South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu, one of the world's leading peace and justice advocates, has called Bryan Stevenson "America's Nelson Mandela." He has gotten innocent men off death row, successfully argued before the U.S. Supreme Court multiple times, including to ban "death sentences."
From the moment those lights start flashing and that siren goes off, we're all in the same boat: we must pull over. However, it's what happens after you've been pulled over that's critical.
If we hope to prevent violent crime in the US, we cannot constantly blame our problems on newcomers to our nation.
I'll preface by saying that I can only answer as a former officer; I could pretend to be able to retrospectively muse about what I'd have said when I was on patrol, but that's all it would be.
While police brutality affects people of all races and backgrounds in the U.S., it's important to note that black citizens face a unique experience within America's criminal justice system, just as they've faced a unique state of affairs for centuries in the United States.
Some people just shouldn't be police officers. It's a sad fact. They don't have the right temperament, the right attitude, nor are they capable of separating their personal feelings from their profession.
Justice cannot breathe when Black men and boys and women and girls are routinely profiled, abused, arrested, and killed with impunity by police officers. We must stop this. We must protect the lives of our young people -- all of them.
It's hard to describe mania to someone who has never experienced it. One minute I'm so high that my mind and body enter a nirvana-like state with feelings of ultimate power and supreme authority. And then in the next minute I feel so paranoid and scared that I think my heart will thump out of my chest.
As we debate the boundaries of law enforcement's authority, I am reminded of my own recent run-in with a traffic cop in New Zealand.
This past week I was at the Netroots Nation 2015 conference. In the past, this has been one of my favorite progressive events, full of both energy and positivity. This year the theme was intersectionality within the LGBT movement. I am forced to report that we are failing at it. Horribly.
Daily control, fear tactics and social isolation of the victim by the abuser help to form the invisible walls that entrap victims of serious abuse. Contrary to popular notions, abusers need not hold guns to their partners' heads to get them to stay, though they sometimes do this as a "reminder".
I am by no means an expert in health IT, but I do know that we need to demand more from these systems. And that includes more interoperability, easier access, and up-to-date information.
For lawyers who specialize in helping clients suppress information that could prove embarrassing or worse, several recent developments just made their job a lot harder -- which is, of course, a good thing from the standpoint of the public interest.
For Whites, saying we loved The Wire may earn us some social capital among more progressive-leaning friends, but unless that social capital is mobilized somehow--unless our attitudes, our voting rates, our actions change--little else happens.
#BlackLivesMatter, like "Black Is Beautiful" before it, is the affirmation of our worth as black people, in spite of these realities. I applaud the young people for declaring that they recognize their worth and demand that others recognize it too.
Sandra Bland could've been any of us. Sadly, her name is being added to a growing list of blacks dying before their time, and the destruction of black lives must come to an end.