“We must accept finite disappointment,

but never lose infinite hope.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

For several hundred years, tragedies of historical significance against brown-skinned people found no print in history books, were seldom mentioned in newspapers, and were hushed by white community leaders and the Chamber of Commerce—labeled as bad for business. As I probed resources ten years ago while crafting bits in 2010 for Tulsa’s literary newspaper, This Land Press, I happened on horrifying accounts of the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. This new awareness penetrated my soul. Are you kidding? Why did this happen? I have lived in Tulsa for nearly forty years and was unaware of the slaughter. Most of my white, Tulsa-raised friends found my information incredulous. “What?” they gasped, “It wasn’t in any high school or college history book I had.” Startling. This lack of information had to change. The Tulsa Massacre became my writing focus and stimulated my inner drive to learn more about The Oil Capital of the World’s bouts of deadly discrimination. For most of the last decade, my published essays continued to travel down the tracks of racial justice.

A colleague recently told me of the Sand Creek Massacre of Cheyenne-Arapaho in 1864. The discriminatory-related murders seemed similar to the Massacre in Tulsa half a century later; history repeated. This travesty became my subsequent research and writing.

My quest remains to learn and enlighten those who wish to be aware of historical attacks against human decency. As a white man, my interest in these matters is that I am not apologizing. Instead, I’m putting past facts into print and presenting hopefulness for change described by two leading actors in minority leadership.

Discrimination is not new news. Over time, some dark historical events tend to reappear, wearing different clothes. Today’s daily dose from prime-time media and internet blogs focuses on the conviction of cops who kill Blacks, the escalating number of racially motivated murders, the social demonstrations clamoring for equality, and, occasionally, the disproportionate prison sentences for Blacks. Shouldn’t we feel frustrated at the lack of progress in these arenas? Discrimination and bias are everywhere, within us and others, all the time. Some of it is unspoken, and some of it verbalized; some of it morphs into physical aggression, and some end lives.

Enraged by a false story of a teenage Black assaulting and attempting to rape a white girl in 1921, Tulsa racists seized the moment to exact retribution. The nativists organized and led a daylight attack on the most successful black community in America, an enclave of thousands of formerly enslaved Black people. Known as Black Wall Street to the rest of the country for its business acumen, the 35-square blocks of homes and businesses in the Greenwood Section of Tulsa burned to the ground. In 24 hours, as many as 300 Blacks died at the hands of the Ku Klux Klan and hastily deputized Whites. Several prominent black leaders faced charges of inciting a riot. Yet, no white man faced jail time.

Tulsa has been my adopted adult home for thirty-six years. Until a few years ago, the city’s Massacre of the Greenwood Blacks and their sense of place was not on my radar. It was not in Oklahoma textbooks: there were no news stories at 10 pm on the June 1^st anniversary of the carnage. Why was it all hush-hush? In the early 2000s, local journalists began to write about the ugly truths. The Black community issued public statements, and a commission researched the Massacre to recommend reparations and reconciliation. Little came from the efforts.

The 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre

When I sat down in Tulsa with a fellow writer, Hannibal Johnson, a Harvard Law School graduate, Johnson reminded me of the famous Dr. King quote to keep hope alive. Johnson is Black, and I am White. Having a conversation over racially charged topics between racially disparate people can be uncomfortable. I knew Johnson would not condemn me if I were awkward in my phraseology and lacked knowledge. He is a kind and intelligent man with a soft and understanding demeanor. Besides his active law practice, Johnson is the education chair and local curator for the upcoming Tulsa Race Massacre Centennial in June 2021.

Johnson pointed out a largely unknown article that Ed Wheeler wrote on the 50^th Massacre Anniversary in a 1971 edition of Impact Magazine. He wrote of a white secretary who looked out her office window as the Greenwood residents marched to containment areas. She asked, “How long are such outrages going to be allowed? They are now homeless, most of them innocent of any wrong-doing or even wrong thinking.” She added, “It is mostly an element of hoodlum white boys craving excitement and looking for an opportunity to start a race riot.”

Wheeler reported a riot in 1919, but things “appeared settled down.” He mentioned there were 15,800 Greenwood residents at the time of the 1921 Massacre. Wheeler also provided information I hadn’t come across before, “In many boxcars moving out of Tulsa were the bodies of others slain in that night of shooting, looting, and burning.” Following the release of the article, Wheeler received death threats for revealing the facts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The racial atrocity of May 31-June 1 is no longer a secret. There are documentaries and films. The major Tulsa Race Massacre Centennial enjoyed an inpouring of thousands of out-of-towners joining hands with thousands of Tulsans, Black and White, and Brown to work towards reconciliation.

My concern is whether Black Tulsans could legitimately feel optimistic about the future. My heart goes out to those minorities on the receiving end of White aggression and prejudice who suffer indignant verbal misbehavior by the dominant race, are denied equal American privilege, or find themselves at the wrong end of a White man’s gun.

“I don’t see a way forward without optimism,” Johnson stated. “Which to me says something that I truly believe, and that is problems of human relations, which include racism, are chronic.” He is aware that racial hatred is not going to disappear someday magically. “They’re always going to be with us. It’s part of human nature.”

Johnson believes there will always be challenges, frustrations, and disappointments. How do you function through this? “I would be in a catatonic state if I fixated on all the things that are wrong all the time and didn’t find hope and encouragement and incentive from the daily, positive endeavors in which I am engaged.”

The prominent attorney maintains that these issues require discussion and a healthy resolution. The Tulsa Massacre Centennial reminded thousands of attendees in early June 2021 that the white and black communities need to move forward through conversation and build optimism that discrimination does not need to be a way of life. It is more agreeable to get along.

Johnson chimes in, stating, “That brings up a lot of different thoughts in my mind. The first is that the wound we still have is a community wound. It’s not a black community wound; it’s a Tulsa wound. All of Tulsa suffered from the fact that the Massacre occurred in 1921. Of course, this manifests in different ways. Still, we and our succeeding generations are all products of that,” Johnson contends, “We all have a role to play in racial reconciliation.”

Pressed on a process to heal wounds, I listened to Johnson describe his three-pronged attack: acknowledgment, apology, and atonement. He called Ed Wheeler’s 1971 article a pivotal point in revelation, as well as Scott Ellsworth’s 1982 book, Death in a Promised Land, and the formation in February 2001 of an Oklahoma Committee to Study the Tulsa Race Riot.

The most significant example of acknowledgment is the building of the Greenwood Rising Museum at the corner of Greenwood Avenue and Archer Street, the gateway to the district. According to Johnson, “As visitors go through the process of learning about this history and being motivated to distill what they’ve learned into points or pointers with which they can address current racial challenges, mass incarcerations, black lives matter, educational deficits, and healthcare disparities.” Establishing a through-line between the past and the present is one of the functions of Greenwood Rising.

In terms of an apology, there’ve been several significant apologies over the years. I recall a friend of Johnson’s former Police Chief, Chuck Jordan, who apologized for the dereliction of duty by the police back in 1921. “He asked to make the apology at the John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park,” Johnson recounts. Such a simple gesture, a literal apology, is so important. “Still, I’m also talking about developing systems of compassion and empathy such that we, on a broad scale, understand what victimhood looks like and appreciate victim psychology in this community. So that is the prong,” the lawyer explains. Leaning back slightly in his office chair, the well-dressed man with a maroon and white Harvard cap becomes quiet.

I asked Johnson how we, as a community, assuage the wounds of historical racial trauma, repair the damage, and make amends. Johnson leaned forward, considering his answer, “There are those who demand financial payments, or you’re not about the work or reparations to survivors. That is ridiculous to me. It’s absurd. First, you have to decide what a survivor is.” He said that if you question the issue of monetary reparations, some people immediately feel you’re not legitimate. It’s a thorny situation.

A concern for me is that the black community may not want white interference with the process. I asked Johnson if there was resistance within the black community to having relations with Whites. “I can only speak for myself,” Johnson explains. “I can tell you how I feel, what I have heard in conversation with various people, and what various schools of thought might be. The big issues that I see arising all the time in Greenwood and other places are history, the fear that the ultimate goal is white dominion and control over the property. Most people that I hear talking about this call it gentrification.”

My take is that the land started changing hands decades ago, and there needs to be more land on the market. “And most of it is not owned by black people anyway,” added Johnson, agreeing. “And people, they see opportunity, and they’re purchasing. What do you think is going to happen?” he asked.

“I think the good news,” Johnson continues, “Since the inception of the Centennial Commission in 2015, virtually everybody wants to be engaged with the celebration. They want the commemoration to come off well. The Chamber of Commerce types realize that people are coming to Tulsa and are painting a pretty picture. Still, I think most people are legitimately interested in making sure we mark this moment appropriately. It is not a partisan thing, which says a lot in a place like Oklahoma, which is hyper-partisan.”

And that brings up resistance to the prospect of uniting different communities. What are the resistors? Many people mimic the ideologies of those who raised us, and we tend to associate with those who look like us and think like us, thus increasing the notion of perpetuating unhealthy attitudes. Johnson added, “So, moving people from that is a real challenge. One of the things that’s happened over the last twenty years, and I appreciate it, is that the business sector in corporate America has become a much greater champion of diversity, equity, and inclusion in their workspaces. They bring in folks that highlight differences. I think it has been positive.”

Haven’t we always thought that bias would diminish as new-age groups become older? Johnson thought so, confident that when he was twenty-something, there was “generational change; things are shifting, and in 20 years from now, when I’m 40, all these people with horrible beliefs will be gone. But it doesn’t work that way… I think some of the hardcore people are going to be gone, but there is a pretty vocal group of young, white supremacists out there right now.”

As Johnson said this, I could see, in my mind’s eye, scores of young white men and women storming America’s capital on January 6^th. It seems the same demographic is vocally negative about people of color. It makes me wonder what is required to break the mold of intolerance.

“Well,” Johnson reflects, “Leadership matters a lot. And one of the things that happened concerning the retrenchment that you’re alluding to…  Now, let’s be honest: Donald Trump was a disaster, and he encouraged these crazy people and racists to come out from wherever they were hiding. So, they came out. They felt emboldened to do whatever they wanted to do. And I guess people have talked about this: the death of shame and irony. Yet, the very people who condemn black athletes for kneeling on a football field will take an American flag and beat the stuffing out of somebody with it on the Capitol grounds, and that’s patriotism?”

The horror of January 6th in DC loomed large as Johnson and other Tulsa black leaders prepared for an international exposé of hope and optimism. Public awareness of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre grew exponentially through the efforts of hundreds of Tulsans who administrated the June 2021 Massacre Centennial in Tulsa’s Greenwood District. The onslaught of publicity and events surrounding the Centennial provided a microscope for the World to examine this racial tragedy, increase awareness, and prompt meaningful conversations aimed at basic humanity.

 

The Sand Creek Massacre of 1864

Several months ago, a college mate emailed me about an incident from 1864 in Eastern Colorado: the Sand Creek Massacre of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Tribes. Contacting the Tribe’s national headquarters in south-central Oklahoma, the receptionist forwarded me to Chief Gordon Yellowman, the communications officer for the Massacre.

In 1864, Governor John Evans of Colorado proclaimed that all Indians should be considered hostile. Evans urged military and civilian militias to kill all Indians and keep their possessions, cattle, and land as bounty. On a cold November morning, hundreds of Cheyenne-Arapaho men, women, and children were sleeping peacefully on the land given to them by the government, which promised they were safe at Sand Creek, protected by federal troops. John Chivington, an overzealous and politically motivated colonel, fired up his 400 soldiers on the other side of the Sand Creek ridge. “Kill them all,” he yelled to his all-white militia, and they nearly did.

Excited to talk with a member of the Council of 44— one of the two central institutions of traditional Cheyenne Indian tribal governance—I sat down for a chat with Chief Gordon Yellowman, known as Yellow Hawk in the Cheyenne world, for whom he is a Chief of the Southern Cheyenne Nation. His service to the Nation spans forty-two years, and he is an authority on Cheyenne history, customs, traditions, and religious beliefs.

Sitting opposite each other during a Zoom chat, Yellowman presented a humble man dressed in a sports coat and open-collared shirt, smiling occasionally but mostly showing an attentive, serious expression.

Regarding the numerous slaughters of his Native people, he offered a firm evaluation. “On a higher plain, they were atrocities that were considered massacres of our people, and the intent to eradicate us… genocide… and get rid of us, ” explains Chief Yellowman of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Tribes. Historical issues such as these are complex to talk about “because of the loss of life that happened to our ancestors and relatives.” Resolving these matters is challenging and demands honest dialogue to facilitate an understanding of what truly happened and the ramifications that linger today. The Chief adds, “Many times when people have these discussions, it’s at different levels. They always talk about truth and reconciliation.”

Chief Yellowman is a 4^th generation survivor/descendant of the 1864 Sand Creek Massacre and the 1868 Washita Massacre. The Great-Great Grandson of Chief Sharp Nose—the last reigning Chief of the Northern Arapaho Tribe—is the Language and Culture Program Director of the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes, operating from the Executive Office in Concho, Oklahoma.

Among the various topics discussed, I inquired about hope and optimism for his Cheyenne-Arapaho Nation. Enamored with their phrase, Tomorrow Starts Today; I wondered how these proud people sought understanding and solutions to present-day issues so that they may set their Tribes up for future success.

“When many people begin, so to speak, to start the footprint of healing, we move forward, we take those footprints, and each step will be educational. And it’s for the benefit of the future,” Yellowman offered while sitting comfortably behind a desk in his home office.

I wondered how these principles fit his belief system. He nodded and said, “We pray in the morning for the blessings we want throughout the day. And then, in the evening, we pray again, thanking for the blessings received that day. We do that, and the elders always told me because we’re not guaranteed tomorrow, we’re not guaranteed the sun will come up tomorrow morning. So, let’s give thanks today for what we have.” Elders of the past, respected teachers of essential perspectives, sat around fires, walked through the woods, educated young warriors, and taught them how to embrace the relationship between today and tomorrow as a Native.

“I’m fortunate that I lived to become an elder,” the Chief continued. “And when I grew up as a 10-year-old kid, very young, we’d go to community gatherings, and we always got together as a family and, most of all, as a community. And when I looked around and looked up, I would always be standing beside an elder… an older man or an older woman. And there were hundreds of them, hundreds of elders.” I tried to imagine the crowds of kids running amuck as their parents waited for turns to speak with the wise ones.

As a kid, the Gerkin family often had Sunday lunch on the backyard porch, a patch of concrete that abutted a tall, thick hedge that separated us from our Jewish neighbors. Some Sundays, we could hear murmuring on the other side of the hedge. It was from an older man who sat in the lush surroundings just a few feet away. One by one, other men came and went after, asking advice from the sage elder. We did not hear the content of the conversations, yet we knew this man was highly honored in his group. The elder wore a pointed yamaka—a small, Jewish skullcap, as a tradition that honored the elder’s prayers at the end of each consultation. Perhaps, like the Native World, where an elder’s meeting to give advice and counsel to tribe members has fallen off, there may not be a Jewish elder sitting on the opposite side of our former bushes, either.

From Yellowchief’s description, I visualized Cheyenne elders wearing black reservation hats with wider brims, tall, round crowns, topped by a leather hatband with silver medallions, and a braided, horsehair cord, clothes that distinguished them from the rest. “They wore long, black trench coats with black silk scarfs around their neck and black pocket handkerchiefs,” explained my visitor. “There was always an elder looking out for us.” I could tell from his eyes looking down that things had changed.

“There are very few elders in the community, but that is forever gone to me. I may never witness that again,” he lamented, “And I hope my grandchildren can experience the phenomenon of elders providing effective leadership to strengthen our community. I so dearly miss the comfort, the protection, and the love that I had from my elders.”

If I guessed correctly, the diminished numbers of elders in Chief Yellowman’s community and their leadership have negatively affected the Tribes. “There’s a lot of disrespect now,” he affirmed. “Many young family members talk back to the elders; they talk back to mom and dad. That value of respect is missing. Sometimes, they’re in circumstances that are not the young people’s fault.”

Chief Yellowman knows that the younger men hunted food at the Sand Creek Massacre, and the encampment consisted mainly of older men, women, and children. In this live-or-die onslaught, the elders did what they could to combat the howitzers and hundreds of armed militia. It was no match. The Chief admitted, “I feel like that’s what our people went through when Sand Creek occurred. They died together. And that’s hard to accept, but that’s what happened at Sand Creek.”

Moving past the Massacre in eastern Colorado, we discussed the Cheyenne-Arapaho Tribes of today. The Indian philosopher continued. “I think in today’s society, we take a lot of things for granted. When we take it for granted, we have reminders to slow down. We have reminders from the spirits, the Creator himself.” Yellowman fervently believes that the Creator gave the Tribe COVID-19, which is why He wanted everybody to wake up, to see what’s happening around them, a warning to His People. “You better slow down in this society. I’m going to slow you down, and this is how I’m going to slow you down,” the wise elder leans forward, his eyes steadfast, unblinking.

Chief Yellowman sees the resilience of tribes in the past as inspiration for the present and future. They survived other pandemics like smallpox and tuberculosis. Chief Yellowman acknowledges the federal government’s helping hand in subsidizing COVID-19 economic relief and vaccines while partnering collectively with the tribal health program to provide the needed shots for his tribal members. The nationwide reaction to the tribes’ needs and the reopening of their casinos spawn optimism.

He also salutes Governor Reggie Wassana, the current leader of the Cheyenne-Arapaho, for three years. Wassana has generated new Departments to strengthen and build closer ties within the Tribes and critical actors that can expand services and create economic opportunities. An enthused Yellowman states, “As the leader of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Tribes, he orchestrates federal assistance to our sovereign Nation that does not receive any state financial aid. The government’s federal aid helped our unemployed, those who couldn’t pay utilities or rent.” And Chief Yellowman recognized, “That money helped our People get back on their feet, helped them stand up again. That gives us hope.” I watched his face closely. “We’re not looking for handouts. The Federal government has helped us. The state doesn’t help. The assistance goes directly to us as a nation. We are not privileged; we are entitled to receive the relief.”

According to Chief Yellowman, Wassana makes things happen. “We see many things coming to fruition regarding the economic value of our future, today’s economic value, and how gaming helps us.” The tribal casino trade funds new programs that provide services to elders via food checks and utility assistance. I sense the optimism and passion in his words.

The conversation moves to the Indian nations aligning with the Black Lives Matter movement. Is there a benefit to such an association? Chief Yellowman nods. “I think for us, there is a parallel with relationships, past atrocities, and challenges we face historically. And I guess I’m going to say we’re no different. The color of our skin identifies us, but inside, we’re real people rich in culture, rich in traditions.” The Cheyenne-Arapaho speak their languages and have strong values in the way they do ceremonies, conduct themselves, and worship. “African-Americans have their ways and their beliefs, the same as us. And we respect that. We have mutual respect for other colors of people,” the Chief adds. He feels that when Natives prove themselves, all minorities benefit, and the same is true in return.

Chief Yellowman knows the federal political landscape can change every four years. He expects the Biden administration will provide positive outcomes for the Indian population. According to the Chief, Trump’s reign was problematic. “They promised us this, promised us that. More broken promises.” Hundreds of years and a thousand broken promises, I think to myself.

The shooting and killing of innocent minorities, the violent riots, and the assault on the Capitol on January 6th reflect the state of certain portions of America and affect us. It is indicative of the society in which we live. “How do you describe that to young people, to my grandchildren? I can’t guarantee them it won’t happen again,” laments Chief Yellowman. “As we move forward starting today for a better tomorrow, I am hopeful society will recognize that racism is punishment for the color of our skin.”  Yet, he is optimistic that the Biden administration will advocate for listening and interest in the societal abuse that affects all minorities. Those who don’t have a privilege must consistently and constantly earn it to live as they choose. “When we do that, that’s the reality of truth, the reality of reconciliation, the reality of what you might call culture values, because we are a living culture, and we’re not going anywhere. And it’s very disheartening to see that happening. Perhaps that will change,” Yellowman says. And change takes leadership.

“Our governor made a strong leadership statement during a well-thought-out COVID-19 campaign. It mattered to him how people would remember him as a leader during this crisis,” the Chief informed me. The success of Wassana’s positive guidance and responsible leadership through the pandemic impresses his Tribe, helps alleviate fear and uncertainty, and moves them forward.

Chief Yellowman becomes pensive for a moment. During our lengthy conversation, his sincerity, commitment to tribal economics, and physical health struck me. He reminds me of another dedicated Cheyenne, Chief Black Kettle, who ardently championed peace for all his people. I asked about the hope that Black Kettle instilled. “He gave his life for peace. He died for peace. As a Cheyenne chief, I still honor his legacy by acknowledging his name, Mo’ohtavetoo’o. And so, when we honor them by saying their name today, their legacy is still discussed and respected.”

**

One common element of the Tulsa and Sand Creek Massacres legacies is disbelief that white settlers came to America searching for freedom, and their offspring turned against the indigenous Tribes and brutalized Africans hauled and enslaved in the southern cotton-growing states. While the magnitude of those atrocities could not occur today, there is still much work to do to combat deadly discrimination.

Hannibal Johnson’s perspective is one of hopefulness, one that tomorrow will bring an acceptance of a middle ground. Rather than black or white, he asserts that we should land somewhere in between. Johnson concludes, “When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough to explore the gray matter, then that’s an opportunity for us to make progress.”

Chief Gordon Yellowman maintains that tomorrow’s hope depends on strong tribal leadership educating Native youth on their deep cultural identity. Yellowman ends his conversation by saying, “We must be thoughtful, humble, and remindful that history can repeat itself.”

**

As a white man of inherited privilege, my racial advantage alarms me. Racial entitlement should not exist in a caring world. The grim reality of what the worlds of Hannibal Johnson, Chief Yellowman, and their populations have swallowed chills me. Yet, their positive outlooks are inspiring.

Johnson and Yellowman are familiar spirits. Both are well-educated, committed, and open-minded to the possibility of hope for tomorrow. They are realistic about the barriers that exist. Yet, the tone in their voices and words is optimistic, perhaps guarded, but undeniable. They know leaders who aim for the light must supersede those who aim for the dark, like those of the two massacres.

The Tulsa and Sand Creek Massacres were set up. The Blacks of Tulsa were allowed to live in dusty, undeveloped land along the railroad tracks. Thus, White post-civil War vets and Klan members with dangerous racial attitudes always surrounded them. This element thirsted for a fight and maintained enough workforce and weapons to wipe out Greenwood immediately. The fight came. The entire enclave of Greenwood lay in smoldering rubble. Possibly hundreds of Blacks died and were buried in secret locations. No white man received a conviction for any crime.

Similarly, the eastern Colorado tribes of the Cheyenne-Arapaho lived where the white man dictated. They agreed several times to move further south in exchange for the white man’s promise of peace. The moves placed the Natives on smaller tracks of land—infertile lands with no hope for crops or good hunting. Ultimately, along the banks of Sand Creek, Chief Black Kettle organized his People in a small, ridge-surrounded village of 800 or so Natives. Indigenous humans who prayed for peace were at hand, sure they finally lived in a respite, on property guaranteed by the US Government documents signed in Washington, DC. Before they can settle, Colonel Chivington leads the slaughter with no convictions and only a hand-slap for his villainy.

I am amazed by the buoyancy of minority leaders, such as Johnson and Yellowman. They are deeply aware of their communities’ centuries-long suffering at the hands of the ruling majority, suffering through continued indignation and disrespect, suffering through lack of equal education and healthcare, suffering through humiliations, endured and internalized.

Johnson and Chief Yellowman warrant respect. They could be bitter. They could pay no heed to the opportunities for their communities and complain. But these leaders embrace the wisdom and guidance from patriarchs in their culture that have come before them. The humble gentlemen look forward optimistically. They are committed to resolving inequities. They could be vitriolic in their language, but they are measured and intelligent in their comments. These men are optimistic that the current federal administration will foster needed changes and not deceive the American public or break promises. These men strongly oppose violence as a means to peace. And, perhaps most of all, these men value strong, hopeful leadership that believes tomorrow starts today.

Both men advocate for hope and optimism that lessens the noir moments of societal improprieties imposed by some Americans, who fail to openly discuss past and present white-racist incidents, preferring to perpetuate their imagined superiority. My intent to better understand and represent minority issues has greatly benefited from discussions with these two men. Likely, they are preaching to the choir, you and me.

Many vocal majorities refuse to discuss those past atrocities. They will not embrace changes that improve the dignity and quality of life that all people deserve. Despite the naysayers’ resistance to removing the leg-irons worn by American minorities, hundreds of activists, authors, journalists, and filmmakers fill thousands of books and hundreds of television and movie screens with historically correct depictions of enslaved citizens, before and now. To improve society’s moral compass, continued prejudices and inequities need a light shone on them. Change is possible.

So that we may move forward with the optimism put forth by Hannibal Johnson and Chief George Yellowhand, we must work to improve the Nation’s attitude towards minorities and facilitate the life-restoring concept that tomorrow starts today; “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

 

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