thenation--2020-07-02--Tear Gas and Clubs in Lafayette Square Were Just the Beginning

On June 1 , President Trump ordered National Park Police and troops from the District of Columbia National Guard and some other federal law enforcement agencies to drive peaceful protesters from Lafayette Square , north of the White House , to clear the way for his Bible-holding photo op .
The same day , Trump and his Attorney General William Barr , along with Defense Secretary Mark Esper , also placed a call to the nation ’ s 50 governors .
A leaked transcript of that taped conversation , published in full by a number of major news organizations , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ glowing terms to the way the Obama administration , almost nine years earlier , had crushed the months-long Occupy Movement across the country in a matter of a few days .
Trump told the governors , many of whose states were experiencing massive protests against police brutality in the wake of the brutal videotaped police murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis , Trump was followed at that point in the call by Attorney General Barr , who told the assembled governors that the Trump administration planned to use the same Fusion Centers and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Obama administration had relied on to spy on and then crush the Occupy Movement to shut down the current wave of urban uprisings and protests over police brutality .
As Barr put it , “ The structure we ’ re going to use is the Joint Terrorist Task Force , which I know most of you are familiar with .
Tried and true system .
It ’ s worked for domestic and homegrown terrorists , and we ’ re going to employ that model.
” It ’ s important to remember what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a remarkable protest against inequality , corporate power , and the corrupt Wall Street banks whose recklessness had caused the 2008 financial crisis .
Occupy was a spontaneous grassroots protest that sprang up in September 2011 in Lower Manhattan with the occupation of a one-block space called Zuccotti Park located just two blocks north of the intersection of Wall Street and Broadway .
That encampment was quickly replicated in over 18 cities across the nation as part of a movement that introduced into popular discourse the class-conscious notion of “ the 1 percent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Verheyden-Hilliard , executive director of the Washington , D.C.–based Partnership for Civil Justice Fund ( PCJF ) recalls , the Occupy movement , largely leaderless and anarchic in its lack of organizational structure , terrified Wall Street ’ s financial elite , as well as leaders of both parties in Washington , with its unvarnished rhetoric about class conflict and combating corporate power .
“ The government wanted to suppress it , to shut it down , ” she says .
“ That ’ s why you saw encampments wiped out by police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ following that shutdown of Occupy , turned to the Freedom of Information Act , seeking all documents relating to efforts to crush that movement from both the FBI and the Obama administration ’ s Department of Homeland Security , as well as the Pentagon and other intel agencies .
After appeals , the organization received thousands of pages of heavily redacted documents that made it clear not only that the avowedly and conscientiously peaceful protest movement had been classified as a domestic terrorist threat , but that both the FBI and DHS—together with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Forces—had begun engaging in intensive spying on , infiltrating , and trying to identify leaders of the movement “ before even the first encampments were set up in Zuccotti Park and elsewhere.
” “ The documents showed that the motivation for the federal government ’ s efforts against Occupy were not in reaction to anything activists were doing that was illegal , but were rather politically motivated .
And what we ’ re seeing happen now is the same thing , ” says Verheyden-Hilliard .
What is this “ model ” that Barr @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the nation ’ s governors—the model of repression of peaceful protest that Trump called “ beautiful ” ?
Black Visibility Matters—and Not Just During Trauma Why Be a ‘ Model Minority ’ When You Could Dismantle White Supremacy ?
More in this series Documents obtained by the PCJF—and news reports from late fall 2011—show that it involved violent , often nighttime assaults on Occupy encampments that frequently ( in Manhattan , Oakland , and other cities ) featured everything from tear gas and pepper spray , rubber bullets , bean-bag projectiles , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and clubs by local police .
The documents also show that several crucial telephone conference calls among mayors and police chiefs of cities with Occupy encampments , made before the attacks began , were facilitated by the Department of Homeland Security .
At these sessions , cities were urged to use night raids , to keep journalists away from the actions , and to use maximum force in an effort to deter occupiers from returning to the encampments , many of which , like the one in Zuccotti Park in Manhattan ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ police , with occupiers ’ possessions , including campaign gear , electronic equipment , and musical instruments , hauled away by Sanitation Department trucks .
“ What ’ s clear is that at Attorney General Barr ’ s behest the JTTFs are using the Occupy ‘ model ’ to have federal agencies like the FBI and Homeland Security work with local police to turn their sights on the fight for social justice , ” says Verheyden-Hilliard .
Pooja Gehi , executive director of the National Lawyers Guild ( NLG ) , warns , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ refers to on the call to governors is a coordinated federal/state/local program to target national and local protest organizers and to charge them with serious terrorism felonies.
” The NLG , a national civil liberties defense organization , provided legal assistance to Occupy Movement activists and is offering similar aid to activists during the current wave of uprisings against police brutality and racism .
Already , Gehi reports , her organization is “ hearing reports of FBI agents accompanying local police on visits to the homes of leaders and activists in the current @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are joining in questioning people .
We ’ re working around the clock to combat this.
” Both Verheyden-Hilliard and Gehi note that the FBI ’ s involvement in such questioning is particularly troubling , because , unlike with local or state police , lying to an FBI agent is itself a felony under federal law , even when the person being questioned is not under oath and has not been not been advised of their right to remain silent in the absence of legal counsel .
Gehi says , “ What Barr @ @ @ @ @ @ @ information to fabricate a headline-grabbing conspiracy case to kill this movement fighting for racial justice , and to give some talking points to a very disturbed and angry president.
” “ The government ’ s first effort was a physical one , ” she says .
“ By launching a very violent assault on peaceful protesters in DC and elsewhere , they hoped it would make people afraid to go out onto the streets and protest .
It was a ‘ shock and awe ’ approach , and it was a complete failure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people angrier and willing to go out in larger numbers , even bringing along their kids !
” “ Next I think they will turn to violence and arrests , ” she predicts .
“ But while Occupy was tactically vulnerable , this movement is everywhere—and it is much bigger .
There ’ s nothing like thousands of people standing together , and this time , it ’ s people fighting for their lives.
” How to Cover an Uprising ( Without Causing Harm ) Judy ( not her real name ) a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Tucson , says that after a male roommate had been arrested and detained briefly by local Tucson police on a “ curfew violation ” charge while riding his bicycle behind a protest march , two FBI agents kicked on her door looking for him .
The agents didn ’ t identify themselves , and because they were not wearing masks , she stayed quiet and pretended not to be home .
A day later , they returned , again kicking the door and calling out for the man , saying they were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ because they ’ d just seen him entering the apartment .
The woman says she told them through the door , ” I ’ m sorry .
We don ’ t talk to cops.
” The agents told her that her friend ( actually , her partner ’ s twin brother , who was no longer was staying there ) was suspected of flying a drone at the demonstration , which they termed a felony , and warned that if she were harboring him , she could also be charged with a felony @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He doesn ’ t have a drone , ” she told The Nation .
Both individuals have contacted the NLG and are being represented by that group at this point .
While lying to the FBI is a felony , G-men are apparently free to do so with impunity in Barr ’ s Justice Department .
Additional evidence of coordinated attacks on the current BLM-lead protests comes from a new report by Amnesty International , which documents 125 instances of violence against protesters in the police response to “ largely peaceful ” assemblies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the United States just between May 25 and June 6 .
Amnesty ’ s chief researcher for North America , Brian Griffey , says that by repeatedly threatening governors that if they do not “ dominate ” the protests in their states , active-duty federal troops would be sent in , “ Trump and Barr were effectively telling the governors to have their own police take tough actions against protests and not to be just reactive.
” Note : Repeated calls and email inquiries to the US Justice Department ’ s Office of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what AG Barr meant by his reference to a JTTF “ model ” used against the Occupy Movement , were ignored .
( Readers should know that in the Trump administration , most federal departments do not provide direct telephone numbers for department secretaries or for so-called “ public affairs ” offices . )

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On June 1, President Trump ordered National Park Police and troops from the District of Columbia National Guard and some other federal law enforcement agencies to drive peaceful protesters from Lafayette Square, north of the White House, to clear the way for his Bible-holding photo op. The same day, Trump and his Attorney General William Barr, along with Defense Secretary Mark Esper, also placed a call to the nation’s 50 governors.
A leaked transcript of that taped conversation, published in full by a number of major news organizations, shows both Trump and Barr referring in glowing terms to the way the Obama administration, almost nine years earlier, had crushed the months-long Occupy Movement across the country in a matter of a few days.
Trump told the governors, many of whose states were experiencing massive protests against police brutality in the wake of the brutal videotaped police murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis,
Trump was followed at that point in the call by Attorney General Barr, who told the assembled governors that the Trump administration planned to use the same Fusion Centers and Joint Terrorism Task Forces (JTTFs) the Obama administration had relied on to spy on and then crush the Occupy Movement to shut down the current wave of urban uprisings and protests over police brutality.
As Barr put it, “The structure we’re going to use is the Joint Terrorist Task Force, which I know most of you are familiar with. Tried and true system. It’s worked for domestic and homegrown terrorists, and we’re going to employ that model.”
It’s important to remember what actually happened with the Occupy Movement, a remarkable protest against inequality, corporate power, and the corrupt Wall Street banks whose recklessness had caused the 2008 financial crisis. Occupy was a spontaneous grassroots protest that sprang up in September 2011 in Lower Manhattan with the occupation of a one-block space called Zuccotti Park located just two blocks north of the intersection of Wall Street and Broadway. That encampment was quickly replicated in over 18 cities across the nation as part of a movement that introduced into popular discourse the class-conscious notion of “the 1 percent and the 99 percent.” Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Current Issue View our current issue
As Mara Verheyden-Hilliard, executive director of the Washington, D.C.–based Partnership for Civil Justice Fund (PCJF) recalls, the Occupy movement, largely leaderless and anarchic in its lack of organizational structure, terrified Wall Street’s financial elite, as well as leaders of both parties in Washington, with its unvarnished rhetoric about class conflict and combating corporate power. “The government wanted to suppress it, to shut it down,” she says. “That’s why you saw encampments wiped out by police with over 7,000 arrests.”
PCJF, following that shutdown of Occupy, turned to the Freedom of Information Act, seeking all documents relating to efforts to crush that movement from both the FBI and the Obama administration’s Department of Homeland Security, as well as the Pentagon and other intel agencies. After appeals, the organization received thousands of pages of heavily redacted documents that made it clear that even as the FBI was reporting that the Occupy movement was peaceful, it had been classified as a domestic terrorist threat by both the FBI and DHS, “before even the first encampments were set up in Zuccotti Park and elsewhere in mid-September,” with the FBI already providing detailed warnings of Occupy Wall Street’s plans to Wall Street banks and US corporations as early as August, 2011.
“The documents showed that the motivation for the federal government’s efforts against Occupy were not in reaction to anything activists were doing that was illegal, but were rather politically motivated. And what we’re seeing happen now is the same thing,” says Verheyden-Hilliard.
What is this “model” that Barr referred to on the White House call with the nation’s governors—the model of repression of peaceful protest that Trump called “beautiful”? Black Lives Matter Sinead O'Connor Began Singing Her Black Lives Matter Anthem in 1990 John Nichols This New Magazine Aims to Be a Home for the Black Left Dani McClain It’s Time to End the Outrageous Militarization of America’s Police Force Katrina vanden Heuvel
Documents obtained by the PCJF—and news reports from late fall 2011—show that it involved violent, often nighttime assaults on Occupy encampments that frequently (in Manhattan, Oakland, and other cities) featured everything from tear gas and pepper spray, rubber bullets, bean-bag projectiles, and flash-bang grenades to assaults with fists and clubs by local police. The documents also show that several crucial telephone conference calls among mayors and police chiefs of cities with Occupy encampments, made before the attacks began, were facilitated by the Department of Homeland Security.
Verheyden-Hilliard explains that the FOIA documents show the police chiefs’ and mayor’s communications were being relayed to the Southern Nevada Counter-Terrorism Center in Las Vegas, which was compiling and sending them out twice weekly to all the 72 Fusion Centers then operating across the country. She adds that the FBI, in addition to its own close monitoring of Occupy, was also obtaining information from local police surveillance of and informants operating inside the various Occupy encampments through the re-gional Joint Terrorism Task Force offices.
At these sessions, cities were urged to use night raids, to keep journalists away from the actions, and to use maximum force in an effort to deter occupiers from returning to the encampments, many of which, like the one in Zuccotti Park in Manhattan’s financial district, were trashed by the police, with occupiers’ possessions, including campaign gear, electronic equipment, and musical instruments, hauled away by Sanitation Department trucks.
“What’s clear is that at Attorney General Barr’s behest the JTTFs are using the Occupy ‘model’ to have federal agencies like the FBI and Homeland Security work with local police to turn their sights on the fight for social justice,” says Verheyden-Hilliard.
Pooja Gehi, executive director of the National Lawyers Guild (NLG), warns, “The ‘Occupy model’ Barr refers to on the call to governors is a coordinated federal/state/local program to target national and local protest organizers and to charge them with serious terrorism felonies.” The NLG, a national civil liberties defense organization, provided legal assistance to Occupy Movement activists and is offering similar aid to activists during the current wave of uprisings against police brutality and racism.
Already, Gehi reports, her organization is “hearing reports of FBI agents accompanying local police on visits to the homes of leaders and activists in the current protests.” She adds, “They are joining in questioning people. We’re working around the clock to combat this.”
Both Verheyden-Hilliard and Gehi note that the FBI’s involvement in such questioning is particularly troubling, because, unlike with local or state police, lying to an FBI agent is itself a felony under federal law, even when the person being questioned is not under oath and has not been not been advised of their right to remain silent in the absence of legal counsel.
Verheyden-Hilliard says, “What Barr is doing is trying to gather enough information to fabricate a headline-grabbing conspiracy case to kill this movement fighting for racial justice, and to give some talking points to a very disturbed and angry president.”
“The government’s first effort was a physical one,” she says. “By launching a very violent assault on peaceful protesters in DC and elsewhere, they hoped it would make people afraid to go out onto the streets and protest. It was a ‘shock and awe’ approach, and it was a complete failure that had the reverse effect, making people angrier and willing to go out in larger numbers, even bringing along their kids!” Related Article How to Cover an Uprising (Without Causing Harm) Cynthia Greenlee
“Next I think they will turn to violence and arrests,” she predicts. “But while Occupy was tactically vulnerable, this movement is everywhere—and it is much bigger. There’s nothing like thousands of people standing together, and this time, it’s people fighting for their lives.”
Judy (not her real name) a white supporter of the current BLM protests in Tucson, says that after a male roommate had been arrested and detained briefly by local Tucson police on a “curfew violation” charge while riding his bicycle behind a protest march, two FBI agents kicked on her door looking for him. The agents didn’t identify themselves, and because they were not wearing masks, she stayed quiet and pretended not to be home. A day later, they returned, again kicking the door and calling out for the man, saying they were FBI agents and knew he was there because they’d just seen him entering the apartment. The woman says she told them through the door, ”I’m sorry. We don’t talk to cops.” The agents told her that her friend (actually, her partner’s twin brother, who was no longer was staying there) was suspected of flying a drone at the demonstration, which they termed a felony, and warned that if she were harboring him, she could also be charged with a felony. “It was a lie. He doesn’t have a drone,” she told The Nation. Both individuals have contacted the NLG and are being represented by that group at this point.
While lying to the FBI is a felony, G-men are apparently free to do so with impunity in Barr’s Justice Department.
Additional evidence of coordinated attacks on the current BLM-lead protests comes from a new report by Amnesty International, which documents 125 instances of violence against protesters in the police response to “largely peaceful” assemblies and protests in some 300 cities across the United States just between May 26 and June 5. Amnesty’s chief researcher for North America, Brian Griffey, says that by repeatedly threatening governors that if they do not “dominate” the protests in their states, active-duty federal troops would be sent in, “Trump and Barr were effectively telling the governors to have their own police take tough actions against protests and not to be just reactive.”
Note: Repeated calls and email inquiries to the US Justice Department’s Office of Public Affairs, seeking an explanation for what AG Barr meant by his reference to a JTTF “model” used against the Occupy Movement, were ignored. (Readers should know that in the Trump administration, most federal departments do not provide direct telephone numbers for department secretaries or for so-called “public affairs” offices.)
This post has been updated.


thenation--2020-07-02--Black Visibility Matters—and Not Just During Trauma

“ We would love for you to share your experience on this very important topic.
” “ Your expertise on these complex issues will help our audience better grasp how to address them in their own lives.
” “ We would greatly appreciate your voice on this timely panel on current events impacting our nation.
” These quotes are a representative sample of the kind of e-mails I ’ ve received in the past month from corporations and nonprofits offering me paid speaking opportunities to talk on panels about racism .
As the nation reckons with the police killings of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ McDade , and several others and white institutions attempt to understand racial injustice , my presence seems to be in high demand .
I ’ ve been covering intersectional issues pertaining to race , LGBTQ , and politics my entire career as a Black queer millennial journalist .
Speaking gigs have always been the icing on the cake for a job that often requires me to listen more than speak .
But something feels different right now .
No matter where you turn , it seems like Black writers , activists , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shows , best-seller lists , and social media .
White influencers are suddenly willing to “ share the mic ” with their Black peers on social media .
There are calls for a # BlackoutBestsellerList to help propel sales of Black-authored books across the country .
You can ’ t watch any major cable news channel ( with one obvious exception ) that hasn ’ t brought on a new crop of Black guests to share their takes on the current racial climate .
It ’ s hard to deny that business is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ discussing race in America since long before this current uprising .
Now more than ever , our voices are needed—and many institutions are willing to pay top dollar for them .
It ’ s baffling that I ’ ve made more money this past month alone as a professional freelancer through all of the additional writing and speaking gigs offered than I ’ ve ever made in any previous year .
Although I ’ m grateful for the exposure given to my work , I also feel as though this moment is terribly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black voices are being valued right now is because of racial trauma .
Black perspectives seem to be necessary only when discussing our marginalization .
Black people had to be killed in order for other Black people to catch a big break .
This truth hadn ’ t hit me until a conversation with an event producer—whose panel I had agreed to appear on—who gave me what he thought was a compliment .
“ I ’ m so glad you agreed to come on , ” he said enthusiastically .
“ Had all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would ’ ve been harder to book you .
This seems to be the bright side to all of this.
” That this traumatic moment should have a “ bright side ” seems evident only to white voices who often dominate other panels , mass media , and books that aren ’ t about racism .
When I think about the current upswing of diversity on various platforms , too often it only reinforces the notion that Black people can only serve a single purpose and speak with expertise about a single topic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve been pleased to hear several of my colleagues and mentors speak passionately about racism in America , I ’ m often frustrated that that ’ s all we ’ ve been allowed to talk about .
Race is important .
Race matters .
As someone who ’ s been Black my entire life , there ’ s no denying that this aspect of my identity has been the most discussed , significant—and marginalized—part of my experience .
But to only be called on to share accounts of pain and struggle—by many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve grown up admiring—feels like a betrayal .
Too often the nuance , variety , and depth of wisdom and experience about other aspects of life that Black people can also share have been shoved aside to focus instead solely on the hurt and rage we feel .
It ’ s become a predictable cycle .
I ’ m often told by white editors , producers , and colleagues that they admire my “ passion ” when I write about race .
But when I often ask what exactly they mean by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out to be the rage I express when addressing more horrifying moments of our experience .
Transmuting the trauma of Black lives into visceral bodily reactions is what the media seems to consider effective representation .
It ’ s why so many media outlets choose to air video footage of Black people being terrorized and killed as if it ’ s a you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it ordeal .
Bearing witness to the routine bloodbaths of Black citizens is indeed an obligation for Black journalists like myself who feel responsible for informing the public .
But is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Should this be the only time Black perspectives matter ?
Is race the only aspect of society that Black people are allowed to speak about with an authoritative voice in America ?
As society continues to call for more representation and inclusion , the terms must be clear .
Increasing the number of Black voices discussing race may be necessary , but expanding our visibility and calling on our expertise in other areas should be the real goal .
When the current round of “ Race in America ” segments/panels/op-eds stops running @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Ask us what we think about the economy and religion .
Include us in conversations about education before another life is taken from us .
Consider us when it ’ s not expected for you to consider us , like when discussing international relations , or philosophy , or the environment , or national security .
White institutions that are serious about addressing the racial inequity and inequality we face must stop conflating Black people and trauma .
Otherwise , we will continue to see another boom and bust of Black voices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t want to be just another Black perspective on race when tragedy strikes .
I and many other Black journalists , creatives , activists , leaders , and influencers would like to be valued and included in times of joy as well .
Only time will tell if such expectations can be achieved .
But the emotional toil and exhaustion of solely being called to respond to Black pain must end .
As this uprising evolves , perhaps we can hope that Black voices will be unchained from the bondage that @ @ @ @ @

“We would love for you to share your experience on this very important topic.”
“Your expertise on these complex issues will help our audience better grasp how to address them in their own lives.”
“We would greatly appreciate your voice on this timely panel on current events impacting our nation.”
These quotes are a representative sample of the kind of e-mails I’ve received in the past month from corporations and nonprofits offering me paid speaking opportunities to talk on panels about racism. As the nation reckons with the police killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and several others and white institutions attempt to understand racial injustice, my presence seems to be in high demand. More From Ernest Owens Inside a Murder Trial in Krasner-Era Philadelphia Ernest Owens
I’ve been covering intersectional issues pertaining to race, LGBTQ, and politics my entire career as a Black queer millennial journalist. Speaking gigs have always been the icing on the cake for a job that often requires me to listen more than speak. But something feels different right now. No matter where you turn, it seems like Black writers, activists, and community leaders are being spotlighted on television shows, best-seller lists, and social media.
White influencers are suddenly willing to “share the mic” with their Black peers on social media. There are calls for a #BlackoutBestsellerList to help propel sales of Black-authored books across the country. You can’t watch any major cable news channel (with one obvious exception) that hasn’t brought on a new crop of Black guests to share their takes on the current racial climate.
It’s hard to deny that business is booming for those who’ve been discussing race in America since long before this current uprising. Now more than ever, our voices are needed—and many institutions are willing to pay top dollar for them. It’s baffling that I’ve made more money this past month alone as a professional freelancer through all of the additional writing and speaking gigs offered than I’ve ever made in any previous year. Although I’m grateful for the exposure given to my work, I also feel as though this moment is terribly bittersweet.
After all, the reason Black voices are being valued right now is because of racial trauma.
Black perspectives seem to be necessary only when discussing our marginalization.
Black people had to be killed in order for other Black people to catch a big break.
This truth hadn’t hit me until a conversation with an event producer—whose panel I had agreed to appear on—who gave me what he thought was a compliment. “I’m so glad you agreed to come on,” he said enthusiastically. “Had all of this not happened, it probably would’ve been harder to book you. This seems to be the bright side to all of this.” Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann
That this traumatic moment should have a “bright side” seems evident only to white voices who often dominate other panels, mass media, and books that aren’t about racism. When I think about the current upswing of diversity on various platforms, too often it only reinforces the notion that Black people can only serve a single purpose and speak with expertise about a single topic: our own oppression. While I’ve been pleased to hear several of my colleagues and mentors speak passionately about racism in America, I’m often frustrated that that’s all we’ve been allowed to talk about. Current Issue View our current issue
Race is important. Race matters. As someone who’s been Black my entire life, there’s no denying that this aspect of my identity has been the most discussed, significant—and marginalized—part of my experience. But to only be called on to share accounts of pain and struggle—by many of the media and public institutions I’ve grown up admiring—feels like a betrayal. Too often the nuance, variety, and depth of wisdom and experience about other aspects of life that Black people can also share have been shoved aside to focus instead solely on the hurt and rage we feel. It’s become a predictable cycle.
I’m often told by white editors, producers, and colleagues that they admire my “passion” when I write about race. But when I often ask what exactly they mean by “passion,” it often turns out to be the rage I express when addressing more horrifying moments of our experience. Transmuting the trauma of Black lives into visceral bodily reactions is what the media seems to consider effective representation. It’s why so many media outlets choose to air video footage of Black people being terrorized and killed as if it’s a you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it ordeal.
Bearing witness to the routine bloodbaths of Black citizens is indeed an obligation for Black journalists like myself who feel responsible for informing the public. But is that all I can be used for? Should this be the only time Black perspectives matter? Is race the only aspect of society that Black people are allowed to speak about with an authoritative voice in America?
As society continues to call for more representation and inclusion, the terms must be clear. Increasing the number of Black voices discussing race may be necessary, but expanding our visibility and calling on our expertise in other areas should be the real goal. When the current round of “Race in America” segments/panels/op-eds stops running, Black people should still be present. Ask us what we think about the economy and religion. Include us in conversations about education before another life is taken from us. Consider us when it’s not expected for you to consider us, like when discussing international relations, or philosophy, or the environment, or national security. White institutions that are serious about addressing the racial inequity and inequality we face must stop conflating Black people and trauma.
Otherwise, we will continue to see another boom and bust of Black voices within our industry and beyond. I don’t want to be just another Black perspective on race when tragedy strikes. I and many other Black journalists, creatives, activists, leaders, and influencers would like to be valued and included in times of joy as well.
Only time will tell if such expectations can be achieved. But the emotional toil and exhaustion of solely being called to respond to Black pain must end. As this uprising evolves, perhaps we can hope that Black voices will be unchained from the bondage that is Black trauma porn.


thenation--2020-07-02--We Take Homelessness for Granted. The Pandemic Should Change That.

When San Francisco Mayor London Breed issued the nation ’ s first shelter-in-place order in mid-March , some San Francisco families were panic-shopping and wondering how on earth they would stay inside their homes for several weeks .
Other families were grasping at straws to get inside at all .
They were making unthinkable choices .
One single mom told my coworker that she would rather engage in survival sex—i.e.
, trade sex for a place to sleep—than go to a congregate shelter where she would risk exposing herself and her child to the virus .
She had reached a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ room with one stranger felt safer than sleeping in a roomful of strangers .
At Compass Family Services , we often hear the reasons homeless parents don ’ t feel safe exposing their families to large , open-plan shelters—reasons that have only become more acute since the pandemic hit .
We operate San Francisco ’ s central city access point , a gateway program that matches homeless families with available shelter and housing from the city ’ s portfolio .
Homeless families like that single mom come through our doors in desperate moments @ @ @ @ @ @ @ windows of opportunity , sitting across from them or physically distanced on the phone , to offer better options than the ones they have in front of them .
The clock is always ticking , and in a pandemic especially , time is not on our side .
Inside an Urgent Mission to Protect the Homeless From Coronavirus And sometimes , neither is money .
The public dollars that pay for the bulk of our work are limited and therefore highly restrictive , with rules and regulations that determine who we can help @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has problem-solving funds , but they can only solve problems for the highest-need families on the housing queue because there are not enough funds to go around .
Similarly , homelessness prevention funds can only go so far to prevent homelessness : families can access them only once every three years , regardless of need ; income limits can disqualify gig workers and others with irregular incomes ; and certain rules exclude undocumented families and others living in the margins .
Human services providers have always grappled with systems designed to manage limited @ @ @ @ @ @ @ problems like poverty and homelessness .
But the pandemic upended the system by flooding it not just with extremely low-income families , but with low- and middle-income families whose incomes also plummeted overnight .
In California , 2.3 million payroll jobs have evaporated ; at Compass , the incomes of the families we are serving have dropped on average about $ 450 per month ; and there are fewer shelter beds in the system than there used to be because of the need to physically distance the beds .
The rules have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at all , with the ironic result that funding streams have slowed as community needs have exploded .
As good stewards of public funds , nonprofits like ours operate within a tightly controlled chain of accountability : we answer to our funders ; our funders answer to officials ; and officials answer to entrenched constituencies within the voting public .
Real and perceived political pressures—in recent years , voters have issued cruel and conflicting mandates to “ get people off the streets ” without wanting to pay for it—result in incomplete and underfunded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ finally chose to double the city ’ s investment in housing and mental health for homeless people , powerful groups thwarted them in the courts .
Which forces uncomfortable choices on front-line service providers : Do we say “ yes ” to homeless families and bend the rules that make us accountable for the public funds that shore up our shelter and housing programs ?
Or do we say “ no ” and lose sleep at night knowing that families are losing far more sleep living in cars and tents ?
Should we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or should we do what will look right on paper when the immediate crisis is over and our programs are audited ?
Joe Wilson , executive director at Hospitality House and my cochair in our local Homeless Emergency Service Providers Association , explains it this way : “ Choices have consequences .
Consequences have faces and names.
” Providers of homeless services have struggled during the pandemic to make the right choices without damaging our relationships with public funders .
We asked for permissions—to use problem-solving funds for short-term hotel stays , for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ came too late or not at all .
We asked for mass testing to prevent outbreaks in open-plan and shared facilities ; we asked for hotel rooms so that unhoused people could shelter in place like everybody else .
When we got a few rooms , we were asked to keep them vacant : They were quarantine rooms for people expected to test positive .
We need to prevent community spread , not simply react to positive tests , among homeless people .
Ultimately , philanthropy made a preventive strategy possible , enabling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hospitality House in San Francisco ’ s Tenderloin neighborhood , and the other at Providence Foundation ’ s First Friendship Family Shelter in the Western Addition—to relocate to nearby hotels where shelter residents could isolate .
It worked .
Compass and other family providers joined forces on a similar project : Within days we secured a hotel site and negotiated terms to fill 30 rooms with families coming to us unsheltered , either from the streets or dangerously close to it .
We pooled ideas , donations , and relationships , and some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ take-out meals , even helped local businesses stay afloat .
Our philanthropic hotel is operating outside of the official system , but definitely alongside it : We are catching the families that official criteria have left behind .
The City has opened its own shelter-in-place hotels , but mostly for those who meet strict medical vulnerability criteria .
As homeless service providers , it is our belief that with a public health directive to shelter in place , anyone who can not do so because of their living situation is also medically vulnerable @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are more medically vulnerable than others , and public officials can and should prioritize those with underlying health conditions .
But to prevent what is preventable—namely , spread and death among people without safe housing—we must also respond to structural conditions of poverty and homelessness .
Some officials have indicated in conversation that they agree with us in theory , but practically , they see their hands as being tied .
They need a small army to staff the official hotels , which represent an expansion in a contracting fiscal environment .
State @ @ @ @ @ @ @ accountants project towering deficits ; and while some billionaires have poured resources and supply-chain expertise into problem-solving for the public health , others seem to be sitting by while three- and four-figure donations trickle into the City ’ s relief fund .
In refusing to open thousands of hotel rooms to those sheltering in tents , City officials may be limiting their exposure in case federal agencies do not come through with promised reimbursements and other support .
These fiscal pressures are real , but fiscal pressures are usually cited to rationalize the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about what it would take to end homelessness .
The director of San Francisco ’ s Human Services Agency said in an e-mail that it would not be “ fiscally prudent ” to open several thousand hotel rooms to unhoused people during the pandemic , though public health experts countered that sheltering everyone equitably would both flatten the curve and help reopen the economy , saving people ’ s livelihoods .
Without such big-picture , holistic problem-solving , homelessness simply grows as wealth concentrates alongside it .
San Francisco is an extreme example @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than any other city in the world , as well as one of the nation ’ s highest rates of unsheltered homelessness .
The problem is not that there is no money—as even homeless service providers are guilty of telling ourselves when we reflect on how difficult the work has become—but rather that the decisions have already been made not to spend it on homelessness and the racial , gender , and economic injustices that create and perpetuate it .
As a society , we have financialized housing instead of produced it as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ housing and land use policies be driven by rather than protected from capitalism and racism ; and we have underfunded our human services sector by tens of billions of dollars , bloating budgets for police and other public services at the expense of human services .
We have paid human services providers 70 cents to do a dollar ’ s worth of work ; we have refused fair wages for work we have called “ essential ” throughout this pandemic ; and we have developed rules to cope with these structural funding gaps @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And we have put service providers—who went into this work to make a difference , to say “ yes ” —in the impossible position of saying “ no ” to people making desperate personal choices as a result of our collective inaction .
There is something insidious that happens when we restrict access to resources that should be accessible by right .
Rules rationalize our choices about who deserves help and with what ; they prime us to accept the economic and social inequities that underlie our choices ; and they help us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ consequences—their faces and names .
As Virginia Eubanks put it in her book Automating Inequality , the rules in homeless service systems allow us “ to distance ourselves from the human impacts of our choice not to act decisively.
” When I think as a service provider and policy person about how we should catalyze a response to homelessness as a result of this pandemic , it strikes me that as a society , we lack vision more than resources , values more than data , and decisiveness above all .
We can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the resources to produce deeply affordable housing , create permanent housing subsidies , and deploy flexible financial assistance to prevent homelessness .
We can shift the State of California ’ s one-time , block-grant approach to homelessness in the direction of deep , ongoing investments .
We can redouble housing preservation efforts at the local level and help service providers acquire and operate sites , including hotels .
We can build workforce programs that connect homeless people to a range of real career opportunities in fields like public health and green energy .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ fully fund a fair wage for human services staff , including and especially the case managers , janitors , and desk clerks on the front lines of the pandemic in our homeless response systems .
We can ask philanthropy to keep doing what it ’ s good at : moving money fast , piloting new ideas , and institutionalizing partnerships and learning .
There is a lot we can do , but how we do it matters .
We not only have to change the rules ; we also have to reimagine their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
If we move forward without real leadership from homeless people—and real partnership from service providers—then we will write rules that manage scarcity rather than expand access to resources and promote racial equity and human dignity in service delivery .
If we use arbitrary or overly broad factors to regulate who we can help with what and how often , then we will write rules that prioritize consistency and bureaucracy over the natural rhythms of life and the discretion we need to respond to problems creatively .
If we use multipart criteria to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the door , then we ’ ll be paying for the door but writing the rules to keep it shut .
The streets of San Francisco are filled with people who have been kept out all their lives .
It is time to let them in .

EDITOR’S NOTE: The Nation believes that helping readers stay informed about the impact of the coronavirus crisis is a form of public service. For that reason, this article, and all of our coronavirus coverage, is now free. Please subscribe to support our writers and staff, and stay healthy.
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When San Francisco Mayor London Breed issued the nation’s first shelter-in-place order in mid-March, some San Francisco families were panic-shopping and wondering how on earth they would stay inside their homes for several weeks. Other families were grasping at straws to get inside at all.
They were making unthinkable choices. One single mom told my coworker that she would rather engage in survival sex—i.e., trade sex for a place to sleep—than go to a congregate shelter where she would risk exposing herself and her child to the virus. She had reached a point of desperation where sleeping in a room with one stranger felt safer than sleeping in a roomful of strangers.
At Compass Family Services, we often hear the reasons homeless parents don’t feel safe exposing their families to large, open-plan shelters—reasons that have only become more acute since the pandemic hit. We operate San Francisco’s central city access point, a gateway program that matches homeless families with available shelter and housing from the city’s portfolio.
Homeless families like that single mom come through our doors in desperate moments of their lives. We have short windows of opportunity, sitting across from them or physically distanced on the phone, to offer better options than the ones they have in front of them. The clock is always ticking, and in a pandemic especially, time is not on our side. Related Article Inside an Urgent Mission to Protect the Homeless From Coronavirus Zoë Carpenter
And sometimes, neither is money. The public dollars that pay for the bulk of our work are limited and therefore highly restrictive, with rules and regulations that determine who we can help and how. Our homeless response system has problem-solving funds, but they can only solve problems for the highest-need families on the housing queue because there are not enough funds to go around. Similarly, homelessness prevention funds can only go so far to prevent homelessness: families can access them only once every three years, regardless of need; income limits can disqualify gig workers and others with irregular incomes; and certain rules exclude undocumented families and others living in the margins.
Human services providers have always grappled with systems designed to manage limited resources as much as respond to social problems like poverty and homelessness. But the pandemic upended the system by flooding it not just with extremely low-income families, but with low- and middle-income families whose incomes also plummeted overnight. In California, 2.3 million payroll jobs have evaporated; at Compass, the incomes of the families we are serving have dropped on average about $450 per month; and there are fewer shelter beds in the system than there used to be because of the need to physically distance the beds. The rules have been slow to adapt if they have adapted at all, with the ironic result that funding streams have slowed as community needs have exploded. Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann
As good stewards of public funds, nonprofits like ours operate within a tightly controlled chain of accountability: we answer to our funders; our funders answer to officials; and officials answer to entrenched constituencies within the voting public. Real and perceived political pressures—in recent years, voters have issued cruel and conflicting mandates to “get people off the streets” without wanting to pay for it—result in incomplete and underfunded service systems. When San Francisco voters finally chose to double the city’s investment in housing and mental health for homeless people, powerful groups thwarted them in the courts. Current Issue View our current issue
Which forces uncomfortable choices on front-line service providers: Do we say “yes” to homeless families and bend the rules that make us accountable for the public funds that shore up our shelter and housing programs? Or do we say “no” and lose sleep at night knowing that families are losing far more sleep living in cars and tents? Should we do what we know is right, or should we do what will look right on paper when the immediate crisis is over and our programs are audited?
Joe Wilson, executive director at Hospitality House and my cochair in our local Homeless Emergency Service Providers Association, explains it this way: “Choices have consequences. Consequences have faces and names.”
Providers of homeless services have struggled during the pandemic to make the right choices without damaging our relationships with public funders. We asked for permissions—to use problem-solving funds for short-term hotel stays, for example—and we lost precious time when permissions came too late or not at all. We asked for mass testing to prevent outbreaks in open-plan and shared facilities; we asked for hotel rooms so that unhoused people could shelter in place like everybody else. When we got a few rooms, we were asked to keep them vacant: They were quarantine rooms for people expected to test positive.
We need to prevent community spread, not simply react to positive tests, among homeless people. Ultimately, philanthropy made a preventive strategy possible, enabling two shelter operations—one at Wilson’s Hospitality House in San Francisco’s Tenderloin neighborhood, and the other at Providence Foundation’s First Friendship Family Shelter in the Western Addition—to relocate to nearby hotels where shelter residents could isolate. It worked.
Compass and other family providers joined forces on a similar project: Within days we secured a hotel site and negotiated terms to fill 30 rooms with families coming to us unsheltered, either from the streets or dangerously close to it. We pooled ideas, donations, and relationships, and some of our strategies, like relying on take-out meals, even helped local businesses stay afloat. Our philanthropic hotel is operating outside of the official system, but definitely alongside it: We are catching the families that official criteria have left behind.
The City has opened its own shelter-in-place hotels, but mostly for those who meet strict medical vulnerability criteria. As homeless service providers, it is our belief that with a public health directive to shelter in place, anyone who cannot do so because of their living situation is also medically vulnerable. To be sure, some people are more medically vulnerable than others, and public officials can and should prioritize those with underlying health conditions. But to prevent what is preventable—namely, spread and death among people without safe housing—we must also respond to structural conditions of poverty and homelessness.
Some officials have indicated in conversation that they agree with us in theory, but practically, they see their hands as being tied. They need a small army to staff the official hotels, which represent an expansion in a contracting fiscal environment. State and local revenue streams are collapsing; accountants project towering deficits; and while some billionaires have poured resources and supply-chain expertise into problem-solving for the public health, others seem to be sitting by while three- and four-figure donations trickle into the City’s relief fund. In refusing to open thousands of hotel rooms to those sheltering in tents, City officials may be limiting their exposure in case federal agencies do not come through with promised reimbursements and other support.
These fiscal pressures are real, but fiscal pressures are usually cited to rationalize the status quo rather than reframe the conversation about what it would take to end homelessness. The director of San Francisco’s Human Services Agency said in an e-mail that it would not be “fiscally prudent” to open several thousand hotel rooms to unhoused people during the pandemic, though public health experts countered that sheltering everyone equitably would both flatten the curve and help reopen the economy, saving people’s livelihoods.
Without such big-picture, holistic problem-solving, homelessness simply grows as wealth concentrates alongside it. San Francisco is an extreme example: We have more billionaires per capita than any other city in the world, as well as one of the nation’s highest rates of unsheltered homelessness.
The problem is not that there is no money—as even homeless service providers are guilty of telling ourselves when we reflect on how difficult the work has become—but rather that the decisions have already been made not to spend it on homelessness and the racial, gender, and economic injustices that create and perpetuate it. As a society, we have financialized housing instead of produced it as a public good; we have let housing and land use policies be driven by rather than protected from capitalism and racism; and we have underfunded our human services sector by tens of billions of dollars, bloating budgets for police and other public services at the expense of human services. We have paid human services providers 70 cents to do a dollar’s worth of work; we have refused fair wages for work we have called “essential” throughout this pandemic; and we have developed rules to cope with these structural funding gaps rather than close them for good. And we have put service providers—who went into this work to make a difference, to say “yes”—in the impossible position of saying “no” to people making desperate personal choices as a result of our collective inaction.
There is something insidious that happens when we restrict access to resources that should be accessible by right. Rules rationalize our choices about who deserves help and with what; they prime us to accept the economic and social inequities that underlie our choices; and they help us think a little bit less about the consequences—their faces and names. As Virginia Eubanks put it in her book Automating Inequality, the rules in homeless service systems allow us “to distance ourselves from the human impacts of our choice not to act decisively.”
When I think as a service provider and policy person about how we should catalyze a response to homelessness as a result of this pandemic, it strikes me that as a society, we lack vision more than resources, values more than data, and decisiveness above all. We can restructure federal tax policies to free up the resources to produce deeply affordable housing, create permanent housing subsidies, and deploy flexible financial assistance to prevent homelessness. We can shift the State of California’s one-time, block-grant approach to homelessness in the direction of deep, ongoing investments. We can redouble housing preservation efforts at the local level and help service providers acquire and operate sites, including hotels. We can build workforce programs that connect homeless people to a range of real career opportunities in fields like public health and green energy. We can raise the minimum wage and fully fund a fair wage for human services staff, including and especially the case managers, janitors, and desk clerks on the front lines of the pandemic in our homeless response systems. We can ask philanthropy to keep doing what it’s good at: moving money fast, piloting new ideas, and institutionalizing partnerships and learning.
There is a lot we can do, but how we do it matters. We not only have to change the rules; we also have to reimagine their role in the movement to end homelessness. If we move forward without real leadership from homeless people—and real partnership from service providers—then we will write rules that manage scarcity rather than expand access to resources and promote racial equity and human dignity in service delivery. If we use arbitrary or overly broad factors to regulate who we can help with what and how often, then we will write rules that prioritize consistency and bureaucracy over the natural rhythms of life and the discretion we need to respond to problems creatively. If we use multipart criteria to restrict who can get a foot in the door, then we’ll be paying for the door but writing the rules to keep it shut.
The streets of San Francisco are filled with people who have been kept out all their lives. It is time to let them in.


thenation--2020-07-02--Maya Moore for the Win

Maya Moore for the Win

After 22 years behind bars for a crime he did not commit , Jonathan Irons is at long last a free man .
Irons , who is only 40 years old , had been sentenced to 50 years for a burglary and assault he was said to have committed at 16 .
Despite a lack of evidence linking him to the crime , an all-white St. Louis jury convicted the then-16-year-old as an adult .
What makes this a sports story , as we have covered extensively in The Nation , is that WNBA All-Star , MVP , and champion @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pick up a basketball—gave up two years of the prime of her career to fight for Irons ’ s freedom .
Their connection came through Moore ’ s family .
Her great-uncle , who had been doing prison ministry for close to 30 years , became a mentor to the young Mr .
Irons about 18 years ago , when Moore was just 13 years old .
As a first-year student and star hoopster at the University of Connecticut , she met Irons and a bond was forged .
Moore , tenacious as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seeing Jonathan breathe freely no matter the cost .
Her Minnesota Lynx coach Cheryl Reeve said in a statement , Maya Moore got to celebrate another championship yesterday and none of us who have been blessed to have Maya in our lives are surprised .
I can not imagine , however , what this one must feel like .
I was overwhelmed seeing Maya watch Jonathan Irons walk out of the Jefferson City Correctional Center a free man.… I also can ’ t help but feel a great deal of anger .
Maya @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her profession to engage in the fight against the two-tiered criminal justice system that over polices , wrongfully convicts , and over sentences black and brown communities .
The criminal justice system in America is so far from fair and equal and it angers me that Maya has had to sacrifice so much to overcome this racially disparate system .
Reeve is , of course , correct .
As joyous as this news is , this is an example of the system failing , or perhaps the system working in the racist manner @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many Jonathan Ironses are there in our nation ’ s prisons who don ’ t have a superstar-athlete-guardian-angel to secure their freedom ?
Consider all Maya Moore had to do—sacrifice money , fame , and the prime of her career—to see justice in just this one case .
It is actually a humbling example of all the work that needs to be done .
I have interviewed Maya Moore about the case over the years .
What has been striking in our conversations is her sense of faith and determination that justice would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ one off ” for Moore .
Her conviction is rooted not only in her relationship with Irons but also in a broader belief that the criminal justice system has racism baked into it and needs to be challenged at every conceivable level .
“ I think being in the African American community , I have a built-in connection to issues facing black Americans , ” she said to me in 2018 .
But it ’ s also being in the sports world today and being connected to people that are taking an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and people of color .
It was also seeing the documentary 13th .
That was a really powerful piece that just woke me up in a greater way .
Some of the things I knew , some of the things I wasn ’ t aware of politically : the flow from slavery to today and just how [ oppressive ] laws continue to morph and how much further we still have to go .
One thing is also certain : We in the sports media need to raise Maya Moore ’ s name @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lifted until now .
She is one of the rare few willing to put it all on the line and sacrifice for the greater good .
That we don ’ t extol Maya Moore in the way we do Colin Kaepernick speaks to the ways in which Black women are marginalized .
That must happen no longer .
There is no precedent for Maya Moore .
She sacrificed .
She fought .
And alongside the efforts of Jonathan Irons himself , she won .
Maya Moore is a legend , but not one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legend we can emulate by joining the fight against racism and the edge of racism ’ s knife : our system of criminal injustice .

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Thank you for signing up for The Nation’s weekly newsletter.
Repro Nation A monthly newsletter on the global fight for reproductive freedom. Email By signing up, you confirm that you are over the age of 16 and agree to receive occasional promotional offers for programs that support The Nation’s journalism. You can read our Privacy Policy here.
Thank you for signing up. For more from The Nation, check out our latest issue
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Support Progressive Journalism The Nation is reader supported: Chip in $10 or more to help us continue to write about the issues that matter. The Nation is reader supported: Chip in $10 or more to help us continue to write about the issues that matter.
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After 22 years behind bars for a crime he did not commit, Jonathan Irons is at long last a free man. Irons, who is only 40 years old, had been sentenced to 50 years for a burglary and assault he was said to have committed at 16. Despite a lack of evidence linking him to the crime, an all-white St. Louis jury convicted the then-16-year-old as an adult.
What makes this a sports story, as we have covered extensively in The Nation, is that WNBA All-Star, MVP, and champion Maya Moore—one of the greatest to ever pick up a basketball—gave up two years of the prime of her career to fight for Irons’s freedom. Their connection came through Moore’s family. Her great-uncle, who had been doing prison ministry for close to 30 years, became a mentor to the young Mr. Irons about 18 years ago, when Moore was just 13 years old. As a first-year student and star hoopster at the University of Connecticut, she met Irons and a bond was forged. Moore, tenacious as hell on the court, committed to seeing Jonathan breathe freely no matter the cost.
Her Minnesota Lynx coach Cheryl Reeve said in a statement,
Maya Moore got to celebrate another championship yesterday and none of us who have been blessed to have Maya in our lives are surprised. I cannot imagine, however, what this one must feel like. I was overwhelmed seeing Maya watch Jonathan Irons walk out of the Jefferson City Correctional Center a free man.… I also can’t help but feel a great deal of anger. Maya Moore should never have had to leave her profession to engage in the fight against the two-tiered criminal justice system that over polices, wrongfully convicts, and over sentences black and brown communities. The criminal justice system in America is so far from fair and equal and it angers me that Maya has had to sacrifice so much to overcome this racially disparate system.
Reeve is, of course, correct. As joyous as this news is, this is an example of the system failing, or perhaps the system working in the racist manner in which it was designed. How many Jonathan Ironses are there in our nation’s prisons who don’t have a superstar-athlete-guardian-angel to secure their freedom? Consider all Maya Moore had to do—sacrifice money, fame, and the prime of her career—to see justice in just this one case. It is actually a humbling example of all the work that needs to be done.
I have interviewed Maya Moore about the case over the years. What has been striking in our conversations is her sense of faith and determination that justice would prevail. And this is not a “one off” for Moore. Her conviction is rooted not only in her relationship with Irons but also in a broader belief that the criminal justice system has racism baked into it and needs to be challenged at every conceivable level. “I think being in the African American community, I have a built-in connection to issues facing black Americans,” she said to me in 2018.
But it’s also being in the sports world today and being connected to people that are taking an interest in the issues that face minorities and people of color. It was also seeing the documentary 13th. That was a really powerful piece that just woke me up in a greater way. Some of the things I knew, some of the things I wasn’t aware of politically: the flow from slavery to today and just how [oppressive] laws continue to morph and how much further we still have to go.
One thing is also certain: We in the sports media need to raise Maya Moore’s name up far higher than it has been lifted until now. She is one of the rare few willing to put it all on the line and sacrifice for the greater good. That we don’t extol Maya Moore in the way we do Colin Kaepernick speaks to the ways in which Black women are marginalized. That must happen no longer. There is no precedent for Maya Moore. She sacrificed. She fought. And alongside the efforts of Jonathan Irons himself, she won. Maya Moore is a legend, but not one on a pedestal. She is a legend we can emulate by joining the fight against racism and the edge of racism’s knife: our system of criminal injustice.


thenation--2020-07-02--New York’s City Hall Encampment Is a Middle Finger to Our Elected Leaders

Shortly before 3 am on Wednesday , several hundred protesters gathered in the plaza directly east of City Hall Park in downtown Manhattan .
A few were new faces , but many had been there on and off for a week , when activists set up an encampment and declared that they were occupying the space as part of the nationwide movement against racism and policing .
The protesters had a lot going against them .
Less than 24 hours earlier , the New York Police Department had staged a violent raid at the outskirts of the encampment , injuring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , those in the encampment watched as local legislators , while negotiating and voting on the city budget for the next fiscal year , brushed off their calls to defund the police .
Yet energy was high among this early morning crowd .
They knew what fight they had signed up for , and , having accomplished something as remarkable as a weeklong protest encampment , they were ready to keep the momentum going .
The question was , what were they to do next ?
The encampment at New York ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 27th consecutive day of mass protests in the city .
That evening , activists with community organization VOCAL-NY held a rally they called “ Occupy City Hall , ” where they announced that they planned to do just that .
“ We have called on the movement to occupy the space of City Hall , ” Jawanza Williams , VOCAL-NY ’ s organizing director , told the crowd .
The group made clear that it wasn ’ t leaving until the City Council defunded the NYPD by at least $ 1 billion in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ budget—due in exactly a week—and reinvested that money in needed services for Black and other marginalized communities .
With its clear and short-term policy demands and nonprofit sponsor , the encampment was a departure from the more leaderless and open-ended radical protest zones of recent years , such as the Capitol Hill Occupied Protest in Seattle , Black Lives Matter ’ s Abolition Square in 2016 , or Occupy Wall Street in 2011 .
And that was purposeful : “ You got ta have wins , ” Williams told me .
“ A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into housing , education , social services , and health care has material impacts on the people that need it the most— [ though ] it ’ s not enough.
” To Williams , the City Hall encampment is part of a greater organizing vision .
It ’ s tactical : Organizers chose that Tuesday to set up the encampment because it was election day in New York state— “ go vote for the world that you deserve , and then come to City Hall and occupy to demand it.
” And it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s language purposefully evokes Occupy Wall Street and its anti-capitalist spirit— “ to connect race , class , and the police , and how the institution of policing functions in capitalism , ” Williams said .
Because of the short notice , only a few dozen people stayed at the encampment the first night .
But the next day , hundreds flocked to the site , showing that this escalatory , communal action was the second wind of the movement in New York City after nearly a month of marching , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ police violence , and patronizing statements from public officials .
By the encampment ’ s second afternoon , participants had set up water depots , hot food stands , snack stands , sanitation stations , personal protective equipment stations , a “ bodega ” for sundries , sleeping and lounging material caches , a charging station , WiFi , a de-escalatory security team , a first aid desk with a team of medics , an art station , a library , a garden , a voter registration table , a phone-banking table , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , lost and found , organized bathroom access , a trash and recycling system , a performance and teach-in schedule , and a text alert system—all of it free , most of it functioning around the clock .
The area became a resolute middle finger to the city , state , and federal governments that , in addition to siccing cops on protesters , had botched their Covid-19 response to such a degree that a ragtag group of strangers was taking care of their citizens—including homeless comrades—better than they were .
In this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ radicalizing force ; aside from its policy demands , it is a place to practice and discuss the all-encompassing goal of a compassionate , cop-free society .
Still , protest encampments are messy affairs , and disagreements among factions arose—particularly over what some perceived to be an attitude of hierarchy and ownership over the communal space from some of the original organizers .
There was also grumbling about the $ 1 billion demand , as many saw it as a much too small portion of the NYPD ’ s $ 5.7 billion operating @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the envelope .
Eventually , however , the encampment converged toward something resembling an ideological and tactical stasis .
Protesters were welcomed to engage in their own direct actions—there were marches that blocked traffic at the nearby Brooklyn Bridge and rallies outside City Council members ’ homes .
And it became generally understood that $ 1 billion , divested from the NYPD and reinvested in social programs , was an official though arguably insufficient demand by some of the original organizers of the encampment .
The $ 1 billion demand “ is a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But we are only instrumentally interested in policy , ” said one protester , a facilitator of the Abolition Library Commons , the encampment ’ s pop-up library and discussion space .
“ We are interested in a world where everyone lives well , and no one is in a cage.… The overwhelming movement is based on the intuition that the institution of police is obscene.
” Bill de Blasio Broke His Promise to New York In this way , the abolitionist and collective character of the encampment—though perhaps muddled at first—began to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on .
By this Tuesday , the day of the budget vote , news reports had been indicating that the City Council and the mayor had reached an agreement that in eyes of the protesters was transparently bogus .
Mayor Bill de Blasio and most Council members claimed that the budget was set to cut the NYPD ’ s funding by $ 1 billion , but nearly half of those “ cuts ” were to come from shifting the City ’ s school safety agent program from the police department to the department @ @ @ @ @ @ @ include a reduction in fringe benefits and other similar costs that don ’ t count toward the NYPD ’ s $ 5.7 billion operating budget .
All in all , the agreement wouldn ’ t meaningfully reduce the police presence in the city , and would save crumbs from the police budget , even as social services were to undergo coronavirus-induced austerity .
According to Council member Carlos Menchaca of Brooklyn , a vocal supporter of the protests who was part of the budget negotiations and voted no on the final agreement , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the desires of the people , as voiced through the ongoing movement .
“ If you were out in the protests feeling the energy , the kind of connection between strangers who are out there pushing a particular message to defund the NYPD and restore social and health services for communities that are impacted by Covid , you understood , ” he said .
“ But we ’ ve been in a bubble this whole time , negotiating a budget , separated from the people on the ground who are crying for change.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the council ’ s disconnect .
Inside the encampment , the reaction to the budget news was that of both anger and unsurprise—and , with masses of people present that day , eagerness to take action .
After watching the budget hearing finish with expected results late that night , protesters decided to take the 3:00 am meeting to figure out what to do now that the encampment ’ s initial demands were going officially unmet .
A facilitator volunteered to guide the group as it collectively answered a tense set of questions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leave ?
Do we stick to the plaza or take the streets ?
And , most pressingly , What do we do about the next police raid ?
—a raid they were sure was coming later that morning .
Overwhelmingly , the protesters voted to stay at the encampment—at least another day—to guard the plaza and their project in abolition from police destruction .
They came up with an organized plan to form a human wall to keep the cops out .
Front-line protesters were given helmets and eyewear , medics took their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be hundreds of riot cops came to tear away barricades just a couple hours later , the protesters held their lines and successfully pushed them away after violent instigation .
When the cops left , the energy was electric ; despite negative results in the City Council , the encampment knew that they had seized momentum for their movement .
Though it ’ s still going strong , protesters—now mostly grassroots-organized but still Black-led—are taking the question of the future of the encampment day by day .
It could become a semi-permanent fixture @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Or protesters could decide one day that it would be strategically best to pack up and find another place to occupy , or another tactic to forward the movement ’ s momentum .
Or police could break through with more violent attacks and evict everybody .
Or , unlike with marches , Covid-19 could come into play , and protesters could be forced to find another form of outdoor escalation and community building .
Whatever the case , the City Hall encampment seems to have generated a new sense of community and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Library Commons organizer : “ This isn ’ t stopping anytime soon .
”

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Shortly before 3 am on Wednesday, several hundred protesters gathered in the plaza directly east of City Hall Park in downtown Manhattan. A few were new faces, but many had been there on and off for a week, when activists set up an encampment and declared that they were occupying the space as part of the nationwide movement against racism and policing.
The protesters had a lot going against them. Less than 24 hours earlier, the New York Police Department had staged a violent raid at the outskirts of the encampment, injuring several people. And just hours before, those in the encampment watched as local legislators, while negotiating and voting on the city budget for the next fiscal year, brushed off their calls to defund the police.
Yet energy was high among this early morning crowd. They knew what fight they had signed up for, and, having accomplished something as remarkable as a weeklong protest encampment, they were ready to keep the momentum going. The question was, what were they to do next?
The encampment at New York’s City Hall was erected on June 23—the 27th consecutive day of mass protests in the city. That evening, activists with community organization VOCAL-NY held a rally they called “Occupy City Hall,” where they announced that they planned to do just that. “We have called on the movement to occupy the space of City Hall,” Jawanza Williams, VOCAL-NY’s organizing director, told the crowd. The group made clear that it wasn’t leaving until the City Council defunded the NYPD by at least $1 billion in the city’s fiscal year 2021 budget—due in exactly a week—and reinvested that money in needed services for Black and other marginalized communities.
With its clear and short-term policy demands and nonprofit sponsor, the encampment was a departure from the more leaderless and open-ended radical protest zones of recent years, such as the Capitol Hill Occupied Protest in Seattle, Black Lives Matter’s Abolition Square in 2016, or Occupy Wall Street in 2011. And that was purposeful: “You gotta have wins,” Williams told me. “A billion dollars out of the NYPD and into housing, education, social services, and health care has material impacts on the people that need it the most—[though] it’s not enough.”
To Williams, the City Hall encampment is part of a greater organizing vision. It’s tactical: Organizers chose that Tuesday to set up the encampment because it was election day in New York state—“go vote for the world that you deserve, and then come to City Hall and occupy to demand it.” And it’s systemically targeted: The demonstration’s language purposefully evokes Occupy Wall Street and its anti-capitalist spirit—“to connect race, class, and the police, and how the institution of policing functions in capitalism,” Williams said. Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann
Because of the short notice, only a few dozen people stayed at the encampment the first night. But the next day, hundreds flocked to the site, showing that this escalatory, communal action was the second wind of the movement in New York City after nearly a month of marching, and curfews, and mass arrests, and police violence, and patronizing statements from public officials. Current Issue View our current issue
By the encampment’s second afternoon, participants had set up water depots, hot food stands, snack stands, sanitation stations, personal protective equipment stations, a “bodega” for sundries, sleeping and lounging material caches, a charging station, WiFi, a de-escalatory security team, a first aid desk with a team of medics, an art station, a library, a garden, a voter registration table, a phone-banking table, a welcome desk, a press table, lost and found, organized bathroom access, a trash and recycling system, a performance and teach-in schedule, and a text alert system—all of it free, most of it functioning around the clock. The area became a resolute middle finger to the city, state, and federal governments that, in addition to siccing cops on protesters, had botched their Covid-19 response to such a degree that a ragtag group of strangers was taking care of their citizens—including homeless comrades—better than they were. In this way, the encampment quickly became a radicalizing force; aside from its policy demands, it is a place to practice and discuss the all-encompassing goal of a compassionate, cop-free society.
Still, protest encampments are messy affairs, and disagreements among factions arose—particularly over what some perceived to be an attitude of hierarchy and ownership over the communal space from some of the original organizers. There was also grumbling about the $1 billion demand, as many saw it as a much too small portion of the NYPD’s $5.7 billion operating budget to have any chance at pushing the envelope.
Eventually, however, the encampment converged toward something resembling an ideological and tactical stasis. Protesters were welcomed to engage in their own direct actions—there were marches that blocked traffic at the nearby Brooklyn Bridge and rallies outside City Council members’ homes. And it became generally understood that $1 billion, divested from the NYPD and reinvested in social programs, was an official though arguably insufficient demand by some of the original organizers of the encampment.
The $1 billion demand “is a demand by some of the organizers. But we are only instrumentally interested in policy,” said one protester, a facilitator of the Abolition Library Commons, the encampment’s pop-up library and discussion space. “We are interested in a world where everyone lives well, and no one is in a cage.… The overwhelming movement is based on the intuition that the institution of police is obscene.” Related Article Bill de Blasio Broke His Promise to New York The Editors
In this way, the abolitionist and collective character of the encampment—though perhaps muddled at first—began to more fully blossom as the week went on.
By this Tuesday, the day of the budget vote, news reports had been indicating that the City Council and the mayor had reached an agreement that in eyes of the protesters was transparently bogus. Mayor Bill de Blasio and most Council members claimed that the budget was set to cut the NYPD’s funding by $1 billion, but nearly half of those “cuts” were to come from shifting the City’s school safety agent program from the police department to the department of education. Other cuts were to include a reduction in fringe benefits and other similar costs that don’t count toward the NYPD’s $5.7 billion operating budget. All in all, the agreement wouldn’t meaningfully reduce the police presence in the city, and would save crumbs from the police budget, even as social services were to undergo coronavirus-induced austerity.
According to Council member Carlos Menchaca of Brooklyn, a vocal supporter of the protests who was part of the budget negotiations and voted no on the final agreement, the City Council has isolated itself from the desires of the people, as voiced through the ongoing movement. “If you were out in the protests feeling the energy, the kind of connection between strangers who are out there pushing a particular message to defund the NYPD and restore social and health services for communities that are impacted by Covid, you understood,” he said. “But we’ve been in a bubble this whole time, negotiating a budget, separated from the people on the ground who are crying for change.”
The movement was well aware of the council’s disconnect. Inside the encampment, the reaction to the budget news was that of both anger and unsurprise—and, with masses of people present that day, eagerness to take action. After watching the budget hearing finish with expected results late that night, protesters decided to take the 3:00 am meeting to figure out what to do now that the encampment’s initial demands were going officially unmet.
A facilitator volunteered to guide the group as it collectively answered a tense set of questions: Do we stay or do we leave? Do we stick to the plaza or take the streets? And, most pressingly, What do we do about the next police raid?—a raid they were sure was coming later that morning.
Overwhelmingly, the protesters voted to stay at the encampment—at least another day—to guard the plaza and their project in abolition from police destruction. They came up with an organized plan to form a human wall to keep the cops out. Front-line protesters were given helmets and eyewear, medics took their positions, and when what appeared to be hundreds of riot cops came to tear away barricades just a couple hours later, the protesters held their lines and successfully pushed them away after violent instigation. When the cops left, the energy was electric; despite negative results in the City Council, the encampment knew that they had seized momentum for their movement.
Though it’s still going strong, protesters—now mostly grassroots-organized but still Black-led—are taking the question of the future of the encampment day by day. It could become a semi-permanent fixture in New York City’s movement. Or protesters could decide one day that it would be strategically best to pack up and find another place to occupy, or another tactic to forward the movement’s momentum. Or police could break through with more violent attacks and evict everybody. Or, unlike with marches, Covid-19 could come into play, and protesters could be forced to find another form of outdoor escalation and community building.
Whatever the case, the City Hall encampment seems to have generated a new sense of community and commitment among protesters. Said the Abolition Library Commons organizer: “This isn’t stopping anytime soon.”