csmonitor--2020-10-27--Tulsa reckons with its racist past. What can America learn? (audio)

On May 31 and June 1 , 1921 , a white mob – enraged by a rumor that a young Black man had assaulted a white woman – attacked the Black community of Greenwood in Tulsa , Oklahoma .
They set fire to the district , looted businesses , killed Black residents , and displaced thousands .
It was one of the most devastating incidents of racist violence in U.S. history .
And it stayed mostly unmentioned for decades .
Today , nearly 100 years after what is now known as the Tulsa race massacre , the city is finally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ commemorating the centennial by opening a new museum dedicated to the Greenwood community , including the massacre in public school curriculum , and fast-tracking an investigation into the long-missing grave sites of those killed in the massacre .
Few , if any , other U.S. cities have tried to come to terms with their racist histories .
But the process is raising difficult questions for Tulsa .
Some residents say such a horrific event needs to be brought forward and understood .
Others , however , ask why the memory needs to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Can ’ t the city just move on ?
In this episode of “ Rethinking the News , ” we look at how Tulsa ’ s struggle echoes America ’ s , as the country wrestles with race and racism ahead of a deeply divisive election .
“ Rethinking the News ” is a podcast that aims to make room for constructive conversations across a range of perspectives , and bring Monitor journalism straight to your ears .
To learn more about the podcast and find new episodes , please visit our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be heard .
We strongly encourage you to experience it with your ears , but we understand that is not an option for everybody .
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For those who are unable to listen , we have provided a transcript of the story below .
Samantha Laine Perfas : Welcome to “ Rethinking the News , ” a podcast by The Christian Science Monitor .
Here , we create space for constructive conversations across a range of perspectives , to give you the information you need to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ m Samantha Laine Perfas , one of the producers , and today , we ’ re kicking off a three-part miniseries out of Tulsa , Oklahoma .
In 1921 , Tulsa was the site of one of the worst incidents of racist violence in U.S. history .
White residents , enraged by a rumor that a Black shoeshiner had assaulted a white woman , attacked the Black neighborhood of Greenwood .
They set fire to homes and businesses and displaced thousands of Black residents .
Estimates of the number of people killed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ – range from 36 to 300 .
Tulsa is preparing for the 100-year commemoration of the massacre .
I went there with my colleague Jessica Mendoza to find out how Black Tulsans are wrestling with their history even as we face a national reckoning around race and racism , and an incredibly divisive election .
Over the next three episodes , we ’ ll be asking : What can Tulsa , especially Black Tulsa , tell us about our country today ?
Today ’ s episode , hosted by Jess , will paint @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and as it was – in all its complexity .
Just a warning .
This episode contains descriptions of violence , including gun violence and trauma inflicted on Black Americans .
Please be advised .
Jessica Mendoza : This is Mechelle Brown .
She ’ s the program director at the Greenwood Cultural Center , which collects and exhibits local Black history in Tulsa , Oklahoma .
At the end of September , Mechelle took my colleague Samantha and me on a tour of the center .
It ’ s a brick building @ @ @ @ @ @ @ north side of the city .
Jess : The massacre .
Here in Tulsa , that means only one thing : the 24 hours or so on May 31st and June 1st , 1921 , when a white mob destroyed what was then a thriving Black business district in Greenwood – 35 of its 40 square blocks were burned down .
During our tour , Mechelle took us into a room with framed pictures of survivors on the walls .
Underneath each was a short first-person account from the massacre .
We asked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she felt most connected to among them .
Jess : Ernestine Gibbs died in 2003 .
Most of the survivors are gone now .
Today , in Tulsa , bringing up the massacre calls up a lot of emotions .
Some say the horrific reality needs to be brought forward .
But to others , the massacre was a hundred years ago .
Why , they ask , should we re-live something so horrible ?
Why commemorate it ?
Can ’ t we just… move on ?
These are questions we ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ slavery , about racism , about parts of our history we ’ re not so proud to remember .
They ’ re a big part of why we have the Black Lives Matter movement , why we ’ re seeing protests against police violence , and why there ’ s conflict on the streets , online , and at dinner tables all across America today .
And in a very real way , those questions are also what ’ s driving some of us to see our politics the way we do , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ do .
So we wanted to hear from Tulsans about these big questions .
We wanted to know if there was anything that we , as a nation , can learn from a city that ’ s actually trying to answer them right now – as the 100-year commemoration of the massacre approaches .
We start with what we know about what happened in 1921 .
Jess : This is Scott Ellsworth , native Tulsan and historian .
He ’ s been researching and writing about this since the 1980s .
Starting in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a commission to gather facts about what was then called the Tulsa Race Riot .
Jess : In Tulsa , it ’ s never been exactly clear what happened between Dick Rowland , the shoeshiner , and Sarah Page , the elevator operator .
Jess : Dick Rowland is arrested .
Angry white residents start to show up at the county courthouse , where he ’ s been detained .
In Greenwood , Black residents – many of them World War I veterans – decide they need to go over there too , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ get there , the sheriff tells them , ‘ We won ’ t let anything happen to him .
We ’ ve got this under control.
’ Jess : The mob grows .
A rumor makes its way to Greenwood that this time , the white residents would be storming the jail .
So another group of Black veterans , also armed , returns to the courthouse .
Jess : That ’ s Mechelle Brown again , from the Greenwood Cultural Center .
Jess : It ’ s a retreating battle – the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ way back to Greenwood .
Then , according to Scott Ellsworth : Jess : These armed white residents do drive-bys across Greenwood , shooting at will .
Black residents fight back , Scott says – valiantly .
But it ’ s late .
It ’ s dark .
And by about 2 a.m. , the fighting seems to have petered out .
Except , white residents on the other side of town are actually organizing .
They ’ re arming themselves , planning an assault on the Greenwood neighborhood .
Jess : Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ booming Black business district .
People called it Black Wall Street .
There were all kinds of businesses – Jess : That ’ s Hannibal Johnson .
He ’ s a Tulsa-based attorney who ’ s also written extensively about the Greenwood District .
Jess : That wealth and success , achieved in the middle of an era of segregation and Jim Crow laws , made the massacre all the more devastating .
Here ’ s Scott again .
Jess : When we talk about the 1921 Tulsa race massacre today , that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ends .
But actually , the massacre is just the beginning .
Jess : That ’ s Hannibal Johnson again .
He says Black Tulsans managed to rebuild pretty quickly despite the devastation .
At the time of the massacre , the Greenwood District was home to about 10,000 Black Americans .
Many were held in internment camps for days while their homes and businesses burned .
And yet – Jess : But life still was not easy for Black Tulsans .
Segregation persisted for decades .
Through the 1960s and ‘ 70s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Greenwood community in a different way .
The one we heard about the most was the construction of I-244 – later renamed the Martin Luther King , Jr. , Memorial Expressway .
The city built it right through the Greenwood District , splitting the neighborhood in half .
And the race massacre , when it was talked about at all , was called a riot , blamed on Black residents .
Jess : Black Tulsans who lost everything never saw insurance or restitution of any kind .
And in the years that followed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black – openly talked about the massacre .
The reckoning over both the event and its consequences was delayed for years .
But that reckoning is starting .
Sam : Hi everyone , Samantha Laine Perfas again , one of the producers on this show .
Because of listeners like you , we ’ re able to devote time to a podcast that goes deep into today ’ s issues .
If you enjoy Rethinking the News , the best way to make sure we produce more work like this is to subscribe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you already do , thank you !
But if you haven ’ t subscribed yet , you can do that at csmonitor.com/subscribe .
We really appreciate your support .
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Thanks for listening .
Jess : 2021 marks a hundred years since the massacre , and Tulsa is busy making sure the event will be properly commemorated .
There ’ s a Centennial Commission , chaired by a state senator and made up of other local notables – including some of our guests .
The commission ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and America , know the history of Black Wall Street and the massacre .
They ’ re building a multimillion-dollar museum in the Greenwood District called Greenwood Rising .
They ’ re funding a big art project that ’ ll feature local artists .
They ’ ve helped write a lesson plan on the massacre that the Oklahoma Department of Education has adopted .
And all this is important because Tulsa was one of many cities where racist violence took place during the Jim Crow era .
But very few other places @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such an explicit way , or attempted to find out what really happened .
Which is why the project that ’ s really made headlines this year is the search for the burial sites .
[ Audio clip from CBS This Morning : “ Scientists in Oklahoma are one step closer to finding possible evidence of mass graves linked to one of the worst incidents of racial violence in our country… ” [ Audio clip from KJRH-TV Tulsa : “ Archeologists say there could be a grave site right here on Oaklawn Cemetery @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ground… ” ] For decades , historians have been trying to find out where the victims of the 1921 race massacre were buried .
The Tulsa Race Riot Commission , which released an extensive report back in 2001 , found three sites in Tulsa that had the potential to be mass graves : Newblock Park , the cemetery formerly named after Booker T. Washington , and Oaklawn Cemetery .
The report drew from witness statements and surviving documents , and on anomalies in the ground that the research team found using radar .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ nothing .
Years later , a Republican city council member named G.T .
Bynum would learn about the possible mass graves at Oaklawn through a documentary .
As he watches the film – Jess : Mr. Bynum was elected mayor in 2016 .
In 2018 , the city started a review of possible grave sites .
And in 2020 , about a month before Mayor Bynum was reelected to a second term , the graves investigation team broke ground for the first time .
We spoke with Dr. Phoebe Stubblefield , the lead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She also happens to be the grandniece of massacre survivors , though she herself didn ’ t grow up in Tulsa .
Jess : Mainly , that means trying to identify sites where the human remains have features consistent with the kind of attacks that took place during the massacre .
Jess : – since the record is clear that a lot of shooting took place – Jess : – people were running , there was a lot of panic – Jess : It ’ s , in many ways , disturbing work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years between the event and today .
But Dr. Stubblefield says it ’ s worth it .
Jess : The graves investigation is the biggest step in 20 years toward figuring out who died , and how , in the 1921 race massacre .
Here ’ s Mayor Bynum again .
Jess : If anything , the mayor , who is white , says the challenge is winning the confidence of Tulsa ’ s Black community .
Jess : Some Tulsans , like Mechelle Brown at the Greenwood Cultural Center , are willing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ due .
Jess : Still , there ’ s a lot of pain surrounding the search for the graves .
During our tour , Mechelle read another account , by a survivor named Leroy Leon Hatcher , who was nine days old when the massacre took place .
Like many others , Mr. Hatcher ’ s mother fled Greenwood .
Jess : The investigating team ’ s first excavation took place in July .
The second dig – in a different part of Oaklawn Cemetery – started in mid-October .
After about four @ @ @ @ @ @ @ finding at least 12 unmarked wooden coffins at the site .
They haven ’ t been connected to the massacre yet .
But it ’ s a huge find .
And Mechelle says : Jess : The search for the grave sites has been emotionally wrenching for many Black Tulsans .
But it ’ s just one of many things that have flared up in the city over the summer – related to the Centennial , to a divisive election season , and to where America is on race in 2020 .
When @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officer back in May , the protests that it spurred churned up a lot for Mechelle Brown .
Jess : Mechelle is talking about Greenwood at the time of the massacre .
But , she says – Jess : This is something we heard a lot while we were in Tulsa .
The massacre may have happened a century ago , but its legacy is very much alive in the city ’ s Black community .
And so when the debate over the Black Lives Matter mural broke out , it drew on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A quick sketch of what happened : The night before Juneteenth – that ’ s the historic commemoration of the end of slavery in the United States – a group of artists and other community members painted the words , “ Black Lives Matter , ” in bright yellow on Greenwood Avenue .
On June 20th , President Trump held a campaign rally in downtown Tulsa , where he talked about civil unrest across the country .
[ Audio clip from The Washington Post , where President Trump talks about “ peace and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Tulsa ] As the president pushed forward his national agenda , the mural in Tulsa quickly became a flashpoint .
City officials said they had to remove it , because it didn ’ t have the right permits to be there permanently .
If they let it stay , they ’ d also have to let other groups put up murals wherever they wanted – including one group that asked to paint a “ Back the Blue ” mural in a similar style .
Here ’ s Mayor Bynum .
Jess : But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Black Lives Matter movement , it felt personal .
Jess : That ’ s Rev .
Mareo Johnson , founder and director of Black Lives Matter Tulsa and pastor of Seeking the Kingdom Ministries .
Jess : In the end , the city council voted to remove the mural .
It was paved over on October 5th , as part of a road resurfacing project that the mayor said was already planned .
But even as the debate over the mural was taking place , there was another issue that was causing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
[ Audio clip from KJRH-TV Tulsa : “ ... descendants of the 1921 race massacre are suing the city of Tulsa… ” ] On September 1st , a group of Oklahomans filed a lawsuit seeking reparations from the city of Tulsa and other local government agencies .
They argue that the massacre is still affecting Black Tulsans today , and that the defendants all benefited from the destruction of Greenwood .
The plaintiffs are asking the court for a bunch of things , including : public declarations against the city ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an injunction against any use of the massacre that would financially benefit the city ; and the creation of a victims ’ compensation fund – though they haven ’ t named a specific dollar amount .
There are nine plaintiffs , including the oldest living survivor of the massacre – Lessie Benningfield Randle , who is 105 years old .
We tried to reach out to the lead attorney for the plaintiffs , but we didn ’ t hear back .
Instead we spoke with the Rev .
Robert Turner .
Jess : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Historic Vernon A.M.E. Chuch , a plaintiff in the lawsuit , and the only building standing today to have survived the burning of Greenwood .
Rev .
Turner came to Tulsa in 2017 from Alabama , and has become kind of the face of the fight for reparations in Tulsa .
For two years , he ’ s been leading a small group of Tulsans on a weekly march from the church to City Hall , calling for reparations .
[ Audio clip of Rev .
Turner leading a march , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than reconciliation .
But there can be no reconciliation without reparations.
” ] Jess : It ’ s a point that many Black Americans raise when talking about protests around racial justice , and about reparations – though the term “ reparations ” can mean different things to different people , even within Black communities .
We ’ ll be digging further into those nuances in our coming episodes .
But for now , we wanted to know what Rev .
Turner hopes this lawsuit specifically will achieve .
Jess : Needless to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ summer for Tulsa , as it has been for the country .
When we talked to Mechelle Brown , back at the Greenwood Cultural Center , she told us about the first time she heard the full story of the massacre .
She was on the same tour that she ’ s been giving now for nearly 25 years .
She was in her 20s at the time .
Jess : And even after having told the story so many times , Mechelle says , it can still hurt to think about it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ respond to it .
Jess : To Mechelle , there doesn ’ t seem to be a lot of room for hope .
She thinks back to that first time she heard about the massacre , and compares it with how she feels now , given the state of the country today – our divisive politics , our anger , our fear .
Jess : Mechelle says there was one time that she felt like maybe , as individuals , we can overcome racial and political divisions .
It was when a young @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a bunch of small group discussions in the community and got people – Black and white – to talk honestly and without malice about race .
Jess : Thanks for listening .
In our next episode , we ’ ll take a close look at Black politics in Tulsa .
The massacre , among many things , was a huge failure of leadership – one that still resonates today .
So as the nation gears up for an incredibly divisive election , how are Black voters in Tulsa navigating a political system that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ This podcast was hosted by me , Jessica Mendoza .
Samantha Laine Perfas and I reported and produced this story together .
Our editors are Clay Collins and Clara Germani , with additional edits by Judy Douglass and Arielle Gray .
Sound design by Morgan Anderson and Noel Flatt .
And a special thanks to Steph Simon , for allowing us to use his song ‘ Born On Black Wall Street ’ throughout this episode .
Additional audio elements from CBS This Morning , KJRH-TV Tulsa , and The Washington Post .
Brought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , copyright 2020 .

Mechelle Brown gives a tour of the Greenwood Cultural Center, where she serves as program director, on Tuesday, Sept. 29, 2020, in Tulsa, Okla. The center's main exhibit commemorates the race massacre, which took place on May 31 and June 1, 1921, when a white mob attacked the Black community of Greenwood in north Tulsa.
Tulsa reckons with its racist past. What can America learn? (audio)
Tulsa, Oklahoma, is the site of one of the worst incidents of racist violence in U.S. history. Now Tulsa is preparing to commemorate what happened in 1921. In this episode of our new podcast, we ask: How does a city reckon with race and racism in America today?
In this episode of “Rethinking the News,” we look at how Tulsa’s struggle echoes America’s, as the country wrestles with race and racism ahead of a deeply divisive election.
But the process is raising difficult questions for Tulsa. Some residents say such a horrific event needs to be brought forward and understood. Others, however, ask why the memory needs to be relived at all. Why commemorate it? Can’t the city just move on?
Today, nearly 100 years after what is now known as the Tulsa race massacre, the city is finally reckoning with its past. Tulsa is commemorating the centennial by opening a new museum dedicated to the Greenwood community, including the massacre in public school curriculum, and fast-tracking an investigation into the long-missing grave sites of those killed in the massacre. Few, if any, other U.S. cities have tried to come to terms with their racist histories.
It was one of the most devastating incidents of racist violence in U.S. history. And it stayed mostly unmentioned for decades.
On May 31 and June 1, 1921, a white mob – enraged by a rumor that a young Black man had assaulted a white woman – attacked the Black community of Greenwood in Tulsa, Oklahoma. They set fire to the district, looted businesses, killed Black residents, and displaced thousands.
Episode transcript
Samantha Laine Perfas: Welcome to “Rethinking the News,” a podcast by The Christian Science Monitor. Here, we create space for constructive conversations across a range of perspectives, to give you the information you need to come to your own conclusions.
I’m Samantha Laine Perfas, one of the producers, and today, we’re kicking off a three-part miniseries out of Tulsa, Oklahoma. In 1921, Tulsa was the site of one of the worst incidents of racist violence in U.S. history. White residents, enraged by a rumor that a Black shoeshiner had assaulted a white woman, attacked the Black neighborhood of Greenwood. They set fire to homes and businesses and displaced thousands of Black residents. Estimates of the number of people killed – a majority of whom were Black – range from 36 to 300.
Tulsa is preparing for the 100-year commemoration of the massacre. I went there with my colleague Jessica Mendoza to find out how Black Tulsans are wrestling with their history even as we face a national reckoning around race and racism, and an incredibly divisive election. Over the next three episodes, we’ll be asking: What can Tulsa, especially Black Tulsa, tell us about our country today? Today’s episode, hosted by Jess, will paint a picture of Tulsa as it is and as it was – in all its complexity.
[Music]
Just a warning. This episode contains descriptions of violence, including gun violence and trauma inflicted on Black Americans. Please be advised.
[Music]
Mechelle Brown: This is 1917 Greenwood. These are all Black-owned businesses lining the streets of the Greenwood District, 1917.
Jessica Mendoza: This is Mechelle Brown. She’s the program coordinator at the Greenwood Cultural Center, which collects and exhibits local Black history in Tulsa, Oklahoma. At the end of September, Mechelle took my colleague Samantha and me on a tour of the center. It’s a brick building right on Greenwood Avenue, on the north side of the city.
Mechelle: This exhibit itself is about 15 years old. These were survivors who were living during that time that were willing and able to share something that they remembered about the massacre or something that their parents shared with them.
Jess: The massacre. Here in Tulsa, that means only one thing: the 24 hours or so on May 31st and June 1st, 1921, when a white mob destroyed what was then a thriving Black business district in Greenwood – 35 of its 40 square blocks were burned down. During our tour, Mechelle took us into a room with framed pictures of survivors on the walls. Underneath each was a short first-person account from the massacre. We asked Mechelle if there was a person that she felt most connected to among them.
Mechelle: Definitely Ernestine Gibbs, because – she was born in 1902, she was here during the massacre – she was the first woman that I can remember really coming forward and telling her story.
Jess: Mechelle read what Ms. Gibbs had shared.
Mechelle: Ernestine Gibbs. “A family friend came from a hotel on Greenwood where he worked and knocked on our door. He was so scared he could not sit still nor lie down. He just paced up and down the floor talking about the mess going on downtown and on Greenwood. When daylight came, Black people were moving down the train tracks like ants. We joined the fleeing people. During this fleeing frenzy, we made it to Golden Gate near 36th Street North. We had to run from there because someone warned us that whites were shooting down Blacks who were fleeing along the railroad tracks. Some of them were shot by whites firing from airplanes. On June 1st, 1921, we were found by the guards and taken to the fairgrounds. A white man who mother knew came and took us home. Going back to Greenwood was like entering a war zone. Everything was gone. People were moaning and weeping when they looked at where their homes and businesses once stood. I’ll never forget it. No, not ever.”
[Music]
Jess: Ernestine Gibbs died in 2003. Most of the survivors are gone now. Today, in Tulsa, bringing up the massacre calls up a lot of emotions. Some say the horrific reality needs to be brought forward. But to others, the massacre was a hundred years ago. Why, they ask, should we re-live something so horrible? Why commemorate it? Can’t we just… move on?
These are questions we’re also asking as a country – about slavery, about racism, about parts of our history we’re not so proud to remember. They’re a big part of why we have the Black Lives Matter movement, why we’re seeing protests against police violence, and why there’s conflict on the streets, online, and at dinner tables all across America today. And in a very real way, those questions are also what’s driving some of us to see our politics the way we do, and even to vote for who we do.
So we wanted to hear from Tulsans about these big questions. We wanted to know if there was anything that we, as a nation, can learn from a city that’s actually trying to answer them right now – as the 100-year commemoration of the massacre approaches.
We start with what we know about what happened in 1921.
Scott Ellsworth: You know, the origins have to do with an incident in an elevator where a young African American shoe shiner stepped on the foot, from what we can tell, of a young white female elevator operator. She screamed. He ran out of the building. We don’t really know what happens.
Jess: This is Scott Ellsworth, native Tulsan and historian. He’s been researching and writing about this since the 1980s. Starting in the late ‘90s, he led a commission to gather facts about what was then called the Tulsa Race Riot.
Scott: This was a time of the rebirth of the Ku Klux Klan. There was very much a very militant white racism during the era. There were many of these so-called race riots that happened nationwide, where there’d be some sort of an incident and then mobs of whites would invade Black communities.
Jess: In Tulsa, it’s never been exactly clear what happened between Dick Rowland, the shoeshiner, and Sarah Page, the elevator operator.
Scott: But the next day on May 31st, 1921, the Tulsa Tribune, the city’s afternoon white daily newspaper, published this scandalous front page article about how Roland had basically stalked this young elevator operator and clearly tried to rape her. There was also an editorial in that paper that has since been destroyed. And it was titled, “To Lynch a Negro Tonight.” After the Tribune hits the streets, there’s lynch talk within a half an hour.
Jess: Dick Rowland is arrested. Angry white residents start to show up at the county courthouse, where he’s been detained. In Greenwood, Black residents – many of them World War I veterans – decide they need to go over there too, to protect Mr. Rowland. When they get there, the sheriff tells them, ‘We won’t let anything happen to him. We’ve got this under control.’
Scott: The white mob just became enraged by this. They then – those who were not armed – went and got guns from their homes, brought them back to the courthouse. Another group tried to break into the National Guard armory to get the rifles there.
Jess: The mob grows. A rumor makes its way to Greenwood that this time, the white residents would be storming the jail. So another group of Black veterans, also armed, returns to the courthouse.
Samantha Laine Perfas/The Christian Science Monitor View caption Hide caption A mural just off Greenwood Avenue celebrates the history and legacy of Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Okla., on Wednesday, Sept. 30, 2020.
Mechelle: And I envision this group approaching a sea of white men who are angry and upset, who are ready to take matters into their own hands.
Jess: That’s Mechelle Brown again, from the Greenwood Cultural Center.
Mechelle: And I thought for a moment, How could they continue to go forward to protect this one man, knowing that they were putting their own lives at risk? And yet they proceeded. And a white man approached a Black man with a gun. The gun goes off. And at that point, there’s an all-out battle in front of the courthouse.
Jess: It’s a retreating battle – the Black veterans, outnumbered, make their way back to Greenwood. Then, according to Scott Ellsworth:
Scott: The Tulsa police, which had been absent the entire time, show up. They start deputizing members of the lynch mob, giving them special deputy badges and ribbons, and start handing out guns to members of the mobs.
Jess: These armed white residents do drive-bys across Greenwood, shooting at will. Black residents fight back, Scott says – valiantly. But it’s late. It’s dark. And by about 2 a.m., the fighting seems to have petered out. Except, white residents on the other side of town are actually organizing. They’re arming themselves, planning an assault on the Greenwood neighborhood.
Scott: We don’t know how big this crowd of white rioters were. Maybe as many as 2,000, 3,000, 5,000. But shortly after dawn, an unusual siren blew, like a factory whistle, which was apparently a sign for the whites to invade the community. The siren goes off and the invasion of Greenwood begins.
Jess: Now at the time, Greenwood was a booming Black business district. People called it Black Wall Street. There were all kinds of businesses –
Hannibal Johnson: – beauty salons, barber shops, theaters, pool halls, dance halls, restaurants, grocery stores, haberdasheries, furriers, and pharmacies.
Jess: That’s Hannibal Johnson. He’s a Tulsa-based attorney who’s also written extensively about the Greenwood District.
Hannibal: Service providers like doctors and lawyers and dentists, all concentrated in a single community. It was a sort of a unified community by and for Black folks.
Jess: That wealth and success, achieved in the middle of an era of segregation and Jim Crow laws, made the massacre all the more devastating. Here’s Scott again.
Scott: Whites would break into stores and homes, loot them, and then set them on fire. African Americans who resisted were killed. Others were taken away. And so by the end of the day on June 1st, when the state troops from Oklahoma City finally arrived to restore order, Greenwood’s been destroyed. It’s been burnt to the ground. Greenwood is gone.
[Music]
Jess: When we talk about the 1921 Tulsa race massacre today, that’s usually about where the story ends. But actually, the massacre is just the beginning.
Hannibal: The better part of the story, actually, is post massacre. It’s the indomitable human spirit that was exhibited by the Black folks in Tulsa, many of whom vowed, ‘We shall not be moved’ – even after this violent onslaught.
Jess: That’s Hannibal Johnson again. He says Black Tulsans managed to rebuild pretty quickly despite the devastation. At the time of the massacre, the Greenwood District was home to about 10,000 Black Americans. Many were held in internment camps for days while their homes and businesses burned. And yet –
Mechelle: The Greenwood District would be rebuilt. And we saw the return of the grand hotels and restaurants and movie theaters and all of the things that they worked so hard to build.
Hannibal: The Black business community in Tulsa really peaked in the early to mid-1940s. There were well over 200 documented Black-owned and -operated businesses in the community at that time.
Jess: But life still was not easy for Black Tulsans. Segregation persisted for decades. Through the 1960s and ‘70s, so-called urban renewal projects ravaged the Greenwood community in a different way. The one we heard about the most was the construction of I-244 – later renamed the Martin Luther King, Jr., Memorial Expressway. The city built it right through the Greenwood District, splitting the neighborhood in half.
And the race massacre, when it was talked about at all, was called a riot, blamed on Black residents.
Hannibal: The Tulsa City Commission, the Tulsa Chamber, the Tulsa mayor – all those folks characterized what happened in 1921 as a ‘Negro uprising.’ They really painted a portrait of these uppity Black folks not knowing their proper place.
Jess: Black Tulsans who lost everything never saw insurance or restitution of any kind. And in the years that followed, very few residents – white or Black – openly talked about the massacre. The reckoning over both the event and its consequences was delayed for years.
But that reckoning is starting.
[Music]
Sam: Hi everyone, Samantha Laine Perfas again, one of the producers on this show. Because of listeners like you, we’re able to devote time to a podcast that goes deep into today’s issues. If you enjoy Rethinking the News, the best way to make sure we produce more work like this is to subscribe to The Christian Science Monitor. If you already do, thank you! But if you haven’t subscribed yet, you can do that at csmonitor.com/subscribe. We really appreciate your support. Again, that’s csmonitor.com/subscribe. Thanks for listening.
[Music]
Jess: 2021 marks a hundred years since the massacre, and Tulsa is busy making sure the event will be properly commemorated. There’s a Centennial Commission, chaired by a state senator and made up of other local notables – including some of our guests.
The commission’s goal is to make sure Tulsa, and America, know the history of Black Wall Street and the massacre. They’re building a multimillion-dollar museum in the Greenwood District called Greenwood Rising. They’re funding a big art project that’ll feature local artists. They’ve helped write a lesson plan on the massacre that the Oklahoma Department of Education has adopted.
And all this is important because Tulsa was one of many cities where racist violence took place during the Jim Crow era. But very few other places have chosen to commemorate those events in such an explicit way, or attempted to find out what really happened.
Which is why the project that’s really made headlines this year is the search for the burial sites.
[Audio clip from CBS This Morning: “Scientists in Oklahoma are one step closer to finding possible evidence of mass graves linked to one of the worst incidents of racial violence in our country…”
[Audio clip from KJRH-TV Tulsa: “Archeologists say there could be a grave site right here on Oaklawn Cemetery based on anomalies they found on the ground…”]
For decades, historians have been trying to find out where the victims of the 1921 race massacre were buried. The Tulsa Race Riot Commission, which released an extensive report back in 2001, found three sites in Tulsa that had the potential to be mass graves: Newblock Park, the cemetery formerly named after Booker T. Washington, and Oaklawn Cemetery. The report drew from witness statements and surviving documents, and on anomalies in the ground that the research team found using radar.
But after the report was published … nothing. Years later, a Republican city council member named G.T. Bynum would learn about the possible mass graves at Oaklawn through a documentary. As he watches the film –
G.T. Bynum: I have the mistaken thought, ‘Well, that’s ridiculous. Surely we would have heard about it if there were mass graves. There’s no way that a city in the middle of the United States of America, people are going about their lives every day, driving back and forth and walking back and forth right by potential mass graves, and nobody ever bothered to see if they were there.’ And in fact, that turned out to be exactly what had been happening in Tulsa.
Jess: Mr. Bynum was elected mayor in 2016. In 2018, the city started a review of possible grave sites. And in 2020, about a month before Mayor Bynum was reelected to a second term, the graves investigation team broke ground for the first time. We spoke with Dr. Phoebe Stubblefield, the lead forensic anthropologist on the graves team. She also happens to be the grandniece of massacre survivors, though she herself didn’t grow up in Tulsa.
Phoebe Stubblefield: I have a personal investment, but I don’t pretend that it’s the same personal investment as someone who grew up there. My stake in it is to deliver my part of the story involving what actually happened to these individuals.
Jess: Mainly, that means trying to identify sites where the human remains have features consistent with the kind of attacks that took place during the massacre.
Phoebe: Specifically gunshot trauma –
Jess: – since the record is clear that a lot of shooting took place –
Phoebe: – breakage to bone –
Jess: – people were running, there was a lot of panic –
Phoebe: – and/or burning, because it was a rampage. And so I expect to find remains that demonstrate those features.
Jess: It’s, in many ways, disturbing work, made more complicated by the long years between the event and today. But Dr. Stubblefield says it’s worth it.
Phoebe: We can add to unity by saying, Hey, we’re not going to keep trying to pretend this didn’t happen and we’re not going to fail to contribute in a way that creates a stronger record of what happened. I’m hoping that we’re creating a shared narrative that Tulsans will take with them, and I am here to provide this story even when it’s hard to hear.
Jess: The graves investigation is the biggest step in 20 years toward figuring out who died, and how, in the 1921 race massacre. Here’s Mayor Bynum again.
Mayor Bynum: When I announced that we were going to do this, the recurring thing I heard from people in all parts of the city was: ‘It’s about time. We want to know if they’re there or not. So thank you for doing this.’ I’ve had some people, as you always do, who say that it’s a waste of money and that we ought to just move on, that, you know, we’re spending money on this when we’re not fixing enough potholes, stuff like that. But for the most part, people have been very supportive.
Jess: If anything, the mayor, who is white, says the challenge is winning the confidence of Tulsa’s Black community.
Mayor Bynum: The city has earned zero trust with African Americans and Black Tulsans by waiting 98 years to start this investigation. And so there’s a lot of, I think, earned distrust of the process overall, regardless of the good intent of those of us who are trying to do it today.
[Music]
Jess: Some Tulsans, like Mechelle Brown at the Greenwood Cultural Center, are willing to give credit where it’s due.
Mechelle: You have to give our mayor respect for the things that he’s done right. He courageously stood and said, we are going to reopen the mass graves investigation. Many people spoke out against him on that. And he listened to the African American community and how important it was to them. And we’ve hit a lot of roadblocks along the way, a lot of snags. The African-American community has not always agreed with the mayor’s office or the scientific team that has been formed. But I think that we can acknowledge what he has done right.
Jess: Still, there’s a lot of pain surrounding the search for the graves. During our tour, Mechelle read another account, by a survivor named Leroy Leon Hatcher, who was nine days old when the massacre took place. Like many others, Mr. Hatcher’s mother fled Greenwood.
Mechelle: ‘My dad told her to run to join the crowd. He said he would be coming right behind us, but he never did. My mother never forgot that day as long as she lived. She said she ran nine miles with me, a nine day old baby, in her arms, dodging bullets that were falling near her. After the riot was over, my mother looked and looked for my father, but she never found him. His loss haunted her for the rest of her life, and it ruined my life, too. I believe my father was killed in that riot. I just wish I knew where he was buried. I would just like to pay my respects to him.’ So that’s what we think about when we think about the mass grave sites and the people that are buried somewhere and not being able to pay respect to them, to them being buried in open graves with no headstones, no recognition. We just want some closure for their descendants.
Jess: The investigating team’s first excavation took place in July. The second dig – in a different part of Oaklawn Cemetery – started in mid-October. After about four days of digging, the team reported finding at least 12 unmarked wooden coffins at the site. They haven’t been connected to the massacre yet. But it’s a huge find. And Mechelle says:
Mechelle: We’re hoping at this point that the testimonies, the stories, the oral histories that we’ve heard will be proven to be true. And yet whatever is found, I think, will contribute to the healing process that has to take place in our community.
[Music]
Jess: The search for the grave sites has been emotionally wrenching for many Black Tulsans. But it’s just one of many things that have flared up in the city over the summer – related to the Centennial, to a divisive election season, and to where America is on race in 2020.
When George Floyd was killed by a Minneapolis officer back in May, the protests that it spurred churned up a lot for Mechelle Brown.
Mechelle: To have someone hate you and to have such a disregard for your life and your children’s lives simply because of the color of your skin, when you have done absolutely everything that they have asked you to do. You follow the laws, you obtain a job, you pay your bills, you do everything that you’re asked to do. And yet they destroy your community.
Jess: Mechelle is talking about Greenwood at the time of the massacre. But, she says –
Mechelle: Some of the images that you see from 1921, there are images of Black men being marched through the streets with their hands in the air. And some of the images from 2020 are the same images of African Americans being marched through the streets with their arms in the air, when they once again have tried to do everything that we thought would keep us safe. You get a job. You stay out of trouble. You follow the laws. And yet that does not guarantee that we will not be murdered if we’re pulled over by a police officer. It does not guarantee that my sons can live healthy, safe, happy lives if they just follow the rules. Because we live in a society where our history has not meant much at all, where our rights do not matter, where our lives do not matter, where it doesn’t matter what type of job you have or how law abiding you are or how respectful you are.
Jess: This is something we heard a lot while we were in Tulsa. The massacre may have happened a century ago, but its legacy is very much alive in the city’s Black community. And so when the debate over the Black Lives Matter mural broke out, it drew on old resentments and fueled new hostilities.
A quick sketch of what happened: The night before Juneteenth – that’s the historic commemoration of the end of slavery in the United States – a group of artists and other community members painted the words, “Black Lives Matter,” in bright yellow on Greenwood Avenue. On June 20th, President Trump held a campaign rally in downtown Tulsa, where he talked about civil unrest across the country.
[Audio clip from The Washington Post, where President Trump talks about “peace and order” at a political rally in Tulsa]
As the president pushed forward his national agenda, the mural in Tulsa quickly became a flashpoint. City officials said they had to remove it, because it didn’t have the right permits to be there permanently. If they let it stay, they’d also have to let other groups put up murals wherever they wanted – including one group that asked to paint a “Back the Blue” mural in a similar style. Here’s Mayor Bynum.
Mayor Bynum: The issue for us really became very much a legal one. Painting messages on streets in Tulsa is not legal and it’s not legal for anybody, for any message. And we cannot treat one message differently than others, even if we may completely agree with the message that was displayed.
Jess: But for many Black Tulsans and supporters of the Black Lives Matter movement, it felt personal.
Samantha Laine Perfas/The Christian Science Monitor View caption Hide caption Mareo Johnson, pastor of Seeking the Kingdom Ministries, stands outside Sweet Lisa's, a local restaurant in Tulsa, Okla., on Friday, Oct. 2, 2020. Mr. Johnson, who founded the Tulsa chapter of Black Lives Matter, says that the city's recent decision to remove a painting of the group's name on Greenwood Avenue in Tulsa's historically Black neighborhood was a mistake. "People see it being removed," he says, "and they perceive it as removing us."
Mareo Johnson: I mean, we can’t let the nation see us removing Black Lives Matter murals.
Jess: That’s Rev. Mareo Johnson, founder and director of Black Lives Matter Tulsa and pastor of Seeking the Kingdom Ministries.
Mareo: People see it being removed, and they perceive it as, it’s trying to remove us. If there is any other place that it should be, it should be right there, where the worst massacre happened in the history of Tulsa. That’s the most important place that it should be, if any place in Tulsa. So for anyone to have a problem with it being there, something is very wrong. And that shows us that we have a lot of work to do with dealing with our racist past.
Jess: In the end, the city council voted to remove the mural. It was paved over on October 5th, as part of a road resurfacing project that the mayor said was already planned.
But even as the debate over the mural was taking place, there was another issue that was causing racial tensions to bubble up in Tulsa.
[Audio clip from KJRH-TV Tulsa: “...descendants of the 1921 race massacre are suing the city of Tulsa…”]
On September 1st, a group of Oklahomans filed a lawsuit seeking reparations from the city of Tulsa and other local government agencies. They argue that the massacre is still affecting Black Tulsans today, and that the defendants all benefited from the destruction of Greenwood.
The plaintiffs are asking the court for a bunch of things, including: public declarations against the city’s actions during and after the massacre; an injunction against any use of the massacre that would financially benefit the city; and the creation of a victims’ compensation fund – though they haven’t named a specific dollar amount.
There are nine plaintiffs, including the oldest living survivor of the massacre – Lessie Benningfield Randle, who is 105 years old.
We tried to reach out to the lead attorney for the plaintiffs, but we didn’t hear back. Instead we spoke with the Rev. Robert Turner.
Samantha Laine Perfas/The Christian Science Monitor View caption Hide caption Robert Turner, pastor of the Historic Vernon A.M.E. Church, in Tulsa, Okla., marches to City Hall from the church and back, calling for reparations for the victims of the 1921 Tulsa race massacre, on Wednesday, Sept. 30, 2020. Mr. Turner has led this protest every week since 2018. "There is no expiration date on morality," he says. "If it was wrong in 1921, it's still wrong in 2020."
Rev. Robert Turner: There is no expiration date on morality. If it was wrong in 1921, it’s still wrong in 2020.
Jess: Rev. Turner is the pastor of the Historic Vernon A.M.E. Chuch, a plaintiff in the lawsuit, and the only building standing today to have survived the burning of Greenwood. Rev. Turner came to Tulsa in 2017 from Alabama, and has become kind of the face of the fight for reparations in Tulsa. For two years, he’s been leading a small group of Tulsans on a weekly march from the church to City Hall, calling for reparations.
[Audio clip of Rev. Turner leading a march, he says, “I desire nothing more than reconciliation. But there can be no reconciliation without reparations.”]
Rev. Turner: I think we have become accustomed to a negative peace, in not just Tulsa but in America, where as long as Black people are OK with their lot in life, then we fine. You know, as long as they are OK with being killed by the police, we’re fine. As long as they are OK with, you know, not having access to capital and given high interest rates, we’re fine. But the minute we start speaking up about it, oh it’s a problem. They’re the rioters. They’re the problem makers.
Jess: It’s a point that many Black Americans raise when talking about protests around racial justice, and about reparations – though the term “reparations” can mean different things to different people, even within Black communities. We’ll be digging further into those nuances in our coming episodes. But for now, we wanted to know what Rev. Turner hopes this lawsuit specifically will achieve.
Rev. Turner: I hope what it will achieve is, is justice. Delayed, but still justice. I hope it will help actually bring the city together by winning the lawsuit. Some people don’t see it as such. But if we’re going to live as a family, then we have to be honest about the relationship dynamics. Their blood still speaks, their blood is still crying out. There’s this old Hebrew philosophy that the shedding of innocent blood curses the land. And it cries out to God until it is atoned. They were children of God. They were created in God’s image. And they never saw justice. And I still feel their pain. There can be no reconciliation, period, without reparation.
[Music]
Jess: Needless to say, this has been a difficult summer for Tulsa, as it has been for the country. When we talked to Mechelle Brown, back at the Greenwood Cultural Center, she told us about the first time she heard the full story of the massacre. She was on the same tour that she’s been giving now for nearly 25 years. She was in her 20s at the time.
Mechelle: I went through this range of emotions. I remember as I looked at the photographs and I heard about what happened here, I didn’t realize that my hands were balled into a fist. And I just wanted to fight. I just was so angry. And then I felt so hurt, so sad at the number of people who had lost their lives. I felt so heartbroken for what those people went through. And then I felt just confused, at how the 1921 Tulsa race massacre could have happened in my community where I was born and raised, and no one ever talked about it.
Jess: And even after having told the story so many times, Mechelle says, it can still hurt to think about it, and to see how other people respond to it.
Mechelle: I see African Americans who come and learn about it, experience it the way that I did. But I’ve also experienced whites who have accused us of exaggerating the history even as they are looking at the actual photographs. They are denying that this happened, that the Black community is only concerned about money, that we’re thinking that we’re going to get something out of this. They have rolled their eyes, been completely unattentive while I’ve given tours, from school groups to adults who you would think would be more sensitive to this history. People have been very disrespectful. If anything, it’s gotten worse. I think people are bolder than they once were. I think because of our current political climate, people are much more vocal than they used to be. They’re a lot less respectful than they used to be. And we’ve seen quite a bit of that since the summer.
Jess: To Mechelle, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of room for hope. She thinks back to that first time she heard about the massacre, and compares it with how she feels now, given the state of the country today – our divisive politics, our anger, our fear.
Mechelle: I think that my emotions are the same. I don’t think that I feel any more hopeful today than I did then. Reading some of the comments that you can read online, whenever the Tulsa World publishes an article dealing with North Tulsa or race relations or Black Wall Street or the commemoration or reparations, the comments that follow by hundreds of white Tulsans that I live with, that are part of my community. These aren’t people from around the world. These are people that live in my community. Realizing how racist and insensitive some people still are today doesn’t give me much hope.
Jess: Mechelle says there was one time that she felt like maybe, as individuals, we can overcome racial and political divisions. It was when a young playwright, a Tulsa native, organized a bunch of small group discussions in the community and got people – Black and white – to talk honestly and without malice about race.
Mechelle: And it brought me to a place where I realized that there were white people who really didn’t understand. And they wanted to. They really hadn’t connected with Black people before or with the Black community. And they wanted to. And I think it’s going to be more of those small group discussions and conversations, where real relationships can be built, that will initiate real change.
[Music]
Jess: Thanks for listening. In our next episode, we’ll take a close look at Black politics in Tulsa. The massacre, among many things, was a huge failure of leadership – one that still resonates today. So as the nation gears up for an incredibly divisive election, how are Black voters in Tulsa navigating a political system that often fails to meet their needs?
This podcast was hosted by me, Jessica Mendoza. Samantha Laine Perfas and I reported and produced this story together. Our editors are Clay Collins and Clara Germani, with additional edits by Judy Douglass and Arielle Gray. Sound design by Morgan Anderson and Noel Flatt. And a special thanks to Steph Simon, for allowing us to use his song ‘Born On Black Wall Street’ throughout this episode. Additional audio elements from CBS This Morning, KJRH-TV Tulsa, and The Washington Post. Brought to you by The Christian Science Monitor, copyright 2020.
[End]


csmonitor--2020-10-27--Pandemic cases spiking, but will Europe accept restrictions again?

“ People calling hotlines are much more aggressive , and people are less accepting of measures such as why they can ’ t visit grandma in a nursing home , ” says German press officer Tobias Frohnert , of efforts by his district of Herzogtum Lauenburg to test and trace a newly unwilling public .
“ People are angry.
” But the United Kingdom , Spain , France , Italy , and Germany are battling a new enemy alongside the virus : “ coronafatigue.
” Their publics are confused , apathetic , and angry .
Across Europe , support for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in spring to about 50 % of respondents during summer , according to a June survey across seven European countries .
That will make the months ahead , when many forecast an increase in cases , more difficult to manage .
Britain has logged more than 150,000 new cases in the last week , while France recently topped a daily record of 52,000 new infections .
Governments are weighing reintroducing restrictions in response , in hopes of replicating successes from the spring .
Wedding photographer Emma Case remembers a sense of duty evoked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lockdown .
The blanket ban on leaving homes felt draconian , says Ms. Case , a Liverpool resident whose income suddenly evaporated .
But the country rallied in solidarity around touch points such as Prime Minister Boris Johnson ’ s getting sick and a 99-year-old war veteran walking his garden for charity .
It feels different this time , as coronavirus caseloads surge past spring highs across Europe .
Hospitals are filling up again .
“ [ We ] are becoming tired .
We ’ re in murky water , ” says Ms. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the natural psychological course , but the mountain to overcome mental fatigue is bigger than I first thought.
” The numbers are rising rapidly .
Britain has logged more than 150,000 new cases in the last week , while France recently topped a daily record of 52,000 new infections .
Governments are weighing reintroducing new restrictions in response , in hopes of replicating successes from the spring .
But the U.K. , Spain , France , Italy , and Germany are battling a new enemy alongside the virus : “ coronafatigue.
” Their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ angry .
Across Europe , support for containment policies dropped from nearly 70 % in spring to about 50 % of respondents during summer , according to a June survey across seven European countries .
That will make the months ahead , when many forecast an increase in cases , more difficult to manage .
“ People calling hotlines are much more aggressive , and people are less accepting of measures such as why they can ’ t visit grandma in a nursing home , ” says German press officer Tobias Frohnert , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lauenburg to test and trace a newly unwilling public .
“ People are angry.
” Italy 's early , devastating experience with COVID-19 had the Western world taking notes .
But new restrictions have been met with weariness – and even civil unrest .
Following protests in Naples and Rome over the weekend , the Italian government announced a new decree Sunday shuttering all cinemas , theaters , gyms , and pools , and requiring bars and restaurants to close by 6 p.m. Curfews in some regions require people to be home by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Italy late on Monday .
In Turin , protesters set garbage bins on fire and looted luxury outlets .
And in Milan , Italy 's financial hub , police fired tear gas as demonstrators gathered outside the offices of the regional government of Lombardy .
Amid predictions that gross domestic product would shrink by 10 % , Italians are despondent .
“ It feels like all the sacrifices we made during the spring were for nothing , ” says Claudia , who runs a hair salon in central Rome .
“ We @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Among the most compliant in Europe , Italians had been donning masks in public even during summertime .
Still , the country ’ s prime minister felt he needed to recruit Italy ’ s most famous social influencer for a public service announcement .
Fashion blogger Chiara Ferragni and her rapper husband , Fedez , who together have 32 million followers on social media , said the call was “ very unexpected.
” But they were happy to help .
“ We can avoid [ another lockdown ] with a simple gesture – @ @ @ @ @ @ @ posted Fedez on Instagram .
So far , Italy ’ s new rules haven ’ t approached spring ’ s uniform , nationwide lockdown .
Most schools remain open , though senior schools are doing most classes via distance learning .
Regions and municipalities also have far greater autonomy this time around .
For example , the national government has told mayors they can close off piazzas and streets if overcrowding becomes an issue .
And , instead of orders , there are pleas : “ The situation is extremely serious , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ La7 .
“ I ask people to avoid needless movements , avoiding going out when it is not necessary.
” For a country that brought infections down to 200 a day during the summertime , recent case numbers are especially painful : between 15,000 and 21,000 a day .
In Spain , residents are frustrated by a whiplash-like approach to pandemic restrictions , and political infighting that ’ s confusing residents about who ’ s in charge .
“ You wake up on Monday to start the week and the measures are A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on Tuesday there are new measures in place , ” says Alfredo Ramos , a Madrid resident .
“ I see all of this with a lot of uncertainty.
” Much of the back-and-forth is triggered by a tug of war between national and regional governments .
Spain ’ s spring wave saw a top-down national approach , but as cases began rising again in the fall , regional governments began fighting for control , especially as health systems are overseen regionally .
In early October , the center-right government of Madrid – @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Spain ’ s case counts and deaths – challenged the national left-wing coalition in court over tightening controls .
It has also sparred over the use of a national “ state of emergency.
” This week , Spain ’ s national government announced a six-month state of emergency , which gives regional leaders the ability to impose measures to tackle the pandemic .
Curfews have also been imposed in all regions save the Canary Islands , through at least early November .
Still , like Italy , Spain still hasn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ while showing high virus numbers .
“ Strong polarization is affecting the decision-making , ” says Josep Lobera , a professor of political sociology at the Autonomous University of Madrid .
Just northeast in France , where cases are increasing significantly , Parisian Brendan Jannic is frustrated by a government that he says infantilizes its people and whose rules are unclear .
They are angry not because of restrictions , but because of “ how the government talks to us , ” says Mr. Jannic .
“ I just need them to tell @ @ @ @ @ @ @ authorities mandated mask-wearing only on certain streets in Paris in August , before declaring them mandatory in all public spaces .
The government has also talked down to its people by scolding them for being irresponsible , for misbehavior , or for not being “ disciplined enough , ” says Raul Magni-Berton , a political scientist at Sciences Po Grenoble .
“ The government has said it doesn ’ t want to be paternalistic .
But a government that isn ’ t paternalistic doesn ’ t need to say so , ” says @ @ @ @ @ @ @ critical to managing a pandemic , yet trust in government has been low under Emmanuel Macron .
“ If society reacts in a coordinated way , it ’ s definitely the best thing for a pandemic , ” says Mr. Magni-Berton .
The battle between Manchester and London In England , a British doctor working for the National Health Service plans to flout a travel ban to visit her family .
“ I ’ m 100 % considering going to Wales and breaking [ a travel ban between coronavirus hotspots ] , especially @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says the doctor , who asked not to be named for fear of losing her job .
“ I ’ ve already been without my family from January to August.
” Fatigue is heightened in the northwest of England , especially Manchester and Liverpool , where severe restrictions remained even through summer .
Two key moments have worn away public trust .
The first was a road trip by a Boris Johnson aide at the height of the first wave , undermining the government ’ s narrative about following rules .
Mr. Johnson @ @ @ @ @ @ @ turning point , as it has pitted regions and localities against each other as they lobby for financial assistance on a deal-by-deal basis .
Even mayors are seemingly fighting others for access to central government purse strings .
Manchester , the heart of Britain ’ s Industrial Revolution , feels particularly aggrieved .
Mayor Andy Burnham , who told the national government he wouldn ’ t lock down the city without financial assistance for the struggling hospitality sector , became a figurehead of resistance .
“ This is the most serious fallout since @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , professor of politics at the University of Liverpool , of the battle between local and national governments .
“ In the early days of lockdown , there was a rallying around the national government .
… [ Now ] the battle between Manchester and London has plugged into a long-standing skepticism that government is done by London and imposed on the rest of us.
” Overall , Britons are still mostly abiding by restrictions .
In England ’ s strictest tier , households are refrained from mixing , pubs can remain open @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are advised against – but not prohibited from – traveling in and out of their area .
Wales , Scotland , and Northern Ireland have imposed new , stricter rules and enforcement .
Though , there might be no one to reinforce the rules , says event planner Kate Tynan .
“ People in Manchester will ignore rules anyway and they ’ ll find ways around the new ban , ” says Ms. Tynan .
“ The checks … how pubs are sticking to guidelines for example , are very varied .
No @ @ @ @ @ @ @ room for error everywhere in the U.K. ” In Germany , health authorities once lauded for their rigorous test-and-contact-tracing efforts are pulling back .
The virus is surging , and they ’ re simply short on trained tracers , not to mention buildings to house the army of people needed .
“ We have been doing this for about seven months already , and the motivation is waning , ” says Mr. Frohnert , the press officer in northern Germany .
“ Many of our hotline workers are also asking to quit or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s fatigue , explains Mr. Frohnert .
Ahead of a long winter , many districts are now asking infected people to trace their own contacts .
Still , aside from a few tens of thousands of conspiracy theorists who have rallied at anti-restrictions protests , most Germans seem to accept the rules .
Annette Brinkman , a Dortmund travel agent who believes the beloved German tradition of Christmas markets should go on – “ think of the market vendors !
” – has shrugged off spring fears that kept her away from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ go three times a week , but I always wear my mask and I don ’ t touch her , ” she says .
“ My mom says , ‘ Child , please let me squeeze you , I don ’ t care if I die of corona.
’ But I always tell her ‘ No .
We have to follow the rules .
’ ”

“People calling hotlines are much more aggressive, and people are less accepting of measures such as why they can’t visit grandma in a nursing home,” says German press officer Tobias Frohnert, of efforts by his district of Herzogtum Lauenburg to test and trace a newly unwilling public. “People are angry.”
But the United Kingdom, Spain, France, Italy, and Germany are battling a new enemy alongside the virus: “coronafatigue.” Their publics are confused, apathetic, and angry. Across Europe, support for containment policies dropped from nearly 70% in spring to about 50% of respondents during summer, according to a June survey across seven European countries. That will make the months ahead, when many forecast an increase in cases, more difficult to manage.
Europe’s initial success at controlling COVID-19 may prove difficult to replicate as cases spike, because now governments face a new obstacle: a citizenry exhausted by restrictions and unwilling to put up with more.
Britain has logged more than 150,000 new cases in the last week, while France recently topped a daily record of 52,000 new infections. Governments are weighing reintroducing restrictions in response, in hopes of replicating successes from the spring.
Wedding photographer Emma Case remembers a sense of duty evoked by the United Kingdom’s spring lockdown.
The blanket ban on leaving homes felt draconian, says Ms. Case, a Liverpool resident whose income suddenly evaporated. But the country rallied in solidarity around touch points such as Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s getting sick and a 99-year-old war veteran walking his garden for charity.
It feels different this time, as coronavirus caseloads surge past spring highs across Europe. Hospitals are filling up again. “[We] are becoming tired. We’re in murky water,” says Ms. Case. “Perhaps that’s the natural psychological course, but the mountain to overcome mental fatigue is bigger than I first thought.”
Why We Wrote This Europe’s initial success at controlling COVID-19 may prove difficult to replicate as cases spike, because now governments face a new obstacle: a citizenry exhausted by restrictions and unwilling to put up with more.
The numbers are rising rapidly. Britain has logged more than 150,000 new cases in the last week, while France recently topped a daily record of 52,000 new infections. Governments are weighing reintroducing new restrictions in response, in hopes of replicating successes from the spring.
But the U.K., Spain, France, Italy, and Germany are battling a new enemy alongside the virus: “coronafatigue.” Their publics are confused, apathetic, and angry. Across Europe, support for containment policies dropped from nearly 70% in spring to about 50% of respondents during summer, according to a June survey across seven European countries. That will make the months ahead, when many forecast an increase in cases, more difficult to manage.
“People calling hotlines are much more aggressive, and people are less accepting of measures such as why they can’t visit grandma in a nursing home,” says German press officer Tobias Frohnert, of efforts by his district of Herzogtum Lauenburg to test and trace a newly unwilling public. “People are angry.”
In Italy, “back to square one”
Italy's early, devastating experience with COVID-19 had the Western world taking notes. But new restrictions have been met with weariness – and even civil unrest.
Following protests in Naples and Rome over the weekend, the Italian government announced a new decree Sunday shuttering all cinemas, theaters, gyms, and pools, and requiring bars and restaurants to close by 6 p.m. Curfews in some regions require people to be home by 11 p.m.
There was further unrest in Italy late on Monday. In Turin, protesters set garbage bins on fire and looted luxury outlets. And in Milan, Italy's financial hub, police fired tear gas as demonstrators gathered outside the offices of the regional government of Lombardy.
Amid predictions that gross domestic product would shrink by 10%, Italians are despondent. “It feels like all the sacrifices we made during the spring were for nothing,” says Claudia, who runs a hair salon in central Rome. “We’re back to square one.”
Fabio Sasso/LaPresse/AP View caption Hide caption People protest the government restriction measures to curb the spread of COVID-19 in Naples, Italy, Oct. 26, 2020. For at least the next month, people outdoors except for small children must now wear masks, gyms and movie theaters will be closed, and cafes and restaurants must shut down in early evenings.
Among the most compliant in Europe, Italians had been donning masks in public even during summertime. Still, the country’s prime minister felt he needed to recruit Italy’s most famous social influencer for a public service announcement.
Fashion blogger Chiara Ferragni and her rapper husband, Fedez, who together have 32 million followers on social media, said the call was “very unexpected.” But they were happy to help. “We can avoid [another lockdown] with a simple gesture – guys, wear a mask,” posted Fedez on Instagram.
So far, Italy’s new rules haven’t approached spring’s uniform, nationwide lockdown. Most schools remain open, though senior schools are doing most classes via distance learning. Regions and municipalities also have far greater autonomy this time around.
For example, the national government has told mayors they can close off piazzas and streets if overcrowding becomes an issue. And, instead of orders, there are pleas: “The situation is extremely serious,” Health Minister Roberto Speranza told television channel La7. “I ask people to avoid needless movements, avoiding going out when it is not necessary.”
For a country that brought infections down to 200 a day during the summertime, recent case numbers are especially painful: between 15,000 and 21,000 a day.
Uncertainty, infighting in Spain and France
In Spain, residents are frustrated by a whiplash-like approach to pandemic restrictions, and political infighting that’s confusing residents about who’s in charge.
“You wake up on Monday to start the week and the measures are A, B, C, and then on Tuesday there are new measures in place,” says Alfredo Ramos, a Madrid resident. “I see all of this with a lot of uncertainty.”
Much of the back-and-forth is triggered by a tug of war between national and regional governments. Spain’s spring wave saw a top-down national approach, but as cases began rising again in the fall, regional governments began fighting for control, especially as health systems are overseen regionally.
In early October, the center-right government of Madrid – a coronavirus epicenter with roughly a third of Spain’s case counts and deaths – challenged the national left-wing coalition in court over tightening controls. It has also sparred over the use of a national “state of emergency.”
This week, Spain’s national government announced a six-month state of emergency, which gives regional leaders the ability to impose measures to tackle the pandemic. Curfews have also been imposed in all regions save the Canary Islands, through at least early November.
Still, like Italy, Spain still hasn’t gone into a full lockdown, even while showing high virus numbers. “Strong polarization is affecting the decision-making,” says Josep Lobera, a professor of political sociology at the Autonomous University of Madrid.
Just northeast in France, where cases are increasing significantly, Parisian Brendan Jannic is frustrated by a government that he says infantilizes its people and whose rules are unclear. They are angry not because of restrictions, but because of “how the government talks to us,” says Mr. Jannic. “I just need them to tell me the rules.”
For example, authorities mandated mask-wearing only on certain streets in Paris in August, before declaring them mandatory in all public spaces. The government has also talked down to its people by scolding them for being irresponsible, for misbehavior, or for not being “disciplined enough,” says Raul Magni-Berton, a political scientist at Sciences Po Grenoble.
“The government has said it doesn’t want to be paternalistic. But a government that isn’t paternalistic doesn’t need to say so,” says Mr. Magni-Berton.
Buy-in from society is critical to managing a pandemic, yet trust in government has been low under Emmanuel Macron. “If society reacts in a coordinated way, it’s definitely the best thing for a pandemic,” says Mr. Magni-Berton.
The battle between Manchester and London
In England, a British doctor working for the National Health Service plans to flout a travel ban to visit her family. “I’m 100% considering going to Wales and breaking [a travel ban between coronavirus hotspots], especially if restrictions stay over Christmas,” says the doctor, who asked not to be named for fear of losing her job. “I’ve already been without my family from January to August.”
Fatigue is heightened in the northwest of England, especially Manchester and Liverpool, where severe restrictions remained even through summer.
Two key moments have worn away public trust. The first was a road trip by a Boris Johnson aide at the height of the first wave, undermining the government’s narrative about following rules. Mr. Johnson’s by-the-regions approach is the second turning point, as it has pitted regions and localities against each other as they lobby for financial assistance on a deal-by-deal basis. Even mayors are seemingly fighting others for access to central government purse strings.
Phil Noble/Reuters View caption Hide caption Cars drive past a sign about COVID-19 measures in Manchester, England, on Oct. 23, 2020. Manchester officials and the British government have been fighting over the decision to impose the strictest pandemic restrictions on the city.
Manchester, the heart of Britain’s Industrial Revolution, feels particularly aggrieved. Mayor Andy Burnham, who told the national government he wouldn’t lock down the city without financial assistance for the struggling hospitality sector, became a figurehead of resistance.
“This is the most serious fallout since the 1980s,” says Andrew Russell, professor of politics at the University of Liverpool, of the battle between local and national governments. “In the early days of lockdown, there was a rallying around the national government. … [Now] the battle between Manchester and London has plugged into a long-standing skepticism that government is done by London and imposed on the rest of us.”
Overall, Britons are still mostly abiding by restrictions. In England’s strictest tier, households are refrained from mixing, pubs can remain open if they serve food, and residents are advised against – but not prohibited from – traveling in and out of their area. Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland have imposed new, stricter rules and enforcement.
Though, there might be no one to reinforce the rules, says event planner Kate Tynan. “People in Manchester will ignore rules anyway and they’ll find ways around the new ban,” says Ms. Tynan. “The checks … how pubs are sticking to guidelines for example, are very varied. No one is checking. There’s room for error everywhere in the U.K.”
For Germany, “the motivation is waning”
In Germany, health authorities once lauded for their rigorous test-and-contact-tracing efforts are pulling back. The virus is surging, and they’re simply short on trained tracers, not to mention buildings to house the army of people needed.
“We have been doing this for about seven months already, and the motivation is waning,” says Mr. Frohnert, the press officer in northern Germany. “Many of our hotline workers are also asking to quit or to transfer to other departments.”
It’s fatigue, explains Mr. Frohnert. Ahead of a long winter, many districts are now asking infected people to trace their own contacts. Still, aside from a few tens of thousands of conspiracy theorists who have rallied at anti-restrictions protests, most Germans seem to accept the rules.
Annette Brinkman, a Dortmund travel agent who believes the beloved German tradition of Christmas markets should go on – “think of the market vendors!” – has shrugged off spring fears that kept her away from her beloved mother.
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“Now I go three times a week, but I always wear my mask and I don’t touch her,” she says. “My mom says, ‘Child, please let me squeeze you, I don’t care if I die of corona.’ But I always tell her ‘No. We have to follow the rules.’”
• Nick Squires contributed reporting from Rome.


csmonitor--2020-10-27--For those with disabilities, shift to remote work has opened doors (video)

As desk jobs went from in person to online during the COVID-19 pandemic , Kayle Hill ’ s prospects opened up as she took on a new telework position .
Her previous employer was resistant to providing remote work accommodations , even though Ms. Hill ’ s administrative work could easily be completed at home .
“ There ’ s often a sense that disabled people should just be grateful for what they have , ” she says .
“ There is always a sense that asking for something else makes you burdensome.
” Ms. Hill is among the 1 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Federal law requires businesses to provide “ reasonable accommodation , ” but many employers assume such measures – such as allowing remote work – would give disabled workers an unfair advantage , or be costly to implement .
As office work becomes virtual in 2020 , many disabled people are seeing an unprecedented level of accessibility in their employment .
“ We have seen entire corporations pivot to work from home in a matter of weeks , ” says Matthew Cortland , a disabled lawyer and policy analyst .
“ It really does @ @ @ @ @ @ @ remote work accommodation ] is an undue burden , when you have done it for everyone as soon as the abled needed it .
”

As desk jobs went from in person to online during the COVID-19 pandemic, Kayle Hill’s prospects opened up as she took on a new telework position. Her previous employer was resistant to providing remote work accommodations, even though Ms. Hill could perform her administrative job better from home. “There’s often a sense that disabled people should just be grateful for what they have,” says Ms. Hill, who is diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses and often needs to work while lying down. “There is always a sense that asking for something else makes you burdensome.”
Ms. Hill is among the 1 in 4 U.S. adults with disabilities, many of whom face barriers in traditional workplaces. Federal law requires businesses to provide “reasonable accommodation,” but many employers assume such measures – such as allowing remote work – would give disabled workers an unfair advantage, or be costly to implement. As office work becomes virtual in 2020, many disabled people are seeing an unprecedented level of accessibility in their employment.
“We have seen entire corporations pivot to work from home in a matter of weeks,” says Matthew Cortland, a disabled lawyer and policy analyst. “It really does give lie to the notion that [remote work accommodation] is an undue burden, when you have done it for everyone as soon as the abled needed it.”
This story is meant to be watched in video format, but we understand that is not an option for everybody. For those who are unable to watch or listen, we have provided a transcript of the video below.
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
In the opening scene, a young white woman lies in bed with two large pillows propping up her head. She types on her laptop. One sticker on the laptop reads: “disabled and proud.” Another reads: “ambulatory wheelchair users exist” and shows a cartoon figure getting up from a wheelchair and walking. The woman wears glasses, a striped sweater, and jeans. The sound of her typing mixes with the video’s marimba soundtrack, which evokes a sense of curiosity. Then a female voice fades in, as the video cuts to an interview with the woman. She gives the interview lying in the same bed. Text near the bottom of the screen indicates her name as Kayle Hill, and her job title as "Community outreach associate at Public Allies."
Kayle Hill: For the longest time, ableism has told me that I can't hold a job. And if I can't do that, then I'm not “good.” But when COVID happened, everybody started adjusting to remote work, and my prospects opened up.
The video cuts to a scene of Kayle getting ready to work in her bedroom. She puts a large jug of water on the bedside table, next to numerous pill bottles. Then she arranges the pillows. As she works lying down, a close-up shows her right hand controlling the mouse and her left hand resting on her stomach. The voice of Jingnan Peng, the video's narrator and producer, fades in.
Jingnan Peng: Kayle Hill has just started her first work-from-home job with a social service organization in Connecticut.
Kayle: It's especially draining for me to sit up. I’m able to do my job better from home.
Video cuts to Kayle working on her laptop at the dining table in her living room. She sits with her back against a cushion-like back support fastened to her chair. Jing's narration fades in.
Jing: Kayle is diagnosed with arthritis and other chronic conditions. For her and millions of other disabled Americans, COVID-19 is having an unexpected and profound impact.
The video cuts to a four-way split screen, showing Kayle and three other disabled people interviewed for this story: an Asian American woman, a white woman, a white man.
The video then shows shots of the Asian woman working in her home office. She sits in a power wheelchair, facing three monitor screens on her desk. The camera pushes toward her and circles around her, conveying a sense of excitement. A female voice fades in as the video cuts to an interview with the woman. She wears a black shirt with a colorful Google logo printed across the chest. The first “o” in "Google" is replaced by a symbol of an eye, and the second “o” is replaced by the symbol of an ear. The two symbols represent blind and deaf people. Text near the bottom of the screen indicates her name as Dianna Hu, and her title as "Programmer at Google and disability advocate."
Dianna Hu: The ability to work from home, that's been an accessibility accommodation that the disability community has been asking for for a long time. And for a long time, the answer has been: "No.”
The video cuts to an interview with the white man from the four-way split screen. The interview clip, apparently from a recorded video call, plays on a laptop placed on a grey sofa – a setup created by the video's producer. A white face mask and a bottle of hand sanitizer stand next to the laptop. Text near the bottom of the screen indicates the man’s name as Matthew Cortland, and his title as "Lawyer and policy analyst."
Matthew Cortland: Disabled folks in this country have been told for decades that: “The core of this job requires that you have to be in this particular office, these particular days.” And that turned out to be a lie.
A new soundtrack starts, evoking a sense of intrigue, as the next section of the story begins. We see Kayle lying on the sofa in her living room and typing on her laptop, which rests on her thighs. Her small Shih Tzu dog, Oreo, wanders around the sofa. An audio clip from Kayle's interview fades in.
Kayle: Going to the office for nine hours a day was not good for my health.
Jing: About one in four US adults is disabled, and many need remote work in order to do their job. The commute to work may already be inaccessible or overtaxing. The office space may lack accessible paths and bathrooms. And the work environment can cause physical and mental distress for people with a variety of disabilities.
As Jing lists the reasons for remote work, the video shows cartoon illustrations of corresponding scenarios. The three illustrations, drawn on paper with a black highlighter by the video's producer, are placed on a black desk.
The first image depicts two separate scenarios of inaccessible or overtaxing commute. On the left of the page, a figure in a wheelchair moves toward a bus. A question mark between the figure and the bus suggests that the vehicle might be inaccessible. On the right, a figure climbs up a long flight of stairs.
The second image depicts potentially inaccessible elements in the layout of an office. Two figures, one using a cane and the other a wheelchair, are positioned at one end of a u-shaped corridor. The width of the corridor is indicated by arrows, and a question mark between the arrows suggests the space might not be wide enough to meet accessibility standards. Further down the corridor, the path is partially blocked by a potted plant. The width of the remaining space is also marked with arrows and a question mark. At the other end of the corridor, a door opens to a bathroom. The open space inside the bathroom and the length of the grab bar next to the toilet seat are too marked with arrows and question marks.
The third image depicts various elements of the workplace that could cause distress: two colleagues talking loudly, a desk phone and a mobile phone ringing, an overhead light and a desk light, and a chair with a hard back.
The video then cuts back to Kayle working on her sofa. We see close-ups of her elbows resting on the couch, and her neck resting against a large pillow.
Jing: But before the pandemic, remote work accommodations were often met with resistance. That’s what happened to Kayle in her last job, an administrative position at a daycare center.
The video cuts to Kayle working at her desk in her study, sitting on a black wheelchair. Her dog Oreo wanders in the room. An audio clip from Kayle's interview fades in.
Kayle: I would always get a promise, but then nothing happened. It was like every day there was another reason why we had to push it off another day. I was getting sick a lot. It also just ruins your self-esteem not being able to perform your job at the level that you know you should be.
Jing: The Americans with Disabilities Act says an employer has to provide disabled employees “reasonable accommodation” – unless accommodation requests are determined to be unreasonable, such as causing “undue hardship” for the business.
As Jing explains the law, the video shows related sections from the Americans with Disabilities Act, printed out and placed on a black desk. A hand uses a yellow sharpie to highlight the phrase “reasonable accommodation,” as well as two examples of it: “job restructuring” and “modified work schedules.” Then the hand highlights the general definition of undue hardship: “an action requiring significant difficulty and expense.”
The video cuts back to Kayle working in her study. In the foreground of the shot, a black book with “Disability Rights” printed on the spine protrudes from a row of books on her bookshelf.
Jing: Kayle knew her rights, but something stopped her from bringing it up.
Kayle: There's often a sense that disabled people should sort of just be grateful for what they have. My boss was great at letting me go to doctor appointments. There is always a sense that asking for something else makes you burdensome.
The video cuts to an interview with the white woman from in the four-way split screen near the piece’s beginning. The interview clip, apparently from a recorded video call, plays on a laptop placed on a white bed, with a window in the background. A blue microphone stands next to the laptop and points towards it. Text near the bottom of the screen indicates the woman’s name as Rebecca Cokley, and her title as "Director of disability at Center for American Progress."
Rebecca Cokley: A lot of times employers have this perception that hiring and employing disabled people is nothing but unending bills and unending expense. There’s still a stigma that disability rights are “extra.”
The video cuts to an interview with Matthew Cortland, lawyer and policy analyst, in the same setup used to show his first interview clip.
Matthew: We have seen entire corporations pivot to work from home in a matter of weeks. It really does give lie to the notion that, "That's just unreasonable. It's an undue burden. We can't do it for anyone," when you have in fact, done it for everyone as soon as the abled needed it. And I would expect, going forward, employees would be able to make the legal argument in court.
The video cuts back to Kayle working in her bed, with her dog Oreo bedside her. Kayle scratches Oreo's stomach, and Oreo snuggles next to her.
Jing: Kayle eventually left her previous job when a slight pay raise disqualified her from affordable health care. And then COVID-19 hit.
Kayle: A lot of people who wished in the past that they could work from home, they’re now able to do that without even technically getting that accommodation.
Video cuts to Dianna Hu, the programmer at Google, typing code in her home office. She sits in a power wheelchair and wears a blue mask. Small and colorful paper umbrellas hang from the ceiling. On the door to her office hangs a small decorative gourd with a traditional Chinese knot symbolizing luck and prosperity, tied in red string.
The video cuts to a scene of Dianna tilting the back of her wheelchair backwards until it is almost horizontal. She reclines for a while to alleviate the numbness and fatigue caused by sitting up. She explains to the camera: “Back in the office I wouldn’t have done this very much. I get a little bit self conscious. It’s a good physical break, and a good mental break too.” The video then cuts to an interview with Dianna.
Dianna: I can get more stuff done now than I could before. And that's because I'm in the most perfect environment for me.
The video cuts back to Dianna working, typing rapidly as the camera circles her work station. A new, energetic marimba soundtrack fades in.
Jing: Dianna Hu helps Google handle incoming web traffic. She’s high risk to COVID-19 according to doctors, and her job went remote during the pandemic. Dianna’s apartment is customized to provide maximum accessibility.
The video shows various shots of accessibility features in Dianna’s apartment. An arrow points to each accessibility feature, and text on screen names the object indicated. The first shot shows a blue wrist rest connected to Dianna's keyboard that supports her wrists as she types. The second shot shows the height booster for her table: small, square pieces of wood placed under each foot, raising the table to the right height for Dianna in her wheelchair. The last shot shows her cup resting on a cylindrical height booster filled with marbles. This allows her drinking straw to reach just the right height. Dianna takes a drink and relishes.
Jing: Back in her office, she was still sometimes left at the mercy of passers-by when she couldn’t open a door on her way to a meeting, or couldn’t reach the control panel in a video conference room.
The video cuts to Dianna having a remote video conference with a male colleague. He remarks: “You’re in a different location.” “I am. The ultra awesome home environment,” she replies. An audio clip from Dianna's interview fades in.
Dianna: I don’t have these physical barriers in the way. I'm able to attend more meetings as a result.
The video cuts to an interview with Rebecca Cokley, Director of disability at Center for American Progress, in the same setup used to show her first interview clip.
Rebecca: There is a real suspicion that people with disabilities, if given accommodation such as telework, will actually not be working. And yet we know that people actually put in more work.
The video cuts to two news headlines on the productivity of remote workers. Both headlines are shown on the screen of a laptop placed on a desk. One headline, from Computer Business Review, reads: “77% of workers say remote working boosts productivity.” The other headline, from Inc, reads: “A 2-Year Stanford Study Shows the Astonishing Productivity Boost of Working From Home.”
Jing: Which is shown by various studies.
A new, pensive soundtrack fades in. The video shows various shots of high rise buildings in a financial district. An audio clip from Dianna's interview fades in.
Dianna: COVID is closing down lots of buildings. I think a lot of people are understanding what it means for structures to not be accessible, and for the need to have adaptation and have accommodations in place.
Jing: In fact, remote work flexibility can have wide benefits beyond the disability sphere, aside from being an essential accommodation.
To illustrate this point, the video cuts to a New York Times article on remote work, shown on a laptop placed on a desk. The title of the article reads: “What if you don’t want to go back to the office?” A hand scrolls through the page, showing various bullet points on the benefit of telework: less time on the road, money saved, more job satisfaction, and less sickness.
The video then cuts to Kayle, petting her dog Oreo in bed.
Jing: And while remote work removes various employment barriers, it’s important to recognize that many disabled people still have to limit their options, in order to maintain essential healthcare and benefits.
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The video cuts back to the interview with Dianna.
Dianna: Over one billion people across the world have some form of disability. So I hope that, as society returns to a new normal at some point, that new normal allows for work from home.
The video ends. The logo of The Christian Science Monitor appears, followed by the end credits. End credits: reported by Jingnan Peng and Laura Kiesel; shot and produced by Jingnan Peng; color correction by Vincent Lomascolo; production supervised by Samantha Laine Perfas; special thanks to Boston Center for Independent Living, National Telecommuting Institute, Institute for Human Centered Design, Patricia Barbeau, Kathy Flaherty, Sandy Ho, Sernia Richardson.