In a tragic and historic moment, the last two known centenarian survivors of the Tulsa Race Massacre—Lessie Benningfield Randle, 109, and Viola Ford Fletcher, 110—may have reached the end of their legal journey for justice. The Oklahoma Supreme Court has upheld the dismissal of a lawsuit filed by the survivors that sought reparations for the racial violence that decimated Greenwood, Tulsa’s Black Wall Street, over a century ago. This decision echoes the generational challenges of Black Americans who have fought for acknowledgment, restitution, and accountability for racial atrocities.
The Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921 was one of the most egregious acts of racial violence in U.S. history. It wasn’t just a moment of mob rage but a two-day onslaught of state-sanctioned terror, one in which white mobs, empowered by civil authorities, laid waste to the thriving Black neighborhood of Greenwood. Planes dropped bombs, armed men stormed the streets, and in less than 48 hours, 35 blocks were reduced to ashes, up to 300 Black residents were killed, and thousands were displaced. Greenwood, which had been an economic and cultural beacon for Black Americans, was left in ruins, its generational wealth and promise destroyed.
In the face of this devastation, justice has remained elusive. The survivors of the massacre and their descendants have never received compensation for the lives, property, and community they lost. For decades, the massacre was buried in the annals of history, a violent truth too uncomfortable to speak aloud. Only in recent years has the story of Greenwood been thrust back into the public consciousness.
Yet, even in this era of heightened awareness of racial injustice, accountability remains out of reach. Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Randle had hoped that their lawsuit, filed in 2020 under Oklahoma’s public nuisance law, would finally bring about the justice they’ve long awaited. Their case argued that the destruction of Greenwood and the massacre itself constituted an ongoing public nuisance, perpetuating racial inequities and economic disparities that are still acutely felt in the neighborhood today.
The Oklahoma Supreme Court ruled that while the grievances of the survivors are legitimate, they do not fall within the bounds of the state’s public nuisance statute. The ruling effectively concluded the legal battle, barring any further appeals, as the case was filed under state law, not federal. The court acknowledged the devastation but insisted that rectifying such historical wrongs lies within the domain of policymakers, not the judiciary.
“The continuing blight alleged within the Greenwood community born out of the Massacre implicates generational-societal inequities that can only be resolved by policymakers — not the courts,” the ruling stated.
For Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Randle, who have spent their final years seeking justice, the decision is a bitter pill. They have spent decades in silence, but in recent years, they have recounted their experiences, bringing the horrors of the massacre back into the national conversation, even testifying before Congress. Their fight represents not just their personal quest for justice but the struggle of an entire community—and, indeed, an entire race—seeking recognition and redress for the legacies of slavery, segregation, and systemic racism.
The lawsuit named various local government entities, including the Tulsa County sheriff and the Oklahoma Military Department, as defendants, arguing that the massacre was, in effect, a state-sponsored atrocity. Yet the state and city officials argued that they could not be held liable for events that took place over two days more than 100 years ago, shielded by the principle of sovereign immunity.
For many, this ruling feels like yet another chapter in the long history of Black Americans being denied justice. The massacre didn’t just destroy a thriving community; it severed the potential for generational wealth and prosperity in a society that already actively worked to exclude and oppress Black citizens. The fact that no entity or individual was ever held accountable, and that survivors were never compensated, is a glaring testament to the deep-rooted racial inequities in America.
As Damario Solomon-Simmons, the lead lawyer for the survivors, eloquently put it, what happened in Greenwood in 1921 was nothing less than a state-sponsored atrocity. “Once again the Oklahoma court system has failed the survivors. We think the decision is wrong and the reasoning is wrong.” He vowed to continue fighting, even calling on the U.S. Department of Justice to open an investigation into the massacre.
For the survivors, this ruling is not just a legal defeat; it is a deeply personal one. Ms. Randle, speaking in an interview with The New York Times, expressed her frustration: “I would like to see justice. It’s past time. I would like to see this all cleared up and we go down the right road. But I do not know if I will ever see that.”
And therein lies the painful truth. In a country where the legacies of racial violence and inequity still reverberate through Black communities, justice often remains a distant dream. The story of Greenwood is a stark reminder that the fight for racial justice is far from over, and for many, like Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Randle, it may never fully arrive in their lifetimes.
As Greenwood rebuilds and attempts to reclaim some of its lost promise, the fight for justice continues—though it is now clear that the courtroom may not be where this battle is won. It will require a broader reckoning with America’s past, a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths, and the courage of policymakers to do what the courts could not. Until then, the wounds of Greenwood, like so many others across the nation, will remain unhealed.