motherjones--2020-06-05--Dr. Bronner’s Soaps Wants to Protect You From COVID—and Legalize Your Right to Magic Mushrooms

When I met David Bronner at a cannabis dispensary in Berkeley , California , last fall—approximately 1,000 years ago in the B.C.
, or before-coronavirus era—the CEO of Dr. Bronner ’ s Magic Soaps made good on my hunch that the Southern California company , known for its minty tingle and wordy label , is one of the few American corporations that give zero fucks .
I ’ d arrived at Berkeley Patients Group early , to get settled in before Bronner and his partner , Mia Hardwick , arrived .
I recall thinking that if a doctor ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , this is almost certainly what it ’ d look like .
The Misfits played overhead , almost , just almost pulling you out of the distinctly clinical and well-lit surroundings .
Beneath the large glass display sat various types of cannabis flower , neatly arranged : Jack Herer , Biscotti , Gorilla Glue # 4 , Pineapple Punch .
Bronner showed up looking less the part of Company Executive than California Dude , in clay-colored , natural linen pants and a T-shirt , his long hair pulled into a ponytail and tucked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ official title , after all , is actually “ Cosmic Engagement Officer.
” He had to hunch his over-6-foot frame to get a good look at the inventory .
“ Could we check out a Brother David ’ s Pineapple Punch ?
” he asked the budtender .
She handed him a small , brown paper box .
Like fresh juicy pineapples after an amazing day at the beach , a sticker on it read , Pineapple Punch is your cannabis partner for sunshine , freedom and creative flow .
It boasted about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” “ In the Soil of Mother Earth , ” without chemicals , by fairly paid family farmers .
“ I ’ ll actually go ahead and buy one .
I already know it ’ s really good , ” Bronner said , with a knowing smile .
He ’ s tried it , of course—likely many times .
Pineapple Punch is a product from Bronner ’ s new ( ish ) cannabis line , Brother David ’ s .
Launched on Earth Day last year , April 22 , Brother David @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the organic soap empire founded by David ’ s grandfather in 1948 and is a means to introduce to the market a chemical-free , fair labor , cannabis program created with help from Bronner , Sun+Earth Certified .
Because marijuana is still illegal at the federal level , he explained to me , it can ’ t be legally certified as “ organic , ” a determination made by the USDA , and consumers are largely left without knowing which growers are pesticide-free or employ fair labor practices .
Sun+Earth Certified aims to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outside-the-box innovation is something of an informal guiding principle for the guy behind Dr. Bronner ’ s ; it ’ s almost quite literally that insufferable trope , Be the change you want to see .
If the soap company needs something to make its products ethically and environmentally friendly , and that something doesn ’ t already exist ( or it ’ s not currently legal ) , Dr. Bronner ’ s will actually make change happen .
It ’ s practically baked into the company ’ s DNA : In addition @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Dr .
Bronner , ” though he wasn ’ t really a doctor—held strong moral convictions .
He gave lectures on the interconnectedness of humanity and sold soap in downtown Los Angeles .
In 1950 , after Emanuel realized people were simply taking the soap and leaving , he printed his sermons on the label .
Dr. Bronner ’ s bottles still carry Emanuel ’ s message : “ We are All-One or None !
” Over the years , Dr. Bronner ’ s has put in real work to make change @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trying to capitalize on socially conscious consumers ( see this piece from my colleague Inae Oh from earlier this week if you don ’ t know what I mean ) .
The self-described “ activist ” brand has put its weight behind causes like animal welfare , criminal justice reform , and fair pay .
It has spent millions in support of state ballot measures that require the labeling of genetically modified foods .
Back in 2001 , Dr. Bronner ’ s helped lead a lawsuit against the Drug Enforcement Agency to allow @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , eventually notching a win at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in 2004 .
Bronner himself has been arrested twice for hemp-related protests : First for planting hemp seeds on the lawn of the Arlington , Virginia , DEA Museum in 2009 , and then again in 2012 for pressing oil from hemp plants in front of the White House while locked in a steel cage .
And , as my former Mother Jones colleague Josh Harkinson chronicled after spending a wild evening drinking beers and smoking spliffs with Bronner back in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fair-trade , organic palm oil and coconut oil overseas when he couldn ’ t source it elsewhere .
In 2019 alone , it donated nearly $ 7 million—about 5 percent of its revenue—to a variety of charitable causes .
But of all causes last year , Dr. Bronner ’ s gave the biggest bit of change—more than $ 3 million—to drug policy reform .
In the past , Dr. Bronner ’ s drug-related activism largely centered on cannabis legalization , but now the company is turning its energy to a radical , new @ @ @ @ @ @ @ focus when we met up last fall , back when it was , needless to say , a simpler time .
News of the novel coronavirus—and the corresponding wild demand for hygienic products—wouldn ’ t come until months later .
Today , the soap company has seen demand for its products spike , but at the same time it ’ s kept a keen focus on supplying soap and sanitizers to front-line workers and at-risk communities .
“ It ’ s been nuts , ” Bronner told me over the phone last month @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to 11 , ” he said , and during the past couple of months , the company simply hasn ’ t been able to meet all its orders .
Still , as of mid-May , it had donated more than 25,000 units of hand sanitizer and soap to those in need ; it had also given $ 20,000 to the San Diego COVID-19 Community Response Fund and $ 50,000 to California ’ s Immigrant Resilience Fund , which is helping to support the 2 million undocumented Californians who are not eligible for federal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s also announced this week that it ’ s donating $ 25,000 to “ organizations , both in Minnesota and nationally , that are working to end anti-Black racism and abuse.
” ) Even without the increase in coronavirus-related demand , Dr. Bronner ’ s “ constructive capitalism ” model has seemed to work for its bottom line : The company has grown every year since at least 2010 , and in 2019 , brought in $ 129 million in sales—a 60 percent jump from what it sold five years earlier .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to just stick to making soap by whoever doesn ’ t like the position we ’ re taking on a given issue , ” Bronner said .
“ But I would say overall , even people who disagree with us respect that we ’ re out there standing up for our beliefs.
” As Bronner likes to say , “ Whatever your subculture is , we ’ re your soap.
” As we drove across town in his rented Kia Soul to the People ’ s Cafe , a vegan coffee shop , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ believe that we have a right to use psychedelics responsibly in our own home , out in nature.
” He pointed out that research shows psilocybin , a psychedelic chemical found in hallucinogenic mushrooms , can have healing properties , especially for people struggling with mental health conditions like addiction and anxiety .
As he wrote in a September blog post on the company ’ s website , “ We firmly believe that the integration of psilocybin therapy…is crucial to healing epidemic rates of depression , anxiety , and addiction.
” ( In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Food and Drug Administration granted “ breakthrough ” status to psilocybin for treating depression and major depressive disorder , a designation based on promising clinical evidence that allows companies to expedite a drug ’ s development .
Some of the most advanced findings have been with cancer patients , where research shows psilocybin can decrease depression and anxiety . )
Just before we met last year , Bronner and Hardwick had flown in from Portland , Oregon , where they had attended the official launch of an effort to essentially legalize magic mushrooms @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” is a state ballot initiative Oregon voters will likely consider in November that would legalize psilocybin for therapeutic uses in restricted settings—a possible “ model for the rest of the country , ” according to Bronner .
Dr. Bronner ’ s , he had announced the day before , would donate $ 150,000 to the initiative .
Last year , the company had financially supported the passage of Initiated Ordinance 301 in Denver , Colorado , which made history when it became the first city to decriminalize psilocybin .
( Oakland , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to do the same last summer . )
But like all things , the coronavirus threw a wrench into big plans for 2020 .
While Oregon had most of its signatures to move the initiative forward before the pandemic hit , Bronner announced last month that the company would be giving an additional $ 1 million to the campaign supporting IP 34 .
“ We ’ re stepping up bigger than we expected in Oregon , just because it ’ s a difficult fundraising landscape right now , ” Bronner told me .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ reach a goal of 145,000 signatures before the July 2 deadline— “ one way or the other , we ’ re gon na make it happen , ” Bronner said .
Still , the company had planned to sponsor an Oregon-based conference on psilocybin therapy which was canceled because of COVID-19 .
The coronavirus also effectively ended a similar initiative in California— “ they didn ’ t have enough signatures when COVID hit to finish the deal , ” Bronner said .
As we walked up to the restaurant , I asked Bronner @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he has been open about in the past .
He told me that his first encounter was with mushrooms , in a friend ’ s room while he was studying biology at Harvard .
“ I remember looking down on my arm , and whoa ” —he recalled thinking— ” what does it mean that I ’ m in quantum continuum with my environment ?
At a quantum level , there ’ s not a difference between me and the world .
And when I eat and I poop , the world is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in addition to helping people suffering from mental illness , this feeling of connectedness with the world brought on by psychedelics may help people be better stewards of the planet .
Bronner said the response to his company ’ s push for psilocybin therapy has been “ very positive , ” at least on social media .
While the Oregon psilocybin initiative is what Bronner said—between bites of a vegan chicken quinoa burrito and a vegan omelet he split with Hardwick—he was “ most excited about ” for 2020 , he was still @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cannabis policy .
States including Montana , South Dakota , and Arizona could see recreational , adult-use pot on the ballot in November , meaning these will be the key “ battleground ” states for Dr. Bronner ’ s .
( Efforts in Oklahoma , Missouri , and Ohio have stalled out due to COVID , organizers say . )
In all , the company plans to spend “ north of ” $ 2 million in 2020 on drug policy reform , split between support for legalizing cannabis , approving psilocybin therapy , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
( Ballot initiatives on jail diversion are in the works in Oregon and Washington , though it ’ s unclear if these initiatives will have enough signatures to qualify . )
Dr. Bronner ’ s support will translate to donations , but also social and marketing resources , maybe even some limited-edition soap bottles .
Dr. Bronner ’ s has in the past printed labels to build support for issues including GMO labeling , minimum wage , and regenerative organic agriculture .
It ’ s currently prepping a special bottle dedicated to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in September , according to Bronner .
It ’ s almost like , maybe this company is too good .
Initially , I wondered if Dr. Bronner ’ s was practicing some kind of dark magic ; how could an activist company , an unapologetic one at that , also be so profitable ?
Oh , and did I mention Dr. Bronner ’ s caps executives ’ salaries at five times that of the lowest-paid employee ?
I ’ m pretty much a glass-half-full kind of person , but still , I wanted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , be skeptical of , poke holes in , or , at the very least , find ridiculous .
While maybe there was just a little bit of the latter , what I saw really was a refreshing kind of corporate existence in an era when a self-serving business executive is literally running the country .
“ It ’ s definitely a more sucky environment , ” Bronner says of working for reform under Trump , “ but [ George H.W . ]
Bush sucked , you know ?
It ’ s not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ working—even under Obama , there was plenty of shitty things .
You just got ta do what you can.
” Toward the end of lunch , I asked Bronner which of the then-plentiful Democratic presidential candidates he liked .
He said he didn ’ t have a favorite and hadn ’ t “ really been following ” the campaigns , but said he supported senators Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren , though he really liked Sen. Cory Booker .
Finishing off a cardamom chai tea with oat milk , Bronner said Booker , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nationwide , is “ super dope.
” Getting at least one prediction right about 2020 , he added , “ I mean , he doesn ’ t have much of a chance , but he ’ s awesome.
” “ I want to give him 420 bucks , ” Bronner said to Hardwick .
“ Remind me we ’ re going to give him 420 bucks.
” ( I checked back later ; he did . )

When I met David Bronner at a cannabis dispensary in Berkeley, California, last fall—approximately 1,000 years ago in the B.C., or before-coronavirus era—the CEO of Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soaps made good on my hunch that the Southern California company, known for its minty tingle and wordy label, is one of the few American corporations that give zero fucks.
In a good way.
“Could we check out a Brother David’s Pineapple Punch?”
I’d arrived at Berkeley Patients Group early, to get settled in before Bronner and his partner, Mia Hardwick, arrived. I recall thinking that if a doctor’s office and Hot Topic had a baby, this is almost certainly what it’d look like. The Misfits played overhead, almost, just almost pulling you out of the distinctly clinical and well-lit surroundings. Beneath the large glass display sat various types of cannabis flower, neatly arranged: Jack Herer, Biscotti, Gorilla Glue #4, Pineapple Punch.
Bronner showed up looking less the part of Company Executive than California Dude, in clay-colored, natural linen pants and a T-shirt, his long hair pulled into a ponytail and tucked under a cap. But it fit—his official title, after all, is actually “Cosmic Engagement Officer.” He had to hunch his over-6-foot frame to get a good look at the inventory.
“Could we check out a Brother David’s Pineapple Punch?” he asked the budtender.
She handed him a small, brown paper box. Like fresh juicy pineapples after an amazing day at the beach, a sticker on it read, Pineapple Punch is your cannabis partner for sunshine, freedom and creative flow. It boasted about being grown “under the California Sun,” “In the Soil of Mother Earth,” without chemicals, by fairly paid family farmers.
“I’ll actually go ahead and buy one. I already know it’s really good,” Bronner said, with a knowing smile.
He’s tried it, of course—likely many times. Pineapple Punch is a product from Bronner’s new(ish) cannabis line, Brother David’s. Launched on Earth Day last year, April 22, Brother David’s is an entity separate from the organic soap empire founded by David’s grandfather in 1948 and is a means to introduce to the market a chemical-free, fair labor, cannabis program created with help from Bronner, Sun+Earth Certified. Because marijuana is still illegal at the federal level, he explained to me, it can’t be legally certified as “organic,” a determination made by the USDA, and consumers are largely left without knowing which growers are pesticide-free or employ fair labor practices. Sun+Earth Certified aims to be that standard.
This type of outside-the-box innovation is something of an informal guiding principle for the guy behind Dr. Bronner’s; it’s almost quite literally that insufferable trope, Be the change you want to see. If the soap company needs something to make its products ethically and environmentally friendly, and that something doesn’t already exist (or it’s not currently legal), Dr. Bronner’s will actually make change happen.
It’s practically baked into the company’s DNA: In addition to founding the company, Emanuel Bronner—aka “Dr. Bronner,” though he wasn’t really a doctor—held strong moral convictions. He gave lectures on the interconnectedness of humanity and sold soap in downtown Los Angeles. In 1950, after Emanuel realized people were simply taking the soap and leaving, he printed his sermons on the label. Dr. Bronner’s bottles still carry Emanuel’s message: “We are All-One or None!”
In 1950, after Emanuel realized people were simply taking the soap and leaving, he printed his sermons on the label. Dr. Bronner’s bottles still carry Emanuel’s message: “We are All-One or None!”
Over the years, Dr. Bronner’s has put in real work to make change happen, unlike so many brands now trying to capitalize on socially conscious consumers (see this piece from my colleague Inae Oh from earlier this week if you don’t know what I mean). The self-described “activist” brand has put its weight behind causes like animal welfare, criminal justice reform, and fair pay. It has spent millions in support of state ballot measures that require the labeling of genetically modified foods. Back in 2001, Dr. Bronner’s helped lead a lawsuit against the Drug Enforcement Agency to allow oil derived from hemp in their products, eventually notching a win at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in 2004. Bronner himself has been arrested twice for hemp-related protests: First for planting hemp seeds on the lawn of the Arlington, Virginia, DEA Museum in 2009, and then again in 2012 for pressing oil from hemp plants in front of the White House while locked in a steel cage. And, as my former Mother Jones colleague Josh Harkinson chronicled after spending a wild evening drinking beers and smoking spliffs with Bronner back in 2014, the exec grew his own fair-trade, organic palm oil and coconut oil overseas when he couldn’t source it elsewhere.
In 2019 alone, it donated nearly $7 million—about 5 percent of its revenue—to a variety of charitable causes. But of all causes last year, Dr. Bronner’s gave the biggest bit of change—more than $3 million—to drug policy reform. In the past, Dr. Bronner’s drug-related activism largely centered on cannabis legalization, but now the company is turning its energy to a radical, new frontier: psychedelics.
That was our focus when we met up last fall, back when it was, needless to say, a simpler time. News of the novel coronavirus—and the corresponding wild demand for hygienic products—wouldn’t come until months later. Today, the soap company has seen demand for its products spike, but at the same time it’s kept a keen focus on supplying soap and sanitizers to front-line workers and at-risk communities. “It’s been nuts,” Bronner told me over the phone last month. Production has been “dialed up to 11,” he said, and during the past couple of months, the company simply hasn’t been able to meet all its orders. Still, as of mid-May, it had donated more than 25,000 units of hand sanitizer and soap to those in need; it had also given $20,000 to the San Diego COVID-19 Community Response Fund and $50,000 to California’s Immigrant Resilience Fund, which is helping to support the 2 million undocumented Californians who are not eligible for federal stimulus money. (Dr. Bronner’s also announced this week that it’s donating $25,000 to “organizations, both in Minnesota and nationally, that are working to end anti-Black racism and abuse.”)
Even without the increase in coronavirus-related demand, Dr. Bronner’s “constructive capitalism” model has seemed to work for its bottom line: The company has grown every year since at least 2010, and in 2019, brought in $129 million in sales—a 60 percent jump from what it sold five years earlier.
“We definitely get told, angrily, to just stick to making soap by whoever doesn’t like the position we’re taking on a given issue,” Bronner said. “But I would say overall, even people who disagree with us respect that we’re out there standing up for our beliefs.”
As Bronner likes to say, “Whatever your subculture is, we’re your soap.”
As we drove across town in his rented Kia Soul to the People’s Cafe, a vegan coffee shop, Bronner told me, “I totally believe that we have a right to use psychedelics responsibly in our own home, out in nature.” He pointed out that research shows psilocybin, a psychedelic chemical found in hallucinogenic mushrooms, can have healing properties, especially for people struggling with mental health conditions like addiction and anxiety. As he wrote in a September blog post on the company’s website, “We firmly believe that the integration of psilocybin therapy…is crucial to healing epidemic rates of depression, anxiety, and addiction.” (In 2018 and again in 2019, the Food and Drug Administration granted “breakthrough” status to psilocybin for treating depression and major depressive disorder, a designation based on promising clinical evidence that allows companies to expedite a drug’s development. Some of the most advanced findings have been with cancer patients, where research shows psilocybin can decrease depression and anxiety.)
Just before we met last year, Bronner and Hardwick had flown in from Portland, Oregon, where they had attended the official launch of an effort to essentially legalize magic mushrooms for these purposes. “IP 34” is a state ballot initiative Oregon voters will likely consider in November that would legalize psilocybin for therapeutic uses in restricted settings—a possible “model for the rest of the country,” according to Bronner. Dr. Bronner’s, he had announced the day before, would donate $150,000 to the initiative. Last year, the company had financially supported the passage of Initiated Ordinance 301 in Denver, Colorado, which made history when it became the first city to decriminalize psilocybin. (Oakland, California, became the second major city to do the same last summer.)
“I totally believe that we have a right to use psychedelics responsibly in our own home, out in nature.”
But like all things, the coronavirus threw a wrench into big plans for 2020. While Oregon had most of its signatures to move the initiative forward before the pandemic hit, Bronner announced last month that the company would be giving an additional $1 million to the campaign supporting IP 34. “We’re stepping up bigger than we expected in Oregon, just because it’s a difficult fundraising landscape right now,” Bronner told me. It’s likely IP 34 will reach a goal of 145,000 signatures before the July 2 deadline—“one way or the other, we’re gonna make it happen,” Bronner said. Still, the company had planned to sponsor an Oregon-based conference on psilocybin therapy which was canceled because of COVID-19. The coronavirus also effectively ended a similar initiative in California—“they didn’t have enough signatures when COVID hit to finish the deal,” Bronner said.
As we walked up to the restaurant, I asked Bronner about his own psychedelic experiences, which he has been open about in the past. He told me that his first encounter was with mushrooms, in a friend’s room while he was studying biology at Harvard. “I remember looking down on my arm, and whoa”—he recalled thinking—”what does it mean that I’m in quantum continuum with my environment? At a quantum level, there’s not a difference between me and the world. And when I eat and I poop, the world is pouring through me.” He believes that in addition to helping people suffering from mental illness, this feeling of connectedness with the world brought on by psychedelics may help people be better stewards of the planet. Bronner said the response to his company’s push for psilocybin therapy has been “very positive,” at least on social media.
While the Oregon psilocybin initiative is what Bronner said—between bites of a vegan chicken quinoa burrito and a vegan omelet he split with Hardwick—he was “most excited about” for 2020, he was still focused on the broader mission of fair cannabis policy. States including Montana, South Dakota, and Arizona could see recreational, adult-use pot on the ballot in November, meaning these will be the key “battleground” states for Dr. Bronner’s. (Efforts in Oklahoma, Missouri, and Ohio have stalled out due to COVID, organizers say.) In all, the company plans to spend “north of” $2 million in 2020 on drug policy reform, split between support for legalizing cannabis, approving psilocybin therapy, and replacing jail time with addiction treatment. (Ballot initiatives on jail diversion are in the works in Oregon and Washington, though it’s unclear if these initiatives will have enough signatures to qualify.) Dr. Bronner’s support will translate to donations, but also social and marketing resources, maybe even some limited-edition soap bottles. Dr. Bronner’s has in the past printed labels to build support for issues including GMO labeling, minimum wage, and regenerative organic agriculture. It’s currently prepping a special bottle dedicated to “integrating psychedelic therapy” to launch in September, according to Bronner.
“I remember looking down on my arm, and whoa, what does it mean that I’m in quantum continuum with my environment? At a quantum level, there’s not a difference between me and the world. And when I eat and I poop, the world is pouring through me.”
It’s almost like, maybe this company is too good. Initially, I wondered if Dr. Bronner’s was practicing some kind of dark magic; how could an activist company, an unapologetic one at that, also be so profitable? Oh, and did I mention Dr. Bronner’s caps executives’ salaries at five times that of the lowest-paid employee? I’m pretty much a glass-half-full kind of person, but still, I wanted to find something to latch on to, be skeptical of, poke holes in, or, at the very least, find ridiculous. While maybe there was just a little bit of the latter, what I saw really was a refreshing kind of corporate existence in an era when a self-serving business executive is literally running the country. “It’s definitely a more sucky environment,” Bronner says of working for reform under Trump, “but [George H.W.] Bush sucked, you know? It’s not new. You just kind of keep working—even under Obama, there was plenty of shitty things. You just gotta do what you can.”
Toward the end of lunch, I asked Bronner which of the then-plentiful Democratic presidential candidates he liked. He said he didn’t have a favorite and hadn’t “really been following” the campaigns, but said he supported senators Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, though he really liked Sen. Cory Booker. Finishing off a cardamom chai tea with oat milk, Bronner said Booker, who has backed legislation to legalize cannabis nationwide, is “super dope.” Getting at least one prediction right about 2020, he added, “I mean, he doesn’t have much of a chance, but he’s awesome.”
“I want to give him 420 bucks,” Bronner said to Hardwick. “Remind me we’re going to give him 420 bucks.” (I checked back later; he did.)


motherjones--2020-06-05--Biden Was MIA for Black Lives Matter During the Primary. They’re Hoping That’ll Change Now.

Rashad Robinson recalls feeling like a “ pariah ” in Washington during the earliest days of the Black Lives Matter movement .
The executive director of Color of Change , the nation ’ s largest online racial justice organization , had been pressuring President Obama to address police brutality in the wake of the death of Michael Brown , an unarmed Black teenager murdered by police in Ferguson , Missouri , in 2014 .
“ I felt a lot of negative heat , ” Robinson recalls , “ and was treated as a radical even by some Black people inside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Brown ’ s death , President Obama included Color of Change on a list of resources for people looking to learn more about systemic racism and invited Robinson to join him in a virtual roundtable discussion on police reform .
And activists like Robinson had a wholly different reception among Democrats running for president over the past year .
No longer “ pariahs ” or “ radicals , ” 2020 hopefuls courted progressive Black activists and asked them to weigh in on platforms that elevated their movement ’ s priorities .
Those policies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ addressing environmental justice , mass incarceration , and the needs of women of color .
But Joe Biden was noticeably absent .
Biden skipped several of those forums , put little muscle into developing a race-conscious agenda , and didn ’ t reach out to activist groups that other campaigns had pursued .
None of that mattered for securing the nomination : Biden won the South Carolina primary , the cycle ’ s first test of Black support , with more than 60 percent of the Black vote .
His competitors , meanwhile @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to predominantly white audiences , proof that all the best intentions paled in utility to the trust Biden had built up during his four decades in federal office .
The Democratic primary is over , and a nesting doll ’ s worth of crises has assumed its place .
Black Americans have been killed by COVID-19 at alarming rates and the burden of “ essential work , ” such as health and child care , has primarily fallen on them .
Then , the constant drumbeat of police brutality erupted onto the national @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Floyd and Breonna Taylor .
And now , the racial justice reforms that had found their way onto progressive presidential candidates ’ platforms match those that protestors are demanding at demonstrations not just in major cities , but also in the unlikeliest of small towns across the country .
And those closely aligned with the movement wonder whether Biden will take a page from his fallen opponents ’ policy ideas—and if the younger , progressive Black activists who helped to author them will have a seat at Biden ’ s table .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says Aimee Allison , the founder of She the People , a national network of women of color .
“ We have got to get Trump out of office , but if that ’ s replaced with someone who doesn ’ t have a clear vision for racial justice , we won ’ t have a thing for Democrats to prove that there is a will , a heart , and a plan.
” The Black Lives Matter movement began in the wake of the death of Trayvon Martin , a Black teenager @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and garnered nationwide attention following Brown ’ s 2014 death .
Though the movement ’ s genesis had been in race-based violence , activists aimed to elevate all the layers of systemic racism and white supremacy that imbued the experience of Black Americans .
That included drawing attention to discriminatory lending practices , environmental neglect in Black communities , and high maternal death rates among Black mothers in addition to police brutality and high rates of arrest and incarceration .
While legacy civil rights groups like the NAACP opted to work closely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for steady , incremental change , Black Lives Matter preferred to work outside the system through demonstrations and social media-driven campaigns .
The movement ’ s demands went largely unanswered by the Obama administration , and during the 2016 election , it refused to endorse either Bernie Sanders or Hillary Clinton .
It was “ too early in the genesis of the movement to rally around anyone in particular who hasn ’ t demonstrated that they feel accountable to the Black Lives Matter movement , ” Alicia Garza , a co-founder , said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ showed up at campaign stops to protest the candidates ’ unwillingness to connect systemic racism to the economic disadvantages the Black community faced .
In August 2016 , the Movement for Black Lives—the coalition of organizations aligned with Black Lives Matters—issued a vision document that called for divestment from the criminal justice system , economic reform , and reparations .
As another presidential cycle began , those demands remained unchanged .
But the willingness of Democratic candidates to engage did .
Bernie Sanders leaned on the advice of Black scholars and activists to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ war on the rich .
Elizabeth Warren ’ s trove of plans to combat racial inequality had been authored in partnership with progressive Black women activists and earned her their coveted endorsements .
For the first time ever , on subjects such as criminal and environmental justice , “ candidates were forced to have platforms and speak to them , ” says Sen. Cory Booker ( D-N.J. ) , who centered his own presidential run on racial inequality .
“ There were countless articles pointing that out as a major deficit in their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s growing political capital : its ability to undercut candidates who might have gotten more traction in prior presidential primaries .
Activists showed up at events for former South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg , former New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg , and current New York Mayor Bill de Blasio to protest how their administrations had treated Black communities .
No apology or plan could shake the stigma the attention left .
“ The presidential primary was so different from any in history because several candidates were exposed around their hypocrisy around police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in general , ” says Monifa Bandele , an activist with Malcolm X Grassroots Movement .
“ When moments presented themselves for people who do harm to Black communities to run for higher office , we made sure it was known that they betrayed Black communities.
” Biden , meanwhile , skated by with a middling history .
The running mate of the country ’ s first Black president spent the primary scrutinized for his record on busing , his collaborations with anti-segregationists , and his hand in the 1994 crime bill , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mass incarceration and heavy policing .
He nearly announced his candidacy on the same day as the first-ever presidential forum focused on women of color , changing the date only after the faux pas had been brought to his attention .
Activists I spoke with told me that while other campaigns heavily courted their input and endorsement , they didn ’ t hear much , if at all , from Biden .
The hurdles now facing Biden are altogether different than the ones he cleared in the primary .
President Trump has fully @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but channeling the energy of a movement is an altogether different task .
“ What we can achieve when we don ’ t separate politics from movement is a lot , ” Allison says .
“ Democrats shouldn ’ t use language that talks about the movement as separate from themselves.
” Crucial to that , according to advocates I spoke with , is for Biden to invite more of the voices who progressive candidates leaned on to advise him .
Even before this charged moment , the Biden campaign had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ NAACP , but also so-called “ new movement ” organizations , such as Campaign Zero , a police reform campaign founded by Black Lives Matter activists , and Color of Change , the group Robinson leads .
But Allison says how the campaign engages these groups is as important as who it engages with .
“ Elizabeth Warren made her campaign an on-ramp for activists that explored a co-governance model , ” Allison says .
“ Joe Biden needs a really powerful plan to combat white supremacy , but he also needs to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s not just Joe Biden ’ s plan.
” Allison adds that she ’ d like to see Biden do more to reach out to Black women activists , something akin to the event Biden held on Monday with Black ministers in his hometown of Wilmington , Delaware .
Policy , too , will be a major piece of it .
During a speech in Philadelphia on Monday , Biden called on Congress to immediately pass laws to stop the transfer of military weapons to police departments , ban officers ’ use of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He also promised to create national police oversight commission during his first 100 days in office , an end to “ qualified immunity ” —special protection law enforcement has from civil rights lawsuits—and reissued his call for community policing , an existing pillar of his criminal justice plan .
In early May , his campaign released the Biden Plan for Black America aimed at rectifying the economic and health care disparities the COVID-19 crisis put on full display .
But activists say it will take more than that .
“ The bar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been a few years ago because we ’ ve gone through the years from Ferguson until now , ” says Maurice Mitchell , president of the Working Families Party , a progressive organization that has made major pushes around policing .
Biden has not yet committed to the most pressing ask of many Movement for Black Lives allies : divesting from police .
And while Biden has pushed for aspects of the 1994 crime bill to be dismantled , Mitchell thinks Biden should apologize for it altogether .
“ He could endear a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ showed how he planned to repair that harm and put forth a bold platform that puts communities before easy ‘ law and order ’ rhetoric , ” he says .
Biden also might have to challenge institutions he ’ s often sided with .
“ There is no way to make police unions and Black people happy , ” Mitchell says .
“ This is a ‘ Whose side are you on ?
’ moment.
” Color of Change ’ s Robinson notes that Biden ’ s current plan for Black America doesn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ To have a plan that does not dismantle power or influence is not a plan for racial justice .
”

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Rashad Robinson recalls feeling like a “pariah” in Washington during the earliest days of the Black Lives Matter movement. The executive director of Color of Change, the nation’s largest online racial justice organization, had been pressuring President Obama to address police brutality in the wake of the death of Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager murdered by police in Ferguson, Missouri, in 2014. “I felt a lot of negative heat,” Robinson recalls, “and was treated as a radical even by some Black people inside the Obama administration.”
Five years after Brown’s death, President Obama included Color of Change on a list of resources for people looking to learn more about systemic racism and invited Robinson to join him in a virtual roundtable discussion on police reform. And activists like Robinson had a wholly different reception among Democrats running for president over the past year. No longer “pariahs” or “radicals,” 2020 hopefuls courted progressive Black activists and asked them to weigh in on platforms that elevated their movement’s priorities. Those policies were showcased at first-of-their-kind forums dedicated to addressing environmental justice, mass incarceration, and the needs of women of color.
But Joe Biden was noticeably absent. Biden skipped several of those forums, put little muscle into developing a race-conscious agenda, and didn’t reach out to activist groups that other campaigns had pursued. None of that mattered for securing the nomination: Biden won the South Carolina primary, the cycle’s first test of Black support, with more than 60 percent of the Black vote. His competitors, meanwhile, delivered their visions for Black America to predominantly white audiences, proof that all the best intentions paled in utility to the trust Biden had built up during his four decades in federal office.
The Democratic primary is over, and a nesting doll’s worth of crises has assumed its place. Black Americans have been killed by COVID-19 at alarming rates and the burden of “essential work,” such as health and child care, has primarily fallen on them. Then, the constant drumbeat of police brutality erupted onto the national stage by the police killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor.
And now, the racial justice reforms that had found their way onto progressive presidential candidates’ platforms match those that protestors are demanding at demonstrations not just in major cities, but also in the unlikeliest of small towns across the country. And those closely aligned with the movement wonder whether Biden will take a page from his fallen opponents’ policy ideas—and if the younger, progressive Black activists who helped to author them will have a seat at Biden’s table.
“Those protestors can be voters,” says Aimee Allison, the founder of She the People, a national network of women of color. “We have got to get Trump out of office, but if that’s replaced with someone who doesn’t have a clear vision for racial justice, we won’t have a thing for Democrats to prove that there is a will, a heart, and a plan.”
The Black Lives Matter movement began in the wake of the death of Trayvon Martin, a Black teenager murdered by a white neighbor in 2012, and garnered nationwide attention following Brown’s 2014 death. Though the movement’s genesis had been in race-based violence, activists aimed to elevate all the layers of systemic racism and white supremacy that imbued the experience of Black Americans. That included drawing attention to discriminatory lending practices, environmental neglect in Black communities, and high maternal death rates among Black mothers in addition to police brutality and high rates of arrest and incarceration. While legacy civil rights groups like the NAACP opted to work closely alongside elected officials and corporations to push for steady, incremental change, Black Lives Matter preferred to work outside the system through demonstrations and social media-driven campaigns.
The movement’s demands went largely unanswered by the Obama administration, and during the 2016 election, it refused to endorse either Bernie Sanders or Hillary Clinton. It was “too early in the genesis of the movement to rally around anyone in particular who hasn’t demonstrated that they feel accountable to the Black Lives Matter movement,” Alicia Garza, a co-founder, said at the time. Instead, activists showed up at campaign stops to protest the candidates’ unwillingness to connect systemic racism to the economic disadvantages the Black community faced. In August 2016, the Movement for Black Lives—the coalition of organizations aligned with Black Lives Matters—issued a vision document that called for divestment from the criminal justice system, economic reform, and reparations.
“The presidential primary was so different from any in history because several candidates were exposed around their hypocrisy around police violence and their treatment of Black communities in general.”
As another presidential cycle began, those demands remained unchanged. But the willingness of Democratic candidates to engage did. Bernie Sanders leaned on the advice of Black scholars and activists to add a racial justice lens to his war on the rich. Elizabeth Warren’s trove of plans to combat racial inequality had been authored in partnership with progressive Black women activists and earned her their coveted endorsements. For the first time ever, on subjects such as criminal and environmental justice, “candidates were forced to have platforms and speak to them,” says Sen. Cory Booker (D-N.J.), who centered his own presidential run on racial inequality. “There were countless articles pointing that out as a major deficit in their campaigns.”
Another sign of the movement’s growing political capital: its ability to undercut candidates who might have gotten more traction in prior presidential primaries. Activists showed up at events for former South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg, former New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, and current New York Mayor Bill de Blasio to protest how their administrations had treated Black communities. No apology or plan could shake the stigma the attention left.
“The presidential primary was so different from any in history because several candidates were exposed around their hypocrisy around police violence and their treatment of Black communities in general,” says Monifa Bandele, an activist with Malcolm X Grassroots Movement. “When moments presented themselves for people who do harm to Black communities to run for higher office, we made sure it was known that they betrayed Black communities.”
Biden, meanwhile, skated by with a middling history. The running mate of the country’s first Black president spent the primary scrutinized for his record on busing, his collaborations with anti-segregationists, and his hand in the 1994 crime bill, legislation that ushered in an era of mass incarceration and heavy policing. He nearly announced his candidacy on the same day as the first-ever presidential forum focused on women of color, changing the date only after the faux pas had been brought to his attention. Activists I spoke with told me that while other campaigns heavily courted their input and endorsement, they didn’t hear much, if at all, from Biden.
The hurdles now facing Biden are altogether different than the ones he cleared in the primary. President Trump has fully decamped to the side of white supremacists, but channeling the energy of a movement is an altogether different task. “What we can achieve when we don’t separate politics from movement is a lot,” Allison says. “Democrats shouldn’t use language that talks about the movement as separate from themselves.”
Crucial to that, according to advocates I spoke with, is for Biden to invite more of the voices who progressive candidates leaned on to advise him. Even before this charged moment, the Biden campaign had been seeking counsel from legacy groups such as NAACP, but also so-called “new movement” organizations, such as Campaign Zero, a police reform campaign founded by Black Lives Matter activists, and Color of Change, the group Robinson leads. But Allison says how the campaign engages these groups is as important as who it engages with. “Elizabeth Warren made her campaign an on-ramp for activists that explored a co-governance model,” Allison says. “Joe Biden needs a really powerful plan to combat white supremacy, but he also needs to explore a governance model so it’s not just Joe Biden’s plan.” Allison adds that she’d like to see Biden do more to reach out to Black women activists, something akin to the event Biden held on Monday with Black ministers in his hometown of Wilmington, Delaware.
Policy, too, will be a major piece of it. During a speech in Philadelphia on Monday, Biden called on Congress to immediately pass laws to stop the transfer of military weapons to police departments, ban officers’ use of chokeholds, and establish strong use-of-force standards. He also promised to create national police oversight commission during his first 100 days in office, an end to “qualified immunity”—special protection law enforcement has from civil rights lawsuits—and reissued his call for community policing, an existing pillar of his criminal justice plan. In early May, his campaign released the Biden Plan for Black America aimed at rectifying the economic and health care disparities the COVID-19 crisis put on full display.
But activists say it will take more than that. “The bar is higher than what it would have been a few years ago because we’ve gone through the years from Ferguson until now,” says Maurice Mitchell, president of the Working Families Party, a progressive organization that has made major pushes around policing. Biden has not yet committed to the most pressing ask of many Movement for Black Lives allies: divesting from police. And while Biden has pushed for aspects of the 1994 crime bill to be dismantled, Mitchell thinks Biden should apologize for it altogether. “He could endear a lot of people to him if he showed how he planned to repair that harm and put forth a bold platform that puts communities before easy ‘law and order’ rhetoric,” he says.
Biden also might have to challenge institutions he’s often sided with. “There is no way to make police unions and Black people happy,” Mitchell says. “This is a ‘Whose side are you on?’ moment.”
Color of Change’s Robinson notes that Biden’s current plan for Black America doesn’t challenge corporate power. “To have a plan that does not dismantle power or influence is not a plan for racial justice.”


motherjones--2020-06-05--Vote-By-Mail Is a Safer Option During a Pandemic—Except for Native Americans

Democrats pushing to expand the role of mail-in ballots in November ’ s election may be neglecting a vulnerable population that ’ s consistently taken their side : Native American voters , 2.3 million strong and growing .
While geographic isolation , cultural divides , and lack of resources have long limited their participation in the political process , this year ’ s pandemic presents a new hurdle , as voting by mail is significantly harder for Indigenous communities .
Since securing their voting rights over the past century , Native American voters have steadily increased their influence in local @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yet many , particularly those who live on reservations , still face enormous hurdles : navigating voter register without the aid of the internet or targeted outreach , then traveling obscene distances to polling places off their reservations , where they might encounter language barriers or restrictive voter ID laws .
On Thursday , the Native American Rights Fund released a 100-page report detailing these and other factors that disenfranchise Native voters .
Indigenous advocates have fought for and won registration offices and polling places closer to where Natives live .
Yet those @ @ @ @ @ @ @ turning to mail-in ballots to limit the spread of COVID-19—a great option , unless your community lacks reliable mail service .
“ Vote-by-mail simply does not work in Native American communities , ” says Jacqueline De León , a member of the Isleta Pueblo and an attorney who co-authored the Native American Rights Fund report .
“ To the extent that there can be vote-by-mail , increase it .
But doing only vote-by-mail would massively disenfranchise Indian Country.
” In some states , as few as 18 percent of Native Americans receive any @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lack of residential addresses on reservations has at times been exploited , such as when North Dakota passed a voter ID law to suppress the Native vote after Democrat Heidi Heitkamp won a Senate seat in 2012 .
That law , which required voters to present IDs listing a residential street address , has been massively tempered thanks to NARF and other groups suing the state of North Dakota and winning a settlement that ensures Native voters can present tribal IDs or even just point to where they live on a map .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ North Dakota will be entirely vote-by-mail , which could once again silence Indigenous people , many of whom only get mail at far-flung post offices that aren ’ t consistently open .
This only compounds the many challenges Native voters already face .
Titled “ Obstacles at Every Turn , ” the NARF report reflects the perspectives of more than 120 Native people from dozens of tribes who spoke at the group ’ s public forums .
The report found “ remarkably consistent ” trends across Indian Country , from illiteracy and lack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , to poor quality or non-existent roads that make it hard reach polling places and post offices .
Natives also face limited hours at rural government offices and overt discrimination by non-Native poll workers .
The majority of interviewees who spoke about vote-by-mail opposed it , with one tribal member in Montana even calling it a “ Jim Crow law.
” After a 2012 election in Montana , researchers found that only 10 to 15 percent of ballots from reservation communities came in by mail , compared to 33 percent from the rest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the ACLU , continues to litigate against a Montana law banning ballot collection , the practice of gathering a neighbor or family member ’ s ballot and transporting it to a polling place , reducing the difficulty of voting in remote communities .
Arizona ’ s collection ban was overturned in January by a federal appeals court that ruled the law was racially motivated , violating the Voting Rights Act .
In the 2020 presidential race , razor-thin margins could tip battleground states like Nevada , Minnesota , and Arizona , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ OJ Seamans Sr. of the Rosebud Sioux tribe , who directs a community-driven voting group called Four Directions , is eager to begin a registration drive in Arizona , where his group successfully pushed to double the number of early voting satellite offices for the Navajo Nation .
( The Arizona legislature is still debating how to conduct the presidential election this fall , but for the state ’ s upcoming August 4 primary , at least some polling places will be open . )
Seamans , who has coupled voter registration with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Census , believes the pandemic is forcing Natives to see how federal policies directly affect their lives .
They ’ re learning “ a very harsh lesson , ” he says , about “ how important it is for them to participate in both the Census and voting.
” A 2015 Census Bureau report found that the American Indian/Alaska Native population had the lowest Census mail response rate of any ethnic group .
Inaccurate Census data can cause public housing shortages in Native communities , and a “ capricious ” distribution of funding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Besides Arizona , Four Directions plans to hire local organizers in Wisconsin , Michigan , Colorado , North Carolina , Minnesota , and Nevada , “ working through friends and family ” to register voters .
While systemic problems like limited transportation and Internet access won ’ t be fixed between now and November , Indigenous advocates are doing what they can to keep physical voting locations open .
Says Seamans , “ the trust in Indian Country of their ballots being counted , without a personal visit to the polling place…that trust @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would like to see community-run curbside polls , where people can vote from their cars to reduce COVID transmission risk .
“ The world is really different from what I thought it was when writing this report , ” she says .
“ In what many say is the most consequential election in history…it seems absurd to me that there might not be polling places on reservations .
”

Democrats pushing to expand the role of mail-in ballots in November’s election may be neglecting a vulnerable population that’s consistently taken their side: Native American voters, 2.3 million strong and growing. While geographic isolation, cultural divides, and lack of resources have long limited their participation in the political process, this year’s pandemic presents a new hurdle, as voting by mail is significantly harder for Indigenous communities.
Since securing their voting rights over the past century, Native American voters have steadily increased their influence in local, state, and Congressional elections. Yet many, particularly those who live on reservations, still face enormous hurdles: navigating voter register without the aid of the internet or targeted outreach, then traveling obscene distances to polling places off their reservations, where they might encounter language barriers or restrictive voter ID laws. On Thursday, the Native American Rights Fund released a 100-page report detailing these and other factors that disenfranchise Native voters.
Indigenous advocates have fought for and won registration offices and polling places closer to where Natives live. Yet those efforts could be rendered moot in states turning to mail-in ballots to limit the spread of COVID-19—a great option, unless your community lacks reliable mail service.
“Vote-by-mail simply does not work in Native American communities,” says Jacqueline De León, a member of the Isleta Pueblo and an attorney who co-authored the Native American Rights Fund report. “To the extent that there can be vote-by-mail, increase it. But doing only vote-by-mail would massively disenfranchise Indian Country.”
In some states, as few as 18 percent of Native Americans receive any kind of mail at home. The lack of residential addresses on reservations has at times been exploited, such as when North Dakota passed a voter ID law to suppress the Native vote after Democrat Heidi Heitkamp won a Senate seat in 2012.
That law, which required voters to present IDs listing a residential street address, has been massively tempered thanks to NARF and other groups suing the state of North Dakota and winning a settlement that ensures Native voters can present tribal IDs or even just point to where they live on a map. Yet this month’s primary in North Dakota will be entirely vote-by-mail, which could once again silence Indigenous people, many of whom only get mail at far-flung post offices that aren’t consistently open. This only compounds the many challenges Native voters already face.
Titled “Obstacles at Every Turn,” the NARF report reflects the perspectives of more than 120 Native people from dozens of tribes who spoke at the group’s public forums. The report found “remarkably consistent” trends across Indian Country, from illiteracy and lack of education around the importance of voting, to poor quality or non-existent roads that make it hard reach polling places and post offices. Natives also face limited hours at rural government offices and overt discrimination by non-Native poll workers.
The majority of interviewees who spoke about vote-by-mail opposed it, with one tribal member in Montana even calling it a “Jim Crow law.” After a 2012 election in Montana, researchers found that only 10 to 15 percent of ballots from reservation communities came in by mail, compared to 33 percent from the rest of the state.
NARF, along with the ACLU, continues to litigate against a Montana law banning ballot collection, the practice of gathering a neighbor or family member’s ballot and transporting it to a polling place, reducing the difficulty of voting in remote communities. Arizona’s collection ban was overturned in January by a federal appeals court that ruled the law was racially motivated, violating the Voting Rights Act.
In the 2020 presidential race, razor-thin margins could tip battleground states like Nevada, Minnesota, and Arizona, which all have relatively large Indigenous populations. OJ Seamans Sr. of the Rosebud Sioux tribe, who directs a community-driven voting group called Four Directions, is eager to begin a registration drive in Arizona, where his group successfully pushed to double the number of early voting satellite offices for the Navajo Nation. (The Arizona legislature is still debating how to conduct the presidential election this fall, but for the state’s upcoming August 4 primary, at least some polling places will be open.)
Seamans, who has coupled voter registration with a push to accurately complete the 2020 Census, believes the pandemic is forcing Natives to see how federal policies directly affect their lives. They’re learning “a very harsh lesson,” he says, about “how important it is for them to participate in both the Census and voting.”
A 2015 Census Bureau report found that the American Indian/Alaska Native population had the lowest Census mail response rate of any ethnic group. Inaccurate Census data can cause public housing shortages in Native communities, and a “capricious” distribution of funding under programs like the CARES Act.
Besides Arizona, Four Directions plans to hire local organizers in Wisconsin, Michigan, Colorado, North Carolina, Minnesota, and Nevada, “working through friends and family” to register voters.
While systemic problems like limited transportation and Internet access won’t be fixed between now and November, Indigenous advocates are doing what they can to keep physical voting locations open. Says Seamans, “the trust in Indian Country of their ballots being counted, without a personal visit to the polling place…that trust doesn’t exist.”
De Leon would like to see community-run curbside polls, where people can vote from their cars to reduce COVID transmission risk. “The world is really different from what I thought it was when writing this report,” she says. “In what many say is the most consequential election in history…it seems absurd to me that there might not be polling places on reservations.”


motherjones--2020-06-05--Hot Dogs, Medical Supplies, and Goggles—The DC Streets Are Filled With Donations for Protesters

On Thursday afternoon , H St. in downtown Washington , DC—which only days before had been the scene of a violent encounter between law enforcement and protesters—had become a kind of open market .
Tents popped up and young men were pulling out supplies from the trunk of an open hatchback ; music played while pedestrians wandered up and down the street ; hotdogs were grilled and handed out .
All in anticipation of the thousands of demonstrators who were arriving to peacefully protest systemic racism in response to the death of George Floyd , an unarmed black man who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Day .
This area was near the exact site where three days earlier , federal law enforcement used tear gas and rubber bullets to scatter protesters so President Donald Trump could march over from the White House for his now notorious photo-op while brandishing a Bible .
Trump ’ s handling of the demonstrations and the helicopter tactics used on protesters by DC National Guard has drawn the ire of many Americans , including fellow Republicans and the military establishment .
But it may have have had an unintended consequence : The protests @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as has an increasingly sophisticated infrastructure of grassroots organizations to support them .
What started as little stacks of free water on street corners has evolved into a complex collection and distribution system to provide supplies for those up and down the route marchers have been taking .
The planning mostly happens over encrypted chats among people who ’ ve never met in real life in order to make progress on a set of goals that didn ’ t exist two weeks ago .
It ’ s hard to identify an organization at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many cases , people just packed whatever material they thought would be useful—masks , snacks , goggles , athletic tape , band aids , milk and saline solution for instance—and headed down to the White House .
The tables and coolers quickly turned the area into a bazaar of goodwill and free stuff .
Beginning with their own money , those who were there quickly received donations from supporters .
By 6 pm , as protesters began pouring into DC ’ s downtown , Reggie Guy had just finished grilling his first round @ @ @ @ @ @ @ John ’ s Church , where Trump had staged his photo op .
“ You can not sustain these emotions on granola bars , ” he told me as he distributed hot dogs in buns to passersby .
“ I ’ m going to be out here until this stops .
Hopefully I ’ ll be here for months , years.
” In less than one minute , three protesters donated a total of $ 45 ; he planned to reinvest it in his free hotdog operation .
Between taking donations from passerby @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was hungry , Guy gestured to his grill .
“ This is my protest , ” he said .
Several yards away , Jasmin and Jessica stood with coolers of ice full of water , Gatorade , fruit snacks , and Nutri-grain bars they had bought with $ 500 in donations they had collected .
Tom Brown , co-owner of a Shaw neighborhood bar called Passenger , rode his bike to the pair and offered to deliver ice for the coolers since he had “ two machines that can producer 100 lbs of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ customers .
Along the plaza in front of the White House , some demonstrators arrived in their cars and set up tables and tents .
Jade was there and explained she decided to pivot from marching to offering supplies on account of her “ 30-year old knees.
” Eric Mowinksi , who was parked nearby , drove his “ beat to shit ” hatchback “ battle cruiser ” from Arlington , Virginia , to distribute supplies on Wednesday .
He planned to stay for two hours but ended up staying for 10 .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in this city trying to do the same , ” he said .
Mirabelle is an expensive restaurant not far from the White House , which is usually the scene for lobbyists , lawyers , and administration officials to dine on elegant French food .
In its patio , medical volunteers took inventory of gauze , rubbing alcohol , and antacid compounds protesters have dissolved to rinse eyes inflamed by pepper spray , which had come through GoFundMe donations and local churches .
Since Monday , the number of medics supporting protesters has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ almost 60 .
Wearing red , white , and blue crosses of electrical tape across their shirts , the group includes local activist groups like DC Street Medics , YSocialWork , Black Lives Matter DC , and the recently-formed Freedom Fighters DC , contribute and direct supplies and volunteers , The real decisions appear to be made on an ad hoc basis by the medical workers on the ground .
Less than a week earlier , Philomena Wankenge , the founder , posted a tweet gauging interest in starting an activist group .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s spokesperson , “ Group chats later we formed a board of directors.
” A week into its existence , FFDC has a seven member board , five committees , a volunteer list of 300 , at least 500 individual supply donations , and 20,000 Instagram followers .
“ We ’ ve had restaurants and stores reach out to us saying they ’ re accepting donations for us , ” LaBayne said .
“ Had Chelsea Clinton retweet our supply drop off .
Black Lives Matter DC endorsed us .
Elizabeth Warren @ @ @ @ @ @ @ getting a lot traction.
” Two of the businesses acting as donation drop off spots are 9:30 Club and Red Bear Brewing—one a longstanding bastion of the city ’ s counter-cultural scene , the other a recently-opened brewery known for its inclusive events .
Bryan Van Den Oever , one of Red Bear ’ s co-owners , said that when management learned that FFDC was on the hunt for a donation drop-off space , they jumped .
“ We ’ re more than comfortable being drop off location , ” he said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hong Kong protests and we asked for street cones and umbrellas .
We basically just put out what our needs are and the community responded.
” From there , donations move to a non-disclosed location , where they can be organized and prepared for distribution at future events .
Unsurprisingly , information on where protesters can pick up those goods travels through social media .
So far , these new networks have been able to support demonstrations that are in the same proportion to the amount of supplies they ’ ve collected .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Matter DC have events planned that they anticipate will be even larger than this week ’ s protests .
It ’ s likely , given on what has happened already , the supplies will keep pace with the demand .

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On Thursday afternoon, H St. in downtown Washington, DC—which only days before had been the scene of a violent encounter between law enforcement and protesters—had become a kind of open market. Tents popped up and young men were pulling out supplies from the trunk of an open hatchback; music played while pedestrians wandered up and down the street; hotdogs were grilled and handed out. All in anticipation of the thousands of demonstrators who were arriving to peacefully protest systemic racism in response to the death of George Floyd, an unarmed black man who was killed by Minneapolis police on Memorial Day. This area was near the exact site where three days earlier, federal law enforcement used tear gas and rubber bullets to scatter protesters so President Donald Trump could march over from the White House for his now notorious photo-op while brandishing a Bible.
Trump’s handling of the demonstrations and the helicopter tactics used on protesters by DC National Guard has drawn the ire of many Americans, including fellow Republicans and the military establishment. But it may have have had an unintended consequence: The protests have grown in number since then, as has an increasingly sophisticated infrastructure of grassroots organizations to support them. What started as little stacks of free water on street corners has evolved into a complex collection and distribution system to provide supplies for those up and down the route marchers have been taking.
The planning mostly happens over encrypted chats among people who’ve never met in real life in order to make progress on a set of goals that didn’t exist two weeks ago. It’s hard to identify an organization at the center of it all. In many cases, people just packed whatever material they thought would be useful—masks, snacks, goggles, athletic tape, band aids, milk and saline solution for instance—and headed down to the White House. The tables and coolers quickly turned the area into a bazaar of goodwill and free stuff. Beginning with their own money, those who were there quickly received donations from supporters.
By 6 pm, as protesters began pouring into DC’s downtown, Reggie Guy had just finished grilling his first round of free hotdogs in front of St. John’s Church, where Trump had staged his photo op. “You cannot sustain these emotions on granola bars,” he told me as he distributed hot dogs in buns to passersby. “I’m going to be out here until this stops. Hopefully I’ll be here for months, years.” In less than one minute, three protesters donated a total of $45; he planned to reinvest it in his free hotdog operation. Between taking donations from passerby and hand ing out hotdogs to whoever was hungry, Guy gestured to his grill. “This is my protest,” he said.
Reggie Guy has a grill and free hotdogs on H. St. about 20 feet from where Trump had his bible glamour shots. “You cannot sustain these emotions on granola bars.” Within a 45 second window, marchers donated as many dollars. That cash is going to buy more hotdogs. pic.twitter.com/oXNlSdPbyt — will peischel (@will_peischel) June 4, 2020
Several yards away, Jasmin and Jessica stood with coolers of ice full of water, Gatorade, fruit snacks, and Nutri-grain bars they had bought with $500 in donations they had collected. Tom Brown, co-owner of a Shaw neighborhood bar called Passenger, rode his bike to the pair and offered to deliver ice for the coolers since he had “two machines that can producer 100 lbs of ice an hour,” and no customers.
Along the plaza in front of the White House, some demonstrators arrived in their cars and set up tables and tents. Jade was there and explained she decided to pivot from marching to offering supplies on account of her “30-year old knees.” Eric Mowinksi, who was parked nearby, drove his “beat to shit” hatchback “battle cruiser” from Arlington, Virginia, to distribute supplies on Wednesday. He planned to stay for two hours but ended up staying for 10. “I know there are 10,000 people in this city trying to do the same,” he said.
Mirabelle is an expensive restaurant not far from the White House, which is usually the scene for lobbyists, lawyers, and administration officials to dine on elegant French food. In its patio, medical volunteers took inventory of gauze, rubbing alcohol, and antacid compounds protesters have dissolved to rinse eyes inflamed by pepper spray, which had come through GoFundMe donations and local churches. Since Monday, the number of medics supporting protesters has multiplied from less than a dozen to almost 60. Wearing red, white, and blue crosses of electrical tape across their shirts, the group includes local activist groups like DC Street Medics, YSocialWork, Black Lives Matter DC, and the recently-formed Freedom Fighters DC, contribute and direct supplies and volunteers, The real decisions appear to be made on an ad hoc basis by the medical workers on the ground.
Medics and their supplies. The medic groups at DC protests have ballooned from less than 10 to more than 55 in just a few days. A conglomeration of groups without a name, that communicates via discord, supplied by donations—its all ad hoc. pic.twitter.com/55UOSXemJ2 — will peischel (@will_peischel) June 4, 2020
Less than a week earlier, Philomena Wankenge, the founder, posted a tweet gauging interest in starting an activist group. According to Jacqueline LaBayne, the organization’s spokesperson, “Group chats later we formed a board of directors.” A week into its existence, FFDC has a seven member board, five committees, a volunteer list of 300, at least 500 individual supply donations, and 20,000 Instagram followers. “We’ve had restaurants and stores reach out to us saying they’re accepting donations for us,” LaBayne said. “Had Chelsea Clinton retweet our supply drop off. Black Lives Matter DC endorsed us. Elizabeth Warren endorsed us. It’s definitely getting a lot traction.”
Two of the businesses acting as donation drop off spots are 9:30 Club and Red Bear Brewing—one a longstanding bastion of the city’s counter-cultural scene, the other a recently-opened brewery known for its inclusive events. Bryan Van Den Oever, one of Red Bear’s co-owners, said that when management learned that FFDC was on the hunt for a donation drop-off space, they jumped. “We’re more than comfortable being drop off location,” he said. “We took a page from the Hong Kong protests and we asked for street cones and umbrellas. We basically just put out what our needs are and the community responded.”
How are we responding to the protests? By supporting them! We want to thank the @FFDC2020 for working with us. A huge thank you to everyone who donated. We love you all. Check it out: https://t.co/xRGJUd9GdN — Red Bear Brewing (@RedBearBrewing) June 4, 2020
From there, donations move to a non-disclosed location, where they can be organized and prepared for distribution at future events. Unsurprisingly, information on where protesters can pick up those goods travels through social media.
So far, these new networks have been able to support demonstrations that are in the same proportion to the amount of supplies they’ve collected. On Saturday, FFDC and Black Lives Matter DC have events planned that they anticipate will be even larger than this week’s protests. It’s likely, given on what has happened already, the supplies will keep pace with the demand.