Oklahoma Supreme Court Rejects 1921 Tulsa Greenwood Black Massacre survivors lawsuit

TULSA, Oklahoma, June 18, 2024 - When 107 year old Viola Fletcher appeared before Congress in May 2021, she called for the nation to officially acknowledge the Tulsa race riot of 1921, which took place when she was seven years old.

In what could be considered a disgraceful court decision last Wednesday, Viola, now 110 along with Lessie Benningfield Randle, 109 - the  only two survivors of the Tulsa massacre of 1921 have been deemed ineligible to collect reparations.

The Survivors of one of the biggest race massacres in US history have lost their historic legal bid for reparations over the attack. The Oklahoma Supreme Court dismissed the suit, filed in 2020 by a trio of survivors, on Wednesday.

An estimated 300 Black Americans were killed when a white mob razed the Greenwood neighborhood of Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1921. A third survivor, Hughes Van Ellis, died last year at 102.

The plaintiffs had brought their case under Oklahoma's public nuisance law, arguing that the violence and destruction wrought on the "Black Wall Street" area more than a century ago continues to resonate today. The Tulsa County sheriff, county commissioners, and the Oklahoma Military Department were named as defendants in the suit.

In its Wednesday ruling, the state's top court sided with Tulsa officials in arguing that the plaintiffs' grievances did not entitle them to compensation. “With respect to their public nuisance claim, though Plaintiffs' grievances are legitimate, they do not fall within the scope of our State's public nuisance statute,” the court wrote. In doing so, the nine-judge bench affirmed a lower court judge's identical ruling last July.

The judge concluded that “simply being connected to a historical event does not provide a person with unlimited rights to seek compensation”. The city of Tulsa said in a statement that it “respects the court’s decision and affirms the significance of the work the City continues to do in the North Tulsa and Greenwood communities”. The city added that it remains committed “to working with residents and providing resources to support” these communities.

No one has ever been held responsible for the violent events of 31 May 1921. In addition to the 300 estimated deaths, thousands of Black residents were assaulted, arrested, and left homeless.

This case is likely the final opportunity for Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Randle to receive compensation over the Tulsa Race Massacre. “There is no going to the United States Supreme Court. There is no going to the federal court system.

This is it,” their attorney, Damario Solomon-Simmons, previously argued in a legal brief. After Wednesday's ruling, the legal team representing Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Randle said they plan to file a petition for the Oklahoma Supreme Court to rehear the case and reconsider their decision.

But, what really really happened in the infamous Tulsa race massacre on that fateful day of May 31, 2021? Gregory B. Fairchild - in writing for The Conversation,  repeated the story his grandfather, Robert Fairchild, told nearly a quarter-century ago to several newspapers.

Here’s how The Washington Post recounted his story in 1996:

“At 92 years old, Robert Fairchild is losing his hearing, but he can still make out the distant shouts of angry white men firing guns late into the night 75 years ago. His eyes are not what they used to be, but he has no trouble seeing the dense, gray smoke swallowing his neighbors’ houses as he walked home from a graduation rehearsal, a frightened boy of 17.

His has since been a life of middle-class comfort, a good job working for the city, a warm family life. But he has never forgotten his mother’s anguish in 1921 as she fled toward the railroad tracks to escape the mobs and fires tearing through the vibrant Black neighborhood of Greenwood in north Tulsa.”

“There was just nothing left,” Fairchild told the newspaper.

The Washington Post article said the Tulsa race riots of 1921 were among the “worst race riots in the nation’s history.” It reported: “The death toll during the 12-hour rampage is still in dispute, but estimates have put it as high as 250. More than 1,000 businesses and homes were burned to the ground, scores of Black families were herded into cattle pens at the fairgrounds, and one of the largest and most prosperous Black communities in the United States was turned to ashes.”

During the Tulsa race riots in 1921, Black businesses and homes in the Greenwood District in Tulsa, Oklahoma, were destroyed at the hands of white residents. Bettmann Archive/Getty Images

Riots began after a white mob attempted to lynch a teenager falsely accused of assaulting a white woman. Black residents came to his defense, some armed. The groups traded shots, and mob violence followed. My family eventually returned to a decimated street. Miraculously their home on Latimer Avenue was spared.

Disturbing history

Hearing about these experiences at the family table was troubling enough. Reading a newspaper account of your ancestors’ fleeing for their lives is a surreal pain. There’s recognition of your family’s terror, and relief in knowing your family survived what “60 Minutes” once called “one of the worst race massacres in American history.”

In spite of my grandfather’s witness, this same event didn’t merit inclusion in any of my assigned history texts, either in high school or college. On the occasions I’ve mentioned this history to my colleagues, they’ve been astonished.

In 1996, at the 75th anniversary of the massacre, the city of Tulsa finally acknowledged what had happened. Community leaders from different backgrounds publicly recognized the devastation wrought by the riots. They gathered in a church that had been torched in the riot and since rebuilt. My grandfather told The New York Times then that he was “extremely pleased that Tulsa has taken this occasion seriously.”

“A mistake has been made,” he told the paper, “and this is a way to really look at it, then look toward the future and try to make sure it never happens again.”

An African American couple walking across a street in Tulsa, Oklahoma, June 1921. Oklahoma Historical Society/Getty Images

That it took so long for the city to acknowledge what took place shows how selective society can be when it comes to which historical events it chooses to remember – and which ones to overlook. The history that society colludes to avoid publicly is necessarily remembered privately.

Economically vibrant

Even with massive destruction, the area of North Tulsa, known as Greenwood, became known for its economic vitality. On the blocks surrounding the corner of Archer Street and Greenwood Avenue in the 1930s, a thriving business district flourished with retail shops, entertainment venues and high-end services. One of these businesses was the Oklahoma Eagle, a Black-owned newspaper. As a teenager in the early 1940s, my father had his first job delivering the paper.

Without knowing the history, it would be a surprise to the casual observer that years earlier everything in this neighborhood had been razed to the ground. The Black Wall Street Memorial, a black marble monolith, sits outside the Greenwood Cultural Center. The memorial is dedicated to the entrepreneurs and pioneers who made Greenwood Avenue what it was both before and after it was destroyed in the 1921 riot.

Although I grew up on military bases across the world, I would visit Greenwood many times over the years. As I grew into my teenage years in the 1970s, I recognized that the former vibrant community was beginning to decline. Some of this was due to the destructive effects of urban renewal and displacement. As with many other Black communities across the country, parts of Greenwood were razed to make way for highways.

Some of the decline was due to the exit of financial institutions, including banks. This contributed to a decrease in opportunities to build wealth, including savings and investment products, loans for homes and businesses, and funding to help build health clinics and affordable housing.

And at least some was due to the diminished loyalty of residents to Black-owned businesses and institutions. During the civil rights movement, downtown Tulsa businesses began to allow Black people into their doors as customers. As a result, Black residents spent less money in their community.

Historical lessons

At the end of my father’s military career in the 1970s, he became a community development banker in Virginia. His work involved bringing together institutions – investors, financial institutions, philanthropists, local governments – to develop innovative development solutions for areas like Greenwood. For me, there are lessons in the experiences of three generations – my grandfather’s, father’s and mine – that influence my scholarly work today.

On the one hand, I study how years after the end of legal segregation Americans remain racially separate in our neighborhoods, schools and workplaces and at alarmingly high levels. My research has shown how segregation depresses economic and social outcomes. In short, segregation creates closed markets that stunt economic activity, especially in the Black community.

On the other hand, I focus on solutions. One avenue of work involves examining the business models of Community Development Financial Institutions, or CDFIs, and Minority Depository Institutions, or MDIs. These are financial institutions that are committed to economic development – banks, credit unions, loan funds, equity funds – that operate in low- and moderate-income neighborhoods. They offer what was sorely needed in North Tulsa, and many other neighborhoods across the nation – locally attuned financial institutions that understand the unique challenges families and businesses face in minority communities.

Righting historical wrongs

There are interventions we can take, locally and nationally, that recognize centuries of financial and social constraint. Initiatives like the 2020 decision by the Small Business Administration and U.S. Treasury to allocate US$10 billion to lenders that focus funds on disadvantaged areas are a start. These types of programs are needed even when there aren’t full-scale economic and social crises are taking place, like the COVID-19 epidemic or protesters in the street. Years of institutional barriers and racial wealth gaps cannot be redressed unless there’s a recognition that capital matters.

The 1921 Tulsa race riot began on May 31, only weeks before the annual celebration of Juneteenth, which is observed on June 19. As communities across the country begin recognizing Juneteenth and leading corporations move to celebrate it, it’s important to remember the story behind Juneteenth – slaves weren’t informed that they were emancipated.

After the celebrations, there’s hard work ahead. From my grandfather’s memory of the riot’s devastation to my own work addressing low-income communities’ economic challenges, I have come to see that change requires harnessing economic, governmental and nonprofit solutions that recognize and speak openly about the significant residential, educational and workplace racial segregation that still exists in the United States today.

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The author, Gregory B. Fairchild, is an Associate Professor of Business Administration, University of Virginia.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
This is an updated version of an article originally published on May 21, 2020.