truthout--2020-09-06--Incarcerated People Are Challenging Deadly Pandemic Conditions in Prisons

On April 10 , Esther Arias made a video call to her son and asked him to stream the call on Facebook Live .
Arias wanted the larger public to know about how the federal prison in Danbury , Connecticut , was handling COVID .
One woman , she said , had tested positive three times — but remained in the housing unit .
Four other women had been placed in quarantine , then onto her housing unit , she said .
In March , Attorney General William Barr had ordered the Bureau of Prisons , which operates the federal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ release of prisoners classified as low-risk to home confinement .
But , Arias told her son , Danbury officials were “ only picking the inmates that already have a [ release ] date.
” That left herself and many other women , all of whom had already been classified as low-risk for recidivism , stuck in crowded dorms desperately hoping to avoid contracting COVID .
They began asking their families to call Barr ’ s office and demand their loved ones ’ release .
Two days later , Arias called her son again @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” she pleaded to him and friends on Facebook .
She reiterated that the woman who had tested positive three times remained on the housing unit , which she described as “ a warehouse with cubicles.
” The dormitories are divided into cubicles with two bunk beds approximately four feet apart .
The dividing wall often does not reach the ceiling , resulting in women on the top bunk sleeping next to the woman on the top bunk in the adjoining cubicle .
Each dorm room has 160 to 170 beds and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ exposed to the virus , ” Arias stated in the livestream , urging viewers to contact Barr ’ s office and demand more releases to prevent the spread of COVID .
Two weeks later , Arias made a 43-second video call to announce that her bunkmate had tested positive and been hospitalized .
“ Right now , they ’ re taking about 30-something people to the kitchen because there ’ s no place to quarantine , ” she said .
“ Please , whoever can help us … help us , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ told Truthout , her bunkmate had been extremely sick .
Arias and others repeatedly asked the lieutenant on duty to call an ambulance .
When the lieutenant refused , Marius Mason , a 58-year-old trans man on the unit , called his attorney to alert her that a woman was being refused medical help .
In response , the lieutenant threatened him with a disciplinary ticket for disclosing information about another incarcerated person .
( Ultimately , Mason did not receive a ticket , which could have incurred penalties such as solitary confinement @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such as phone time and social contact with others in the prison . )
By then , at least 44 incarcerated people and 39 staff members at Danbury had tested positive , at least two incarcerated women had been hospitalized , and one person had died .
The incidence rate exceeded 2.8 percent of the prison ’ s population and , at the time , was “ among the highest concentrations of positive tests per capita ” of any U.S. federal prison , charged a lawsuit filed on behalf of people incarcerated at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and women in separate facilities . )
That afternoon , Arias and 10 other women tested positive .
The visiting room became their makeshift quarantine unit for the next two weeks .
There are now over 115,000 confirmed cases of COVID in state and federal prisons nationwide .
This figure does not include local jails , immigrant detention or youth jails/prisons .
The federal prison system has had 13,139 ( or 849 per 100,000 people ) .
It has had 125 deaths from COVID , the third-highest number of prison deaths ( behind @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Florida ) .
In Danbury , Arias and others were individually and collectively resisting the prison ’ s indifference to their safety .
Arias not only asked her son to post her video calls on Facebook to garner more attention , but encouraged others to ask their families to contact the media about what was happening inside .
Those in quarantine had no access to the phone or CorrLinks , the federal prison ’ s e-messaging service ; they had to write pen-and-paper letters to keep their families informed .
That same @ @ @ @ @ @ @ filed a class-action lawsuit against Danbury and the Bureau of Prisons , demanding the immediate release of people ages 50 and older and/or who have serious underlying medical conditions .
For those remaining in the prison , the suit demands that prison officials “ provide medically adequate social distancing and health care and sanitation.
” On May 18 , Arias tested negative for COVID .
Instead of being returned to her housing unit , she was placed in the Special Housing Unit , a solitary confinement unit .
“ They said I was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ attention , ” she recalled .
She remained isolated for over three weeks until her release from prison .
People incarcerated at Danbury are not the only ones organizing to challenge conditions during the pandemic .
As Truthout previously reported , the Indiana Women ’ s Prison ( IWP ) began a policy of locking women into their cells , with no running water , toilet or emergency call button , for lengthy periods of time .
The doors can only be opened manually by the solo officer on duty , raising concerns @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if a fire or other emergency breaks out .
As the summer temperatures rose , the inability to keep doors open — to allow air to circulate or to enable women access to running water — exacerbated the heat and humidity inside the cells , many of which housed up to four women on two bunk beds .
Women inside filed grievances or complaints en masse about the new policy .
“ The grievance box is in the chow hall , ” explained Michelle Daniel , who was incarcerated for 20 years at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ remains in contact with friends she left behind .
One of those friends told her that she frequently saw women in the dining hall directing other women to the grievance box over several days .
In Indiana , grievances first go to the shift supervisor .
If the grievance is not resolved , it then goes to the superintendent ’ s office .
If it still remains unresolved , it is then sent to the Indiana Department of Correction ’ s central office .
But , says Daniel , women are often pressured @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time she filed a grievance , she would be called into the shift supervisor ’ s office .
There , she would meet not only the shift supervisor , but a team of other correctional officers who pressed her to sign off , or mark as resolved , her grievance .
Doing so would prevent it from going to the superintendent or central office .
The women also contacted their families , friends and advocates , including Daniel and Kelsey Kauffman , who had previously run the prison ’ s college education program @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legislators who demanded that the practice halt immediately .
This collective resistance is atypical inside that prison .
“ Women at IWP have a tendency to just do their time , ” reflected Daniel .
Under the previous superintendent , Dana Blank , she said , “ you didn ’ t have to go off and protest or [ collectively ] grieve an issue .
You ’ d put in a blue slip and she would come to your housing unit and talk to you about your concerns.
” Blank retired in 2006 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who had embraced her more humane approach to the women in custody .
Meanwhile , women who had entered prison in their twenties had grown older — and less willing to passively put up with policy changes that adversely impacted them .
“ People are growing into their own leadership , ” Daniel said .
By July 23 , the Indiana Department of Correction reversed its closed-door policy .
“ All doors in the cottages must remain open due to the extreme heat we are experiencing , ” stated a memo issued that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” In addition , women are allowed outside of their cells for limited hours in the day room and one hour in the recreation yard .
But , said Daniel , the doors must remain open all the time .
If a woman closes her door to change clothes or temporarily block the noise from others , she risks getting a write-up , or a disciplinary ticket for breaking a prison rule .
Some of the women who filed collective grievances have experienced individual retaliation , including being issued disciplinary tickets for not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ chow hall , being removed from prison jobs and having their cells repeatedly shaken down — a term for a cell search in which belongings are tossed and trampled .
“ They ’ re punishing them for winning , ” stated Daniel .
People locked in other systems , including immigrant detention , often use letters to alert the outside public and press for changes .
Women at the Eloy Detention Center , a privately-run immigrant prison in Arizona which reported 249 COVID cases as of August 23 , wrote dozens of letters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ family members describing the deplorable conditions — and their fears of coronavirus spread .
They described lockdowns , lack of medical attention and hot food , staff reusing personal protective equipment , and retaliation against those who spoke out .
In Georgia , Concerns About Crowding , Coronavirus and Other Conditions Spark a Rebellion On August 1 , people incarcerated at Georgia ’ s Ware State Prison rioted for two hours , taking several staff hostage , setting fires and smashing windows .
Some used smuggled cell phones to document the uprising , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the time prison staff retook the prison , five people — two staff members and three incarcerated people — had been injured .
The following day , the Georgia Department of Corrections stated that the causes of the disturbances were “ unknown , ” but both incarcerated people and staff have told various media that chronic staffing shortages , coupled with lack of medical care , overcrowding and lack of working sinks , flushing toilets and edible food , caused the riot .
Two weeks before the uprising , a young man had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s dormitories .
The killing , on top of the other conditions that the men had long endured , lit the powder keg .
“ I think it was the prison not responding to the coronavirus — not keeping the place clean or disinfecting , ” Kathy , whose son is incarcerated at Ware , told Truthout .
( Kathy asked that only her first name be used to prevent reprisals against her son . )
“ People are dying and they aren ’ t making any changes.
” Shortly after being @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had died from COVID , her son called and told her that he wasn ’ t feeling well .
But it was only after Kathy and other family members repeatedly called the prison that he was tested for COVID .
His test came back negative , but he ’ s unsure whether others in his dorm had also been tested .
In the aftermath , family members have repeatedly charged that incarcerated people are not being given proper food or hygiene and remain locked down in their cells .
“ They ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cells 24-7 , ” said one woman whose husband is incarcerated at Ware .
As of July 2020 , Ware held 1,448 people .
Family members described conditions as cramped and leaving their loved ones unable to social distance .
As of August 23 , four people have died from COVID and another 26 incarcerated people and 56 staff members have tested positive .
Dwight Futch spent five years in Georgia ’ s prison system .
Futch , who had previously worked as a correctional officer in New York City and Wareham , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he witnessed from Georgia prison staff and began documenting them .
When he was released , he started Parole Reform , a nonprofit advocating for parole reform but also changes to the prison system itself .
Kathy ’ s son is in an open dorm with little ability to socially distance from the other men .
Since COVID hit , they ’ ve been confined to their dormitory , not allowed onto the yard and issued only one mask .
She noted that Ware does not provide soap or other personal hygiene items @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to purchase their personal items , ” she said , adding that she and her family continually put money on her son ’ s prison account so that he can buy soap and other necessities .
But , she continued , “ they don ’ t all have family to take care of them , which is why you have guys attacking and taking stuff from others.
” Post-riot , the men continue to be confined to their dorms or cells .
Prison staff have told them that the kitchen was damaged during @ @ @ @ @ @ @ men were given bologna sandwiches rather than hot meals twice a day .
Staffing shortages have meant that these meals are sometimes delivered hours late — Futch told Truthout that he received numerous messages from men at Ware stating that they are not given lunch until 8 pm .
For the past month , they have been unable to access the prison commissary to buy food to tide them over or cleaning supplies to disinfect their living areas .
Staffing shortages have left housing units without a supervising officer during certain shifts , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from a man at Ware who noted , “ If a gang fight were to break out or someone were to get sick , we ’ d be really screwed.
” Packages have also been delayed .
In mid-July , several weeks before the uprising , Kathy ordered her son $ 100 worth of food from Union Supply , a private company that contracts with the prison to provide food packages .
The company ’ s website warns that , because of COVID , orders may take an additional 72 hours ; one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says her son has still not received his package .
“ He ’ s in depressed mode , ” she said .
She tries to encourage him that things will change , but she ’ s not so sure .
Other family members and advocates know that change won ’ t happen unless they press .
“ A lot of mothers call me and ask , ‘ When are we going to do something about Ware ?
’ ” Futch said .
He and Parole Reform have protested outside the governor ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from Atlanta to Ware , approximately 235 miles and four hours south .
They are demanding that the prison provide nutritious meals , reopen the prison commissary , and allow visits to begin again as well as a complete investigation into the causes of the uprising and ways to prevent another one from occurring .
The date has yet to be determined .

On April 10, Esther Arias made a video call to her son and asked him to stream the call on Facebook Live.
Arias wanted the larger public to know about how the federal prison in Danbury, Connecticut, was handling COVID. One woman, she said, had tested positive three times — but remained in the housing unit. Four other women had been placed in quarantine, then onto her housing unit, she said.
In March, Attorney General William Barr had ordered the Bureau of Prisons, which operates the federal prison system, to expand the early release of prisoners classified as low-risk to home confinement. But, Arias told her son, Danbury officials were “only picking the inmates that already have a [release] date.” That left herself and many other women, all of whom had already been classified as low-risk for recidivism, stuck in crowded dorms desperately hoping to avoid contracting COVID. They began asking their families to call Barr’s office and demand their loved ones’ release.
Two days later, Arias called her son again. “We really need your help,” she pleaded to him and friends on Facebook. She reiterated that the woman who had tested positive three times remained on the housing unit, which she described as “a warehouse with cubicles.” The dormitories are divided into cubicles with two bunk beds approximately four feet apart. The dividing wall often does not reach the ceiling, resulting in women on the top bunk sleeping next to the woman on the top bunk in the adjoining cubicle. Each dorm room has 160 to 170 beds and three bathrooms.
“We are being exposed to the virus,” Arias stated in the livestream, urging viewers to contact Barr’s office and demand more releases to prevent the spread of COVID.
Two weeks later, Arias made a 43-second video call to announce that her bunkmate had tested positive and been hospitalized. “Right now, they’re taking about 30-something people to the kitchen because there’s no place to quarantine,” she said. “Please, whoever can help us … help us,” she pleaded.
That day, Arias later told Truthout, her bunkmate had been extremely sick. Arias and others repeatedly asked the lieutenant on duty to call an ambulance. When the lieutenant refused, Marius Mason, a 58-year-old trans man on the unit, called his attorney to alert her that a woman was being refused medical help. In response, the lieutenant threatened him with a disciplinary ticket for disclosing information about another incarcerated person. (Ultimately, Mason did not receive a ticket, which could have incurred penalties such as solitary confinement and a loss of “privileges” such as phone time and social contact with others in the prison.)
By then, at least 44 incarcerated people and 39 staff members at Danbury had tested positive, at least two incarcerated women had been hospitalized, and one person had died. The incidence rate exceeded 2.8 percent of the prison’s population and, at the time, was “among the highest concentrations of positive tests per capita” of any U.S. federal prison, charged a lawsuit filed on behalf of people incarcerated at Danbury. (Danbury incarcerates both men and women in separate facilities.)
That afternoon, Arias and 10 other women tested positive. The visiting room became their makeshift quarantine unit for the next two weeks.
There are now over 115,000 confirmed cases of COVID in state and federal prisons nationwide. This figure does not include local jails, immigrant detention or youth jails/prisons. The federal prison system has had 13,139 (or 849 per 100,000 people). It has had 125 deaths from COVID, the third-highest number of prison deaths (behind Texas, which remains the highest, and Florida).
In Danbury, Arias and others were individually and collectively resisting the prison’s indifference to their safety. Arias not only asked her son to post her video calls on Facebook to garner more attention, but encouraged others to ask their families to contact the media about what was happening inside. Those in quarantine had no access to the phone or CorrLinks, the federal prison’s e-messaging service; they had to write pen-and-paper letters to keep their families informed.
That same month, several incarcerated men and women filed a class-action lawsuit against Danbury and the Bureau of Prisons, demanding the immediate release of people ages 50 and older and/or who have serious underlying medical conditions. For those remaining in the prison, the suit demands that prison officials “provide medically adequate social distancing and health care and sanitation.”
On May 18, Arias tested negative for COVID. Instead of being returned to her housing unit, she was placed in the Special Housing Unit, a solitary confinement unit. “They said I was the reason they were getting so much attention,” she recalled. She remained isolated for over three weeks until her release from prison.
At Indiana Women’s Prison, Collective Organizing Literally Opened Doors
People incarcerated at Danbury are not the only ones organizing to challenge conditions during the pandemic. As Truthout previously reported, the Indiana Women’s Prison (IWP) began a policy of locking women into their cells, with no running water, toilet or emergency call button, for lengthy periods of time. The doors can only be opened manually by the solo officer on duty, raising concerns among incarcerated women, advocates and lawmakers if a fire or other emergency breaks out. As the summer temperatures rose, the inability to keep doors open — to allow air to circulate or to enable women access to running water — exacerbated the heat and humidity inside the cells, many of which housed up to four women on two bunk beds.
Women inside filed grievances or complaints en masse about the new policy. “The grievance box is in the chow hall,” explained Michelle Daniel, who was incarcerated for 20 years at the Indiana Women’s Prison and remains in contact with friends she left behind. One of those friends told her that she frequently saw women in the dining hall directing other women to the grievance box over several days.
In Indiana, grievances first go to the shift supervisor. If the grievance is not resolved, it then goes to the superintendent’s office. If it still remains unresolved, it is then sent to the Indiana Department of Correction’s central office. But, says Daniel, women are often pressured not to pursue their grievances. Every time she filed a grievance, she would be called into the shift supervisor’s office. There, she would meet not only the shift supervisor, but a team of other correctional officers who pressed her to sign off, or mark as resolved, her grievance. Doing so would prevent it from going to the superintendent or central office.
The women also contacted their families, friends and advocates, including Daniel and Kelsey Kauffman, who had previously run the prison’s college education program. They, in turn, contacted legislators who demanded that the practice halt immediately.
This collective resistance is atypical inside that prison. “Women at IWP have a tendency to just do their time,” reflected Daniel. Under the previous superintendent, Dana Blank, she said, “you didn’t have to go off and protest or [collectively] grieve an issue. You’d put in a blue slip and she would come to your housing unit and talk to you about your concerns.” Blank retired in 2006. So did many of the officers who had embraced her more humane approach to the women in custody. Meanwhile, women who had entered prison in their twenties had grown older — and less willing to passively put up with policy changes that adversely impacted them. “People are growing into their own leadership,” Daniel said.
By July 23, the Indiana Department of Correction reversed its closed-door policy. “All doors in the cottages must remain open due to the extreme heat we are experiencing,” stated a memo issued that day. “It is not optional.” In addition, women are allowed outside of their cells for limited hours in the day room and one hour in the recreation yard.
But, said Daniel, the doors must remain open all the time. If a woman closes her door to change clothes or temporarily block the noise from others, she risks getting a write-up, or a disciplinary ticket for breaking a prison rule. Some of the women who filed collective grievances have experienced individual retaliation, including being issued disciplinary tickets for not wearing masks while eating meals in the chow hall, being removed from prison jobs and having their cells repeatedly shaken down — a term for a cell search in which belongings are tossed and trampled. “They’re punishing them for winning,” stated Daniel.
People locked in other systems, including immigrant detention, often use letters to alert the outside public and press for changes. Women at the Eloy Detention Center, a privately-run immigrant prison in Arizona which reported 249 COVID cases as of August 23, wrote dozens of letters to clergy, attorneys, volunteers and family members describing the deplorable conditions — and their fears of coronavirus spread. They described lockdowns, lack of medical attention and hot food, staff reusing personal protective equipment, and retaliation against those who spoke out.
In Georgia, Concerns About Crowding, Coronavirus and Other Conditions Spark a Rebellion
On August 1, people incarcerated at Georgia’s Ware State Prison rioted for two hours, taking several staff hostage, setting fires and smashing windows. Some used smuggled cell phones to document the uprising, posting videos on social media. By the time prison staff retook the prison, five people — two staff members and three incarcerated people — had been injured.
The following day, the Georgia Department of Corrections stated that the causes of the disturbances were “unknown,” but both incarcerated people and staff have told various media that chronic staffing shortages, coupled with lack of medical care, overcrowding and lack of working sinks, flushing toilets and edible food, caused the riot.
Two weeks before the uprising, a young man had been killed by another man in Ware’s dormitories. The killing, on top of the other conditions that the men had long endured, lit the powder keg.
“I think it was the prison not responding to the coronavirus — not keeping the place clean or disinfecting,” Kathy, whose son is incarcerated at Ware, told Truthout. (Kathy asked that only her first name be used to prevent reprisals against her son.) “People are dying and they aren’t making any changes.”
Shortly after being placed in a dorm where a man had died from COVID, her son called and told her that he wasn’t feeling well. But it was only after Kathy and other family members repeatedly called the prison that he was tested for COVID. His test came back negative, but he’s unsure whether others in his dorm had also been tested.
In the aftermath, family members have repeatedly charged that incarcerated people are not being given proper food or hygiene and remain locked down in their cells. “They’re not doing anything but sitting in their cells 24-7,” said one woman whose husband is incarcerated at Ware.
As of July 2020, Ware held 1,448 people. Family members described conditions as cramped and leaving their loved ones unable to social distance. As of August 23, four people have died from COVID and another 26 incarcerated people and 56 staff members have tested positive.
Dwight Futch spent five years in Georgia’s prison system. Futch, who had previously worked as a correctional officer in New York City and Wareham, Virginia, was appalled at the abuses he witnessed from Georgia prison staff and began documenting them. When he was released, he started Parole Reform, a nonprofit advocating for parole reform but also changes to the prison system itself.
Kathy’s son is in an open dorm with little ability to socially distance from the other men. Since COVID hit, they’ve been confined to their dormitory, not allowed onto the yard and issued only one mask. She noted that Ware does not provide soap or other personal hygiene items to the men. “They have to purchase their personal items,” she said, adding that she and her family continually put money on her son’s prison account so that he can buy soap and other necessities. But, she continued, “they don’t all have family to take care of them, which is why you have guys attacking and taking stuff from others.”
Post-riot, the men continue to be confined to their dorms or cells. Prison staff have told them that the kitchen was damaged during the rebellion; for weeks, the men were given bologna sandwiches rather than hot meals twice a day.
Staffing shortages have meant that these meals are sometimes delivered hours late — Futch told Truthout that he received numerous messages from men at Ware stating that they are not given lunch until 8 pm. For the past month, they have been unable to access the prison commissary to buy food to tide them over or cleaning supplies to disinfect their living areas.
Staffing shortages have left housing units without a supervising officer during certain shifts, said Futch. He read a message from a man at Ware who noted, “If a gang fight were to break out or someone were to get sick, we’d be really screwed.”
Packages have also been delayed. In mid-July, several weeks before the uprising, Kathy ordered her son $100 worth of food from Union Supply, a private company that contracts with the prison to provide food packages. The company’s website warns that, because of COVID, orders may take an additional 72 hours; one month after placing her order, Kathy says her son has still not received his package. “He’s in depressed mode,” she said. She tries to encourage him that things will change, but she’s not so sure.
Other family members and advocates know that change won’t happen unless they press. “A lot of mothers call me and ask, ‘When are we going to do something about Ware?’” Futch said. He and Parole Reform have protested outside the governor’s mansion and are planning a car caravan from Atlanta to Ware, approximately 235 miles and four hours south. They are demanding that the prison provide nutritious meals, reopen the prison commissary, and allow visits to begin again as well as a complete investigation into the causes of the uprising and ways to prevent another one from occurring. The date has yet to be determined.
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truthout--2020-09-07--Remote Learning Makes Punishment Easier Than Connection

Think of your favorite teacher .
Whenever I ask people to do this , they usually tell me about a teacher who saw them : the one who took them aside and encouraged them to pursue art or computer science , who helped counsel them through a personal issue , who attended their Quinceañera — who , ultimately , just cared .
By connecting with us in meaningful ways , these teachers not only earned a permanent place in our memories , they also engaged , challenged , and inspired us .
Today , our nation ’ s 56.6 million @ @ @ @ @ @ @ teachers like this , to help shepherd them through the pandemic and into a better future .
But even in the best of times , school structures are more conducive to punitive discipline than meaningful teacher-student relationships , especially in our least-resourced schools .
Today , with the challenges of virtual learning and the urgent messaging around “ COVID slide ” – the learning loss students may have suffered while they were out of school – relationships in schools are under further threat , just when students need them most .
Across the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strain on families and children , many of whom continue to suffer from food insecurity , job loss , or the death of loved ones to COVID-19 .
So as kids begin school this year , they require connection , understanding , and nurturance from their teachers .
While positive relationships with significant adult figures like teachers help children cope with trauma , such relationships also facilitate better learning .
When students have meaningful relationships with their teachers , they are more likely to engage in class , more likely to feel like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more likely to grow and achieve academically and personally .
This is because learning is profoundly social .
Although school should be a place to nurture social connections , especially between teachers and students , common policies and structures often undermine this .
Budget cuts keep increasing class sizes , which makes it hard for teachers to see and know every student .
The prevailing emphasis on standardized test scores often leads schools to prioritize control and punishment to keep students on task , instead of supporting their social and emotional development .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ combat “ COVID slide , ” which will lead to more focus on test scores and control , particularly in schools serving students of color and those from low income backgrounds .
And in many places , this schooling will happen remotely , eliminating most of the casual classroom interactions that bolster meaningful connections .
Disciplinary actions may become the only individual interactions that some students have with their teachers , but better resourced schools with less test score pressure ( most of which serve a predominantly white population ) will have an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I spent two years studying how teacher education programs and schools approached teacher-student relationship development , I discovered two very different approaches .
Only one of the models promoted truly meaningful relationships .
It was a program anchored in a progressive independent school that I called Xanadu because it was far removed from public school realities like standardized tests , budget cuts , and large class sizes .
On this pastoral campus , student teachers learned to cultivate relationships like precious flowers , learning about students ’ hopes , family situations , strengths @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could nurture the growth of each student through individualized instruction .
The assistant director of the program told me that they aimed to treat “ students as humans before treating them as students , thinking of them as whole beings who are forming and… are fragile no matter what they may show us.
” I followed two graduates from this program into large public middle schools in affluent suburbs and watched as they capably implemented what they learned .
Both teachers spent the first couple weeks collectively establishing class norms through the ratification @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know students through reflective assignments .
They regularly conversed with individual students and delivered handwritten personalized cards to everyone on their birthday , which one student described as “ the best birthday card I ’ ve ever seen.
” Cooperative learning was the norm and throughout it , students boisterously engaged with peers to complete rigorous assignments .
Silence was rare .
If undesirable student behavior emerged , these teachers ignored it or addressed it through gentle conversations rather than punitive discipline .
This made the students feel “ safe ” because they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and have your ideas be respected.
” And students told me they felt cared for , “ not just in school , but like emotionally , too.
” But it is worth noting , that all the teachers who learned about relationships at Xanadu chose to teach at mostly affluent and white schools where they had more resources and autonomy , and less pressure to boost test scores .
This relational ideal is often reserved for already privileged students , who will likely continue to find this support amidst the pandemic .
Schools @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of color and those from low-income backgrounds often adopt an approach to learning that centers on standardized test scores and control .
For example , the other teacher education program in my study was situated in a “ no excuses ” charter school , the most prominent type of urban charter school ( think KIPP or Success Academy ) , which aim to efficiently improve the academic achievement of children of color from low income backgrounds by eliminating anything they feel might distract students from learning ( e.g .
colorful socks , poor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in hallways ) .
At schools like this , educators maintain that there is no valid excuse for children ’ s failure to learn or behave .
The teacher education program grounded in this context approached relationships like a formula : applying a series of discrete moves to accumulate “ professional relationship capital ” with students to increase their behavioral compliance and academic achievement .
The director explained , “ I think the foundation of the relationship is that my job is to try to generate maximum effort in thinking from you .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s not to be your friend.
” Again , I followed graduates of this program into their first year of teaching at no excuses middle schools that primarily served students of color .
These teachers also began the year by faithfully applying what they had learned about connecting with and disciplining students .
They walked around their classrooms with timers in hand , smoothly assigned merits and demerits for behavior , integrated “ little nuggets ” they had recalled about students into brief interactions with them , and conducted “ rebuilding conversations @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for infractions .
It was all very efficient and controlled .
Students were often silent , and hoped this approach would help them “ succeed.
” But they did not feel truly seen or understood as human beings by their teachers .
One student explained , “ I don ’ t think any of the teachers [ know us ] .
” And by the end of the year , one of these teachers admitted , “ I think a lot of the kids sort of feel like it ’ s run like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and they understand that some of our rules are unnecessary , and overly strict , and un-empathetic.
” The urgent insistence on academic achievement and behavioral conformity in these schools not only eroded opportunities for nurturing teacher-student relationships , it also conditioned students for subservience .
This might be why some research indicates no excuses schools improve student test scores , but not life outcomes .
No excuses schools are not alone in this approach , though , and it now seems to be extending to virtual school .
Desperate to counteract @ @ @ @ @ @ @ monitor and control student behavior during virtual class , including their attire , location , camera-use , attentiveness , and snacking .
This is unfortunate but not surprising , because whenever the focus of schooling turns to quantifiable educational outcomes like standardized test scores or budgetary efficiencies , students are treated like products that must be regulated .
Of course , humans are not products , and we all have very good excuses not to be performing as others may want us to right now , but the forces that govern schools don @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Because affluent and white students are more likely to attend schools with the resources to support meaningful relationships and less likely to be penalized for virtual or in-person violations , students of color will bear the brunt of this coming “ discipline crisis , ” which is really a crisis for relationships .
For while relationships connect children to teachers and schools , harsh discipline severs ties .
Despite common practice , academic rigor does not necessitate behavioral control ; in fact , deeper learning – the kind of that helps students learn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ themselves , and understand who they are and who they want to be – is facilitated by supportive relationships and inclusive community .
Like relationships , learning that is truly substantial often appears messy and chaotic rather than silent and efficient .
So while it is tempting to use COVID as an excuse to implement more discipline and test prep , we must instead use it as an opportunity to dismantle systems that do disproportionate harm to students of color and replace them with new structures that center relationships and serve the whole @ @ @ @ @ @ @ schools must support teachers to see and respond to all students as the unique multifaceted people they are .
Because the only effective way to shepherd children through difficult times is by caring for them .
In the long run , this will not only improve student learning , it will also prepare students to build a better society — in which everyone ’ s humanity is honored .

Think of your favorite teacher. Whenever I ask people to do this, they usually tell me about a teacher who saw them: the one who took them aside and encouraged them to pursue art or computer science, who helped counsel them through a personal issue, who attended their Quinceañera — who, ultimately, just cared. By connecting with us in meaningful ways, these teachers not only earned a permanent place in our memories, they also engaged, challenged, and inspired us. Today, our nation’s 56.6 million elementary and secondary students could all use teachers like this, to help shepherd them through the pandemic and into a better future. But even in the best of times, school structures are more conducive to punitive discipline than meaningful teacher-student relationships, especially in our least-resourced schools. Today, with the challenges of virtual learning and the urgent messaging around “COVID slide” – the learning loss students may have suffered while they were out of school – relationships in schools are under further threat, just when students need them most.
Across the U.S., the pandemic has put a strain on families and children, many of whom continue to suffer from food insecurity, job loss, or the death of loved ones to COVID-19. So as kids begin school this year, they require connection, understanding, and nurturance from their teachers. While positive relationships with significant adult figures like teachers help children cope with trauma, such relationships also facilitate better learning. When students have meaningful relationships with their teachers, they are more likely to engage in class, more likely to feel like they can complete their school work, more likely to grow and achieve academically and personally. This is because learning is profoundly social.
Although school should be a place to nurture social connections, especially between teachers and students, common policies and structures often undermine this. Budget cuts keep increasing class sizes, which makes it hard for teachers to see and know every student. The prevailing emphasis on standardized test scores often leads schools to prioritize control and punishment to keep students on task, instead of supporting their social and emotional development. Now, educators are feeling pressure to combat “COVID slide,” which will lead to more focus on test scores and control, particularly in schools serving students of color and those from low income backgrounds. And in many places, this schooling will happen remotely, eliminating most of the casual classroom interactions that bolster meaningful connections. Disciplinary actions may become the only individual interactions that some students have with their teachers, but better resourced schools with less test score pressure (most of which serve a predominantly white population) will have an advantage in maintaining meaningful connections.
When I spent two years studying how teacher education programs and schools approached teacher-student relationship development, I discovered two very different approaches. Only one of the models promoted truly meaningful relationships. It was a program anchored in a progressive independent school that I called Xanadu because it was far removed from public school realities like standardized tests, budget cuts, and large class sizes. On this pastoral campus, student teachers learned to cultivate relationships like precious flowers, learning about students’ hopes, family situations, strengths, fears, and interests so they could nurture the growth of each student through individualized instruction. The assistant director of the program told me that they aimed to treat “students as humans before treating them as students, thinking of them as whole beings who are forming and… are fragile no matter what they may show us.”
I followed two graduates from this program into large public middle schools in affluent suburbs and watched as they capably implemented what they learned. Both teachers spent the first couple weeks collectively establishing class norms through the ratification of a class compact and getting to know students through reflective assignments. They regularly conversed with individual students and delivered handwritten personalized cards to everyone on their birthday, which one student described as “the best birthday card I’ve ever seen.” Cooperative learning was the norm and throughout it, students boisterously engaged with peers to complete rigorous assignments. Silence was rare. If undesirable student behavior emerged, these teachers ignored it or addressed it through gentle conversations rather than punitive discipline. This made the students feel “safe” because they felt able to “speak your mind and have your ideas be respected.” And students told me they felt cared for, “not just in school, but like emotionally, too.” But it is worth noting, that all the teachers who learned about relationships at Xanadu chose to teach at mostly affluent and white schools where they had more resources and autonomy, and less pressure to boost test scores. This relational ideal is often reserved for already privileged students, who will likely continue to find this support amidst the pandemic.
Schools across the country that primarily serve students of color and those from low-income backgrounds often adopt an approach to learning that centers on standardized test scores and control. For example, the other teacher education program in my study was situated in a “no excuses” charter school, the most prominent type of urban charter school (think KIPP or Success Academy), which aim to efficiently improve the academic achievement of children of color from low income backgrounds by eliminating anything they feel might distract students from learning (e.g. colorful socks, poor posture, indirect eye contact, talking in hallways).
At schools like this, educators maintain that there is no valid excuse for children’s failure to learn or behave. The teacher education program grounded in this context approached relationships like a formula: applying a series of discrete moves to accumulate “professional relationship capital” with students to increase their behavioral compliance and academic achievement. The director explained, “I think the foundation of the relationship is that my job is to try to generate maximum effort in thinking from you. That’s my job. It’s not to be your friend.”
Again, I followed graduates of this program into their first year of teaching at no excuses middle schools that primarily served students of color. These teachers also began the year by faithfully applying what they had learned about connecting with and disciplining students. They walked around their classrooms with timers in hand, smoothly assigned merits and demerits for behavior, integrated “little nuggets” they had recalled about students into brief interactions with them, and conducted “rebuilding conversations” after removing students from their class for infractions. It was all very efficient and controlled. Students were often silent, and hoped this approach would help them “succeed.” But they did not feel truly seen or understood as human beings by their teachers. One student explained, “I don’t think any of the teachers [know us].” And by the end of the year, one of these teachers admitted, “I think a lot of the kids sort of feel like it’s run like a jail…They’re very smart kids, and they understand that some of our rules are unnecessary, and overly strict, and un-empathetic.” The urgent insistence on academic achievement and behavioral conformity in these schools not only eroded opportunities for nurturing teacher-student relationships, it also conditioned students for subservience. This might be why some research indicates no excuses schools improve student test scores, but not life outcomes.
No excuses schools are not alone in this approach, though, and it now seems to be extending to virtual school. Desperate to counteract COVID-slide, educators are implementing plans to monitor and control student behavior during virtual class, including their attire, location, camera-use, attentiveness, and snacking. This is unfortunate but not surprising, because whenever the focus of schooling turns to quantifiable educational outcomes like standardized test scores or budgetary efficiencies, students are treated like products that must be regulated. Of course, humans are not products, and we all have very good excuses not to be performing as others may want us to right now, but the forces that govern schools don’t seem to get that. Because affluent and white students are more likely to attend schools with the resources to support meaningful relationships and less likely to be penalized for virtual or in-person violations, students of color will bear the brunt of this coming “discipline crisis,” which is really a crisis for relationships. For while relationships connect children to teachers and schools, harsh discipline severs ties.
Despite common practice, academic rigor does not necessitate behavioral control; in fact, deeper learning – the kind of that helps students learn to solve complex problems, think for themselves, and understand who they are and who they want to be – is facilitated by supportive relationships and inclusive community. Like relationships, learning that is truly substantial often appears messy and chaotic rather than silent and efficient. So while it is tempting to use COVID as an excuse to implement more discipline and test prep, we must instead use it as an opportunity to dismantle systems that do disproportionate harm to students of color and replace them with new structures that center relationships and serve the whole child. Whether online or in-person, schools must support teachers to see and respond to all students as the unique multifaceted people they are. Because the only effective way to shepherd children through difficult times is by caring for them. In the long run, this will not only improve student learning, it will also prepare students to build a better society — in which everyone’s humanity is honored.


truthout--2020-09-07--DeJoy Urged to “Step Aside” in Light of Campaign Finance Fraud Allegations

With less than two months before U.S. elections in November and amid demands for his immediate firing , high-level Democrats in Congress and the Attorney General of North Carolina called for both state and federal investigations into Postmaster General Louis DeJoy after explosive reporting Sunday afternoon contained allegations that the GOP megadonor now running the U.S .
Postal Service criminally violated campaign finance laws .
First reported by the Washington Post , the story included claims from former employees of DeJoy , most notably from his human resources director David Young , who said DeJoy — a major donor to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — would reimburse workers using payroll bonuses for political giving , an arrangement that is unlawful under both federal law and in North Carolina , where his logistics company , New Breed , is located .
North Carolina Attorney General Josh Stein responded to the news Sunday evening by backing an investigation .
“ It is against the law to directly or indirectly reimburse someone for a political contribution , ” Stein said in statement on social media .
“ Any credible allegations of such actions merit investigation by the appropriate state and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would be inappropriate for me as Attorney General to comment on any specific matter at this time.
” While Rep. Gerry Connolly ( D-Va. ) called for DeJoy — described as “ Trump ’ s crony ” — to be fired Sunday afternoon in response to the allegations , Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer endorsed the idea of an immediate probe .
Schumer said Trump ’ s Justice Department under U.S. Attorney General William Barr should be left out .
“ These are very serious allegations that must be investigated immediately , independent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Schumer said .
“ The North Carolina Attorney General , an elected official who is independent of Donald Trump , is the right person to start this investigation.
” Speaking on behalf of the Democratic Association of Attorneys General ( DAGA ) , co-chairs AG Maura Healey of Massachusetts and AG Ellen Rosenblum of Oregon said that with the election fast-approaching — and DeJoy ’ s role as Postmaster General so pivotal in terms of securing the integrity of the vote — the best option would be for DeJoy to step @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ The allegations that Postmaster DeJoy engaged in an extensive scheme to violate federal and state campaign finance laws are profoundly troubling , ” Healey and Rosenblum said in a joint statement .
“ If true , they call into question DeJoy ’ s leadership and compliance with the law yet again , this time revealing a pattern of potentially criminal misconduct .
This matter will require time to resolve — time that DeJoy does not have with the election just 60 days away .
Postmaster DeJoy should immediately step aside , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — which along with other groups filed a lawsuit against DeJoy less than three weeks ago that alleged his actions to undercut the delivery of mail amounts to a constitutional violation of Americans ’ right to vote — said the revelations of his alleged campaign finance violations are just the latest reason that DeJoy can not be trusted during such a crucial time .
“ Megadonor Louis DeJoy seemingly broke multiple campaign finance laws , continuing a dangerous pattern of turning our institutions of government upside-down , from the postal service to our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Flynn , president of Common Cause .
“ It is extraordinarily disturbing that megadonor DeJoy is abusing his power as Postmaster General to help President Trump win reelection , meanwhile apparently demonstrating disregard for key campaign finance laws designed to promote the integrity of our democratic elections.
” Hobert Flynn said her organization was considering legal action to hold DeJoy accountable for these alleged criminal violations .
Bob Phillips , executive director of Common Cause North Carolina , added that if proven true , “ the fundraising scheme allegedly perpetrated by Louis DeJoy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ money in politics ” operations , he added , erode “ public confidence in the integrity of our political system and fuels cynicism .
Concealing the source of campaign donations is even worse , because it deprives voters of information they could otherwise use to inform their votes.
” “ These are serious allegations of illegal activity that warrant a thorough investigation , ” said Phillips , “ and there must be full accountability from Mr. DeJoy .
”

DeJoy’s role as Postmaster General is pivotal in terms of securing the integrity of the vote.
With less than two months before U.S. elections in November and amid demands for his immediate firing, high-level Democrats in Congress and the Attorney General of North Carolina called for both state and federal investigations into Postmaster General Louis DeJoy after explosive reporting Sunday afternoon contained allegations that the GOP megadonor now running the U.S. Postal Service criminally violated campaign finance laws.
First reported by the Washington Post, the story included claims from former employees of DeJoy, most notably from his human resources director David Young, who said DeJoy — a major donor to the Republican Party and President Donald Trump — would reimburse workers using payroll bonuses for political giving, an arrangement that is unlawful under both federal law and in North Carolina, where his logistics company, New Breed, is located.
North Carolina Attorney General Josh Stein responded to the news Sunday evening by backing an investigation.
“It is against the law to directly or indirectly reimburse someone for a political contribution,” Stein said in statement on social media. “Any credible allegations of such actions merit investigation by the appropriate state and federal authorities. Beyond this, it would be inappropriate for me as Attorney General to comment on any specific matter at this time.”
While Rep. Gerry Connolly (D-Va.) called for DeJoy — described as “Trump’s crony” — to be fired Sunday afternoon in response to the allegations, Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer endorsed the idea of an immediate probe. Schumer said Trump’s Justice Department under U.S. Attorney General William Barr should be left out.
“These are very serious allegations that must be investigated immediately, independent of Donald Trump’s Justice Department,” Schumer said. “The North Carolina Attorney General, an elected official who is independent of Donald Trump, is the right person to start this investigation.”
These are very serious allegations that must be investigated immediately, independent of the Trump Justice Department North Carolina’s Attorney General—an elected official who is independent of Donald Trump—is the right person to start this investigationhttps://t.co/eL5Z6G6HLl — Chuck Schumer (@SenSchumer) September 6, 2020
Speaking on behalf of the Democratic Association of Attorneys General (DAGA), co-chairs AG Maura Healey of Massachusetts and AG Ellen Rosenblum of Oregon said that with the election fast-approaching — and DeJoy’s role as Postmaster General so pivotal in terms of securing the integrity of the vote — the best option would be for DeJoy to step down while a thorough probe is conducted.
“The allegations that Postmaster DeJoy engaged in an extensive scheme to violate federal and state campaign finance laws are profoundly troubling,” Healey and Rosenblum said in a joint statement. “If true, they call into question DeJoy’s leadership and compliance with the law yet again, this time revealing a pattern of potentially criminal misconduct. This matter will require time to resolve — time that DeJoy does not have with the election just 60 days away. Postmaster DeJoy should immediately step aside, pending an independent investigation.”
Common Cause — which along with other groups filed a lawsuit against DeJoy less than three weeks ago that alleged his actions to undercut the delivery of mail amounts to a constitutional violation of Americans’ right to vote — said the revelations of his alleged campaign finance violations are just the latest reason that DeJoy cannot be trusted during such a crucial time.
“Megadonor Louis DeJoy seemingly broke multiple campaign finance laws, continuing a dangerous pattern of turning our institutions of government upside-down, from the postal service to our election campaigns,” said Karen Hobert Flynn, president of Common Cause. “It is extraordinarily disturbing that megadonor DeJoy is abusing his power as Postmaster General to help President Trump win reelection, meanwhile apparently demonstrating disregard for key campaign finance laws designed to promote the integrity of our democratic elections.”
Hobert Flynn said her organization was considering legal action to hold DeJoy accountable for these alleged criminal violations.
Bob Phillips, executive director of Common Cause North Carolina, added that if proven true, “the fundraising scheme allegedly perpetrated by Louis DeJoy is extremely troubling.”
Such “big money in politics” operations, he added, erode “public confidence in the integrity of our political system and fuels cynicism. Concealing the source of campaign donations is even worse, because it deprives voters of information they could otherwise use to inform their votes.”
“These are serious allegations of illegal activity that warrant a thorough investigation,” said Phillips, “and there must be full accountability from Mr. DeJoy.”
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truthout--2020-09-07--Labor Must Make Defense of Black Lives Its Own Imperative

Black trade unionists across the U.S. are calling on the labor movement to defend Black Lives Matter protesters and to fight racism in their own ranks .
The attacks by police and increasingly violent armed racist militias evoke the memory of many such violent incidents against Black people in earlier periods , from slavery to segregation to the civil rights era .
For Labor Day 2020 , Truthout reached out to Christopher Silvera , secretary-treasurer of Teamsters Local 808 in Long Island City , NY ; Elise Bryant , executive director of Labor Heritage Foundation and president of the Communication @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Labor Union Women in Washington , D.C. ; and Cleo Silvers , a former member of the League of Revolutionary Black Workers in Detroit in the 1970 ’ s and member retiree of the Service Employees International Union ( SEIU ) District 1199 in New York City , for their analyses and thoughts on preparation for community defense .
Christopher Silvera has found that members of his union who are in what he terms “ the militia mindset ” have the exact same demands as unions — wages , pensions and healthcare — @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supremacy .
“ Many were in the military , in Afghanistan , and they ’ re frustrated , ” he says .
“ They think they can achieve these demands by way of racism and getting rid of immigrants.
” This has played out with elite unions attempting to raid the craft unions and separate them from the greater unions with the goal of getting middle-skill level workers to think they ’ ll get a better deal , according to Silvera .
“ They ’ re using racism to split the unions , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worried about their futures , are falling for it .
Silvera recalls a recent Labor Day parade in New York City with a marcher who had a confederate flag on his Harley-Davison motorcycle .
“ Now what is it about being in a union and the Confederacy that you don ’ t understand , when everything that the Klan stood for was anti-union ?
” he wonders .
“ But they don ’ t have this knowledge so they have a contradictory relationship with the union.
” Some local unions have started to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ same way as they have against police brutality — the International Longshore and Warehouse Union ( ILWU ) Local 10 has passed resolutions and marched against police violence and fascism .
They were prepared to counter-protest the Patriot Prayer in San Francisco in August 2017 , but the far-right group backed down .
“ Once they heard organized labor was marching against them , they were no longer in the mood , ” Silvera says , adding that this is precisely why national leadership should be in unison with Black Lives Matter .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ trades were in these marches , it would let people know that this is unacceptable .
Leaderships ’ inaction is allowing the militias to breathe , the way they allow the Klan to breathe.
” Militias , the Klan and slave patrols are all on the historical continuum of what Silvera calls “ a chronic level of oppression of the Black working class , but ultimately of the whole working class.
” He thinks the tradition is being ramped up now because “ capitalism has become completely desperate.
” Capitalism ’ s broken @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has also fueled the militias , which in his analysis function as gangs to capture any and all advantages for white workers only .
“ What was Occupy ?
A movement of young white college kids who realized that ‘ holy crap , I ’ m going to have $ 50-60,000 student debt and a Mickey Mouse job to go with it and I can ’ t pay it off and I can ’ t live the life that I thought I was going to live , ” ” Silvera says .
Labor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ push back and become a leader in anti-militarism and anti-vigilantism in its capacity as “ military wing of the working class.
” “ We have to speak up , we have to start leading marches as labor , ” Silvera argues .
“ If we don ’ t we ’ re going to continue to have these problems with state fascism .
And when fascism rears its head , one of the first things it goes after is the union.
” Silvera , who is running for general president of the Teamsters in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will flex their muscles with the power of the purse .
“ Members , especially Black members who are suffering , are going to have to refuse to pay dues to an organization that refuses to share our voice with the world .
What do we want ?
We want the national leadership of the AFL-CIO to call the Fraternal Order of Police and tell them to ‘ rein in your boys.
’ We want them to say , ‘ These are our workers , our members , and you all can ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says if the FOP won ’ t take corrective action to stop the police killings of Black workers and future workers , the AFL-CIO should kick them out .
Elise Bryant is a member of the Washington-Baltimore News Guild ( United Auto Workers ( UAW Local 1981 ) as well as Communication Workers of America ( CWA ) /Newspaper Guild Local 32035 .
Bryant is critical of national leadership for not taking action on police and militia violence and hopes that pressure from the locals will push them to defund and disaffiliate police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in general .
On September 3 at her Local in Washington , D.C. , which is comprised of 60 percent people of color , Bryant facilitated a discussion and passage of a resolution urging those actions .
A record 169 members attended online , mostly young people .
“ With the murder of George Floyd and police murdering Black people on a regular basis , and brown people , the idea was we had to make a stand right now , ” Bryant says .
“ These people can ’ t have a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ members.
” She views the moment of the George Floyd rebellion as an opportunity to hold the labor movement ’ s feet to the fire in dealing with racial inequality , but she doesn ’ t expect change to come from the top .
“ No change in any social justice movement ever came from the top , ” she says .
“ It always comes from the grassroots.
” Bryant is looking at training , conferencing and perhaps holding a town hall meeting as spurs to action .
As director of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ the cultural arm of the resistance , ” she ’ s looking to the creation of artistic works to inspire it — such as these pieces composed in homage to George Floyd ’ s humanity : “ $ 20 Bill ” ( a song for George Floyd ) by The Fox Run Five and “ No Justice No Peace ” by 15-year-old JustLove , the Talkin ’ Union Spoken Word Winner .
LHF promotes and preserves the arts and culture of the U.S. worker by conducting labor arts exchange workshops and producing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of songs to foster the consciousness of workers standing up for their rights will be held on September 7 at 8-10 p.m. “ The power of a hundred or a thousand people chanting or singing at the same time is remarkable in changing the aerodynamics of the space , ” she says , “ but also the energy.
” They ’ ve created two jazz labor operas .
“ Forgotten ” is based on a murder in the Ford Rouge plant in 1937 , during the organizing of the United Auto Workers .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ massacre of 1932 is depicted and the names of the fallen are called out in an act of communal remembrance .
The second opera , “ Love Songs from the Liberation Wars , ” is about the struggles faced by Black workers , mostly women , in organizing the tobacco industry in Winston-Salem , NC , during the 1940s .
It was the first use of the hymn “ We Shall Overcome ” as a movement anthem .
“ We ’ re trying to talk the UAW into sending us around , wherever @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where they keep losing a lot , ” she explains .
“ Send this show !
Take me there , let me get a cast from the local community and create art , to engage both sides of the brain .
“ There could not be a labor movement with slavery , and white trade unionists need to understand that , ” Bryant says .
Cleo Silvers was a member of the League of Revolutionary Black Workers , a rank-and-file membership organization founded in Detroit in 1969 to unify Black labor groups .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ strike — a strike that bypassed the union leadership .
LRBW was organized to combat the relegation of Black workers to the worst jobs , unequal pay and harsher discipline than white workers .
It took leadership positions in worker struggles , and ultimately demanded and won the inclusion of Black workers in union leadership .
“ Militias , the Klan , and Nazi organizations like to come into our communities and either scare us or intimidate us with violence .
They ’ re training for that .
One of the things we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fight back , ” Silvers says .
“ We can not allow ourselves to be intimidated or be cowering in fear , ” she says .
“ We have to stand up to these characters who impose themselves in our community , especially now when we ’ re demonstrating and making demands , and they ’ re pretty clear these demands are legitimate , and that if responded to properly will bring equality between ourselves and the rest of society .
They don ’ t want to see that.
” In her view @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black communities and communities of color .
“ One of the reasons we ’ re faced with so many killings of Black males is the number of vicious inhumane characters in the police departments themselves that are either militia members or right-wing ideologues.
” She remembers the encounters with many right-wingers inside the Dodge Truck and Auto plant where she was organizing in the 1970 ’ s .
“ If they got a little courage from alcohol or something , they would get belligerent and attempt to confront us or physically intimidate us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recalls .
“ At that time in my life I was not afraid of anything and I made it clear that anyone messing with me would get a good ass kicking.
” Similarly , in New York City , Silvers says when that element tried to hold demonstrations at City Hall , members of 1199 SEIU were organized and ready to confront them .
“ We were prepared to skirmish with them but the cops were always present to defend the outnumbered white supremacists , ” Silvers recalls .
“ These scum know @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rank and file will be out there to deal with and confront them.
” Her efforts to confront Nazis has been motivated by holding the memory of labor ’ s martyrs , such as the five men in the Communist Workers Party who were killed defending Black textile workers from the Klan and the American Nazi Party in Greensboro , NC , in 1979 .
“ The militia members came in with guns and shot them up ; they killed people and the police stood by .
Medical workers got shot up , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” she recalls .
“ Nobody anticipated they would come in their cars with guns and would begin shooting.
” Her sense is that most working people are ready , willing and able to stand up against the racist militias and Klan and “ would be the first ones out there.
” Silvers reports that inside District 1199 , the rank and file is fighting for the leadership to take a strong stand in support of Black Lives Matter .
“ Usually labor has its head down from anything that smacks of self-defense @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ re talking about , ” she says .
“ It ’ s important to have some leadership in the labor movement that is willing to stand up and fight organizations like the Klan and right-wing militias.
” Silvers sees the Trump administration as practicing divide and rule , because “ other than that , they absolutely can not ” maintain their power .
“ They ’ re trying to back us down , the same way they ’ ve done historically .
People are angry about it , ” she says @ @ @ @ @ @ @ anything .
”

Black trade unionists across the U.S. are calling on the labor movement to defend Black Lives Matter protesters and to fight racism in their own ranks. The attacks by police and increasingly violent armed racist militias evoke the memory of many such violent incidents against Black people in earlier periods, from slavery to segregation to the civil rights era.
For Labor Day 2020, Truthout reached out to Christopher Silvera, secretary-treasurer of Teamsters Local 808 in Long Island City, NY; Elise Bryant, executive director of Labor Heritage Foundation and president of the Communication Workers of America’s Coalition of Labor Union Women in Washington, D.C.; and Cleo Silvers, a former member of the League of Revolutionary Black Workers in Detroit in the 1970’s and member retiree of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) District 1199 in New York City, for their analyses and thoughts on preparation for community defense.
Fighting Racism in Labor’s Ranks
Christopher Silvera has found that members of his union who are in what he terms “the militia mindset” have the exact same demands as unions — wages, pensions and healthcare — but their solutions are based on white supremacy.
“Many were in the military, in Afghanistan, and they’re frustrated,” he says. “They think they can achieve these demands by way of racism and getting rid of immigrants.”
This has played out with elite unions attempting to raid the craft unions and separate them from the greater unions with the goal of getting middle-skill level workers to think they’ll get a better deal, according to Silvera.
“They’re using racism to split the unions,” he says.
Some workers, worried about their futures, are falling for it. Silvera recalls a recent Labor Day parade in New York City with a marcher who had a confederate flag on his Harley-Davison motorcycle.
“Now what is it about being in a union and the Confederacy that you don’t understand, when everything that the Klan stood for was anti-union?” he wonders. “But they don’t have this knowledge so they have a contradictory relationship with the union.”
Some local unions have started to stand up to militias in much the same way as they have against police brutality — the International Longshore and Warehouse Union (ILWU) Local 10 has passed resolutions and marched against police violence and fascism. They were prepared to counter-protest the Patriot Prayer in San Francisco in August 2017, but the far-right group backed down.
“Once they heard organized labor was marching against them, they were no longer in the mood,” Silvera says, adding that this is precisely why national leadership should be in unison with Black Lives Matter. “If the electricians and the building trades were in these marches, it would let people know that this is unacceptable. Leaderships’ inaction is allowing the militias to breathe, the way they allow the Klan to breathe.”
Militias, the Klan and slave patrols are all on the historical continuum of what Silvera calls “a chronic level of oppression of the Black working class, but ultimately of the whole working class.” He thinks the tradition is being ramped up now because “capitalism has become completely desperate.”
Capitalism’s broken promise towards young whites which fueled Occupy has also fueled the militias, which in his analysis function as gangs to capture any and all advantages for white workers only.
“What was Occupy? A movement of young white college kids who realized that ‘holy crap, I’m going to have $50-60,000 student debt and a Mickey Mouse job to go with it and I can’t pay it off and I can’t live the life that I thought I was going to live,”” Silvera says.
Labor has to step into this space to push back and become a leader in anti-militarism and anti-vigilantism in its capacity as “military wing of the working class.”
“We have to speak up, we have to start leading marches as labor,” Silvera argues. “If we don’t we’re going to continue to have these problems with state fascism. And when fascism rears its head, one of the first things it goes after is the union.”
Silvera, who is running for general president of the Teamsters in 2021, hopes the rank and file will flex their muscles with the power of the purse.
“Members, especially Black members who are suffering, are going to have to refuse to pay dues to an organization that refuses to share our voice with the world. What do we want? We want the national leadership of the AFL-CIO to call the Fraternal Order of Police and tell them to ‘rein in your boys.’ We want them to say, ‘These are our workers, our members, and you all can’t treat them like this.”
He says if the FOP won’t take corrective action to stop the police killings of Black workers and future workers, the AFL-CIO should kick them out.
No Place for Police Unions
Elise Bryant is a member of the Washington-Baltimore News Guild (United Auto Workers (UAW Local 1981) as well as Communication Workers of America (CWA)/Newspaper Guild Local 32035.
Bryant is critical of national leadership for not taking action on police and militia violence and hopes that pressure from the locals will push them to defund and disaffiliate police unions from CWA in particular and AFL-CIO in general. On September 3 at her Local in Washington, D.C., which is comprised of 60 percent people of color, Bryant facilitated a discussion and passage of a resolution urging those actions. A record 169 members attended online, mostly young people.
“With the murder of George Floyd and police murdering Black people on a regular basis, and brown people, the idea was we had to make a stand right now,” Bryant says. “These people can’t have a labor family when they’re murdering members.”
She views the moment of the George Floyd rebellion as an opportunity to hold the labor movement’s feet to the fire in dealing with racial inequality, but she doesn’t expect change to come from the top.
“No change in any social justice movement ever came from the top,” she says. “It always comes from the grassroots.”
Bryant is looking at training, conferencing and perhaps holding a town hall meeting as spurs to action. As director of the Labor Heritage Foundation, which she calls “the cultural arm of the resistance,” she’s looking to the creation of artistic works to inspire it — such as these pieces composed in homage to George Floyd’s humanity: “$20 Bill” (a song for George Floyd) by The Fox Run Five and “No Justice No Peace” by 15-year-old JustLove, the Talkin’ Union Spoken Word Winner. LHF promotes and preserves the arts and culture of the U.S. worker by conducting labor arts exchange workshops and producing live performances. A Labor Day concert of songs to foster the consciousness of workers standing up for their rights will be held on September 7 at 8-10 p.m.
“The power of a hundred or a thousand people chanting or singing at the same time is remarkable in changing the aerodynamics of the space,” she says, “but also the energy.”
They’ve created two jazz labor operas. “Forgotten” is based on a murder in the Ford Rouge plant in 1937, during the organizing of the United Auto Workers. A scene from the Ford Hunger March massacre of 1932 is depicted and the names of the fallen are called out in an act of communal remembrance. The second opera, “Love Songs from the Liberation Wars,” is about the struggles faced by Black workers, mostly women, in organizing the tobacco industry in Winston-Salem, NC, during the 1940s. It was the first use of the hymn “We Shall Overcome” as a movement anthem.
“We’re trying to talk the UAW into sending us around, wherever they’re organizing in the South where they keep losing a lot,” she explains. “Send this show! Take me there, let me get a cast from the local community and create art, to engage both sides of the brain.
“There could not be a labor movement with slavery, and white trade unionists need to understand that,” Bryant says.
Taking Up Self-Defense
Cleo Silvers was a member of the League of Revolutionary Black Workers, a rank-and-file membership organization founded in Detroit in 1969 to unify Black labor groups. It was born from a multiracial wildcat strike — a strike that bypassed the union leadership. LRBW was organized to combat the relegation of Black workers to the worst jobs, unequal pay and harsher discipline than white workers. It took leadership positions in worker struggles, and ultimately demanded and won the inclusion of Black workers in union leadership.
“Militias, the Klan, and Nazi organizations like to come into our communities and either scare us or intimidate us with violence. They’re training for that. One of the things we have to do is we have to fight back,” Silvers says.
“We cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated or be cowering in fear,” she says. “We have to stand up to these characters who impose themselves in our community, especially now when we’re demonstrating and making demands, and they’re pretty clear these demands are legitimate, and that if responded to properly will bring equality between ourselves and the rest of society. They don’t want to see that.”
In her view police departments function as a militia toward Black communities and communities of color.
“One of the reasons we’re faced with so many killings of Black males is the number of vicious inhumane characters in the police departments themselves that are either militia members or right-wing ideologues.”
She remembers the encounters with many right-wingers inside the Dodge Truck and Auto plant where she was organizing in the 1970’s.
“If they got a little courage from alcohol or something, they would get belligerent and attempt to confront us or physically intimidate us if we were alone,” she recalls. “At that time in my life I was not afraid of anything and I made it clear that anyone messing with me would get a good ass kicking.”
Similarly, in New York City, Silvers says when that element tried to hold demonstrations at City Hall, members of 1199 SEIU were organized and ready to confront them.
“We were prepared to skirmish with them but the cops were always present to defend the outnumbered white supremacists,” Silvers recalls. “These scum know even today that some of our union rank and file will be out there to deal with and confront them.”
Her efforts to confront Nazis has been motivated by holding the memory of labor’s martyrs, such as the five men in the Communist Workers Party who were killed defending Black textile workers from the Klan and the American Nazi Party in Greensboro, NC, in 1979.
“The militia members came in with guns and shot them up; they killed people and the police stood by. Medical workers got shot up, one of the doctors got killed,” she recalls. “Nobody anticipated they would come in their cars with guns and would begin shooting.”
Her sense is that most working people are ready, willing and able to stand up against the racist militias and Klan and “would be the first ones out there.” Silvers reports that inside District 1199, the rank and file is fighting for the leadership to take a strong stand in support of Black Lives Matter.
“Usually labor has its head down from anything that smacks of self-defense, because that’s really what we’re talking about,” she says. “It’s important to have some leadership in the labor movement that is willing to stand up and fight organizations like the Klan and right-wing militias.”
Silvers sees the Trump administration as practicing divide and rule, because “other than that, they absolutely cannot” maintain their power.
“They’re trying to back us down, the same way they’ve done historically. People are angry about it,” she says, “but are more determined than anything.”
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truthout--2020-09-07--Corporations Must Reckon With Their Spin of Black Lives Matter

In a virtual town hall in June , Coca-Cola ’ s Chairman and CEO James Quincy said : “ Diversity and inclusion are among our greatest strengths … We must put our resources and energy toward helping end the cycle of systemic racism.
” Dow Chemical ’ s Chairman and CEO Jim Fitterling similarly committed to being an “ ally ” helping overcome “ systemic oppression.
” And Johnson & Johnson ’ s Chairman and CEO Alex Gorsky stated , “ unequivocally that racism in any form is unacceptable.
” These three proclamations echo others penned by Fortune 500 companies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and systemic racism has swept across the country in the wake of the murder of George Floyd in May .
But examine the impact of these companies on the lived experience of Black people and it ’ s clear these commitments fall far short of restitution .
Consider Johnson & Johnson .
Internal company documents have revealed that the company knew since at least 1957 that its talc-based powders could be contaminated with asbestos , a possible carcinogen , for which there is no known safe level of exposure .
Despite these concerns @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the United States and beyond , specifically targeting Black and Brown women .
The company ’ s marketing plans included a race-based distribution model , moving baby powder samples through churches and beauty salons in African American and Latino neighborhoods , and seeking marketing agencies specializing in promotions to “ ethnic consumers.
” The impact is clear : A study of Black women who used these powders found they had more than a 40 percent increased risk of ovarian cancer compared to Black women who didn ’ t use them .
Several weeks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Matter statement , a Missouri court ruled Johnson & Johnson must pay $ 2.1 billion in damages to nearly two dozen women whose ovarian cancers were linked to its talc-based powders .
Or consider Coca-Cola , whose CEO made a $ 2.5 million commitment in June to racial justice charities .
Put aside , for a moment , that such a pledge is a paltry 0.27 percent of the company ’ s annual US advertising spend .
The company could have used this political uprising to honestly reflect on how its business practices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ signature sugary drinks , for example , are a driving force behind one of the biggest public health crises of our time — diet-related illnesses like type 2 diabetes , kidney diseases , and heart disease — that disproportionately impact African Americans .
Drinking as little as one 12-ounce sugary drink a day increases your chances of diabetes by 26 percent .
A staggering fact made more worrisome in the face of findings that people with type 2 diabetes have a significantly increased Covid-19 mortality rate .
Yet a recent report on sugary-drinks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disproportionately target Black consumers , particularly young Black people .
As a result , Black teens have been seeing roughly 2.3 times as many ads for sugary drinks and energy drinks compared to White teens .
Then there ’ s Dow , whose Chairman and CEO ’ s Black Lives Matter statement made no mention of the impact the company ’ s manufacturing plants and products have had on communities of color .
Dow , one of largest petrochemical producers in Louisiana , for example , is one of the many corporations that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 85-mile stretch of the Mississippi River between New Orleans and Baton Rouge , home to many predominantly Black communities .
The rates of cancer in the region are a staggering 50 times greater than the US average , giving the area the unwelcome name , Cancer Alley .
Dow .
Johnson & Johnson .
Coca-Cola .
These are just three of the many companies claiming allegiance with those fighting racial injustice around the country .
But as the old cliché reminds us : Actions speak louder than words .
If these companies were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ statements would have included an honest reckoning with their own products and practices , past and present , and a pledge to act on such a reckoning .

In a virtual town hall in June, Coca-Cola’s Chairman and CEO James Quincy said: “Diversity and inclusion are among our greatest strengths … We must put our resources and energy toward helping end the cycle of systemic racism.” Dow Chemical’s Chairman and CEO Jim Fitterling similarly committed to being an “ally” helping overcome “systemic oppression.” And Johnson & Johnson’s Chairman and CEO Alex Gorsky stated, “unequivocally that racism in any form is unacceptable.” These three proclamations echo others penned by Fortune 500 companies since the public reckoning with police violence and systemic racism has swept across the country in the wake of the murder of George Floyd in May.
But examine the impact of these companies on the lived experience of Black people and it’s clear these commitments fall far short of restitution. Consider Johnson & Johnson. Internal company documents have revealed that the company knew since at least 1957 that its talc-based powders could be contaminated with asbestos, a possible carcinogen, for which there is no known safe level of exposure. Despite these concerns, the company pushed these products in the United States and beyond, specifically targeting Black and Brown women. The company’s marketing plans included a race-based distribution model, moving baby powder samples through churches and beauty salons in African American and Latino neighborhoods, and seeking marketing agencies specializing in promotions to “ethnic consumers.” The impact is clear: A study of Black women who used these powders found they had more than a 40 percent increased risk of ovarian cancer compared to Black women who didn’t use them.
Several weeks after its CEO’s Black Lives Matter statement, a Missouri court ruled Johnson & Johnson must pay $2.1 billion in damages to nearly two dozen women whose ovarian cancers were linked to its talc-based powders.
Or consider Coca-Cola, whose CEO made a $2.5 million commitment in June to racial justice charities. Put aside, for a moment, that such a pledge is a paltry 0.27 percent of the company’s annual US advertising spend. The company could have used this political uprising to honestly reflect on how its business practices continue to harm Black communities. Its signature sugary drinks, for example, are a driving force behind one of the biggest public health crises of our time — diet-related illnesses like type 2 diabetes, kidney diseases, and heart disease — that disproportionately impact African Americans. Drinking as little as one 12-ounce sugary drink a day increases your chances of diabetes by 26 percent. A staggering fact made more worrisome in the face of findings that people with type 2 diabetes have a significantly increased Covid-19 mortality rate.
Yet a recent report on sugary-drinks marketing found Coca-Cola and its peers still disproportionately target Black consumers, particularly young Black people. As a result, Black teens have been seeing roughly 2.3 times as many ads for sugary drinks and energy drinks compared to White teens.
Then there’s Dow, whose Chairman and CEO’s Black Lives Matter statement made no mention of the impact the company’s manufacturing plants and products have had on communities of color. Dow, one of largest petrochemical producers in Louisiana, for example, is one of the many corporations that have located toxic manufacturing facilities along an 85-mile stretch of the Mississippi River between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, home to many predominantly Black communities. The rates of cancer in the region are a staggering 50 times greater than the US average, giving the area the unwelcome name, Cancer Alley.
Dow. Johnson & Johnson. Coca-Cola. These are just three of the many companies claiming allegiance with those fighting racial injustice around the country. But as the old cliché reminds us: Actions speak louder than words. If these companies were really committed to Black lives, their statements would have included an honest reckoning with their own products and practices, past and present, and a pledge to act on such a reckoning.
Tired of reading the same old news from the same old sources? So are we! That’s why we’re on a mission to shake things up and bring you the stories and perspectives that often go untold in mainstream media. But being a radically, unapologetically independent news site isn’t easy (or cheap), and we rely on reader support to keep the lights on.
If you like what you’re reading, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today. We’re not asking for a handout, we’re asking for an investment: Invest in a nonprofit news site that’s not afraid to ruffle a few feathers, not afraid to stand up for what’s right, and not afraid to tell it like it is.
This piece was reprinted by Truthout with permission or license. It may not be reproduced in any form without permission or license from the source.