thenation--2020-12-22--The Socialists vs. Andrew Cuomo

The Socialists vs. Andrew Cuomo

Two socialists emerged from a flower shop in Astoria , Queens , with a bouquet of red roses .
Jabari Brisport , 33 , a newly elected state senator from Brooklyn , sported a red Democratic Socialists of America hoodie while Zohran Mamdani , 29 , a newly elected assemblyman from Queens , wore a red-and-black checked Arsenal jersey—an item he ’ d just purchased and later characterized as “ this ridiculous shirt ” yet was plainly excited to show off .
NYC-DSA endorsed both this year , and the pair spent the overcast November weekend surprising each of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ candidates at home with a rose .
( The color red has represented socialism and communism at least since the 1840s , while the red rose , now the symbol of the Democratic Socialists of America , has been associated with socialist and social democratic movements and parties since the 1880s . )
“ I ’ d like to point out that he didn ’ t pay [ for the flowers ] .
That ’ s the problem with socialism , ” Mamdani ribbed Brisport , impersonating a conservative .
“ Eventually you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ money.
” The two were part of a slate of five candidates for state government endorsed by NYC-DSA this election cycle .
The others were Julia Salazar , the sole incumbent , representing North Brooklyn in the state Senate ; and Assembly challengers ( both tenant organizers ) Peruvian-born Marcela Mitaynes in Sunset Park and Phara Souffrant Forrest of Crown Heights , a nurse and daughter of Haitian immigrants .
All five won their races , in a huge show of power for an organization that has only been a significant force in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Through a retreat in October , weekly Zoom calls with fellow NYC-DSA members , and other meetings and texts , the socialist five have been getting to know one another and planning their Albany strategy .
I ’ m an NYC-DSA member ; I live in Brisport and Forrest ’ s districts , and volunteered on their campaigns as well as Salazar ’ s .
I can ’ t wait to see what happens next .
Mamdani was kidding about running out of “ other people ’ s money , ” but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Everything the socialists want to achieve in office—eviction relief and other urgent assistance ; full funding for transit , schools , and health care ; a Green New Deal for New York—costs money .
The first item on their legislative agenda , then , is the one that could make everything else possible : taxing the rich .
Ninety percent of New Yorkers favor increasing taxes on millionaires and billionaires .
In a deadly pandemic and a devastating recession , the needs are obvious , with lines for food pantries spanning blocks .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ be decided on its moral rightness or even its popularity but by a power struggle .
On the socialists ’ side is an organized movement and a receptive public .
Against them , most likely , will be Governor Andrew Cuomo and the ruling class he represents .
The Future of Democratic Socialism Starts Here Cuomo , Salazar told me , “ is practically a Republican.
” Taking shelter under a temporary pandemic lean-to outside a bar on Wyckoff Avenue in Brooklyn ’ s Bushwick neighborhood , on a cold , rainy evening @ @ @ @ @ @ @ toddy and explained how power is organized in Albany .
“ The way the budget process is constitutionally designed gives outsized power to the governor , ” she said , explaining that the legislature isn ’ t empowered to add items to the budget without the governor ’ s consent .
This makes progressive legislation especially tough , since Cuomo , she said , “ is a fiscal conservative , proudly committed to austerity.
” He ’ s a crucial part of the reason New York state has a budget shortfall , despite @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 118 billionaires .
But Salazar observed that the winds around Cuomo were shifting , with even moderate legislators now calling for taxing the rich .
Senate majority leader Andrea Stewart-Cousins , who represents wealthy Westchester County , said this summer that raising taxes was unlikely despite the state ’ s looming budget crises .
Yet as soon as all the absentee ballots were counted and all five members of the DSA slate declared victory , Salazar said , the Democratic leadership in the legislature released a public statement saying the state government needed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ very telling , to me , of what was to come in January.
” The presence of more socialists in Albany , Salazar emphasized , “ will really make a difference.
” In fact , the socialist victories over longtime incumbents should serve as a warning .
NYC-DSA cochair Chi Anunwa put it this way : “ Hey , you know , if you don ’ t want to raise revenue and provide housing and health care to all , that ’ s fine .
But don ’ t be surprised if you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Cuomo mostly got his way .
A cadre of Democrats in the state Senate who caucused with the Republicans made progressive legislation almost impossible .
In 2018 , a grassroots campaign defeated nearly all of those conservative Democrats , replacing them with progressives .
It was then that DSA made its first foray into state politics , electing Salazar to the state Senate .
Salazar , DSA , and a coalition of tenants ’ rights groups seized the moment , expanding protection for renters in New York State for the first time in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is one of the most powerful interest groups in the state , and most political observers both inside and outside DSA were shocked that it could be defeated by grassroots organizing .
“ The governor could have vetoed it , ” said Michael Kinnucan of the Brooklyn DSA Electoral Working Group .
“ I would have thought the rent laws would be the last thing he ’ d want to compromise on.
” Cuomo is known as a vengeful bully , and a great deal of New York politics is explained by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cross the governor , they may face punishment .
Cuomo ’ s also skilled at resisting policy moves from the left , while retaining something resembling heartthrob status to the party ’ s liberal base .
In the early days of the pandemic , many incorporated his briefings into their daily routines and wore “ Cuomosexual ” T-shirts .
But this mystique around the governor ’ s political power , said Kinnucan , though not unfounded , has often served to let the legislature off the hook .
Now that Cuomo ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are learning that he ’ s not the only decision-maker in Albany .
When Cuomo ’ s real estate industry cronies called him to ask him to stop the pro-tenant legislation from passing last year , he told them to call their legislators .
It ’ s too early to say whether this story will be repeated in the fight for progressive taxation .
Last summer , Cuomo argued that taxing New York ’ s wealthy would mean “ you ’ d have no more billionaires , ” as if , New York @ @ @ @ @ @ @ someone had proposed killing off the warblers of the Adirondacks.
” Recently , however , Cuomo seems to have tacked to the left on the matter .
In late November he warned that New York would need to raise taxes on the wealthy if no pandemic-related aid were forthcoming from Washington , which depends partly on the outcome of next month ’ s Georgia Senate runoffs .
In early December , Cuomo went further , suggesting that such tax increases were likely regardless of what happens in Georgia or Washington .
He ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ politically inevitable , hoping to take credit for a popular policy he initially opposed ( as he ’ s done before ) —or preparing the ground for a small , watered-down tax increase that will appear responsive while making everyone to his left look like Ho Chi Minh ( as he ’ s also done before ) .
How will the elected socialists , DSA , and their allies prevail ?
Through an “ inside/outside ” strategy , Anunwa explained , with the new officials organizing their colleagues , while the rest of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grassroots to pressure Albany .
The grassroots campaign launched in early December , with phone banking and leafletting urging New Yorkers to pressure their legislators to support legislation taxing the rich .
About 785 volunteers participated in the campaign in the first week , making more than 105,000 calls and hanging flyers on some 60,000 doors ( no canvassing yet due to Covid-19 ) .
On the phones , volunteers found tremendous enthusiasm for the campaign ; the phone bank technology allows the volunteer to put the constituents through to their legislator ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them to support the bills , and DSA volunteers have been especially struck by how many people ( 968 in the first week ) chose this option .
It was the most successful launch of any single-issue campaign in NYC-DSA ’ s history .
NYC-DSA is not the only powerful organization fighting to tax New York ’ s rich .
A coalition called New York Budget Justice—which , along with NYC-DSA , includes Alliance for Quality Education , Indivisible Harlem , and more than a dozen other groups—has formed solely around this demand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ NYC-DSA launched its Tax the Rich campaign , 10 labor unions plus the New York State AFL-CIO publicly joined the call , with the union that represents transit workers , Local 100 TWU , organizing a rally in mid-December with DSA and other labor unions .
Sitting in Astoria ’ s Socrates Sculpture Garden , Brisport and his chief of staff , Kara Clark , who was active in DSA ’ s Defund the Police campaign , talked about building relationships in Albany , where they have a growing number of progressive and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ slate is working on their more moderate future colleagues , too .
Brisport , a middle school math teacher about to become the first openly gay Black person in the New York State legislature , has befriended Andrea Stewart-Cousins , the first Black woman to be the state senate ’ s majority leader .
Brisport helped her out in the fall with the fight to keep a Democratic majority in the legislature , volunteering on campaigns in swing districts where Democratic seats were threatened by Republicans .
( Now that all the absentee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have a veto-proof supermajority . )
Asked if the majority leader is receptive to the socialist agenda , Brisport paused and answered , “ She ’ s receptive to me as a person , so that ’ s good.
” This means more than many working outside government might suppose .
Mamdani observed that how legislators vote or what bills they sign onto is often not ideological but “ because their friends asked them to.
” The next day , I met Brisport and Mamdani in Brooklyn .
Brisport wore the same red @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mamdani , who was born in Kampala , Uganda , repped the Nigerian national soccer team with a black-and-white checked jersey almost as loud as the previous day ’ s choice .
Neither were dressed quite warmly enough for the chilly day .
This time Brisport paid for the roses .
One of the City Council candidates we visited , Brandon West , a community organizer , answered his door warily .
He seemed relieved when Mamdani and Brisport presented him with a rose , admitting sheepishly , “ I thought I was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; West ’ s new comrades came only in solidarity and left extra flowers for his roommates .
But the socialists are indeed about to be hazed by the state ’ s political establishment .
In any case , they ’ re getting ready .

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Two socialists emerged from a flower shop in Astoria, Queens, with a bouquet of red roses. Jabari Brisport, 33, a newly elected state senator from Brooklyn, sported a red Democratic Socialists of America hoodie while Zohran Mamdani, 29, a newly elected assemblyman from Queens, wore a red-and-black checked Arsenal jersey—an item he’d just purchased and later characterized as “this ridiculous shirt” yet was plainly excited to show off. NYC-DSA endorsed both this year, and the pair spent the overcast November weekend surprising each of the organization’s freshly endorsed City Council candidates at home with a rose. (The color red has represented socialism and communism at least since the 1840s, while the red rose, now the symbol of the Democratic Socialists of America, has been associated with socialist and social democratic movements and parties since the 1880s.) “I’d like to point out that he didn’t pay [for the flowers]. That’s the problem with socialism,” Mamdani ribbed Brisport, impersonating a conservative. “Eventually you run out of other people’s money.”
The two were part of a slate of five candidates for state government endorsed by NYC-DSA this election cycle. The others were Julia Salazar, the sole incumbent, representing North Brooklyn in the state Senate; and Assembly challengers (both tenant organizers) Peruvian-born Marcela Mitaynes in Sunset Park and Phara Souffrant Forrest of Crown Heights, a nurse and daughter of Haitian immigrants. All five won their races, in a huge show of power for an organization that has only been a significant force in New York electoral politics for two years. Through a retreat in October, weekly Zoom calls with fellow NYC-DSA members, and other meetings and texts, the socialist five have been getting to know one another and planning their Albany strategy. I’m an NYC-DSA member; I live in Brisport and Forrest’s districts, and volunteered on their campaigns as well as Salazar’s. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Mamdani was kidding about running out of “other people’s money,” but it’s an important joke. Everything the socialists want to achieve in office—eviction relief and other urgent assistance; full funding for transit, schools, and health care; a Green New Deal for New York—costs money. The first item on their legislative agenda, then, is the one that could make everything else possible: taxing the rich.
Ninety percent of New Yorkers favor increasing taxes on millionaires and billionaires. In a deadly pandemic and a devastating recession, the needs are obvious, with lines for food pantries spanning blocks. Still, the policy won’t be decided on its moral rightness or even its popularity but by a power struggle. On the socialists’ side is an organized movement and a receptive public. Against them, most likely, will be Governor Andrew Cuomo and the ruling class he represents. Related Article The Future of Democratic Socialism Starts Here Alan Maass
Cuomo, Salazar told me, “is practically a Republican.” Taking shelter under a temporary pandemic lean-to outside a bar on Wyckoff Avenue in Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood, on a cold, rainy evening last month, Salazar sipped a hot toddy and explained how power is organized in Albany. “The way the budget process is constitutionally designed gives outsized power to the governor,” she said, explaining that the legislature isn’t empowered to add items to the budget without the governor’s consent. This makes progressive legislation especially tough, since Cuomo, she said, “is a fiscal conservative, proudly committed to austerity.” He’s a crucial part of the reason New York state has a budget shortfall, despite having at least a million millionaires and 118 billionaires. 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung
But Salazar observed that the winds around Cuomo were shifting, with even moderate legislators now calling for taxing the rich. Senate majority leader Andrea Stewart-Cousins, who represents wealthy Westchester County, said this summer that raising taxes was unlikely despite the state’s looming budget crises. Yet as soon as all the absentee ballots were counted and all five members of the DSA slate declared victory, Salazar said, the Democratic leadership in the legislature released a public statement saying the state government needed to raise revenues. “That was very telling, to me, of what was to come in January.” The presence of more socialists in Albany, Salazar emphasized, “will really make a difference.”
In fact, the socialist victories over longtime incumbents should serve as a warning. NYC-DSA cochair Chi Anunwa put it this way: “Hey, you know, if you don’t want to raise revenue and provide housing and health care to all, that’s fine. But don’t be surprised if you experience our primary challenge.” Current Issue View our current issue
Before 2018 Cuomo mostly got his way. A cadre of Democrats in the state Senate who caucused with the Republicans made progressive legislation almost impossible. In 2018, a grassroots campaign defeated nearly all of those conservative Democrats, replacing them with progressives. It was then that DSA made its first foray into state politics, electing Salazar to the state Senate. Salazar, DSA, and a coalition of tenants’ rights groups seized the moment, expanding protection for renters in New York State for the first time in 40 years. The real estate industry is one of the most powerful interest groups in the state, and most political observers both inside and outside DSA were shocked that it could be defeated by grassroots organizing. “The governor could have vetoed it,” said Michael Kinnucan of the Brooklyn DSA Electoral Working Group. “I would have thought the rent laws would be the last thing he’d want to compromise on.”
Cuomo is known as a vengeful bully, and a great deal of New York politics is explained by the fact that people know that if they cross the governor, they may face punishment. Cuomo’s also skilled at resisting policy moves from the left, while retaining something resembling heartthrob status to the party’s liberal base. In the early days of the pandemic, many incorporated his briefings into their daily routines and wore “Cuomosexual” T-shirts. But this mystique around the governor’s political power, said Kinnucan, though not unfounded, has often served to let the legislature off the hook. Now that Cuomo’s power is increasingly challenged, New Yorkers are learning that he’s not the only decision-maker in Albany. When Cuomo’s real estate industry cronies called him to ask him to stop the pro-tenant legislation from passing last year, he told them to call their legislators.
It’s too early to say whether this story will be repeated in the fight for progressive taxation. Last summer, Cuomo argued that taxing New York’s wealthy would mean “you’d have no more billionaires,” as if, New York Times columnist Ginia Bellafante quipped, “someone had proposed killing off the warblers of the Adirondacks.” Recently, however, Cuomo seems to have tacked to the left on the matter. In late November he warned that New York would need to raise taxes on the wealthy if no pandemic-related aid were forthcoming from Washington, which depends partly on the outcome of next month’s Georgia Senate runoffs. In early December, Cuomo went further, suggesting that such tax increases were likely regardless of what happens in Georgia or Washington. He’s perhaps conceding in advance to the politically inevitable, hoping to take credit for a popular policy he initially opposed (as he’s done before)—or preparing the ground for a small, watered-down tax increase that will appear responsive while making everyone to his left look like Ho Chi Minh (as he’s also done before).
How will the elected socialists, DSA, and their allies prevail? Through an “inside/outside” strategy, Anunwa explained, with the new officials organizing their colleagues, while the rest of DSA, in turn, organizes the grassroots to pressure Albany.
The grassroots campaign launched in early December, with phone banking and leafletting urging New Yorkers to pressure their legislators to support legislation taxing the rich. About 785 volunteers participated in the campaign in the first week, making more than 105,000 calls and hanging flyers on some 60,000 doors (no canvassing yet due to Covid-19). On the phones, volunteers found tremendous enthusiasm for the campaign; the phone bank technology allows the volunteer to put the constituents through to their legislator’s office right that minute to tell them to support the bills, and DSA volunteers have been especially struck by how many people (968 in the first week) chose this option. It was the most successful launch of any single-issue campaign in NYC-DSA’s history.
NYC-DSA is not the only powerful organization fighting to tax New York’s rich. A coalition called New York Budget Justice—which, along with NYC-DSA, includes Alliance for Quality Education, Indivisible Harlem, and more than a dozen other groups—has formed solely around this demand. In mid-December, the week after NYC-DSA launched its Tax the Rich campaign, 10 labor unions plus the New York State AFL-CIO publicly joined the call, with the union that represents transit workers, Local 100 TWU, organizing a rally in mid-December with DSA and other labor unions.
Sitting in Astoria’s Socrates Sculpture Garden, Brisport and his chief of staff, Kara Clark, who was active in DSA’s Defund the Police campaign, talked about building relationships in Albany, where they have a growing number of progressive and even fellow socialist allies. But the slate is working on their more moderate future colleagues, too. Brisport, a middle school math teacher about to become the first openly gay Black person in the New York State legislature, has befriended Andrea Stewart-Cousins, the first Black woman to be the state senate’s majority leader. Brisport helped her out in the fall with the fight to keep a Democratic majority in the legislature, volunteering on campaigns in swing districts where Democratic seats were threatened by Republicans. (Now that all the absentee ballots have been counted, the Democrats have a veto-proof supermajority.) Asked if the majority leader is receptive to the socialist agenda, Brisport paused and answered, “She’s receptive to me as a person, so that’s good.” This means more than many working outside government might suppose. Mamdani observed that how legislators vote or what bills they sign onto is often not ideological but “because their friends asked them to.”
The next day, I met Brisport and Mamdani in Brooklyn. Brisport wore the same red hoodie as the previous day, while Mamdani, who was born in Kampala, Uganda, repped the Nigerian national soccer team with a black-and-white checked jersey almost as loud as the previous day’s choice. Neither were dressed quite warmly enough for the chilly day. This time Brisport paid for the roses. One of the City Council candidates we visited, Brandon West, a community organizer, answered his door warily. He seemed relieved when Mamdani and Brisport presented him with a rose, admitting sheepishly, “I thought I was getting hazed.” NYC-DSA is no fraternity; West’s new comrades came only in solidarity and left extra flowers for his roommates. But the socialists are indeed about to be hazed by the state’s political establishment. In any case, they’re getting ready.


thenation--2020-12-23--Smoking Meat, Hoping to Survive

Smoking Meat, Hoping to Survive

olumbia , outh arolina—Yeah , it is hard as hell operating a restaurant in the midst of a pandemic .
Very f-ing hard .
Last week around 7:30-ish in the morning I was awakened by a phone call .
The voice on the other end said , “ Mr .
Gray , this is Officer So-and-so with the City of Columbia Police Department.
” I didn ’ t get his name , as the call caught me off guard .
Without hesitation I asked , “ Is there something wrong at the restaurant ?
” “ No , ” he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in to see if everything is all right with you.
” Turns out he was one of the community relations officers .
I ’ m not used to connecting police with a morning howdy-do except on reruns of The Andy Griffith Show—the black-and-white episodes .
Most of my life I ’ ve spent in political struggles , which have involved burning the Confederate flag on statehouse grounds , organizing electoral defeats of racist sheriffs , defending free speech , and resisting violence , be it at the hands of police or presidents or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ systems of economic or physical meanness .
Some of the history of those struggles—and , really , a sampling of black political and social history of South Carolina over the past 60 years—is represented on the walls of this barbecue restaurant , which seemed like a simple idea when my friend Keyur Naik and I came up with it six years ago .
Keyur was the businessman .
We were going to run it together , as I knew nothing about the restaurant business .
Then he moved to Dallas to work with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Is Ours What I Learned Moving Cross-Country Twice in 4 Months 9 Months Into Touch-Free Living , What Shall We Birth ?
More in this series Barbecue is comfort food .
History isn ’ t exactly comfort but , traditionally , gathering over food is .
Of course , where you eat , what you eat , and whether you even can eat are weighty with historical and political meaning .
It should tell you a lot that a barbecue restaurant is the closest thing to a museum of civil rights history in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ We opened Railroad BBQ officially in February , and the virus shut us down in March .
Generally speaking , the experience of the past few months has made me hopeful about people .
Especially when they work cooperatively versus competing on even the smallest things .
Or when return customers say , “ We ’ re here for you ” and “ we ’ re going to spread the word.
” The other side is the higher cost of everything .
I call it the “ Covid surtax.
” And because we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thing in our business practices , we ’ re often held to a standard that folk don ’ t hold themselves to .
That depresses me .
Since “ reopening ” with take-out , delivery , and patio seating only , we ’ ve built a base of regular customers , probably a 50-50 racial mix .
First , the firemen started coming , then the police , then EMTs .
We give a first-responders discount .
It ’ s a matter of pride that county health department workers are regulars , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ building across the street , our anticipated lunchtime base , have been working from home because of Covid .
We were set to cater the police department ’ s Thanksgiving affair ; they wanted brisket , 300 meals .
Canceled because of Covid .
We had a catering contract with the Census Bureau .
Cancelled because of Covid .
People come in to take pictures ; many have wanted to do events—anniversary dinners , even a wedding reception .
Impossible because of Covid .
Still , we ’ re trying to keep people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ smoking meat that means every day .
Our Houston-born pit master , Marco Brito , often works through the night , as it takes 12 hours to smoke brisket and seven hours for ribs .
We use peach and hickory wood .
I believe we have some of the best “ que ” in the state thanks to Marco and our sous-chef , Keyshaun Boulware .
Those fellows love to cook .
We have seven workers .
Linous , and our lead hostess , Sharon , were hired as wait staff ; they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leave tips .
Linous was supposed to return to college at St. John ’ s in New York this fall , but he missed the New York State quarantine requirement , so he does school work between shifts .
Tom Steyer ’ s South Carolina Support Isn ’ t Just About the Benjamins About two-thirds of US restaurant workers were unemployed in April , and 8 million more were fired or forced to quit .
Now it ’ s estimated that half the restaurants in some cities will go under .
Almost 25 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ expect to be around in six months without government help .
As good as our food , workers , and community support are , we know we survive by chance .
Having renovated an old gas station , we ’ re not burdened by an extortionate landlord .
We have a partner , Francie Close , who ’ s been our financial backbone from the start .
Without her support , we ’ d be closed down .
We didn ’ t apply for a PPP loan ; Francie said , “ There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Covid is a test of everybody ’ s solidarity , but this is South Carolina , and that means something too .
I won ’ t lie , it is not fun to wear masks and gloves all day long .
We do it because we know that if one person gets sick , we have to shut it all down .
Beyond our doors , not everyone has got the memo .
My running joke has been that Republicans and poor black folk got the memo and ripped it up .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ plot , and poor blacks are skeptical of a government that didn ’ t care about them before , so why should they believe it now ?
Signs upfront require masks , and one says , “ We reserve the right to refuse service to mean people.
” We ’ ve had more than a few white men come in , then balk when told to wear a mask .
One guy came in with his family ; gave a speech about wanting to patronize us but he wasn ’ t going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wasn ’ t at work the day a white couple with Florida tags stopped by .
The man kept calling Linous “ boy ” This isn ’ t the first , second , or third time that we ’ ve had to deal with such slights .
One morning as I was getting out of my truck a delivery man addressed me as “ Bo.
” When I was growing up if someone called you “ bo ” ( short for “ boy ” ) or “ buddy , ” the common response @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a white man ’ s hunting dogs.
” I write off the bo , boy , mask thing to the Trump effect , whereby overtly racist people feel even freer to be overtly racist .
But you can ’ t run a business on the black side of town without constant reminders of subtler racism .
Our monthly hospitality tax payments go primarily to the “ hospitality districts , ” which are overwhelming white .
There , “ yellow shirts ” ride around in golf carts or on Segways keeping the areas clean @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the streets and sidewalks ourselves .
We ’ ve had to clean up by the county building to keep trash from traveling our way .
We ’ re located by the railroad tracks ; when it rains , the ditch beside the track along the potholed gravel lane fills with water .
Both our city and county councils are majority black , but drive around the city and you see where the money and effort go .
We ’ re not yet at break even , but Railroad BBQ will survive , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my older sister Doris and her husband , Elliott , have saved my sanity , although I ’ m sure many would argue that point .
They do all the admin work , taxes , payroll , keeping up with sales , and such .
I ’ m looking forward to the time when our place runs itself .
Back at the start , we faced a stream of mostly white male vendors or government petty tyrants who suspected us of being drug dealers trying to wash money .
We faced workers who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they seemed to be waiting for us to mistreat them .
Then there were those who saw Covid testing as another form of discrimination .
Our next challenge is to convince people that a vaccination is important to our survival ; it may be a job requirement if we want “ butts in seats , ” which is the goal .
So there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel , but then you never know .
I hope it ’ s not the kind in Jesse Jackson ’ s old @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it was light at the end of the tunnel , but nobody told us it was a train coming at us.
” Scenes From a Pandemic is a collaboration between The Nation and Kopkind , a living memorial to radical journalist Andrew Kopkind , who from 1982–94 was the magazine ’ s chief political writer and analyst .
This series of dispatches from Kopkind ’ s far-flung network of participants , advisers , guests , and friends is edited by Nation contributor and Kopkind program director JoAnn Wypijewski , and appears weekly on @ @ @ @

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C olumbia, S outh C arolina—Yeah, it is hard as hell operating a restaurant in the midst of a pandemic. Very f-ing hard.
Last week around 7:30-ish in the morning I was awakened by a phone call. The voice on the other end said, “Mr. Gray, this is Officer So-and-so with the City of Columbia Police Department.” I didn’t get his name, as the call caught me off guard. Without hesitation I asked, “Is there something wrong at the restaurant?”
“No,” he said, “I was just checking in to see if everything is all right with you.” Turns out he was one of the community relations officers.
I’m not used to connecting police with a morning howdy-do except on reruns of The Andy Griffith Show—the black-and-white episodes. Most of my life I’ve spent in political struggles, which have involved burning the Confederate flag on statehouse grounds, organizing electoral defeats of racist sheriffs, defending free speech, and resisting violence, be it at the hands of police or presidents or individuals who themselves are often familiar with systems of economic or physical meanness. Some of the history of those struggles—and, really, a sampling of black political and social history of South Carolina over the past 60 years—is represented on the walls of this barbecue restaurant, which seemed like a simple idea when my friend Keyur Naik and I came up with it six years ago. Keyur was the businessman. We were going to run it together, as I knew nothing about the restaurant business. Then he moved to Dallas to work with his brother. Scenes From a Pandemic Untethered, or The Year of Living Virtually Patricia J. Williams The Art of the Meal Mary Lewis Maybe We Shouldn’t Go Back to Normal Bri M.
Barbecue is comfort food. History isn’t exactly comfort but, traditionally, gathering over food is. Of course, where you eat, what you eat, and whether you even can eat are weighty with historical and political meaning. It should tell you a lot that a barbecue restaurant is the closest thing to a museum of civil rights history in South Carolina’s state capital.
We opened Railroad BBQ officially in February, and the virus shut us down in March. Generally speaking, the experience of the past few months has made me hopeful about people. Especially when they work cooperatively versus competing on even the smallest things. Or when return customers say, “We’re here for you” and “we’re going to spread the word.” The other side is the higher cost of everything. I call it the “Covid surtax.” And because we profess to try to do the right thing in our business practices, we’re often held to a standard that folk don’t hold themselves to. That depresses me.
Since “reopening” with take-out, delivery, and patio seating only, we’ve built a base of regular customers, probably a 50-50 racial mix. First, the firemen started coming, then the police, then EMTs. We give a first-responders discount. It’s a matter of pride that county health department workers are regulars, but many other employees from the county administration building across the street, our anticipated lunchtime base, have been working from home because of Covid. We were set to cater the police department’s Thanksgiving affair; they wanted brisket, 300 meals. Canceled because of Covid. We had a catering contract with the Census Bureau. Canceled because of Covid. People come in to take pictures; many have wanted to do events—anniversary dinners, even a wedding reception. Impossible because of Covid. 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung Current Issue View our current issue
Still, we’re trying to keep people working, and when you’re smoking meat that means every day. Our Houston-born pit master, Marco Brito, often works through the night, as it takes 12 hours to smoke brisket and seven hours for ribs. We use peach and hickory wood. I believe we have some of the best “que” in the state thanks to Marco and our sous-chef, Keshaun Boulware. Those fellows love to cook. We have seven workers. Linous, and our lead hostess, Sharon, were hired as wait staff; they’re cashiers now. Yet folk leave tips. Linous was supposed to return to college at St. John’s in New York this fall, but he missed the New York State quarantine requirement, so he does school work between shifts. More From Kevin Alexander Gray Remembering Frank Watkins, Longtime Lieutenant to Jesse Jackson September 30, 2022 Can Jaime Harrison Really Beat Lindsey Graham? October 19, 2020 Tom Steyer’s South Carolina Support Isn’t Just About the Benjamins February 27, 2020
About two-thirds of US restaurant workers were unemployed in April, and 8 million more were fired or forced to quit. Now it’s estimated that half the restaurants in some cities will go under. Almost 25 percent in this state don’t expect to be around in six months without government help. As good as our food, workers, and community support are, we know we survive by chance. Having renovated an old gas station, we’re not burdened by an extortionate landlord. We have a partner, Francie Close, who’s been our financial backbone from the start. Without her support, we’d be closed down. We didn’t apply for a PPP loan; Francie said, “There are other people who really need it.”
Covid is a test of everybody’s solidarity, but this is South Carolina, and that means something too. I won’t lie, it is not fun to wear masks and gloves all day long. We do it because we know that if one person gets sick, we have to shut it all down. Beyond our doors, not everyone has got the memo. My running joke has been that Republicans and poor black folk got the memo and ripped it up. Trump Republicans see Covid as a Democratic plot, and poor blacks are skeptical of a government that didn’t care about them before, so why should they believe it now?
Signs upfront require masks, and one says, “We reserve the right to refuse service to mean people.” We’ve had more than a few white men come in, then balk when told to wear a mask. One guy came in with his family; gave a speech about wanting to patronize us but he wasn’t going to wear a mask while ordering. I wasn’t at work the day a white couple with Florida tags stopped by. The man kept calling Linous “boy” This isn’t the first, second, or third time that we’ve had to deal with such slights. One morning as I was getting out of my truck a delivery man addressed me as “Bo.” When I was growing up if someone called you “bo” (short for “boy”) or “buddy,” the common response was, “Bo and Buddy are a white man’s hunting dogs.”
I write off the bo, boy, mask thing to the Trump effect, whereby overtly racist people feel even freer to be overtly racist. But you can’t run a business on the black side of town without constant reminders of subtler racism. Our monthly hospitality tax payments go primarily to the “hospitality districts,” which are overwhelming white. There, “yellow shirts” ride around in golf carts or on Segways keeping the areas clean. We have to pick up trash on the streets and sidewalks ourselves. We’ve had to clean up by the county building to keep trash from traveling our way. We’re located by the railroad tracks; when it rains, the ditch beside the track along the potholed gravel lane fills with water. Both our city and county councils are majority black, but drive around the city and you see where the money and effort go.
We’re not yet at break even, but Railroad BBQ will survive, we think. Our other partners, my older sister Doris and her husband, Elliott, have saved my sanity, although I’m sure many would argue that point. They do all the admin work, taxes, payroll, keeping up with sales, and such.
I’m looking forward to the time when our place runs itself. Back at the start, we faced a stream of mostly white male vendors or government petty tyrants who suspected us of being drug dealers trying to wash money. We faced workers who were so used to being exploited that they seemed to be waiting for us to mistreat them. Then there were those who saw Covid testing as another form of discrimination. Our next challenge is to convince people that a vaccination is important to our survival; it may be a job requirement if we want “butts in seats,” which is the goal. So there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but then you never know. I hope it’s not the kind in Jesse Jackson’s old line, “We always thought that it was light at the end of the tunnel, but nobody told us it was a train coming at us.”
Scenes From a Pandemic is a collaboration between The Nation and Kopkind, a living memorial to radical journalist Andrew Kopkind, who from 1982–94 was the magazine’s chief political writer and analyst. This series of dispatches from Kopkind’s far-flung network of participants, advisers, guests, and friends is edited by Nation contributor and Kopkind program director JoAnn Wypijewski, and appears weekly on thenation.com and kopkind.org.


thenation--2020-12-23--Paul Farmer on How We Tell the Story of a Pandemic

For more than three decades , Dr. Paul Farmer has been on the front lines delivering medical care to some of the most poverty-stricken regions in the world , amid dire outbreaks of cholera , Zika , Ebola , and now Covid-19 .
He first visited rural Haiti in 1983 to learn Creole and figure out what kind of doctor he wanted to be , shortly before enrolling in Harvard ’ s medical school , and throughout his education , traveled between central Haiti and Cambridge , Mass .
The sharp contrast between the resource-poor regions in Haiti and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , where he now chairs the department of global health and social medicine , has informed his entire career .
A champion of public health , Farmer cofounded Partners in Health in 1987 , a global nonprofit that uses community-based solutions to deliver high-quality care to those living in medical deserts and to challenge notions of clinical nihilism , a shrugging acceptance that some problems—social , structural , or otherwise—are simply insurmountable in combating a disease and caring for those it affects .
Dismissed as unsustainable and unrealistic , Partners in Health is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ failure of perseverance and of the imagination .
The organization operates in 11 countries , including Liberia and Sierra Leone , which is the setting for his new book , Fevers , Feuds , and Diamonds : Ebola and the Ravages of History .
Farmer has written several books on Haiti , AIDS , and medical inequalities , and in Fevers , Feuds , and Diamonds he draws on his training in medical anthropology and his experiences to explain the historical forces that made West Africa a medical desert and the social factors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to those sickened by Ebola .
This problem is not unique to West Africa , and part of Farmer ’ s project is to reframe pandemic narratives away from patient zero and questions of behavior , which put the burden of public health on individuals and fail to see the structural problems at play .
The United States , for example , is incredibly rich in resources , and yet it has responded poorly to Covid-19 because it has failed to effectively deliver care and distribute these resources equitably .
He spoke to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pathologies , the trappings of clinical nihilism , and the reasons a resource-rich nation like the United States has responded so poorly to Covid-19 .
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity .
onnor oodwin : You argue that the international response to the 2014 Ebola crisis focused more on getting the virus under control and less about caring for its victims .
Can you explain the colonial roots behind the control-over-care paradigm and illustrate how it played out in West Africa ?
aul armer : That kind of clinical nihilism @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was long accustomed to seeing how we lower our aspirations for people living in poverty , but seeing that play out in real time is always jarring .
I lived in Rwanda for a decade , mostly working as a doctor or on health care infrastructure , so I thought I knew something about the history of colonial medicine , but I didn ’ t .
When I started reading more about it , the idea was always to control epidemic disease among the natives , and there was very little attention given @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we know that ?
Well , when the British left Sierra Leone at the end of their formal colonial rule , they had established zero medical schools and zero nursing schools .
They also banned Black doctors from the colonial medical service .
The problem was structural .
They couldn ’ t have been very concerned about caring for those already afflicted , because the infrastructure wasn ’ t there .
It was very similar to the modern-day experience of clinical nihilism I ’ d seen elsewhere— “ We can ’ t treat @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s not cost-effective , it ’ s not sustainable , it ’ s not realistic.
” CG : Partners in Health focuses on delivering care to what you call medical deserts .
Can you explain this term and outline the historical forces that made West Africa a medical desert ?
PF : I borrowed this term from “ food desert ” [ an area with limited access to affordable healthy food ] to describe a place where there isn ’ t the staff , stuff , space , and systems to provide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ case in Upper West Africa at the outset of the Ebola epidemic , and it was the case even before war leveled what was left of staff , stuff , space , and systems .
The question was then , “ How do you irrigate a medical desert ?
” It ’ s not rocket science .
You need nurses .
You need safe clinical spaces where people aren ’ t going to get Ebola .
You need PPE [ personal protective equipment ] , electrolytes , fluids , and then systems .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ infection control , actually paying nurses .
We would go to these hospitals , and half the nurses weren ’ t even salaried .
So that ’ s what a clinical desert feels like—you don ’ t have the hospital , you don ’ t have the staff , you don ’ t have the supplies .
CG : Do you think some of the groundwork you helped lay out during Ebola has been instrumental in responding to Covid-19 in West Africa ?
PF : No question .
In fact , my colleagues @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the Ministry of Health , community groups , women ’ s groups—even our Ebola survivors ’ group has been deeply involved in responding to Covid .
In Liberia and Sierra Leone we still have over a thousand employees , almost all of whom are Sierra Leonean or Liberian , all working on health care delivery and on prevention .
People say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of a cure .
But what if you ’ re already sick ?
You need trauma care .
I don ’ t doubt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but what ’ s been really frustrating , as I tried to outline in the book , is there was so much money pledged to respond to Ebola—again , for fear that it might spread—but very little of it went into building national health systems .
I contrasted that to Rwanda , where everything we did and continue to do is strengthen the national health system .
CG : Could you illustrate the difference in care an Ebola victim would have received in Sierra Leone compared with the United States ?
PF @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few Europeans died is the amount of attention heaped on patients .
It ’ s because they were airlifted out of a medical desert and into medical oases .
The clinical care we saw in West Africa—sometimes it resembled no care at all .
How can you have a no-touch policy when you ’ re in complete PPE ?
How are you going to get in an IV ?
The answer was , you ’ re not going to get in an IV .
You ’ re just going to tell them to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not going to save lives .
In West Africa the case fatality rate at the end of the epidemic was just as bad at the beginning .
Why is that ?
I argue it ’ s the quality of the care or lack thereof .
CG : You make a very convincing case for why intimate knowledge of the history and social context of a region can be instrumental in effectively delivering care during an outbreak .
But when a crisis like an epidemic is unfolding , it is easy to see how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the dire and immediate needs of caring for an epidemic ’ s victims .
When you were in Sierra Leone , how did you juggle learning and caregiving ?
PF : The immediacy of the patient is always first .
In those first weeks—which were very frightening , I might add—we all focused on one thing : slowing transmission and taking care of patients who are already sick .
The tough question is , “ When do you pivot to these longer-term interventions that do require more knowledge of the context and history @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of patient needs , we need to include addressing root factors of the problem .
If there ’ s still no reliable public health care delivery system , the same problems are going to happen .
The experience I mentioned in Rwanda , which is sort of a backstory in the book , taught us that the more that is invested in national care delivery systems , the better we ’ ll be at preventing the next pandemic or taking care of those who were sickened by it .
Not long after the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ already planning to build a major medical academic center that would train Haitian health professionals and take care of a thousand patients a day .
That hospital was built in 18 months , and it ’ s the largest training center for Haitian health professionals .
CG : Many epidemic narratives frame the virus as the protagonist , which , in your view , legitimates therapeutic nihilism .
Instead , you frame the 2014 Ebola epidemic in a wider social and historical context to illustrate how , to paraphrase Louis Pasteur , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this reframing change epidemic narratives , and why is it more useful ?
PF : To go back to Covid , when people were saying early on , “ Well , nobody is immune—Covid is going to be the great leveler , ” we knew that was bullshit .
Whether it ’ s a respiratory pathogen like Covid or a contact-transmitted pathogen like Ebola , there ’ s been no epidemic we know of that ’ s been a great leveler .
Every patient is subject to different contexts .
We have the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and you have tens of thousands of essential workers sick , and they ’ re mostly people of color .
Of course it ’ s going to reach all levels of society , and it reaches with special virulence into people who ’ ve been marginalized by a series of historical forces .
So does knowing any of this make you a better clinician ?
Probably not .
Does it make you more passionate about addressing social pathologies that underpin many of the medical pathologies ?
I think it does .
I finished @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and what really struck me was the pessimism around containment .
We didn ’ t hear people saying , “ Forget about the ventilators , the PPE ” so much as “ It ’ s already out of control—there ’ s nothing we can do for contact tracing , social distancing.
” This containment nihilism was a new experience for me .
I like to think working with state authorities in Massachusetts to initiate a contact-tracing program is one of the reasons there ’ s less community-based transmission going on there now .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ re facing here : giving up on containment too early and now giving up on initiating more aggressive containment regimes that don ’ t shortchange the clinical care .
CG : Have you seen instances of the control-over-care paradigm in response to Covid-19 ?
PF : Anytime you write off a population or a group of people as beyond salvation , that ’ s often a marker of clinical nihilism .
We see that here largely in the direction of poor people , people of color , and sometimes the elderly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not doing enough for people who can ’ t pay for care , and this is one of the scourges of fee-for-service medicine .
How could it be otherwise ?
When you add a very weak insurance system , you ’ re going to get the kind of results we ’ ve seen .
CG : If you were to do a similar anthropological and historical analysis of the United States ’ response to Covid-19 , how would you account for the virulence of our terrain ?
PF : If pandemic disease and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ society , I think many of the things Ebola revealed about West Africa—and the United States , for that matter—would be a very similar set of social pathologies : inequality and weak insurance systems , including unemployment insurance .
What we wouldn ’ t see in the United States is a terrible lack of staff , stuff , space , and systems .
We ’ d see the maldistribution of staff , stuff , space , and systems .
One of the things I would do is to ask questions about the health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so patchwork ?
Why in the state of Massachusetts do you have 350 local health departments ?
Why does every school department have to make its own decision ?
Why does every university have to come up with its own plan ?
What about this nation , so blessed with resources , could account for such a poor outcome ?

For more than three decades, Dr. Paul Farmer has been on the front lines delivering medical care to some of the most poverty-stricken regions in the world, amid dire outbreaks of cholera, Zika, Ebola, and now Covid-19. He first visited rural Haiti in 1983 to learn Creole and figure out what kind of doctor he wanted to be, shortly before enrolling in Harvard’s medical school, and throughout his education, traveled between central Haiti and Cambridge, Mass. The sharp contrast between the resource-poor regions in Haiti and the abundant resources available to him on campus, where he now chairs the department of global health and social medicine, has informed his entire career.
A champion of public health, Farmer cofounded Partners in Health in 1987, a global nonprofit that uses community-based solutions to deliver high-quality care to those living in medical deserts and to challenge notions of clinical nihilism, a shrugging acceptance that some problems—social, structural, or otherwise—are simply insurmountable in combating a disease and caring for those it affects. Dismissed as unsustainable and unrealistic, Partners in Health is living proof that clinical nihilism is a failure of perseverance and of the imagination. The organization operates in 11 countries, including Liberia and Sierra Leone, which is the setting for his new book, Fevers, Feuds, and Diamonds: Ebola and the Ravages of History.
Farmer has written several books on Haiti, AIDS, and medical inequalities, and in Fevers, Feuds, and Diamonds he draws on his training in medical anthropology and his experiences to explain the historical forces that made West Africa a medical desert and the social factors that obstructed equitable delivery of effective care to those sickened by Ebola. This problem is not unique to West Africa, and part of Farmer’s project is to reframe pandemic narratives away from patient zero and questions of behavior, which put the burden of public health on individuals and fail to see the structural problems at play. The United States, for example, is incredibly rich in resources, and yet it has responded poorly to Covid-19 because it has failed to effectively deliver care and distribute these resources equitably.
He spoke to The Nation about social pathologies underpinning medical pathologies, the trappings of clinical nihilism, and the reasons a resource-rich nation like the United States has responded so poorly to Covid-19. This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
—Connor Goodwin
C onnor G oodwin: You argue that the international response to the 2014 Ebola crisis focused more on getting the virus under control and less about caring for its victims. Can you explain the colonial roots behind the control-over-care paradigm and illustrate how it played out in West Africa?
P aul F armer: That kind of clinical nihilism was not new to me. I was long accustomed to seeing how we lower our aspirations for people living in poverty, but seeing that play out in real time is always jarring. 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung
I lived in Rwanda for a decade, mostly working as a doctor or on health care infrastructure, so I thought I knew something about the history of colonial medicine, but I didn’t. When I started reading more about it, the idea was always to control epidemic disease among the natives, and there was very little attention given to their clinical care. How do we know that? Well, when the British left Sierra Leone at the end of their formal colonial rule, they had established zero medical schools and zero nursing schools. They also banned Black doctors from the colonial medical service. The problem was structural. They couldn’t have been very concerned about caring for those already afflicted, because the infrastructure wasn’t there. It was very similar to the modern-day experience of clinical nihilism I’d seen elsewhere—“We can’t treat patients with AIDS in Africa. It’s not cost-effective, it’s not sustainable, it’s not realistic.”
CG: Partners in Health focuses on delivering care to what you call medical deserts. Can you explain this term and outline the historical forces that made West Africa a medical desert?
PF: I borrowed this term from “food desert” [an area with limited access to affordable healthy food] to describe a place where there isn’t the staff, stuff, space, and systems to provide medical care. That was clearly the case in Upper West Africa at the outset of the Ebola epidemic, and it was the case even before war leveled what was left of staff, stuff, space, and systems. The question was then, “How do you irrigate a medical desert?” It’s not rocket science. You need nurses. You need safe clinical spaces where people aren’t going to get Ebola. You need PPE [personal protective equipment], electrolytes, fluids, and then systems. To me, “systems” is infection control, actually paying nurses. We would go to these hospitals, and half the nurses weren’t even salaried. So that’s what a clinical desert feels like—you don’t have the hospital, you don’t have the staff, you don’t have the supplies.
CG: Do you think some of the groundwork you helped lay out during Ebola has been instrumental in responding to Covid-19 in West Africa?
PF: No question. In fact, my colleagues in Sierra Leone and Liberia are working with the Ministry of Health, community groups, women’s groups—even our Ebola survivors’ group has been deeply involved in responding to Covid. In Liberia and Sierra Leone we still have over a thousand employees, almost all of whom are Sierra Leonean or Liberian, all working on health care delivery and on prevention.
People say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of a cure. But what if you’re already sick? You need trauma care. I don’t doubt that these investments have made a difference, but what’s been really frustrating, as I tried to outline in the book, is there was so much money pledged to respond to Ebola—again, for fear that it might spread—but very little of it went into building national health systems. I contrasted that to Rwanda, where everything we did and continue to do is strengthen the national health system.
CG: Could you illustrate the difference in care an Ebola victim would have received in Sierra Leone compared with the United States?
PF: The reason no Americans and very few Europeans died is the amount of attention heaped on patients. It’s because they were airlifted out of a medical desert and into medical oases.
The clinical care we saw in West Africa—sometimes it resembled no care at all. How can you have a no-touch policy when you’re in complete PPE? How are you going to get in an IV? The answer was, you’re not going to get in an IV. You’re just going to tell them to chug some Pedialyte. That’s not going to save lives.
In West Africa the case fatality rate at the end of the epidemic was just as bad at the beginning. Why is that? I argue it’s the quality of the care or lack thereof.
CG: You make a very convincing case for why intimate knowledge of the history and social context of a region can be instrumental in effectively delivering care during an outbreak. But when a crisis like an epidemic is unfolding, it is easy to see how a historical view would be eclipsed by the dire and immediate needs of caring for an epidemic’s victims. When you were in Sierra Leone, how did you juggle learning and caregiving?
PF: The immediacy of the patient is always first. In those first weeks—which were very frightening, I might add—we all focused on one thing: slowing transmission and taking care of patients who are already sick.
The tough question is, “When do you pivot to these longer-term interventions that do require more knowledge of the context and history?” While attending to the immediacy of patient needs, we need to include addressing root factors of the problem. If there’s still no reliable public health care delivery system, the same problems are going to happen. The experience I mentioned in Rwanda, which is sort of a backstory in the book, taught us that the more that is invested in national care delivery systems, the better we’ll be at preventing the next pandemic or taking care of those who were sickened by it.
Not long after the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, we were already planning to build a major medical academic center that would train Haitian health professionals and take care of a thousand patients a day. That hospital was built in 18 months, and it’s the largest training center for Haitian health professionals.
CG: Many epidemic narratives frame the virus as the protagonist, which, in your view, legitimates therapeutic nihilism. Instead, you frame the 2014 Ebola epidemic in a wider social and historical context to illustrate how, to paraphrase Louis Pasteur, the terrain itself is virulent. How does this reframing change epidemic narratives, and why is it more useful?
PF: To go back to Covid, when people were saying early on, “Well, nobody is immune—Covid is going to be the great leveler,” we knew that was bullshit. Whether it’s a respiratory pathogen like Covid or a contact-transmitted pathogen like Ebola, there’s been no epidemic we know of that’s been a great leveler. Every patient is subject to different contexts. We have the president of the United States sick, and you have tens of thousands of essential workers sick, and they’re mostly people of color. Of course it’s going to reach all levels of society, and it reaches with special virulence into people who’ve been marginalized by a series of historical forces. So does knowing any of this make you a better clinician? Probably not. Does it make you more passionate about addressing social pathologies that underpin many of the medical pathologies? I think it does.
I finished writing this book when Covid hit, and what really struck me was the pessimism around containment. We didn’t hear people saying, “Forget about the ventilators, the PPE” so much as “It’s already out of control—there’s nothing we can do for contact tracing, social distancing.” This containment nihilism was a new experience for me. I like to think working with state authorities in Massachusetts to initiate a contact-tracing program is one of the reasons there’s less community-based transmission going on there now. That’s the problem I think we’re facing here: giving up on containment too early and now giving up on initiating more aggressive containment regimes that don’t shortchange the clinical care.
CG: Have you seen instances of the control-over-care paradigm in response to Covid-19?
PF: Anytime you write off a population or a group of people as beyond salvation, that’s often a marker of clinical nihilism. We see that here largely in the direction of poor people, people of color, and sometimes the elderly. We have a long history of not doing enough for people who can’t pay for care, and this is one of the scourges of fee-for-service medicine. How could it be otherwise? When you add a very weak insurance system, you’re going to get the kind of results we’ve seen.
CG: If you were to do a similar anthropological and historical analysis of the United States’ response to Covid-19, how would you account for the virulence of our terrain?
PF: If pandemic disease and epidemics in general reveal a lot about society, I think many of the things Ebola revealed about West Africa—and the United States, for that matter—would be a very similar set of social pathologies: inequality and weak insurance systems, including unemployment insurance. What we wouldn’t see in the United States is a terrible lack of staff, stuff, space, and systems. We’d see the maldistribution of staff, stuff, space, and systems.
One of the things I would do is to ask questions about the health care delivery system. Why is it so patchwork? Why in the state of Massachusetts do you have 350 local health departments? Why does every school department have to make its own decision? Why does every university have to come up with its own plan? What about this nation, so blessed with resources, could account for such a poor outcome?


thenation--2020-12-23--How the Movement for Black Lives Helped Defeat Trump in Arizona

The same day police officer Derek Chauvin killed George Floyd in Minneapolis , Department of Public Safety Trooper George Cervantes shot and killed Dion Johnson in Phoenix .
In the weeks that followed , protesters in Phoenix and other Arizona cities joined those across the United States to demand the abolition of the system that killed the two men .
Arizona has one of the highest rates of police violence nationwide ; in 2018 , Phoenix police fired their guns at more people than officers in any other department in the nation .
Now , the movements to counter that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , they played a significant role in mobilizing voters , activists say , and helped turn the state blue in this year ’ s election .
On November 13 , Arizona finally finished counting its ballots , giving its 11 electoral votes to Joe Biden .
It was the first time the famously conservative state had voted for the Democrat in a presidential election in nearly a quarter-century .
In the weeks since , wonks and pundits have published a number of think pieces analyzing how the state finally flipped , with most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but long-disenfranchised communities .
In two of the larger voting precincts of the Navajo Nation and Hopi Tribe , for instance , turnout increased by 12 and 13 percent , largely in support of Biden .
Also this year , 60 percent of Arizona ’ s Black registered voters participated , compared to 47 percent four years ago and 44 percent eight years ago .
These are important and fundamentally correct analyses , but they often fail to acknowledge that this voter turnout was neither sudden nor rooted in simple identity-based politics .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ for years , long before Biden was on the scene .
Moreover , they have been organizing around often-progressive issues , not just broad notions of identity or group allegiance .
Mass Liberation Arizona is one organization that exemplifies this dynamic .
Based in South Phoenix , in the heart of Maricopa County , where Biden ’ s 50.3 percent of the vote helped push him over the edge statewide , the organization is dedicated to transforming the “ criminal ( in ) justice system ” and has been building power to fight @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it has combined these organizing efforts with an electoral strategy that focused not only on the presidential election but also on critical local issues like voting against the conservative Maricopa County Attorney and pushing for marijuana decriminalization .
The Nation spoke to MLA ’ s executive director , Lola N ’ Sangou , about the group ’ s role in helping flip Arizona from red to blue as well as what she sees next for the abolition movement in one of the country ’ s most carceral states .
This interview has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ essica uriano : Has being situated in Arizona created any unique circumstances for organizing against incarceration ?
Lola angou : Arizona is ground zero for racist , xenophobic , and violent policies and legislation that run the gamut .
[ They ] result usually though , in caging people .
We ’ re the fifth-highest incarcerator in the country .
Where we organize at Mass Liberation is in South Phoenix .
South Phoenix is where we have the most million-dollar blocks .
If you ’ re not familiar with million-dollar blocks , those @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of $ 1 million a year incarcerating the residents of a single city block .
So not only is it known to be hyper-conservative ; it ’ s also just a terribly carceral state .
It has been an uphill battle , particularly because we ’ re about 6 percent Black as a state , and we are a Black-liberation-centered organization .
It was a jagged little pill to swallow in 2016 when we found out later that [ the state ] was 3.5 percent away in votes from flipping blue ; that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
So , we really did the work from then on to figure out , how are we going to energize Black people ?
And how are we going to reclaim our power at the polls ?
That ’ s really what the work has been like , just going inward to our communities , zeroing in on what matters .
A lot of that work has been through mutual aid .
We found that mutual aid is one of the best possible ways to engage the community .
We are also organizers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Black-liberation-centered and led organization , so the people who lead our organization are Black folks who have been formerly incarcerated .
So , we know what we need .
Going into our community , doing that mutual aid work , lends itself to the opportunity to have a conversation , to do the narrative shifting .
Then we do the base building , and then we just go after power shifting .
That ’ s how we were able to turn out Black voters , even though we are in this really @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hoping you could expand on how Black , Indigenous , and voters and organizers of color in Arizona were behind the state flipping blue for a presidential candidate for the first time in decades .
LN : Yeah , that is true , and even just talking about Black people , because Black voters have been invisibilized historically .
Black people turned out in record numbers this year for us on the ground .
That was really due to the work that we ’ ve been doing for years around narrative shifting and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will say that we weren ’ t really happy about the options : Biden and Harris are incredibly problematic .
But we didn ’ t focus only on the top of the ballot .
We saw Black people turning out because we got involved in down-ballot , local races , as well .
I do think it ’ s really important that we talk about Black organizing because this is the first time Black-led organizing in South Phoenix set a precedent on how to take care of community .
It was mutual aid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ For the first time , we got ballots to people in jail .
We gave rides to the polls .
We pushed candidates to represent our demands .
We even stayed at the polls all the way through the hours to make sure people in South Phoenix—when cops roll to the polling stations—we ’ re holding space , that we were there to meet that .
To be honest with you , had more folks , more organizations really focused on those down-ballot issues , we would have been a more pronounced turnout @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of that recognition , maybe not .
JS : Why was the Maricopa County Attorney ( MCA ) race this election season so important ?
Trump Is Guilty of Sedition and Must Be Brought to Justice LN : What we see is so often , people are focused on police violence , and rightfully so .
There are so many videos of police just killing Black people in the streets .
But what ’ s not often talked about is the role of prosecutors and how prosecutors are killing people in courtrooms : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to take people through the rest of their lives and then some ; by executing people [ by pursuing the death penalty ] ; by stacking sentences and essentially destroying lives .
If you ’ re outraged by police killing people , you should definitely be outraged by the Maricopa County Attorney ’ s Office and how it ’ s killing people .
That office has a history going back to Andrew Thomas [ the MCA from 2005–10 who was later disbarred for ethics and abuse of power violations ] and his partnership @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and goes on to Bill Montgomery [ the MCA from 2010–19 who purchased $ 400,000 worth of rifles and ammunition through the attorney ’ s office and is now a judge for the state Supreme Court ] .
It ’ s a legacy of brutality that comes out of that office .
It was super-important for us to be involved in that race .
JS : Allister Adel , the incumbent Maricopa County Attorney , won again this year .
How do you see her role in this ?
LN : It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has been dealing with a very serious medical condition , and so the critique of her work is not intended to dehumanize her as a person .
Allister Adel was appointed when Bill Montgomery took a position at the Supreme Court in Arizona , but she hasn ’ t done anything to subsequently change the culture of that office .
One of the very first things she did was she created the First Responders Bureau , which essentially is a bureau that prosecutes people who have some sort of involvement with police .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ prosecuting agency .
That First Responders Bureau responded against protesters on the street in the summer to slap the most serious charges on people .
That bureau is an example of the relationship and the collusion that happens between [ the Maricopa County Attorney ’ s Office ] office and police .
It ’ s just very tight there , so there ’ s really no evidence that she ’ s going to change that legacy at all .
JS : I wanted to talk about Prop 207 , which legalizes recreational marijuana @ @ @ @ @ @ @ way for people with related marijuana charges to expunge records .
It seems pretty important considering similar measures were voted down in the past .
But it ’ s also unclear what ’ s going to happen with the enforcement of it because offices such as the Maricopa County Attorney ’ s Office ( MCAO ) will still be overseeing it .
How do you think this will play out ?
LN : Prop 207 , while it does some good for the community , it definitely left a lot to be desired @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ways that it puts money in the hands of police .
It absolutely was not an abolitionist piece of legislation .
It ’ s unfortunate that we weren ’ t able to get what we really need , which is to decriminalize marijuana altogether .
This is what we got , and we do not expect MCAO to honor it in any way shape or form .
We don ’ t expect the police to either .
They ’ re the most deadly police force in the country , and we just handed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ JS : Anti-police protesters in Phoenix are now facing “ street gang ” charges from the MCAO .
How were these protesters given “ street gang ” charges ?
LN : We heard that it was because folks were wearing the same clothes and chanting the same mantras in the streets .
But it ’ s so interesting because the same thing is true of the pro-Trump supporters .
They ’ re wearing MAGA hats .
They ’ re screaming the pledge of allegiance .
They ’ re shouting the same mantra .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ really you can convict a ham sandwich of being in a gang .
At Mass Liberation Arizona , we don ’ t believe that the system is broken ; it was designed to do exactly what it ’ s doing .
When you have a broad legal definition , it ’ s able to convict as many people as possible .
What we ’ re seeing is unequal application , which is very clear , then , as to why they ’ re prosecuting some and not others .
JS : Is there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or in media are missing when they talk about political and social justice movements in Arizona ?
LN : Specifically , in Arizona , but it ’ s also a national thing : We need to recognize the power of Black-directly-impacted leadership in this movement .
We need to look at the way that the state retaliates against folks , like protesters , as an expression of anti-Blackness .
[ And when ] we talk about police killing Black people in the streets , it ’ s not that there was a bad @ @ @ @ @ @ @ good apples .
Policing in this country began from slave patrols .
It ’ s an institution that was designed to treat Black people as property , to engage Black people—always violently—to kill Black people .
It ’ s also designed to do all of that with impunity .
So , to abolish slavery , we have to abolish policing because police killing Black folks isn ’ t just because the system is broken .
It was designed to do exactly what it ’ s doing .
It was designed to return runaway @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doing exactly what it was set up to do .
It means it can ’ t be reformed , and the same is true for prosecutors and prisons .
They operate as the afterlife of slavery , not in the afterlife , but as the afterlife of slavery .
Black Lives Matter isn ’ t a slogan .
It ’ s not a hashtag .
It ’ s a theory of change .
That ’ s what I think people need to know—not only about Arizona , but they need to know that @ @ @ @ @ @ @

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The same day police officer Derek Chauvin killed George Floyd in Minneapolis, Department of Public Safety Trooper George Cervantes shot and killed Dion Johnson in Phoenix. In the weeks that followed, protesters in Phoenix and other Arizona cities joined those across the United States to demand the abolition of the system that killed the two men. Arizona has one of the highest rates of police violence nationwide; in 2018, Phoenix police fired their guns at more people than officers in any other department in the nation. Now, the movements to counter that violence are gaining in numbers—so much so, they played a significant role in mobilizing voters, activists say, and helped turn the state blue in this year’s election.
On November 13, Arizona finally finished counting its ballots, giving its 11 electoral votes to Joe Biden. It was the first time the famously conservative state had voted for the Democrat in a presidential election in nearly a quarter-century. In the weeks since, wonks and pundits have published a number of think pieces analyzing how the state finally flipped, with most pointing to increased voter turnout in crucial but long-disenfranchised communities. In two of the larger voting precincts of the Navajo Nation and Hopi Tribe, for instance, turnout increased by 12 and 13 percent, largely in support of Biden. Also this year, 60 percent of Arizona’s Black registered voters participated, compared to 47 percent four years ago and 44 percent eight years ago.
These are important and fundamentally correct analyses, but they often fail to acknowledge that this voter turnout was neither sudden nor rooted in simple identity-based politics. Rather, these communities have been organizing for years, long before Biden was on the scene. Moreover, they have been organizing around often-progressive issues, not just broad notions of identity or group allegiance.
Mass Liberation Arizona is one organization that exemplifies this dynamic. Based in South Phoenix, in the heart of Maricopa County, where Biden’s 50.3 percent of the vote helped push him over the edge statewide, the organization is dedicated to transforming the “criminal (in)justice system” and has been building power to fight mass incarceration for years. More recently, it has combined these organizing efforts with an electoral strategy that focused not only on the presidential election but also on critical local issues like voting against the conservative Maricopa County Attorney and pushing for marijuana decriminalization.
The Nation spoke to MLA’s executive director, Lola N’Sangou, about the group’s role in helping flip Arizona from red to blue as well as what she sees next for the abolition movement in one of the country’s most carceral states. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
— Jessica Suriano 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung 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 My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. My Homeland Is Being Ruled by Terror. The World Must Pay Attention. Manny Maung
J essica S uriano: Has being situated in Arizona created any unique circumstances for organizing against incarceration? Current Issue View our current issue
Lola N’S angou: Arizona is ground zero for racist, xenophobic, and violent policies and legislation that run the gamut. [They] result usually though, in caging people.
We’re the fifth-highest incarcerator in the country. Where we organize at Mass Liberation is in South Phoenix. South Phoenix is where we have the most million-dollar blocks. If you’re not familiar with million-dollar blocks, those are blocks that we spend an excess of $1 million a year incarcerating the residents of a single city block. So not only is it known to be hyper-conservative; it’s also just a terribly carceral state.
It has been an uphill battle, particularly because we’re about 6 percent Black as a state, and we are a Black-liberation-centered organization. It was a jagged little pill to swallow in 2016 when we found out later that [the state] was 3.5 percent away in votes from flipping blue; that’s the Black vote right there.
So, we really did the work from then on to figure out, how are we going to energize Black people? And how are we going to reclaim our power at the polls? That’s really what the work has been like, just going inward to our communities, zeroing in on what matters. A lot of that work has been through mutual aid. We found that mutual aid is one of the best possible ways to engage the community.
We are also organizers from that community. We’re a Black-liberation-centered and led organization, so the people who lead our organization are Black folks who have been formerly incarcerated. So, we know what we need. Going into our community, doing that mutual aid work, lends itself to the opportunity to have a conversation, to do the narrative shifting. Then we do the base building, and then we just go after power shifting. That’s how we were able to turn out Black voters, even though we are in this really conservative landscape.
JS: I was hoping you could expand on how Black, Indigenous, and voters and organizers of color in Arizona were behind the state flipping blue for a presidential candidate for the first time in decades.
LN: Yeah, that is true, and even just talking about Black people, because Black voters have been invisibilized historically. Black people turned out in record numbers this year for us on the ground. That was really due to the work that we’ve been doing for years around narrative shifting and around growing out the base.
I will say that we weren’t really happy about the options: Biden and Harris are incredibly problematic. But we didn’t focus only on the top of the ballot. We saw Black people turning out because we got involved in down-ballot, local races, as well.
I do think it’s really important that we talk about Black organizing because this is the first time Black-led organizing in South Phoenix set a precedent on how to take care of community. It was mutual aid. We really connected with people. For the first time, we got ballots to people in jail. We gave rides to the polls. We pushed candidates to represent our demands. We even stayed at the polls all the way through the hours to make sure people in South Phoenix—when cops roll to the polling stations—we’re holding space, that we were there to meet that. To be honest with you, had more folks, more organizations really focused on those down-ballot issues, we would have been a more pronounced turnout and maybe we would have seen some of that recognition, maybe not.
JS: Why was the Maricopa County Attorney (MCA) race this election season so important? More on Election 2020 Centrist Dems Are Wrong About November’s Losses Steve Phillips Trump Is Guilty of Sedition and Must Be Brought to Justice Sasha Abramsky
LN: What we see is so often, people are focused on police violence, and rightfully so. There are so many videos of police just killing Black people in the streets. But what’s not often talked about is the role of prosecutors and how prosecutors are killing people in courtrooms: By signing the pleas that are going to take people through the rest of their lives and then some; by executing people [by pursuing the death penalty]; by stacking sentences and essentially destroying lives. If you’re outraged by police killing people, you should definitely be outraged by the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office and how it’s killing people. That office has a history going back to Andrew Thomas [the MCA from 2005–10 who was later disbarred for ethics and abuse of power violations] and his partnership with [Sheriff] Joe Arpaio, and goes on to Bill Montgomery [the MCA from 2010–19 who purchased $400,000 worth of rifles and ammunition through the attorney’s office and is now a judge for the state Supreme Court]. It’s a legacy of brutality that comes out of that office. It was super-important for us to be involved in that race.
JS: Allister Adel, the incumbent Maricopa County Attorney, won again this year. How do you see her role in this?
LN: It’s important to acknowledge, Allister Adel has been dealing with a very serious medical condition, and so the critique of her work is not intended to dehumanize her as a person.
Allister Adel was appointed when Bill Montgomery took a position at the Supreme Court in Arizona, but she hasn’t done anything to subsequently change the culture of that office. One of the very first things she did was she created the First Responders Bureau, which essentially is a bureau that prosecutes people who have some sort of involvement with police. So it represents the police as a prosecuting agency. That First Responders Bureau responded against protesters on the street in the summer to slap the most serious charges on people. That bureau is an example of the relationship and the collusion that happens between [the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office] office and police.
It’s just very tight there, so there’s really no evidence that she’s going to change that legacy at all.
JS: I wanted to talk about Prop 207, which legalizes recreational marijuana in the state and may offer a way for people with related marijuana charges to expunge records. It seems pretty important considering similar measures were voted down in the past. But it’s also unclear what’s going to happen with the enforcement of it because offices such as the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office (MCAO) will still be overseeing it. How do you think this will play out?
LN: Prop 207, while it does some good for the community, it definitely left a lot to be desired with arbitrary possession amounts, with the ways that it puts money in the hands of police. It absolutely was not an abolitionist piece of legislation. It’s unfortunate that we weren’t able to get what we really need, which is to decriminalize marijuana altogether. This is what we got, and we do not expect MCAO to honor it in any way shape or form. We don’t expect the police to either. They’re the most deadly police force in the country, and we just handed them a whole lot of money.
JS: Anti-police protesters in Phoenix are now facing “street gang” charges from the MCAO. How were these protesters given “street gang” charges?
LN: We heard that it was because folks were wearing the same clothes and chanting the same mantras in the streets. But it’s so interesting because the same thing is true of the pro-Trump supporters. They’re wearing MAGA hats. They’re screaming the pledge of allegiance. They’re shouting the same mantra. The law is written so loosely that really you can convict a ham sandwich of being in a gang.
At Mass Liberation Arizona, we don’t believe that the system is broken; it was designed to do exactly what it’s doing. When you have a broad legal definition, it’s able to convict as many people as possible. What we’re seeing is unequal application, which is very clear, then, as to why they’re prosecuting some and not others.
JS: Is there anything else that people outside the state or in media are missing when they talk about political and social justice movements in Arizona?
LN: Specifically, in Arizona, but it’s also a national thing: We need to recognize the power of Black-directly-impacted leadership in this movement. We need to look at the way that the state retaliates against folks, like protesters, as an expression of anti-Blackness.
[And when] we talk about police killing Black people in the streets, it’s not that there was a bad apple acting separately from a bunch of good apples. Policing in this country began from slave patrols. It’s an institution that was designed to treat Black people as property, to engage Black people—always violently—to kill Black people. It’s also designed to do all of that with impunity. So, to abolish slavery, we have to abolish policing because police killing Black folks isn’t just because the system is broken. It was designed to do exactly what it’s doing. It was designed to return runaway slaves, and so it’s doing exactly what it was set up to do. It means it can’t be reformed, and the same is true for prosecutors and prisons. They operate as the afterlife of slavery, not in the afterlife, but as the afterlife of slavery. Black Lives Matter isn’t a slogan. It’s not a hashtag. It’s a theory of change. That’s what I think people need to know—not only about Arizona, but they need to know that across the board in this country.