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Mexico City Could Sink Up to 65 Feet |
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Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=59525"><span class="small">Matt Simon, Grist</span></a>
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Sunday, 23 May 2021 08:05 |
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Simon writes: "The foundation of the problem is Mexico City's bad foundation."
Mexico City. (photo: iStock/Getty Images/Science Alert)

Mexico City Could Sink Up to 65 Feet
By Matt Simon, Grist
23 May 21
Due to a phenomenon called subsidence, the metropolis's landscape is compacting — and parts of the city are now dropping a foot and a half each year.
hen Darío Solano-Rojas moved from his hometown of Cuernavaca to Mexico City to study at the National Autonomous University of Mexico, the layout of the metropolis confused him. Not the grid itself, mind you, but the way that the built environment seemed to be in tumult, like a surrealist painting. “What surprised me was that everything was kind of twisted and tilted,” says Solano?Rojas. “At that time, I didn’t know what it was about. I just thought, ‘Oh, well, the city is so much different than my hometown.’”
Different, it turned out, in a bad way. Picking up the study of geology at the university, Solano?Rojas met geophysicist Enrique Cabral-Cano, who was actually researching the surprising reason for that infrastructural chaos: The city was sinking — big time. It’s the result of a geological phenomenon called subsidence, which usually happens when too much water is drawn from underground, and the land above begins to compact. According to new modeling by the two researchers and their colleagues, parts of the city are sinking as much as 20 inches a year. In the next century and a half, they calculate, areas could drop by as much as 65 feet. Spots just outside Mexico City proper could sink 100 feet. That twisting and tilting Solano?Rojas noticed was just the start of a slow-motion crisis for 9.2 million people in the fastest-sinking city on Earth.
The foundation of the problem is Mexico City’s bad foundation. The Aztec people built their capital of Tenochtitlan on an island in Lake Texcoco, which is nestled in a basin surrounded by mountains. When the Spanish arrived, destroyed Tenochtitlan, and massacred its people, they began draining the lake and building on top of it. Bit by bit, the metropolis that became modern-day Mexico City sprawled, until the lake was no more.
And that set in motion the physical changes that began the sinking of the city. When the lake sediment under Mexico City was still wet, its component particles of clay were arranged in a disorganized manner. Think about throwing plates into a sink, willy-nilly — their random orientations allow lots of liquid to flow between them. But remove the water — as Mexico City’s planners did when they drained the lake in the first place, and as the city has done since then by tapping the ground as an aquifer — and those particles rearrange themselves to stack neatly, like plates put away in a cupboard. With less space between the particles, the sediment compacts. Or think of it like applying a clay face mask. As the mask dries, you can feel it tightening against your skin. “It’s losing water and it’s losing volume,” says Solano?Rojas.
Mexico City officials actually recognized the subsidence problem in the late 1800s, when they saw buildings sinking and began taking measurements. That gave Solano?Rojas and Cabral-Cano valuable historic data, which they combined with satellite measurements taken over the past 25 years. By firing radar waves at the ground, these orbiters measure in fine detail — a resolution of 100 feet — how surface elevations have been changing across the city.
Using this data, the researchers calculated that it’ll take another 150 years for Mexico City’s sediment to totally compact, although their new modeling shows that subsidence rates will actually vary from block to block. (That’s why Solano?Rojas noticed tilted architecture when he first arrived.) The thicker the clay in a given area, the faster it’s sinking. Other areas, particularly in the city’s outskirts, might not sink much at all because they’re sitting on rock instead of sediment.
That sounds like a relief, but it actually exacerbates the situation because it creates a dangerous differential. If the whole city sank uniformly, it’d be a problem, to be sure. But because some parts are slumping dramatically and others aren’t, the infrastructure that spans the two zones is sinking in some areas but staying at the same elevation in others. And that threatens to break roads, metro networks, and sewer systems. “Subsidence by itself may not be a terrible issue,” says Cabral-Cano. “But it’s the difference in this subsidence velocity that really puts all civil structures under different stresses.”
This is not just Mexico City’s problem. Wherever humans are extracting too much water from aquifers, the land is subsiding in response. Jakarta, Indonesia is sinking up to ten inches a year, and California’s San Joaquin Valley has sunk 28 feet. “It goes back centuries. The human thought was that this [water] is an unlimited supply,” says Arizona State University geophysicist Manoochehr Shirzaei, who studies subsidence but wasn’t involved in this new research. “Wherever you want, you can poke a hole in the ground and suck it out.” Historically, pumping groundwater has solved communities’ immediate problems — keeping people and crops alive — but created a much longer-term disaster. A study earlier this year found that by the year 2040, 1.6 billion people could be affected by subsidence.
But if the problem is that the ground isn’t wet enough, couldn’t engineers in Mexico City just inject water into the clay sediment to, well … re-inflate it? “The answer to that is, unfortunately, no. We would not be able to see the ground go back up,” says University of Oregon geophysicist Estelle Chaussard, lead author of a new paper with Cabral-Cano and Solano?Rojas describing the modeling. “Almost the entirety of the subsidence that we’re seeing is irreversible.” (The researchers got straight to the point in their paper, titling it: “Over a Century of Sinking in Mexico City: No Hope for Significant Elevation and Storage Capacity Recovery.”)
This process of compacting the clay is hard to undo, Solano?Rojas agrees. At best, previous attempts to re-inject groundwater elsewhere around the world have found that they only gained back an inch or so of elevation. Think of those stacked dishes — and particles — again. Or how hard it is to re-wet your dried clay mask to scrub it off. “When it gets dry, it’s really hard to put water back into the clay,” he says, because “the structure of the clay changes. And these kinds of plates, or kinds of sheets, rearrange and don’t allow the water to go back into its structure.”
From studying subsidence as a global phenomenon, scientists know that halting groundwater extraction can stop the sinking — but it’s not a guarantee. Indeed, these researchers are finding parts of Mexico City that have kept on sinking after water extraction there has ceased. “That means that our buildings and everything built on top of the surface loses elevation, and that’s lost forever,” says Cabral-Cano. “And worst of all, the capacity of the aquifer to store water is severely diminished.”
It might make you wonder how much this will cost the city in the long run. These researchers are actually currently working on that calculation. “We suspect that the final cost is going to be much larger than a very large earthquake, because it happens every day, every second,” says Cabral-Cano. “The city goes down — relentlessly, it goes down.”
Mexico City is 573 square miles of roads, pipes, public transportation, cables, and buildings. After a big earthquake, the city will calculate the cost to repair the infrastructure and get to it. But subsidence is a perpetual problem: Patch a road or building foundation one year, and it might be broken again the next. A government might be able to throw money at this crisis, but most homeowners can’t. “There are vast amounts of areas where the damage is not just a slightly tilted sidewalk,” says Cabral-Cano. “It’s somebody’s house. And a very, very large majority of houses in Mexico do not have insurance for structural damage.”
For the residents of Mexico City, that’s going to add up to a whole lot of money. And Cabral-Cano thinks it’s important to do that math. “It’s not until you have a solid number — and it becomes a very large number — [that] we think that city managers are going to be looking at this more carefully,” he says.

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Why I'm Still an Activist |
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Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=38164"><span class="small">Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, The Hollywood Reporter</span></a>
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Saturday, 22 May 2021 12:31 |
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Abdul-Jabbar writes: "I have often said that I will truly have achieved my full legacy when I have helped or inspired people who never knew I was an athlete."
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. (photo: Dan Winters/NYT)

Why I'm Still an Activist
By Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, The Hollywood Reporter
22 May 21
The NBA Hall of Famer and Hollywood Reporter columnist looks back at his career on the heels of the NBA's creation of the Kareem Abdul-Jabbar Social Justice Champion Award, which will honor one player annually.
have often said that I will truly have achieved my full legacy when I have helped or inspired people who never knew I was an athlete. That will mean that I was able to use my fame from sports to improve the lives of people who never heard of me, never saw me slamdunk. I will have defined myself as someone more than the guy with the skyhook. Of course, I didn’t first pick up a basketball with the thoughts of creating a legacy. I just wanted to prove myself by beating the next guy or team who stepped onto the court. My court.
In high school, I was able to achieve my young boy’s goal of “proving myself” by defeating all comers on the court and on the playground. I had the trophies and college scholarship offers to prove it. At UCLA, things changed. Under Coach John Wooden, I was able to perfect my basketball skills to become part of a championship team. But my definition of “proving myself” evolved into something different. Coach Wooden wanted us to be great athletes, sure, but he also wanted us to be good people. To him that meant having high moral character as well as a well-rounded education because he was as concerned about what we would do when we left his tutelage as he was about what we did on the court. Basketball was a means to an end, not the end itself. Like any other college course, it prepared you — through discipline, hard work, and introspection — for life beyond school.
For Coach Wooden, part of being great athletes was to focus less on winning and more on pushing ourselves to perform at the top of our capabilities. Instead of “proving myself” to others, I learned to prove myself to myself by constantly pushing the limits of what I thought I was able to do. Yes, I wanted to please the crowds, excite the fans, win pennants, but mostly I wanted to do better in the next game than I had done in the last. To discover where my limit was. Like an explorer forging a roiling river in search of its source.
Athletes are entertainers. Like writers, actors, dancers, and musicians we get paid to thrill the audience. But there is a shimmering threshold that some cross over that transforms them from entertainers to artists: when they are able to not merely delight the audience, but also stir something dormant deep within them. It is when the artist becomes a tuning fork that triggers a similar tonal frequency within another person inspiring them to also try harder to reach whatever potential is inside. When they think: If that person can do that — make an impossible shot, write an elegant phrase, sing a haunting tune — maybe I’m also capable of more.
I realized it was gratifying to be able to inspire others as an athlete, but I also realized that wasn’t enough. If I pushed myself to become the best basketball player I could be, I should also push myself to become the best person I could be. That epiphany came when I was a sophomore at UCLA and NFL legend Jim Brown asked me to join the Cleveland Summit, a group of Black athletes meeting to decide whether to denounce or defend Muhammad Ali’s refusal to register with Selective Service because he claimed he was a conscientious objector. I was only 20, the youngest member of the group, and nervous that maybe I hadn’t yet paid my dues enough to be part of this accomplished gathering.
We debated heatedly. Some were military veterans and questioned Ali’s sincerity. But after hours of questioning Ali, we were all convinced. Ali would be stripped of his heavyweight title, banned from boxing which would cost him millions, face years in prison, and become hated among millions of white people as a draft dodger. The government even offered him a deal that would allow him to keep everything and he wouldn’t have to fight in Vietnam. He refused. His commitment was unbendable and we admired at his self-sacrifice.
The next year I boycotted the 1968 Olympics, not wanting to represent a country that was actively suppressing Black people’s civil rights, while beating, imprisoning, and killing those who fought for them. Dr. King had just been killed and I wasn’t in a particularly patriotic mood. Avery Brundage was The Olympic Commissioner. He had stopped Jewish athletes from competing in the ’36 Olympics so as not to offend Hitler. That was the origin story of my life as an athlete-activist — when I realized I didn’t want my legacy to be just a bunch of sports statistics that fans would argue about over beer and nuts. Oh, I still wanted to achieve those stats by setting records, but I also wanted to change lives.
While still in the NBA I started writing books that celebrated Black people in history who had made a huge impact on our country, but whom I’d never heard about in school. The attempt to literally whitewash history as if Black people had never done anything but be slaves and riot perpetuated the belief in generation after generation of white and Black children that Black people were of no worth. Even after retiring from the NBA, I continued to write books, articles, and documentaries extolling the achievements of inventors, scientists, patriots, writers, artists, and other Black people in order to educate Americans on their true history, and to inspire Black children to see they had many more career options than they realized. The further that goal even more, I started the Skyhook Foundation to promote STEM education among inner-city kids in Los Angeles.
During my 50 years as an activist, I’ve always heard the same complaint from some whites: Just be patient. Things are getting better all the time. True, but it’s not real progress just because you’re getting beaten with a smaller stick. People who aren’t marginalized are giddy about the progress because it makes them feel better: look, things aren’t as bad as they were. They see the glass as half full. But Black people see it as half empty knowing that the first half was probably drunk by someone white before the glass was passed down to us. What we see in that half-empty murky glass is the Black man choked to death while going to the convenience store, the Black woman shot to death while in her apartment, the Black 13-year-old shot to death with his hands in the air. That water tastes bitter.
By the way, that glass of water is more than a metaphor. Several reports over the last few years have concluded that in America there is unequal access to safe drinking water based on race. So, even if it is half full, what’s it full of?
My answer to people who ask why I’m still an activist when I could just be resting on my laurels as an athlete is that the work is not done. We’re being murdered in the streets and in our homes. States across the country are trying to suppress our access to voting. How could I not be an activist for my community?
Athletes have a unique standing in society. Unlike some other instant social media or reality TV celebrities, athletes have earned their fame through years of dedication, discipline, physical injuries, and failures. They are role models for perseverance and fair play. To not extend this opportunity as a role model to help improve the world seems like a betrayal of the values of athletics. But there are different types of activism: some are public, some are private, some are national or even international in scope, others are more community based. Each athlete must find what they are comfortable with and pursue that. For some, the type of activism evolves, as it did with me. Which is why over the years my participation with diverse groups dedicated to equity increased. I started with civil rights for Blacks and expanded to include immigrants, different religions and ethnic origins, LGBTQ+, etc., embracing Dr. King’s belief, “No one is free until everyone is free.”
The past few years have seen more and more athletes speak out and that has prompted sports leagues to join them in seeking social justice. As a result, the NBA has created the Kareem Abdul-Jabbar Social Justice Champion award to honor those NBA players who have made the pursuit of social justice a major priority. I can’t help but admire the NBA’s courage and long-term commitment to the cause of equity for all people. More than just joining the bandwagon they have chosen to be leaders. I am confident that this award will bring more satisfaction to the recipients than any records they break, any championships they win. Having my name associated with the award and with all the good that will be recognized because of it means my legacy has been fulfilled.
And I have finally proven myself to myself.

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Why Biden Is Right to Leave Afghanistan |
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Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=59517"><span class="small">Jeremy Scahill, The New York Times</span></a>
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Saturday, 22 May 2021 08:26 |
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Scahill writes: "When Joe Biden assumed the presidency in January, he embarked on a mission to reverse a slew of policies put in place by former President Donald Trump while leaving untouched the elite foreign policy consensus."
A mural in Kabul, Afghanistan, depicting Washington's peace envoy Zalmay Khalilzad, left, and Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar, the leader of the Taliban delegation. (photo: Rahmat Gul/AP)

Why Biden Is Right to Leave Afghanistan
By Jeremy Scahill, The New York Times
22 May 21
hen Joe Biden assumed the presidency in January, he embarked on a mission to reverse a slew of policies put in place by former President Donald Trump while leaving untouched the elite foreign policy consensus. Mr. Biden issued 42 executive orders in his first 100 days — more than than any other president since Franklin D. Roosevelt — and has waged a methodical campaign against Mr. Trump’s agenda. With one major exception: Afghanistan.
Beginning with his campaign for the presidency, Mr. Trump railed against America’s forever wars and pledged to bring American troops home and to get out of Afghanistan. Despite his rhetoric, Mr. Trump vacillated between winding down some Obama-era lethal U.S. campaigns (in Pakistan and Libya) and expanding others (in Syria, Somalia and Yemen). He loosened the dubious Obama-era restrictions on killing civilians in airstrikes after suggesting, when he was a candidate, that the United States should kill the families of suspected terrorists. He also reauthorized the C.I.A. to conduct drone operations after Barack Obama’s administration shifted those powers to the Pentagon.
Mr. Trump basked in his self-perceived glory when in April 2017 the United States dropped the 21,600-pound “mother of all bombs,” the most powerful nonnuclear weapon, on a village in Afghanistan. In 2019 alone, the United States carried out more than 2,400 airstrikes in Afghanistan.
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One Year On, How George Floyd's Murder Has Changed the World |
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Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=59516"><span class="small">Deborah Douglas, Angelique Chrisafis and Aamna Mohdin, Guardian UK</span></a>
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Saturday, 22 May 2021 08:25 |
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Excerpt: "George Floyd's murder felt like everything was the same and nothing was the same, said Miski Noor, an activist in Minneapolis, where Floyd was killed by a white police officer a year ago on 25 May."
A memorial for George Floyd. (photo: Stephen Maturen/Getty Images)

One Year On, How George Floyd's Murder Has Changed the World
By Deborah Douglas, Angelique Chrisafis and Aamna Mohdin, Guardian UK
22 May 21
The killing of Floyd by a white officer reflected a common history of violence against Black people that united protesters in a renewed global movement
eorge Floyd’s murder felt like everything was the same and nothing was the same, said Miski Noor, an activist in Minneapolis, where Floyd was killed by a white police officer a year ago on 25 May.
“How many times have we seen Black death go viral?” asked Noor, the co-founder of Black Visions, which advocates for abolition, an approach to public safety that does not involve the police.
Noor, who helped found the group in 2017, knows that to abolish policing you also must confront systemic racism and the weight of history. And Noor also knows as the child of Somali immigrants, that the issues are global.
The high-profile murder of Floyd, who was pinned under the knee of a police officer for nine minutes and 29 seconds, captured the parallels between police violence against Black people across the globe, and evoked the deaths of Adama Traoré in France and Mark Duggan in the UK before him, even though the circumstances of the deaths differ. And the execution reflected a common history of violence against Black people, from slavery to colonialism, that united protesters in a renewed global movement against the legacy of empire and its enduring racist symbols.
Since his death, those public images have rapidly come down – from the toppling of a statue honoring the slave trader Edward Colston in Bristol, England, to the official removal of the Confederate leader Jefferson Davis’s statue from the Kentucky state capitol.
More statues honoring the Confederacy, the band of southern states that fought against the US government in the civil war, have been taken down in the past year than in the previous four years, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC). Since Floyd’s death, nearly 170 statues, street names and other tributes to the Confederacy have been removed or renamed in the US, SPLC data shows. More than 2,100 tributes to the Confederacy remain in public places; over 700 are monuments.
This reclaiming of public history isn’t new, but Floyd’s death was the latest catalyst, said historian Robin DG Kelley. “There has been a continuous reckoning around public history and race,” said Kelley, Gary B Nash endowed chair in UShistory at the University of California, Los Angeles. “And it wasn’t his death but the presence of 26 million [protesters] and the fear it generated that compelled institutions to act.”
Demands to remove monuments, change names and decolonize history were a part of the US culture wars of the 1990s, which included defending ethnic studies at universities. More recently, the Rhodes Must Fall campaign, the successful 2015 student movement in South Africa to remove a statue of Victorian imperialist Cecil Rhodes from the University of Cape Town, has inspired similar action in the UK and other countries.
Noor, who uses the pronoun “they”, said they were taught a whitewashed version of US history through the perspective of white, cisgendered men, while growing up in Rochester, Minnesota.
“To sell so many untruths, so many lies as factual, you have to actually erase. You have to omit whole lived histories,” said Noor, who delved deeply into African and African American history for the first time while attending the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities.
Historian Nell Irvin Painter, who addresses Confederate iconography in an ink, graphite and collage series called From Slavery to Freedom, said many people weren’t ready to reckon with the symbols until Floyd’s death.
“When the big public got ready around 2020, all this came to the fore,” said Painter, author of The History of White People. “[Floyd’s] murder was so egregious that you just couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. Like with civil rights, there’s a long history that most people hadn’t known about … that could only be seen by lots of people at the right historical time.”
That was also true in the UK.
In what historians describe as an “unprecedented” public reckoning with the British empire, an estimated 39 names – including streets, buildings and schools – and 30 statues, plaques and other memorials have been or are undergoing changes or removal since last summer’s Black Lives Matter protests in the UK.
“The death of George Floyd sparked an exploration for me on how this country deals with racism. It was a big awakening,” said Tyrek Morris, a university student in Manchester.
Morris, who organized his first protest following Floyd’s death, said wherever he turned, he saw placards with an enduring slogan: “The UK is not innocent.”
The message reverberated deeply within him and started him on a journey where he interrogated what he was taught and, more importantly, what he wasn’t. At these Black Lives Matter protests, Morris heard from the family of Mark Duggan, whose death at the hands of the police sparked the 2011 London riots; of Shukri Abdi and Christopher Kapessa, two children who drowned, but whose families say authorities failed to take their cases seriously; of the crimes of the British empire and a frank assessment of Britain’s role in the slave trade.
An estimated 15,000 people marched with Morris, who organised with the group All Black Lives UK (ABLUK), in Manchester on 6 June, one of 160 protests that weekend. ABLUK also organized a gathering of 10,000 demonstrators in Bristol, where they toppled a statue of the 17th-century slave trader Colston. Xahra Saleem, a writer who runs a small jewellery business, clearly remembers the moment the Colston statue was taken down. She was one of the organisers of the protest and was walking ahead of the march. She passed the statue and joked to a friend: “Wouldn’t it be crazy if it fell down at some point?” Then it did. “It was like we manifested it,” she said.
A decades-long campaign by the local community to get the statue removed had been ignored by the local authority. But once the statue fell, everything changed.
“Schools changed their names and roads’ names changed. Everything happened so quickly. Sometimes all it takes is a little bit of a push,” Saleem said.
In France, the only country that outlawed slavery and later reinstated it, outrage over Floyd’s death quickly revived a tense debate about the weight of colonial history and the country’s slave-trading past. Starting in French Caribbean islands, statues were pulled down or defaced by protesters. In Martinique, a long-simmering controversy over white figures on plinths boiled over: statues of the white politician Victor Schœlcher, who facilitated the decree to abolish slavery, were targeted amid calls for more visibility for the rebellions by enslaved people, which led to abolition.
“George Floyd’s death opened up a lot of debate on race in France – around questions of white privilege, police violence and racism in the police as well as France’s colonial past,” said Rokhaya Diallo, a writer, broadcaster and anti-racism campaigner.
“But there was also a lot of resistance and denial of the problem, particularly in TV studio debates,” Diallo said. “There will always be some denial, but what has changed is that we can no longer ignore the issue. The lid can’t be put back on, particularly for young people today.”
France was the first country to officially recognise slavery as a “crime against humanity” – enshrined in a 2001 law which set out to improve the teaching of slavery and the colonial era. But historians have raised concerns that teaching in French schools is still too little.
“The Napoleon commemorations in France this May showed that this is still a debate,” Diallo said of the bicentennial observance of the emperor’s death.
Though he has promised to be “uncompromising in the face of racism, antisemitism and discrimination”, President Emmanuel Macron has insisted that France would not take down statues of controversial, colonial-era figures.
The response to Floyd’s death “already had an international dimension”, historian Kelley said. “It wasn’t simply sympathy for another African American victim. It was recognition that this kind of violence was happening all over the world.”
Floyd’s case was eerily like that of Adama Traoré, a 24-year-old Black man, who died after being stopped by gendarmes outside Paris in 2016. Pinned to the ground, he told officers: “I can’t breathe,” just as Floyd did. Investigating judges are examining conflicting medical reports in his case.
Assa Traoré said her brother initially ran from police because he didn’t have his identity card with him, an extension of life there. A Black or North African man in France is 20 times more likely to be stopped for an identity check than a white man, research shows. And those controls can end in violence or death.
Black people enslaved by he French had to carry official documents, according to Traoré, who said the need for documentation “links back to everything that is unsaid about colonial history and its consequences … As long as the French police doesn’t confront its past and say there is racism in the police, we won’t get anywhere, it’s a struggle that will never end.
“So yes,” Traoré said, “statues and street names are a start in a country facing up to the violence of its past.”
For Bree Newsome Bass, who in 2015 removed the Confederate flag flying at the South Carolina statehouse, the whole story of America is in question, similar to the debates in France and the UK.
“We tend to think of ourselves as having broken free of colonialism, but what is lost is the history of genocide of the indigenous Americans. I’ve really come into recognizing what that means in terms of how we think of America, as this new nation as opposed to what it is, which is really a colony,” said Newsome Bass, a film-maker and activist. “It began as a slave colony, and even though we broke off from Britain, the United States evolved into its own white settler colonial state.”
Since Floyd’s death, there is a new roll call of Black people in the US who have died at the hands of police, a painful reminder of what hasn’t changed when the statues came down. While Derek Chauvin was convicted of killing Floyd, names like Rayshard Brooks and Daunte Wright join a growing list of lives lost, linked to steady demands for institutional change and greater accountability.
Kelley said events of the past year illustrate how easy it is to topple a statue or change the name of a building, and how difficult it is to topple an empire, dismantle racial capitalism and patriarchy, and replace prisons and jails with “non-carceral, caring forms for public safety”.
The situation also creates a quandary, Kelley said. What do we make of universities that change building names but have huge real estate holdings in neighboring low-income communities or endowments with investments in private prisons or occupied Palestine? What do we make of Barclays Bank removing the name of enslaver Andrew Buchanan from its new Glasgow property, and yet it has its own sordid history with trading the enslaved?
“[Removing symbols] makes us feel good, but it ironically has the effect of personalising and individualising racism,” Kelley said. “Some of the most important British abolitionists, for example, came from the ranks of industrial capitalists. Do they stay or fall?”
In the UK, campaigners also fear that changes such as removing statues are cosmetic. Robert Beckford, a professor of Black theology at the Queen’s Foundation, said: “Presenting a more balanced view of the history is necessary, but I’m worried that removing the symbols, removing of a plaque is viewed as equivalent to anti-racist, institutional change.”
For Morris, the work has only just begun. He points to the British government’s controversial report on race, which claimed to not find evidence of institutional racism in the UK in the areas it studied, as a sign of how far the UK must go to confront its past and present. He believes the answer to that is more protests.
Saleem, who organised the Colston protest, agrees. “We’re planning to make it a summer of anti-racist movements, activities and protests.”
The work continues in Minneapolis, too. This summer, Black Visions plans to gather residents to answer the question: “What will keep us safe?” The goal is to have a mandate and collective definition of safety that is driven by Minneapolis residents and includes alternatives to current approaches to public safety.
A coalition called Yes 4 Minneapolis submitted a petition to change the city charter, which requires the city to rely on police for public safety. The petition calls for a November ballot question to allow residents to replace police with a public safety department.
“I want to see more of my people and my ancestors reflected in the world that I live in,” said Noor. “But how about we just build that world instead of just changing the street signs in this one?
“It’s Black folks continuing to fight for the basic right … to live so we can thrive. George Floyd is a part of that story.”

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