News Race

Peace, Organizing, and Outrage Mark ‘National Moment of Silence’ Vigils

Emily Crockett

Nationwide vigils for Michael Brown and other victims of police violence were a time for peaceful mourning, but not without moments of outrage.

Read more of our coverage related to recent events in Ferguson here.

Organizers of the National Moment of Silence (NMOS), a nationwide, 90-city event held Thursday evening to remember victims of police brutality like Michael Brown, were adamant that the event should be a peaceful vigil to mourn the dead, not a protest. They rejected the “Day of Rage” framing, pushed by the online “hacktivist” group Anonymous; there was already plenty of civil unrest and anger over the shooting death of the unarmed teen at the hands of police officer Darren Wilson, and peaceful demonstrators didn’t need more police aggression.

“[Protesters in Ferguson] are being treated like animals … and I felt that we needed a moment where we all come together,” said organizer Feminista Jones in an interview with Feministing. “In that solidarity, we will let our voices be heard that we are tired of this, that this is a national emergency, that the police state of this country is problematic.”

By and large, the vigils went off in exactly that spirit, including the one in St. Louis, of which Ferguson is a suburb. Still, rage and conflict were not wholly absent—shouting protesters interrupted a gathering in Washington, D.C., and the specter of police overreach manifested itself in New York City when NYPD officers threatened to arrest thousands of marching demonstrators.

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In D.C., organizers read the names and told the stories of people killed by police: Tarika Wilson, killed by a SWAT team that also shot and injured her 1-year-old baby. Shantel Davis, shot point-blank after a car chase, unarmed and begging not to be killed, by an officer with a history of aggressive behavior. Rekia Boyd, shot in the head by a possibly-drunk off-duty officer. And in much more recent memory, Eric Garner, killed by an illegal chokehold that has been ruled a homicide.

But when it was almost time for the moment of silence—coordinated across the country, 7:20 p.m. Eastern and 4:20 p.m. Pacific—a few people around the fringes of the D.C. gathering started shouting. Not everyone in the crowd of 1,500 at Malcolm X Park could hear them, but the gist seemed to be that this kind of rally wasn’t enough to make real change. 

Then somebody close to the center of the gathering piped up, and kept it up until 7:20 p.m. had come and gone. “We need more than peace and chants! They’re killing us! They’re killing our babies!”

The organizers and most of the crowd begged the shouters to stop for just 60 seconds, one minute to mourn the dead. There would be protests soon, they promised, but not now. 

“When you feel anger, there is one way to build power, and that’s to organize people,” said one speaker. To thunderous applause, he called for a “freedom movement,” urged attendees to start doing the hard work that such a movement would require, and passed around a sign-up sheet for people to join the organizing drive. 

During a call for audience members to speak, a young Howard University alum named Justice Woods shouted from the wall he stood on top of with other alums, holding an American flag. 

“Two nights ago my friend got shot in the head, protesting silently in Ferguson!” he said, referring to Mya Aaten-White, a Howard alum who survived what police said was a drive-by shooting, while some social media reports alleged a cover-up. 

“If you want to do something, that don’t mean you’ve got to get violent!” Woods said. “If I can sit here right now, and have my friend shot in the head, with a real bullet, that I went to class with, that I kicked it with, that I ate with, drank with, chilled with, talked about this shit with—and I ain’t fighting nobody, I’m out here, talking to y’all and waking y’all up!”

The Howard community is “up in arms, literally” Woods quipped to Rewire, referencing a widely circulated photo of Howard students holding their arms up in the “don’t shoot” posture that has become a symbol of protests against Brown’s shooting. “If there’s one thing you learn at Howard, it’s how to take action and stop talking,” Woods said.

Some action happened sooner than people thought. After the vigil, hundreds of attendees spontaneously flooded the streets, flanked but not interfered with by D.C. police as they marched and shut down half of 16th Street, then U Street, then 7th, finally parking on the steps of the Smithsonian American Art Museum for more speeches. Other demonstrators headed to Howard for a somber vigil.

The NYPD was not as accommodating when a similar spontaneous demonstration followed New York City’s vigil. Twitter erupted with reports of “kettling,” the practice of blocking protesters’ possible exits in order to release them a few at a time, or to arrest large numbers of them. At least four protesters were arrested Thursday evening. 

Other vigils were less chaotic, but no less fraught with the memories of fallen community members. In Austin, a few hundred people gathered outside the capitol building and mourned the 2013 police murder of Larry Jackson. In Oakland, infamous for police brutality, the mother of Alan Blueford spoke movingly about his death. “We’re sick and tired of being sick and tired,” she said. 

Andrea Grimes from Austin, Texas, and Zoe Greenberg from Oakland, California, contributed to this report.

News Human Rights

Migrants in Border Patrol Facilities Endure ‘Inhumane,’ ‘Unconstitutional’ Treatment

Tina Vasquez

These processing centers have been found to be unsuitable for overnight detention, as they do not have beds. The centers “are extremely cold, frequently overcrowded, and routinely lack adequate food, water, and medical care," according to a 2015 report from the American Immigration Council.

An Arizona district court on Thursday released photos of Border Patrol processing centers that show the “inhumane and unconstitutional” treatment of migrants in these facilities.

The release comes after a months-long legal battle between Border Patrol and the National Immigration Law Center, the American Immigration Council, and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Arizona.

The images were taken from security footage and are exhibits in an ongoing lawsuit against the agency. Taken within eight Arizona facilities, spanning Nogales, Douglas, Naco, Casa Grande, and Tucson, it is one of the rare instances Border Patrol has been forced to share images from its holding cells.

Known as as hieleras–or iceboxes–by migrants because of their frigid temperature, those detained in the holding cells are given nothing to stay warm but “Mylar blankets,” which are easily torn, foil-like sheets. In one photo, a mother changes her baby’s diaper on top of Mylar sheets on the concrete floor, surrounded by garbage. In another image taken from the processing center in Tucson, migrants are wrapped in Mylar sheets huddled together on the concrete floor. The cell is so crowded that there is no room to move.

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These processing centers have been found to be unsuitable for overnight detention, as they do not have beds. The centers “are extremely cold, frequently overcrowded, and routinely lack adequate food, water, and medical care,” according to a 2015 report from the American Immigration Council.

The facilities are intended to temporarily detain immigrants while their criminal records are checked, their fingerprints are taken, and the next step in their case is determined. U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP), Border Patrol’s parent agency, has no statutes or regulations governing short-term facilities.

CBP has internal guidance regarding standards, specifications, and the operation of its facilities, including setting limits on the maximum length of time that a person should be held in a holding cell.

A 2008 CBP memorandum revealed that “a detainee should not be held for more than 12 hours” and should be moved “promptly.” A new American Immigration Council study, released in conjunction with the security footage photos, found that migrants are routinely kept overnight in poor conditions.

Using government data obtained through the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), the American Immigration Council found that Border Patrol regularly uses these facilities to detain people for prolonged periods.

“Over 80 percent of people detained by the Border Patrol in its Tucson Sector are held for over 24 hours, meaning that men, women and children are forced to sleep on concrete floors and hard benches in holding cells that lack beds and are not equipped for sleeping,” the organization reported.

Analyzing data on almost 327,000 immigrations from September 2014 to August 2015, the study reports that in the southwest Border Patrol sectors, 67 percent of detained immigrants were held in Border Patrol facilities for 24 hours or more. Almost 30 percent were held for 48 hours or more and 14 percent for 72 hours or more.

The American Immigration Council said the facilities’ conditions violate CBP’s policies and are alleged to violate the U.S. Constitution. Migrants endure freezing temperatures and are forced to sit and sleep on cold, concrete floors. According to CBP guidelines, those detained should be provided with snacks and meals, be given access to potable drinking water, should have access to bathrooms and toilet items, and be given necessary medical attention.

Agents must make “reasonable efforts” to provide a shower for detainees held for more than 72 hours and ensure detention cells are regularly cleaned and sanitized.

Evidence and testimonies gathered by the American Immigration Council found that migrants receive little or no food or clean drinking water. One of the images released Thursday shows a man drinking directly from a lone plastic gallon of water, presumably the only source of water for all those detained in the cell. The organization also reports that migrants are forced to stay in “overcrowded and unsanitary holding cells without basic hygiene items; denied adequate medical screening or care; denied communication with family members, legal counsel, or consulates; and coerced into signing deportation papers.”

The American Immigration Council’s findings add to accusations of inhumane treatment, abuse, and constitutional violations made by Border Patrol against migrants, including the abuse of children and significantly high rates of sexual misconduct. It remains unknown if Border Patrol will change its practices concerning the inhumane treatment of migrants in its custody.

Culture & Conversation Media

Filmmaker Tracy Droz Tragos Centers Abortion Stories in New Documentary

Renee Bracey Sherman

The film arrives at a time when personal stories are center stage in the national conversation about abortion, including in the most recent Supreme Court decision, and rightly so. The people who actually have and provide abortions should be driving the narrative, not misinformation and political rhetoric.

This piece is published in collaboration with Echoing Ida, a Forward Together project.

A new film by producer and director Tracy Droz Tragos, Abortion: Stories Women Tell, profiles several Missouri residents who are forced to drive across the Mississippi River into Illinois for abortion care.

The 93-minute film features interviews with over 20 women who have had or are having abortions, most of whom are Missouri residents traveling to the Hope Clinic in Granite City, Illinois, which is located about 15 minutes from downtown St. Louis.

Like Mississippi, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming, Missouri has only one abortion clinic in the entire state.

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The women share their experiences, painting a more nuanced picture that shows why one in three women of reproductive age often seek abortion care in the United States.

The film arrives at a time when personal stories are center stage in the national conversation about abortion, including in the most recent U.S. Supreme Court decision, and rightly so. The people who actually have and provide abortions should be driving the narrative, not misinformation and political rhetoric. But while I commend recent efforts by filmmakers like Droz Tragos and others to center abortion stories in their projects, these creators still have far to go when it comes to presenting a truly diverse cadre of storytellers if they really want to shift the conversation around abortion and break down reproductive stigma.

In the wake of Texas’ omnibus anti-abortion law, which was at the heart of the Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt Supreme Court case, Droz Tragos, a Missouri native, said in a press statement she felt compelled to document how her home state has been eroding access to reproductive health care. In total, Droz Tragos interviewed 81 people with a spectrum of experiences to show viewers a fuller picture of the barriersincluding legislation and stigmathat affect people seeking abortion care.

Similar to HBO documentaries about abortion that have come before it—including 12th & Delaware and Abortion: Desperate ChoicesAbortion: Stories Women Tell involves short interviews with women who are having and have had abortions, conversations with the staff of the Hope Clinic about why they do the work they do, interviews with local anti-choice organizers, and footage of anti-choice protesters shouting at patients, along with beautiful shots of the Midwest landscape and the Mississippi River as patients make road trips to appointments. There are scenes of clinic escorts holding their ground as anti-choice protesters yell Bible passages and obscenities at them. One older clinic escort carries a copy of Living in the Crosshairs as a protester follows her to her car, shouting. The escort later shares her abortion story.

One of the main storytellers, Amie, is a white 30-year-old divorced mother of two living in Boonville, Missouri. She travels over 100 miles each way to the Hope Clinic, and the film chronicles her experience in getting an abortion and follow-up care. Almost two-thirds of people seeking abortions, like Amie, are already a parent. Amie says that the economic challenges of raising her other children make continuing the pregnancy nearly impossible. She describes being physically unable to carry a baby and work her 70 to 90 hours a week. Like many of the storytellers in the film, Amie talks about the internalized stigma she’s feeling, the lack of support she has from loved ones, and the fear of family members finding out. She’s resilient and determined; a powerful voice.

The film also follows Kathy, an anti-choice activist from Bloomfield, Missouri, who says she was “almost aborted,” and that she found her calling in the anti-choice movement when she noticed “Anne” in the middle of the name “Planned Parenthood.” Anne is Kathy’s middle name.

“OK Lord, are you telling me that I need to get in the middle of this?” she recalls thinking.

The filmmakers interview the staff of the Hope Clinic, including Dr. Erin King, a pregnant abortion provider who moved from Chicago to Granite City to provide care and who deals with the all-too-common protesting of her home and workplace. They speak to Barb, a talkative nurse who had an abortion 40 years earlier because her nursing school wouldn’t have let her finish her degree while she was pregnant. And Chi Chi, a security guard at the Hope Clinic who is shown talking back to the protesters judging patients as they walk into the clinic, also shares her abortion story later in the film. These stories remind us that people who have abortions are on the frontlines of this work, fighting to defend access to care.

To address the full spectrum of pregnancy experiences, the film also features the stories of a few who, for various reasons, placed their children for adoption or continued to parent. While the filmmakers interview Alexis, a pregnant Black high school student whose mother died when she was 8 years old, classmates can be heard in the distance tormenting her, asking if she’s on the MTV reality show 16 and Pregnant. She’s visibly distraught and crying, illustrating the “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” conundrum women of color experiencing unintended pregnancy often face.

Te’Aundra, another young Black woman, shares her story of becoming pregnant just as she received a college basketball scholarship. She was forced to turn down the scholarship and sought an adoption, but the adoption agency refused to help her since the child’s father wouldn’t agree to it. She says she would have had an abortion if she could start over again.

While anti-choice rhetoric has conflated adoption as the automatic abortion alternative, research has shown that most seeking adoption are personally debating between adoption and parenting. This is illustrated in Janet’s story, a woman with a drug addiction who was raising one child with her partner, but wasn’t able to raise a second, so she sought an adoption. These stories are examples of the many societal systems failing those who choose adoption or students raising families, in addition to those fighting barriers to abortion access.

At times, the film feels repetitive and disjointed, but the stories are powerful. The range of experiences and reasons for having an abortion (or seeking adoption) bring to life the data points too often ignored by politicians and the media: everything from economic instability and fetal health, to domestic violence and desire to finish an education. The majority of abortion stories featured were shared by those who already had children. Their stories had a recurring theme of loneliness and lack of support from their loved ones and friends at a time when they needed it. Research has shown that 66 percent of people who have abortions tend to only tell 1.24 people about their experience, leaving them keeping a secret for fear of judgment and shame.

While many cite financial issues when paying for abortions or as the reason for not continuing the pregnancy, the film doesn’t go in depth about how the patients come to pay for their abortions—which is something my employer, the National Network for Abortion Funds (NNAF), directly addresses—or the systemic issues that created their financial situations.

However, it brings to light the hypocrisy of our nation, where the invisible hand of our society’s lack of respect for pregnant people and working parents can force people to make pregnancy decisions based on economic situations rather than a desire to be pregnant or parent.

“I’m not just doing this for me” is a common phrase when citing having an abortion for existing or future children.

Overall, the film is moving simply because abortion stories are moving, especially for audiences who don’t have the opportunity to have someone share their abortion story with them personally. I have been sharing my abortion story for five years and hearing someone share their story with me always feels like a gift. I heard parts of my own story in those shared; however, I felt underrepresented in this film that took place partly in my home state of Illinois. While people of color are present in the film in different capacities, a racial analysis around the issues covered in the film is non-existent.

Race is a huge factor when it comes to access to contraception and reproductive health care; over 60 percent of people who have abortions are people of color. Yet, it took 40 minutes for a person of color to share an abortion story. It seemed that five people of color’s abortion stories were shown out of the over 20 stories, but without actual demographic data, I cannot confirm how all the film’s storytellers identify racially. (HBO was not able to provide the demographic data of the storytellers featured in the film by press time.)

It’s true that racism mixed with sexism and abortion stigma make it more difficult for people of color to speak openly about their abortion stories, but continued lack of visual representation perpetuates that cycle. At a time when abortion storytellers themselves, like those of NNAF’s We Testify program, are trying to make more visible a multitude of identities based on race, sexuality, immigration status, ability, and economic status, it’s difficult to give a ringing endorsement of a film that minimizes our stories and relegates us to the second half of a film, or in the cases of some of these identities, nowhere at all. When will we become the central characters that reality and data show that we are?

In July, at the progressive conference Netroots Nation, the film was screened followed by an all-white panel discussion. I remember feeling frustrated at the time, both because of the lack of people of color on the panel and because I had planned on seeing the film before learning about a march led by activists from Hands Up United and the Organization for Black Struggle. There was a moment in which I felt like I had to choose between my Blackness and my abortion experience. I chose my Black womanhood and marched with local activists, who under the Black Lives Matter banner have centered intersectionality. My hope is that soon I won’t have to make these decisions in the fight for abortion rights; a fight where people of color are the backbone whether we’re featured prominently in films or not.

The film highlights the violent rhetoric anti-choice protesters use to demean those seeking abortions, but doesn’t dissect the deeply racist and abhorrent comments, often hurled at patients of color by older white protesters. These racist and sexist comments are what fuel much of the stigma that allows discriminatory laws, such as those banning so-called race- and sex-selective abortions, to flourish.

As I finished the documentary, I remembered a quote Chelsea, a white Christian woman who chose an abortion when her baby’s skull stopped developing above the eyes, said: “Knowing you’re not alone is the most important thing.”

In her case, her pastor supported her and her husband’s decision and prayed over them at the church. She seemed at peace with her decision to seek abortion because she had the support system she desired. Perhaps upon seeing the film, some will realize that all pregnancy decisions can be quite isolating and lonely, and we should show each other a bit more compassion when making them.

My hope is that the film reaches others who’ve had abortions and reminds them that they aren’t alone, whether they see themselves truly represented or not. That we who choose abortion are normal, loved, and supported. And that’s the main point of the film, isn’t it?

Abortion: Stories Women Tell is available in theaters in select cities and will be available on HBO in 2017.

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