As soon as they close his door, one of the officers tells another officer, Grab him, hes threatening me. Lock his ass up. The crowd heard it. And as soon as the cop grabbed one of my arms, the whole crowd grabbed the other arm and sucked me into the crowd, like, Yo, yall not doing nothing to him. He aint do nothing. He was sitting on his fucking bike the whole time, recording yall.

When they realized the crowd was not going to budge, they was like, All right. Well, then, go home.

I go to my house and get in the shower. The next thing I know, Ive got a thousand text messages and missed calls from everybody. One of my good friends at the time calls me and says, Bro, I got somebody down here thats offering $250 for pictures. I show the guy my video, and he asks, How much you want for it? Im like, I dont want nothing for this, man. This is Eric for me. Just put it up on the news.

He said, Do you wanna put your name on it? I say yeah. He says, Are you sure? You know, whats gonna happen to you, right? I didnt care. They already know who I am anyway.

The police targeting me started ASAP. That very same night they started with their bullshit, everything that transpired from the night they killed him up until I got sentenced. The first case came about when they finally figured out that I wasnt going to give them the original video. Childrens Affairs kept coming to my house. And I kept telling them, No. They went to my childs mothers job, asking her for the video. Shes telling them, No. She lost her job. Eventually, the night that they ruled it a homicide, it was a couple days after I ended up getting locked up for gun possession. It was never found on me. No fingerprints on the gun. Nothing. And then when I got sentenced and sent to prison, that was a whole other story.

Its never ending. Sometimes I dont even like doing these interviews because I get backlash. Every time I talk, they start to put pressure on me. I cant even pay attention to the Black Lives Matter movement, or with Erics situation, because Im personally dealing with a battle with the NYPD.

When I bailed out for the gun case, the drug case came about. They said I was selling drugs to an undercover, and that I was a kingpin of a drug organization. They had me, my moms, and my so-called brother and 20 other people. It was a big indictment, and they had me at the head. This time, locked up on Rikers Island, I find rat poison in my food. That felt pretty much targeted for me.

I ended up exposing that. That got me home. I raised enough money to bail out on the drug case, so now Im out on two bails. I leave Staten Island, and I go back to the Lower East Side, where Im from, and no less than a week later, they target me again, said that I sold drugs to an undercover in my neighborhood. I go to court and find out that the drugs were fake anyways, so they couldnt charge me. But then, they try to switch it up and said that I robbed her for the mark money. They tried to hit me with a robbery charge on police. Obviously, it was bullshit. Even the judge was like, How the fuck does he rob police? I bailed out on that case before they even dropped it completely.

I just hired a civil-rights lawyer because I got concrete proof of nonstop fucking harassment. I got voice recordings, I got text messages from parole, I got everything. They stopped me from leaving this state. I just got off parole, but Im still on federal bail. And its still hard to get out of this state, even though I just finished state parole.

But I dont want my story to discourage anyone from filming police. Just get legal representatives before you expose that video, because if it just so happens to become a situation that sparks a situation, you will become a situation. They cant lock us all up or set us all up when everybodys pulling out their cameras. Whether you like it or not, you have to have an opinion about it or you have to be doing something about it. Keep exposing them.

Feidin Santana witnessed Walter Scott get shot in the back by Officer Michael Slager in North Charleston, South Carolina, on April 4, 2015. The police officer had pulled Scott over for a faulty brake light. Scott then fled on foot, and Slager pursued him, shooting him first with a taser, then firing eight rounds at him with a gun.

Santana, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, was on his way to work at a barbershop when he saw the scene unfold and decided to record it. In the days leading up to the shooting, he had been preparing to move back to the DR.

Feidin Santana filmed the killing of Walter Scott, whom he didnt know, at 9:30 a.m. on April 4, 2015, in North Charleston, SC.

Here, the same location at 9:30 a.m. on January 14, 2022.

Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden

I was running late to my job when I saw a chase between an officer and a man. They had a little bit of a struggle, and I saw Walter Scott screaming. I decided to pull my phone out and just record, to prevent some bad outcome from happening. To intimidate the officer with my camera, I got closer; that way, he could be aware that someone was there.

But it didnt happen the way that I thought it would. Walter Scott got up, and the officer deployed his weapon on him, shooting him eight times while he was running away.

Had I been in my right mind, I would not have stayed to stand behind a shooting. But I was really frozen; I never put down my phone. I never got on the ground afraid that I might get shot.

It was very difficult for me to process it. As an immigrant, I always believed that officers are living up to their values of protecting and serving citizens. It was really shocking to see the exact opposite.

I was very nervous. I spoke with several witnesses around the area about recording the video. As soon as they saw it, they all backed away from me, like, Listen, man, like you are in problems.

That was the dilemma. Morally I want to do the right thing, but at the same time I need to go back to my country, my roots, and my family. And I knew that if I gave up the video, I would be involved in the legal process.

So a few hours later, Im cutting hair in the shop and I see the story on the news. And they say there was a shooting with a Black man and an officer involved, and the victim died. But according to police, the officer acted in self-defense.

That was really the trigger. I had to forget about my personal dreams and stand up for justice. I understood that my only decision should be to give the video to Walter Scotts family so they can know the truth of what happened.

I received a lot of harassment for that. I received death threats, messages telling me that I shouldnt be involved in the case, that I should have stayed quiet. I just thought that everybody would understand that it doesnt matter if theyre Black, white, Hispanic, even police. I thought they would go against this guy for committing a homicide. But when I saw so many people defending the officer and, even in the trial, being denigrated by the defense attorney which I know is his job I was like, Wow, hes defending the indefensible.

This individualistic mentality is not going to take us anywhere; in order to change things, we have to work collectively. And we cannot be hiding against injustice. I think being silent on these issues is just as criminal as being the person who pulled the trigger. Thats why I decided to stand up and believe in this. And it didnt matter that my life was in danger. It didnt matter if I was going to face any retaliation. I understood that that was the right thing to do till this day.

Abdullah Muflahi is owner of the Triple S Food Mart in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. There, on July 5, 2016, two police officers Blane Salamoni and Howie Lake tackled Alton Sterling to the ground and later shot him. The scene was captured by Muflahi on his cell phone and also on his stores security cameras.

The police took Muflahi into custody for several hours; he alleges they confiscated the surveillance video without a warrant. Muflahi has sued the City of Baton Rouge; officers Salamoni and Lake; two other officers, who later arrived on the scene; and the thenpolice chief for false imprisonment, illegal taking of his property, and the illegal seizure of his business establishment. The case is ongoing.

Abdullah Muflahi filmed the killing of Alton Sterling outside the Triple S Food Mart at 12:30 a.m., July 5, 2016, in Baton Rouge, LA.

Here, the same location at 12:30 a.m. on January 18, 2022.

Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden

I had never seen a man get shot to death. It wasnt easy observing all that and taking it all in. It made me feel numb for a long time, and Im just finally getting out of it and kind of opening back up. It changed my life dramatically.

Right after I recorded the shooting, they locked me in the police car. It was hot, there was no AC coming to the back; I was in there for five or six hours I was afraid. I didnt know what was going to happen. It was very hard to all take in. I didnt do nothing. I was just there to witness it, there at the wrong time, wrong place. They didnt let me use the bathroom; they didnt let me have a bottle of water, even when I was in the hot car sweating. After that, they took me to a police station somewhere, and they locked me in a room for maybe another two hours. They treated me as if I was the bad guy. It was wrong. There was no professionalism at all. They just said that Iwas a witness and they needed me away from everybody. Finally, someone came to take my statement and drove me back to the store.

They told me that they had a search warrant to take the surveillance-camera system in the store, but I found out later that they had already unplugged and taken it hours beforehand. I didnt share the cell-phone video publicly until I went to my lawyer for advice. I was scared to do anything with it. But my heart wouldnt let me just stay quiet and let it go. I had to let it out. People needed to see the video. His family needed to see the truth.

Seeing other police shootings brings back a lot of flashbacks to the point where I cant sleep at night. But it just shows that the officers in this country need more training and more patience when theyre dealing with people on the street. They should learn how to de-escalate problems rather than escalate. I understand that its a very tough job. But this is what they chose to do, and they should do it correctly.

Diamond Reynolds was the girlfriend of Philando Castile when he was killed by police near Minneapolis on July 6, 2016. She and her 4-year-old daughter were in the car with him that night when they were pulled over ostensibly for having a broken taillight. (It was revealed later that the police thought Castile might resemble a robbery suspect.) Moments later, Officer Jeronimo Yanez shot and killed Castile as he reached for his wallet. Reynolds livestreamed the immediate aftermath on Facebook; the footage quickly went viral.

The Castile family eventually reached a $3 million settlement with the City of St. Anthony, Minnesota. Yanez was charged with second-degree manslaughter but ultimately acquitted. Afterward, Reynolds felt her community shunned her.

Diamond Reynolds filmed the aftermath of the killing of her boyfriend, Philando Castile, from the passenger seat of his car at 9 p.m. on July 6, 2016, in Falcon Heights, MN.

Here, the same location at 9 p.m. on January 16, 2022.

Photographs by Joshua Rashaad McFadden

We were leaving the grocery store, and Philando noticed we were being followed. We end up getting pulled over. The officer asked Phil, Do you know why youre being pulled over? Phil said he didnt know. I didnt know why either. The police officer asked for Philandos registration and license and he was a little nervous, so he told the officer, I have to look for it.

Philando was trying to ask him, Is it okay if I go and reach for my ID and my license and things that are in my pocket? But before I can reach, I have to tell you that I am concealed and licensed to carry. And before he can finish his statement, next thing you know, shots went into the car with me and my daughter, DaeAnna.

I couldnt believe it was happening. I was in disbelief. I thought he was still alive. I thought it was a dream. I thought it was a nightmare.

I whipped out my phone in the heat of the moment and started recording. Even though my phone only had like 5 percent battery life left, something took over my body, mind, soul that said, Record this, because if you dont, theres no telling where the story could end up, what they can make of this, what lies they can tell. And I didnt want to get blamed for Philandos murder.

That was when I decided to stream it to Facebook Live.

My daughter was 4 at the time. Philando was a father figure in her life and a very good role model to her. Seeing him get killed was such a shock. She now has nightmares and a hard time trusting authority. She still faces trauma every day. And shes in therapy, but therapy can only help her so much. I think seeing Phil not get any justice made her feel like the system failed us tremendously.

I have really bad anxiety and PTSD now. I dont drive my car at night because Im so fearful of what will happen to me and my daughter. Its been very hard to make relationships. After the shooting, the community separated themselves away from me. Me and my daughter began to get death threats. Philandos mother began stating that if her son was never with me, he would still be alive. Ive basically been blackballed. Anything that Minnesota has done on the behalf of Philando, I havent been invited to.

My daughter and I were both in that car. Why werent our lives taken more seriously? Why werent people checking to see if we were okay? What happens once all the cameras go away? What happens once its been years since loved ones have been deceased? What is the outcome? What is the change? What is different?

His mother, his family, probably felt like I was never good enough for him anyway. Im low-class. Im in poverty. Even though I worked a full-time and a part-time job at the time, and I have my own house, I was still struggling and I didnt have a lot of support with family. Philando was there for me every step of the way. I feel like his family hasnt supported me since his death because they never wanted me with him in the first place. To this day, Im like the most hated person in Minnesota. People are speculating that I received a million dollars in settlement. I never once received an increment of a million dollars. I have to pay all five of my lawyers. I have to pay restitution and fees. The amount that was posted in the media was not even close to what I received.

After that, in fact, I was still struggling. I was homeless. I went into a downward spiral; I was very depressed and didnt come out of my house for six months. No one would provide me moral support; everyone would basically solicit my story and make money off of it or use me.

My daughter has dreams and goals of traveling around the world, of telling her story to kids that have also been affected by not just gun violence but police brutality, on how to heal and overcome. About the challenges that shes faced from 4 to 10 years old. And the platform that we have is not for us here in Minnesota, because no one supports our movement.

On the anniversary of Philandos death, me and my daughter will go to the place over on Larpenteur where it actually happened, and well lay flowers down, because thats the only thing that we have. And even that little place, they made that into a peace garden. They have done so many things with that section of land where Philando was killed, and they have not once included me and DaeAnna. It doesnt even feel like the same place.

Sometimes I regret even being where I was at that point in time, because I recorded the immediate aftermath of him being killed. If none of that helped him after he was gone, then why did I do it? My videos were spot on. How is it that Darnella Fraziers videos were able to get justice for George Floyd but my video wasnt enough to get Philando Castile justice? And now I have to live with this for the rest of my life. Im living with the hurt in my heart and nightmares every night of seeing my beloved being killed in the seat next to me with blood all over his shirt. Im the one that can still smell the gunpowder. Im the one that has to constantly explain to my daughter that not all cops are bad, even though she doesnt believe me. Im the one that has to go above and beyond my call of duty to even let my story be heard, because no one feels Philando Castile got any justice at all.

Thanks, America.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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What Happened to the Witnesses - New York Magazine

Ashley Burch with Trayvon Martin. Photo: Courtesy of Burch

When Ashley Burch remembers her friend Trayvon Martin, she thinks of him walking around Carol City, the neighborhood north of Miami where they were teenagers together. They werent old enough to drive, so Trayvon walked nearly everywhere when he couldnt catch the bus, sometimes so far that he would call Ashley to come and pick him up. With what? she would ask. He would joke his Cadillac was in the shop the nickname he had for his bicycle.

That Trayvon liked walking was among her first thoughts a decade ago when Ashley heard how and where he had been killed. George Zimmerman, the man who shot Trayvon, had told the police that he looked real suspicious in his dark-gray hoodie on the night of February 26, 2012, idly walking around the housing development where he was in fact staying with his father and his fathers fiance. To Ashley and the rest of his friends, that was just Trayvon. It was unthinkable that normal things about her friend were now being used to characterize him as some kind of menace. We knew Trayvon liked to walk, Burch, now 27, says from Jacksonville, Florida. And he always had a hoodie on. Of course he did it was raining that night.

Burch would spend the next few days, months, and years getting angry about those kinds of details, the ones that people on TV, in the news, and in public would get wrong or twist about Trayvon Martin, as his story ballooned from community tragedy into a national conversation on anti-Black racism. They used to say Trayvon was bigger than Zimmerman and he used to play football, and I was like, No, he played ball as a child. He wasnt even built like a football player. He was actually tall and really skinny. The Trayvon that Burch knew was relatively quiet with a goofy streak. He was often scheming planning an elaborate seafood party at a friends house with no budget or permission or teasing her about being a flagette in the school marching band. They would head to the Galaxy skate rink every Saturday to cruise around to hip-hop and R&B. Burch spoke to the press about Martin at a march the family held for their son a few weeks after his death. That was one of my best friends, somebody I talked to every day, he was very nice, she said. She was immediately flooded with Facebook messages from Zimmerman supporters, who told her that her best friend was a thug.

In 2013, Burch watched Zimmermans trial from home every day. When he was acquitted, and the movement around Trayvons murder grew bigger still, with protests taking place throughout the country, she found herself angry even with Trayvons supporters. A picture went around social media of a baby-faced Trayvon in an aviation uniform at space camp. He never went to space camp, Burch would hotly comment whenever she saw it. (The photo was actually from a seven-week aviation course Trayvon attended in 2009. He had been interested in a career as a pilot.) There was a girl at Carol City who would wear a Trayvon T-shirt for months, and it made Burch and her friend Aiyanna seethe. You dont even know him, they would whisper to each other.

After graduation, Burch left Carol City for Jacksonville, where she eventually attended Edward Waters University, an HBCU. She graduated with a criminal-justice degree, concentrating in forensic science. Now she is a probation officer. It sometimes surprises people that she works in law enforcement, if they know about her friendship with Trayvon. It makes me feel bad sometimes, you know? she says. Cause I know at the end of the day I have a job to do. As part of her position, Burch works with offenders to find drug-addiction treatment, employment, and housing. But for me to have to make the arrest I dont like that. Or when Im in court, seeing people getting sentenced to 25 years in prison. Her experience hasnt turned into political activism, however. When Black Lives Matter protests engulfed the country again in 2020, sparked by the murder of yet another unarmed Black man, Burch stayed home. She finds demonstrations overwhelming ever since attending one in Sanford held a month after Trayvons death. Everybody there had on a Trayvon shirt; he was on signs and everything. I think it was just too much too soon.

Burch rarely talks openly about Trayvon. She has tried to move on and into her adult life. But she has never changed the background of her Facebook profile: a now-infamous black-and-white photo of Trayvon in his hoodie, looking straight on, taken by his computer camera. I dont want anybody to forget about him, she says. Every year, she and friends text each other on his birthday. She wishes she could introduce him to her daughter, Skylar, now 3 years old, and imagines that he might have had his own children. He would have certainly had his own career, his own accomplishments to share. Burch says she is just now finally starting to discuss him in therapy. For this tenth anniversary of Trayvons death, she will likely head back to Miami to attend the annual peace march held by his family. It may be the first time that Burch actually visits Trayvons grave site, which she has avoided ever since his funeral. Ive been scared of how I will feel when I actually get there, Burch says. I miss everything about him. I miss his laugh. I miss talking to him all the time, just miss him being around. There are songs she cant listen to, like Tupacs Changes, where the chorus goes, Id love to go back to when we played as kids / But things change, and thats the way it is.

Burch has just a few low-quality photos of Trayvon saved from those days before everything was documented on social media, a sweet, mundane time capsule of their teenageness. One is a screenshot of the two of them chatting on ooVoo, a video-chat gamelike app they would play on forever when they werent texting or calling. Just a few hours before he headed out to a 7-Eleven on the highway for snacks, Ashley had called Trayvon, annoyed that he wasnt being responsive while they were messaging. He told her he was watching a movie and that he would call her back.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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Ashley Burch Remembers Her Friend Trayvon Martin - The Cut

The hoodie Trayvon Martin was wearing when he was killed. Photo: State of Florida

The history of the hoodie aligns with Americas divisions of class, race, and identity. It has served as a vehicle for both this countrys dreams (athleticism, higher education, luxury) and denials (counterculture, anti-Establishment, racial injustice). It was born in the 1930s at Champion when the clothing company that made sweatshirts attached a hood. It soon became popular with athletes and laborers in the Northeast because the added fabric served as a form of protection against the elements and later with high-school athletes, who would wear their schools logos and crests on their chests.

Then, in 1973, the beat dropped in the Bronx, and the hoodie became the uniform of MCs, stickup kids, graffiti artists, and b-boys. A staple of hip-hop culture, the hoodie represented defiance, the down low, discretion, and dignity. When skateboard kids in L.A. and punk-rockers in NYC adopted it, the sweatshirt with a hood became a symbol of disruption. Suddenly, the counterculture found itself with a new street-style standard that could be idiosyncratic by way of color, size, patches, shredding, band logos, safety pins, skulls and crossbones, bleaching, or whatever you wanted to add to say Fuck you!

In the golden era of hip-hop, the hoodie went global. Tupac Shakur wears the hoodie in the movie poster for Juice, as do the Wu-Tang Clan on the cover of their debut album, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), in 1993. This is when the fashion industry began appropriating the urban look, creating the luxury versions of the hoodie worn on the runways of Gucci, Prada, Versace, Ralph Lauren, Isaac Mizrahi, Chanel, and Giorgio Armani. Like hip-hop, the hoodie had crossed over again.

But its association with Black culture raised the hackles of the white Establishment. In 2005, the NBA (under thenCommissioner David Stern) announced its controversial dress code aimed at clothing associated with hip-hop culture, banning players from wearing jerseys, shorts, hats, durags, T-shirts, large jewelry, sneakers, boots (especially Timberlands), and hoodies.

Then Trayvon Martin was fatally shot, and his killing made the hoodie a symbol of Black life, internalized anger, and social justice globally. On March 21, 2012, activists in New York staged the Million Hoodie march from Union Square to the U.N. That day, I wore my hoodie on the subway, walking through the streets of midtown, and at work in the offices of Time Inc. along with my colleagues, instead of our usual blazers and slacks, jeans and button-downs.

Today, for Black public figures, the hoodie thanks in large part to Trayvons death has become a superhero cape, the uniform for those who want to make a statement about social and racial justice. The hoodie has become a fundamental piece of my wardrobe since the killing of Trayvon, even more during the COVID-19 pandemic, and most definitely since the murder of George Floyd. What the hoodie has come to represent for me is a sense of comfort, of safety, and a pointed message to the world that as a Black gay man living with HIV in this country, my life and the lives of my community matter no matter how uncomfortable it makes white America feel.

Thank you for subscribing and supporting our journalism. If you prefer to read in print, you can also find this article in the January 31, 2022, issue of New YorkMagazine.

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The History of the Hoodie Aligns With America's Divisions - The Cut

For the past decade, Tallahassee attorney Ben Crump has been on the front line of the Black Lives Matter movement, representing families of African Americans killed by police. He is a constant presence in courtrooms and protests around the country.

Crump will be in Tampa next week, for a Black History Month celebration at the Tampa Bay History Center.

He spoke with WUSF's Bradley George. Below is an edited transcript of their conversation.

What's a case that you've been involved with that people may not be as aware of that you think they should know about?

I think Corey Jones is one that often gets overlooked. Corey Jones was killed in West Palm Beach by an undercover police officer. He was parked on side of the road at about 3 in the morning, waiting for a tow truck. It's just heartbreaking because, but for the recording from the tow truck driver, the police officer told lies and would have got away with it. The other, I would say, would be Markeis McGlockton right there in Clearwater, Florida. This young man who was killed by this white man who for whatever reason, thought he had a right to impose his will on this Black family. And when Markeis McGlockton sought to defend his Black family, the white man shot him. And I think these cases are significant because you see us making progress where people are now starting to, in some instances, to be held accountable for killing unarmed Black people especially Black men which was something so rare, something so remote, a decade ago.

I think about all the times I've seen you in the media at press conferences and rallies. You're with these families who are just broken. They're going through the worst possible thing to go through the loss of a loved one. What do you say to a family in that moment?

I tell them that we're going to work as hard as any law firm on the planet to try to get to the truth of what happened to your loved one. Oftentimes, in their heart, they already know the truth because they know the personality of their loved ones. But I tell them we have to come up with objective evidence to demonstrate the truth. And in a police shooting most of the times I tell them we have to come up with irrefutable evidence to overcome this presumption of the police narrative that whatever the police say, it's going to be taken as the gospel by American society.

You're speaking at this event that's honoring Dr. Bernard Lafayette, who was born in Tampa. A legendary figure in his own right. I wonder, have you two crossed paths in your work?

I don't. But I know Delano Stewart and Carolyn House Stewart, who are mentors of mine. In fact, Delano Stewart is the father of Black lawyers in the state of Florida, and definitely the godfather of Black lawyers. And I know when we talk about this history museum in Tampa, Tampa has such a rich history to offer as a blueprint for our young people to say, this is how you stand up for the rights the civil rights and human rights of people who have been historically and traditionally denied equal opportunity and access to the American dream.

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'You see us making progress.' Attorney Ben Crump on the fight for Black lives - WUSF News

Missouris first Black congresswomans car was littered with bullets last weekend while it was parked in St. Louis. Despite sources believing she was not the intended target of the gunplay, the politician continues to receive a great outpouring of support from the community.

NBC News states while U.S. House Rep. Cori Bush was not in the car when it was shot up, nor was she injured, but she is still shaken.

Rep. Cori Bush, D-Mo., attends a news conference on the FIX Clemency Act outside the U.S. Capitol on Friday, December 10, 2021. (Photo By Tom Williams/CQ-Roll Call, Inc via Getty Images)

Like far too many of us in St. Louis, experiencing gun violence is all too familiar, Bush said in a statement released on Twitter. Thankfully no one was harmed. But any act of gun violence shakes your soul.

The progressive steered the conversation from herself and drew attention to a much larger issue.

No one should have to fear for their safety here in St. Louis, and that is exactly why our movement is working every day to invest in our communities, eradicate the root causes of gun violence, and keep every neighborhood safe, she continued.

A source close to her says that it is believed the shooting, allegedly on the morning of Jan. 22, was not intended for the congresswoman but the incident is disturbing. The representative also says that there was evidence that other vehicles were tampered with over the weekend in the same area of the shooting.

One guest on Fox News described the incident as what he claimed is natural consequence of the defund the police position he claims is held by Democrats. New York Police Sgt. Joseph Imperatrice, founder of Blue Lives Matter NYC, told the anchor last week, The harsh truth is we need the lawmakers to be victims.

During a segment called Americans Crime Crisis, another comment made on air was, Of course, we would never wish any harm whatsoever on any American, let alone a politician we disagreed with. BUT

Congressman Jamal Bowman, the representative from the Bronx, stood up for his colleague and blasted the right-leaning Fox mouthers, saying, This is vile and disgusting.

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We are thankful that Cori is safe and unharmed. Thats the only thing that needs to be said. You all can sit there and continue to be mad and hateful. Shell keep doing the peoples work with love and conviction, he tweeted.

He was not the only one grateful that she was safe.

Former Ohio State Sen. Nina Turner also used her social media platform to support Bush, writing, I love you and I am so sorry you, your family and team have to endure this just because you speak for justice. It is unclear if Turner believes the gunshots were meant for the congresswoman or if she was providing sisterly support after various right-wingers and white supremacists as well as other groups attacked her.

Comedian Kathy Griffin tweeted in response to the shooting, Oh my God, Congresswoman! Glad to hear you are unharmed, but so sorry you had to go through this traumatic experience.

This is not the first time that Bush has had her car violated. In 2020, her car was shot up. She shared the story on Twitter.

She tweeted on Jun. 10, 2020, My car took the bullets. I am safe. When I say that I am the people I serve, its not a slogan! A bullet went through my door handle on one side of the car, another went through my tire on the other side. Im committed to taking us from surviving St. Louis to living it.

After becoming a leader for prison reform and police violence eradication in 2014 in Ferguson, Missouri, the minister and nurse was so moved by the Michael Brown slaying that she could not sit still, shortly afterward became a political voice. The activist then lived just six minutes from where Brown, an 18-year-old Black teen, was killed.

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Congresswoman Cori Bushs Car Shot Up In St. Louis, Blue Lives Matter Spokesman Has Vile Response: We Need the Lawmakers to be Victims - Yahoo News