I grew up in Tulsa during the 1970s and 1980s. My mother moved to Tulsa from Holdenville, OK, in the late 1940s. My father, who grew up in Dublin, GA, moved to Tulsa after marrying my mother and retiring from the U.S. Army, then began working for IBM as the senior regional sales manager.
Those in the African American community, and many within the Indigenous tribes, were aware of the Massacre, then called a "race riot," and knew to either warn their children or disavow the ramifications if one openly fought back against the system. Fast-forward thirty years, and it was an open secret within the Black or North Tulsa communities, from barbershops and salons to churches and Masonic temples.
I remember the first time I heard about the Massacre when I was around eight years old. I was the first person in my family not to be born under Jim Crow laws or to be forced to live on reservations. I had no concept of segregation or racism by law. When my mother and maternal grandmother started talking about my mother's job (TV journalist & Civil Affairs Reporter), in relation to the massacre, I couldn't help but wonder what they were referring to, what could cause both of these strong women to shudder.
Over the years, others within our community would mention the Massacre, now and then, but in hushed whispers, never relaborating on the circumstances or the aftermath.
Fast-forward to 1987: I had learned many aspects of the Massacre through anecdotal research, but had never met a survivor, who, at that time, were plentiful. By coincidence, my art teacher invited his mother, a survivor of the Massacre, to our school. Many of the students and staff were unaware of the Massacre, which our art teacher found shocking. So, with some subterfuge and luck, he got a tepid "OK" from the school's administration for a one-time 30-minute survivor's testimonial to be held in his classroom.
To clarify, the school's student body [Marion Anderson, Tulsa] consisted of working-class, poor students, primarily African American, Caucasian, and Black-Indigenous. The faculty and staff were also unaware of the city's violent past. When our guest spoke, the classroom fell silent, and many students, regardless of their ethnicity, remained quiet. Outside the art room, the hallways began to fill with students and staff, some sitting on the floor, listening to everything she had to say.
She never missed a beat, and few questions were asked of her. Most present were stunned and entranced by her account, so they had little to say. In retrospect, I think they were afraid to know more and fearful that it would cause more emotional turmoil, not only within themselves but with our guest.
What was supposed to be a one-time, 30-lecture event became an all-day affair. Many of the educators weren't raised in Tulsa and were "Boomers.' Some had participated in the Civil Rights Movement, and a few were Vietnam veterans. Almost all, except four, were Caucasian. The expressions on their faces were unforgettable. I believe that, for many of them, her testimony left a deep mark on their very souls.
The next time I encountered an educator who openly spoke of the Massacre was my social studies teacher. He was a proud Cherokee Citizen, and was known to buck the system when it came to "history," primarily civil & indigenous rights. During a discussion regarding the poverty associated with North Tulsa, a 'white' student made an overtly racist remark that our teacher could not let slide. He segwayed into a lengthy discussion regarding the history of Black Wall Street and the Massacre.
Again, most of the students present had never heard of the Massacre, so for extra credit, he assigned the class to write a report on it, with the only reference resource the high school's library. By the way, our high school was Nathan Hale Senior High School, and actor Gary Busy graduated from the first class.
This was a 'fool's journey. He wanted to see who actually performed the research, and who would toss in some long-winded yet unsited piece. You see, the Massacre wasn't 'officially' banned from the school district's libraries; it was never written in any meaningful detail, not even as a footnote. And when it was, the facts were watered down, obfuscated, or worse, false. Several students bypassed the school's library and went to the many Tulsa libraries within the city. Some asked their grandparents, who reluctantly filled in the gaps in our teacher's narrative.
They returned to verify their sources' statements with our teacher, and instead of scolding them for straying from the parameters he had set, he praised their efforts. But word spread, and the administration, along with many who suspected it was the school board's directive, silenced any discussion of the Massacre. It would be another twelve years before the Massacre received any national or international recognition. Long before the city and the state were shamed, in finally acknowledging the tragedy, that was the Black Wall Street Massacre.
Thank you for that, Lennon. That’s quite an amazing testimony. I’m astonished by the fact that as an Oklahoman it was outright denied by the powers that be. And that only as an adult I learned of this massacre. Thank you for your testimony.
I grew up in Oklahoma also and never heard of this until a 4-5 years ago and I was a History major 👀.
I grew up in Tulsa during the 1970s and 1980s. My mother moved to Tulsa from Holdenville, OK, in the late 1940s. My father, who grew up in Dublin, GA, moved to Tulsa after marrying my mother and retiring from the U.S. Army, then began working for IBM as the senior regional sales manager.
Those in the African American community, and many within the Indigenous tribes, were aware of the Massacre, then called a "race riot," and knew to either warn their children or disavow the ramifications if one openly fought back against the system. Fast-forward thirty years, and it was an open secret within the Black or North Tulsa communities, from barbershops and salons to churches and Masonic temples.
I remember the first time I heard about the Massacre when I was around eight years old. I was the first person in my family not to be born under Jim Crow laws or to be forced to live on reservations. I had no concept of segregation or racism by law. When my mother and maternal grandmother started talking about my mother's job (TV journalist & Civil Affairs Reporter), in relation to the massacre, I couldn't help but wonder what they were referring to, what could cause both of these strong women to shudder.
Over the years, others within our community would mention the Massacre, now and then, but in hushed whispers, never relaborating on the circumstances or the aftermath.
Fast-forward to 1987: I had learned many aspects of the Massacre through anecdotal research, but had never met a survivor, who, at that time, were plentiful. By coincidence, my art teacher invited his mother, a survivor of the Massacre, to our school. Many of the students and staff were unaware of the Massacre, which our art teacher found shocking. So, with some subterfuge and luck, he got a tepid "OK" from the school's administration for a one-time 30-minute survivor's testimonial to be held in his classroom.
To clarify, the school's student body [Marion Anderson, Tulsa] consisted of working-class, poor students, primarily African American, Caucasian, and Black-Indigenous. The faculty and staff were also unaware of the city's violent past. When our guest spoke, the classroom fell silent, and many students, regardless of their ethnicity, remained quiet. Outside the art room, the hallways began to fill with students and staff, some sitting on the floor, listening to everything she had to say.
She never missed a beat, and few questions were asked of her. Most present were stunned and entranced by her account, so they had little to say. In retrospect, I think they were afraid to know more and fearful that it would cause more emotional turmoil, not only within themselves but with our guest.
What was supposed to be a one-time, 30-lecture event became an all-day affair. Many of the educators weren't raised in Tulsa and were "Boomers.' Some had participated in the Civil Rights Movement, and a few were Vietnam veterans. Almost all, except four, were Caucasian. The expressions on their faces were unforgettable. I believe that, for many of them, her testimony left a deep mark on their very souls.
The next time I encountered an educator who openly spoke of the Massacre was my social studies teacher. He was a proud Cherokee Citizen, and was known to buck the system when it came to "history," primarily civil & indigenous rights. During a discussion regarding the poverty associated with North Tulsa, a 'white' student made an overtly racist remark that our teacher could not let slide. He segwayed into a lengthy discussion regarding the history of Black Wall Street and the Massacre.
Again, most of the students present had never heard of the Massacre, so for extra credit, he assigned the class to write a report on it, with the only reference resource the high school's library. By the way, our high school was Nathan Hale Senior High School, and actor Gary Busy graduated from the first class.
This was a 'fool's journey. He wanted to see who actually performed the research, and who would toss in some long-winded yet unsited piece. You see, the Massacre wasn't 'officially' banned from the school district's libraries; it was never written in any meaningful detail, not even as a footnote. And when it was, the facts were watered down, obfuscated, or worse, false. Several students bypassed the school's library and went to the many Tulsa libraries within the city. Some asked their grandparents, who reluctantly filled in the gaps in our teacher's narrative.
They returned to verify their sources' statements with our teacher, and instead of scolding them for straying from the parameters he had set, he praised their efforts. But word spread, and the administration, along with many who suspected it was the school board's directive, silenced any discussion of the Massacre. It would be another twelve years before the Massacre received any national or international recognition. Long before the city and the state were shamed, in finally acknowledging the tragedy, that was the Black Wall Street Massacre.
Thank you for that, Lennon. That’s quite an amazing testimony. I’m astonished by the fact that as an Oklahoman it was outright denied by the powers that be. And that only as an adult I learned of this massacre. Thank you for your testimony.