“The movement is forever.”

August 5, 2015 • by Brent Lightfoot

On the night of Wednesday, June 17, nine African-Americans were gunned down during choir practice at the African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, SC.

On Thursday June 18, the interns of Cold Case Justice Initiative arrived at work and sat looking at one another. What was there to say? Some of us were confused, some of us were angry. We were all depressed, forlorn by the awful resonance of the past in the present. Everything that we have been working on this summer… all of the cases we have been investigating… it’s horrible. And yet, after the massacre of nine innocents last night, we were shown that the fight is not over. Not by a long shot. By no means do we live in a color-blind world. By no stretch of the imagination do we live in a post-racial society. If ever there was a nightmarish moment in America, it could not have been worse than Wednesday night. We did this to ourselves.

That morning, we talked about it some, but what had happened was still a shock. We tried to go on with business as usual. But it was impossible. It was impossible to evade the terrible implications: the persistence of hate, the magnitude of violence, the meaning of death for nothing. That is, nothing more than the arbitrary facts of skin color and identity.

The events of the week were altered by the fact of the shooting. We tried to go about our business, but everything was filtered by the shooting. It changed the meaning of what we were doing. While we thought we were looking back behind ourselves in an exercise of abstraction, our perspectives became as if autoscopic. We saw ourselves from outside of ourselves, rocked into our own moment, as the past exploded into the present, shot from the barrel of an assailant’s gun.

Tyrone Brooks and Eldrin Bell with students — Tyrone Brooks, former Georgia State Legislator and Eldrin Bell, former Atlanta Police Chief with CCJI-Atlanta students

On the preceding Friday, June 12, we had met with Tyrone Brooks in the Atlanta offices of the CCJI. Mr. Brooks is a former Georgia State Legislator and Field Director of Martin Luther King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Dressed in a tan button up and brown pants, Mr. Brooks appeared the wizened civil rights leader he is. He began by explaining to us that he has transitioned out of legislative politics to fully dedicate his time to advocate for the victims of the Moore’s Ford Massacre, a lynching of two young black couples that occurred in Munroe, GA in 1946. The tragic event marks the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement, as it led President Truman to form the first ever Civil Rights Committee focused on the issue of lynching black people in the United States. Despite a year long FBI investigation into the Moore’s Ford Massacre, there were few indictments related to the event and no convictions ever occurred. In effect, the FBI investigation of the Moore’s Ford Massacre has, up until this point, entirely failed to achieve justice.

Mr. Brooks’ civil rights career began early, when as a 15-year-old student he was arrested for protesting in Covington, GA. A couple years later, in 1967, Tyrone Brooks came to Atlanta with the SCLC. Rev. Hosea Williams, Dr. King’s field general, brought him. Hosea Williams was a populist hero, conducting voter registration every summer, donning overalls at times, sporting suits at others. At 21, Tyrone Brooks found himself in front of Dr. King himself. Dr. King said, “I don’t do hiring. Take him to Abernathy. Put him on the pay roll.”

During his time with the SCLC, Mr. Brooks told us, he was in jail for 45 days as the field director of the organization. “Jailing for freedom is an honor,” he said, quoting Nelson Mandela.

Reflecting on 1968’s Poor People’s Campaign, Mr. Brooks told stories about the Mule Train to DC through the South starting in Marx, MS, then the poorest county in the U.S. “[On the train were] heroes and sheroes,” he explained. Initially, the Mule Train wasn’t allowed to pass through Georgia, and the riders spent time in jail for trying to do so. Once they were released and allowed to cross the state, they helped set up a tent city on the Mall in DC. They marched all over the Mall and went to jail there. Mr. Brooks thought it was remarkable that they were sentenced to time in jail by a black judge for marching without permit. It goes to show you that institutionalized racism can be personally mediated by anyone, no matter what the color of their skin.

Tyrone Brook was 22 years old, serving on the field staff of the SCLC when Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed in Memphis. Mr. Brooks was in Munroe “when the bullet hit him[MLK],” and once he heard the news, Mr. Brooks drove all night to join the SCLC leadership in Memphis. It was a chaotic time for the organization.

Reflecting on the changes between today and yesterday, in light of the cases being worked by the CCJI, Mr. Brooks quoted Joseph Lowry, the storied civil rights leader. “Everything has changed, and nothing has changed.” He grew quiet for a moment, looking down as if contemplating a vision of the past. Mr. Brooks looked up and concluded, “The movement is forever, the struggle continues.” We didn’t realize it then, but his words would seem prophetic in light of the coming week’s events.

Students at Atlanta History Center — CCJI student workers at Atlanta History Center

On Monday, June 15, blithely unaware of the attack that would transpire in the coming days, Alphonse and I headed downtown to the county court house. All the property records for Fulton County are located there. We wanted to find out who owned the property where the victim from our case was killed. After entering through the metal detectors and security guards stationed at the front door, we descended on the elevator to the bottom floor. An air of dust and decay reached our nostrils as we stepped through the double doors. We looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We remembered last week when the reverend had told us we were archaeologists of justice. Today, it really felt like we were archaeologists. Amongst the batty property lawyers roosted amongst the dusty tomes, we conducted our search of property records. Recent records are digitized, so we started on a computer, found the deed for our address, and worked backwards from there. At noon, we walked down the street to get out of the hot sun and eat lunch in the cool, cavernous cafeteria in the Secretary’s state building. They have a Chick-fil-A, so we gorged on fried chicken sandwiches and sweet tea. After lunch amongst the state employees, we returned to the tomes, and, after a couple hours, we tracked down the deed for our property the year when our victim was killed. We drove away victoriously. Later that afternoon, Alphonse also found the name of the officer who killed the victim in our case through an open records request. Monday was a productive day for our investigation.

On Tuesday, we filed records documenting all the work we’ve done so far, so that others can follow the trail when we finish our term with the project at the end of the summer. We still didn’t know what was coming.

On Wednesday, June 17, while the other students were away at the library, Professor McDonald told stories about interning for Robert Kennedy before law school, her transformation “from an armchair liberal to being arrested for civil rights protests,” and her time at Yale Law School. Alphonse then explained the experience of being the only black student in his section at Syracuse Law, where a fellow student, a white farm boy could say something, genuinely meant to be supportive but without understanding the racial significance of what he had said.

However, explanation is not justification. The violence of accidental racism in private education is common today, when the market value of diversity brings a small number of black students into contact with a large group of uncultured, insensitive white students. This is not an isolated event. Racism, accidental or otherwise, is culturally prevalent all across the country at higher-level educational institutions, especially those that are historically white.

Accidental racism shares its source with its more sinister sibling, intentional racism: the mother of America, white supremacy. The problem with our educational institutions today is that they pander to affirmative action while still allowing white supremacy to thrive ideologically. As writer Ta-Nehisi Coates of The Atlantic has suggested in “The Case for Reparations,” it is inadequate that modern reparations should find primary expression in higher education, because the legacy of black slavery in America is so far reaching, covering every facet and field of social life, extending far beyond the educational infrastructure. In essence, its not the white-farm-boy-turned-law-student’s fault that he mistakenly said something racist to Alphonse. The fault belongs to all of us, for allowing white supremacist views to continue saturating our culture, both in and outside the classroom. Free speech is one thing. Moral imperative is another. The fact that, as a community, we have allowed white supremacy to continue infecting our institutions and our personal lives led to the events of that night, when the nine innocents were shot to death in Charleston.

Mayor Elizabeth Wilson — Elizabeth Wilson, Mayor of Decatur,

Thursday afternoon, we met with Elizabeth Wilson, mayor of Decatur from 1993-1999, in our offices at Oakhurst Presbyterian. The day was hot, so we had the A/C on blast. Currently, Mayor Wilson is leading a courageous battle against the forces of gentrification in Decatur, what she called “a racist program.” Mayor Wilson is fighting specifically in the neighborhood surrounding the church where we work. When Alphonse introduced himself as living off Candler Road, she remarked mirthfully, “Oh, you are real local.”

Professor McDonald started off by introducing Mayor Wilson to our cases. “The families don’t know about our work,” she said, “or we don’t think they know. We have turned over 90 cases to the Georgia DOJ, but there’s been no movement… [Often, we see that] one cop was the killer, another was the detective, [and the whole thing was] hushed up; then [they] reversed roles on next case.” Sometimes, it feels like everybody was “in” on the racist killing of black men in Atlanta.

Mayor Wilson nodded in understanding. Then she told her story: “When I moved to Decatur in 1949, [I] moved from Greensboro, GA, 80 mile east of Atlanta… [In 1949,] the Klan, the Grand Wizard was here, residing in Stone Mountain. [They held] meetings in downtown Decatur. I lived in public housing downtown. [The Klan] paraded in the square. Some of us had become active with Dr. King and the student movement. So we went down to the square to see. Everything you hear is true. Costumes, racial hatred. Seems like that’s what they enjoyed…”

Mayor Wilson went on to explain her experience living at that time: “[I] could never go anywhere by myself. White men rape black women. [I was] scared my entire life growing up.”

Then, she elaborated on Klan operations. “The Klan headquarters was in Stone Mountain,” she told us. “At the foot of the Mountain was a black community. They [the Klan] tried to terrorize them [the blacks]… Later, the first black mayor [of Stone Mountain] bought the house where the Grand Wizard [had] lived.” We were puzzled by the irony. Mayor Wilson threw us a small smile in conciliation. “Venable ??was the Imperial Wizard,” she revealed. “[He had] one of the houses on the corner outside the courthouse. [He] had a black man sitting outside his office. [Venable would say,] ‘One of my best friends.’” It’s unbelievable hearing the manipulative ends the Klan went to further their racist pogrom.

Notably, Mayor Wilson explained to us that black officers could not arrest whites in Atlanta, but they could in Decatur.[1] Mayor Wilson reflected, “It always felt like they [the black police officers] were very nervous.”

She went on, “The area [was] in transition from white to black. We were trying to get to know each other. White flight began, and we were just trying to find a place to live… School populations rapidly changed. [The] Principal left. Neighborhoods gone from being all white to all black… Up until 1967, [there were] two black high schools.” After white flight occurred, the schools were all black.

On the racial profiling that made the Decatur police infamous and that still goes on today, Mayor Wilson said, “[There was] racial profiling. [There was] harassment. [The white police would say,] ‘Boy this,’ ‘Boy that.’ One lady had a seizure, [they assumed] she was drunk, [and] threw her in jail. But she was actually very ill. [She] didn’t [even] drink, and she died.” She told us a story we had heard before, about Dr. King being arrested in Decatur for riding in a car with a white woman on the Emory campus, on his way to the hospital with a broken arm. Ironically, both King’s wife and the woman’s husband had been in the car at the time. The story indicates the extent to which race determined policing outcomes, no matter the circumstance.

Mayor Wilson then circled back to the issue of public schooling in Decatur in the 1960s within the context of a rapidly changing racial dynamic. By 1962, Wilson had become highly involved in the community. She was active in the Wheat Street and Ebenezer Baptist Church communities, two historically engaged black communities located off Auburn Avenue.[2] Through community protest, Decatur maintained the schools’ PTA despite the consistent opposition of principals and administrators.

Mayor Wilson was insistent that widespread prejudice and active discrimination of blacks defined the time. When employers found out that men had joined the NAACP, they were fired.

There were some good times, like when baseball legend Jackie Robinson came to Decatur in 1961 to help register people to vote and to register people in the NAACP. But the good was tempered with the bad, as Mayor Wilson remembered that people were generally afraid to come through Decatur in the 1960s, when there was no highway 285 running East-West to travel across town.

Mayor Wilson remembered that, in Atlanta during the 1960s, the segregation was extreme, as symbolized by the white and black neighborhoods separated by a wall in between at Peyton Road in Southwest Atlanta, something resembling East and West Berlin following World War II. She remembered parks for blacks only. “[We] could not go to Piedmont Park,” she said.

When we asked Mayor Wilson about the connection between the police and the Klan in the 1960s, she paused to think for a moment. “Some were members, and if not members, they acted like it. The whole department, they all looked the same and behaved the same. From the chief to the rookies.”

She paused again and looked down, thinking. When she raised her head again, a look of profound intensity burned in her eyes. “We were very aware of everything going on, especially police harassment, police brutality.” She paused. It looked like she would continue, but she didn’t. She looked off, as if something had carried her away.

Professor McDonald took the chance to tie it all back to the CCJI’s mission. “There’re connections between what’s happening now at the AME church and what happened then. We need to cleanse those wounds… Students then [were] pushing for name tags on cops, [and] students now [are] pushing for cameras.”

Mayor Wilson took up this theme of the past in the present. “I see some change in attitudes…” She grew silent. Ultimately, she concluded, “The fight is still going, but its not near as bad as it was.”

Though she might be right, the day after the massacre at the AME church in Charleston, things felt unspeakably bad. The significance of the past in the present has defined our summer. Then and now. Many people would have us believe, then, not now. But after the mass shooting, now feels exactly like then. Without justice for then, how can we expect to prevent tragedy now?

Charleston made us realize the importance of what we are doing, the importance of making a record and impressing upon the larger community the nature of what has happened. Maybe, by making a record, by educating people about the tragedies that have occurred, by advocating for the families of the victims, we can prevent more from occurring in the future. Maybe… maybe there is nothing that can be done. But we refuse to accept defeat. Justice delayed will not be justice denied. We will fight to the end. To alleviate the injustices of the past, to address the wrongs of the present. The memory of the nine at the AME church in Charleston demands nothing less.

[1] This seemed interesting in light of what Civil Rights attorney Davis had told us the week before, that neither Jewish nor Black attorneys were permitted to join the Decatur bar until 1985. Though ever present, it seems like the racism infecting the institutions in Decatur was complex, operating in different ways in different sectors of the community at different times.

[2] Both Wheat Street Baptist Church and the Ebenezer Baptist Church comprise politically active communities today, and the CCJI is involved with both.

“Brave Thinking”

June 23, 2015 • by Brent Lightfoot

CCJI Atlanta interns researching their respective cases

The second week of work for the summer interns of the Cold Case Justice Initiative (CCJI) entailed more investigation into our cases. We made public records requests to certain Police Departments and made visits to various local libraries. In between research sessions, we conducted a good deal of community outreach. At the People’s Agenda afternoon meeting on Tuesday, June 9, three interns, Shirlise, Andrew, and I, Professor McDonald, and various local activists crammed into the second story of the SCLC Women’s Building on Auburn Avenue. Joe Beasley of Rainbow Push brought visitors from Partners for Care, an American-based non-profit focused on developing local capacity and resources in Kenya. One of the head American administrators of the program explained that 85% of the world’s disease is due to waterborne illness. Therefore, the fight for clean water, basic as it sounds, is paramount to world health. Partners for Care provides light weight, sanitary, and reusable water packs for $10. You can find the link to donate here https://www.partnersforcare.org/what-we-do/outreach-programs/.

Following Mr. Beasley’s introduction, Pastor John Hirbo spoke from a Kenyan perspective about the struggles arising from poverty and the work that Partners for Care is doing to cultivate local leaders and healing in his community. Explaining the local poverty that motivates him to work tirelessly washing children’s feet and providing clean water, the pastor stated, “One goal: a better Africa. Unite. Somewhere somebody is doing evil, and we followed… Someone here [in America] can see far… Come for us, we are ready to accept it.” With passion, the pastor extolled the virtues of faith, exclaiming, “God will give my children a good life.” The riveting presentation ended with a rousing rendition of Amazing Grace sung by a Kenyan gospel singer traveling with the Partners for Care team. The CCJI interns left with a stronger sense of the interconnection of global poverty issues and the state of American society. We were impressed with our own relative blessings and the complacency of many Americans, thus instilling us with a stronger commitment to fight for social justice against the evil that surrounds us.

After the People’s Agenda meeting, Professor McDonald led Shirlise, Andrew, and me to lunch at Mary Mac’s with Hank Stewart and our own Kevin Moran. Mr. Stewart is a renowned poet and founder/ operator of a youth leadership development foundation based in Atlanta. He actively supported a voter registration drive to register every graduating high school senior in three Atlanta high schools this year. Over a traditional southern feast of fried chicken, chicken livers, collard greens, shrimp and grits, mac n’ cheese, and broccoli casserole, washed down with sweet tea and water, we strategized about how best to reach young people and to convince them to talk to older family members about their personal experiences during the civil rights era, including suspicious activities that they either experienced, witnessed, or were aware of. Mr. Stewart being a stalwart cultural producer himself, we also discussed a multimedia campaign incorporating hip-hop with the CCJI’s political message.

CCJI Interns continue conversation with Inez Giles, longtime resident and member of Oakhurst Presbyterian congregation

On Wednesday afternoon, we ate lunch with Inez Giles. Ms. Giles is a wise woman, a long-time member of the Oakhurst Presbyterian congregation and resident of DeKalb County. She had cooked a delicious spread of baked chicken, ham, beans, potato salad, mac n’ cheese, and pound cake. We feasted. Alphonse demolished three plates in about ten seconds. After eating, we listened to Ms. Giles talk about her time in Decatur and her experience as part of the black community. She cautioned us interns to think carefully about the way we approach members of the community with our work. Ms. Giles suggested, “Just ask people, how can we help?” Her message was clear: we are approaching people about a sensitive topic, racial killings that have never been fully resolved. Society has until now forgotten about these folks. As law students, we must remain cognizant of the fact that many of the community members have experienced traumas that they may not feel comfortable sharing with us. We must approach these interactions openly and with sensitivity. Only by taking honest account of who we are as individuals and placing ourselves in positions where we gradually earn the trust of people will we be able to effectively serve the community.

After Ms. Giles left, Kevin Moran, Alphonse, Andrew, and I met at a local reverend’s church to ask him and his co-pastor particular questions about our respective cases. Relieved by the Reverend’s cool air-conditioned office, we listened as he started the meeting by explaining to us that we were “archaeologists of justice,” meticulously unearthing nuggets of truth, just as real archaeologists use little spoons to dig out artifacts. The Reverend then explained that he had been arrested in the ‘60s as a teenager as “[p]art of a systemic effort to have us listed with the criminal justice system. I was arrested for vagrancy with schoolbooks in my hand.” No charges were ultimately brought, but the Reverend explained a record of arrest was left that worked to track him for the rest of his adult life. Because of that early arrest, the police always had a record of him. The story helped put into perspective the experience of being a young black male in the 1960s.

Once the co-pastor arrived, we asked the reverends about our cases. They gave us helpful information. After they explained what the general opinion had been following the police killings, we asked if people had entertained the idea that something else had happened, something contrary to the police narrative. The co-pastor said, “Generally we didn’t think about what might have happened. If it did happen [that the police had killed the black youth without cause], we just had to let it go. Because there was nothing else we could do.” The reverend spoke up, “[We had] no recourse. [This was the] time of the Night Riders. [They were] not looking for justice for us. The police wanted to control [us].”

Both men agreed that black officers were often even harsher on the black youth than white cops in order to prove that they deserved their positions. “They had power,” said the co-pastor, “they had beats. They had power in the community.” The Reverend added, “They couldn’t stop whites.” The co-pastor elaborated, “they had to call a white officer.” The co-pastor concluded with the recollection, “[We] grew up afraid of the police… [Our] parents would say, I’ll call the police on you to get you to straighten up.” We left the office chilled by the reverends’ revelations.

On Thursday, we were invited to visit the Davis Bozeman firm. Located in Decatur near Candler Road, the Davis Bozeman firm handles criminal defense and civil rights litigation cases. As a community-oriented, Black law firm, Davis Bozeman displays a memorial to Black lawyers and legal advocates in the office foyer, with photographs of such leaders as Ida B. Wells, Donald Lee Hollowell, C.B. King, and Nelson Mandela.

Memorial photos of black lawyers at Davis Bozeman Law Firm

Mr. Davis expounded upon the importance of versing yourself in the legal legacy that precedes you, so that you might better add to it in your own time. Though he currently has sixty-seven criminal defense cases, Mr. Davis also took the time to explain to us his civil rights practice and how he handles criminal defense. Briefly, he covered the categories of cases the firm takes: excessive force, false imprisonment, and false arrest. Excessive force refers to the use of force by police that is beyond what is necessary to effectuate arrest, like when there is a chase, then the chief of police bashes the runner upside his head with a pistol. In the state of Georgia, false arrest refers to a warrant based on false information, while false imprisonment refers to a warrantless arrest. Mr. Davis explained that all of these types of cases are “happening, it’s always been happening. Now, we have video footage.” Even with footage available, Mr. Davis made clear that these cases amount to “the Officer’s word versus your client’s word.” Mr. Davis pledged the full support of the firm for the work done by the CCJI.

In the morning of Friday, June 12, the CCJI team stationed in Atlanta met with a DeKalb county criminal defense attorney. A local public defender, he gave us some insight into investigative methods and the contours of the criminal justice system today. First, he explained to us the best ways to obtain records of police officers in the 1960s from local Georgia agencies. Always “research,” not “investigating,” he said, in reference to how we represent our activities over the phone. Then, he told us that the best way to determine if a particular autopsy had been incorrectly performed was probably not to find the person who did the autopsy and then reveal that they were lazy and racist. Rather, a constructively parallel method would be more effective, that of determining how other coroners were doing things that weren’t lazy and racist and establishing standards independently of the target coroner. The lesson here was that people are much more willing to talk to establish contemporary standards and protocols than to incriminate themselves. Third, the attorney advised us to find community members that were there at the time. “People love talking about their communities,” he explained, so this should be an easy source of information. Given the age of the population we are dealing with, just be ready for some long-winded, unrelated stories, too, he said with a laugh.

The attorney also divulged the racism inherent to the criminal justice system today. “It’s difficult to find overt racists,” he said. “It’s easy to find people who buy into the racist system. The Justice System is racist.” The attorney took time to explain racism through the process of bonding out of jail. “Bond is never reduced by prosecutors,” he stated. In $700 bond scenarios for a simple assault charge, a White person might be able to pay it and get out versus spending six months in jail. However, for the same simple assault charge, a Black person may not be able to pay $700, and thus is forced to sit in jail for six months. Overwhelmingly, the racial contours of bonding fall along black or brown and white lines. The same pattern can be seen in pre-trial diversion programs arranged by lawyer versus plea deals taken to get out of jail without the help of representation, he revealed. “[The situation] requires brave thinking, and innovative thinking,” the attorney said. “Racism still exists in the justice system every day… [and] on the day to day, [it’s] not attributable to bad actors.” When we asked why the system couldn’t simply be altered to correct the racism inherent to the institution, the attorney responded, “It takes real effort to get at the root of it. It would mess up a lot of people’s day to day.”

With so many different messages coming at us, our second full week of work provided the student interns of CCJI in Atlanta with a profound look at the sheer complexity of the project we are engaged in. Learning some of the history of race relations in the 1960s from first-hand sources who actually lived it humbled us and provided us with perspective.

This newfound historical perspective, coupled with our own legal research, provided a firm foundation from which we were able to compare and contrast cases from the present. There has been some change, it would seem, technologically and culturally, but the core issues are still present: racism, ever present and pervasive, saturates many of the legal and civic institutions that surround and situate us.

The community has not healed from the wrongs of the past, and the wounds of the present are digging ever deeper. For us, the student interns of CCJI, grappling with the present means looking back to the past for explanation. Justice must first be achieved for what preceded us before we can adequately prepare ourselves for justice in the present. And behind the echoes of the past, we can hear the cries of living injustices committed half a world away. As the local public defender advised us, we must think bravely, we must think innovatively, otherwise the deep wounds of the past may fester, and new injuries will continue to mount…

Professor Janis McDonald (blue suit) Stands with families affected by racially-motivated killings who continue to demand justice — Professor Janis McDonald (blue suit) stands with families affected by racially-motivated killings who continue to demand justice

“Let’s start the work right now”

June 17, 2015 • by Brent Lightfoot

CCJI student Interns attend Sunday Service at Historic Ebenezer Baptist Church

On Sunday, May 31, the Cold Case Justice Initiative (CCJI) team attended church service at the historical Ebenezer Baptist Church dressed in their Sunday best. Ebenezer was the church of Martin Luther King, Jr, and his big–hearted spirit was surely felt that Sunday. We sat in the second row and joined the congregation in worship. In between songs, the pastor introduced the CCJI to the church body. After the music, Dr. Raphael Warnock spoke inspirationally on the importance of cultivating a spiritual life, even for regular churchgoers. The Reverend concluded with an incredible parable about his beloved iPad suffering from “connectivity issues.” The moment he finished, the power cut out and rain began to fall furiously from the sky. Out the windows of the church, the rain shook the trees, and it drummed heavily on the roof. It really felt as if the Spirit had filled the room and walked amongst us. For the summer interns of CCJI, the vigorous rain washed away the sweat and tears of a grudging year of law school, renewing and revitalizing us for the good work of the coming summer.

Monday, June 1 marked the first day of work in office for the interns stationed in Atlanta. Larrissa, Mandisa, Shirlise, Andrew, Lamar, Alphonse, and I showed up between 9 and 10am. With the help of the intrepid Kevin Moran, our resident political activist and guide through town, we pulled together some tables and set up our laptops on the second floor of Oakhurst Presbyterian Church in Decatur. Professor McDonald divided the seven of us into three teams and assigned us each an initial case. Two killed by police, one lynch victim. All in Atlanta, all in the 1960s. We spent time brainstorming how to properly move forward and investigate these cases. Press coverage. Police reports. Autopsies. Property records. Each piece of information required careful planning and diligent effort, and starting the investigative work filled up much of the remainder of the week.

However, as had become clear to us over the course of orientation weekend, investigation is only one prong of the project at CCJI. In order to fight for justice, we must go out and visit face to face with residents. We rely on community outreach to build our bank of cases and to get the word out about the work that we’re doing. In order to take advantage of the CCJI, the community must first know that we exist. This explains the reason for our introduction at the Ebenezer Baptist Church and at the day’s program of panels at the Civil Rights Center on Saturday, May 30. But these events were only the first of many.

Too Much Truth host Derrick Boazman with CCJI student interns Alphonse Williams, Larrissa Moore and Brent Lightfoot

On Tuesday, June 2, the CCJI team attended the People’s Agenda luncheon at Wheat Street Baptist Church. The People’s Agenda is a state wide and regional coalition, bringing together groups to work on issues of voter participation and to inform the community of the most pressing social issues confronting it. Alongside about a hundred other social activists, our team chowed down on a traditional meal of fried chicken, ham, macaroni and cheese, green beans, cabbage, and cake, washed down with endless sweet tea. After lunch, we listened to Michael L. Thurmond, the interim superintendent of DeKalb County Schools, speak about the budgetary and political issues facing the school system today. Mr. Thurmond argued that, despite the magnitude of Georgia public schools earning an F on the College and Career Ready Performance Index (CCRPI),[1] he was not leading a county of “failed” schools, but rather “allegedly failed” schools. Many of the DeKalb County schools, he explained, were improving faster than the state rate. For instance, when children are largely entering school four reading levels behind their grade, if they can improve two whole reading levels within a year, that’s success (despite the state mandated rates that don’t account for particular situations confronting schools). And facing an extreme budget deficit and an aging bus system, Mr. Thurmond was insistent that the school system had greatly improved over the past couple years by escaping its budgetary woes and purchasing new buses and rehiring mechanics for the coming year.

Mr. Thurmond then turned back in history to review the origins of the black community in Georgia. James Oglethorpe, the founder of the state of Georgia, was an abolitionist, Mr. Thurmond explained, and the Seminole tribe in the Southeast was comprised of both red and black peoples. Literacy has always been a paramount issue to the black community, even while largely enslaved in the United States, and literacy is still one of the most pressing issues confronting the community today. But Mr. Thurmond took care to note the improvements between today and yesterday. “In the 1960s, if you were killed, you were just killed,” he said, referring to the unsolved crimes investigated by the CCJI. At least today, he explained, there will be the semblance of a prosecution. Ultimately, Mr. Thurmond impressed upon the CCJI the interconnection of issues with public education and unsolved civil rights crimes, as the persistent racism that infects the school systems serves as the stumbling block to progress for the CCJI as well.

Too Much Truth in-studio appearance by CCJI-Atlanta students

On Thursday, June 4, Alphonse, Larrissa, and I were privileged to appear on Derrick Boazman’s radio show Too Much Truth on 1380 WAOK. For about an hour, the three of us represented the student interns of CCJI in Atlanta and impressed upon the community the importance of the work done by CCJI and our motivations for doing it. You can find the full broadcast here. http://atlanta.cbslocal.com/2015/06/04/too-much-truth-solving-cold-cases/

On Saturday, June 6, the CCJI-Atlanta team made an appearance at former state legislator “Able” Mable Thomas’ fish fry fundraiser for the renovation of the English Avenue Elementary School. The English Avenue School was attended by Able Mable herself, as well as Gladys Knight and the infamous Herman Cain, before its closure. Despite the heat, the CCJI interns, alongside Professor McDonald, were able to make numerous contacts in the West End and Bankhead areas, as our presence was announced before the party and introductions and inquiries were made all around.

"Able" Mable fish fry — CCJI-Atlanta student interns attend former state legislator “Able” Mable Thomas’ fish fry fundraiser

Finally, on Sunday, June 7, Professor McDonald and Larrissa attended the service at our work home, Oakhurst Presbyterian. It was communion Sunday. Larissa and Professor McDonald took turns preaching the good word of the CCJI at the Oakhurst lectern. The congregation was very receptive and supportive. They listened attentively and offered to help in any way they could. We are very happy to be working out of the church building of such a welcoming community.

Over the past ten days, the CCJI was able to make numerous connections throughout the Atlanta community and to begin investigating three poignant cases in the Atlanta area. The summer has started fast, and we feel the pressure of only having ten weeks to try and make a difference on this project. Having been invited to participate in so many events around the community has impressed upon us the relevance and gravity of our work. The plight of black people as documented in the news today is not new to us, as it has occurred to our families, to our friends, and in our own neighborhoods. Now, looking back sixty years, the parallels are breath taking. There is nothing new occurring today. Just new faces in an age-old old story about race and racism, death and its consequence.

With so many members of the community invested in our work, the summer interns at CCJI are committed to pulling back the veil of ignorance to show the world the truth of what really happened. Because if not us, then who? And if not now, then when? Just as President Obama exhorted us, “Let’s start the work right now,” in his 2015 State of the Union Address, we will follow through on that charge. The time for work is now, and we absolutely refuse to accept the failure of justice for yet another generation. This is our generation, this is our time, and we will have justice.

[1] The Georgia legislature’s recent study reviewing the Georgia public schools using the CCPRI for the previous three years contained a list of hundreds of schools from various counties, including schools in the Atlanta public school system, Bibb County, Chatham County, Clayton County, DeKalb County, Fulton County, Macon County, Muscogee County, Richmond County, etc., primarily comprising black communities.