Photo: Tanie Laramie

Fla. School District Trying To Curb School-To-Prison Pipeline

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In 2010 and 2011, there were more than 1,000 school-related arrests in Broward County. Nearly three-quarters of them were for non-violent misdemeanors.

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In Florida, one of the nation's largest school districts has overhauled its discipline policies with a single purpose in mind — to reduce the number of children going into the juvenile justice system.

It's a move away from so-called "zero tolerance" policies that require schools to refer even minor misdemeanors to the police. Critics call it a "school to prison pipeline."

Civil rights and education activists say the policy can be a model for the nation.

Under a new program adopted by the Broward County School District, non-violent misdemeanors — even those that involve alcohol, marijuana or drug paraphernalia — will now be handled by the schools instead of the police.

At a school board meeting today in Fort Lauderdale, a room full of lawyers, judges, police and educators applauded chair Laurie Rich Levinson's announcement.

"Zero tolerance" school policies became the norm across the country over the last 20 years and were fueled by concerns about gang violence and school shootings.

But Broward County, the nation's seventh largest school district, began looking seriously at changing its policies two years ago. District superintendent, Robert Runcie had just taken the job and was troubled.

"We saw huge differentials in achievement gaps among white, black and Hispanics students," Runcie said. "Black males in particular were in probably some of the worst situation in this district."

One of the first things Runcie did was order the district to compile its numbers on suspensions, arrests and expulsions — and they were startling. In 2010 and 2011, there were more than 1,000 school-related arrests, and nearly three-quarters of them were for non-violent misdemeanors.

Just as troubling is that in Florida and around the country, minorities are disproportionately affected — especially black males. State judge Elijah Williams said that although African-American kids make up just 40 percent of the school district's population, they account for 71 percent of the school arrests.

"We had the highest arrest rate in the state of Florida. And coincidentally, we had the highest drop-out rate," Williams said.

Although the agreement was signed today, the policies were adopted at the beginning of the school year. It's a series of counseling sessions, activities and interventions called the "Promise" program.

Officials say they're already seeing a steep drop in school-related arrests. And the Promise program is helping students like 17-year-old Maria Martinez. She's a senior and doesn't want to give details about what got her into trouble. But she said she was very nearly arrested.

"During my suspension, I went to the Promise program and it saved me. It saved my behind. If not, I would have been in bars, or behind bars," Martinez said.

Martinez said she's now getting ready to apply to college, and hopes to become a nurse or doctor.

Broward County is far from the only school district re-evaluating its zero tolerance disciplinary policies. Officials in Broward credit Clayton County, Ga. with leading the way. School districts in Wichita, Kan., Columbus, Ohio, and Birmingham, Ala., are just a few of many already following suit.

But Marcia Ellison, a member of the local NAACP, said this agreement goes further than the other programs: "What Broward has done is gone to make sure the administration is truly back in charge of the school. They have changed their school code of conduct which was a tool of funneling these kids. That has not happened across the country."

The NAACP is involved in a number of lawsuits challenging school discipline policies across the country. Ellison said this agreement shows a better way to begin dismantling the school to prison pipeline.

Did The NAACP Learn Anything From Meeting With The KKK?

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NAACP leaders from the Casper, Wyo., branch speak with members of the KKK at a heavily guarded meeting this past week.

Alan Rogers/Casper Star-Tribune

"I think all my first dates were probably less awkward than this," says Jeremy Fugleberg, referring to the NAACP's meeting on Saturday night with the Ku Klux Klan in a hotel conference room in Casper, Wyo. Fugleberg is assistant managing editor for news at the Casper Star-Tribune and reported on the gathering.

The meeting took months to set up. It was prompted by a number of assaults on African-American men in Gillette, a town about 130 miles north of Casper. Jimmy Simmons, the president of the local NAACP chapter, said he was concerned that the attacks might have been racially motivated because the men were reportedly attacked after hanging out with white women. Klan literature began appearing in Gillette. So Simmons negotiated with the Klan for a sit-down meeting with John Abarr, a kleagle in the United Klan of America.

The meeting took place last Saturday night, and Fugleberg was one of the few members of the media invited to attend. He shared his observations with Tell Me More host Michel Martin.

Interview Highlights

On the meeting

"You had the NAACP on one side of a table. You had the one Klansman on the other. And they swung right into it. There were certainly some pleasantries at the beginning, and the next moment, we were talking about interracial marriage, and [John Abarr] would come out and say things that were completely consistent with his position as a Klansman, but just odd to hear said out in the air, much less in front of leaders of the NAACP."

On whether the NAACP challenged John Abarr on his opinions

"They certainly challenged him. Jimmy Simmons, the branch president, he definitely took a lead in almost moderating it ... almost saying, 'Tell me more about that.' Other members there were much harsher on him, saying, 'Look, how can you say that? How do you know that you're not black?'... because they were talking about Klan recruiting and he was insisting, 'I wouldn't let anybody who is black join.' And they said, 'Well OK, so how do you know?' They said, 'Do you subscribe to this 'one drop of blood' process?' and he said, 'Oh yeah, that's definitely how we do it.' And again, of course, the question is: How do you know? 'Oh, I would know. I would know if somebody was black.' And they all laughed at that, because under his standards, that's not necessarily an easy thing to claim."

On what Abarr likes about being in the Klan

"He definitely seemed excited about the sense of belonging that you get from an organization like that, I suppose. He even mentioned at one point ... he almost equated being a member of the KKK to being an historical re-enactor — almost. And ... the NAACP members pushed him on that, and said, 'How do you do that without realizing that you are taking on the form and the character of an organization with the history that it has?' And every time he was pushed on that, he would admit that, sure, there had been some things during Reconstruction, but other than that, he wasn't aware of anything."

On how the meeting ended

"One of the [NAACP] members, Mel Hamilton, took the stance of trying to sum it up, saying, 'You know I'm really not happy with what I'm hearing. I don't think you're aware of your own history, and I don't feel like you're coming here seriously. I don't think you're taking this seriously.' Then [Abarr] was asked near the end, 'So what do you think of the NAACP now, after this meeting?' He said, 'Oh I think ... I really have more respect for the NAACP for having this meeting. I think it was awesome.' And then Mr. Simmons, out of the blue, says, 'Well, would you like to join up? Would you like to become a member [of the NAACP]?' And [Abarr] said, 'Sure. Yeah. I'd have no problem doing that.' And the next thing you know, he was signing the application form to become a member of the NAACP."

On the NAACP's reaction after the meeting

"I don't know that they were ultimately happy with what they heard. They got, maybe, a better understanding of this man's beliefs. But as far as changing something, I'm not sure that happened."

A History Of 'Snake Oil Salesmen'

"Snake Oil Salesman." The phrase conjures up images of seedy profiteers trying to exploit an unsuspecting public by selling it fake cures. In fact, the Oxford English Dictionary defines snake oil as "a quack remedy or panacea." What the OED does not note, however, is that the history of snake oil is linked to an often forgotten chapter of Asian-American history.

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Made from the oil of the Chinese water snake, which is rich in the omega-3 acids that help reduce inflammation, snake oil in its original form was effective, especially when used to treat arthritis and bursitis.

Jagrap/Flickr

Because the words "snake oil" are so evocative, it has been a favorite go-to phrase for politicians and lobbying groups on both sides of the aisle. Earlier this month, Kentucky Sen. Mitch McConnell called his opponent in the Republican primary, Tea Party candidate Matt Bevin, a snake oil salesman in a campaign mailer. While campaigning for a second term last year, President Obama referred to the Romney-Ryan tax plan as "trickle-down snake oil" at a rally. In 2008, the Natural Resources Defense Council Action Fund took out full-page ads in The Washington Post to denounce then-President George W. Bush's plan to drill in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, calling it "100 percent snake oil."

But what, exactly, is snake oil? And why is peddling it such a terrible thing?

The 1800s saw thousands of Chinese workers arriving in the United States as indentured laborers to work on the Transcontinental Railroad. According to historian Richard White's book Railroaded, about 180,000 Chinese immigrated to the United States between 1849 and 1882. The vast majority of the workers came from peasant families in southeastern China and were signed to contracts that ran up to five years for relatively low wages (compared with their white counterparts), wrote David Haward Bain in his book Empire Express.

Among the items the Chinese railroad workers brought with them to the States were various medicines — including snake oil. Made from the oil of the Chinese water snake, which is rich in the omega-3 acids that help reduce inflammation, snake oil in its original form really was effective, especially when used to treat arthritis and bursitis. The workers would rub the oil, used for centuries in China, on their joints after a long hard day at work. The story goes that the Chinese workers began sharing the oil with some American counterparts, who marveled at the effects.

So how did a legitimate medicine become a symbol of fraud? The origins of snake oil as a derogatory phrase trace back to the latter half of the 19th century, which saw a dramatic rise in the popularity of "patent medicines." Often sold on the back pages of newspapers, these tonics promised to cure a wide variety of ailments including chronic pain, headaches, "female complaints" and kidney trouble. In time, all of these false "cures" began to be referred to as snake oil.

As word of the healing powers of Chinese snake oil grew, many Americans wondered how they could make their own snake oil here in the United States. Because there were no Chinese water snakes handy in the American West, many healers began using rattlesnakes to make their own versions of snake oil.

This set the stage for entrepreneur Clark Stanley, aka The Rattlesnake King. In an 1897 pamphlet about Stanley's life and exploits, the former cowboy claimed he had learned about the healing power of rattlesnake oil from Hopi medicine men. He never publicly mentioned Chinese snake oil at all. Stanley created a huge stir at the 1893 World's Exposition in Chicago when he took a live snake and sliced it open before a crowd of onlookers.

Joe Schwarcz, the director of McGill University's Office for Science and Society, described the scene in this 2008 article:

How did a legitimate medicine become a symbol of fraud?

Wikimedia Commons

"[Stanley] reached into a sack, plucked out a snake, slit it open and plunged it into boiling water. When the fat rose to the top, he skimmed it off and used it on the spot to create 'Stanley's Snake Oil,' a liniment that was immediately snapped up by the throng that had gathered to watch the spectacle."

There were two major problems with Stanley's claim about his oil:

First, rattlesnake oil was far less effective than the original Chinese snake oil it was trying to emulate. A 1989 letter to The Western Journal of Medicine from psychiatrist and researcher Richard Kunin revealed that the Chinese oil contained almost triple the amount of a vital acid as did rattlesnake oil.

Secondly, Stanley's Snake Oil didn't contain any snake oil at all. The Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 sought to clamp down on the sale of patent medicines and it was that legislation that led to Stanley's undoing. After seizing a shipment of Stanley's Snake Oil in 1917, federal investigators found that it primarily contained mineral oil, a fatty oil believed to be beef fat, red pepper and turpentine. That's right — Stanley's signature product did not contain a drop of actual snake oil, and hundreds of consumers discovered they had been had.

It was probably around then that snake oil became symbolic of fraud. Snake oil salesmen and traveling doctors became stock characters in American Westerns. The first written usage of the phrase appeared in Stephen Vincent Benet's epic 1927 poem John Brown's Body, when the poet refers to "Crooked creatures of a thousand dubious trades ... sellers of snake-oil balm and lucky rings." About 30 years later, playwright Eugene O'Neill referred to snake oil in his 1956 play The Iceman Cometh, when a character suggested that a rival was "standing on a street corner in hell right now, making suckers of the damned, telling them there's nothing like snake oil for a bad burn."

As for what happened to Clark Stanley after it was found that his whole empire was based on a lie? He was fined $20 (that's about $429 in today's dollars) for violating the food and drug act and for "misbranding" his product by "falsely and fraudulently represent[ing] it as a remedy for all pain."

Stanley did not dispute the charges.

The Shift In Black Views Of The War On Drugs

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U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder is calling for major changes to the nation's criminal justice system that would cut back the use of harsh sentences for certain drug-related crimes.

Eric Risberg/AP

This week, Attorney General Eric Holder called for sweeping changes to America's 40-year war on drugs. Holder is the first African-American in the nation's top law enforcement post. He's also part of a growing movement of black leaders who have pushed for major reforms to the drug war.

Four years ago, New York's then-Gov. David Paterson stood in a drug treatment center in Queens and made history. "And finally today, on this sunny day, with the stroke of a pen, we will end the regime of the Rockefeller drug laws."

New York's first black governor rolled back the mandatory minimum sentencing laws, first passed in 1973, that disproportionately locked up African-American men.

And now Holder argues that Rockefeller-style laws should be eased at the federal level as well.

"The war on drugs is now 30, 40 years old. There have been a lot of unintended consequences. There's been a decimation of certain communities, in particular communities of color," says Holder.

This idea — that strict drug laws have done more harm than good in black America — is common these days. But early on, many African-American leaders championed those same tough-on-crime policies.

The Rev. George McMurray was lead pastor at the Mother A.M.E. Zion Church in Harlem in the 1970s, when the city faced a major heroin epidemic. He called for drug dealers to spend the rest of their lives behind bars.

"When you send a few men to prison for life, someone's going to pass the word down, 'It's not too good over here.' ... Instead of [robbing] and selling dope, 'I want to go to school and live a good life.' "

Black support for the drug war didn't just grow in New York alone. At the federal level, members of the newly formed Congressional Black Caucus met with President Richard Nixon, urging him to ramp up the drug war as quickly as possible.

Michael Javen Fortner, a political scientist and historian at Rutgers University, says that "the silent black majority of Harlem and New York City felt constantly accosted by drug addicts, by pushers, by crime."

But the idea that black leaders played a pivotal role in the drug war is controversial. Some black academics, including Michelle Alexander — author of the best-selling book The New Jim Crow — disagree about the role of black America in promoting and sustaining the drug war.

Alexander declined to be interviewed for this story, but in previous public comments she has portrayed the drug war as the creation of white politicians, deliberately targeting black Americans.

"The drug war was motivated by racial politics, not drug crime. The drug war was launched as a way of trying to appeal to poor and working-class white voters, as a way to say, 'We're going to get tough on them, put them back in their place.' And 'them' was not-so-subtly defined as African-Americans."

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Martin Luther King Jr. attends Lyndon B. Johnson's signing of the Voting Rights Act on Aug. 6, 1965. During this time, the drug war was expanding.

Yoichi Okamoto/Lyndon Baines Johnson Library

But Fortner is not the only historian who has documented the push by black leaders for strict sentencing laws. Still, he admits his account is deeply controversial.

"If you think that everything can be explained by white backlash, if you think the white racial order is somehow omnipresent and all-powerful, and is always trying to... re-establish its power and legitimacy, then you hate what I do," says Fortner.

Voting records show that many black lawmakers supported some of the most punitive drug-war-era laws in America. But even some people who have long opposed harsh sentencing laws understand where supporters were coming from. The Rev. Herbert Daughtry, a longtime pastor in New York, once was addicted to heroin and served time. He's convinced that black leaders who embraced the drug war did serious harm to the community, but says a lot of African-Americans were desperate for ways to make their neighborhoods safe again. "If you're the victim, then you don't want to hear anything about treatment, just, 'Get this guy off the street.' "

But eventually, even some of the staunchest supporters of mandatory minimums saw that these policies had badly backfired, in part because they lumped addicts and small-time dealers with drug kingpins and violent gang leaders. And they also consigned countless African-American men to prisons across the country.

This story was produced in partnership with the Prison Time Media Project.