Jordyn Brown and Tatiana Parafiniuk-Talesnick, Eugene Register-Guard, and Elizabeth Gabriel, KLCC| Eugene Register-Guard and KLCC
Four days after George Floyds murder last May,Lane County residents of all backgrounds took their anger and sadness to the streetto fight injustice, apathy and, sometimes, their own feelings of hopelessness and continued to do so nearly every day for weeks through a summer of action.
Many young Black leaders and protest groups with different goals and politicsemerged to organize marches, rallies and organizations to spread the message that Black lives matter.
Now, a year later, some activists said they remain energized and hopeful for the future while others feel theyve been placated, tokenized and are disappointed by the lack of changes.
Meet some local leaders in last summers Black Lives Matter activism as they reflect on the anniversary of George Floyds murder, the status of the movement and whats yet to come.
25-year-old co-founding member ofBlack Unity and thecurrent BIPOC Communications Liaison for Lane County Public Health
Before Martin Allums got involved in last summers protests, he waited to see whether this time might be different.
I had gotten tired of seeing people that look like me getting killed, I just started ignoring it and turning it off, and turning a blind eye to it, because there were other things that I wanted to focus on, he said. But it got to a point where I could no longer avoid it, you know? It was everywhere. It was happening in your face, and it was happening to a point where something needed to be done. And so I had to put everything aside for a minute and decide what I wanted to do.
He had seen responses like this before, where a viral moment instigated a surge of activism that would quickly drop off after about a week. So, he decided to wait specifically for the two-week point when action was dying down to step in and keep it going.
Allums stepped in June 2 on a night when the energy was shifting. After months of pandemic-induced isolation, many white activists started treating the protest events as a celebration complete with drum circles and dancing in Kesey Square.
What had happened in that protest was it felt like everyone was celebrating that we won, and that was the end, he said. That was the reason why I came out there, and that was the reason why I grabbed the microphone to let them know that now this isn't the end. This is actually the beginning.
That night felt like a moment of dissonance, he said. Many Black protesters, including Allums, took the mic to share their concerns about white protesters treating the solemn and urgent topic of police brutality and racism like a party. One young woman told the crowd, Im tired of watching white people make a parade out of this.
Allums said the local movement was made better for the conversation.
I was so afraid to grab thatmic and tell them what I was feeling, he said. And I felt like we got to a place where we did understand each other at least the people who had stayed, because there were people who stayed and those people who stayed really got involved and really helped make this movement into what it's become today.
As the year progressed, Allums moved from taking the mic at protests with Black Unity, an activistgroup he co-founded,to taking one up for Lane County Public Health.
Hes a graduate student of public health atSouthern New Hampshire University, studying the impacts of social aspects, particularly mental health, and is currently applying to medical schools. This year he was also tapped to be the BIPOC Communications Liaison for the county, working with marginalized groups to get out the latest information on COVID-19 and vaccine distribution.
He said he simply views the challenges that came up in his roles, as a protest leader with BU and an advocate with the county, over the past yearas something he needs to go back and try again. Its what LCPH has had to do all year and what he plans to do in Lane Countyuntil the problems he sees are fixed.
Back in the day, they used to tell you if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. I literally internalized that message. So I do that I will never stop trying, he said.
Nearly a year later, Allums points to some changes hes been involved in such as Lane County declaring racism a public health crisis and the passage of Measure 110, which decriminalizes small quantities drugs in Oregon and will potentially decrease yearly convictions for possession by 90%.
What's really changed is my hope, he said. I feel like for some folks, they might feelthings haven't been moving as fast as they've wanted them to move. But for me, they've moved exactly how I expected them to move, and that's a pretty good feeling. There are a lot of things that have changed really once you learn about those things, and really seeinghow those things are going to affect the community, I think a lot of folks will be hopeful as well.
The22- and 21-year-old siblings and co-founders of Black Led Action Coalition, also known as BLAC.
When videos of George Floyds murder went viral, the violent minutes hit the Smith siblings hard, in different ways.
I never saw it. I've never seen any of the videos of unarmed innocent Black people being murdered by law enforcement I refuse to watch them, Madeliene said. I actually texted and called every Black man I knew.
She told her loved ones: Dont walk anywhere by yourself at night, don't drive fast, turn your music down. If your windows are tinted, take the tint off. Make sure your plates and tags are up to date.
On the list of people she was worried about was one of her closest friends, her brother Spencer, who did watch the video.
I remember ... driving to my house and hysterically bawling, Spencer said. The first person I called was my mom, and I told her, I'm so done with this world.
He said he was surprised by his own negativity. He always thought of himself a positive person, but news of yet another Black man dying at the hands of police had pushed him emotionally.
He refused to allowdespair to take his power.
As Madeliene panic-called her Black friends and family, she also paused.
I was just thinking, I shouldn't have to do this. I know white people don't text their white friends or their white family members and tell them to be extra careful, she said. I decided something had to happen.
So, the siblings worked together to plan two of the largest organized events of last summers local Black Lives Matter movement. The rally on May 31 in Eugene was one of the biggest demonstrations in recent decades, with more than 7,000 people marchingthrough the streets. The pair teamed up with other local organizations to throw a Juneteenth celebration that brought hundreds of people to Alton Baker Park for dancing, art, poetry and to support local businesses owned by people who are Black, Indigenous and people of color.
As a college student studying political science, philosophy and ethnic studies hoping to become a practicing civil rights attorney and having faced a lifetime of first-hand racism, Spencer said he was primed to step in.
Constantly learning about this stuff, from a historical standpoint, factual standpointand then also dealing with it in a social standpoint was kind of the tipping point for me, Spencer said. (I thought), OK, it's time for me to become not only active in my education and what I want to do in the future, but also right now in my community.
As the summer went on, they hosted two more events and supported other organizations demonstrations and teach-ins. The duo said they support a police abolitionist ideology," meaning they promotereplacing policing with other systems of public safety,and frequently call on supporters to reach out to local and state government officials. Additionally, Spencer worked as a cultural competency director for local unarmed crisis response team CAHOOTS.
Planning for this years Juneteenth event already has begun.
That'll be a really good time to … check in with the community, Spencer said. (We can ask) where are we at? How many people attended this year as opposed to last year? How many people think that this is a beneficial event this year, as opposed to last year?
The two said the work has been endless. Yet, after a year of events and demonstrations, they said theres not much to show for it.
In the last year, I have seen little to no change. I'm going to be 100% honest, it's disappointing, Madeliene said.
She added that she continues to see police treat Black residents unfairly, as recently as a few weeks ago.
Maybe some work will be done next year, and I can't tell the future, but I don't think anything will change in my lifetime in the direction we're going, she said.
Much of the work ahead, she said, is the responsibilityofwhite people.
"I think that it's really hard to expect Black people to fix racism in the middle of mourning, in the middle of death, in the middle of violence and fear, when the system is rigged against us, the system is created by white supremacy," Madeliene said."I'm sorry, my Blackness is not going to change white supremacy, I can't change the minds of white supremacists andI feel like a lot of the work is, honestly, up to white people."
Through the success and challenges of the last year, theyve been glad to have each other. As two Black, biracial, queer, young activists, Oregon can be lonely, but theyve been able to turn to each other for support, solidarity and love.
Our mom is white and our dad is Black and when I was 8 and Mae (a nickname for his sister) was 9, our dad passed away, Spencer said. "So we've always been very reliant upon each other, especially when we have issues where we experience something completely different than our mother does.
It's kind of a little sanctuary to have not only throughout this movement, but throughout life.
His sister agreed.
It always made me feel like I had somebody I was fighting for, because at the end of the day, I want to serve the Black community, but I would die for my brother, Madeliene said. And that's why I'm here.
The31-year-oldco-founder of Willamette Racism Response Network and mental health therapist
Growing up mostly in Southern Oregon, Ashley Carr tried to fit in by wearing the lightest makeup and straightening her hair.
I tried and tried and tried to be white, because everyone else was, so my experience growing up in Oregon was that I don't fit it was that I don't belong here, that I'm not right, that there's something wrong with me, she said.
As a Black, biracial woman, she said she endured people calling her racial slurs and often found herself ashamed of her facial features. After protests erupted last year, Carr wanted to create an organization for continuing anti-racist work, never wanting her own three children to feel ashamed of who they are.
I'm doing what I didn't have, which is really important to me, but it's also important because I want to do itso that my kids have it …because I don't want them to feel like they don't fit in, that they don't belong, because they do, Carr said.
I don't want my daughter to think her lips are too big or that her skin is too dark, because her skin is beautiful, and shes gorgeous.
Like many others, she could not bring herself to watch the video of Floyds murder last May.
I can't even begin to describe the complexity of what I felt, she said. It was just pain. It was so, so loud that other people could hear it. Other people that weren't Black could hear it, this pain. So it was this grief, the suffering in the sadness.
Carr attended some early protests, but stopped after attending one in Springfield where marchers were met with loud motorcyclists, and she saw police hit protesters. It was traumatizing for her to see this happening in her community, she said.
I kept thinking to myself, daily, moment to moment, what can I do? What can I do? I'm here, and I feel so alone, being a person of color here … . I don't see anybody who looks like me, but I know they're there, she said. And I know there are people who look like me who want community like I do.
Carr found others who shared her priorities and co-founded the Willamette Racism Response Network last summer,an organization that focuses on community-building events.
For example, we've been doing these BIPOC horse camps, and we've made them free to kids and teenagers of color because horse riding is a notoriously white sport, Carr said. So we're creating that access. We're bridging that gap.
The group has also hosted community conversations with panels of BIPOC people, and story time events for children, focused on hearing from people of color who read books by people of color, in hopes of cultivating anti-racism from a young age.
The thought process is to create the teacher-student dynamic, the teacher being a person of color, student being being primarily white and just sort of normalizing that, but also for the kiddos who are of color, also seeing that (is) so important, so incredibly important, Carr said.
A year later, she still feels the heavy weight of Floyds murder as well as the strange ways it changed her life.
Before Floyd's murder, I felt alone… I felt like I couldn't talk, that I didn't have a voice that I could even use that I wasn't even worthy of using … as a Black biracial woman, she said. And you know, it's very conflicting to me. I have to acknowledge that, because of his death, I grew. That's something that I struggle with, knowing that I've benefited from that.
She hopes these conversations will lead to her children having the same opportunities as white children: learning from teachers who look like them, living without fear of police and where Black culture and artists such as Kendrick Lamar are included in education without question. But this community is still far from the one she hopes to see for her children, she said.
I don't even know what would make it better here. It's so hard to really specify, because there are so many things wrong it's kind of like, pick one, she said. I want to see a community that's more of a community and not so afraid … and that's not full of hate.
20-year-old founding member of Black Unity and independent activist
For Tyshawn Ford, protesting is like going to church. You can come into the event, knowing someone is going to lead and tell you a story. There are snacks, water and people chanting together for a common goal akin to singing gospel.
Everyone's going to be really nice to you, people who you've never even met in your life, he said. Its really the same exact thing. That's what makes protesting so worth it.
We know that protesting is not going to create actual political change … but it does so much more than that: it creates mutual aid networks and it's a way to educate the community about the problems that are actually happening, he said. Even though I might not physically change laws and stuff like that, protesting does so much for the community.
Ford has always been deeply interested in the work of historical Black leaders hes listened to every one of Malcolm Xs and Huey P. Newtons speeches, podcasts and other works related to prominent Black Panther members. He said he spends as much time as he can gathering facts, statistics and other information about the issues.
So once protests took off last year, he didnt want to waste a chance to inform and educate others.
When the earlier protests were happening, I was much younger … so I wasn't as educated on what was going on in the Black community, he said. So as I got older, I actually started realizing what was happening in the Black community, and then when the protests took off, it was just a good opportunity to go out there and try to do something.
Every day, I'll just be educating myself, he said. Any information I can get my hands on, facts, statistics, like everything, because when it comes down to it, I've changed a lot of people's minds protesting.
Since last May, Ford has attended protests across the U.S. and has been at the front of the local Black Lives Matter movement in Lane County. He co-founded Black Unity, one of the largest local organized activist groups, has spent time working with activist group Rose City Justice and is one of the lead plaintiffs in a lawsuit against Springfield Police Department, which accuses the department of violating civil rights and denying equal protection of protesters during a protest in Thurston.
We're gonna win 100%, he said, about the lawsuit. I have no doubt.
The decision to sue the police comes as part of a larger plan toward police abolition, which is his goal.
I can't say much about it, but a big hope is that with this case, it will hopefully force them to make some big changes to that police department.
Ford said he hopes the case will lead to the department losing some of its funding by 50% or more.
When asked what this last year has meant to him personally, he pointed out that he was only 19 when he helped start BU, and that its been a long year of growth in all areas of his life.
I wish that I knew as much back then as I know now, Ford said. I'm definitely just a way better person now. I learned a lot of stuff being an activist when it comes to women's rights, I went to my first Pride …learning how to compromise and my people skills (improved), I'm just a way different person than I was a year ago.
I'm definitely just more sentimental, he said. I just didn't care about people back then, as much as I do now. I care about how people feel, I care about how people look at me, and being a leader.
Editors' note: This project is a collaboration between The Eugene Register-Guard and KLCC public radio.
Contact reporter Jordyn Brown at jbrown@registerguard.comand on Twitter @thejordynbrown; reporter Tatiana Parafiniuk-Talesnick atTatiana@registerguard.com and on Twitter@TatianaSophiaPT; andreporter Elizabeth Gabriel ategabriel@klcc.org andon Twitter@_elizabethgabs.
Listen to the BLM leaders reflectin KLCC's radio broadcast and read more protester profiles at registerguard.com
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Leaders of Eugenes Black Lives Matter movement reflect on momentous year for better or worse - The Register-Guard