For Olivia Hooker, And Those I Never Will Know

 Nearly a decade ago, I wrote something that, whatever its merits or lack thereof, is far more important than anything I’ve written on this blog.  I am mentioning it here,  not to promote it or myself, but to help keep the memory of its subject.

When I wrote that article, I, like many other people, was just learning about the incident I described. Though only a decade has passed, the day it was published seems like a lifetime, even an historical era, ago. During the previous few years, historians, public officials and the few remaining survivors of that tragedy were doing everything they could to ensure that it isn’t forgotten.  Now in the US, we have officials at every level, from the President to school board members, who are trying to keep it—and anything else that makes them uncomfortable—from being taught or even mentioned.

I am referring to the Tulsa Race Massacre, which took place 105 years ago today.  Like too many other tragedies, a false rumor sparked it. And, like too many of the most horrific episodes in history, it resulted in the destruction of, not only individual lives (the exact number will, most likely, never be known) but of a community: Mobs of white residents, deputized by the governor himself, wiped the Greenwood district off the face of the earth.

I have told my students they should take history personally. Possibly my worst failing or, at least, one of my biggest disappointments, was knowing that none of the students in a Women’s Studies class I taught seemed to understand as much.  In fact, some resisted the idea:  They were required to take the course as part of a program and, I now realize, were resistant simply out of resentment.  Then again, I remember when my mother, even when she did paid work, couldn’t open a checking account or get a credit card without my father’s signature. I also remember girls smarter and more talented and ambitious than I was being discouraged from, or outright denied the opportunity to, attend college because “It would be a waste of time, you’re going to get married anyway.” 

And when I wrote that article, a few survivors of the Tulsa Race Massacre remained. I came into contact with one:  Olivia Hooker, who witnessed the pogrom as a little girl and was 101 years old when that article was published. She passed away two years later. I hope that, if I have done nothing else, I have honored her memory—and those of hundreds, possibly thousands, of others whose names neither I nor the rest of the world may ever know.

A Journey In Memory

Here in the USA, it's Memorial Day.  The temperature hasn't exceeded 10C (50F) since Friday and rain has fallen nearly continuously--sometimes in torrents, other times in a drizzle.  The rain could stop and clouds could break by this afternoon, so some of the festivities associated with this holiday--nearly all of which were cancelled last year, when we were in the thick of the pandemic--might be staged.  So might the some of the barbeques and family gatherings postponed last year.

Photo by Rachel Smook.  From Massbike.

What I hope is that the people who weren't mourned, wheether they died in uniform or on a ventilator, will get the remembrances they deserve.  While this day is intended as a remembrance of those who died while serving in the military, I think it's fitting to recall those (including seven people I knew) who perished as a result of a pandemic that has killed more people in this country than all of the armed conflicts in which we've been involved since World War I.

The Tour of Somerville was one of many Memorial Day events cancelled last year.  This year, it's been moved to Labor Day (6 September).  I think the race organizers chose that date because here in the US, Labor Day is seen as the unofficial end of summer, just as Memorial Day is seen as its beginning.  The only other race cancellations came during World War II, which claimed the lives of its first two winners.

It just so happens that this Memorial Day is the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre, which I mentioned last week.  On 31 May 2021, white mobs descended on Greenwood, the Tulsa community dubbed "The Black Wall Street."  The city's police chief deputized hundreds of white citizens to join those mobs and commandeered gun shops to arm them.  The following day, the Greenwood district was wiped off the face of the earth.  It's estimated that 300 people died, but the true number may never be known.

However we choose to spend this day--I plan to take a bike ride later--it is intended as a memorial.   I try to remember that.

 

Why George Floyd And Tulsa Matter For Cyclists

There's just something about this date, 25 May.

Around this time, I believe, Spring starts to tilt toward Summer, at least in the temperate parts of the Northern Hemisphere.  Every few years, Memorial Day falls on this date, as it did last year.  It's the birthday of Lucy, of the eponymous novel by Jamaica Kincaid.  In 1787, the US Constitutional Convention convened in Philadelphia; Argentina's revolt against Spanish rule began in 1810.  And, interestingly, on this date in 1961, President John F. Kennedy challenged his country to land a man on the  moon before the end of the decade; exactly 16 years later, one of the most popular movie franchises in history--Star Wars--premiered.

And, one year ago today, enough happened that, if Stephen Dedalus of The Portrait of An Artist As A Young Man had witnessed it, he'd have to repeat his assertion that history is a nightmare from which he was trying to awake.

Amy Cooper, a.k.a.  Central Park Karen, falsely accused a black man of threatening her and her dog.  Fortunately, the man--Christian Cooper, no relation--captured the event on his phone.  Still, in February, a judge dismissed the charges against her after she completed five therapy sessions "designed for introspection and progress," according to the Assistant District Attorney.

Not surprisingly, that incident was overshadowed by the murder of George Floyd.  That, at least, has brought issues of policing in "minority" communities (in which I include not only non-white people, but those of us who aren't cisgender or heterosexual, or don't otherwise fit into societal standards of gender and sexuality) to the forefront.  

Those incidents, I believe, are relevant to us as cyclists because in too many places, at least here in the US, incidents in which motorists run down cyclists aren't taken seriously. The driver, even if he or she is impaired, distracted or should not have been driving for some other reason, gets off with a "slap on the wrist" and the cyclist is blamed for his or her injury or death.

Oh, while I'm on the subject of relations between non-majority or non-mainstream communities and those who police or rule them, I want to call attention to another incident that occured on the traditional Memorial Day--31 May (next Monday).  Exactly a century ago, on that date, one of the worst incidents of racial violence and mass murder took place in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  A black shoeshine "boy" rode an elevator with a white woman.  I think you can guess what happened next:  the "black ram is tupping the white ewe" rumors began.  They led to confrontations in which  the city's police chief deputized white mobs and commandeering gun shops to arm them--and private planes to drop bombs on the Greenwood district, then known as "Black Wall Street."

Like most other people, I learned about the incident, in which the district was wiped off the face of the earth, by accident, when I was researching something else.  I was, to say, the least, astounded--but not surprised--that the Tulsa Massacre has been omitted from history books. (Victor Imperatus, anyone?)  My shock led me to write an article about it nearly five years ago.  

I mention that incident, and the George Floyd murder because, although one is being brought to light (because of its centenary) and the other resulted in the conviction of a police officer, we as cyclists still need to be wary of increasingly-militarized police forces who still, in too many cases, harass, ticket and even arrest cyclists on specious or simply phony charges  (as happened recently in Perth Amboy, New Jersey) -- and the power structures that give rogue officers more credibility than those they victimize.