Remembering 1921: Reverend Kevin Stephenson, Faith-Based Filmmaking, and the Untold Stories of the Tulsa Race Riots
In a time when history is increasingly shaped by headlines, algorithms, and fleeting attention spans, some stories demand to be told slowly, carefully, and with reverence. One such story is the 1921 Tulsa Race Riots—more accurately known as the Tulsa Race Massacre—a violent and devastating event that forever altered the Greenwood District of Tulsa, Oklahoma, once known as “Black Wall Street.”
In a recent interview, I sat down with Kevin Stephenson, Reverend and President of Faith Based Films LLC, to discuss his ambitious and deeply personal film project titled 1921. The film seeks funding and broader support, but more importantly, it seeks to restore humanity, faith, and complexity to a story that has too often been reduced to a paragraph in a textbook—if it’s mentioned at all.
What emerged from our conversation was not just a discussion about filmmaking, but a meditation on memory, reconciliation, faith, and the responsibility of storytellers to illuminate what history tried to bury.
The Weight of 1921
The events of 1921 in Tulsa are among the most traumatic and consequential acts of racial violence in American history. Over the course of roughly 24 hours, white mobs—some deputized and armed by local authorities—destroyed more than 35 blocks of the Greenwood District. Homes, businesses, churches, schools, and hospitals were burned to the ground. Hundreds of Black residents were killed or displaced, and thousands were left homeless.
Yet for decades, the massacre was largely omitted from official histories. Survivors were silenced. Insurance claims were denied. Records disappeared.
Reverend Stephenson emphasized during our interview that this silence is part of the violence itself.
“When a story isn’t told, it doesn’t heal,” he explained. “It just festers. And Tulsa has been carrying this wound for over a century.”
A Film Rooted in Faith and Responsibility
Faith Based Films LLC is not a traditional production company chasing box office returns. Under Stephenson’s leadership, it operates with a mission-first mindset—telling stories that engage moral complexity, spiritual resilience, and historical truth.
For Stephenson, 1921 is not just a historical film; it is a calling.
“This film isn’t about assigning blame,” he told me. “It’s about truth, accountability, and showing the full picture—including the moments of compassion that existed even in the middle of horror.”
That distinction matters. Too often, stories about racial violence are framed as binary narratives: villains and victims, darkness without light. While the brutality of 1921 must never be softened or excused, Stephenson believes there is also power in showing how faith communities, including Catholics and other religious groups, stepped forward to help protect, shelter, and aid victims during and after the riots.
The Short Documentary: Stories That Complicate the Narrative
Currently available on Faith Based Films’ website is a short documentary that serves as both a proof of concept and a moral foundation for 1921. This documentary, which I strongly encourage readers to watch, offers something rare: nuance.
Within it are stories of Catholic institutions opening their doors, clergy offering refuge, and everyday people—Black and white—who chose compassion over chaos. These stories do not erase the injustice of the massacre; instead, they deepen our understanding of it.
Stephenson was clear on this point:
“If we only tell the story of hate, we miss the opportunity to show what love looks like under pressure.”
The documentary also highlights how faith traditions played a role in rebuilding—emotionally, spiritually, and materially—long after the fires were extinguished.
Why This Film Matters Now
The timing of 1921 is not accidental. As debates over American history rage in school boards, legislatures, and online spaces, the Tulsa Race Massacre has become a flashpoint. Some see it as essential truth-telling; others see it as uncomfortable or divisive.
His film aims to reach audiences who might otherwise disengage from discussions about race—particularly faith-based communities that may not see themselves reflected in mainstream historical documentaries. By centering moral courage, repentance, and reconciliation, 1921 offers an entry point that is both challenging and inviting.
For viewers of faith, the film asks hard questions:
What does it mean to love your neighbor when violence is normalized?
Where was the Church silent, and where did it speak?
How should faith communities respond today to the echoes of past injustice?
Funding a Film with a Mission
Like many independent historical films, 1921 faces significant funding challenges. Period-accurate sets, costumes, archival research, survivor testimony, and responsible storytelling all require resources. Stephenson has been transparent about the uphill battle.
But he is also hopeful.
Funding this film is not merely about producing content; it’s about investing in historical memory. Stephenson is actively seeking partnerships with churches, foundations, private donors, and organizations that understand the power of film as both education and reconciliation.
Tulsa, Greenwood, and the Meaning of Black Wall Street
Greenwood was not just a neighborhood—it was an ecosystem. Black-owned banks, theaters, grocery stores, doctors’ offices, newspapers, and churches thrived despite Jim Crow laws and segregation.
The destruction of Greenwood was not accidental. It was economic, racial, and deeply political.
Stephenson’s vision for 1921 does not shy away from this reality. Instead, it places Greenwood’s success front and center, forcing audiences to confront an uncomfortable truth: the massacre happened not because Greenwood failed, but because it succeeded.
Faith as a Lens, Not a Shield
One of the most compelling aspects of Stephenson’s approach is that faith is not used as a shield to deflect responsibility. Instead, it is a lens—one that magnifies both moral failures and moral courage.
Catholics and other religious groups who helped during the riots are not portrayed as saviors, but as people who made choices in moments of crisis. Their actions matter precisely because they were not inevitable.
This framing allows the film to ask a broader question: what choices will we make when history looks back at us?
Why I’m Covering This Story
As a journalist and interviewer, I’ve spoken with countless creators, activists, and filmmakers. What stood out about Reverend Kevin Stephenson was not just his knowledge of the history, but the humility with which he approached it.
He does not claim to own the story of 1921. He sees himself as a steward.
That distinction matters—especially when telling stories rooted in trauma.
How You Can Support the Film
If you care about:
Honest American history
Faith-based storytelling that doesn’t avoid hard truths
Amplifying voices that were silenced for generations
Then 1921 is a project worth paying attention to.
-Click Here to see the Documentary & Donate
Start by watching the short documentary on Faith Based Films’ website. Share it. Talk about it in your community. If you’re in a position to support independent filmmaking—financially or through partnerships—this is one of those moments where support can have lasting impact.
Final Thoughts
The Tulsa Race Riots were not just a moment in time—they were a message, enforced through violence, about who was allowed to thrive in America. A century later, Reverend Kevin Stephenson is working to ensure that message does not get the final word.
1921 is not just a film about destruction. It is a film about memory, faith, courage, and the uncomfortable but necessary work of telling the truth.
Some stories don’t fade with time. They wait—for someone brave enough to tell them fully.
