AFAICT the new deadline is the 28th [of February]. they’re only at 69% of their goal as of now, please pass this around and donate if possible.
The Davis family has had to bury three warriors for justice in the past seven months. Virginia Davis, the matriarch of the family, passed in April, just two weeks after the US Supreme Court denied Troy’s final appeal, paving the way for the state of Georgia to set a new execution date. According to Martina, her mother died of a broken heart—she couldn’t bear another execution date. Troy was executed on September 21, despite an international outcry over executing a man amid such overwhelming doubt. Troy’s sister Martina succumbed to her decade-long battle with cancer on December 1, exactly two months after her brother Troy’s funeral, leaving behind a teenaged son.
There are still outstanding medical and funeral bills for Martina that the Davis family must pay.
The Davis family has had to bear more tragedy and sorrow than any family should ever have to. Together, we can ensure that the financial aspect of these losses will not be a burden to them.
Any amount will be highly appreciated.
Any questions can be directed to Jen Marlowe at firstname.lastname@example.org
ALSO: comment left by Jen Marlowe, with info for mailing checks:
checks should be made out to the “The Martina Davis-Correia fund” and can be sent to:
PO Box 2105
Savannah, GA 31407
ALSO IMPORTANT: the Dread Times post says that after the deadline, “donations can be made via Kim Davis’s paypal account, at email@example.com”.
Donate and repost!
So basically I’ve decided that I’m just going to keep reblogging this until the goal is met. I just made a donation now, and am grateful that I was able to. There are 9 days left, and almost $6,000 has been raised. But that’s over $2,000 more to go.
For those concerned about legitimacy/making sure that the money actually gets to the Davis family, I checked it out for you; the organizer, Jen Marlowe, is a reputable journalist who did a great deal of work on Troy’s case and knows the family personally, and the email address listed is in fact hers.
The Davis family has been through unfathomable pain and injustice. The least we can do, if we have the resources, is help minimize their hardships in this small, material, yet important way. They’re owed a hell of a lot more than just being able to pay their medical and funeral bills, and they deserve all of our support and gratitude for their amazing and courageous fight. Please help spread the word about this. I’d really love to see them ultimately get more than just the bare minimum they need.
Reblogging for signal boost!
Sister/Comrade Stephanie Gilmore, who spoke at SlutWalk Philadelphia, is, to the best of my knowledge, one of the ONLY anti-racist White Feminists who has PUBLICLY SUPPORTED the IDEA/PREMISE of SlutWalk while PUBLICLY CHALLENGING its CURRENT RACIST REALITY.
With her FULL PERMISSION, I have re-posted the text of her essay so that people who are not on facebook will be able to read it in its entirety.
“Am I Troy Davis? A Slut?; or, What’s Troubling Me about the Absence of Reflexivity in Movements that Proclaim Solidarity” by Stephanie Gilmore
On September 21, 2011, I joined hundreds of my friends and millions of people around the world to watch, through tears and in abject horror, as Troy Anthony Davis was executed by the State of Georgia. In the twenty years between Davis’ trial for the murder of police officer Mark McPhail and his execution, Davis maintained his innocence while witnesses recanted the testimony that sent Davis to death row. Despite conflicting testimonies and inadequate evidence, the state put aside lingering and longstanding doubt and instead, put Troy Anthony Davis to death.
On Facebook, Twitter, and other media outlets, I saw virtual and real friends declare that “I am Troy Davis.” They changed their profile pictures to a picture or image of Davis, or a black box, all in an attempt to articulate a sense of solidarity, a stand against the injustice of the prison industrial complex and a state thoroughly entrenched in the murder of a man who may not have committed the crime of murder. I agree wholeheartedly that the state was wrong in executing Mr. Davis and I grieve for his death as well as that of Officer McPhail. But in the weeks since Davis’s execution, I have been wondering if people really understand how and why Davis came to be murdered at the hands of the state. People insist that “I am Troy Davis,” but what does that mean?
In many ways, I am not Troy Davis. I am a middle-class, 40-something-year-old white woman. According to a 2008 Pew Center on the States report, one in 36 Hispanic adults is in prison in the United States. One in 15 Black adults is too, a statistic that includes one in 100 Black women and one in nine Black men, age 20-34. Although one of my parents spent time in prison, and through incarceration joined the swelling ranks of 2.3 million imprisoned people and many more in the system of probation, halfway houses, and parole, I and my white peers do not face systemic racial injustice in the structures of imprisonment. And it does not begin or end with the prison system. Black children are suspended and expelled from school at 3 times the rate of white children. Racial discrimination in funding for education also affects children’s success in school, as cash-poor school districts are also overwhelmingly Black and Latino neighborhoods. Schools have been and remain a pipeline to prison for many Black and Latino children, and generations of families, prison is a reality. One in 15 Black children currently has a parent in jail. People say that the system is broken, but I (along with others in the prison abolition movement) admit that the system is working exactly as it was set up to do. Can I really say, “I am Troy Davis” without giving serious consideration to the realities of racism in the prison industrial complex? Does that just become little more than the adoption of a slogan and a picture, without a real awareness of the racist realities of the prison industrial complex?
On August 6, 2011, I joined Slut Walk Philadelphia. It was a beautiful day and hundreds of people moved through Center City to end up at City Hall, where even more gathered to speak out against sexual violence. I had been following Slut Walks with great delight because I see the people power in the sheer numbers of women and men who are fighting back against sexual violence. So when I was asked to participate, and to stand with queer people of Color in a more racially inclusive Slut Walk than I had seen to date, I said “yes” because the fight to end sexual violence is my fight. And fighting against a culture that perpetuates and promotes rape; cheers on rapists; and diminishes, humiliates, and silences victims through law, education, and entertainment will demands knowledge that the system, again, is not broken. It is doing the very work it was constructed to do – sexual violence is a tool of ensuring white status quo. And if we are to end sexual violence, we must acknowledge how it operates.
I have struggled to accept a movement that does not acknowledge the very problematic word “slut” and how historically many women have not been able to shake the label of “slut.” I participated in the struggle – the movement as well as my own internal struggle – because I wanted to engage in, create, and sustain dialogue. Indeed, many criticize the apparent move to claim “slut” – how can you pick up something you’ve never been able to put down? Black women have been most vocal about the longer legacy of sexual violence done onto their bodies – often against the backdrop of slavery and colonialism — simply for being Black. But I continued to push into these bigger conversations and analyses. I listened and engaged when Crunk Feminist Collective challenged Slut Walks, when BlackWomen’s Blueprint issued their “Open Letter from Black Women to Slut Walk Organizers,” and when individual women of Color (and only women of Color) spoke publicly about racist actions within individual marches as well as racism within the larger movement. White women I know made private comments about different expressions of racism, but never spoke up to challenge individual actions or larger frameworks of analysis, leaving me to wonder “why?”
And then I saw the sign from Slut Walk NYC bearing the words “Women are the N*gger of the World.” I don’t care that the quotation is from John Lennon and Yoko Ono. I don’t care that the woman was asked to take down the sign – although I certainly do care that a woman of Color had to ask her to do so while white women moved around her, seemingly oblivious. I am angry when I continue to see so many white women defending it expressly or remaining complicit in silence, suggesting that “we” (what “we”?) need to focus on sexual violence first, as if it is unrelated to racism. And I wonder, can I really claim to be a part of the nascent Slut Walk movement without giving serious consideration to the realities of racism within very publicly identified facets of it? Can I be a part of it when so many women – my very allies and sisters in antiracist struggle – are set apart from it, or worse, set in perpetual opposition to it?
My question is, how can we be in solidarity when we are not willing to be reflexive and to check ourselves, check each other, and be checked? Bernice Johnson Reagon acknowledged that coalition building is hard work, made even harder by people who come to coalition seeking to find a home. My sense, or perhaps one sense I have, is that many people came to the “I Am Troy Davis” momentum or the Slut Walk marches looking for a home, a place where they can sit back and feel comfortable in their hard (very hard!) work, and comforted by others who pat them on the head and tell them “good job.” This is not to dismiss genuine concern for the state of our world. Perhaps we’re all lonely, as the realities of social justice work have taken on different and palatable forms since WTO and 9/11. So many people are down for the immediate issue – the indefensible execution of Troy Davis, the indefensible perpetuation of sexual violence — and that matters. But I worry that many white people aren’t paying attention to the larger structures in place. They are not being reflexive about the realities of racism that undergird prison incarceration, death penalty, and sexual violence.
I am not Troy Davis; I never will be. A system built on the foundation of racism ensures that I will not confront the realities of prison incarceration in the same ways as Black and Latino people. I am a strong advocate against sexual violence, but I cannot fight in and for a movement that is not interested in the realities of racism and the ways that racism undergirds sexual violence, and instead so blindly employs racist language. (The “Occupy Wall Street” actions call for me again the realities of racism and its necessity within the existing structure of capitalism – and the insistence among white people that people of Color indulge a luxury of time and money to sit in with them is untenable and racist. Many others have pointed out that the language of “occupation” is inherently problematic because bodies and lands have been historically occupied, often through sexual violence and criminalization. The movement itself needs to be decolonized.) Even as I support openly the prison abolition movement, the end to sexual violence, and the uprooting of a socioeconomic system that ignores the 99%, I cannot do so without deep awareness of racism that is operating within and among these movements. It is my work as a white activist to speak to and be aware of these legacies and histories of racism. Women and men of Color need not be alone in the front lines of identifying racist action and reaction within the movement. Insisting that people of Color have a voice only when it comes to identifying racism perpetuates, rather than alleviates racism. As I look at the actions of some people within these movements, I am reminded again that the racism of the supposed left is even more damaging and hurtful than the naked racism of the right.
If we are to work together in solidarity, we must do so reflexively, conscious of our actions and the potential outcomes before we act. This is not a call to focus on criticism and self-reflection to the point that we are inactive. That is unproductive, to be sure. But it is a call to be mindful and vigilant about racist action and reaction, to come to terms with the fact that we must do the work of understanding racist underpinnings of prison incarceration, the death penalty, and sexual violence if we are to make significant progress. Undoing racism must be at the core of our collective work across movements. To echo Dr. Reagon’s statement, we need to be honest and ask if we really want people of Color or if we’re just looking for ourselves with a little color to it. So much of the movement work, as it stands, seems to be looking for a little color, when we need to be exploring the realities of racism as part of the problem, not an additive to the “real” issue. In the absence of reflexivity about the structural forces that are keeping us apart, we will never be able to engage in real coalition work that will be required if we are to take seriously our goals of ending sexual violence and the death penalty. These movements as they are going now may continue, but they will not do so in my name and certainly not without my consent.
So no, I am not Troy Davis. I am not a slut. I am not an occupier of Wall Street or any street. The fights are my fights, but the current methods and analyses are not mine. I cannot sit by and listen to people debate the efficacy of the death penalty without understanding that it is the larger complex of incarceration and the “elementary-to-penitentiary” path that tracks and traps Black and Latino youth by design. I am done with the handwringing and “white lady tears” of so many white women who keep defending racist approaches and actions and, at times, respond with violence when confronted and challenged. Such behavior only reinforces the fact that these movement spaces as they are currently defined are not safe. My friend, colleague, and sister-in-spirit Aishah Shahidah Simmons said it best when she commented, “It’s sobering to observe how White solidarity is taking precedence over principled responses…. ” Sobering, indeed. I will most assuredly fight to end the prison industrial complex, sexual violence, and unbridled capitalism, but I will do so from a space that centers the racist roots of incarceration, criminal “justice,” capitalism, and sexual violence. Thankfully, those spaces already exist – even if they remain peripheral in the mainstream media (and in much of what is left of the lefty media). But it is time to pivot the center. Without reflexive analysis of racism and coalition work grounded in antiracist movement, we miss the real root of the problem as well as real opportunities to create change.
Stephanie Gilmore is a feminist activist and assistant professor of the women’s and gender studies department at Dickinson College. For the 2011-12 academic year, she is a postdoctoral fellow in women’s studies at Duke University. She is completing “Groundswell: Grassroots Feminist Activism in Postwar America” (Routledge, 2012) and has started a new research project on how students negotiate sexual violence on residential college campuses in the United States.
[Image: A very old, grainy black and white mug shot photograph of Lena Baker, a black woman wearing glasses and a headscarf, holding a numbered plate up.]
Meet LENA BAKER. A poor Black woman from Culbreath Georgia who’s claim to fame was being the first and only woman to be executed in the state of Georgia by electric chair in 1945. Her crime? Defending herself against the advances of an abusive white employer, who was going to kill her, if she didn’t kill him first. Lena Baker’s story has been largely ignored by the history books, but it speaks to the historical injustice that Blacks have endured and are still enduring today at the hands of the “justice” system. I keep her spirit in my heart as we await the outcome of this Troy Davis fiasco … hoping that just for once, history doesn’t repeat itself. - CB
“What I done, I did in self-defense, or I would have been killed myself. Where I was I could not overcome it. God has forgiven me. I have nothing against anyone. I picked cotton for Mr. Pritchett, and he has been good to me. I am ready to go. I am one in the number. I am ready to meet my God. I have a very strong conscience.”
please let this happen.
I’m really, really hoping for this too.
[Image: Three photos of Howard University students marching to the White House with signs protesting the impending September 21st execution of Troy Davis in Georgia. Some carry orange signs that say “NO to Legal Lynching” in the front of the march three students carry a banner that says “FREE TROY DAVIS!”]
Howard students march to the White House from Campus in support of Troy Davis
Troy was found guilty of murdering a police officer 19 years ago, based upon the testimony of 9 witnesses. Today, 7 of those 9 have recanted their testimony entirely, and there are enormous problems with the testimony of the remaining 2 witness accounts. There is NO OTHER EVIDENCE. The murder weapon was never found. There is no DNA to test. Troy is scheduled to die by lethal injection on September 21, 2011.
A message from Troy Anthony Davis
September 10, 2011
I want to thank all of you for your efforts and dedication to Human Rights and Human Kindness, in the past year I have experienced such emotion, joy, sadness and never ending faith. It is because of all of you that I am alive today, as I look at my sister Martina I am marveled by the love she has for me and of course I worry about her and her health, but as she tells me she is the eldest and she will not back down from this fight to save my life and prove to the world that I am innocent of this terrible crime.
As I look at my mail from across the globe, from places I have never ever dreamed I would know about and people speaking languages and expressing cultures and religions I could only hope to one day see first hand. I am humbled by the emotion that fills my heart with overwhelming, overflowing Joy. I can’t even explain the insurgence of emotion I feel when I try to express the strength I draw from you all, it compounds my faith and it shows me yet again that this is not a case about the death penalty, this is not a case about Troy Davis, this is a case about Justice and the Human Spirit to see Justice prevail.
I cannot answer all of your letters but I do read them all, I cannot see you all but I can imagine your faces, I cannot hear you speak but your letters take me to the far reaches of the world, I cannot touch you physically but I feel your warmth everyday I exist.
So Thank you and remember I am in a place where execution can only destroy your physical form but because of my faith in God, my family and all of you I have been spiritually free for some time and no matter what happens in the days, weeks to come, this Movement to end the death penalty, to seek true justice, to expose a system that fails to protect the innocent must be accelerated. There are so many more Troy Davis’. This fight to end the death penalty is not won or lost through me but through our strength to move forward and save every innocent person in captivity around the globe. We need to dismantle this Unjust system city by city, state by state and country by country.
I can’t wait to Stand with you, no matter if that is in physical or spiritual form, I will one day be announcing,
“I AM TROY DAVIS, and I AM FREE!”
Never Stop Fighting for Justice and We will Win!
troy davis was denied clemency.
keep calling if you can— When you call (404) 656-5651 Listen to the menu, press #5 for “Pardons,” Ask for DA Chisolm, Leave a message.
Folks, please take a few minutes to flood the District Attorney’s office with your disapproval of their death warrant.
District Attorney’s Office
Chatham County Courthouse
133 Montgomery St.
(Corner of Montgomery and Oglethorpe)
Savannah, GA 31401
Click Here for Map & Directions
P.O. Box 2309
Savannah, GA 31402
8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m.
Monday – Friday
Transcript of Video:
Interviewer (off camera for the entire time, as voiceover): August 19th, twenty-one years ago. That’s when Savannah police officer Mark MacPhail was murdered. His daughter Madison was almost two.
Madison (crying): I mean I love, I always have, I mean I always will. (laughs). I know, I was a daddy’s girl, and he was the apple of my eye. And…and..I love him. I would just want to tell him how much I love him.
Interviewer: Now 22, Madison chose News 3 for her first ever interview. Filled with emotion she shares a favorite memory.
Madison: It’s of a family reunion that we had. Um, it was just after Mark was born and it’s the last time we were all together as a family.
Interviewer: Holding tight to her brother, Mark Jr., she’s in town for a hearing that will determine if Troy Davis, the man on death row for her father’s murder will get a new trial. Davis has faced execution three times. At the order of the U.S. Supreme Court, Davis is being given an opportunity to try and prove his innocence. Seven of the nine witnesses have recanted their testimony that Davis was the killer. Madison says it’s long past time for justice.
Madison: We never get the chance to heal because when you think it’s over and you think that you can start to, not move on, but you can, you can start that healing process - it’s brought right back up to the forefront. And those wounds are just they’re ripped back open.
Interviewer: She believes this week’s hearing will be the beginning of the end for this case.
Madison: I’m like praying and believing that you know that Judge Moore, that he, you know, he will uphold justice. Because that’s all we’ve ever asked for.
Interviewer: Madison has never met Troy Davis. So I ask her, given the opportunity, what would she say to him?
Madison: I really don’t know that I could say anything. Um, I really don’t. I just don’t think there are words.
Interviewer: And the fact that this case has sparked national and international attention floors Madison.
Madison: This was a police officer who was killed. Yes he was my father, but I mean what is…he was a police officer. If you can’t uphold that and uphold the men that keep your city safe and stand behind them, then what precedent are you setting?
[Rest of video is inaudible and just shows Madison MacPhail talking to someone off camera.]
Interview with Madison MacPhail about her father’s murder.
- Has a favorite memory of her father, calls him the apple of her eye, and cries profusely even though he died before she was even two years old. Scientifically speaking, the libmic system -which stores memories- does not develop until the age of two. She is lying about remembering her father.
- Has never actually met Troy Davis
- Says she would not speak to Troy Davis if she had the chance. Killing him is the only option for reaching closure.
- Shining example of the phenomenon of “white woman tears”.
- Unironically states that she “never gets the chance to heal” in spite of the fact that she’s not on death row for a crime that she probably didn’t even commit, and that she hasn’t been in prison for 20 years.
I’d pay careful attention to the facts laid out beneath the transcript. Very careful attention.
I’m really, really hoping that Troy Davis does not himself become a murder victim of a state that, even in the face of overwhelming doubt, is hellbent on taking a man’s life.