I lived in Tulsa during my childhood and early adolescence.
I returned to Tulsa as a college student. I moved away after graduation. I returned two years later.
I moved away again in 1981.
Within the years I lived in Tulsa, the tragedy of Greenwood was not a subject of study in school nor even a topic of conversation among peers.
The tragedy was not a riot. It was an invasion.
It was an invasion by a battalion of white Tulsans on an American city-within-a-city.
It was an act of aggression — a war — from land and air. It was an incursion by resentful, racist men riled by rumor, an attack on life and peace, a thuggish grip on the throats of unsuspecting Black Americans who, as a result, were grievously riven by violence, murder and arson.
Astonishingly, there is still question in some minds as to the justice of reparations for the victims of that sick invasion, of restitution to the victims for the totality of that sadistic crime.
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