15 | I Got A Story To Tell | Black Wall Street
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Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to Black History for Real early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. So, Francesca, you're pretty active on social media and tell it like it is. I bet you got a lot of angry trolls, right?

The irony of you asking me that question, because I know you be getting them. I see them in your comments. Yeah. I mean, honestly, I'm I don't know who has the time, but but apparently these folks do, because sometimes they be sending me wild stuff. Have you ever been afraid to post something because people are threatening you?

Ah, that's a really good question. No, I haven't been afraid to post something, but I definitely have taken extra security measures. Like when I have public speaking events, having extra security, I don't post about things in real time. Like I don't say, hey guys, I'm on my way to have dinner at this place or I'm going out of town this weekend. Like I don't do that just so that people don't know where I'm at and can like roll up on me.

But, you know, I usually just try to do a gut check and I keep a really good circle of people that I trust that if I do say something that's like wrong or I have the, you know, I'm human, mistakes happen. I have people that I can trust that will let me know like, hey, girl, you really messed up on this one. What about you? Yeah, you know, I've dealt with my fair share of, you know, trolls and threats and, you

disparaging comments about, you know, wives and daddies and mamas and, you know, all that. For me, though, I usually think about it like it comes to territory. You know what I'm saying? It's kind of how I try to hold it into context. I feel like metaphorically, if I was to own a corner store and I took it personal and people sold for my store, I probably wouldn't be in the right, you know what I'm saying, business. So in my mind, it's like what comes with the visibility, you know,

is a lot of the crazy people, you know what I'm saying, that have very strong feelings for you, even though they ain't never seen you from a can of paint. - Yeah, I mean, it's also the thing of like, when you're making content about social issues, any social issue, but especially when you're talking about race,

you are going to set off like a whole contingency of people that are materially invested in your oppression. They don't want you to be educated. They don't want you to love yourself. They don't want you to encourage people to think critically about the world around them. Like,

And what's wild is even if you were making like cute, fluffy content, you still would get people who are mad. I mean, I know people that. Yeah, let's go back to what you said. I feel like if I'm being real and being a little vulnerable.

What you just said, when you ask somebody that look like you, you feel me, that walk like you, they can be identified by the white supremacists the same way that you get identified. And they start to deploy this ugly, nasty type of ideas and perspectives on the people in the community. That's when they start to get ugly. You know, I talk about a lot of different issues. And as a result, it make it where a lot of people hate me for different reasons.

So the same reason that a white supremacist don't want me talking about race, it'd be sometimes people in my community and communities of color like mine that don't want me to talk about race.

gender or sexuality, you know what I'm saying? Or disability. You feel me? It's like, y'all, you know what I mean? So I've, I've, I've found that power has its ways of making people expose themselves to having bad character. You know what I'm saying? But, but I think on that same token for me and the reason that I connect with your work so much is that we keep pushing because we know that it's the right thing to do. And that the response, the anger that people have,

to basic stuff, basic stuff tells you, oh, I need to keep amplifying these issues. I need to keep educating people. And then you see the folks who it reaches, you know, and that's why it's so powerful to use our platforms in this way. It makes real material change. And anytime there's change in progress, there's somebody who's pissed off about it. Every single, it never happens smoothly and night, you know,

Hey, I would love some rights. You know, please treat us fairly. That's not how it works. Yeah. Shout out to all the indigenous folks. You know what I'm saying? They get ugly out here and we see that this, the theme we're talking about, I would say is very woven into American culture. I bet Mary Jones Parrish felt something like that when she started to write about the Tulsa race massacre.

The 31-year-old Tulsa resident has decided to write about the massacre that she's witnessed with her own eyes. But that would prove to be much harder than she ever anticipated. A lot of powerful people did not want real facts about that story coming out. And her bravery really puts fears that you and I might have experienced when it comes to those anonymous trolls into perspective. Oh, yes, sir. Mary's journey to publishing that story is full of inspiring acts of bravery and commitment.

The state of Oklahoma was fully committed to brushing the deadly destruction of the Black Wall Street under the rug. Like, white people should be able to just steal everything and get away with it. But the cooperative spirit of Greenwood meant so much to Mary. Her investigation was a way to give back to a community that had given so much to her. She's the reason we know so much of this story today. Let's get into some Black history for real.

It's been barely a whole few hours until the attack of the District of Greenwood. John Williams already knows he'll never forget the night of May 31st, 1921. No matter how hard he tries, he will try harder than he tried to provide for his family. And he's been extremely successful with that.

A white store clerk had accused a black teenager of sexually assaulting a white girl, who he found a straw in an elevator lighting a match for the attack. White animosity toward the thriving black neighborhood had been building for months. The white Tulsa Tribune newspaper poured fuel on the fire with racist reports on the allegation.

Then John Williams heard rumors of a plan to lynch the black teenager. So he and a few dozen others went to the courthouse where the boy was being held. They were trying to protect him, but things escalated when the white mob saw a black man holding a gun. John and his company were no match for the crowd of a thousand racists. So they would chase back to Greenwood.

The district had been one of the most affluent Black neighborhoods in the country. That's why they called it Black Wall Street. Now, it's a war zone. And everything John's ever worked for is under threat, including the auto shop, where he's staring out at the second-story window. He clenches the shotgun in his hands. John wipes the sweat drenching his forehead. His wife, Lula, enters with more boxes of ammunition. She's trying her best to hold back tears. John hopes to God he doesn't have to use the bullets.

Maybe by some miracle, the mob will get its fill of violence and turn away before reaching the auto shop or Lula's movie theater across the street. But the mob only seems to be ramping up. He's not going to let their businesses burn down without a fight. Lula lets out a yell. The first rioters are within John's shooting range. She refuses to leave. John has been pleading with her since he returned from the courthouse. He tries one last time. I'll make it home, I promise.

She wants more than anything to stay and fight beside him, but they have a son and she's no good with guns. Lula swallows the lump in her throat. John gives her a passionate kiss. Then she runs out the door. With hell right on her heels, she flees past Mabel Little's hair salon and then past Mary E. Parrish's typing school. These moments are Lula's last clear view of Ottawa Girlie's cooperative black community.

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From Wondery, this is Black History For Real, where we chronicle the stories of movers and shakers from Black history all over the world.

These stories will inspire you, educate you, and more often than not, leave you shaking your damn head. I'm Consciously. And I'm Francesca Ramsey. This is the final episode in our three-part series on Black Wall Street. Today, we're telling the story of Greenwood District's tragic destruction. It would come to be known as the Tulsa Race Massacre.

The effects of that night's violence would ripple through the country for over 100 years to this day. But efforts to shield the truth of what happened began immediately. Much of the little we do know about that night can be credited to the investigative work of Mary E. Jones Parrish, a teacher and writer who witnessed the destruction of a community that meant everything to her.

Mary dedicated the years after the horror to reporting the truth at much risk to her life. The Tulsa Race Massacre has been systematically kept out of history books, even in Oklahoma. The Oklahoma State Legislature has refused to provide direct reparations to this day. Mary's work has been critical for keeping the truth and the fight for justice alive. This is Episode 3, I Got a Story to Tell. ♪ It's beautiful ♪

Across town from the Williamses, Mary E. Jones Parish sits in her study grading homework. She recently founded Mary Jones Parish School of Natural Education. She teaches typewriting and shorthand right on Greenwood Avenue. Mary loves her work. The thing she cherishes most about this town is the way everybody pours so much into each other. Her way of pouring back is to share her gift of writing.

She teaches her students not only how to write, but what writing can do. Writing can give birth to the imagination that created a town like this. It can help you heal as it has with the loss of her mother. It can force people to face the truth. It's rewarding, but her day's busy. And the most important job she has when she gets off of work is Florence, her nine-year-old daughter. Mary is exhausted.

Florence bursts into the room, excitement on her doll-like face. But before she can open her mouth... Not right now, Florence. Mary hates sounding so impatient. She adds more softly, Mother has to finish this. But Florence insists. Mother, I see men with guns. Mary hopes this isn't one of Florence's little old games because that girl's got an imagination on her. Mary sets her paper aside and tunes in.

Her stomach drops when she hears what sounds like a roar of a crowd. Mary powers to the window and opens the blinds. She runs and grabs Florence, carries her back to the room. Stay here. Don't move. Mary leaves the shocked girl and runs back out of the room. She hyperventilates and speeds around the house, locking every door and every window. Did she really just see that? It looked like a mob outside, a white mob, destroying everything in their path.

It looked like the end of Greenwood. Mary drags a table in front of the front door. She barricades her influence inside. Then she scrambles back into the study to hold her shaken daughter. It's going to be okay. Mary breathes a prayer to Heavenly Father for strength. She'll need it. The whole town will. Tulsa Tribune was the first to report that a black 19-year-old had attempted to rape a 17-year-old white elevator operator.

Their headline, "Nab Negro for Attacking Girl in Elevator," it was clearly intended to incite the racist violence Mary witnessed outside her house. There were few facts to support the serious accusation.

The way that our media plays a role in shaping narratives about Black folks and our quote-unquote hostility and violent nature is so insidious. And what's so frustrating is the fact that we know that the media in this instance played a huge role, and yet there's not been any real consequences or reparations for the folks that

dealt with the very real consequences. And that continues to happen today. It is so important that we talk about this, but it is frustrating because it's like,

Our history is continuing to repeat itself. We see this all of the time in our media, the passive voice that's used when somebody is killed. And before we came on here, I just seen a hundred and nine year old, the final survivor of the Tulsa race massacre, literally having a press conference about what she remembers from that day. She's a hundred and nine years old. So they put her about, you feel me when it's happened like 11 years.

So she remembers, you know what I'm saying? And the fact that the state of Oklahoma is still denying her, you feel me, reparations to me, it is very indicative. And also so many thoughts. Her and her whole family. Not only her and her own family, the way that a lot of wealth has passed through Greenwood and Tulsa has benefited a lot of individuals that were perpetuators and abusers on that day and or descendants of them. At the same time,

When I left Oklahoma, I was there for 13 years. I was a professor at the University of Oklahoma. I taught ninth and 10th grade English at, you know what I'm saying? Oklahoma City Schools. The way them folks was able to use different policies and

To weaponize it against critical race theory and diversity, equity, inclusion, and then fold their unique state history into it. It really was wild. The third thing it made me think of, how language is so important. I'm going to try not to be long-winded on this, but when I first got to Oklahoma, this was referred to as the Tulsa Race Riot, not the Tulsa Race Massacre. Right, and riot makes it sound like...

y'all started that shit and we finished it. That's the subtext of riot. But that was even how it was referred to legally. So there was a committee, a movement of people, you feel me, throughout Oklahoma that started in Tulsa that went to get the name changed legally from Tulsa Race Riot to Tulsa Race Massacre because they didn't do anything. So when y'all listening to this show and you're hearing about the way that media depicted it, there were also legal implications for how the media was able to paint the narrative and

And there were a lot of things that we can't even, we ain't even getting into in this. But the last time I was in Tulsa was two years ago and they had discovered a mass grave. That's what I'm saying. Believed to be where they dumped a whole bunch of the victims from this race massacre. You feel me? That happened in this mass grave. You know what I'm saying? So like it's living in Oklahoma.

really shaped my perspective and really impacted my life in more ways than some. And being real, I learn every day another way. Like, damn, I didn't realize Oklahoma really did me like that.

The Tribune story said that Dick Rowland scratched the girl and tore her clothes. Eventually, it also came out that many believed the two were lovers and that this was a domestic violence situation. Others claimed Rowland stepped on the girl's foot by accident and tripped. Despite the rumors, the charge of attempted rape was quick to take hold. The incident followed the red summers of 1919 when white supremacist terrorism swept across the United States.

Dozens of Black people had been lynched in Oklahoma in recent years. In Tulsa, some white people called Greenwood "nigger town." Their envy of Greenwood grew, along with the town's wealth.

Headline to nab a Negro is one that the great Ida B. Wells talks about here in anti-lynching campaigns and how the sexual reality in the 1920s and 19 teens was a lot different from how the sexual politics operated. And as a black man, just like listening to this story, it really makes me think about how how how black men are either hyper criminalized or hyper sexualized and or sometimes both sexualized.

And how when George Bush had read their little ad about the Willie Horton in 1980s, that he really was taking one out of the handbook of how to how to hypersexualize black men, particularly to be able to, you know what I'm saying, get your constituents to be outraged, to get them to, you know what I'm saying, make some type of action. The thing that always upsets me about this false narrative around who is committing acts of sexual violence is

Is that when acts of sexual violence actually do happen, people don't care. Like this whole performative thing like we got it. We got to protect our women. Yeah. But then when women come forward and say, oh, I was I was actually abused. I was assaulted. People are like, well, it was your fault. What were you wearing? So it's like this performance of like violence.

Turning black men, turning black people into the boogeyman and yet not and doing it for the purpose of shutting down real conversations about violence and sexual assault.

As a way to just continue pushing this false narrative and demonizing black people. And in this instance, like you're talking about making this like brute force, hypersexual, you know, be be afraid a man's going to a black man's going to grab you type of thing. And it's like.

it's just so insidious that they're able to do at two times at the same time they're able to criminalize one community while continuously not supporting actual survivors of assault in their own community like what are

Yeah, I mean, in my mind, imagine being a white woman in 1919 in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and you experiencing all type of gender violence and sexual violence from people in your community. And you just seeing your community flip shit about a situation that I'm pretty sure that you don't even realize, you don't even think it really happened like that. You know what I'm saying? If you do think it happened like that, you're thinking like, damn.

Why is it so bad for when they did it, but when you didn't stay in the other? And to be clear, black men are, there are black men that are, you know what I'm saying, responsible for sexual assault and they are guilty of sexual assault. Right now, we're being critical about the way that sexual politics happen in media and thinking about the way that black men are, you know what I'm saying, capitulated as being like hypersexual and not being able to control our sexual desires. So to be clear, you know what I'm saying, for people that's listening,

We are not trying to say that black men are immune to sexual assault by no means at all. We are, however, being critical. Exactly. You know what I'm saying? But, but the idea of like, you can't be everybody with the same brush. It's this idea that like one person's bad behavior does not speak for all people.

And unfortunately, that only seems to be the case with black folks. One black person does it is like, OK, all y'all are like that. Well, no, the reality is we should be seen as individuals so that when someone does the wrong thing, they face consequences for it and that all of us are not demonized or all of us are not forced to face the consequences or be held to this in possibly imaginary standard. That's just not truthful. Yeah.

Police arrested Rowland the day after the incident, and that inflammatory news article lit a match under the white mob primed for violence. Ottawa Gurley scatters down Greenwood Avenue with his wife, Emma. Their clothes are torn. Tears stream down their faces. They carry the last of their belongings. The neighborhood they helped build burns to the ground around them.

This is by far the worst nightmare he can remember or that he will ever have. He desperately wills himself to wake up. The girlies round a corner. They see the roving mob of white people with their pitchforks, Molotov cocktails and rifles. They immediately turn back, stepping over dead bodies and broken glass, try and find another way out. Shit.

Ottawa knows that voice, but he can barely recognize Mabel Little under the soot and the blood. She was once his success story, and now she's just one of the many, many of those who had their success robbed from them, not their lives. The Littles had lost everything. The Little Rose Beauty Salon, the Little Cafe are destroyed, their home is looted and burned to the ground, their car is stolen. I'm sorry.

It's all out of what can say. He grabs his wife's hand and pulls her away. He doesn't even take another look back at the sobbing littles. They pick up the only things they have left from the ground. Can't look back. There's no time to wallow in guilt. The only thing that matters now is protecting himself and Emma.

A hundred years after the massacre, media reports still struggle to describe the full scale of the violence, using language like: A white mob destroyed Greenwood, a section of Tulsa where many Black families lived and thrived. The massacre is regarded today as one of the worst displays of racist violence in U.S. history. Hours into the chaos, the governor declared martial law and called in the National Guard.

Guardsmen allegedly joined the attack and imprisoned as many Black Tulsans as they could. By the early morning of June 1, 1921, Greenwood had been burned to the ground. 35 city blocks were destroyed. Up to 300 people were killed and 800 injured.

Anti-blackness in this country is so crazy that you can be victimized and still be criminalized within your victimization. And this story about Black Wall Street is one of those that illustrates that sadly. Over 6,000 black people were interned in total. As long as eight days. It was clear from the beginning that this was one of the worst acts of racist violence in America's already sordid history. But

There were forces committed to obscuring the truth. It would require the commitment and bravery of one dedicated Greenwood resident to uncover it. As summer winds down, let your imagination soar by listening on Audible. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, expert advice, any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, new ways of thinking. With Audible, there's more to imagine when you listen.

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It's been less than a month since the massacre. Mary waits inside a cold and sterile office. She's still in awe, thanking her heavenly father that she and her family survived. She's been called in to meet with a representative from something called the Interracial Commission. It was created shortly after the mob attacked Greenwood. It's composed of an equal number of Black people and fair-minded whites who want to heal the city. Good luck with that, Mary. Thanks.

Too many of her friends are in coffins. The charred, skeletal frames of iconic buildings like Lula Williams' Dreamland Theater still line Greenwood Avenue. In dark corners, you'll find blood that is yet to wash away. This is all that was left of Greenwood. Mary's community is gone, just like her mother. And she is all alone again. Mary can't imagine coming back from the terror the city has witnessed, even if all the white people in the city get behind it.

She can't imagine many white people would. Black people do love each other. Black people work together. There are multiple examples throughout history of towns like Black Wall Street, but also currently in the status quo. And it's something that we all should remember. Despite what they tell you about black people getting in our own way or black people always tearing our own shit up, there is a rich history of us doing things like this. The representative sits across from Mary. Good morning, Mrs. Parrish.

He smiles and shakes her hand. She forces a smile back. They don't come too easy for her anymore. Since the massacre, she's been overcome with a sense of dread. Mary asks why she's here. Something told her to accept the meeting, but it all seems futile. There's nothing anyone can do to give back the feeling of community that was extinguished that night. Is there?

The representative sits back pensively. He tells her he's heard she's a wonderful educator with the gift for storytelling. She's always loved stories, she tells him. They reveal the truth and help make sense of the world. The representative leans in. Here's a story.

Last month, hundreds of Negroes were massacred after a lynch mob burned their thriving town to the ground. They destroyed the offices of the only two black newspapers. The two white newspapers incited the massacre. They're the only ones left to investigate. They keep blaming blacks for the destruction of their own town. Mary waits for the representative to finish. When she realizes there's nothing else coming, she tells him...

That's not the story. The representative smiles again. Mary clocks the point he's getting at. So much has to be explored about how the Tulsa massacre occurred. Who let it happen? What did it destroy for good? How will people ever recover? She knows none of that will be told if everything is left up to the journalistic powers that be.

She thinks of her daughter's future. Her family and friends want to move from Tulsa to safety. But if her people can't build and cooperate, are they ever really safe? She might be able to save her own life. But what happens when she inevitably dies? When her mother died, it was Greenwood that held her up. Her daughter might not even have a future, let alone a community. Not if the destruction of Black support systems is allowed with no accountability. She knows what she has to do.

We need you, Mrs. Parrish. We need you to tell the world what really happened down there in Tulsa.

A few days later, Mary visits the local hospital. She's accepted the job from the Interracial Commission. It's her very first hospital visit. Her initial doubts are behind her. The importance of telling the story through the lens of the victims gets clearer every day. She wouldn't have believed some of what she's already uncovered if she didn't see it with her own two eyes. She reaches the area where survivors are being treated and stops in her tracks. Oh!

She make a wrong turn and end up in some faraway war zone? These people look like soldiers from the most horrifying battles. Faces burned skinless, amputated limbs, bandages wrapped around all of their heads. Some of them are held in confinement, yelling gibberish. Their minds have been completely destroyed. If these injuries are what they're still going through weeks later, she understands. Her stomach churns at the horror. She darts to the trash can,

and throws up her lunch. Her doubts come creeping back. She's no war reporter. She's just a mom. Not to mention she has her own trauma from that day. She keeps having nightmares that she's running down burning streets and can't find her daughter. Can she really handle this? A man with his arm in a cast walks over and rubs her back as her sickness eases. The people of Greenwood always had her back, and now she needs to have theirs.

What she went through pales in comparison, and these folks aren't shying away. Mary wipes her lips and stands up straight. She takes out her pen and notepad and turns to the man, more determined than ever. She'll never forget what she saw here. She'll tell this story if it's the last thing she does. Mary collected firsthand accounts from about 20 massacre survivors. Some recount the stories of being snatched up by the white mob in the middle of the night,

Many beaten and dragged into internment camps around the city where they were in prison for days. James T.A. West was a high school teacher. He told her, "The National Guard told me to line up in the street. They refused to let one of the men to put on any kind of shoes. After lining up some 30 or 40 of us men,

Others shared tales of fleeing in the middle of the night, dodging gunfire. Even if they managed to escape, like John Williams did when he could no longer protect his auto shop, almost all the people she interviewed returned to homes that were looted and burned.

Their stories directly contradict the narrative that government officials are pushing through the white media. The police had claimed they flew airplanes over the city to get a better view of the mayhem. But survivors told Mary they saw their attackers climb into the aircraft with guns and start shooting down from the sky.

A lot of times us as black people get played for being victims. That's always trying to benefit from somebody else. When we talk about reparations. And I think this is a great point to provide a definition, a working definition for reparations, just being government sanctioned violence. So when we acknowledge that there are airplanes and police and different law enforcement that was involved in burning down and really wreaking havoc on Tulsa is

It's one of those examples that we talk about in terms of reparations. You feel me? When we can see that there are still survivals today of this massacre and seeing that they didn't have any wealth or their wealth was stolen from them. They wanted to distribute and kind of build that generation of wealth with the people they descendants of. This is one of those examples. The thing that this also makes me think about is how cell phones have have saved lives and

and how they're so like, it's like it turns into your word against this person's word. And this is exactly why when some shit is going down, people pull out their phones because what ends up happening is the word of the white media, the word of the police officer, the word of the government becomes the official account when that's not really the reality. And so when you hear things like this, it's like, say,

Thank goodness that Mary had the courage to say, I am going to commit these accounts to paper. I am going to make sure that these stories get told because as we're seeing right now,

They are trying to erase history. They are trying to say, oh, no, no, no, that's not how it happened. That's not real. And the importance of shows like this and the importance of people talking to their children and to their family members and to their friends about the realities of our nation's history is so important because they really will change the narrative and then try to act like you're crazy for saying that's not how it happened. No, I saw it with my own eyes. No, you did not. Right.

I mean, technically, they still do it that way. I feel like I do agree. Cell phones change the way that social justice all throughout the world operate. You feel me? Shout out to everybody, you know what I'm saying, throughout the world. And it's not perfect by any means because... Oh, yeah. They still look... By saying what? They still look pissed on us and tell us it's raining. Hey, Frankie, I know you've seen that 4K, but allow for me and my department to do some investigation and then we're going to tell you what you actually had seen because what you thought you saw, you ain't seen what you thought you had seen. Because even...

To your point, even when we do have video, you're right, they do that and or they just make up justifications. They're like, okay, we saw this thing happen on camera, but what happened before? He must have done something that made that possible. Or...

when he was in the third grade, one time he looked at somebody sideways. Like they will go and find any supporting material to try and victim blame in these instances. And so you're right. The phone has not ended well.

you know, this occurrence, but it's the thing of, I hate seeing those, those phone videos. And there, there have been weeks where it feels like every day there's a new video of somebody, someone, you know, being murdered on camera. And as, as heartbreaking as it is, it's always for me, that feeling of, and if you didn't have the video, they would have, people would have decided immediately that,

And to me, speaking of history, the elephant in the room, most of the archive in history is told through the lens of journalism and journalists. And

And when we talk about history, there is a history and an ongoing legacy of black journalists and black journalism always being under attack. I would argue that the way we think about different apps being banned or different apps placing, you know, political restrictions and limits on different content creators. I think that there is always some type of.

strategic way of erasing, marginalizing, and completely, you feel me, robbing black journalism and black journalists in the ability to not only speak truth to power, but in many instances just merely exist and tell our own stories. But I have to put that out there because to me it was just so... I'll add on to that to say that that goes back to what we were talking about at the top of the show. I would also add that some of those antagonists, some of those quote-unquote trolls,

are being directly funded in order to try and dismantle black activists, black journalists, black influencers from speaking out, from having platforms. A lot of times it's very coordinated attacks. You see people using the same... Oh yeah, man, you know about the discord. You know. You see people using... Man, you know about it. You know. You see people using the same coded language and it... I mean, and look...

Right now, we have people that are paying for bots that will attack you, that will flood your comments and say the same thing over and over and over again. So to your point about the lens in which we learn about this from...

And who has an investment in dismantling the platforms of black thought leaders, dismantling black news outlets, intimidating black thought leaders into being afraid for their lives, afraid to speak truth to power? Who has an investment in that? In the nature of connecting the dots that happened way back then to what's going on right now.

The story get more even insidious. Listen, what we know is that the white newspapers tried to paint the massacre as an isolated event, but Mary dug deeper. There's evidence that the mayor and the county sheriff's department have been colluding with lobbyists and business owners to plan for something like this for some time. Mary connected the attack to a broader pattern of violence against black communities across the country.

of white gentrifiers intentionally disrupting Black cooperative economics, Black cooperative communities. She argued that the massacre didn't happen in a vacuum. She made the case that the United States of America needed to make lynching a federal crime. But getting the story right was one thing. Defying suppression and censorship to get it out into the world would be another.

The day after the Interracial Commission released its report, Mary waits anxiously by the door for her husband, Simon. She asked him to bring home a copy of today's Tulsa Tribune, which is still reporting lies. She's hoping her work will finally correct the narrative. But all she feels is apprehension. Simon enters and Mary rushes up to grab the paper from her husband. Well, hello to you, too.

Mary gives her husband an apologetic kiss without taking her eyes off the paper. There is nothing on the front page. Okay, she flips through and finally sees an item about the massacre. She scans it. Her dread only grows. The Tribune is still considering the truth.

They don't even mention the commission report. There's no mention of the new figures of Black wealth loss or how insurance companies still refuse to pay claims. Even worse, the paper still implies that Black people did this to their own. It's clear the white press has no intention of assessing the real damage. And reparations? Not on their agenda.

Mary is disgusted. She throws the newspaper away. Not long ago, this would have been all she needed to give up. But she's a different person after everything she's seen and heard and lost. She's not doing this for the white people. She's doing it for the community who held her up. She's afraid Greenwood's cooperative spirit will just fade away if someone doesn't fight for it. Under pressure from police trying to spread the blame amongst the Black community, residents have been turning on each other to save what little they have left.

They deserve more than such destructive individualism. Right then and there, Mary decides to write a book. This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.

Let's face it, we were all that kid. So first call your parents to say I'm sorry, and then download the Instacart app to get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes all school year long. Get a $0 delivery fee for your first three orders while supplies last. Minimum $10 per order. Additional terms apply. Mary sits at her desk typing in Tinder. Her daughter Florence plays with her dolls in the other room. Mary's making the last few edits to her book.

It even shocks us sometimes when she reads it back. She's so close to finishing. She's been stuck on the section about her own experiences that night. She's been struggling to capture the terror of barricading herself and Florence in the house. But she's almost figured it out. Suddenly, someone shows up to her home, unannounced. Mary heads to the door. Hello? Hello?

She sees nothing but a car speeding off and a handwritten note by her feet. She reads the message, written in an angry scribble. "You better quit while you're ahead, nigger." Mary slams the door and locks it. Her heart is pounding. Florence stares at her mother. The girl knows this isn't the first time she's been threatened. Some people really don't want Mary's stories out there, and they've made it increasingly known these past few weeks. "It's gonna be okay," Florence says.

She repeats Mary's words from that fateful night in Greenwood. Florence has learned so much about how to know when people need support and how to give it. That's proof enough to Mary that her daughter is right. It has to be okay. There's no choice but to finish. Mary tears up the note and shuffles back to her desk. In 1923, Mary E. Jones Parish published Events of the Tulsa Disaster.

It's a comprehensive account of the Tulsa massacre from interviews with survivors and her own recollection of the events. Out of caution for her and her family's safety, it was printed in private. It was the first book about the massacre and became the primary source of future reporting. Mary E. Jones Parish joins a long history of Black women, including, you know, Ida B. Wells,

the truth, right? And saying like, I'm going to stand up and do what's right if no one else will. And it's, again, so frustrating that this continues to happen today and that you see black female journalists being the ones who are taking up the mantle to speak out against what's happening to them, whether it be the suppression of their work or the harassment that they face for reporting on the truth or

And that as frustrating as it is, it's heartening to know that this is something that we all have to take up for ourselves and that black women historically have always been and continue to be brave enough to do it.

Mm hmm. That's a word for Kiki Palmer, Viola Davis, Monique. You know, I'm saying Taraji P. Henson. We see that, you know, there's there's something about, you know, when black women speak truth to power, maybe for their own thing, what they're going through or what somebody else going to the idea of not shooting the messenger. It seemed like it's not that applicable when the messenger, you know, I'm saying is a black woman.

A lot of what we know about the Tulsa Race Massacre is because of Mary Parrish. But we still don't know enough. The impact of Mary's work is undeniable. But racists and politicians with a lot to gain from taking from Black communities without consequence have kept the truth buried. And to this day, very few copies of her original book remain. After the Tulsa Race Massacre,

Greenwood co-founder Ottawa Gurley and his wife Emma were detained in one of the National Guard camps.

As a member of the group who had gone to the courthouse to protect Dick Rowland, Ottawa was charged with inciting the riot. He was pressured to implicate his business partner, J.B. Strafford, and a black newspaper editor to secure his own release. The mob destroyed all of Ottawa's property. He lost the majority of his fortune, estimated to be nearly $200,000. That's equal to over $3.5 billion today.

But you could argue that his biggest loss was his belief in his and Jamie's shared vision of a self-sustained community. After he betrayed that ideal by ratting out his partner to get out of jail, Ottawa fled to Los Angeles, where he and Emma ran a small hotel.

And there you have it, folks. That's exactly how capitalism and anti-blackness come together and, you know, cause this divide and conquer and conflict and chaos amongst black people going all the way black to the plantation all the way up to 2024. The matriarch of Greenwood and the owner of the Little Rose Hair Salon, Mabel Little, and her husband, Presley, also lost everything. She recalled,

I never shed a tear over what we lost, but my husband, he just couldn't get over it. - Mabel turned her energy to their 11 children. Presley never lost the need to provide for his family, which forced him back into construction jobs. The physical toll was exacerbated by mental anguish. He caught a bad case of the flu, which developed into tuberculosis. Of course, none of the hospitals in town that treated tuberculosis accepted black patients.

Presley was forced to travel almost 200 miles, and it took three years to get a bed in the hospital. Three. By then, the disease had progressed past treatment. Presley died in 1927. I mean, medical racism is one of those things that is genuinely so insidious and, again, continues in such a way that it's really hard to actually quantify anything.

How many people have experienced it?

Again, there's so many instances where our pain is just brushed off as, you know, you're exaggerating. It's not real. Oh, you're a drug addict. So you want pain medication. Oh, black people don't or the idea that black people don't feel pain the same way outside of like these specific clear instances of segregated hospitals, you know, leading to people being mistreated, not being able to get treatment.

But just the fact that even today, like looking at the black maternal mortality rates, right, just thinking about the fact that going to the hospital, a place that doctors are supposed to take this oath to care for people no matter what.

that it is so ingrained in people to see us as less than or superhuman in some instances that you can't get the treatment that you need. So it's so wild that this man was for three years trying to get treatment. And then today you still have people in that same place where they know that they need help. They know that they're sick. They know that something is wrong with their body. And our medical industry says, no, that's not true. No, you're fine.

I'm going to say this in a very provocative way, you know, but when you was talking, it made me think about this white dude I learned about when I was in college. His name was Heidegger. And he had this, he had this, he had this philosophy, this theory about the standard reserve. You feel me about, you know, how you can have commodities that stock that stocked up and then hold in the assets. And it made me really realize what you were saying.

That the relationship that the medical field has with black people is that they always feel like they have a standing reserve of other niggas to go be able to use. And I use the word niggas intentionally because I feel like that's what we were thingified in a way where we're seen as commodities. And as a result, there has never been an orientation from a health perspective, I will argue, about taking care of the longevity or general welfare for black people, because there's always a standing reserve there.

of more black people in the Caribbean or Africa. So we got this nigga sick. We get us another one. You know what I'm saying? I think that almost to me, it goes back to the plantation and black people just being reduced down to like sites of productivity. So once you sick and your health is in question, you're no longer that productive as a black person. If you're not that productive, you don't have that much value. So we're going to go to the standard reserve and get another one of you. And we're going to keep it going like that.

Lula and John Williams lost the auto shop, the confectionery, and Dreamland. But they never gave up on building the town of their dreams. The Williamses also ran two movie theaters in Oak Mowgli and Muskogee. So even without any insurance payout or reparations, they were able to rebuild Dreamland Theater in 1922. Two quick little tidbits.

Y'all gonna end up maybe getting y'all a little series about how there were other black towns like Tulsa that got put underwater like it happened in Lake Lanier. There are other towns like that. And the other thing is Oklahoma is one of those states that's unique to having the most black incorporated towns in all of like, like even more than like Mississippi, Alabama, where there was actually black people being stationed at. Oklahoma is a state that has the most black incorporated towns, but like most Greenwood business owners,

The Williamses never fully recovered financially. They had to sell the building in order to make ends meet during the Great Depression. Still, they were a critical part of the cooperative spirit that rebuilt the district until Lula passed away in 1927 and John in 1940.

The white girl who Dick Rowland allegedly sexually assaulted on the elevator was signed an affidavit clearing him on any wrongdoing. He stayed in Tulsa under his birth name, Jim Jones. He lived the rest of his life in total obscurity.

It's 2021, and Annalise Brunner is leaving her father's house after a regular check-in. He's getting older, and she's glad she came to see him. Annalise's father grabs her shoulder on the way out. She turns to find he's holding a small, cloth-bound red book. It's worn at the corners, kind of like him. This is a book your grandma wrote, and I want you to see what you can do with it. You are the matriarch of the family right now. Annalise takes the little book, and she leaves.

She didn't know much about her great-grandmother, aside from the fact that she once lived in Tulsa before the massacre. She knows that afterwards, her great-grandmother moved to Muskogee, Oklahoma, where she worked as an advertising manager before returning to teaching in 1927. She died in the early 1970s. Her name is Mary E. Jones Parrish. That night, Annalise flips through the pages with astonishment.

Her great-grandmother risked her life to tell this story, and hardly anyone knows it. She doesn't even know all of it, but here it is in her hands. Annalise can't help but think that she is the future Mary risked her life for, a future where Black people build with one another and learn from and grow with each other. If that's true, Annalise has to pick up where Mary left off.

In May of 2021, she publishes the book in a new edition called The Nation Must Awake, My Witness to the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. The book becomes a critical piece of Black history and the cooperative spirit of Greenwood is resurrected.

Mary E. Jones Parish was a moving shaker of black history for real, and her bravery is the reason why many of us know the story of Black Wall Street. This is the final episode of our three-part series, Black Wall Street. We use multiple sources for researching our stories, including the book

America's Black Wall Street, The New Yorker, and The New York Times. A note, our scenes contain reenactments and dramatized details for narrative cohesiveness. Follow Black History For Real on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen early and ad-free on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus on the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Black History For Real is hosted by me, Consciously. And me, Francesca Ramsey.

Black History for Real is a production of Wondery and DCP Entertainment. This episode was written by Hari Ziad. Sound design by Greg Schweitzer. The theme song is by Terrace Martin. For DCP Entertainment, the associate producers are Quentin Hill, Brittany Temple, and Chris Colbert.

The executive producers for Wondery are Marshall Louis, Erin O'Flaherty, and Candice Manriquez-Wren. Wondery.

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