In Freedom Is A Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of A Movement (2016), Angela Davis says (in an interview by Frank Barat in Brussels 9-21-14), “Ferguson is Gaza, and vice versa…The major challenge of this period is to infuse a consciousness of the structural character of state violence into the movements that spontaneously arise [against it]…I don’t know whether we can say yet that there is a movement, because movements are organized. But these spontaneous responses, which we know happen over and over again, will soon lead to organizations and a continual movement.

The use of state violence against Black people has its origins in colonization and slavery, [and] practices that originated with slavery weren’t resolved by the civil rights movement. We may not experience lynchings and Ku Klux Klan violence in the same way we did earlier, but there still is state violence, police violence, military violence…The civil rights movement was very successful in what it achieved: the legal eradication of racism and the dismantling of the apparatus of segregation…But racism persists in a framework that’s far vaster than the legal framework. Economic racism continues to exist, and racism can [still be] be discovered at every level in every major institution – including the military, the health care system, and the police.”

Asked about her advocacy for the abolition of prisons, Davis says, “The very existence of the prison forecloses the kinds of discussions that we need in order to imagine the possibility of eradicating [unwanted] behaviors. Just send them to prison…a violent institution that reproduces violence…so that when the person is released he or she is probably worse…

Abolishing the prison is about attempting to abolish racism. Why are so many prisoners illiterate? That means we have to attend to the educational system. Why is it that the three largest psychiatric institutions in the country are jails in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles: Rikers Island, Cook County Jail, and L.A. County Jail? That means we need to think about health care issues, especially mental health care issues. We have to figure out how to abolish homelessness…

Prison is a money-making business. They need prisoners, right? …A lot of people are in jail for really minor offenses…I think that you can say that all over the world now the institution of the prison serves as a place to warehouse people who represent major social problems. Getting rid of people, putting them in prison is a way not to have to deal with immigration in Europe. Immigration, of course, happens as a result of all the economic changes that have happened globally – global capitalism, the restructuring of economies in countries of the Global South that makes it impossible for people to live there. In many ways you can say that the prison serves as an institution that consolidates the state’s inability and refusal to address the most pressing social problems of this era…

[If you think of] prisoners as the objects of the charity of others, you defeat the very purpose of antiprison work. You are constituting them as an inferior in the process of trying to defend their rights. The abolitionist movement has learned that without the actual participation of prisoners, there can be no campaign.”

In an interview with Frank Barat on December 10, 2014 in Paris, Davis said, “We have to talk about systemic change, including perhaps establishing community control of the police. Not simply a review of actions in the aftermath of a crime by the police, but community bodies that have the power to actually control and dictate the actions of the police. That means addressing racism in the larger sense. It means also, looking at the ways in which police are encouraged to use violence as a first resort and the connection between this institutionalized violence and other modes of violence. In relation to Ferguson, especially, it means demilitarization of the police as a demand that needs to be taken up all over the country…

The way that society and the media portray Black people as potentially dangerous, potentially criminal…these stereotypes have been functioning since the era of slavery. Frederick Douglass wrote about the tendency to impute crime to color. This is true everywhere in a way. If you talk to someone who is of Moroccan or Algerian descent in Paris, they face pretty much the same stereotypes and fabrications as African Americans in the USA. Why do you think those stereotypes are fabricated? Is it a case of ‘divide and rule’ strategy? You know, racism is a very complex phenomenon. There are very important structural elements of racism and it’s often those structural elements that aren’t taken into consideration when there is discussion about ending racism or challenging racism…

Anyway I don’t think we can rely on governments, regardless of who is in power, to do the work that only mass movements can do. I think what is most important about the sustained demonstrations that are now happening is that they are having the effect of refusing to allow these issues to die…[In the struggle against racism] every change that has happened has come as a result of mass movements – from the era of slavery, the Civil War, and the involvement of Black people in the Civil War, which really determined the outcome. Many people are under the impression that it was Abraham Lincoln who played the major role, and he did as a matter of fact help to accelerate the move toward abolition, but it was the decision on the part of slaves to emancipate themselves and to join the Union Army – both women and men – that was primarily responsible for the victory over slavery. It was the slaves themselves and of course the abolitionist movement that led to the dismantling of slavery. When one looks at the civil rights era, it was those mass movements – anchored by women, incidentally – that pushed the government to bring about change. I don’t see why things would be any different today…

Movements require time to develop and mature. They don’t happen spontaneously. They occur as a result of organizing and hard work that most often happens behind the scenes. Over the last two decades I would say, there has actually been sustained organizing against police violence, racism, racist police violence, against prisons, and the prison-industrial complex, and I think that the sustained protests we are seeing now have a great deal to do with that organizing. They reflect the fact that the political consciousness in so many communities is so much higher than people think. That there is a popular understanding of the connection between racist police violence and systemic issues…I won’t say that there exists an organized movement because we haven’t yet reached that point, but there’s a powerful foundation and people are ready for a movement…

I think we learned in the ‘60s and ‘70s that mass movements can bring about systematic change. If one looks at all of the legislation that was passed, the Civil Rights Act, for example, the Voting Rights Act, that didn’t happen as a result of a president taking extraordinary steps. It happened as a result of people marching and organizing…

Certainly Black freedom in the narrow sense has not yet been won. Particularly considering the fact that huge numbers of Black people are ensconced in poverty. Considering the fact that a hugely disproportionate number of Black people are now in prison. But at the same time we have to look at Latino and Native American populations, and we have to look at the way in which anti-Muslim racism has thrived on the foundation of anti-Black racism…Increasing numbers of people associated with Black, Native American, and Latino movements [are also] incorporating Palestine into the agenda. I think I spoke in the last interview about the tweets of Palestinian activists used to provide advice for protesters in Ferguson, on how to deal with the tear gas…

I [also] think that feminism is not an approach that is or should be embraced simply by women but increasingly it has to be an approach embraced by people of all genders. We also need to do this with class, nationality, and ethnicity. I don’t think we can imagine Black movements in the same way today as we once did.

Can there be policing and imprisonment in the US without racism? At this point, at this moment in the history of the US, I don’t think that there can be policing without racism. I don’t think that the criminal justice system can operate without racism. Which is to say that if we want to imagine the possibility of a society without racism, it has to be a society without prisons. Without the kind of policing that we experience today. I think that different frameworks, perhaps restorative justice frameworks, need to be invoked in order to begin to imagine a society that is secure. I think that security is a[n important] issue, but not the kind of security that’s based on policing and incarceration. Perhaps transformative justice provides a framework for imagining a very different kind of security in the future.”

In a speech in London on 12-13-13, Davis said, “On any given day there are almost 2.5 million people in our country’s jails, prisons, and military prisons, as well as in jails in Indian country and immigrant detention centers. It’s a daily census, so it doesn’t reflect the numbers of people who go through the system every week or every month or every year. The majority are people of color. The fastest-growing sector consists of women – women of color. Many are queer or trans. As a matter of fact, trans people of color constitute the group most likely to be arrested and imprisoned. Racism provides the fuel for the maintenance, reproduction, and expansion of the prison-industrial complex.”

In a speech at Birkbeck University on 10-25-13, Davis said, “The historical significance of the Emancipation Proclamation is not so much that it enacted the emancipation of people of African descent; on the contrary, it was a military strategy. But if we examine the meaning of this historical moment we might better be able to grasp the failures as well as the successes of emancipation. I have thought that perhaps we were not asked to reflect on the significance of the Emancipation Proclamation because we might realize that we were never really emancipated. But anyway, at least we might be able to understand the dialectics of emancipation, because we still live with the popular myth that Lincoln freed the slaves and that continues to be perpetuated in popular culture, even by the film “Lincoln.” Lincoln did not free the slaves. We also live with the myth that the mid-20^th-century civil rights movement freed the second-class citizens. Civil rights, of course, constitute an essential element of the freedom that was demanded at that time, but it was not the whole story. Eric Foner, in his book called The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery, wrote that, and I am quoting: ‘The Emancipation Proclamation is perhaps the most misunderstood of the documents that have shaped American history. Contrary to legend, Lincoln did not free the nearly four million slaves with a stroke of his pen. It had no bearing on slaves in the four border states, since they were not in rebellion. The Proclamation also exempted certain parts of the Confederacy occupied by the Union. All told, it left perhaps 750,000 slaves in bondage.’ And of course popular narratives about the end of slavery produced by the pronouncing of this emancipation document by Abraham Lincoln erase the agency of Black people themselves. But, there is something for which Lincoln should be applauded, I believe: that he was shrewd enough to know that the only hope of winning the Civil War resided in creating the opportunity for Black people to fight for their own freedom, and that was the significance of the Emancipation Proclamation. W. E. B. Du Bois defined the consequence of the Emancipation Proclamation as a general strike. ‘The Black worker won the war by a general strike which transferred his labor from the Confederate planter to the Northern invader, in whose army lines workers began to be organized as a new labor force.’ What Du Bois calls ‘this army of striking labor’ eventually provided the 200,000 soldiers, ‘whose evident ability to fight decided the war.’ These soldiers included women like Harriet Tubman, who was a soldier and a spy and had to fight for many years in order to be granted, later, a soldier’s pension.

In the 1960s we confronted issues that should have been resolved in the 1860s. The Ku Klux Klan and the racial segregation that was so dramatically challenged during the mid-20^th-century freedom movement was produced not during slavery, but rather in an attempt to manage free Black people who would have otherwise been far more successful in pushing forward democracy for all. And so we see this dialectical development of the Black liberation movement. There is this freedom movement and then there is an attempt to narrow the freedom movement so that it fits into a much smaller frame, the frame of civil rights. Not that civil rights isn’t immensely important, but freedom is more expansive than civil rights.

As that movement grew and developed it was inspired by and in turn inspired liberation struggles in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Australia. It was not only a question of acquiring the formal rights to fully participate in society, but rather it was also about substantive rights – it was about jobs, free education, free health care, affordable housing, and also about ending the racist police occupation of Black communities. And so in the 1960s organizations like the Black Panther Party were created.

The Black Panther Party was anticapitalist! It demanded ‘decent housing, fit for the shelter of human beings, and decent education for our people that exposes the true nature of this decadent American society. We want education that teaches us our true history and our role in present-day society.’ The Panthers also demanded ‘free health care for all Black and oppressed people; an immediate end to police brutality and the murder of Black people, other people of color, and all oppressed people inside the United States; an immediate end to all wars of aggression; freedom for all Black and oppressed people now held in US federal, state, county, city, and military prisons and jails; trials by a jury of peers for all persons charged with so-called crimes under the laws of this country; and finally, we want land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice, peace, and people’s community control of modern technology.’ What’s so interesting about this manifesto is that it recapitulates 19^th-century abolitionist agendas, and of course the most advanced abolitionists in the 19^th = century recognized that slavery couldn’t be ended by simply negatively abolishing slavery but rather that institutions had to be produced that would incorporate former slaves into a new and developing democracy. The Black Panther Party was founded in 1966, the program recapitulates abolitionist agendas from the 19^th century, and it continues to resonate with respect to abolitionist agendas in the 21^st century.

All around the world people are saying that we want to struggle together as global communities to create a world free of xenophobia and racism. A world from which poverty has been expunged, and the availability of food is not subject to the demands of capitalist profit. I would say a world where a corporation like Monsanto would be deemed criminal. Where homophobia and transphobia can truly be called historical relics along with the punishment of incarceration and institutions of confinement for disabled people, and where everyone learns how to respect the environment and all of the creatures, human and nonhuman alike, with whom we cohabit our worlds.”

In a speech given in St. Louis, Missouri on June 27, 2015, Davis said that “the call for public conversations on race and racism is also a call to develop a vocabulary that permits us to have insightful conversations. If we attempt to use historically obsolete vocabularies, our consciousness of racism will remain shallow and we can be urged to assume that, for example, changes in the law spontaneously produce effective changes in the social world. For example, those who assume that because slavery was legally abolished in the 19th century, it was thereby relegated to the dustbin of history, fail to recognize the extent to which cultural and structural elements of slavery are still with us. There are those who believe that we have definitively triumphed in the struggle for civil rights. However, vast numbers of Black people are still deprived of the right to vote, especially if they are in prison or former felons. Moreover, even those who did acquire rights that were not previously available to them did not thereby achieve jobs, education, housing, and health care. The mid-20^th-century campaign for civil rights was an essential moment in our struggle for racial equality, but it’s important to develop vocabularies that help us acknowledge that civil rights was and is not the entire story. Such an analysis of racism would be helpful to those who are celebrating yesterday’s Supreme Court decision on marriage equality as if the final barrier to justice for LGBTQ communities had been surmounted. The decision was indeed historic, but the struggles against homophobic state violence, [for] economic rights, health care, et cetera, continue. Most importantly, if the intersectionality of struggles against racism, homophobia, and transphobia is minimized, we will never achieve significant victories in our fight for justice.

The inability to understand the complexity of racism can lead to assumptions, for example, that there is an independent phenomenon we can call ‘Black-on-Black crime’ that has nothing to do with racism. So, the development of new ways of thinking about racism requires us not only to understand economic, social, and ideological structures, but also collective psychic structures. One of the major examples of the violence of racism consists of the rearing of generations of Black people not now in possession of the education and the imagination that allows them to envision the future. This is violence that leads to other forms of violence – violence against children; violence against partners; and violence against friends…In our families and communities, we often unconsciously continue the work of larger forces of racism, assuming that this violence is individual and sui generis. If the popularization of more complex analyses of racism, especially those that have been developed in the context of Black and women-of-color feminisms, can assist us to understand how deeply embedded racist violence [is] in our country’s economic and ideological structures, these ways of talking about racism can help us to grasp the global reach of our struggles…

When we are told that we simply need better police and better prisons, we counter with what we really need. We need to reimagine security, which will involve the abolition of policing and imprisonment as we know them. We will say demilitarize the police, disarm the police, abolish the institution of the police as we know it, and abolish imprisonment as the dominant mode of punishment. But we will have only just begun to tell the truth about violence in America.”

In a talk delivered at the University of Chicago on May 4, 2013, Davis said, “Feminism involves so much more than gender equality. And it involves so much more than gender. Feminism must involve a consciousness of capitalism – I mean, the feminism that I relate to. And there are multiple feminisms, right? It has to involve a consciousness of capitalism, racism, colonialism, postcolonialities, ability, more genders than we can even imagine, and more sexualities than we ever thought we could name. Feminism has helped us not only to recognize a range of connections among discourses, and institutions, and identities, and ideologies that we often tend to consider separately. But it has also helped us to develop epistemological and organizing strategies that take us beyond the categories “women” and “gender.” And, feminist methodologies impel us to explore connections that are not always apparent. And they drive us to inhabit contradictions and discover what is productive in these contradictions. Feminism insists on methods of thought and action that urge us to think about things together that appear to be separate, and to disaggregate things that appear to belong together. Now, the assumption has been that because transgender and gender-nonconforming populations are relatively small, why should they deserve so much attention? But feminist approaches to the understanding of prisons, and indeed the prison-industrial complex, have always insisted that, for example, if we look at imprisoned women, who are also a very small percentage throughout the world, we learn not only about women in prison, but we learn much more about the system as a whole than we would learn if we look exclusively at men. Thus, also, a feminist approach would insist both on what we can learn from, and what we can transform, with respect to trans and gender-nonconforming prisoners, but also it insists on what this knowledge and activism tells us about the nature of punishment writ large – about the very apparatus of prison. It’s true that we cannot begin to think about the abolition of prisons outside of an antiracist context. It’s also true that antiprison abolition embraces or should embrace the abolition of gender policing. That very process reveals the epistemic violence that is inherent in the gender binary in the larger society. So bringing feminism within an abolitionist frame, and vice versa, bringing abolition within a feminist frame, means that we take seriously the old feminist adage that ‘the personal is political.’

We can follow the lead of Beth Richie in thinking about the dangerous ways in which the institutional violence of the prison complements and extends the intimate violence of the family, the individual violence of battery and sexual assault. We also question whether incarcerating individual perpetrators does anything more than reproduce the very violence that the perpetrators have allegedly committed. In other words criminalization allows the problem to persist. And it seems to me that people who are working on the front line of the struggle against violence against women should also be on the front line of abolitionist struggles. And people opposed to police crimes, should also be opposed to domestic – what is constructed as domestic – violence. We should understand the connections between public violence and private or privatized violence. There is a feminist philosophical dimension of abolitionist theories and practices. The personal is political. There is a deep relationality that links struggles against institutions and struggles to reinvent our personal lives, and recraft ourselves. We know, for example, that we replicate the structures of retributive justice oftentimes in our own emotional responses. Someone attacks us, verbally or otherwise, and our response is what? A counterattack. The retributive impulses of the state are inscribed in our very emotional responses. The political reproduces itself through the personal. This is a feminist insight regarding the reproduction of the relations that enable something like the prison-industrial complex. The imprisoned population could not have grown to almost 2.5 million people in this country without our implicit assent. And we don’t even acknowledge the fact that psychiatric institutions are often an important part of the prison-industrial complex, nor do we acknowledge the intersection of the pharmaceutical-industrial complex and the prison-industrial complex. But the point I make is that if we had mounted a more powerful resistance in the 1980s and 1990s during the Reagan-Bush era and during the Clinton era, we wouldn’t be confronting such a behemoth today. We’ve had to unlearn a great deal over the course of the last few decades. We’ve had to try to unlearn racism, and I’m not just speaking about white people. People of color have had to unlearn the assumption that racism is individual, that it is primarily a question of individual attitudes that can be dealt with through sensitivity training.

Prisons are racism incarnate. As Michelle Alexander points out, they constitute the new Jim Crow. But also much more, as the lynchpins of the prison-industrial complex, they represent the increasing profitability of punishment. They represent the increasingly global strategy of dealing with populations of people of color and immigrant populations from the countries of the Global South as disposable populations. Put them all in a vast garbage bin, add some sophisticated electronic technology to control them, and let them languish there. And in the meantime, create the ideological illusion that the surrounding society is safer and more free because the dangerous Black people and Latinos, and the Native Americans, and the dangerous Asians, and the dangerous White people, and of course the dangerous Muslims, are locked up! And in the meantime, corporations profit and poor communities suffer! Public education suffers! Public education suffers because it’s not profitable according to corporate measures. Public health care suffers. If punishment can be profitable, then certainly health care should be profitable, too. This is outrageous. It’s also outrageous that the state of Israel uses the carceral technologies developed in relation to US prisons not only to control the more than eight thousand Palestinian political prisoners in Israel but also to control the broader Palestinian population. These carceral technologies, for example, the separation wall, which reminds us of the US-Mexico border wall, and other carceral technologies are the material constructs of Israeli apartheid.

We should not have allowed this to happen over the last three decades. And we cannot allow it to continue today.

We have to challenge the assimilationist logic of the struggle for marriage equality! We can’t assume that once outsiders are allowed to move into the circle of the bourgeois hetero-patriarchal institution of marriage, the struggle has been won.”

In a speech at Davidson College on February 12, 2013, Davis noted that “there are still many significant civil rights movements in the 21^st century. The struggle for immigrant rights is a civil rights struggle. The struggle to defend the rights of prisoners is a civil rights struggle. The struggle for marriage equality with respect to LGBT communities is a civil rights struggle. But freedom is still more expansive than civil rights. And in the ‘60s there were some of us who insisted that it wasn’t simply a question of acquiring the formal rights to fully participate in society, but also about the forty acres and the mule that were dropped from the abolitionist agenda in the 19^th century. It was about economic freedom. It was about free education. It was about free health care. Affordable housing. These are issues that should have been on the abolitionist agenda in the 19^th century, and here we are in the 21^st century and we still can’t say that we have affordable housing and health care, and education has thoroughly become a commodity. It’s been so thoroughly commoditized that many people don’t even know how to understand the process of acquiring knowledge because it is subordinated to the future capacity to make money…

Given that my historical relationships with this country have been shaped by circumstances of international solidarity, I have entitled my talk ‘Transnational Solidarities: Resisting Racism, Genocide, and Settler Colonialism,’ for the purpose of evoking possible futures, potential circuits connecting movements in various parts of the world, and specifically, in the US, Turkey, and occupied Palestine. The term ‘genocide’ has usually been reserved for particular conditions defined in accordance with the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, which was adopted on December 9, 1948, in the aftermath of the fascist scourge during World War II. Some of you are probably familiar with the wording of that convention, but let me share it with you: ‘Any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group as such, killing members of the group, causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group, deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part, imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group, and forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.’ This convention was passed in 1948, but it wasn’t ratified by the US until 1987, almost forty years later. However, just three years after the passage of the convention, a petition was submitted to the United Nations by the Civil Rights Congress of the US, charging genocide with respect to Black people in the US. This petition was signed by luminaries such as W. E. B. Du Bois, who at that time was under attack by the government. It was submitted to the UN in New York by Paul Robeson and it was submitted in Paris by the civil rights attorney William L. Patterson. Patterson was at that time the head of the Civil Rights Congress. He was a Black member of the Communist Party, a prominent attorney who had defended the Scottsboro Nine. His passport was taken away when he returned. This was during the era in which communists and those who were accused of being communists were seriously under attack. In the introduction to this petition, one can read the following words: ‘Out of the inhuman Black ghettos of American cities, out of the cotton plantations of the South, comes this record of mass slayings on the basis of race, of lives deliberately warped and distorted by the willful creation of conditions making for premature death, poverty, and disease. It is a record that calls aloud for condemnation, for an end to these terrible injustices that constitute a daily and ever-increasing violation of the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.’ The introduction continues, ‘We maintain, therefore, that the oppressed Negro citizens of the United States, segregated, discriminated against, and long the target of violence, suffer from genocide as the result of the consistent, conscious, unified policies of every branch of government.’ The authors go on to point out that they will submit evidence proving, in accordance with the convention, the killing of members of the group. They point to police killings – this is 1951 – killings by gangs, by the Ku Klux Klan, and other racist groups. They point out that the evidence concerns thousands of people who have been ‘beaten to death on chain gangs and in the back rooms of sheriffs’ offices and in the cells of county jails and precinct police stations and on city streets, who have been framed and murdered by sham legal forms and by a legal bureaucracy. They also point out that a significant number of Black people were killed allegedly for failure to say ‘sir’ to a white person, or to tip their hats, or to move aside. I mention this historic petition against genocide first because such a charge could have also been launched at the time based on the mass slaughters of Armenians, the death marches, the theft of children and the attempt to assimilate them into dominant culture.

I also evoke the genocide petition of 1951 because so many of the conditions outlined in that petition continue to exist in the US today. This analysis helps us to understand the extent to which contemporary racist state violence in the US is deeply rooted in genocidal histories, including, of course, the genocidal colonization of indigenous inhabitants of the Americas. A recent book by historian Craig Wilder addresses the extent to which the Ivy League universities, the universities everyone knows all over the world – Harvard, Yale, Princeton, et cetera – were founded on and are deeply implicated in the institution of slavery. But – and in my mind this may be the most important aspect of his research – he discovers that he cannot tell the story of slavery and US higher education without also simultaneously telling the story of the genocidal colonization of Native Americans. Our histories never unfold in isolation. We can’t truly tell what we consider to be our histories without knowing the other stories. And often we discover that those other stories are actually our stories. This is the admonition ‘Learn your sisters’ stories’ by Black feminist sociologist Jacqui Alexander. It’s a dialectical process that requires us to constantly retell our stories, to revise them, and retell them, and relaunch them. We can thus not pretend that we don’t know about the conjunctures of race and class and ethnicity and nationality and sexuality and ability. I can’t prescribe how Turkish people come to grips with the imperial past of this country. But I do know that it has to be possible to speak freely, it has to be possible to engage in free speech. The ethnic-cleansing processes, including the so-called population exchanges at the end of the Ottoman Empire that inflicted incalculable forms of violence on so many populations – Greeks, Syrians, and, of course, Armenians – have to be acknowledged in the historical record. But popular conversations about these events and about the histories of the Kurdish people in this space have to occur before any real social transformation can be imagined, much less rendered possible. I tell you that in the United States we are at such a disadvantage because we do not know how to talk about the genocide inflicted on indigenous people. We do not know how to talk about slavery. Otherwise it would not have been assumed that simply because of the election of one Black man to the presidency we would leap forward into a postracial era. We do not acknowledge that we all live on colonized land. And in the meantime, Native Americans live in impoverished conditions on reservations. They have an extremely high incarceration rate – as a matter of fact, per capita the highest incarceration rate – and they suffer disproportionately from such diseases as alcoholism and diabetes. In the meantime, sports teams still mock indigenous people with racially derogatory names, like the Washington Redskins. We don’t know how to talk about slavery, except, perhaps, within a framework of victim and victimizer, one that continues to polarize and implicate. But I can say that, increasingly, young activists are learning how to acknowledge the intersections of these stories, the ways in which these stories are crosshatched and overlaid. Therefore, when we attempt to develop an analysis of the persistence of racist violence, largely directed at young Black men, of which we have been hearing a great deal over this last period, we cannot forget to contextualize this racist violence.

For some time now I have been involved in efforts to abolish the death penalty and imprisonment as the main modes of punishment. I should say that it is not simply out of empathy with the victims of capital punishment and the victims of prison punishment, who are overwhelmingly people of color. It is because these modes of punishment don’t work. These forms of punishment don’t work when you consider that the majority of people who are in prison are there because society has failed them, because they’ve had no access to education or jobs or housing or health care. But let me say that criminalization and imprisonment don’t solve the problem of sexual violence either.”