When I bronzed my civil rights marching shoes 15 years ago, I did so not only because they were worn down to the logo, but also, because I learned after several thousand miles that marching is like prayer: Without additional ‘works,’ it rarely results in any meaningful resolution.
I generally feel the same way about press conferences, letters to politicians, and petitions—to a lesser degree.
On the other hand, boycotts can be an effective tool, but only if you acquire community support and are committed to the long-term strategy.
Such was the case with the boycott of the Clarke Gas station on Teutonia and Roosevelt that successfully concluded this past week after the Common Council shut it down.
In political terms, that means the council succumbed to community pressure and rescinded the license of the station’s owner, Gurinder Nagra (not to be confused with a similar—albeit inappropriate, pronounced adjective).
The gas station was the scene of a ‘public execution’ by the business’s ‘security guard’ in August.
The victim, Isaiah Allen, lived within shouting distance of the station and reportedly was trustworthy enough to maintain a running tab.
Nonetheless, and nonsensically, he was shot in the back as he exited the store, allegedly for ‘stealing’ a cupcake.
The shooter, Wille Pinken, was a convicted felon and, as such, is disqualified from possessing a gun. He was convicted in 1989 of first-degree reckless homicide.
The station owner denied Pinken was ‘hired’ as a security guard but could not explain why Pinken would follow Allen out of the store and execute him…over a cupcake. Yeah, a cupcake!
To most folks with common sense, the details of the murder made about as much sense as U.S. congressmen trying to sneak a $8,000 raise amid a recession and a multi-trillion dollar deficit.
But seeking to make sense out of nonsense wasn’t the demonstrators’ goal. Instead, it was about justice and closing down a business that has exploited the community for a number of years. It was also to send a message to an apathetic council.
Allen’s mother, neighbors and a contingency of change agents went so far as to set up tents and a grill to nourish the demonstrators, who never took a day off.
I stopped by the demonstration several times and was happy to see that the number participants had grown each time. Consistency is one of the necessary components crucial to the boycott strategy’s success.
Resiliency is another.
Community support is at the top of the list.
I wasn’t around in the early 1970s, but I heard that a boycott of Kohl’s Food Stores was usurped by the ownership’s shrewd counter tactic.
A group of Black ministers had engineered the boycott because of the grocer’s shoddy diversity record.
For those who don’t know, the mega department store chain that lost me my stock (that’s another story) was proceeded by a food store chain.
And yes, ‘nobody’s senator but yours’ (as Herb Kohl’s campaign slogan) was a member of that family ownership group.
To his credit, Herb Kohl was a respected advocate for the underclass and even fed open housing marchers for a short time before the boycott. Give him credit.
But the store’s hiring record wasn’t’ in tune with those lyrics.
More importantly, the boycott fell apart when the Teutonia and Capitol Store manager offered ‘free chicken!’
Poor families (I’ll use that excuse) broke through the demonstrators to get their hands on our community’s ‘earth-bound eagle.’
There are some reports that several clergy were seen sneaking out the back door with big birds hidden under their clerical robes. Then again, they may carry out the example set in Leviticus– -chapter 1, verses 14-17. (For the record, I didn’t have to look that up; I am a pastor’s son, and my sister and brother are my ‘spiritual shepherds,’ meaning I am the ‘Black sheep.’
Another lost campaign occurred a couple of decades after the Kohl’s fiasco when a group of activists led by former Alderman Mike McGee and activist/Griot Teju Oloboni led a boycott of Beauty Island (known derisively in the community as ‘Booty Island’), an Asian-owned wig and eye-lash company that has taken hundreds of thousands of dollars out of the community, but invested zero in return.
The boycott was called after it was learned an employee had assaulted a pregnant sister he accused of shoplifting.
Although we had moral rights behind us, the boycott failed because several Black female ‘Neckbones’ refused to honor our cause or support the concept of sisterhood.
I recall one sistah (or ‘Chitterlin’’), a stereotypical caricature of an ‘Aunt Jemiah,’ almost ran over a demonstrator, declaring, no “MFers can tell me where to spend my MF money!”
While one of the most effective strategies for engineering justice—cutting off people at their purse stings—a boycott can backfire and set us back and empower the culprit when it fails.
Conversely, when successful, as it was with the gas station campaign, it empowers the entire community and sends shivers down the yellow spines of the ‘plantation owners.’
It also provides the community with a testament to Black unity, something in short supply these days.
I found the boycott particularly gratifying because the initiative was undertaken by laymen–brothers and sisters and children–only a handful had participated in any prior campaign. Hopefully, a seed was planted that will mature into an oak—make that baobab—tree. (After confirming my biblical quote—if you have one to read—look up this life-sustaining tree.
Sadly, albeit not unexpectedly, none of the so-called civil rights or social justice organizations found the time to participate in the boycott.
At least one of the Black organizations, Pastor’s United, was heading their own demonstration across town.
But that leaves several notiables who should have done more than read about it in the Community Journal.
In fact, the last time I recall any other group—NAACP— leading a ‘boycott,’ it fell flat on its face.
That was when the local branch president held a press conference to announce a nonsensical campaign against the then new Bradley Center and the Milwaukee Bucks when that facility was a few days shy of opening in 1988.
The president declared, to my amazement, that he was calling on the community’s support because the arena had not met its MBE goals.
None of the puzzle pieces for a successful boycott were present, the most obvious being community support.
I shook my head following the press conference not only because the threat was far too little, too late, but more so because assuming the larger community, much less basketball-loving residents of the ‘inner city’ would honor a boycott of the home team, was at best nonsensical.
It also undermined what has been our most effective weapon in the war for justice and discrediting the nation’s oldest civil rights organization.
But back to 2023.
The council should have taken the owner’s license years ago, long before the demonstration was needed.
Had that happened… well, you can fill in the blank.
I lived with my parents at their home several blocks from the gas station during my transitional period after military service andbefore my acceptance into college.
Back then, it was a good business partner and a much-neededanchor.
But for the last couple of decades, it has been nothing morethan an eyesore, both physicallyand professionally.
Drugs were openly sold on ornear the grounds, neighborhoodfolks were afraid of being jackedor jilted, and if the managementhad security (I didn’t buy gas ortheir overpriced products, so Idon’t have first-hand experience)it was AWOL when an elderlysister was ‘motorized chair jacked’several years ago.
Complaints to police and thecouncil went unaddressed (or atleast those to the council).
Which is why the people tookmatters into their own hands.
This time, the bullets carried intheir ‘just-us’ holster belts were ofa larger caliber. And they werenot blanks.
Hotep
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