Original subtitles

( audience applauding )

( mic feedback )

I get asked that question all the time.

"What is the number one civil rights issue of the day?"

You know, in magazine interviews-- you have to start ranking.

I'm very uncomfortable with that question

because it is impossible

to talk about the criminal justice system,

mass incarceration,

without talking about education.

Because this country is always engaged in investments.

We make big investments, right?

We make big bets.

The 1950s, this country massively invested

in the creation of the suburbs.

We created an interstate highway system.

We provided, you know, tax credits,

to developers to build suburbs--

which are racially exclusionary, by the way--

we made an investment in creating a middle class,

really going back to the 1930s

where the federal government started to insure mortgages--

only insured mortgages for white people--

but we made an investment.

We made an investment

after the war with the GI Bill

in the decision that we wanted our veterans to come home and become middle class.

So we make these massive investments.

Now today, we pretend that we don't make investments.

Because we talk about balancing the budget

and the deficit, but we always make investments.

And one of the huge investments that we made

was in the criminal justice system,

and that investment was made

at the expense of other investments.

We have taken dollars that we used to give

and that we could give

to invest in the issue of mental illness.

It's not that we're not investing in mental illness, we are.

We're investing in it in the prison system.

It's not, you know, that we decided to cut the budget

and so we're not investing in education.

Yeah, kind of.

We took it to the prison system.

So what we do is, we take these investments

that we could make, these big bets,

and we place them somewhere.

And that's what we call policy.

Which, you know, makes people's eyes glaze over,

but we should understand that policy is made up of the investments

that we, as a society, decide to make.

There's a lot of heaviness in the country

at the moment, a lot of pain.

But sometimes, you have to have these moments

if we're going to move our society forward.

It takes moments,

kind of almost epic moments, to move us.

And there-- there is a way

in which we are confronting this moment.

And there's a privilege in that confrontation.

- ( applause ) - ( music playing )

( distorted audio of man yelling )

Woman: That boy's leg look broke.

- Woman #2: Oh, my God. - His leg broke

and y'all dragging him like that!

Man: Shorty, that was after

they tased ( bleep ) out him like that.

My wrist, yo, my wrist.

- Man #2: Get his badge number, yo. - ( screams )

Man: What car they come out of, yo?

Him right there. He on a bike.

I got it, don't worry about it.

Don't worry about it. Don't worry about it, yo.

After they tase you like that,

you wonder why he can't use his legs.

( distant police sirens )

The screams is what woke me out of my sleep.

The screaming-- I was like, "Well, wow!

What's all the screaming about?"

And then they came to pull me up.

Like, "Dude, they're tasing him.

They're tasing him." Like, whoo!

I jumped up, I threw some clothes on,

and I came out that way.

By then, they had him all bent up.

He was face-down on his stomach.

He was handcuffed and they had the heels of his feet

almost to his back and he was handcuffed at the time.

And they had the knee in neck,

and that pretty much explains

the three cracked vertebrae, the crushed larynx,

and 80% of his spinal cord being severed and stuff.

And then I had to zoom in to get a closer look on his face.

You could see the pain in the man's face, you know what I'm saying?

And then they pulled around on Mount Street

and they pulled him out again.

And they put leg shackles on him.

You put leg shackles on a man

that can barely walk to the paddy wagon?

That don't make sense to me, and I never known

an on-the-beat officer to carry leg shackles

and on his person in a van.

That's something that you do when you going

to another compound or when you're being

transported to the court or something like that.

They don't put leg shackles on you outside.

They just don't do it. So you put leg shackles on a man that can't walk.

You know, so you toss him in the back of a paddy wagon

like a dead animal, you know what I'm saying?

You don't even put a seatbelt on him.

So basically, he's handcuffed, shackled, sliding back and forth

in the back of a steel cage, basically.

'Cause it's not padded back there.

I don't know why everybody always seems to say,

"Oh, oh, it's-- it's pa-- it's pad"-- no, it's not padded.

It's about as padded as the outside of that van.

It's ridiculous how bad they hurt that man. Let me-- come on!

A crushed larynx, can you do that to yourself?

Three cracked vertebrae, can you do that to yourself?

Can you sever 80% of your own spinal cord

in the back of a paddy wagon,

shackled and handcuffed no less?

( stutters ) It's just-- whoo!

I just-- I wish you could see how they had him.

I was like, "Man, this shit is crazy, man.

Man, it's crazy!

They just don't care anymore!"

I was like, "Man we got-- we gotta get the word out

that this is happening."

I was like, "Man, we gotta record this

because this is the only--

this is the only weapon that we have."

You know, the camera is really the only thing we have to protect ourselves

that's not illegal, you know what I'm saying?

But in the same sense, they could say, "Oh, well,

I mistook your camera for a gun," you know what I'm saying?

- That's what I'm saying. - ( audience murmurs )

Uh... ( chuckles ) no.

Actually, I took it with my phone.

( laughs ) And I had some brothers from Ferguson,

they came out and supported me. Yeah!

Matter of fact, the brothers from Ferguson

spent the night at my house, yeah.

And then, they took me around to Best Buy

and they bought me, like, four cameras.

Yeah, basically arming me.

Yeah. ( inhales )

Yeah, it's a movement and it's not gonna stop.

( cell phone chiming )

Eye contact.

Well, yeah, I guess that whole...

I guess the whole eye contact thing, I guess that was...

( exhales ) I've lived with

the Freddie Gray story since the beginning.

I guess that's-- what the officers wrote up

in the report, you know, that he made eye contact or he looked suspicious

and that gave 'em probable cause, but we know the truth.

Just a glance, that's... that's all it takes in Baltimore

for something like this to happen.

( gulps )

Have you ever been to a place...

where you don't feel tired...

you're just tired of being tired?

Where you're fed up...

and there's nothing else left

and you can't get any lower.

Past rock bottom, past that.

That's where I've been. You know, so...

You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep climbing.

You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep praying.

You gotta do all the things you know

to make yourself stronger, 'cause in the end,

you're gonna need every bit of strength that you can muster

to get yourself from this hole.

It's like a bunch of crabs pulling you back.

It's like quicksand, and you fighting

and you fighting and you sinking faster and faster.

And I hated that Baltimore is going through

such harsh times right now.

The fact that my children may have to fight this fight.

How am I gonna train my children to deal with this?

I'm not gonna be here forever.

The leaders? ( scoffs ) Man.

Man!

The leaders are acting pretty assholeish right now.

There's just so much the leaders can do, you know what I'm saying?

There's just so much they can say.

End of the day, they're gonna make up

their minds what they wanna do.

They're gonna make up their minds what they wanna say.

We can't wait for the leaders to make it better.

We have to make it better. These people are tired.

And they want answers.

And the only way they're gonna get answers

to them is cost the city money.

- ( overlapping yelling ) - ( loud thudding )

( overlapping yelling )

( man chanting ) No justice, no peace!

No justice, no peace!

We want all six police!

Man 2: Justice!

Bullock: I don't even look the police way.

To tell you the truth, that's-- that's not even me.

They beat me, like, four times.

I remember four times.

Runnin' from them.

That's the only thing they can beat me for is running from them.

They don't like it when you run from them.

There's a lot of people out here

getting beat, getting killed.

This ain't just 'cause

no Freddie Gray got killed.

People die every day.

Police, you feel me, beating people,

harassing people every day.

Oh, they beat me with what's it's name?

I forget what kind of stick.

Sometimes, they use their hands.

You can't protect yourself.

With colored police you can't say too much,

run your mouth, then they really see you running your mouth,

they're gonna do something to you.

They gonna-- especially

if they ain't got no reason to test you.

Oh, they definitely wanna test you.

They chasing you and all that, and they can't find nothing

on you and they're just chasing you, oh--

( stutters ) they're gonna make it worth their while.

They're gonna not even put something on you,

they're gonna beat you straight like that.

Ain't no, "Oh, I'm gonna plant something on him," no.

They're gonna do what they wanna do at that time, at that moment.

Oh, it don't-- the-- at this point,

it don't even matter if they black or white.

( stutters ) I never seen-- it ain't no black or white situation.

I ain't trying to hear that.

'Cause I seen plenty

black police do it on black, you feel me, to black people.

I see plenty of white police do it.

I see 'em do it together. This ain't no racist thing.

I don't see no racist thing come into play.

They hate. It's a hatred.

They hate, they hate, you feel me?

What's the whole point of you locking me up or beating me up

if you can't find nothing on me?

Why? 'Cause I made you run? Oh, come on, now!

You trained to do this.

( siren wailing )

Hey, stuff happen every day in Baltimore city.

♪ Pass me not ♪

♪ O gentle Savior ♪

♪ Hear my humble cry ♪

♪ While on others ♪

♪ Thou art calling ♪

♪ Do not pass me by ♪

( organ playing )

♪ Savior ♪

♪ Savior, Savior ♪

♪ Hear my ♪

♪ Humble cry ♪

The Families United for Justice,

they drove through the night from New York to be here.

( applause )

I want you to know who is with us.

I'm thankful for the daughter of Eric Garner...

- ( applause ) - ...who is here with us.

The mother of Amadou Diallo is here with us.

The mother of Kimani Gray is here with us.

The sister of Shantel Davis is here with us.

The mother of Ramarley Graham is with us.

The niece of Alberta Spruill is here with us.

For all of them, would you give God a handclap of praise?

Thank you so much for coming.

Would you find your way to Luke, chapter 7.

Luke, chapter 7.

I want to illuminate for your understanding

verses 11 through 15.

"Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain...

and his disciples and a large crowd

went along with him.

As he approached the town gate,

a dead boy was being carried out...

the only son of his mother,

and she was a widow.

And a large crowd from the town was with her.

And when the Lord saw her, his heart went out

and he said, 'Don't cry.'"

( audience murmurs )

"Then He went up and touched the coffin,

and those carrying it stood still.

- He said, 'Young man, I say to you'"... - Woman: Yes.

- "'...get up.'" - ( audience murmurs )

"And the dead man sat up and begin to talk.

And Jesus gave him back to his mother."

I'm gonna preach for a little while

on the subject "Breaking the box."

Audience: Breaking the box.

Sociologists have unearthed a newfound phenomenon

called quarter-life crisis.

And it says that this generation of youth in their mid-20s

begin meandering through the painstaking task

of asking themselves, "What am I gonna do with my life?

Is there any hope for me?

What should I have done differently?"

Grandmother, I need you to know

that Freddie had to have been going through a quarter mid-life crisis.

'Cause at 25 years of age, being black in Baltimore,

no opportunities to go to Johns Hopkins.

No doors open at the University of Maryland.

No scholarship to Morgan and no access to Coppin.

In a place where I have minimal opportunities,

Freddie had to have asked, "When I can walk down the Harbor

and see Exelon, Under Armour,

when it is that I can look across the water and see millions of dollars

being poured into Camden Yards,

M&T Stadium,"

he had to have asked, "What am I gonna do with my life?"

He had to feel almost as if he was boxed in.

And on April the 12th at 8:39 in the morning,

four officers on bicycles saw your son.

And your son, in a subtlety of revolutionary stance,

did something that black men are trained to, taught,

know not to do-- he looked police in the eye.

And I want to tell this grieving mother,

you are not burying a boy.

You are burying a grown man who knew that one

of the principles of being a man

is looking somebody in the eye.

At 8:40, your son began running from the police.

He began running.

At 8:41, according to the timeline, he stopped.

He stopped not because he was out of breath.

He stopped not because he was a weakling.

He stopped not because asthma had kicked in.

He stopped because somewhere in the inner recesses

of his own mind, he made up in his mind,

"I'm tired of living in a box,"

and so he stopped running.

So as we jaywalk in our text,

we notice that Jesus and his disciples

are coming to an unknown hamlet of a town known Nain.

And Jesus is overwhelmed by this crowd

and he stops as he's seeing the funeral processional.

And Jesus says to this mother, "Don't cry.

Whatever you do, don't cry."

It's a strange prescription

to give to a family in pain, don't cry,

when the Bible declares that weeping may endure for a night

and joy comes in the morning.

He says to the mother, "Don't cry."

But I came to tell this grandmother,

I came to tell the aunt, I came to tell Freddie, Sr.,

I came to tell Freddie's five sisters: don't cry.

And the reason why I want you not to cry

is because Freddie's death is not in vain.

After this day, we gonna keep on marching.

After this day, we gonna keep demanding justice.

After this day, we gonna keep exposing a culture of corruption.

After this day, we gonna keep monitoring our own neighborhood.

- Whatever you do, don't cry. - Woman: Don't cry. Whatever.

And I'm praying to God that God will lay his hand

on everything that's trying to keep black people in a box.

And I don't know if I'm talking about redlining of zip codes

or gentrification or whether I'm talking about

our prison pipeline or inadequate public schools.

Whatever box has been placed around the life and future

- of young black babies in this city... - ( applause )

...I'm praying God put your hand on the box.

He said, "Watch this," to this young man in the box still.

Get up.

This is not the time for us as a people

to be sitting on a corner, drinking malt liquor.

This is not the time for us to be playing the lottery

or to be at the Horseshoe Casino.

This is not the time for us to be walking around

with our pants hanging down past our behind.

This is not the time for no respect

for our history and our legacy.

This is not the time for tattoos all over your neck.

He said I need you to get up

in spite of the fact that they spend more money

on special education than they do on gifted and talented programs.

Get yourself up in spite of what they told you

that you ought to be or what you gonna become.

Get up! You are not Lil Wayne.

- You are not Lil Boosie. - ( applause )

You are in the legacy and the mantle

of Thurgood Marshall and Clarence Mitchell, Sr.

and Parren Mitchell and Kweisi Mfume.

Get your black self up and change this city.

He speaks to him.

And he says to this young man, "Get up."

And he never opens the casket.

You miss what I just said?

He tells the young man, "Get up,"

when he's in a closed casket.

He is sending a message to Black America--

Don't expect nobody to open the door for you.

If they won't open the door, kick that sucker down

and get what you need.

Get up.

And the young man got up.

When he was supposed to be dead,

supposed to be over, he got up without any prompting,

ladies and gentlemen, and he started talking.

I don't know how you can be black in America

and be silent with everything we going through.

With our children being gunned down in the street.

Freddie. Freddie.

Just like this boy in Luke, chapter 7,

he broke out of the box.

And again, Luke, the gospel writer and physician, has let me down,

because when that boy broke out of the box,

Luke forgot to tell me what that boy said,

getting out of the casket.

But if you allow me to validate

my sanctified imagination, when that black boy

broke out of the casket, you wanna know what he said?

- ( audience responds ) - He said, "No justice!"

Audience: No peace!

- No justice! - No peace!

- No justice! - No peace!

- ( music playing ) - Audience: No justice, no peace.

- Woman: No justice. - All: No peace!

- ♪ Do not ♪ - Woman: Why are you fighting?

- ♪ Do not ♪ - For what?

- ( woman vocalizing ) - ( all chanting ) Freddie! Freddie! Freddie!

Man: Hands up!

Hands up!

- Man: No justice. - All: No peace!

- Man: No justice. - All: No peace!

- Man: No justice. - All: No peace!

- ( police sirens ) - ( woman vocalizing )

( helicopter thrumming )

( sirens wailing )

♪ ...pass me by. ♪

( music playing )

Woman: Did you hear about the rose

that grew from a crack in the concrete?

Proving nature's laws wrong,

it learned how to walk without having feet.

Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams

it learned to breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else even cared.

No one else even cared.

( music playing )

What do I say about Stockton?

Stockton's really ground zero for a lot

of issues facing America right now.

Um, my aspirations?

Oh, you're gonna laugh. They're pretty simple.

Uh, I just want a grocery store.

There's no grocery stores. I had no idea.

I don't-- I don't eat really healthy.

I eat out a lot. People wanna buy you lunch all the time.

Then they have meetings.

I knew it was a food desert,

'cause I studied it in college,

but I had no idea until,

my girlfriend's vegetarian,

she's from Stanford, and she came

to live with me like, a week.

And she was breaking out.

She was like, "Michael, I just want an apple.

Where can I find an apple?"

And I couldn't think of where to get her an apple.

I was like, "I don't know where I could get you an apple from."

It was, like, 20 minutes away, so that really prompted me.

Okay, so let's do something about that.

We're doing some work around

boys and men of color alliances,

trying to improve outcomes for boys and men of color.

For a lot of young people in Stockton,

it's just a prevailing sense of nihilism.

I don't think it's peculiar to Stockton,

but I think in any community where you have segregation

along race and class, you have an undercaste of young people

who just feel forgotten, neglected, just angry,

and don't know what to be angry at.

But there's also this amazing resilience.

Whenever I-- whenever I talk to young people in Stockton,

I always quote the Tupac poem about "The Rose That Grew From Concrete."

When he talks about "Long live the rose

that grew from the crack in the concrete

when no one else cared," and I think that really,

really illustrates young people,

in my opinion, in Stockton, who are growing in cracks of concrete,

not in soil, but in concrete-- we're not supposed to grow.

Sometimes they come out a little bit of scars.

Sometimes they come out a couple petals not perfectly right.

But the fact that they are growing and trying to thrive

in a community with so many problems, to me, is inspiring.

- Hmm. - I was on a campaign.

I was reading to a group of first-graders.

I was reading about Dr. Martin King, Jr.

And I got to the point where he was assassinated,

I tried to turn through the page really quickly

'cause I really don't wanna talk

to 6-year-olds about death, so I tried to turn quickly

and one little boy raised his hand and said, "Mr. Tubbs?

My uncle got shot."

He said it so matter-of-fact, I thought his uncle lived.

So I said, "Oh, I'm so sorry,

but I'm glad he's still with us now."

- He said, "Oh, no, he died." - Man: Hmm.

Then another little boy raised his hand.

"Mr. Tubbs, my cousin got shot."

Before I could turn the page,

every student in that classroom knew somebody been shot

or was a victim of violent death.

Young people aren't dumb.

They may not have the fancy academic language,

but they understand that something structurally is wrong.

And that just leads to the nihilism,

and it's particularly-- especially around our young men.

Not for all of them, but for the ones that--

those are in the school-to-prison pipeline,

those are killing each other, those are the dropouts,

it's just this idea of ( stutters, indistinct )...

the value of life.

Like, my life doesn't matter.

Like, what life is this

when I'm struggling to eat every day?

You know, like, what life is this?

When I-- you know, I talk to young people.

I say, "You know, where you wanna go to college?"

And they--

"I can't see past 18, realistically."

I said, "No. I want you to sit down, write down your dreams.

What's your goal?"

"I just want to be alive at 25."

- Mm-mm. - It's heartbreaking.

But that's how nihilism manifests itself.

Prison or death.

There's really only one option of opportunity

of boys and men of color in Stockton-- prison or death.

( man singing in Native American dialect )

( music playing )

Um, got to about 8th grade.

Well, um, I didn't leave, they kicked me out.

Um, got into too many fights.

Always my fault from teachers.

Well, well, well.

I have to say, since I was a kid,

I went to school, I was always in trouble, got kicked out.

And then, they said I hit the teacher in Redwood School--

Smith River, so they kicked me out of there.

And-- oh, I just pulled away from her and it hurt her arm or something.

So got kicked out of that school.

- And then I went to Pine Grove School. - ( music playing )

And when I was there-- when I was there,

I was just always settin' there,

you know, in trouble, in the office,

so I got kicked out of there.

And then I went to Crescent Elk

and I got kicked out of there.

And then I went to the community school by the juvenile hall.

And they didn't really kick me out of there, just put me in juvenile hall.

And then they tried to put me back in high school 'cause I started doing good.

But got kicked out of there

and I went to CYA-- California Youth Authority.

And, um... I was the first one of my friends to go to CYA.

First one to go to prison.

Oh, because they--they-- they know I'm a killer.

( guffaws )

No.

( laughing ) No.

I just had the mentality I was gonna be the worstest and the baddest.

I was gonna have more drugs than everybody.

I was gonna have cars, and so I--

you know, I just started lowest level of prison ( stutters ) and I--

When I was 19, I went to San Quentin.

And then I just moved from prison to prison to prison.

Probably my fights got me moved around.

It's any kind of disrespect.

Somebody even looks at you a little bit funny,

you might have to sock 'em up, you know?

Usually a word kicks it off-- punk, bitch, lame.

Somebody talk about your family,

somebody talk about your race.

Oh, a lot of people don't like Native Americans.

Always looked down upon.

But prison don't do nothing

but make you a worser, worser person.

Got me so I didn't even-- I didn't even care

if I hurt somebody.

You know, just, you know,

the longer you're in there, the more you're gonna lose

your feelings about caring.

You're gonna stab somebody.

Stab them, stab them, stab them

five or 10 times, you don't care.

They're worthless!

Who cares about somebody who's got 25-to-life?

I'd walk up to somebody who had life

and sock him in the face.

I ain't care.

And, you know, prison is just as strong

as the world out here.

The only difference is you're in a cage.

Sure, people get stabbed, people get hurt.

You know, it don't matter. I got stabbed 10 times.

It don't matter, but I did everything I could

to stay on top of the food chain.

Yeah, you know, well,

everything I ever did in life,

I tried to do to the best of my ability.

And that's why I don't get this school thing.

I mean, I'm the best. I'm the best on the river.

I got the best smoked fish.

Started a business at being the best.

I got the best N.A. meetings in--

I'm the baddest of the bad.

The baddest there is.

'Cause, you know, look, if you're gonna go in there

and, you know, whine, scared, crybaby,

people, you know, people are gonna take advantage of you, you know?

Treat you bad, but if you just go in there

and just be a monster-- just be a monster.

I don't even really like, you know, thinking about all that bad stuff.

Just-- just talking about it takes me back to a bad place.

You know, I'm in a happy place now.

You know, I got-- now that I got cleaned up, I got everything.

I got everything! I got a family, too.

I got a son. Shaqoon.

Call him Hog. He wonderful, ain't he?

He's perfect.

( clapping hands ) Well, where you gonna be at later?

Wanna bring you a fish-- some smoked salmon.

When I look in the mirror?

See a...

really good person...

that's just been down a rough road.

And I don't know whether if it was, you know,

my schooling or how I grew up,

but-- put me on this road,

but I wouldn't change this road for nothin'

'cause it's made me who I am

and got me where I'm at

and I didn't even know I was on a rough road.

You know, just thought life's hard.

- You know what I mean? - ( airhorn blares )

Taos.

Yeah, he's in our tribe.

Well, part of it is, he's very big

and, you know, he probably acted out in school

and did things he shouldn't have

and nobody said, "Taos, what's wrong?

Why are you doing this?"

You know, I mean, now that he's back with us,

does wrong by me, I sit him down.

I say, "Taos, why are you doing this?

We're gonna have to figure this out because you're gonna get in trouble.

And if you go away, who's gonna... tend to your family's graves?

Who's gonna raise your son?" ( clears throat )

You-- you cannot deal with children

if you don't have a sense of kindness and respect

and if you don't like 'em.

And if you don't have systems that like them,

support them, and stay with them.

I get mad at you, so I throw you out of school?

What is that? No!

If I get mad at you, then we need to come closer.

You don't need to be further.

You did something wrong, then you need to be closer.

You don't need to be further.

If I think I have something to offer, then we need to come close.

We don't need to be further.

- School-to-prison pipeline, um... - ( music playing )

...well, our kids aren't finishing school,

they can't get jobs, they try to make do, they go to prison.

That's what it is. ( clears throat )

Part of it is discipline.

We don't have very good relationships with those people.

Non-Indians.

Educators.

The white people.

Um, you know, they see our tribal kids as having behavioral problems

and then they get... suspended from school

and then they get arrested from school.

We had an 8-year-old in Klamath

they were about to put cuffs on.

I mean, you cannot cuff an 8-year-old.

You just can't, it's stupid.

If you have children who are suffering

to the extent that they act out in school

and do things that they should not do,

which could include hitting a teacher,

hitting another child, having some kind of a fit.

And then they get arrested at school

( stutters ) or they get suspended or they get expelled

from school and they get mad at somebody

and they hit a school resource officer.

And then they get handcuffed, then they go to jail

or juvenile hall or probation.

And it just gets going and it keeps on going from there.

And nobody says, "Why is this kid doing this?" You know?

"What's wrong?" Kids need grownups.

It's the whole point of having kids and grownups.

If you don't have a couple of good grownups at your side

or ones who could work the system,

you can't-you can't make--

you could go down, you can't make it,

you just can't, and a lot of them will go, "But for..."

and, "I would be in a prison," and a lot of that

has to do with somebody,

a teacher, somebody, who just reached out and said,

"You know, you can do this. It's gonna be okay.

You're gonna be okay, but you gotta stop acting like this.

You can't-- you can't run from the cops.

If you run from the cops, the cops will chase you."

Man!

I mean, you know. ( scoffs )

Did you see that...

video of that 14-year-old girl in Texas?

( distant chatter )

Man: Y'all keep standing there running your mouths,

you're gonna go too.

Get out of here. I already told you.

( overlapping yelling )

- Hey! Hey! Hey! - ( overlapping yelling )

( shouting continues )

- Your ass on the ground like I said! - Call my mama!

Call my mama, oh, my God!

Get down. On your face!

( yelling ) Get off of me!

Girl: What is he doing? What is he--?

What the fuck is he doing?

( girl crying )

- Man #2: Let's go. - Adrian, you good, bro?

Adrian?

I'm gonna tell you one more time.

Get your ass out of here!

Y'all get across the street!

( music playing )

She's screaming for her mommy.

"Mama, Mama, I want my mama."

She's in a bathing suit.

What kind of a threat is that?

I mean, who does that to a 14-year-old?

- I think that-- I think we-- judges... - ( woman murmurs )

...fell asleep at the job.

I mean, I think-- I think the problem is that

nobody learned that justice is what the law is about.

I mean, yes, you need rules.

Every society needs rules, of course, you know,

but the whole point of having a law or having a process

or having a court is to ensure fairness

and right behavior and justice.

It's not about that anymore.

Um, it's about money

and who has the power, too.

I think the country's broken.

Tony Eady: I'm a Student Concern Specialist

here at North Charleston High School,

Charleston, South Carolina.

And I used to work in a-- in a maximum security penitentiary.

And I get a group of men in there and I say,

"You know, this is just a rehearsal.

This is"-- I say, "When you always

coming to ISS, that means you can't deal

with the public, with society here at school."

I say, "They always send you here."

I say, "That's a rehearsal."

You know, I say if you can't deal with authority figures

and people telling you what to do,

when you get out in society, they're gonna send you to jail.

I call it a school jail. "I'm not in no school jail."

Yes, you are. You're incarcerated for this hour.

You can't leave.

And I'm a very strong figure

in my house because of what I see going on here.

My son, 15 years old, growing up in a house-- me and my wife,

both educators, and I know I have to keep

a foot or a thumb on his neck.

'Cause he tends to kind of drift, you know.

I say something to him. "What? What you want?"

"Who you talking at?"

And I know if I don't say that every single time,

it's gonna go way left till where

until he's telling me what to do.

And what people don't understand

who doesn't work in this environment,

most teenagers are very, very defiant.

Very, very, very defiant.

And then people go, you know, society says

you can't touch them, you can't grab them.

The kids know that, so it just gets more power added to them.

And then they don't want to have the police officer in the school.

I need the police officer. I need the police officer for me.

Police officer our last line of defense.

I need the police officer.

I'm not saying I think the police officer,

you know, grab kids and snatch kids

and drag them across the floor,

but I need somebody to show

these kids there is authority in this school.

And what I heard a police officer,

one of my good friends, say, you know, most people--

most people get incarcerated...

'cause of their mouth.

What they say

when they're approached by authority figures.

"Get out the car." "What you mean I got to get out the car?"

Then they do get out the car.

"What's up, man? Why you stopping me?"

And then they call for backup and more coming, so I don't know.

( laughing ) But sometimes I ask God why am I still here?

You know, I-- it must be because I'm needed.

But a constant fight every day trying to get

these kids to do the right thing.

And it wears on me, the disrespect.

And I have stood between these kids and Mr. Grimm,

the principal, when he's talked to them.

You know, and I can see where it's going the wrong way and I have to intercept.

( stutters ) I'll tell you.

Kid got put out of class for a cell phone.

Oh, that's another thing.

These kids rather go to jail than give up their cell phone.

And I'm standing out in the hall with the kid.

Mr. Grimm walks up because he hears the call. "What's the problem?"

I said, "Well, Mr. Grimm, uh, he refused to give his cell phone up,

but I have it now."

And the kid, he say, "Yeah, you may have it now,

but I'm getting my phone back!"

Mr. Grimm say, "Excuse me?"

Kid say, "You heard what I said."

And now, I have to intercept

'cause now you challenging the authority figure.

The bigger top authority figure.

Well, I know where it's going,

'cause Mr. Grimm is not gonna let him

talk to him like that.

And Mr. Grimm will probably

respond with something like,

"Oh, well, I'm gonna--

I'm gonna get your phone

and I'm gonna keep your phone."

And then the kid will probably go, "No!"

Probably reach for the phone, step for the phone.

( grunts ) Try to get it.

And it's going from you're just giving up

your phone, getting it back next period.

Now you're not getting your phone, getting arrested,

being suspended, maybe up for expulsion...

all because of your mouth.

Man: Hands behind your back. Give me your hands.

Amanda Ripley: Niya Kenny.

She's the oldest girl in the class.

So she's sitting there in her Algebra I class

that she failed as a freshman-- need to pass to graduate.

She's doing well in that class, actually.

So 18-year-old African-American girl,

she got an "A" average.

And she sees the teacher, Mr. Long,

who's a veteran math teacher at the school-- white man--

whispers something to one of the other kids in the class-- a girl.

Who doesn't-- she doesn't-- Niya doesn't know her name.

She doesn't talk much. She's new to the class, this girl.

Shakara, as it turns out.

And Niya sees Mr. Long go back to his desk

and pick up the phone and call someone

to escort someone out of the classroom.

And so, she turns to Shakara and says, "You?

( whispers ) Is that for you?"

Like, she mouths and Shakara nods.

And Niya thinks, "Well, that's strange."

Because she didn't-- I guess-- apparently,

Shakara had taken out her phone.

Sometimes at that school,

if you take out your phone,

they take it for the day.

It's pretty routine policy.

So for whatever reason

that we still don't know,

Shakara got in trouble with this teacher

and he called the assistant principal, Mr. Webb,

who came, and according to Niya he said,

"Come with me," or something to that effect, and Shakara declined to come.

And then, according to Niya,

he said something to the effect of

"I ain't got time to play with y'all today,"

and he turned around and he left.

Black man.

And he came back with Deputy Fields, who's sort of large,

hulking white police officer who's also a football coach at the school.

And Niya said when she saw him,

she turned to the boy sitting next to her

and said, "Take out your phone," and she took out

her phone too because she had a feeling.

She heard stories about this guy.

She had a feeling he might do something...

worthy of being videotaped.

( clears throat ) And you saw the video.

He told Shakara to come with him.

She wouldn't come and so he tried to extract her

from the chair rather violently.

And then eventually, he did extract her from the chair.

And Niya is videotaping this,

and she's becoming more and more distraught.

"Oh, well, they was wrestling,

um, on the floor for, like, a minute.

That's what I thought, too. She must be strong.

'Cause, you know, we talking about a 9th-grader

and he's a 300-pound bodybuilder.

But I was, like, you know, I was like, 'Is-- is nobody gonna help her?

Somebody record this! Put it on Snapchat!'

And then I'm asking Mr. Webb and Mr. Long,

I'm like, 'Look-- what-- it--

And then I turned to Mr. Long and I was just like,

'Look, you did this. Like, what are you going to do?'

I said, 'You didn't even have to call the administrator.'

And I was just like"-- ( deep breath )

And then she said, "What the fuck?"

What the fuck? And the assistant principal's like, "Niya, Niya."

He's trying to calm her down. She won't be calmed down.

And then, we don't know exactly what happened next,

but according to Niya, Deputy Fields turned to her

and said, "You got so much to say?

'Cause you're coming next."

And so then he comes back--

he takes Shakara out of the room

and he comes back and now Niya

has become completely passive

because she knows he's not joking.

And she stands up and she puts her hands

behind her back and he handcuffs her.

And he takes her to the room where Shakara is,

and according to Niya, Shakara is leaning forward,

she's still handcuffed, and her braids

are falling in her face.

And then, according to Niya, Deputy Fields flips the braids

out of Shakara's face and he says,

"Did you take your meds today?"

( audience murmurs )

And she says... it's the first thing

she says-- she finally speaks.

She says, "Yes, did you?"

( audience laughs )

Which I thought was great.

It's great, just great teenage response.

Perfect. So, um, Shakara is apparently released

to the care of a guardian.

She's a foster child. Not sure which guardian.

But Niya Kenny is 18, so she's considered an adult

and they take her to a detention facility-- an adult jail.

I'm just, like, you know, I'm embarrassing my mom.

She's gonna be mad. She's gonna kill me.

That's the only person I would think about-- Mom, Mom, Mom.

I was like, "Oh, God, I'm gonna get out of this jail.

She gonna beat me up right in the yard."

Oh, the people in the jail, they was, um...

they was like normal people to me.

They was nice.

But, um, the video came on the news,

and everybody-- everybody in the jail was like, "What?"

Everybody. Everybody was like, "What?

He threw that little girl like that?

What? He threw that little girl like that and you was in there?

Oh, girl, you going home. You going home."

Soon as I saw that video, I was like-- ( gasps )

"I know my mom saw it. I know she saw it."

Soon as I saw that video, I was like, "Whew, I'm not

in trouble anymore, I'm not in trouble."

And so I call my mom and my mom was like, "Niya, you don't even know.

The news is out here. They want to interview you.

'Good Morning America'

is coming to the house tonight."

But I don't know what it is, you know,

I guess I just snap when I see people being mistreated, I guess.

I mean, I'm talking about elementary school.

I remember one time in 3rd grade,

a friend of mine was being bad in class

and a teacher-- ( whispers ) she was a white lady--

because I knew about racism

because my dad had always taught his kids,

like, ever since we were in kindergarten

about racism-- like, know your history.

And she picked up this boy by his cheek out the chair.

And I lost it. I lost it-- I lost it in the classroom.

I was like, "You are not his mom! You can't touch him like that!

That is not your job. Your job is to teach us.

You do not pick up a student by his cheek out the chair!"

Yeah, I was really mad. I was really mad.

And, you know, she wrote me up for being disrespectful,

for being belligerent, and that was my first after-school detention.

But I knew when the high school called my mom,

that they was gonna be like, "Niya got in something

that didn't involve her."

That's exactly what they did.

And I knew that my mom-- I knew her mindset would be,

"Oh, Niya, why didn't you be quiet?"

'Cause that's the response I got in 3rd grade.

"Mind your business.

This doesn't have nothing to do with you."

But he just threw a whole girl... across the classroom.

How could you mind your business?

That's something you need to make your business.

( music playing )

But it's, I think,

how you raise your kids.

What they see around the family.

And I never heard too much about drugs at that time.

It was all about wearing baggy pants and you start being in gangs.

That's what I was worried.

Oh, I don't see nothing in those pants.

All I see is butts all the time.

- You could see the underwear! - ( chuckles )

I don't have the slighty idea

why the kids do it.

You know, I don't think my kids never did that.

And I don't think I would let it--

I don't think I would let them.

No, I would rip every single pant.

Knowing myself, I would do it.

But one of the parents told me that my kids

were coming to their home and change to baggy pants.

- Mmm. - And I became very good friends

with those parents and we all used to communicate.

I think that's the key.

One of the mothers are the one

who told me that my kids were wearing baggy pants.

And that's when I went to school.

I say-- I say, "What are you doing to those pants?"

Or I say, "How are you doing to those pants?"

They say, "Oh, Mom, they are my friends.

Come on, don't make me embarrassed here at school."

I say, "Okay.

We're gonna talk when we get home."

We talking, I say, "Okay. I'm gonna meet you halfway.

- Not that baggy, a little bit loose." - ( laughs )

"But I don't want you to be going to nobody's house and change."

- Mm-mm. - And I think I was a very strict mother.

Anything involving my kids, I was very involved.

I used to even go

at nighttime and smell them.

Yes, oh, yes, yes,

to see if they were not drinking or smoking.

Oh, yes, I did so many things

to keep my kids out of trouble,

and thanks to the Lord, I think I did a good job.

- Mmm. - But I had to move from Vallejo.

I said I had to move from here.

I didn't want none of my kids to go to jail.

You see so many things on the news.

I didn't want that for my kids.

Not for my family. Who wants that? Nobody.

- ♪ Oh, I want my mama ♪ - ( music playing )

♪ Gotta keep climbin', yeah ♪

- ( cell door shuts ) - ♪ Gotta keep praying... ♪

Well, um... this experience...

of being, uh, in college here,

uh, at the Maryland Correctional Institute

has showed me that I missed out on a lot.

A lot of information

that could've helped me make better decisions.

I tended to gravitate towards my environment

versus reaching out past the environment.

And I started believing that that was it and that was all.

Um, and that the only thing required of me

was for me, which was basically

to feed myself and the baby I was carrying

and that everything was me.

It was never, like, the next door neighbor

could've been going through the same thing.

I didn't have enough information to know

that we are all really connected somehow

to every living, breathing thing,

we're all really connected.

I've learned how the government work.

Uh, I didn't get that, you know, like,

what was the governor for or what was the mayor for.

Uh, I don't get it. I don't understand.

I understand that they are important people,

but to what degree of importance?

What are they actually there for?

And to get that now, as a grown woman? Whoa!

And finding out what this world is really all about,

how it revolves,

and what is expected of me as a citizen.

Basically, to, um...

( sucks teeth )

pave the way for those coming behind us.

Um, to make better living arrangements

for everybody as a whole.

'Cause in the end, it's about living

and it's about living properly

and it's about rearing your children properly,

so that they can be productive

and not be barbaric, basically.

Um, I had six children;

now I have five.

One of them died since I've been here.

The oldest being 34, the youngest being 21.

I had my youngest child when I was in a Baltimore detention center.

I been here 23 years.

Well, um... my boyfriend--

my former boyfriend, 'cause we wasn't together at the time--

shot and killed a guy who tried to rape me.

Well, they didn't consider it accomplice.

I got the same charge as he did-- first-degree murder.

I think it's fair.

You talking about somebody's life, um-- ( coughs )

Whether-- ( clears throat )

Whether it's in-- in your control or not,

somebody's life has been taken,

so I do think it's fair.

Uh, but I think that if I had had a better education,

I would've been more upright, so to speak.

Um, you know, because without that education, I always felt less than.

And I think if I had had that education,

I would've known that, um... I am somebody.

I am a good person.

Um, but now I have a purpose now that

I'm raising dogs here at this institution

and, um, training them to go and help people who have disabilities.

It's my way of expressing love to people who need--

who really need somebody or something,

because, um, you know, it's a lot of people

who are alone or whatever, and I get a chance

to express that love through the dogs that I train.

Yes, I will.

I-- yes, I'm gonna go that far.

Yes, I will. ( laughing ) I will.

Um, dogs have more empathy than people.

( laughing ) Because, I mean,

you know, I'm not saying that people are just,

you know, gonna ignore you or totally, like, don't care,

but they not gonna reach out and, you know, give you a hug.

"Oh, you be a'ight."

But the dog is so different.

She'll jump on me, roll around on the floor.

You know, lick me, try to get me to play with her

and then I'd be like, "Okay."

You know, get myself together

and try to think about how I'm gonna move through this.

They're being taught, and it's constant, all day, every day.

It's teaching them and praising them

and letting them know they're doing the right thing

and... we get really good results.

Out of 100 dogs, 89 are gonna make it.

- ( school bell rings ) - ( music playing )

( kids chattering )

It was...

Huey Elementary School,

and it-- it was...

( groans ) ohh... it was rough.

I never knew how bad a situation could be

until I worked with that population.

You have 10 of the most needy children

who need food, clothes,

love, shelter, like, an education.

They just need so much, and you're just one person.

And ( stutters ) it-- I felt hopeless.

I felt hopeless in the situation.

I felt like I had a whole bunch of starving, hungry people

and I had nothing in my hands to give them,

even though I tried to give them so much.

But they had seen so much of life, so much rough stuff,

that they were like, "What's school?"

You know what I mean? I got 7th graders smoking weed.

"What's school?"

I got 7th graders out all hours of the night.

How am I gonna keep them in the classroom, incentivizing them?

And I spent so much time with my heart racing

because there were so many fights

that would just spontaneously start to fight.

"Bitch, what the fuck you looking at?

Bitch, I'll fuck you up!" No one said it to me,

they said it to each other, but there goes my heart racing.

And I don't wanna-- I ran-- I ran that classroom.

I ran a tight ship.

There was never-- I broke everything up.

And it got to the point the people would be like--

like, a new kid would come in and they be like,

"Don't mess with Ms. Williams, she'll tear you up.

Don't fuck with her. You better leave her alone."

Whatever.

But it's hard to be that strong day in and day out.

It really is.

It was like being...

it was like being in jail without a gun.

It was like... me running a jail without a gun.

That's what it was like. Running a jail without a gun.

Everybody for themselves,

but I want you to maintain order.

No guns, no handcuffs, no billy clubs,

I can't throw you in the closet,

I can't do any of that.

I gotta keep you in order just by me being me.

I had this one student who was, um, uh,

( sighs ) he was a foster child.

And his parents were addicted to drugs

and he got very sick as a baby,

so they took him to the hospital

and they found out he was being molested,

so they immediately put him in another foster home.

I think his father was molesting him.

So he showed symptoms of being molested

and being addicted to drugs as a baby.

And he would have these fits of-- I mean, complete rage.

Docile any other time.

I'm talking about zero to a million in a second.

I have never seen an 11-year-old pull a tree out of the ground.

Out the ground. So angry he could actually pull a tree out of the ground.

So angry he could take a whole table and turn it over.

How I met him? I met him, um-- it was my first week at Huey.

And I hear somebody screaming,

like this bloodcurdling scream.

And I see somebody running through the halls.

It's kind of like a slow running kind of run like this.

And he's just, like, pouring sweat,

just, like, pouring down his body,

and he's ripping things off of the wall and just--

( screams )

And he's just throwing stuff and throwing stuff

and throwing stuff and throwing stuff.

And I just followed him and followed him and followed him

and we ended up down on the first floor.

And I did not know what to do, I did not know what to do

because I've never seen anybody doing anything like this.

I did not know what to do, so all I did was,

I just grab him in the tightest hug

and I just hold him and hold him

and hold because I had him in, like, a hold,

but it was a hug and-- because I'm really, really strong--

and I just hold him and hold him and hold him till his whole body just--

collapsed... and he just started crying

and crying and crying and crying on me.

And that was my third day at Huey.

( music playing )

I became interested in brain development

and in the effect of stress

on the development of the brain.

And I am getting notes from teachers

saying, "This kid has ADHD.

Please place on Ritalin."

And I'm like, "Wow!

( chuckling ) The diagnosis has been made,

there is a treatment plan.

Am I needed for anything?"

And in fact, when some of these children

had an in-depth clinical evaluation,

they did not have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder,

but they had a long history of adversity

and a long history of, not only of stress, but of traumatic stress.

It's a type of stress that really impacts--

( stutters ) it impairs your function--

it impairs your function socially,

it impairs your function academically, and it impairs how you feel.

You feel distressed, and this is how these children were feeling.

Historical trauma exists, and not only in history.

It exists in our daily life.

I think as a society we sometimes experience symptoms

of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,

specifically avoidance, which is a very bad symptom.

You know, avoidance-- not wanting to talk about it,

not thinking about it, not addressing it.

And what happens when that avoidance is there,

the impact of the trauma permeates, it continues.

I see many children who do not have

the trauma experience in their lives,

but they learn it as a response from caretakers.

They model it.

And some individuals think

that also it is passed epigenetically,

and that what happens is there are some changes in the coding of your DNA

where you actually alter your DNA,

and then what you are passing is altered DNA.

Slavery.

Um... the social factors

that are surround the issue of slavery--

the history of slavery are... enough.

( chuckles ) They don't need any DNA change

because of the way in which they have resulted

in many communities of African-Americans

living in a state of poverty

where it's very hard for them to escape from.

It's a way of maintaining that enslavement.

And of course, poverty is not only in-- with African-Americans.

It exists in all communities,

but I think that in many communities that are African-American

have gone through a history of slavery

to another form of slavery, you know?

Through poverty.

Trauma? Shit.

Anybody-- Anybody can--

Anything that a freakin'--

They say they went to school for all that shit

and all that bullshit?

Naw. Hell, naw.

You can fake their asses, like, a lot.

I seen a motherfucker fake trauma to the max.

Hell, yeah.

He was acting like he was traumatized

by what he did,

and they had to comfort him like he was a little baby.

He confuse 'em. Hell, yeah!

You could trick a therapist

into giving you meds, and they would do it.

He really would fall for it. You could trick therapists.

They're supposed to know when you're telling a lie.

They wouldn't even know.

I tricked them. I told them I couldn't sleep.

They gave me sleeping meds.

Historical trauma, that's bullshit.

That's bullshit.

Hell, no. I'm Salvadorian.

They done mess half my people up.

And the blacks who are incarcerated?

They don't-- they don't, man--

most of blacks who are incarcerated don't even care about slavery.

They be like, "It wasn't my time.

I wasn't there. What I care about it?"

No, hell no.

You wanna change people, you gotta do it internally.

You wanna change, you gotta do it by yourself.

Just like I'm doing.

I got out. I got a job.

Got my substance abu--

Oh, yeah, I'm-- I'm a dishwasher.

Disney Hall, Downtown L.A.

( scoffs ) Trauma. Motherfuckers act like that to a max.

Yeah, some cases, it's true.

Like the sexos.

Sex offenders?

Understand about the sexos-- they have a--

they repeat what they did-- what happened to them,

so I understand about the sexos.

Oh, a sexo put a baby

in a microwave and let it pop.

Let that motherfucker pop.

That's some fucked up shit.

Not even the hardest vatos that I know

will do some shit like that.

Not even the hardest gang members I know

would do some shit like that.

Even we look at you like you retarded.

Why the fuck would you kill a baby?

We frown upon that shit.

We don't fucking do that baby.

We don't fuck an innocent baby.

We don't like doing that shit.

But it happens.

I'll smoke that motherfucker.

I would kill that motherfucker.

Hell, yeah, I believe in capital punishment,

especially for sexos and murderers.

Fuck it.

You got caught for it, oh, well, you dead.

Shit, you're dumb enough to get caught for it, it's your bad.

( music playing )

If I may interrupt you for a moment.

Luckily, I'm not 15.

But if I were, how in the world

would I find any respect for human life

or any sense of history?

And history is a concept

that exists in almost nobody's mind.

Go on, go on.

( music playing )

According to the West, I have no history.

I've had to wrest my identity out of the jaws of the West.

What I'm trying to say is that if I were young,

- I find myself with no models. - ( ice crunching )

And that's a very crucial situation.

Because what we've done.

The world we created.

If I were 15, I'd feel hopeless, too.

So you see, what we gotta try to do, what we gotta try to face...

I read a little book...

called "The Way It Spozed to Be."

And it was poetry and things

written by... little black children,

Mexican, Puerto Rican children.

Land of the free, home of the brave.

And the teacher had made a compilation

of all the poems these kids wrote.

And he respected them and he dealt with them

as if they were-- as, in fact,

all children are, as in fact, all human beings are--

some kind of a miracle.

And so something wonderful happened.

And so for me, that very tiny book-- it's only 30 pages long...

one boy wrote a poem--

16 years old, who's in prison--

it ended, four lines I never will forget.

"Walk on water. Walk on a leaf.

Hardest of all is walk in grief."

So, what I'm trying to get at,

I hope, is that there is

a tremendous national,

global, moral waste.

And the question is how can it be arrested?

It's an enormous question.

Look, you and I, we've become whatever we become.

The curtain will come down eventually.

But what should we do about the children?

We are responsible,

insofar as we're responsible for anything at all,

we are responsible

for the future of this world.

- ( multiple gunshots ) - ( music playing )

( sirens wail )

Barack Obama: I spoke with and Vice President Biden

spoke with Mayor Joe Riley and other leaders

of Charleston to express our deep sorrow

over the senseless murders that took place last night.

( cameras clicking )

Michelle and I know several members

of Emanuel AME Church.

We knew their pastor, Reverend Clementa Pinckney,

who along with eight others gathered in prayer

and fellowship and was murdered last night.

Obama: Mother Emanuel is in fact more than a church.

This is a place of worship that was founded by

African-Americans seeking liberty.

This is a church that was burned to the ground

because its worshippers worked to end slavery.

When there were laws banning all-black church gatherings,

they conducted services in secret.

Judge: Mr. Roof, you're charged with nine counts of murder

and one count of possession of a weapon

during the commission of a violent crime.

Is there a representative of any of the family

that would be here that wished

to make a statement before this court?

Woman: I forgive you.

Woman #2: And I forgive you.

Man: I forgive you and my family forgives you.

Woman #3: We are the family that love built.

We have no room for hating, so we have to forgive.

( woman vocalizing )

Obama: For too long, we were blind to the pain

that the Confederate flag stirred in too many of our citizens.

( applause )

Obama: By taking down that flag, we express God's grace.

( all chanting ) Take it down! Take it down!

Take it down! Take it down! Take it down!

That was really the snapping point for me.

And it was, like, you know, how can we possibly get this flag down?

Now, in 2000, somebody put a ladder up against the pole,

climbed to the top, set it on fire,

and South Carolina built a four-foot fence around it.

So it wasn't going to be easy.

You basically had the coming together of two activist groups.

There was Black Lives Matter-- The Tribe--

who were mostly black activists,

and then you had these environmentalists--

Occupy activists who were mostly white.

And it took a lot of trust.

I mean, here I walked into this room

and half of the people in this room

I've never seen before in my life,

and we're talking about going down

and taking down the Confederate flag.

I mean, I really felt

on my heart that... I was supposed to do this.

That God had called me to do this,

but I didn't want it to be some whim.

I mean, it's not a whim thing to do.

You know, I didn't have any experience climbing.

And I had been arrested before,

but there was never any, you know, fear of any danger, you know?

I mean, and now, we're talking about a situation where

I could be potentially putting my life at risk.

- ( horn honks ) - Man: Get off the pole.

Ma'am! Get down now.

Newsome: Um, you know, a vigilante

coming by with a gun while I was on the pole.

I mean, well, obviously, I mean, there was nothing

I would be able to do because I would be

very vulnerable on the pole.

I know, sir, I'm prepared.

Newsome: But we decided

that everybody else should scatter.

( man chatters )

You know, I think that's like a place

where the cause and the idea are bigger than the person

because I felt like even if I didn't make it down the pole,

the statement would still be made.

And that was really the point

that we were trying to get across.

That this is-- this is how serious this is.

Uh, yeah, I thought about Martin Luther King.

I mean, I-- I thought about Malcolm X.

But then I just had to focus on learning to climb the pole.

You know, I-- I had a day and a half.

- Woman: Take your time, Bree. - Man: Get down now.

Newsome: A Greenpeace activist came down from New York

and we practiced on Jimmy's-- James Tyson is a white man

that got arrested with me-- and we practiced

on a lamppost on Jimmy's farm.

Man: It is not worth it.

There was this police supervisor

in the street and he came over.

And he directed two of the officers

at the bottom of the pole to tase me,

and I would've been electrocuted because I was on the pole.

And that's when James grabbed the pole

and he said, you know, "If you electrocute her,

you'll have to electrocute me, too."

And I think that's when people, you know, saw.

They stepped back and they saw that people

had smartphones and cameras, and they backed off.

You come against me with hatred and oppression and violence.

I come against you in the name of God!

This flag comes down today!

Man: Get off the pole! It is not worth it.

( bassist playing "Amazing Grace" )

Get off the pole.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation.

Whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life.

Of whom shall I be afraid?"

( playing "Amazing Grace" )

( scattered cheering and applause )

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want."

Newsome: It is our duty to win!

Supporters: It is our duty to win!

Newsome: We must love and protect each other.

Supporters: We must love and protect each other.

Newsome: We have nothing to lose but our chains.

Supporters: Nothing to lose but our chains.

( bassist continues "Amazing Grace" )

( concludes "Amazing Grace" )

On our way on this, um, trip...

that we've been taking... for the past 13 years.

Members of Congress.

I been going back every year since 1965.

Back to Selma to commemorate

the anniversary of Bloody Sunday

that took place on March 7, 1965.

But we usually stop in Birmingham for a day

and then we go to Montgomery for a day.

And then we go to Selma.

But on this trip to Montgomery,

we stopped at First Baptist Church.

It's a church that was pastored by Reverend Ralph Abernathy.

It's the same church where I met

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Reverend Abernathy

in the spring of 1958.

Mmm.

Young police officer-- the chief--

came to the church and he gave

a very moving speech to the audience.

The church was full.

Black, white, Latino,

Asian-Americans, members of Congress,

staffers, family members, children, and grandchildren.

And he said, "What happened in Montgomery 52 years ago

during the Freedom Ride

when you arrived, was not right."

( audience murmurs )

He said, "The police department didn't show up.

They allowed the angry mob to come and beat you."

And he said, "Congressman...

I'm sorry for what happened.

I want to apologize.

This is not the Montgomery that we want Montgomery to be.

This is not the police department I want to be the chief of."

Hmm.

He said, "I want you to forgive us."

He said, "To show the respect

that I have for you and for the movement,

I want to take off my badge

and give it to you."

The church was so quiet, no one said a word.

And I stood up to accept the badge and I started crying.

And everybody in the church started crying.

There was not a dry eye in the church.

I said, "Officer-- Chief...

I cannot accept your badge."

"I am not worthy to accept your badge.

Don't you need it?"

( man laughs )

He said, "Congressman, I can get another one.

- I want you to have my badge!" - ( laughs )

- And I took it. - Mm-hmm.

( stutters ) I'm never ever gonna forget it.

- Mm-mm. - I'mma hold onto to it forever.

But he hugged me and I hugged him.

I cried some more.

You had Democrats and Republicans

in a church crying.

It was the first time that any police chief

in any city where I visited

or where I was arrested in the sixties ever apologized.

Or where I was beaten.

- It was a moment of grace. - Mm-hmm.

He hugged me. He held me.

And it-it-it felt so freeing

and at the same time-- so liberating,

and at the same time, I felt like,

"You know, I'm not worthy. I mean, I'm just one.

I'm just one. I'm just one of the people.

'Cause many people were beaten."

Mm-hmm.

It's, uh, it's "Amazing Grace."

Hmm.

- ( chuckles ) - Y'all know that song?

- Audience: Yes. - Y'all know it?

- Oh, yes. - Uh-huh.

Y'all know that line in there?

- Man: Mm-hmm. - Help me with it. "Save a wretch like me."

All: ♪ Save a wretch ♪

♪ Like me ♪

Sing it, sing it, y'all. Sing it good.

All: ♪ I once was lost ♪

♪ But now I'm found ♪

Give it your heart.

♪ Was blind, but now ♪

♪ I see. ♪

That's right. That's right.

"Save a wretch like me."

A sinner sins. We're all falling short.

- Mmm. - We all just trying to make it.

We all searchin'!

Like Dr. King said: We out to redeem the soul of America,

we first have to redeem ourselves.

- Man: Amen. - But this message--

this act of grace of the badge says to me...

"Hold on. Never give up.

Never give in. Never lose faith.

Keep the faith."

Only time something like this happened before

was a member of the Klan,

Rock Hill, South Carolina,

who beat me and my seatmate on May 9, 1961.

He came in the office.

His son had been encouraging his father

to seek out the people he had wronged.

And he came in the office, February '09.

( murmurs )

( stutters ) "Mr. Lewis.

I'm one of the people

who beat you...

on May 9, 1961.

( sniffles )

I want to apologize.

Will you forgive me?"

I said, "I forgive you.

Accept your apology."

And he hugged me. And his son hugged me.

He started crying. His son started crying.

I seen that guy four different times since that time.

He called me brother.

I call him brother.

( music playing )

Woman: Did you hear?

Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete?

Provin' nature's law's wrong,

it learned how to walk without having feet.

Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams

it learned to breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else even cared.

( music playing, male singers vocalizing )

( female singer vocalizes )

( music continues )

Woman: ♪ Gotta keep climbing ♪

♪ Gotta keep prayin' ♪

♪ Got to keep climbin' and climbin' ♪

♪ Oh, gotta keep fightin' ♪

♪ You know what I'm sayin', what I'm sayin' ♪

♪ What I'm sayin', what I'm sayin' ♪

- ♪ Whoo ♪ - ♪ You know what I'm sayin' ♪

♪ Gotta keep climbin' ♪

♪ Keep on prayin', yeah ♪

♪ Ooh ooh ♪

♪ Gotta keep climbin' and fightin' ♪

♪ And climbin' and prayin' ♪

♪ And whoa-oh! ♪

♪ Gotta keep on ♪

♪ Keep on, keep on climbin' ♪

♪ Oh! ♪

♪ I want my mama ♪

♪ Oh! ♪

♪ Screaming in the streets ♪

♪ Oh! ♪