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Transformational Capacity Building with The Village Revival Project

urban brick backdrop with graffiti

One evening in June of 2022, dozens of EJUSA team members and Newark community leaders gathered at Military Park to celebrate “The Future of Public Safety: Exploring the Power & Possibility of Newark’s Reimagined Public Safety Ecosystem.” This 60-page report highlighted the city’s efforts and achievements in stemming violence, healing Newarkers most impacted by harm, and creating local infrastructures to foster long-term safety. Over the previous two days, EJUSA and our Newark partners held a convening to mark these milestones of progress and set new goals moving forward. 

As the sun set and the crowd dwindled, Alia Berry and I stood in a small circle at the far end of the park, and she shared with me her vision for the Village Revival Project (VRP). She lit up as she described her idea for a transformative justice initiative that heals relationships between individuals who have caused violent harm and their surrounding communities through education about systemic and personal drivers of community violence, as well as art-based collaborative dialogue to achieve mutual empathy and collective efficacy. 

Up until this point, I knew of Alia’s work as a community-based social worker in the city, and we’d caught glimpses of each other’s Zoom boxes on Newark’s public safety roundtable calls. But like many of our partners, her passion for connecting with people on all sides of violence is distinct and deeply needed in movement work. We began working together within a couple weeks of our meeting. Now, after almost 18 months of regular check-ins, intensive brainstorming and strategy sessions, and creating space for her visioning and re-visioning of this work, the VRP is a registered 501(c)(3), and preparing to launch its first cohort. The journey to this milestone came with incredible lessons for both of us, and made clear to me the unique qualities of EJUSA’s capacity building partnerships in Newark and beyond.

Starting with relationships

For EJUSA, collaborating with capacity building partners to achieve sustainable organizations, well-resourced teams, and safer, healthier communities begins with relationships rooted in trust and transparency. After our meeting in June, Alia and I spent the remainder of the year on bi-weekly calls, learning about what brought us to this work, as well as the strengths and growing edges we were each leaning into. 

Some calls are about the nuts and bolts — developing a governing board, bylaws, and securing fiscal sponsorship. Others are about ensuring that partners know they have a safe haven with us to share ideas and process the excitement, fears, and concerns that come with launching and managing an organization.

Identifying our people and putting them first

Throughout our time working on VRP’s model and fundraising strategies, Alia and I often posed the following questions for reflection:

  • Who are we accountable to in this work? How can leaders bring additional, trusted voices into the fold to ensure that we center those often erased or harmed in this work and the narratives surrounding it? 
  • How do we check our own power and privilege as leaders and founders, and how can we create systems rooted in sharing power with those we serve?
  • When navigating donor bases that are often distanced from our communities, how do we bridge that gap and build empathy for those that we serve while centering their dignity? 
  • What does it look like to tell our stories in ways that guide donors to reckon with their role in systems of oppression that have led to these inequities? 

Creating systems and tools rooted in imagination 

Creating budgets, evaluation methods, and other infrastructures can be anywhere from exhilarating to stressful to triggering based on our personal and communal histories. When working together, Alia and I started by rooting in imagination first: asking questions and creating exercises that aim to make these processes more accessible by encouraging visioning and dreaming about the people and impact of the organization. From there, breaking that vision down into smaller pieces to determine the “how” of making it happen:

  • Who would be a best-fit participant for this type of program? What journey do you envision them taking by participating in the program, from start to finish? 
  • What staff are present to support these participants? 
  • Where is this taking place, and with what partnerships? 
  • What resources are needed to make this happen?
  • If your program succeeds, where will this participant be three years from now? What will the impact on the community be?

Creating a secure base to foster agency and sustainability

When partnering with grassroots organizations, EJUSA’s capacity building team works with leaders to build solid foundations that nurture their agency and their organization’s sustainability. As new organizations like VRP grow and stabilize, our work with Alia has slowly moved from intensive technical assistance to more flexible capacity building and resource sharing. This adaptability allows leaders like Alia to develop independently and to deepen their unique relationships within their communities, with EJUSA providing a soft landing when deeper levels of support are needed. 

To learn more about Alia and the Village Revival Project’s work at their website and on social media.

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An Investment in Healing

Photo of beach with EJUSA staff on white sand with blue skies

Leaders of Color Lean Into Their Healing

In December 2023, EJUSA was honored to host a healing retreat for allies and partners in the fight for justice. Members of the Leaders of Color (LOC) within the death penalty movement, came together for support and fellowship in their healing. Cohabitating space in a beautiful home overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, collectively they exhaled. Exploring healing through culinary, ancestral and therapeutic avenues. Connecting the dots with smells and moods, teas and health, validation and resilience with a sprinkle of VIPcare. Enjoying homemade meals and breaking bread together while wiping each other’s tears through some intense emotional sessions. A support group leaning on their individual and collective traumas. Heavy work demands heavy care, it was time to invest in us.

As a member of this group myself, I understand the need of creating a wellness infrastructure that supports the needs of the advocates doing the heavy work of those condemned by a harmful justice system.Creating spaces for those carrying the additional burden of protecting and empowering their impacted communities is a must. We cannot ignore the compounded grief and trauma of our own village. It was time to find ways to pour into them with the love and tools necessary to support their healing.

“This experience was life-changing”- Sheri Dickerson

I am a part of an amazing team at EJUSA supporting partners within the violence prevention movement space. Creating spaces for partners to workshop their healing needs. What does healing justice look like for the community of healers advocating for our most vulnerable and ignored? How do we provide care for our mental, physical and emotional wellness? What tips and tools can we provide? It’s an honor to explore this healing justice journey together with our fierce allies of the movement work. Healing justice is an investment in our care and I’m all in.

Leaders of Color Continued Care Takeaways

  • We dis-empower disinformation and narratives that harm our community. Our community, our stories and our narratives matter.
  • Your rest IS resistance! Taking care of you is important for the movement. Refuel your tank by remembering your why!
  • In order to get through grief you have to FEEL through it. We must mourn the grief and trauma of our work.

 

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Chain Gang All Stars

Photo of novel that is yellow called Chain Gang All Stars

Satire. Artists of all types use it to hold a mirror up to society, maybe one of those fun house mirrors that distorts the image, makes it large, twists it around. In that redefined image, there’s a truth, one that perhaps we’re often guilty of not seeing. The mirror makes it easier for us to see, even impossible to miss. 

Chain-Gang All-Stars, by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah, is, in my opinion, a brilliant novel. And it is a satire, capital S. Its truth is justice, and the target of its twisted image is our punishing criminal legal system. 

Now, if you know EJUSA, then you know we share that same target. The system’s origins began with the establishment of slave patrols in the South and semi-organized police forces formed to protect property interests in the North. Today, we spend more than $300 billion every year on punishment and social control, and those efforts disproportionally hurt Black and Brown people, marginalized populations, and the impoverished. 

The most egregious, extreme punishments include the death penalty and, far more prevalent, death by incarceration through extensive sentences. That is where Adjei-Brenyah takes precise aim. 

He imagines the Criminal Action Penal Entertainment (CAPE) program. People who have received a death or extreme sentence can, with some vetting, opt into this program that places them on teams, or Chains, that battle each other in a variety of ways. And when I say battle, the difference between a win and a loss is death. You win, you live for another day. 

The carrot: win all your battles and survive for three years on the circuit, and you earn “High Freedom,” liberation. The narrative focuses on one Chain, led by Loretta Thurwar, a fierce and universally loved Link, and the last days of her journey toward High Freedom. 

Loved? Yes, CAPE is televised and has become a centerpiece of American culture. And this isn’t just “sports broadcasting.” Yes, big matches take place in arenas that roar with bloodthirst. But a very imaginable reality television is available to all, the daily grind and stress of being a Link beamed into any household. Adjei-Brenyah imagines CAPE’s societal intersection in almost every direction. 

But he isn’t satisfied solely with imagination. Sprinkled throughout the text are footnotes, many of which document factual information about our criminal legal system as it exists today. The story, the relationships, the action are all engrossing—and superbly written—but Adjei-Brenyah holds us to account for the system that we desperately need to dismantle. 

I won’t say anything more about the stories except to say that they are filled with love and suspense, with humor and horror. And I will flag that there is violence, a fair amount but none of it gratuitous.  

Given the amount of violence we see in our movies and television programs, I suspect that most of you can endure what happens in the novel. And I would hope it reminds you again that this thing so many call a justice system delivers almost nothing like it. 

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Unveiling the Darkness

Black background with photo of mans face including the words "Killers of the Flower Moon"

Unveiling the Darkness: The Osage Murders and the Pursuit of Justice

In the heartland of America, amidst the rolling landscapes of Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, and Oklahoma, lies the ancestral home of the Osage Nation, revered as the “People of the Middle Waters.” Their journey from the verdant valleys of Ohio to the oil-rich plains of Oklahoma intersected with a momentous discovery in the early 1920s – black gold bubbling beneath their feet. This newfound wealth promised prosperity but concealed a dark underbelly of exploitation and violence, a narrative vividly depicted in the film “Killers of the Flower Moon,” now available for streaming on Apple TV.

Ceremonial Reflections and Looming Threats

In the first scene of the film, the Osage Nation elders engage in a solemn ritual, laying a ceremonial pipe to mourn the assimilation of their descendants into White American society. They lament the impending loss of their language, culture, and ways of life, a traumatic echo of the systemic erasure experienced by many Indigenous and Black communities. Their words echo through the land, warning of the encroaching influence of dominant white society: 

“The children outside are listening…they will learn another new language. They will be taught by white people. They will learn new ways…and will not know our ways.” 

Amidst this reflection, the land yields its bounty, with oil gushing forth and fields bursting into bloom. Yet, beneath this natural abundance lies a looming threat – the intentional encroachment of white community members, positioning themselves to exploit and seize the Osage’s valuable land.

Exploitation, Violence, and Injustice

Ernest Burkhart, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, plays a crucial role in his relationship with Mollie Burkhart, played by Lily Gladstone. Their romance sets the stage as Ernest becomes the driver for Mollie in their town of Fairfax, Oklahoma. As Ernest chauffeured Mollie around the town, a bond of trust gradually formed between them, eventually leading to their marriage. 

Ernest’s marriage to Mollie wasn’t just about love; it was a calculated move influenced by his uncle, King Hale, played by Robert De Niro, aimed at gaining control of Mollie’s family’s valuable land. By marrying Mollie, Ernest gained access to her family’s headrights, the exclusive rights to profit from the oil on their land, which could only be inherited, not sold. This tactic wasn’t unique to Ernest; in the film, and as derailed in historical accounts, many white men married into Osage families for similar purposes. 

History has also shown that these calculated marriages ended in murder, where white men would kill off family members through orchestrated poisonings, bombings of family homes, and secluded killings of Osage bodies around the land. As the murders escalated, the film depicted theTulsa Race Massacre in 1921, drawing a chilling parallel to the violence inflicted upon the Osage, highlighting the deep-seated nature of white supremacy. As the murders of the Osage people continued to round up in numbers, the crimes became so frequent that it caught the eye of the FBI to investigate. 

Legacy of Injustice and Community Resilience

The film highlights the enduring legacy of violence and oppression perpetuated by white supremacy on Indigenous and Black communities, resonating with the experiences of marginalized groups across America. Faced with systemic racism and betrayal, the Osage community rallies together in a display of resilience, highlighting the importance of communal support and solidarity in the pursuit of justice.

Repairing the Harm: Women’s History Month

The Osage murders serve as a reminder of how the exploitation and violence inflicted upon Indigenous and Black communities intersect with broader issues of social justice and equity in America. As we reflect on this dark chapter of American history, particularly as Black History Month transitions to Women’s History Month, it’s crucial to acknowledge the harm inflicted upon both the Osage people, especially through women, and Black communities. We must confront the systemic injustice that endures in our society, and recognize the need to repair the harm done. The pursuit for the Osage people and Black communities is not just a quest for resolution; it is a call to action in the fight against systemic racism and oppression in all its forms. 

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A Just Future

At EJUSA, our vision extends beyond merely imagining a transformed society. We envision a world where all people, in all communities, can live free from harm. Central to achieving this vision is the acknowledgment and repair of historical and ongoing harms, especially those stemming from racial terror that is deeply embedded in the fabric of our country. Reparations must play a critical role in that repair.

Acknowledging Historical Injustices

To comprehend the urgency of reparations, it is imperative to acknowledge the roots of racial terror embedded in our country’s history. White European settlers colonized this land and soon established the institution of state-sanctioned slavery that did not end with the Emancipation Proclamation or the end of the Civil War. Our nation has perpetuated a system of violent exploitation and social control ever since. The repercussions of policies that stole land from enslaved individuals persist, manifesting in generational poverty and economic disparities. It is time to confront these historical injustices and work towards their acknowledgment and repair.

Frameworks for Repair

Recognizing that many institutions are infected with white supremacy, we advocate for specific frameworks of repair in various sectors:

  1. Housing: Addressing historical discrimination in housing and lending policies.
  2. Education: Tackling systemic disparities in educational opportunities.
  3. Health: Exposing and healing health disparities rooted in historical injustices.
  4. Criminal Legal System: Confronting a system deeply connected to slavery.

The Urgency for Reparations 

The legacy of slavery extends into contemporary institutions at all levels: city, state, and federal government entities; universities, school systems, health care networks, and business sectors (especially banking); and churches and faith institutions. These institutions continue to exacerbate drivers of violence, including poverty, untreated trauma, exposure to violence, health disparities, and food and housing insecurity. 

Policing and prisons, wrongful convictions, and mass incarceration rooted in a history of violence also continue to intensify violence that we seek to eliminate. In order to reduce violence, a focus on healing and repair for communities burdened by generational trauma is paramount. Reparations provide a framework to address these issues and build a path towards a safer, more just society.

Reparations encompass various forms of repair. By addressing issues in housing, education, health, and the criminal legal system, we aim to rectify the deep-seated inequalities that have persisted for centuries. 

Reparations in Action

I’ve heard so many people — especially elected officials — say that reparations are impossible. But it’s been done before, many times. 

The first time the U.S. paid reparations? In 1862, when President Lincoln paid reparations to enslavers! The U.S. paid $300 for each human being freed from slavery in Washington, DC, prior to the Emancipation Proclamation. 

But there’s more. We paid Japanese families who were interned during WWII. We paid the families of the victims of the 9/11 attacks. States have paid reparations. Other nations, most notably Germany, for the Holocaust, have paid reparations. It is far from impossible. 

In fact, the reparations movement is the oldest social justice movement in the US. Today’s movement is a direct descendant of the work of Callie House and her organization, the Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty and Pension Association; and Queen Mother Moore who operated out of Harlem in the 1950s and 60s advocating for reparations through her organization the Universal Association of Ethiopian Women. There’s a direct connection to the movement we experience today. 

Understanding the types of reparations can take many forms: restitution, compensation, rehabilitation, satisfaction, and guarantees of non-recurrence.  And they can be provided through various channels. And the responsibility often falls on the state, as outlined by the UN’s Basic Principles.

We feel it’s important to highlight one particular avenue for reparations: funding frontline violence interventionists and community healers. Their work is essential to addressing the root causes of violence that plague Black communities because of our legacy of discrimination. When we invest in them we are investing in the future of their communities.

The Modern Movement is Taking Shape 

  • Evanston, Illinois — stands as the first city to issue reparations, distributing funds for home repairs or down payments to eligible Black households. 
  • Atlanta — the South’s largest city launched a task force to explore the need for reparations. 
  • Boston — a city with a notorious history of segregation, launched its own task force in 2022
  • New York State — just months ago, the legislature passed a state bill establishing a commission to begin the state’s journey toward reparations. 
  • California — No state has done as much toward reparations as California. A group of California lawmakers in this article is taking significant steps towards reparations for Black descendants of enslaved people with a set of bills modeled after recommendations from a state reparations task force. This legislative package, released by the California Legislative Black Caucus, addresses a wide range of issues, from criminal justice to food accessibility. This is in addition to San Francisco’s own commission recommending significant payments to its own descendants of enslaved people.

Reparations are not just about addressing historical injustices; they are a pathway to healing, creating systemic responses to violence that break cycles of trauma. With multiracial, multi-faith, and cross-partisan support, we stand on the shoulders of those who have come before us, working towards a society where repair and transformation go hand in hand.

To learn more, take a look at The Black Reparations Project: A Handbook for Racial Justice, a collection of research and history around reparations.

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Unveiling the Roots

rusted iron linked chain on dirt road

Introduction

Welcome, dear readers, to a journey through the intertwined threads of history, injustice, and the pursuit of a more equitable future. At Equal Justice USA (EJUSA), we set our focus with precision on dismantling the pervasive structures of anti-Blackness ingrained within the American criminal legal system.

Historical Roots and the Legacy of Virginia Slave Laws

Let’s rewind the clock to the early days of European migration to America. Most of the Europeans who embarked on this journey were not masters of the sea; they were indentured servants seeking new opportunities. In exchange for passage across the Atlantic, they willingly entered into servitude for several years. Once their contracted period was up, they were granted freedom.

Now, contrast this with the stark reality faced by enslaved Africans. Unlike their European counterparts, enslaved Africans were forcibly brought to America, enduring the horrors of the transatlantic slave trade. As time passed and enslaved Africans and European indentured servants began to unify against their common oppressors, the Virginia Slave Laws of the 1600s altered the course of history.

In 1661, the Virginia Slave Law allowed any free person the right to own slaves. The subsequent law in 1662 was even more insidious – it declared that a child born to a slave mother is a slave, while a child born to a free mother is free. This codification in American law marked a chilling distinction: enslaved Africans were considered property.

As if that weren’t enough, the Virginia Slave Law of 1669 cemented the dehumanization. It stated that a slave master, or a person acting under the master’s orders, could not be charged with murder for killing his slave, as the slave was deemed his own property.

Post-Slavery Laws: Unnecessary Sequels

Now, let’s fast forward to the mid-19th century, where the nation found itself embroiled in the Civil War, a conflict that had slavery at its core. In 1861, the nation plunged into a tumultuous struggle that sought to address the fundamental issue of slavery. The tipping point came with President Abraham Lincoln’s issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, declaring freedom for enslaved individuals. However, the South wasn’t about to relinquish its grip so easily.

Despite the Emancipation Proclamation being issued in 1863 and the 13th Amendment being ratified in 1865, the grip of slavery persisted in a complex and illegal manner. The Texas governor refused to accept the Union victory and included the 13th amendment in the Texas Constitution until 1866. The shift from slavery to sharecropping brought minimal change for Black people. Engaged in the same labor, on the same plantations, they found themselves earning meager wages. The post-Civil War era, known as Reconstruction, unfolded with former slave owners receiving reparations for the loss of income from slavery. This period, however, did little to uplift the lives of freedmen as they faced severe restrictions imposed by the Black Codes. These codes, characterized by broad vagrancy laws, empowered local authorities to arrest freedpeople for minor infractions and subject them to involuntary labor. In some cases, Black people were even punished for imaginary infractions, such as looking at a white person in the eye or whistling in the direction of a white woman. The punishment for these perceived transgressions was invariably some form of racial terror, specifically lynching. The control and oppression of Black people continues to be a hallmark of the criminal legal system.

Connection to the Present

The echoes of slavery reverberate in the shadows of our present-day justice system, woven into the fabric of the prison-industrial complex. Following emancipation, lynchings evolved into legal capital punishment and Southern towns seized upon any pretext, criminalizing formerly enslaved men and women for minor offenses such as vagrancy and curfew violations. This insidious practice allowed for the re-enslavement and, eventually, the mass incarceration of free Black Americans. The 13th Amendment, often hailed for abolishing slavery, carries a dark loophole that perpetuates this connection: 

“Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” 

Leaders and lawmakers created this loophole to create a system where incarceration disproportionately affects Black individuals, revealing the persistent ties between historical oppression and the contemporary prison system.

EJUSA’s Focus on Anti-Blackness and Trauma

At EJUSA, our commitment goes beyond dismantling structures of anti-Blackness within the American criminal legal system. We understand the profound impact of history on communities of color, the trauma inflicted, and the cycles of violence that persist. By acknowledging the intricate connection between the historical roots of slavery, the unjust post-slavery laws, and the contemporary prison-industrial complex, we strive to break the chains of this legacy. As we navigate these challenges, EJUSA stands as a torchbearer, advocating for healing over retribution. Join us in steering towards a future where justice isn’t just an ideal but a lived reality, where the wounds of the past are addressed, and the promise of equality is fulfilled.

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Why We Don’t Say “Gang”

group of teenagers standing on basketball court

For years there has been a constant debate around the word“gang” and what it means. For some, it means a group of close knit people, like when you say “the whole gang’s here.” For others, it’s a loaded term. It means a group of organized criminals. A quick Google image search will show you exactly who most people picture when they say it — Black and Brown people. And for us, the word brings pain, confusion and disappointment. 

Using the word gang instead of “group” harms communities that are majority Black and Brown . The term brings a risk of heightened criminal charges for those assumed to be involved in “group activities.” Unfortunately, the police officers, lawyers, and judges who drive our criminal legal system—not to mention lawmakers seeking attention—use gangs as a way to inspire fear. In addition, “criminal group activities” can translate into racketeering (RICO) charges and result in a 20-year sentence. In a lot of cases these charges are not approached with sensitivity and cultural literacy. 

There are negative connotations that are associated with how we describe and perceive gangs. It stigmatizes the view of communities of color and contributes to the narrative that they are unsafe and “gang infested.” Most of our efforts to reduce “group activities” focus on preventative resources for youth, such as educational resources, transportations, transportation, and extracurricular activities. Violence is not only a public health issue but a symptom of many factors. Those factors are social determinants of health, lack of equitable resources, misappropriation of funds circulating back into communities of color, and a shortfall of systems that recognize and try to heal trauma.

Using the word gang holds the container of stereotypical ideologies that our country was built on. It also shows the lack of liberation and equity that are built in systems to give justice and protection to all Americans. In fact, it does the opposite: that language oppresses, neglects, and denies Black and Brown people the societal standing that of our white counterparts. It doesn’t give Black, Brown, and marginalized people a fair chance in the criminal legal system. Using the word gang as opposed to group causes pain and adds to a harmful narrative. So we don’t.

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Building on Love

As you’re reading this blog, I am in South Africa, celebrating something deeply special to me while keeping the inspiring life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King firmly in my heart. 

Fifteen years ago, my mother began a quest to build a church building here in Reiger Park, South Africa, for a wonderful community she loved and supported just outside of Johannesburg. This was truly a grassroots effort. For years, she raised money by the dollar, leading fundraising walks, church dinners, and eventually email campaigns to engage people in her mission.

wideshot photo of church built of brick

The community began using the first floor of the church building about six years ago, even with a second floor and a roof to finish. I’m so glad my mother was able to witness it because she passed away three years ago before the building was completed. 

I am here with my family today for the dedication of the finished building. Just two weeks ago, we learned that our community of family, friends, and brothers and sisters in Christ raised the last funds needed to truly finish this beautiful building, every last brick, shingle, and nail. 

So we are here to celebrate a journey complete. 

Which brings me to Dr. King. 

I’ve been reading “King: A Life,” an incredible new biography by Jonathan Eig. I am amazed at how much there is still to learn about this man I’ve admired for so long. And I’m a little shaken that the building Dr. King began to build in the 1950s and 60s, through his ministry, organizing, and advocacy, is still woefully unconstructed. 

In 1967, Dr. King gave a speech at Stanford University titled “The Other America,” and he cited certain facts: 

  • At the time, Black people had an unemployment rate twice that of white people. 
  • At the time, Black people’s wages were, on average, about 50% of white people’s.
  • In the five years leading up to the speech, 58 civil rights activists — Black and white — had been murdered, and not a single person had been convicted. 

Today? The Black unemployment rate is 5.9% versus 3% for whites. Black workers’ average wages are about 30% less than white workers. Between 2005 and approximately 2020, 98 state and local police officers had been arrested for killing someone while on duty — juries convicted only three of murder.

Writing this made me quite emotional. I feel so much joy knowing that my family and I could help finish my mother’s vision. And I feel sad that Dr. King’s vision still feels aspirational and is not a reality. As far as we think we’ve come, very little has changed.

I believe in my heart that the challenge we face is about love. 

Here’s what I mean. Dr. King’s essential work centered on laws and policies. The Montgomery Bus Boycott made racial segregation on buses unconstitutional. King’s efforts drove the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act outlawing discrimination based on race, color, religion, gender, and national origin. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 then made it illegal to discriminate when it came to voting. 

These victories transformed our nation. But they were prescriptive, measures that we forced upon many Americans who did not love Black people, who dehumanized and devalued them. Dr. King nodded to that, but with optimistic hope: 

…although it may be true that morality cannot be legislated, behavior can be regulated. Even though it may be true that the law cannot change the heart, it can restrain the harvest. Even though it may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, it can restrain him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important also. And so while the law may not change the hearts of men, it can and it does change the habits of men. And when you begin to change the habits of men, pretty soon the attitudes will be changed.

More than 50 years have passed, and there are too many resistant attitudes. We needed to change hearts with intention rather than hope they will transform as a byproduct. 

You know as well as I do that we still need the laws, especially because we’re seeing them unravel before our eyes. But love will be the foundation for the change we need.

I believe that if Dr. King had lived and continued his work, he would’ve seen the importance of building on love and getting to the heart of these matters. King’s legacy is so much more than the laws he passed. 

At EJUSA, we use the word “build” regularly and intentionally. And building takes time, especially when you want something solid that will withstand all tests. 

So I invite you today to recommit — in Dr. King’s honor — to the foundation for change, for healing, for safety and justice. And to acknowledge that when we build it through the love of all of our neighbors, we will build it to last. 

Toward justice, and love,

Jami

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What Lies Ahead

text saying "EJUSA is coming to SXSW 2024!"

I hope that the new year has so far brought you peace, health, and excitement for what lays ahead. I speak for all of us at EJUSA when I tell you how eager I am for the opportunities to build community safety in cities and neighborhoods across the country. 

There’s so much happening: 

  • The Restorative Justice Project team is settling in and making strong connections to their new teammates across our programs and department. 
  • Several death penalty repeal campaigns across the country continue to gain momentum. 
  • Trauma to Trust workshops will continue this spring in Newark and, for the second year, in Baton Rouge. 
  • Our capacity building team will launch a new fellowship to strengthen our grassroots partners in Louisiana with infrastructure building, training, and more.
  • Nationwide, we will be supporting legislative advocacy while also amplifying the voices and building support for grassroots leaders dedicated to healing and public safety. 

There’s so much more — we will make sure you hear about it.

I did want to take a second to thank so many of you who helped on a special project. Earlier this year, we applied to the prestigious South By Southwest (SXSW) conference in Austin, TX. Because of your votes, we were accepted!

On March 9, I’ll be joined by three incredible minds to talk about how “Community is the Future of Public Safety.” The panel will include Lisa Daniels, executive director of Darren B. Easterling Center for Restorative Practices; Gregory Jackson, deputy director of the White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention; and myself. And our moderator will be James Cadogan, the executive director of the National Basketball Social Justice Coalition. 

This is an incredible opportunity because we will have a chance to reach a new and broader audience to share our innovative ideas about public safety. 

I’m so grateful for the support you give EJUSA, in so many ways, and for your investment in the solutions we all believe in.

Toward justice,

Jami Hodge
Chief Executive Officer

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The Death Penalty in Decline

Line graph showing decline in jurisdictions imposing the death penalty.

I have been working at EJUSA for almost 19 years, all of them spent beating back our legacy of killing people as punishment for harm they committed. State by state, we have repealed death penalty laws or convinced governors to halt executions to end this terrible, misguided practice that does not make us safer. Now, only 10 states remain that have had an execution in the last five years. 

Each December brings a measure of inspiration, when the Death Penalty Information Center releases their year-end report. This year offered more of the same affirming news. Yes, the number of executions ticked up slightly (check out the report to learn why). But the big view is clear: as a nation, we continue to move away from the death penalty. 

For the ninth year in a row, there were fewer than 30 people executed — 24 in total. 

For the ninth year in a row, juries delivered fewer than 50 death sentences — 21 in total. 

Just five states executed a person this year; just seven delivered death sentences.

And a new poll revealed something amazing: for the first time, more Americans believe the death penalty is administered unfairly.

Line graph showing the rising disapproval of the death penalty because of unfairness.

That reminds me of another fact that drives all of us in this movement: the death penalty preys upon specific people. This year, nearly 80% of those executed lived with “serious mental illness; brain injury, developmental brain damage, or an IQ in the intellectually disabled range; and/or chronic serious childhood trauma, neglect, and/or abuse.” 

Eight of the 24 people executed experienced all three. 

This matters because proponents have to dehumanize people in order to rationalize their killing. Prosecutors make these people out to be “monsters” who can’t be redeemed. But the fact is that all of them needed help — probably throughout their lives — and we as a society failed them.  

Dehumanization made slavery and racial terror possible. It made lynchings and Jim Crow laws possible. We wouldn’t still have the worst mass incarceration problem in the world if not for our efforts to dehumanize. 

This report is vital in so many ways, especially because it reminds us that every person those five states killed was a child at one point with potential and needs, just like all of us.

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