By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

On February 16, 2026, a Denver judge delivered a decision that shook the American legal system. Judge Sarah Wallace ruled that the Colorado Department of Corrections broke the state constitution. The court found that the state used forced labor practices that resembled slavery. This ruling is a major moment in the fight for human rights within the prison system. It focuses on how the state treats people who are incarcerated (colorado.gov).

The case is known as Mortis v. Colorado Department of Corrections. It was a class-action lawsuit. It represented thousands of people who were forced to work while in prison. The judge stated that the state can no longer punish inmates for refusing to work. This decision marks the first time a court enforced a new rule against slavery in Colorado. It is a historic victory for those who have long argued against modern forms of involuntary servitude (togethercolorado.org).

Judge Wallace wrote a 61-page ruling to explain her decision. She found that the state’s "work-or-confinement" policy was unconstitutional. This policy forced inmates to take work assignments. If they refused, they faced harsh punishments. These punishments included being put into solitary confinement. The judge ruled that this system fits the definition of involuntary servitude (colorado.gov).

The lawsuit was led by Harold Mortis. He is an African American man serving a long sentence at the Sterling Correctional Facility. Mortis and others testified about the threats they faced. They spoke about losing "earned time" credits. These credits help people get out of prison earlier. When the state took these credits away as a punishment for not working, it effectively extended their prison stay. The judge ordered an immediate stop to these coercive practices (togethercolorado.org).

To understand why this ruling matters, one must look at history. In 1865, the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery. However, it included a major loophole. It allowed slavery as a punishment for a crime. This is known as the "penal exception." For over 150 years, this loophole allowed states to force prisoners to work without pay or for very little money (wikipedia.org).

The historical intricacies of the U.S. Constitution and slavery remain relevant in this legal battle. Colorado followed this same pattern when it became a state in 1876. Its constitution also had a penal exception. This language allowed the state to treat incarcerated people as laborers for the government. It created a system where the state could profit from the work of those it had imprisoned. This practice went unchallenged for more than a century (cde.state.co.us).

During the Reconstruction era, this loophole was weaponized. States in the South used "Black Codes" to arrest Black men for minor things. They were then leased out to private companies for labor. This was called convict leasing. It was a way to keep the economic benefits of slavery alive after the Civil War ended. While Colorado did not have the same plantation history, it used the same legal logic to build its prison industries (wikipedia.org).

Activists in Colorado worked for years to close this loophole. In 2016, they tried to pass Amendment T. This measure aimed to remove the exception for slavery from the state constitution. It failed by a very small margin. Supporters believed the wording on the ballot was confusing. Some voters may have accidentally voted against it because they did not understand the question (togethercolorado.org).

They did not give up. In 2018, they brought a new measure called Amendment A to the voters. This time, the language was clear. It proposed that slavery and involuntary servitude should be banned in all circumstances. There would be no exceptions for crimes. Colorado voters passed it with a massive 66% of the vote. Colorado became the first state in modern history to totally ban slavery within its borders (cde.state.co.us).

Even after the law changed, the prison system did not change its ways immediately. The Department of Corrections argued that work was part of "rehabilitation." They claimed that chores and jobs were not forced labor. This friction led directly to the 2026 court case. The people inside the prisons knew that if they said no to work, they would be punished. They felt that the 2018 amendment was being ignored by the state (colorado.gov).

The 2026 ruling specifically targeted the use of solitary confinement. For years, Colorado was a leader in using "Supermax" prisons. These facilities were designed to keep people in small cells for 23 hours a day. While the state said it was moving away from this for violent behavior, the lawsuit proved it was still used as a threat. If an inmate did not want to work, they were often sent to these isolation units (prearesourcecenter.org).

This type of isolation is very damaging to the human mind. Medical experts say it can cause permanent brain issues and deep anxiety. Using such a harsh punishment to make someone work is the definition of coercion. The judge found that the state rebranded these units. They called them things like "Removal From Population." Even with a new name, the conditions remained the same. It was a "stick" used to ensure people kept working for pennies (colorado.gov).

There is a massive amount of money involved in prison labor. Colorado Correctional Industries, or CCI, is a state-owned business. It uses incarcerated workers to make furniture and license plates. They even tame wild horses. In 2022, CCI made $24 million from these products. However, the workers were paid almost nothing. Wages averaged about 97 cents an hour (colorado.gov).

The struggles for economic justice against all odds demonstrate how important fair wages are for everyone. In prison, low wages make it hard for people to help their families. Many incarcerated people have children and bills on the outside. When the state takes their labor for less than a dollar an hour, it prevents them from ever getting ahead. It also makes it impossible to pay back the money they owe for their crimes (togethercolorado.org).

Critics call this system economic extraction. The state saves money and makes a profit while the prisoners stay poor. If the state had to pay minimum wage, it would cost millions of dollars more. This financial incentive is why the state fought so hard to keep the old system. The 2026 ruling forces the state to rethink how it funds its operations without relying on forced, low-wage labor (cde.state.co.us).

The weight of these practices does not fall on everyone equally. In Colorado, there is a clear racial disparity in the prison system. Black people make up only 5% of the general population. Yet, they make up 17% of the people in prison. This means that the rules regarding forced labor disproportionately affect Black men and women (wikipedia.org).

Understanding the sharing of power between state and federal governments helps explain why state-level changes like Amendment A are so critical. When state laws target marginalized groups, the impact is felt for generations. In the prison system, Black inmates are often assigned to manual labor jobs. These jobs are often in kitchens or on grounds crews. They are less likely to get the higher-paying vocational jobs (togethercolorado.org).

Because of this, the 14,000 disciplinary write-ups for "failing to work" hit Black families the hardest. These write-ups lead to more time in prison. This keeps fathers and mothers away from their children for longer. It drains the wealth from Black communities. The court's decision is a step toward fixing a system that has long penalized people of color more than others (colorado.gov).

One of the most powerful tools the state used was "earned time." This is a system where prisoners get days taken off their sentence for good behavior. In Colorado, an inmate can earn up to 10 or 12 days a month. This is a huge deal for someone serving a 10-year sentence. It could mean going home years earlier. But the state used this as a weapon (colorado.gov).

If an inmate refused a work assignment, the state would stop giving them earned time. This made the labor "forced" because the alternative was staying in prison longer. The court found that this was not a "choice" at all. It was a form of legal kidnapping to get labor. If someone has to work or stay in a cell longer, they are not working by their own free will (togethercolorado.org).

The judge ruled that the state cannot use earned time as a "stick" to force work. Incentives are allowed, but punishments for opting out are not. This shift changes the entire environment of the prison. Now, the state must find ways to make people want to work. They must provide real value and fair treatment to the workers (colorado.gov).

The ruling does not mean that work in prison will stop. Instead, it must become voluntary. There are already examples of how this can work. A program called Breakthrough shows a different way. It focuses on teaching people how to start businesses. It provides high-level professional skills. Most importantly, it is completely optional (colorado.gov).

The success of these programs is clear. Breakthrough has a recidivism rate of only 6%. This is much lower than the general rate of 28% to 45%. When people choose to learn and work, they are more likely to succeed when they leave. Unlike the success of early Black entrepreneurs who built businesses from the ground up, incarcerated individuals need a fair chance to restart their lives without being exploited (colorado.gov).

The state must now focus on these incentive-based models. This might mean paying higher wages. It might mean offering more educational credits. The 2026 ruling forces the Department of Corrections to treat incarcerated people as human beings with rights. This shift from coercion to cooperation could lead to a safer and more effective prison system for everyone (prearesourcecenter.org).

Colorado is not the only state watching this case. Many other states have followed Colorado’s lead by passing similar constitutional amendments. Utah, Nebraska, Alabama, and Oregon have all removed the penal exception from their own laws. The Denver ruling serves as a "test case" for the rest of the country. It shows that courts are willing to hold states accountable to these new rules (cde.state.co.us).

President Donald Trump is currently leading the country during this shift in carceral policy. His administration has often focused on law and order, but the states are driving this constitutional change. The ruling by Judge Wallace proves that state constitutions are a powerful tool for civil rights. If Colorado can successfully move away from forced labor, other states will likely follow (wikipedia.org).

This movement is about more than just prison work. It is about closing the final chapter of slavery in America. By removing the threat of solitary confinement and the loss of earned time, the court has removed the tools of enslavement. It is a slow process, but the legal foundation is now set. The legacy of the 1876 penal exception is finally being erased (cde.state.co.us).

The February 16, 2026, ruling is a major victory for Harold Mortis and thousands of others. It affirms that the will of the voters must be respected. When the people of Colorado voted to end slavery in all circumstances, they meant it. The state corrections system cannot hide behind "rehabilitation" to keep old, abusive practices alive (colorado.gov).

The journey from 1876 to 2026 has been long and difficult. It took a century and a half to close a loophole that should never have existed. This case shows that the fight for justice requires constant effort. It requires activists, lawyers, and incarcerated people to stand up and demand their rights. Colorado has taken a bold step toward a future where "involuntary servitude" truly means never (togethercolorado.org).

As the state moves forward, it faces a budget crisis and political challenges. However, the constitutional mandate is clear. The days of using the prison system as a source of forced labor are over. This ruling reminds everyone that human dignity does not stop at the prison gate. It is a landmark moment that will be remembered for decades to come (colorado.gov).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The scene in Mukono was tense as security forces surrounded the home of Dr. Sarah Bireete. It was late December 2025, just weeks before a major election. Dr. Bireete is a well-known lawyer and the head of the Centre for Constitutional Governance. Her crime was not a violent act. Instead, the state accused her of unlawfully obtaining national voter information. This arrest sent shockwaves through the human rights community in East Africa (allafrica.com, omct.org).

Authorities claimed she violated the Data Protection and Privacy Act. This law should protect the private information of citizens. However, advocates argue the government is using it to stop people from checking the voter register. Dr. Bireete had raised concerns about "ghost voters" and errors in the digital database. By the time she was released on bail in February 2026, the election was already over. This incident highlights a growing trend where technology and law become tools for intimidation (voanews.com, 76crimes.com).

Official participation reached an all-time low in 2026 (monitor.co.ug, electionjudgments.org).

To understand why voter data is so sensitive in Uganda, one must look at the past. The year 1980 was a turning point for the nation. Milton Obote returned to power after an election that many people believed was rigged. This moment is often called the "Ballots into Bullets" event. Yoweri Museveni, who was a candidate at the time, argued that peaceful change was no longer possible. He led an armed rebellion known as the Ugandan Bush War (reliefweb.int, medium.com).

For five years, the country was gripped by conflict. Museveni eventually took power in 1986. His National Resistance Movement promised to fix the broken democratic process. However, the history of the region shows that the history of Africa took many dramatic turns after colonial rule. Museveni established a "no-party" system for nearly twenty years. He claimed that political parties caused division based on religion and tribe. This allowed his party to consolidate power without any formal opposition (medium.com, hrw.org).

In 2005, Uganda faced pressure from both inside and outside the country. The government agreed to return to a multiparty system. However, this change came with a heavy price. The constitution was amended to remove limits on how many terms a president could serve. This meant President Museveni could stay in power indefinitely. This trade-off set the stage for the contentious 2006 election (hrw.org, electionjudgments.org).

During that cycle, something strange happened to the voter register. Despite a growing population, the list of voters shrank by over 600,000 people. The Electoral Commission said they were simply cleaning up "ghost voters." Opposition leaders disagreed. They argued the government purged voters in areas where the opposition was popular. This mystery of the disappearing voters created a deep lack of trust that still exists today. It illustrates the troubling history of disenfranchisement that many Black communities face globally (monitor.co.ug, electionjudgments.org).

Modern elections rely heavily on technology. Uganda introduced Biometric Voter Verification Kits to stop fraud. These handheld devices scan fingerprints and faces. They are supposed to make sure each person only votes once. For the 2026 election, the state purchased new kits with infrared cameras. However, the rollout was a disaster. Many kits failed to work on election day (smartmatic.com, youtube.com).

Because the machines failed, many polling stations went back to using manual paper lists. This switch often leads to confusion and allows for illegal voting. Furthermore, the government shut down the internet during the polls. This made it impossible for independent observers to share information in real time. Technology was supposed to bring transparency. Instead, it seems to have created a "digital wall" that hides the process from the public (youtube.com, smartmatic.com).

Sedition and "False News" used to jail critics (omct.org).

Computer Misuse Act targets "offensive communication" online (ugandaradionetwork.net).

Data Protection Act used to shield voter registers from audits (76crimes.com).

The Ugandan government has changed its legal tactics over the years. In the past, they used colonial-era laws like "sedition." Sedition meant saying anything that might make people dislike the president. However, brave journalists and lawyers fought back. In 2010, the Constitutional Court ruled that sedition laws were illegal. They said these laws violated the right to free speech. This was a major victory for the notion of freedom in the country (omct.org).

After losing these old tools, the state created new ones. They passed the Computer Misuse Act and the Data Protection and Privacy Act. These newer laws sound modern and helpful. In reality, they are often used to arrest bloggers and activists. If someone posts something the government does not like, they can be charged with "offensive communication." This shift shows how the state adapts to stay in control (ugandaradionetwork.net, 76crimes.com).

The case against Dr. Bireete introduces a new concept called the "Data Shield." This happens when a government uses privacy laws to hide public information. The voter register is supposed to be a public document. Every citizen has a right to see it to ensure it is accurate. However, the state now argues that the digital version of this data is private (allafrica.com, 76crimes.com).

By making the register "off-limits," the state prevents organizations like the Centre for Constitutional Governance from finding errors. If a group tries to audit the data, they are accused of "unlawfully obtaining" it. This creates a legal paradox. The law protects the state from the people, rather than protecting the people from the state. This impact on the political experience of Black people in Uganda is profound and limits their power (76crimes.com).

Even if an activist finds proof of fraud, winning a court case is nearly impossible. This is because of the "Substantial Effect" clause in Ugandan law. This rule says that an election cannot be overturned unless the fraud was big enough to change the final result. It is not enough to prove that the law was broken. A petitioner must show that the broken law mathematically decided the winner (electionjudgments.org).

Legal experts call this a "quantitative trap." A person would need to gather thousands of affidavits in just ten days to meet this standard. In 2001 and 2006, the Supreme Court admitted there was massive cheating. However, they ruled it did not have a "substantial effect" on the outcome. This legal hurdle makes many voters feel that going to court is a waste of time. It contributes to the low voter turnout seen in the most recent elections (monitor.co.ug, electionjudgments.org).

Intimidation in Uganda often goes beyond the courtroom. During the 2021 and 2026 election cycles, reports of enforced disappearances increased. Security forces in unmarked vans, known locally as "drones," often abduct activists. These individuals are taken to secret detention centers called "safe houses." Their families often do not know where they are for weeks or months (omct.org).

United Nations experts have flagged these disappearances as a major human rights violation. More than 160 cases were reported in 2025 alone. This environment of fear makes it dangerous for anyone to speak out about voter data issues. When the state uses both the law and physical force, the space for free speech shrinks. The arrest of Dr. Bireete is just one piece of a much larger puzzle of state control (omct.org, 76crimes.com).

Dr. Sarah Bireete remains defiant. After her release from Luzira Prison, she promised to continue her work. She argues that the fight for a clean voter register is a fight for the soul of the country. However, the 2026 election saw the lowest participation rate in decades. Only 52.5 percent of registered voters showed up to the polls. This suggests that many Ugandans are losing hope in the system (voanews.com, monitor.co.ug).

The story of voter data in Uganda is a warning. It shows how easily tools designed for progress can be turned into tools for repression. As the world becomes more digital, the methods used to silence dissent also evolve. For the global African diaspora, these events serve as a reminder. The struggle for fair voting and true representation is ongoing. It requires constant vigilance against both old and new forms of suppression (allafrica.com, 76crimes.com).

In conclusion, the intimidation of rights advocates in Uganda is not a series of random events. It is a calculated strategy to protect the state from accountability. By using privacy laws as a "Data Shield," the government has moved the battle for democracy into the digital world. The history of the 1980 election and the 2006 register shrinkage shows that this is a long-standing pattern (medium.com, electionjudgments.org).

The arrest of Dr. Bireete serves as a global example of how laws can be weaponized. When the very acts of checking a register or asking for transparency are criminalized, democracy is in danger. The people of Uganda continue to strive for a system where their voices matter. Until the "Data Shield" is removed, the path to fair and free voting will remain blocked. The world must continue to watch and support those who stand up for the truth (voanews.com, omct.org).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The situation in Haiti has reached a point of extreme danger for the nation's children. Recent reports indicate that the number of children joining armed groups increased by 200 percent in the last year alone (unicef.org). This tripling of child recruitment shows how the state has failed to protect its most vulnerable citizens. Many of these children are as young as nine or ten years old. They are no longer bystanders in the violence but are active participants in a conflict they did not create (reliefweb.int).

Armed groups now control nearly 90 percent of the capital city, Port-au-Prince. In these neighborhoods, gangs have replaced the government as the primary source of food and protection. When the state disappears, children must look elsewhere for survival. Joining a gang becomes a tactical choice for those who face starvation every day. This shift from accidental victims to essential tools of warfare marks a dark new chapter in the history of the country (unicef.org.au).

Recruitment Increase: 200%

Port-au-Prince Control: 90%

Displaced: 1.4 Million

The current gang culture in Haiti did not appear by magic. It is the result of a seventy-year history where political leaders used armed civilians to keep power. President François "Papa Doc" Duvalier started this trend in 1958 with the creation of the Tonton Macoutes (blackpast.org). This personal militia operated outside the regular military to crush any opposition. They were given total freedom to act with violence, which set a dangerous example for future groups (wikipedia.org).

After the Duvalier dynasty fell, other leaders continued this practice. In the 1990s and 2000s, Jean-Bertrand Aristide relied on youth groups known as Chimères (researchgate.net). These units were based in poor neighborhoods like Cité Soleil. They were often young people who felt ignored by the elite. These groups eventually blurred the lines between political activism and criminal activity. This long history of the Haitian Revolution and its aftermath shows how political desperation leads to the arming of the youth.

The assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in July 2021 destroyed what was left of the Haitian state. Without a president, parliament, or working courts, the country fell into a deep power vacuum (yenisafak.com). Gangs that were once used as political pawns became their own bosses. They stopped taking orders from the elite and started taking over territory for themselves (aa.com.tr). This period allowed gang leaders to become the "state" in their own areas.

As of early 2026, the political situation remains extremely unstable. The Transitional Presidential Council dissolved in February 2026 without holding the promised national elections (passblue.com). This left Prime Minister Alix Didier Fils-Aimé as the main leader, but his authority is challenged everywhere. President Donald Trump and other world leaders have faced pressure to respond to this vacuum. However, the lack of a clear government makes international aid very difficult to deliver (diplomatie.gouv.fr).

Haiti is currently trapped in what experts call a "polycrisis." This means many different disasters are happening at the same time and making each other worse. There is a political collapse, extreme gang violence, a food crisis, and health epidemics (humanrightsresearch.org). When these issues combine, the result is a total breakdown of society. For many families, the struggle for a daily meal is more urgent than the threat of a bullet.

The economic paralysis is partly due to the fact that gangs control the main roads used for farming. Nearly six million people face high levels of hunger because they cannot get food from the countryside (unicef.org). Furthermore, historical exploitation by foreign powers left the nation with no financial safety net. This lack of resources means that when a hurricane or a disease hits, the state cannot help. In this environment, the gang becomes the only employer left for a child.

1.4 Million People Uprooted

A 36% increase in displacement over 12 months (iom.int).

Schools used to be a safe place for children, but that is no longer true in Haiti. Since early 2024, armed groups have closed or destroyed over 1,000 schools (unicef.org). Many other schools have been turned into crowded shelters for displaced families. Without the structure of a classroom, children are left on the streets. This makes them easy targets for gang recruiters who offer them money, food, or a sense of belonging (reliefweb.int).

The loss of education creates a gap that the gangs are happy to fill. When children are not in school, they lose their path to a better future. This situation is similar to the challenges faced by online learning barriers in other regions, where the lack of access to school leads to poor outcomes. In Haiti, the lack of school often leads directly to the front lines of gang warfare. These children are used as spies, lookouts, and even as active soldiers (humantraffickingsearch.org).

Gang leaders like Jimmy "Barbecue" Chérizier have changed how they use children. These groups no longer just use kids for small jobs. Children are now used for heavy combat and as forced labor. Reports show that girls are also in great danger. Sexual violence against minors increased by 1,000 percent between 2023 and 2025 (reliefweb.int). Gangs use this violence as a tool to control neighborhoods and punish those who do not obey.

The G9 Family and Allies coalition is one of the most powerful groups in the country. Chérizier, a former police officer, claims to be a revolutionary hero for the poor. However, international bodies like the UN and the United States identify him as a leader of massacres (hrw.org). His group provides water and food to some people while attacking others. This mix of "charity" and violence makes it very hard for children to see the gang as the enemy (moderninsurgent.org).

More than 1.4 million Haitians are now internally displaced (iom.int). This is the highest number ever recorded in the country. Over half of these people are children who have lost their homes and everything they own. They live in "spontaneous sites" that were never meant for people to live in. These sites are often just camps in public squares or school yards. They lack clean water, toilets, and safety (newsonair.gov.in).

The violence has also spread beyond the capital city. Gangs are now fighting for control of the Artibonite and Centre departments. These areas are important for growing food and for trade with the border. In 2025, nearly 69 percent of new displacements happened in these rural areas (reliefweb.int). This shows that the conflict is no longer just a city problem. It is a national disaster that affects the entire food supply of the country.

1,000% RISE

Targeting Minors (2023-2025)

The history of international help in Haiti is very complicated. In 2010, UN peacekeepers accidentally brought cholera to the country. This led to a massive epidemic that killed thousands of people (stimson.org). This history of betrayal makes many Haitians suspicious of foreign troops. There is a deep fear that new missions, like the current Gang Suppression Force, might cause more harm than good. The UN took six years to admit its mistake, which created a huge "accountability gap" (passblue.com).

Today, cholera has returned because the gangs control the ports. This prevents clean water and medical supplies from reaching the people who need them. For the African Diaspora, this crisis is a reminder of how the world has treated the first Black republic. Haiti's struggle against the "independence debt" to France crippled its economy for over 100 years (bu.edu). This history of being punished for liberation is central to why the state is so fragile today.

State fragmentation is what happens when the central government breaks into small pieces. In Haiti, this means different gang leaders rule different streets. Each gang has its own rules and collects its own "taxes." The Haitian National Police has also suffered because many officers have left to join the gangs or vigilante groups (hscentre.org). This makes it impossible for the average citizen to know who is in charge or who to call for help.

Public services like electricity and water are no longer managed by the government. Instead, people must negotiate with gang leaders to get these basic needs. This environment of mass incarceration and systemic violence has torn apart the fabric of the community. When the state fails to provide a future, the gangs provide a rifle. This transition from a functioning nation to a collection of fiefdoms is the greatest threat to the next generation.

The tripling of child recruitment is not just a statistic. It is a sign that the very foundation of childhood in Haiti has been dismantled. For many children, the gang is the only family they have left. The G9 and other groups use this to build loyalty that the state cannot match. If children are raised in a world where the only way to eat is to hold a gun, the violence will continue for many decades to come.

Haiti's story as the first nation to defeat slavery is a proud one (blackpast.org). However, the current situation shows the cost of centuries of external and internal pressure. The "history behind the headlines" is one of resilience in the face of constant retaliation. Solving this crisis will require more than just security forces. It will require rebuilding the schools and homes that have been lost to the fire. Without a safe place for children to grow, the cycle of recruitment will be impossible to break (reliefweb.int).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The streets of Los Angeles have long been a stage for the struggle between law enforcement and the communities they serve. For many families in the Black community, the quest for justice feels like a door that opens slightly only to be slammed shut. Recent headlines show a major shift in how the Los Angeles County District Attorney handles cases of police misconduct. New reporting reveals that charges against officers in several high-profile killings are being dropped or softened. This change marks a new chapter in a decades-long history of legal battles and political maneuvers.

One case at the center of this storm involves the 2018 killing of Christopher Deandre Mitchell in Torrance. For years, his family and local activists fought to see the officers involved face trial. After a brief window where it seemed the system might hold them accountable, the momentum has reversed. The current legal landscape under District Attorney Nathan Hochman is moving away from the aggressive prosecution of police officers. This shift is not just about one case. It reflects a deeper change in how the city defines "justice" and "safety" for its residents (latimes.com).

To understand what is happening today, one must look back at the history of the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office. For a very long time, the office rarely brought criminal charges against law enforcement officers. Under District Attorney Jackie Lacey, who served from 2012 to 2020, the office faced constant pressure from activists. They argued that the system was designed to protect officers rather than the public. During a twenty-year period ending in 2020, only two officers were criminally charged for their actions while on duty. This created a feeling of deep distrust among Black residents who saw their loved ones die at the hands of the police with no legal consequences (lacounty.gov).

The foundation of how L.A. investigates these shootings goes back to 1979. That year, the "Roll-Out" program was created. It required the District Attorney's office to send investigators to every scene where an officer shot someone. While this sounded like a step toward transparency, many community leaders felt it was a hollow promise. They viewed it as a way to create paperwork that almost always concluded the shootings were justified. This historical pattern set the stage for the massive protests that would eventually shake the city (ojp.gov).

The 2018 shooting of Christopher Deandre Mitchell happened during this era of non-prosecution. On December 9, Torrance police officers Anthony Chavez and Matthew Concannon approached Mitchell. He was sitting in a car that they suspected was stolen. The officers claimed they saw Mitchell holding a weapon. They fired, killing the 23-year-old. It was later found that Mitchell was holding an air rifle. The officers said they mistook it for a real shotgun. In 2019, Jackie Lacey’s office decided not to file any charges. They ruled that the officers acted in self-defense. This decision was a familiar sting to a community already mourning too many losses (latimes.com, laist.com).

The year 2020 changed everything. After the murder of George Floyd, a wave of energy for educational resources and reform hit the polls. George Gascón was elected as District Attorney on a promise to hold police accountable. He created a special unit to look back at old cases that were previously closed. This was a radical departure from the past. Gascón’s office used a "novel theory" called tactical negligence. This theory looks at the minutes leading up to a shooting. It asks if the officers’ own bad decisions created a dangerous situation that did not need to happen (latimes.com).

Gascón’s approach was also supported by a new state law. California Assembly Bill 392, also known as "The California Act to Save Lives," went into effect in 2020. This law changed the standard for when police can use deadly force. Before this law, the standard was whether the force was "reasonable." After 2020, the law said force must be "necessary." This means officers should only use their guns when there are no other ways to prevent death or serious injury. Gascón used these new ideas to reopen the Christopher Mitchell case. In April 2023, his office secured a voluntary manslaughter indictment against the two Torrance officers. For a moment, it seemed the pendulum had swung toward justice (pbs.org).

However, this shift was met with strong pushback. Police unions and some legal experts argued that Gascón was being too aggressive. They claimed that the "necessary" standard from the 2020 law could not be applied to cases that happened before the law was passed. This legal tension became a major issue in the next election. When Nathan Hochman ran for District Attorney in 2024, he promised a different way. He called his philosophy the "Hard Middle." He wanted to move away from what he called "mass decarceration" but also stay away from the "blanket" defenses of the past (dailyjournal.com).

When Nathan Hochman took office, he began reviewing the cases Gascón had started. One of his first major moves was to file a motion to dismiss the manslaughter charges against the officers who killed Christopher Mitchell. This decision, made in late 2025 and finalized in early 2026, sent shockwaves through the community. Hochman based his decision on a review by a special prosecutor, Michael Gennaco. The review concluded that the state could not prove the officers acted unreasonably under the law as it stood in 2018 (latimes.com).

The core of the issue was the air rifle Mitchell was holding. Under the old "reasonable" standard, an officer’s mistake of fact can be a legal defense. If an officer truly believes a toy or air rifle is a real weapon, and another officer in that same spot would feel the same, the shooting is often ruled legal. Since the air rifle Mitchell held looked like a real shotgun and did not have a bright orange tip, Hochman argued that a jury would likely find the officers' fear was reasonable. By dropping the charges, Hochman signaled that he would not follow Gascón’s path of trying to win cases based on "tactical errors" from the past (latimes.com, laist.com).

This decision left the Mitchell family in a state of perpetual grief. They had waited years for a trial, only to see it vanish just as it was within reach. This outcome highlights the difficulty of retroactively applying new reform laws. Even though the public demanded change in 2020, the courts are often bound by the rules that existed at the time of the incident. For many, this feels like a technicality that allows injustice to persist. The dismissal shows that under current leadership, the "Hard Middle" approach prioritizes strict evidence standards over the "novel" theories of the progressive era (dailyjournal.com).

The shift in policy also affected the case of Edward Bronstein. In 2020, Bronstein died while being restrained by California Highway Patrol officers. He was being held down for a blood draw after a traffic stop. Video of the incident showed him screaming "I can't breathe" multiple times before he went limp. George Gascón had originally charged seven officers and a nurse with involuntary manslaughter. This case was seen as a major test of whether "tactical negligence" could lead to a conviction in a non-shooting death (latimes.com).

In early 2026, Hochman’s office significantly changed the course of this prosecution. They dismissed the manslaughter charges against all but one of the officers. Even for that one officer, the charge was reduced to a misdemeanor with probation. This was a drastic reduction in accountability compared to the original felony charges. The move suggested that the District Attorney’s office did not believe they could win a manslaughter case in front of a jury. They chose a path that ensured some form of penalty, even if it was much smaller than what the family wanted (latimes.com).

Interestingly, while the criminal case was falling apart, the civil system worked differently. The Bronstein family received a record-breaking $24 million settlement from the state. This creates a confusing picture for the public. How can the government pay millions of dollars because of an officer's actions, yet the officer is not found "guilty" of a crime? The answer lies in the "burden of proof." In a civil case, the family only has to prove that it is "more likely than not" that the officers were at fault. In a criminal case, the prosecutor must prove it "beyond a reasonable doubt." This high bar is often where cases against police officers fail (pbs.org).

Another high-profile case being re-evaluated is the killing of Brendan Glenn. Glenn was a homeless man who was shot by LAPD Officer Clifford Proctor in 2015. At the time, even the LAPD Chief, Charlie Beck, said the shooting was not justified. He recommended that the District Attorney charge Proctor with manslaughter. However, Jackie Lacey declined to do so. It was a major point of anger for supporters of the movement during the 2020 elections. Gascón eventually indicted Proctor in 2024, nearly a decade after the shooting (latimes.com).

Now, with Hochman in office, the Proctor case is back under review. Like the Mitchell case, it is an older incident that was reopened during the progressive era. Reports indicate that the District Attorney’s office is looking at whether the case meets current standards for a successful prosecution. The concern for the community is that the "Hard Middle" will lead to the dismissal of this case as well. If the Proctor case is dropped, it would mean that even when a Police Chief says a shooting was wrong, the legal system still cannot find a way to prosecute (latimes.com).

Charges Softened

Under Review

The re-evaluation of these cases shows a clear pattern. The "Hard Middle" approach values certainty and traditional legal standards. While Nathan Hochman is still charging police officers, the nature of those charges has changed. In 2025, many of the 15 officers charged were accused of administrative or property crimes. These include things like overtime fraud, looting, or evidence tampering. While these are serious issues, they are very different from the use-of-force cases that the public has been marching for. It allows the District Attorney to say he is holding police accountable while avoiding the difficult and politically charged trials for fatal shootings (dailyjournal.com).

The current state of affairs in Los Angeles suggests a move back to a more conservative era of prosecution. Donald Trump is the current president, and his administration's focus on "law and order" often mirrors the shift seen in local offices like Hochman's. For the Black community, this feels like a retreat from the promises of 2020. The use of special prosecutors like Michael Gennaco was intended to bring independence to investigations. However, when those investigators recommend dismissals, it reinforces the belief that the law is still weighted in favor of the badge (latimes.com, dailyjournal.com).

There is also the issue of "procedural justice." This is the idea that the system must not only be fair but must also look fair to the people. When a District Attorney shifts focus to fraud and tampering, it may help the "integrity of the system" on paper. But for the mother of Christopher Mitchell or the family of Edward Bronstein, it does nothing to heal the wound of a lost life. The disconnect between million-dollar civil settlements and dismissed criminal charges remains a major hurdle for public trust (pbs.org).

As Los Angeles moves forward, the "Hard Middle" will be tested. If the office continues to drop charges in high-profile killings, the pressure from activists will likely return. The history of the LADA’s office shows that policy is often a reaction to the climate of the times. The pendulum has swung from the era of Jackie Lacey to the reform of George Gascón and now to the "Hard Middle" of Nathan Hochman. What remains constant is the need for a system that values all lives equally. Until the community feels that an officer-involved shooting is treated with the same weight as any other killing, the shadow of the 1979 "Roll-Out" era will continue to loom over the city (lacounty.gov).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The United States House of Representatives recently passed a bill known as the SAVE Act. This legislation would require people to show physical proof of citizenship before they can register to vote in federal elections. For decades, the system relied on a person swearing they were a citizen under penalty of perjury. Now, lawmakers want to move toward a much stricter requirement for paper documents. Supporters say this is necessary to protect the integrity of the ballot box. However, many experts argue this change targets specific groups of people. They point to a troubling history of disenfranchisement that has long affected the Black community (brennancenter.org).

President Donald Trump has expressed strong support for these stricter measures during his current term. He and other proponents argue that the current system allows noncitizens to influence American elections. They claim that state agencies like the DMV make it too easy for ineligible people to sign up. This legislative push represents a major shift in how the country manages voter registration. It moves the responsibility away from the government and places a heavy burden on the individual voter. For those without easy access to birth certificates or passports, the right to vote may become a luxury they cannot afford (foxnews.com).

Representative Chip Roy is one of the primary voices behind the SAVE Act. He argues that the National Voter Registration Act of 1993 created a loophole. This older law allowed people to register by mail or at the DMV using a simple affirmation. Roy believes this "honor system" is not enough to keep noncitizens off the rolls (foxnews.com). He claims that federal agencies are registering people without checking their legal status first. The SAVE Act seeks to change this by mandating documentary proof of citizenship in person (democracydocket.com).

The proposed law would require documents like a passport or a birth certificate for all new registrations. Critics argue that this creates a massive hurdle for millions of eligible Americans. A recent survey found that over 21 million citizens do not have these documents ready to use (brennancenter.org). Many people lose these papers over time due to moves, fires, or natural disasters. For a person who has voted for decades, being asked for a birth certificate now can feel like a sudden wall. This shift changes the fundamental relationship between the citizen and the state (aclu.org).

The current administration maintains that the risk of noncitizen voting is high enough to justify these rules. They argue that protecting the value of a legal vote is the most important goal. However, many civil rights groups see this as a solution looking for a problem. They worry that the real result will be fewer eligible voters at the polls. This tension highlights a deeper conflict in American politics regarding who gets to participate in democracy. As the debate continues, the focus remains on the specific groups who will find it hardest to comply (brennancenter.org).

The history of documentation in the United States is not equal for everyone. During the Jim Crow era, Black families faced systemic exclusion from white hospitals. In states like Mississippi, Black midwives attended nearly 88 percent of Black births as late as the 1940s (africanelements.org). These midwives were often the only healthcare providers available to the Black community. Because these births happened at home and outside of the official state system, many were never registered. This created a generation of citizens who were born "off the grid" (brennancenter.org).

This period is often called the "Granny Midwife" era. It represents a time when the state failed to provide services to its Black residents. Now, many of these elderly citizens are being asked to provide records that were never created for them. For these individuals, the lack of a birth certificate is not a sign of negligence. It is a direct result of historical segregation and state-sponsored neglect. When modern laws require these missing papers, they punish people for the discrimination they faced decades ago (brennancenter.org).

Without a birth certificate, obtaining other forms of identification becomes almost impossible. It creates a "nightmare of non-existence" where a person cannot prove who they are to the government. This history shows that the federalism and black politics of the past still shape the rights of people today. A law that seems neutral on its face can have a very different impact based on a person’s background. For those born into a segregated healthcare system, a simple registration form becomes a significant barrier (africanelements.org, brennancenter.org).

Average cost for replacement birth certificates and state IDs. This does not include travel costs or lost wages.

While voting itself is free, getting the papers to register often costs money. A replacement birth certificate can cost over $50 when including processing and shipping fees. Obtaining a state driver’s license can cost as much as $89 in some areas (brennancenter.org). For a person living on a fixed income or working for low wages, these costs are significant. They can represent a full day of pay for many workers. This financial burden acts as a modern version of the old poll tax (brennancenter.org).

The SAVE Act also requires voters to present these documents in person. This adds the cost of transportation and the loss of wages from taking time off work. Many government offices have limited hours and are located far from rural or low-income neighborhoods. For a voter without a car, the trip to a registration office can take several hours on public transit. These indirect costs further exclude people who are already struggling financially. The right to vote should not depend on the size of a person’s bank account (democracydocket.com, brennancenter.org).

Advocacy groups argue that these costs disproportionately affect minority communities. Statistics show that 11 percent of Americans of color lack ready access to citizenship documents (brennancenter.org). This is higher than the 8 percent of white citizens who face the same issue. When the law makes registration expensive and time-consuming, it filters out the voices of the poor. This is a form of anti-black politics that limits political participation. Ensuring that every citizen can vote without paying a fee is a core principle of a fair democracy (brennancenter.org).

Lawmakers pushing for the SAVE Act often claim that noncitizen voting is a widespread problem. However, data from multiple sources shows that this is not true. A study of the 2016 election looked at 42 different jurisdictions. It found that suspected noncitizen voting made up only 0.0001 percent of all votes cast (brennancenter.org). Even the Heritage Foundation, which tracks election fraud, found very few cases. They documented only about two dozen instances over twenty years across the entire country (brennancenter.org).

Most cases where noncitizens end up on voter rolls are the result of clerical errors. Sometimes, a DMV clerk might accidentally offer a registration form to someone who is not eligible. In Georgia, an audit of 25 years of records found that officials successfully blocked almost every attempt by a noncitizen to register. Only a tiny fraction ever managed to get on the rolls, and they did not actually vote (brennancenter.org). The current safeguards are already very effective at preventing fraud (aclu.org).

Political scientists and election experts agree that noncitizen voting does not impact election results. The penalties for a noncitizen caught voting are extremely high. They can face prison time and immediate deportation from the country. Most people are not willing to risk their entire lives to cast a single illegal ballot. The narrative of "millions of illegal aliens" voting is not supported by any verified evidence. Instead, it serves as a justification for making registration harder for everyone else (brennancenter.org, brennancenter.org).

We do not have to guess what will happen if the SAVE Act becomes law. Several states have already tried to implement similar rules. Kansas required proof of citizenship for registration between 2013 and 2016. During that short time, the state blocked over 30,000 people from registering to vote (brennancenter.org). This was roughly 12 percent of all applicants in the state. Most of these people were eligible citizens who simply did not have their papers with them at the time (brennancenter.org).

Arizona also passed a law in 2004 requiring documentary proof for federal elections. This led to a major legal battle that went all the way to the Supreme Court. In 2013, Justice Antonin Scalia wrote that states cannot add their own requirements to the federal registration form. The Court ruled that the federal government has the final say over how people register for national elections (democracydocket.com). The SAVE Act is a direct attempt by Congress to change the law so that the Supreme Court's ruling no longer applies (foxnews.com).

These examples show that strict documentation rules always result in fewer citizens being able to vote. In Kansas, the law was eventually struck down because it violated the Constitution. The courts found that the state could not prove there was a noncitizen voting problem that justified such a harsh rule. Despite these legal failures at the state level, some federal lawmakers want to take these same failed policies nationwide. The impact would likely be millions of blocked registrations across the country (brennancenter.org).

Voters blocked in just 3 years

Percentage of all applicants rejected

The fight over who is allowed to vote often moves from the legislature to the courtroom. In North Carolina, there was a recent attempt to purge 225,000 voters from the rolls. The challenge claimed that these voters had "incomplete records" because of missing ID numbers (democracydocket.com). This effort happened very close to the 2024 election. Civil rights groups argued that this was a tactic to scare voters and reduce turnout (wcnc.com).

The courts eventually stepped in to protect these voters. A federal court ruled that removing so many people right before an election violated the law. Later, a Republican candidate for the State Supreme Court challenged over 60,000 ballots. The North Carolina Supreme Court eventually ruled that those votes were valid (democracydocket.com). These cases show that the legal system is often the last line of defense for voting rights. However, lawsuits are slow and expensive, and the damage is often already done (carolinajournal.com).

To settle a lawsuit with the Department of Justice, North Carolina started a "Registration Repair Project." Instead of removing voters, the state now works to find the missing information. Voters can use a database to see if their record is missing a number and fix it online. This approach ensures that the rolls are accurate without taking away anyone’s right to vote. It proves that there are ways to manage elections that do not involve mass disenfranchisement. Balancing security with access is possible when the goal is fairness (democracydocket.com).

The SAVE Act represents a significant moment in the history of American democracy. It forces us to ask what it means to be a citizen and how we prove it. For some, the bill is a simple way to keep elections secure. For others, it is a dangerous tool that echoes the discriminatory practices of the past. The tension between state power and federal protection is at the heart of this issue. As states pass their own laws, the federal government must decide if it will step in to protect the rights of all citizens (brennancenter.org).

History teaches us that voting rights are never completely secure. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was a major victory, but it has been weakened over time. When the Supreme Court ended "preclearance" in 2013, it gave states more freedom to change their rules. Now, we are seeing a wave of new requirements that make it harder for marginalized groups to participate. The SAVE Act is part of this larger trend of restricting the ballot box. It moves the country further away from the goal of universal participation (brennancenter.org).

The debate over proof of citizenship will likely continue for years. It involves deep questions about identity, security, and the legacy of segregation. For the Black community, these are not just political arguments; they are personal struggles for recognition. Ensuring that every eligible person can vote is essential for a healthy democracy. If the law creates barriers that only some people can climb, it is not a fair law. The future of American elections depends on how we choose to answer these difficult questions today (aclu.org, brennancenter.org).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The Congressional Black Caucus is making a bold move during Black History Month in 2026. This group of lawmakers joined forces with top civil rights organizations to challenge the domestic agenda of the Trump administration. The coalition includes the NAACP and the National Urban League. Together, they plan to use a three-part strategy to protect the interests of Black Americans. This plan involves filing lawsuits, organizing street actions, and applying policy pressure on the federal government (washingtoninformer.com).

This coordinated effort is a direct response to recent executive actions. These actions target diversity initiatives and voting rights across the nation. Representative Yvette Clarke, who currently chairs the Congressional Black Caucus, stated that this coalition is necessary to defend the progress made over the last several decades. The leaders believe that a united front is the only way to ensure the executive branch remains accountable to the people (house.gov).

The current pushback is part of a long tradition of organized political resistance. The Congressional Black Caucus began in 1971 with 13 founding members. Figures like Representative Shirley Chisholm and Representative Charles Diggs realized that individual voices were not enough to change the system. They formed the caucus to act as a "congressman-at-large" for Black citizens who felt that no one in Washington listened to their needs (wikipedia.org).

In its first year, the group showed how powerful a unified Black voice could be. When President Richard Nixon refused to meet with them, the members chose to boycott his State of the Union address. This act of "street action" inside the halls of power worked. Nixon eventually agreed to a meeting. During that meeting, the caucus presented him with 61 specific recommendations to end racism and improve economic opportunities for Black families (house.gov).

Economic justice was a top priority for the founders of the caucus. They knew that political freedom meant very little without the ability to build wealth. In the early 1970s, many Black communities faced severe poverty and a lack of investment. To address this, the caucus demanded that the federal government set aside contracts for minority-owned businesses. They believed that supporting these businesses would create jobs and stabilize neighborhoods (house.gov).

These early demands helped shape modern policies on business and labor. The struggle for economic fairness continues today as the coalition fights to keep diversity programs alive in the corporate world. Many leaders point out that early Black entrepreneurs laid the groundwork for the wealth that exists in the community today. Protecting these gains is a major part of the current "policy pressure" strategy (citizensforethics.org).

The Congressional Black Caucus has never focused only on domestic issues. In the 1980s, the group turned its attention to the human rights crisis in South Africa. At that time, South Africa operated under Apartheid. This was a system of strict racial segregation and white minority rule. Black South Africans were denied the right to vote and were forced to live in separate, poorly maintained areas (wikipedia.org).

The caucus saw the fight in South Africa as an extension of the American civil rights movement. They pushed for the Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act of 1986. This law used economic sanctions to force the South African government to change. President Ronald Reagan vetoed the bill, but the caucus and its allies gathered enough support to override that veto. This was the first time in the 20th century that Congress overrode a presidential veto on a foreign policy matter (wikipedia.org).

Voting rights remain a central focus for the coalition in 2026. For decades, the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was the strongest tool to prevent racial discrimination at the polls. However, a major change occurred in 2013 with the Supreme Court case Shelby County v. Holder. The court struck down the formula that required certain states to get federal approval before changing their voting laws (wikipedia.org).

The loss of this federal oversight led to a wave of new restrictions. Many states introduced strict voter ID laws and removed voters from registration lists. The Congressional Black Caucus is now pushing for the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act. This bill aims to restore the protections that were lost. The coalition uses "street action" to keep this issue in the public eye and to encourage people to register and vote despite the new obstacles (wikipedia.org).

Source: Democracy Forward & NAACP Legal Defense Fund

The coalition is currently using the legal system as a shield against federal policy shifts. One of the most important concepts in their legal strategy is "disparate impact." This legal theory allows lawyers to challenge rules that seem neutral but hurt minority groups more than others. For example, if a job test has nothing to do with the work but causes Black applicants to fail at higher rates, it can be challenged under this theory (lawfaremedia.org).

The Trump administration has moved to limit the use of disparate impact liability. In response, civil rights groups and Democratic attorneys general have filed more than 240 federal cases (citizensforethics.org). These lawsuits argue that removing these protections violates the 14th Amendment. By framing executive actions as constitutional violations, the coalition hopes to stop the dismantling of civil rights enforcement in housing and employment (democracyforward.org).

Policy changes often start with people in the streets. The coalition uses public demonstrations to make sure the voices of marginalized communities are heard. These events are not random; they are part of a coordinated "street action" plan. These protests pressure corporate sponsors to stay committed to diversity and keep the media focused on civil rights issues (washingtoninformer.com).

This type of activism has roots in conflicting political ideologies that have existed for decades. While some leaders focus on working inside the government, others believe that external pressure is the only way to get results. The 2026 coalition combines both approaches. They use the political influence of the caucus while the NAACP and other groups mobilize people at the local level to demand change (youtube.com).

The role of the Congressional Black Caucus has changed as the country has grown. In 1971, the founding members represented about 22 million Black Americans. Today, the 58 members of the caucus represent more than 82 million people of all ethnicities. This is about 25 percent of the total population of the United States. Many members now represent diverse urban and suburban districts where they must balance many different needs (wikipedia.org).

This growth has turned the caucus into a powerful voting bloc in the House of Representatives. They make up nearly 23 percent of the House Democratic Caucus. This size allows them to serve as the "Conscience of the Congress." They use their committee assignments to investigate the actions of the Department of Justice and other federal agencies. Their goal is to ensure that the government serves everyone, not just the wealthy or the powerful (house.gov).

1971

2026

Total Population in CBC Districts

A new battleground in 2026 involves the protection of government workers. The executive branch has reinstated policies that allow for the reclassification of tens of thousands of career employees. This change makes it easier to fire workers who do not agree with the administration's political goals. The coalition sees this as a threat to the "merit-based civil service" that keeps the government running fairly (citizensforethics.org).

Black workers have historically relied on government jobs as a path to the middle class. Many faced sharecropping and involuntary servitude in the past, making stable federal employment even more vital. The Congressional Black Caucus is fighting to prevent the politicization of these jobs. They argue that a professional civil service is necessary to carry out laws without bias or political interference (lawfaremedia.org).

Women have always been at the heart of these movements. From the founding days of Shirley Chisholm to the current leadership of Yvette Clarke, Black women drive the strategy of the caucus. They often lead the "policy pressure" efforts by authoring legislation and managing complex negotiations in Congress. Their work ensures that issues like healthcare and housing stay on the national agenda (house.gov).

Historically, civil rights era contributions from women were sometimes overlooked. However, in 2026, their leadership is visible and central to the coalition. They are the ones organizing the coordinated lawsuits and managing the trackers that watch every executive order coming from the White House. This leadership is a key reason why the coalition remains strong and focused during these challenging times (washingtoninformer.com).

The pushback during Black History Month is not just a seasonal event. It is a long-term plan to ensure that the executive branch remains accountable to all citizens. The coalition of the Congressional Black Caucus, the NAACP, and the National Urban League is prepared for a long fight. They understand that the "playbook" they are using today was written by those who came before them in 1971 (wikipedia.org).

By combining the power of the law, the voice of the people, and the influence of the legislature, these leaders are building a bulwark against policy changes they believe are harmful. The history behind these headlines shows that Black political power is most effective when it is organized and unified. As long as the administration continues its current domestic agenda, this coalition will remain active in defending the rights and progress of the community (house.gov).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The map of West Africa is changing in ways that few people expected a decade ago. For nearly fifty years, the Economic Community of West African States, known as ECOWAS, served as the primary glue holding the region together. It was a symbol of unity and shared purpose. However, a deep feud has emerged between this long-standing bloc and three of its former members. Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger have broken away to form the Alliance of Sahel States, or AES. This split is more than a diplomatic disagreement. It is a fundamental rupture that threatens the very safety of millions of people as armed violence spreads across the continent (amaniafrica-et.org).

To understand the current crisis, one must look at the history of how these nations once worked together. This story is about a search for security in a region where borders are often lines on a map that do not stop the movement of people or threats. As the alliance fractures, the teamwork that once kept extremist groups in check is falling apart. This deep-dive explores how the feud started and why the breakdown in cooperation is creating a dangerous void. The situation is complicated, but the impact on human lives is very clear (amaniafrica-et.org).

ECOWAS did not start as a military organization. When leaders signed the Treaty of Lagos in 1975, their focus was on money and trade. They wanted to create a big market where goods and people could move freely. This was a dream of regional economic integration. The original goal was to lift people out of poverty by working as one large unit (amaniafrica-et.org). However, the 1990s brought a harsh reality. Brutal civil wars in Liberia and Sierra Leone showed that trade cannot happen without peace. The organization had to change its identity to survive. It created a peacekeeping force called ECOMOG to stop the fighting. By 1993, the bloc revised its treaty to make peace and security a core part of its mission (cambridge.org).

This shift toward security was further cemented in 2001. The organization adopted a new protocol on democracy and good governance. This document was a promise that military coups would no longer be tolerated in West Africa. It gave the bloc the power to punish any leader who took power by force. For many years, this protocol helped stabilize the region. It encouraged leaders to follow the rules of democracy. Yet, this very "zero-tolerance" policy has become a major point of anger for the new military leaders in the Sahel. They see these rules as a way for Western powers to control African politics (amaniafrica-et.org). These leaders are now shaping political dynamics by rejecting the old ways of doing business in West Africa.

Sahel Region vs. The Rest of the World (2024)

Sahel

Global Other

Source: 2024 Global Terrorism Index (africacenter.org)

The modern trouble started in 2012 in Mali. A rebellion by Tuareg fighters and a subsequent takeover by jihadist groups exposed a massive problem. The government in the capital could not control its vast northern territories. This vacuum allowed groups like JNIM, which is linked to Al-Qaeda, and the Islamic State in the Sahel to grow (crisisgroup.org, africacenter.org). These groups did not stay in Mali. They moved across the dry, semi-arid lands of the Sahel into Burkina Faso and Niger. They exploited the fact that these countries are some of the poorest in the world. People in these areas often feel forgotten by their governments. Many live in places where climate change has made farming nearly impossible. This poverty and lack of state presence provided a perfect breeding ground for insurgencies (reliefweb.int).

The response from the international community and ECOWAS was to push for military solutions. However, many years of foreign military presence did not stop the violence. In fact, things got worse. This failure led to a wave of anger among the local populations. Military officers in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger eventually seized power, claiming they could do a better job of fighting the terrorists than the elected politicians. ECOWAS responded with harsh sanctions. They closed borders and cut off electricity to Niger. These moves were meant to pressure the military to step down. Instead, the sanctions hurt ordinary people the most. This created a permanent rift between the Sahel nations and the coastal members of the bloc (amaniafrica-et.org, premiumtimesng.com). This struggle reminds many of the long history of economic justice struggles that African people have faced for centuries.

In September 2023, the three military-led nations decided they had seen enough of ECOWAS. They formed the Alliance of Sahel States, or AES. Initially, it was a pact to defend each other if anyone attacked. It was a direct response to the threat of a military intervention by ECOWAS to restore the president of Niger. By January 2025, the split became final. Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger gave their official notice and left the bloc for good. They argued that ECOWAS had become a tool for foreign powers, especially France (amaniafrica-et.org, africanews.com). The exit of these three nations took away nearly half of the land area of the original 15-member group. It was a massive blow to the idea of West African unity.

The leaders of the AES are promoting a new kind of independence. They call it a "Second Independence." They are moving away from the democratic models promoted by the West. Instead, they focus on military strength and national sovereignty. They have started to create their own institutions. For example, they launched a 5,000-strong military force headquartered in Niamey. This force is designed to operate without the help of the neighbors they left behind. They have also introduced new passports for their citizens. This signals that they do not plan on returning to the ECOWAS family anytime soon (amaniafrica-et.org, timbuktu-institute.org). This shift represents a major change in how these countries interact with the rest of the world.

Total fatalities recorded since late 2022

Data: ACLED (africacenter.org)

The most dangerous result of this feud is the collapse of security cooperation. For years, the nations of the Lake Chad Basin worked together in a Multinational Joint Task Force to fight Boko Haram. In March 2025, Niger officially pulled its troops out of this mission. Instead of fighting insurgents at the border, the soldiers were sent to protect oil pipelines at home. This move left a huge gap in the defense against groups like ISWAP. When one country stops sharing intelligence or guarding its side of the border, the extremists win. They use these "blind spots" to move freely between countries (zagazola.org, amaniafrica-et.org).

The violence is now spilling over into coastal countries like Benin and Togo. These nations used to be peaceful, but they are now seeing more attacks every month. In one tragic incident in April 2025, 54 soldiers from Benin were killed in a single attack. Because of the feud, Benin and Niger are not talking to each other. They do not share information about where the jihadists are hiding. This silence is deadly. Militant groups are taking over critical transit corridors between the desert and the sea. Without a unified front, these countries are fighting a losing battle against a highly mobile enemy (amaniafrica-et.org, amaniafrica-et.org). The security teamwork that took decades to build has vanished in a matter of months.

The split in West Africa is also attracting global powers. As the AES states moved away from France and the United States, they looked for new partners. Russia has stepped in to fill the void. The Wagner Group, now rebranded as the Africa Corps, provides security for the military juntas. These Russian fighters do not ask questions about human rights or democracy. They offer military support in exchange for access to natural resources like gold and uranium. This has created a new era of the relationship between Russia and African nations (thesoufancenter.org, timbuktu-institute.org). This partnership complicates the efforts of ECOWAS to bring the Sahel states back into the fold.

Meanwhile, the United States has had to change its strategy. In early 2026, under the administration of President Donald Trump, the U.S. State Department signaled a "new course" for the region. The U.S. realized that isolating the military leaders was not working. Instead of demanding a quick return to democracy, the U.S. is now focusing on "interest-based" diplomacy. This means working with the juntas to maintain influence and counter Russian and Chinese growth. This pivot shows that the old rules of international relations are being rewritten. The U.S. is now prioritizing regional stability and access to minerals over democratic oversight (africanews.com). This change has left ECOWAS even more isolated in its mission to protect democratic norms.

2021

2.1 Million

2025

0

Data: UN Refugee Agency (un.org)

While leaders argue and military forces move, the people of the Sahel are suffering the most. The displacement crisis has reached staggering levels. Nearly four million people have been forced to leave their homes across Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger. Most of these people are farmers who have lost everything. They are now living in crowded camps with very little food or water. The conflict has destroyed schools and hospitals, leaving an entire generation of children without an education (un.org, reliefweb.int). The humanitarian situation is a direct result of the breakdown in regional cooperation.

The end of the "ECOWAS Passport" is another major concern. For decades, citizens could travel across 15 countries without a visa. This freedom of movement allowed people to find work and visit family across borders. Now, that freedom is at risk. While there is a temporary grace period, the long-term status of millions of West Africans is uncertain. If countries start requiring visas or closing borders permanently, the economic impact will be devastating. This is especially true for landlocked countries like Niger, which depend on coastal ports for trade (amaniafrica-et.org, premiumtimesng.com). The feud is not just about politics. It is about the daily survival of the people (reliefweb.int).

The fracture in West Africa is deep, but it is not necessarily permanent. There are voices in the region calling for dialogue. Some experts suggest that ECOWAS must evolve again. Perhaps it needs to focus more on humanitarian needs and less on punishing military leaders. At the same time, the leaders of the AES must realize that they cannot defeat the insurgency alone. The borders of the Sahel are too long and too porous for any one country to guard. Cooperation is not a luxury. It is a necessity for survival (amaniafrica-et.org, amaniafrica-et.org).

The history of West Africa is a history of resilience. The people have faced colonialism, droughts, and civil wars. Each time, they have found a way to endure. The current feud between ECOWAS and the Alliance of Sahel States is a major challenge, but it also offers a chance to build something new. A security model that truly reflects the needs of the people, rather than the interests of foreign powers, could be the answer. For now, the region remains at a crossroads. The decisions made by leaders today will determine the safety of millions for decades to come (amaniafrica-et.org).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

A federal judge in Michigan recently made a decision that sent ripples through the political world. This judge stopped the Department of Justice from getting full access to the voter rolls of the state. The ruling came after Michigan officials warned that giving up this much data would hurt the privacy of its citizens. While this seems like a simple legal disagreement, it is actually a part of a much older story. This story involves how much power the national government should have over individual states.

The history of this conflict goes back to how the country manages the right to vote. For a long time, the balance between state control and federal oversight has been a sensitive topic. This recent ruling is another chapter in the ongoing struggle over who gets to see your private information. It also highlights how technology has changed the way we think about safety and voting rights in the modern era .

To understand why the Department of Justice wanted this data, one must look at the National Voter Registration Act of 1993. People often call this the "Motor Voter" law. President Bill Clinton signed it to make it easier for people to register to vote at places like the DMV. Before this law, registering to vote was often a difficult process that required extra trips to government offices .

The law was designed to help more people participate in democracy. However, it also came with rules about keeping the lists of voters accurate. Section 8 of the law says that states must make a reasonable effort to remove people who are no longer eligible. This includes people who have passed away or moved to a different state. This mandate created a tension that lasts to this day. States must keep the rolls clean, but they must also protect the rights of voters .

This law also includes a transparency provision. It says that states must let the public inspect records about how they maintain their lists. In the 1990s, this usually meant a person would go to a clerk's office and look at paper files. Today, things are different because almost all records are digital. This change has led to many arguments about what "public inspection" really means in the age of computers . The sharing of power between the state and the nation remains a core part of this legal debate.

Nationwide, nearly 30 million records are updated every two years .

Around 2012, a new trend started that experts call the "voter roll wars." Private groups began using the Motor Voter law to sue states for their entire voter databases. These groups claimed they wanted to make sure the lists were accurate. However, many people worried that these groups had other goals. They feared the data could be used for political targeting or even to scare people away from voting .

Courts have often sided with these groups in the past. For example, a court ruling in 2012 said that registration applications are public records. This opened the door for many organizations to demand huge amounts of data. This data often includes names, addresses, and birth dates. Because Michigan is a swing state, it has become a major target for these kinds of lawsuits .

The state of Michigan has a massive database called the Qualified Voter File. This system is highly secure because it contains sensitive information. State officials have spent a lot of time and money defending this system. They argue that the voter rolls should not be an open book for anyone to read. This is especially true when the requests come from groups that might not have the best interests of the citizens at heart .

The recent case is different because it was the Department of Justice that asked for the data. Under the administration of President Donald Trump, the federal government has a strong interest in how states manage their elections. The Department of Justice usually seeks this information to ensure states follow federal civil rights laws. They want to make sure that no one is being removed from the rolls unfairly .

In this instance, the Department of Justice asked for "full" voter data. This could include sensitive metadata and private identifiers that are not normally shared. Michigan officials resisted this request. They argued that the federal government was asking for too much. They stated that this level of access would create a "privacy harm" for over eight million residents. The federal judge eventually agreed with the state .

This ruling is important because it sets a limit on what the federal government can take. It reinforces the idea that states have a sovereign interest in protecting the data of their residents. Even if the national government has oversight power, that power is not absolute. This tension is a classic example of how political strategy affects the lives of everyday people .

The court ruled that "full disclosure" poses a significant security risk .

Michigan has about 8.2 million registered voters. This number is very high compared to the number of people who are actually old enough to vote. Because of this, Michigan is often under a microscope. Critics claim the rolls are "bloated" and need to be purged. On the other hand, voting rights advocates worry that aggressive purging will remove legitimate voters .

Between 2021 and 2024, Michigan removed over 400,000 names from its rolls. These removals were due to people moving or dying. This shows that the state is already doing the work required by law. When the federal government or private groups ask for more data, it adds a heavy burden to state workers. Michigan has already spent hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees to defend its practices .

For many in the Black community, these data requests bring up painful memories of the past. History shows that when the government or private groups get too much information about voters, it can be used for intimidation. Protecting the privacy of the political experience is vital for ensuring that everyone feels safe when they go to the polls. The judge’s decision to protect this data is a victory for those who value privacy over unfettered government access .

The shift from paper to digital records has changed everything. In the past, a person would have to work very hard to gather information on millions of people. Today, a single computer file can hold the entire history of a state's voting population. This makes voter rolls a prime target for data harvesting. If this data were to fall into the wrong hands, it could lead to identity theft or other harms .

The judge in this case recognized that the world is different now. The ruling suggests that voter rolls are not simply "open books." Instead, they are sensitive databases that require careful protection. The state of Michigan argued that giving the Department of Justice everything it wanted would set a dangerous precedent. They believe that if the federal government can take this data, then anyone might be able to take it in the future .

This situation highlights a larger issue about economic justice and security. When vulnerable populations have their data exposed, they are often the ones who suffer the most. Protecting voter rolls is not just about elections. It is about the fundamental right to be left alone by the government. The judge chose to put a check on federal power to keep that right intact .

The constant tug-of-war between local control and national authority.

This ruling will likely not be the end of the story. Other states are watching Michigan to see how they can protect their own data. As more people rely on digital systems, these conflicts will only grow. The Department of Justice, under President Donald Trump, will likely continue to monitor how states handle their voting lists. The question remains: how much transparency is enough? .

Transparency is important because it helps prevent fraud and ensures fairness. However, transparency must not come at the cost of safety. The Michigan case shows that there is a middle ground. States can be transparent about their processes without giving away every piece of private data. This balance is necessary to keep our democracy healthy and our citizens safe from harm .

In conclusion, the decision by the federal judge to block the Department of Justice is a landmark moment. It honors the history of state sovereignty while acknowledging the dangers of the digital age. It reminds us that the fight for voting rights is also a fight for privacy. As Michigan continues to manage its massive voter rolls, the rest of the country will be looking on. This case has set a standard that could protect millions of people for years to come .

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The dawn of February 5, 2026, brought a chilling change to the streets of Bamako. Police officers arrived at the home of Youssouf Sissoko, the editor-in-chief of L’Alternance. They arrested him for publishing an article that questioned military claims about a recent terrorist attack (hrw.org, hrw.org). This event is not an isolated incident. It represents a larger trend of military leaders tightening their grip on what people can say and hear. In the Sahel region of Africa, the struggle for a free press has become a battle for the soul of democracy itself.

For many in the African Diaspora, these stories feel familiar. The use of state power to silence those who speak truth to power is a global issue. In the United States, activists often face similar hurdles when they challenge the status quo. The current situation in Mali shows how quickly a "beacon of democracy" can turn into a place of fear (freedomhouse.org). Journalists who once worked freely now find themselves behind bars for simply doing their jobs. Understanding this shift requires looking back at the history that led to this moment.

Mali was not always a place where journalists feared the state. Following the 1991 revolution, the country became a leader in African democracy. This revolution ended the long dictatorship of Moussa Traoré. The new 1992 Constitution specifically protected the freedom of the press in Article 7 (wikipedia.org, wikipedia.org). During the 1990s, the media landscape exploded with new voices. Private radio stations became the most popular way for people to stay informed (medialandscapes.org, britannica.com). By 2011, Mali was ranked 25th in the world for press freedom (thedailyscrumnews.com).

However, the year 2012 changed everything. A military coup and an insurgency in the north created a state of constant crisis. Leaders began to prioritize "national security" over individual rights (freedomhouse.org, hrw.org). This environment allowed the government to start viewing critical reporting as a threat to the state. As the military took more control, the space for independent voices began to shrink. The transition from a free nation to one labeled as "repressed" happened over several years of political instability (civicus.org, civicus.org).

Lower rank indicates less freedom

The arrest of Youssouf Sissoko in early 2026 sent shockwaves through the Malian media community. He was charged with "insulting a foreign head of state" and "spreading false information" (cpj.org). His real offense was questioning the narrative of the military ruler in Niger (hrw.org). This arrest highlights a new trend where juntas in the region protect each other from criticism. This mutual protection is part of a larger agreement between Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger (eurasiareview.com).

Sissoko is not the only journalist facing the wrath of the junta. In 2025, authorities jailed Alfousseini Togo and Seydou Oumar Traoré for similar reasons (mfwa.org). Traoré received a six-month sentence for criticizing the military leader of Guinea on social media (hrw.org). These actions show that the state is no longer just targeting reports about Mali. It is now punishing any speech that might upset the regional military balance. This shift has made it nearly impossible for local journalists to report on sensitive political topics without facing prison (civicus.org).

The pattern of arrests creates a culture of silence. When a high-profile editor like Sissoko is taken from his home, other journalists notice. They begin to "think twice" before writing a single sentence. This self-censorship is exactly what the authorities want to achieve. It allows the government to control the narrative without having to arrest every single person. Consequently, the public receives only the information that the military deems appropriate (mediasupport.org, civicus.org).

To silence dissent, the military junta uses specific legal tools. One of the most powerful is Law No. 2019-056, also known as the Cybercrime Law (cipesa.org, hrw.org). While the law was meant to stop online fraud, the state now uses it to punish journalists. Articles 20 and 21 of this law are particularly dangerous. They allow the state to charge people for "insults" or "threats" made on digital platforms. These charges can lead to as many as 10 years in prison (cipesa.org, civicus.org).

The government has even created a specialized cybercrime tribunal. Human rights monitors warn that this unit bypasses normal press protections (hrw.org, hrw.org). Instead of treating a news article as a professional matter, the state treats it as a criminal "cyber-offense." This legal strategy makes it much easier to keep journalists in jail for long periods. It also discourages anyone from using social media to share opinions that differ from the official government line (mfwa.org).

This weaponization of the law mirrors historical struggles in the United States. For example, the political shift from civil rights to mass incarceration showed how laws could be used to target specific groups. In Mali, the Cybercrime Law serves a similar purpose by targeting the "intellectual" class of reporters and activists. By framing dissent as a crime against the digital order, the junta attempts to give its repression a "legal" appearance (civicus.org, civicus.org).

Maximum Years of Imprisonment

Mali is not acting alone in its quest for control. It has joined forces with Burkina Faso and Niger to form the Alliance of Sahel States (AES) (eurasiareview.com). This group was created to move away from Western influence and focus on regional security. On July 6, 2024, these nations officially left the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) (eurasiareview.com). They are now building their own military and media structures to promote what they call "Sahelian values" (youtube.com, youtube.com).

In December 2025, the bloc launched "AES TV" to ensure their message is the only one reaching the people. This new network focuses on "patriotic" news and supports the military leaders of the three countries (youtube.com). By creating their own media, the juntas hope to replace the international outlets they have banned. Major organizations like Radio France Internationale (RFI) and France 24 are no longer allowed to broadcast in Mali (mediasupport.org, mfwa.org). This move effectively blinds the public to any reporting from outside the military's control.

This push for "narrative sovereignty" is often framed as a decolonial act. The junta argues that Western media is a tool of imperialism. However, critics note that this "liberation" mostly serves to hide human rights abuses. When only the state-run media is allowed to talk, the people lose their ability to hold leaders accountable. The shift toward a unified regional voice makes it harder for international watchdogs to monitor the situation on the ground (eurasiareview.com, hrw.org).

The term "La Pensée Unique" or "one-track thinking" describes the current state of Malian media. Authorities demand that all news outlets align with the military's "patriotic" narrative (civicus.org, civicus.org). Any reporter who questions military strategy or reports on losses is labeled a traitor. This environment makes it dangerous to tell the truth about the ongoing security crisis. Journalists are told that their duty is to support the troops, not to inform the public about the reality of the war (mediasupport.org, civicus.org).

This pressure leads to a "chilling effect" where the press becomes performative. Instead of investigating stories, media outlets simply repeat government press releases. Human rights groups report that this has muted public scrutiny. Without independent news, the public cannot see the failures or the atrocities happening in the conflict (hrw.org, hrw.org). The loss of a critical press means that corruption and mismanagement can grow without being noticed.

The struggle against "one-track thinking" is a central theme in many social justice movements. For instance, civil rights and black nationalism have often dealt with conflicting ideologies and the pressure to conform. In Mali, the pressure is coming from a military state that equates silence with loyalty. This situation forces journalists to choose between their professional ethics and their personal safety (civicus.org, civicus.org).

RFI, France 24, Jeune Afrique

STATUS: BANNED

Private Radio & Newspapers

STATUS: MONITORED

The situation in Mali is not just an African problem. It connects to global concerns about state surveillance and the suppression of activists. Under the current presidency of Donald Trump, the U.S. has also seen debates about the role of the press and the limits of dissent. In both countries, the state sometimes uses "security" as a reason to watch and control those who criticize the government. The tools might be different, but the goal of silencing opposition remains the same (hrw.org, civicus.org).

For the African American community, the history of state surveillance is deeply personal. Organizations have long documented how the FBI weaponized information to disrupt social justice movements. Just as Malian journalists are targeted today, Black activists in the U.S. have historically faced similar "fear tactics." This shared history of struggle creates a bond of solidarity between the Diaspora and those fighting for freedom in West Africa.

Furthermore, the decolonial narrative used by the Malian junta resonates with many who seek Black sovereignty. The desire to break free from colonial influences like France is a powerful motivator. However, the use of this narrative to justify jailing journalists like Youssouf Sissoko is a major concern. Social justice requires both freedom from external control and freedom from internal repression. True sovereignty cannot exist if the people are not allowed to speak (freedomhouse.org, civicus.org).

Mali stands at a critical crossroads. The gains of the 1991 revolution are being erased by a military leadership that fears scrutiny. As of February 2026, the jails hold more than just journalists; they hold the hopes of a nation that once led the continent in democratic freedom. The international community and the African Diaspora must remain vigilant. Without independent scrutiny, the atrocities and failures in the Sahel will remain hidden in the shadows (mediasupport.org, hrw.org).

The story of Youssouf Sissoko is a reminder that the press is the first line of defense for any democracy. When that line is broken, all other rights are in danger. The junta's "fear tactics" might mute the public for a while, but history shows that the desire for truth cannot be suppressed forever. As long as there are people willing to risk their freedom to report the facts, the flame of the 1991 revolution will continue to flicker (thedailyscrumnews.com, civicus.org).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.

By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

Support African Elements at patreon.com/africanelements and hear recent news in a single playlist. Additionally, you can gain early access to ad-free video content.

The morning school drop-off is a routine for millions of families across the country. Parents pull into the parking lot and watch their children walk toward the front doors. However, recent reports suggest that these same parking lots have become silent tools for federal immigration enforcement. Technology that was once sold to schools as a way to prevent violence is now being used to track parents. This development has caused deep concern among civil rights groups and immigrant communities. They fear that the sanctuary of the classroom is being traded for a digital net (theguardian.com).

In various school districts, high-tech cameras now scan every license plate that enters the grounds. This data does not always stay within the school walls. Instead, local police often share this information with federal agencies like Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). This practice creates a climate of fear that ripples through the community. Families now face a difficult choice between their child's education and their own safety. Historically, the school was a place where status did not matter, but new technology is changing that reality (publicinterestprivacy.org).

Following 287(g) Immigration Partnerships

Source: Historical Analysis of 287(g) Programs (ojp.gov)

The presence of police in schools is not a new phenomenon. The first documented School Resource Officer (SRO) program began in Flint, Michigan, in 1953. This era was a time of great demographic change during the Great Migration. Many Black families were moving into cities for better opportunities. The original "Officer Friendly" model was marketed as a way to build trust. In reality, it served as a tool for social control during early efforts to integrate schools. It established the idea that a permanent police presence was necessary for safety (ojp.gov).

This history shows that school policing often targets specific groups. Just as Post-Civil War Reconstruction failed to provide lasting safety for the formerly enslaved, these early programs often failed to protect Black students. Instead, they created an "early warning system" for what officials called juvenile delinquency. This set a precedent where law enforcement became a standard part of the educational environment. Over time, the focus shifted from mentorship to monitoring behavior (ojp.gov).

By the 1970s and 1980s, the relationship between schools and police deepened. The Supreme Court ruling in Plyler v. Doe in 1982 was supposed to protect all children. It stated that public schools could not deny an education based on immigration status. This made schools "safe havens" for decades. However, the rise of surveillance technology in the modern era is testing the strength of that ruling. The digital tools used today were unimaginable when the court first protected student rights (stanford.edu).

The 1990s brought a major change in how schools operated. Following the tragedy at Columbine in 1999, the federal government increased funding for school security. The COPS program provided over $750 million to hire more officers and buy security gear. This period marked a move toward "hardening" schools with metal detectors and analog cameras. The goal was to stop rare acts of violence. However, the result was a daily environment of high-level security for every student (ojp.gov).

This shift coincided with a broader shift in the political narrative toward mass incarceration. Lawmakers began to treat minor school infractions as criminal acts. Students of color were the primary targets of this new discipline. Minor issues like talking back were now handled by police rather than principals. This created the school-to-prison pipeline. It ensured that a child's first contact with the legal system often happened in the hallway (ojp.gov).

As technology improved, analog tapes were replaced by digital databases. The Children’s Internet Protection Act (CIPA) also required schools to monitor online behavior. This normalized the idea that every move a student made should be logged. By the mid-2000s, surveillance was no longer just about safety. It became a way to track the social circles and political activities of students. This "mission creep" expanded the role of technology far beyond its original intent (preyproject.com).

Driven by AI-powered License Plate Readers (ALPRs)

Privacy laws were meant to stop the sharing of student data without permission. The Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA) generally protects school records. However, a major loophole exists for "law enforcement unit records." In 1992, amendments allowed schools to share security records with outside agencies. If a school police department maintains the surveillance footage, they do not need parental consent to share it. This loophole has become a backdoor for federal agents (publicinterestprivacy.org).

Because these records are exempt from strict privacy rules, school police can hand over data to local detectives or federal partners easily. This often happens without a warrant. For Black and Brown families, this lack of transparency is dangerous. It means that an image of a parent dropping off their child can end up in a criminal database. The law does not clearly define what a "unit" is, so even private security contractors can sometimes use this loophole (publicinterestprivacy.org, stanford.edu).

Advocacy groups like the ACLU argue that this violates the spirit of student privacy. They point out that school-captured data is being used for municipal criminal investigations. This practice negatively has impacted the success of African American students by creating an atmosphere of constant suspicion. Students feel they are being watched by the state rather than supported by their teachers. This environment makes it harder for students to focus on learning (stanford.edu).

Modern technology has introduced AI-powered License Plate Readers (ALPRs) to the school gate. These cameras capture the plate number and location of every vehicle. Companies like Flock Safety provide these systems to thousands of police agencies. While companies claim schools own the data, features like "National Sharing" allow other agencies to search it. This creates a "digital fence" around neighborhoods that tracks the movement of entire families (theguardian.com, myedmondsnews.com).

In Texas, an investigation in 2026 revealed the scale of this monitoring. Police agencies conducted over 733,000 searches on school camera systems in just one month. Many of these searches used tags specifically for "ICE" or "Border Patrol." This shows that the data is being used for immigration leads rather than campus safety. The technology can map the social networks of families over long periods. It records who visits the school and when they arrive (theguardian.com).

These systems are often placed in lower-income, minority neighborhoods. This disproportionate deployment means that Black and Brown families are under much more scrutiny than those in affluent white areas. ALPRs also have high "false positive" rates for older license plates or in low light. This leads to wrongful police stops during the morning commute. For a family with uncertain status, a simple traffic stop for an expired registration can lead to deportation (publicinterestprivacy.org, myedmondsnews.com).

Police searches of Texas school camera systems (One Month):

Leads were frequently tagged for federal immigration action (theguardian.com).

Black immigrants face unique risks in this surveillance landscape. They often experience "double surveillance" where racial profiling and immigration enforcement meet. According to advocacy groups, Black immigrants are more likely to be deported for criminal convictions than other groups. When school surveillance feeds into "gang databases," it can be used in immigration court. This evidence is often used to deny residency or asylum to vulnerable individuals (stanford.edu, ojp.gov).

The focus on certain narratives often leaves Black immigrants without tailored legal protections. Many people do not realize that immigration enforcement also targets families from African and Caribbean nations. Data sharing between school police and federal databases creates a "chilling effect." Parents may avoid school events or parent-teacher conferences. They do this to escape the watchful eye of the cameras. This distance can hurt the academic progress of their children (publicinterestprivacy.org).

Furthermore, the current political climate has increased these fears. Donald Trump is the current president, and early in 2025, his administration revoked previous "sensitive locations" policies. These policies used to restrict ICE activity at schools and churches. Without these protections, federal agents feel emboldened to use school technology. They can now track families during drop-offs and pick-ups more aggressively. This change has effectively turned the school parking lot into a checkpoint (theguardian.com).

As of early 2026, there is a growing movement to close these privacy gaps. Several states have introduced "Student Data Privacy Acts." These laws aim to define "law enforcement units" more strictly. They also seek to limit the sharing of surveillance footage with federal agencies unless there is a judicial warrant. Civil rights lobbyists are pushing for "Erasure Clauses." These would require schools to delete surveillance data every 30 days if no crime has occurred (publicinterestprivacy.org).

Some communities are fighting for "Stop Secret Surveillance" bills. These would ban the use of facial recognition and other advanced tools in K-12 public schools. Advocacy groups argue that federal dollars should go toward "Counselors Not Cops." They note that many schools have a police presence but lack a school psychologist. Investing in mental health rather than hardware could provide real safety without compromising student rights (ojp.gov).

The history of the struggle for education shows that the classroom must remain a place of freedom. From the era of the Civil War to the present, the right to learn has been a cornerstone of progress. Turning schools into sites of surveillance threatens that progress. It makes the price of an education the risk of family separation. Protecting student data is not just about privacy. It is about maintaining the promise that every child has a right to learn in safety and peace (stanford.edu).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.