Tulsa Race Riots Offer Lessons Eight Decades Later From: University of Cincinnati Currents Date: March 3, 2000 By: Carey Hoffman Phone: (513) 556-1825 Archive: Campus News Mentioning Tulsa, Oklahoma probably doesn't conjure up a specific image for people in this part of the country. But a defining event did take place there, even if in the national consciousness over the last 80 years it has remained almost completely unknown. In 1921, Tulsa was the site of one of the worst race riots in American history. That was what brought Al Brophy to the College of Law during Black History Month. Brophy, professor of law at Oklahoma City University, is counsel to the Tulsa Race Riot Commission and author of a report submitted to the Oklahoma legislature recommending reparations be paid to more than 80 living survivors of the riot. Brophy's lecture was a Just Community event sponsored by the College of Law and the Black Law Students Association. "There has been a conspiracy of silence around this riot," said Brophy. "People in Tulsa say they've known about it all along, but just don't talk about it. One of the reasons they can talk about it now is a number of the people who were bad actors in this are dead, so no one is going to go to jail over this. And the number of survivors is so small, not a lot of money is going to be involved." Public interest nationally in the case has been growing ever since details started to emerge about an event that cost an estimated 300 people their lives and left in ruin an estimated 1,000 homes and 30 city blocks of the black Tulsa district known as Greenwood. The riot stemmed from the arrest of a black man alleged to have assaulted a white female elevator operator. With racial tensions already high in Tulsa, groups of blacks and whites gathered outside the courthouse on May 31, 1921, as talk of a lynching grew. Some of the men came armed and wearing their uniforms from World War I. "When a policeman goes to try and disarm the leader of the black soldiers, he responds, 'I'll use it if I have to,' " Brophy related. "A struggle ensues, the gun goes off and, in the vernacular of the day, all hell breaks loose." Gunfire was exchanged all night long along the rail tracks that separated Greenwood from the rest of Tulsa. In one of the critical developments of the riot that relates to the issue of government liability today, the Tulsa police deputized hundreds of the white men who had been gathered at the courthouse. When a rumor circulated that black men were coming from Muskogee, Okla., as reinforcements to defend Greenwood, Tulsa authorities put a machine gun crew on the road from Muskogee to stop them. Shortly after dawn at 5 a.m. on June 1, a whistle blew and large groups of whites began advancing into Greenwood. They arrested black citizens and then used torches to set their homes on fire. This went on for hours, Brophy said, until the Oklahoma National Guard arrived and angrily resorted to force in putting down the riot. Many blacks were kept in detention for several days, while others simply left town never to return again. When residents of Greenwood finally were allowed home, what awaited them was a scene of natural disaster-like destruction that stretched for blocks on end. At the prosperous main intersection in the Greenwood business district, known locally as the "Negro Wall Street," not a single building remained intact. Promises from Tulsa authorities to help rebuild proved vacant. To this day, Greenwood has never bounced back and almost nothing has been done about it except maintaining silence, Brophy said. Legal remedies are limited. The best hope for a successful lawsuit, he feels, lies in seeking damages for one of the all-black towns outside Tulsa that sheltered those fleeing Greenwood. The statute of limitations and other legal hurdles make more direct lawsuits impossible. That leaves the issue of reparations for survivors. The issue is controversial in Oklahoma right now, but Brophy believes a limited plan of $20,000 per survivor - $1.2 million overall - will eventually be accepted. "Survivors are divided on this issue," Brophy said. "A lot of them are too proud. They rebuilt their lives on their own and they don't want to take an insultingly small amount so the state can feel better about this." One member of Brophy's audience asked him what kind of force will ultimately produce healing in Tulsa - political, legal or moral? "Healing comes best when it comes from a moral imperative," Brophy answered. "Although sometimes it takes lawsuits to get the ball rolling, I sincerely hope a moral consensus emerges."