People in Jacksonville are mourning the deaths of three Black residents, gunned down by a white man who left behind "manifestos," leading investigators to believe the shooting was a hate crime.

The victims of the shooting at a Dollar General store Saturday were identified as Anolt "A.J." Laguerre Jr., 19; Jerrald De'Shaun Gallon, 29; and Angela Michelle Carr, 52. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office identified the gunman as Ryan Palmeter, 21, who first attempted to drive through Edward Waters University, a nearby historically Black school.

Rahman Johnson, a member of the Jacksonville City Council and a professor at Edward Waters University, said there is work to be done.

"These three lives that were taken here in Jacksonville, I pray that they are not in vain," Johnson stressed. "Rather than just grieving and crying, as Iylanla Vanzant once said, 'Let's cry with a purpose. Let's grieve, and then work.'"

As for what the work entails, Johnson acknowledged he is not quite sure just yet, but thinks there must be a serious focus on mental health for a community in trauma, and perhaps conversations around the systemic issues leading to the shooting. In a video statement, Gov. Ron DeSantis condemned the shooting and called the gunman a "scumbag."

Johnson is reluctant to blame one person or group, but said it is what happens "when Diversity Equity and Inclusion is seen as the enemy," referencing the recent policy actions led by some state officials, including Gov. DeSantis.

"When we say we don't want to be able to interact with people who love differently than we do -- who worship differently than we do, who live differently than we do -- we then end up creating and watering seeds of divisiveness that give us the fruit that we now see, which is this heinous act," Johnson contended.

Johnson also voiced concern about the expansion of gun laws and new education standards in Florida, which ignore the realities of African American history. He pointed out given the governor's position of advocating for the changes, he is unable to reconcile DeSantis' statement of condemnation.

"When we say that African American History should be taught one way, that there 'could've been a value or benefit to slavery,' or that people who -- when the Constitution was authored -- were not considered people, all of a sudden, all of that is supposed to be washed away, and we can't learn about that and learn from that," Johnson emphasized. "I think that's antithetical to learning, so unfortunately, I don't see those actions nor the statements as being congruent. "

Palmeter used an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle and a Glock handgun in the shootings. On Sunday, the local sheriff said he shot one person as she sat in her car outside the store, another just after he entered the store, and shot the third minutes later. Eleven minutes after the shooting started and as police entered the store, Palmeter killed himself. The U.S. Justice Department is investigating the case as a hate crime.


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Across the U.S., most political boundaries tied to the 2020 Census have been in place for a while, but a national project on map fairness for Indigenous populations continues to fight for changes, with North Dakota at the center of the movement.

When states did their redistricting a few years ago, the Native American Rights Fund launched its Fair Districting in Indian Country effort. It provides resources and legal representation to tribal communities worried about newly drawn districts which could suppress their voting power.

Michael Carter, staff attorney for the group, said there has been a lot of activity.

"Just from this redistricting cycle alone, tribes have stepped up and decided that what these state and county governments are doing is not right," Carter explained.

He pointed to several cases with various levels of success, including two high-profile ones from North Dakota. One resulted in a new legislative map for the 2024 election. The state is appealing the decision, arguing the plaintiffs lacked the authority to submit a challenge. The Native America Rights Fund expects oral arguments within the next few months.

Carter pointed out a section of the Voting Rights Act is often at the center of these cases, with tribal advocates arguing some state and local governments are not honoring language prohibiting voter discrimination. He said there is a separate movement out there trying to reverse the progress.

"The national implications are there, just from the attention it's getting from all the other states that are filing these briefs in the appeals courts, seeking to undo the wins that Native voters got in the lower courts," Carter observed.

A group of Republican attorneys general contends private groups and individuals do not have the right to file lawsuits under Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act. But Carter countered there's a separate provision, used in the North Dakota case, which does provide the opportunity. His group and its partner organization, the Campaign Legal Center, said their movement has ushered in a new generation of Native American lawyers to fight for civil rights in the years to come.

By Erin Aubry Kaplan for Yes! Magazine.
Broadcast version by Suzanne Potter for California News Service reporting for the Yes! Magazine-Public News Service Collaboration

In his 2020 book, Begin Again, Eddie Glaude Jr.’s meditation on the modern relevance of the writer James Baldwin, Glaude describes how Baldwin returned to the United States from Paris in 1957 to witness a civil rights movement that was seriously getting underway. Traveling through the South, Baldwin was struck by how American life was still defined by a belief in the inferiority of Black people, and further struck by how that enduring lie would likely prevent white people from transforming the nation. He believed that until he died in 1987. 

Now, 37 years later, the lie that never went away has enjoyed a remarkable resurgence in U.S. politics, overwhelmingly on the right, that threatens to engulf the whole republic. It has taken the form of attacks on Black history in education, and even the very presence of Black people in positions of power. But something else remarkable is happening that Baldwin could not have imagined at all: The push for reparations—compensation for the damage wrought by hundreds of years of the lies that justified slavery and then segregation and discrimination—has become mainstream. 

In 2021, California became the first state to launch a reparations task force, the largest-scale effort to pursue reparations in the country. The task force was born from a 2019 bill introduced by then-assemblywoman Shirley Weber, four months after the death of John Conyers, the Democratic congressman from Michigan who introduced a federal reparations bill, H.R. 40, every year for nearly 30 years. Weber’s bill in California was practically a carbon copy of H.R. 40.

Two years after the task force was launched, in summer 2023, it released 1,000-plus pages of more than 100 recommendations based on two years of research, hearings, and discussions. The recommendations were highly anticipated; the executive summary noted that California, as is the case with so much else, expected to serve as a model for how reparations could be realized elsewhere, especially at the federal level.

Despite the historic nature of the report, the future of reparations in the Golden State is far from assured. To begin with, the committee’s findings make clear that California, far from being the exception to racist practices and policies in other states, has been in many ways worse. The Executive Summary echoes Baldwin in bluntly citing “racist lies” underlying attitudes and practices in California that are not just consigned to history but are ongoing. The state tolerated slavery despite being admitted in 1850 as a “free” state, was a hot spot of Klan activity that at one point rivaled the South, and failed to ratify the 14th and 15th amendments until 1959 and 1962, respectively. 

More recently, in 2022, the California Senate refused to support a constitutional amendment that would have eliminated slavery and involuntary servitude as punishment for a crime, a step that many other far less progressive states such as Alabama and Tennessee have taken. These facts are but a few of many that beg the question: California may be the first state to formally embark on a project of reparations, but will it actually implement it? 

State Sen. Steven Bradford (D-Inglewood), vice chair of the California Legislative Black Caucus, was one of three elected officials on the nine-member reparations task force and has frequently been its public face. He says an agreement on any reparations legislation for Gov. Gavin Newsom to consider will not come until later in 2024. In early February 2024, Black lawmakers unveiled the first set of reparations bills, 14 proposed laws that call for boosting home ownership, property tax relief in redlined communities, and a formal apology from Gov. Newsom for California’s history of anti-Black racism, among other things. 

In winter 2023, Bradford proposed SB 490—the first post-task force bill—to establish the California American Freedmen Affairs Agency, an office to oversee reparations distribution that deliberately recalls the Freedman’s Bureau, a Reconstruction-era government body that helped formerly enslaved people transition to freedom. But Bradford cautions that the resulting reparations will take years to become reality, even if the process started today. “It’ll be many legislative cycles, many sessions,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

Bradford says that the task force’s job since releasing the report has been to convince colleagues in the legislature to read it, or at least familiarize themselves with it. While it sounds like an obvious first step, it’s crucial to changing the reality that Bradford has been acknowledging all along, that there simply isn’t enough support—yet—in California or in the rest of the country, for meaningful reparations for Black people. 

The renewed racial consciousness following the police murder of George Floyd in 2020 has popularized the optics of supporting Black people, like taking a knee or putting a Black Lives Matter sign in a window or on a lawn. But grasping the enormity of racism’s legacy and then deciding that something of equal enormity must be done to correct it is another matter. Bradford and his peers face the difficult task of trying to strike a balance between making reparations seem quotidian and common-sense—it is simply giving people what they’re owed—while agitating for nothing less than a revolution of the American psyche. “This is the real stain on America, the sin of slavery,” he says. “Most people don’t understand that most of the wealth in this country is dependent on 400 years of free labor. We still have a racist core.”

While convincing the legislature to educate itself is key, Bradford and others say that there needs to be buy-in from the grassroots as well. The Alliance for Reparations, Reconciliation, and Truth, formed last year, is composed of six former task force members and a growing list of organizations, Black and otherwise, that not only support the full set of task force recommendations but is working to realize them. 

The Legislative Black Caucus is also coordinating its own PR plan. Public opinion of reparations is mixed, especially when it comes to cash compensation. A Berkeley Institute of Governmental Studies poll last year found that while a majority of California voters agree that the legacy of slavery continues to have an impact on the lives of Black residents, less than a third approve of giving money. 

The prospect of giving money to Black folks is a conservative lightning rod that has obsessed the media from the start of the state’s reparations process, obscuring the scope of what reparations are, and the many forms they could and should take. Bradford has downplayed the idea of dispensing checks as just one action among many; significantly, the 14 bills introduced in 2024 do not include any calls for cash payments. And yet, payment is the form that reparations have taken for other groups robbed of their wealth over time, such as Jews for the crimes of the Holocaust and the Japanese survivors of internment during World War II. It seems that the biggest challenge for reparations for Black people is the deep-seated belief—the lie—that Black people simply don’t deserve financial compensation, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. 

Resistance to reparations is also emotional in that it brings to light so much unexamined history. The task force has served as a truth and reconciliation committee that the U.S., including California, has never had. Lisa Holder, another task force member, described California’s recommendations as a “book of truth.” Reluctance to simply explore that truth is long-standing, and legion. 

With the California reparations project, the floodgates of truth—if not cash—have opened, a significant step toward redress no matter what happens, or doesn’t, with reparations. San Francisco’s reparations project offers a cautionary tale for the movement for racial repair. 

That effort yielded highly ambitious recommendations, also numbering more than a hundred, and spanning finance, housing, and yes, cash payments of $5 million per individual. Other recommendations that came out of San Francisco’s reparations report included creating a public or freedmen’s bank, debt forgiveness, and the formation of a Black reparations trust. But in December 2023, San Francisco Mayor London Breed dropped a bomb when she eliminated from the city budget a relatively paltry $4 million fund for a reparations office—the San Francisco task force’s version of a Freedmen’s Bureau. 

Breed has said that true reparations should remain at the federal level, but she also seemed to think it would compete with her Dreamkeeper Initiative, a program aimed at reforming public safety and improving what’s left of Black neighborhoods in San Francisco. The irony was lost on no one, especially the task force: a Black mayor of the country’s most progressive city impeding historic progress for Black people. 

And yet Breed is not alone in her reticence. Mandla Kayise, an educational and community planning consultant and a member of the City of Los Angeles Reparations Advisory Commission that formed two years ago, says he’s found that reparations can be a difficult sell—even to Black people. “People should be granted some reasonable skepticism, given the failed history of so many efforts that were supposed to help Black people,” he says. “They just don’t buy it. They don’t think that any of this is going to happen. Only activists and advocates do.” In other words, Black people believe in reparations, but not in the country’s willingness to do the right thing. 

A bigger problem is that, despite polls showing that a majority of Black people support reparations, there isn’t a lot of awareness about current reparations efforts at the community level. Kayise says the L.A. commission is planning a public roundtable in February with the 60 community organizations it is allied with—churches, nonprofits, individuals—and is looking for more. “We have to fully engage the Black public. That is the overriding factor,” he says. “More than informing, it’s about organizing so that we have community pressure to make this happen.” The L.A. Commission is still in its information-gathering process and expects to release its recommendations by December.

Kayise agrees with Bradford that the inherently controversial nature of reparations, and the sheer scope of it, guarantees it won’t happen quickly. But time is also of the essence: If we can’t make the case and win consensus now, he says, it’ll be harder to do later. Ultimately, what we need, what we’ve always needed, is “national leadership that says, what’s good for Black people is good for us all,” he adds. For all the disillusionment that dogged him to the end of his life, James Baldwin never let go of that idea.


Erin Aubry Kaplan wrote this article for Yes! Magazine.


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Until recently, many Americans of Middle Eastern or North African descent were categorized as "white" in government surveys, making it challenging to accurately quantify this population and assess its unique needs. But that is changing.

According to the Office of Management and Budget, the new category of "Middle Eastern and North African" or MENA aims to improve the quality of federal data on race and ethnicity.

Dearborn Mayor Abdullah Hammoud said it will be crucial for better understanding the diverse impacts on individuals, programs and services for people of the Arab community.

"We have been an integral part of the state since migration to the U.S. in the early 1800s in search for a destination that would better provide political, economic and religious freedom," he said. "And this month presents an opportunity to further build bridges between communities, and to shatter misconceived notions and stereotypes."

President Joe Biden highlighted the changes during his Arab American Heritage Month announcement, which is observed in April. He noted the addition of the new category for the 2030 Census and other forms, and emphasized its importance for better representation and policymaking.

These updates come amid criticism over Biden's handling of the Gaza conflict and efforts to appeal to Arab American voters.

Dearborn native Maya Berry, executive director of the Arab American Institute, said it's important that people of Middle Eastern and North African descent have an opportunity to be counted.

"One of the most deeply impactful ways that it's been negative," Berry said, "is that it views our communities as this existential 'other' - continuously foreign or 'otherized' in a way that's just not consistent with the history of our country, given we're all immigrants to this wonderful nation."

Until now, Berry said, Arab Americans were categorized the same as individuals of European descent -- a policy that could be seen as erasing their identity and overlooking the discrimination they have encountered.


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