Volume 133 No. 47
THE BLACK MEDIA AUTHORITY • AFRO.COM
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JUNE 21, 2025 - JUNE 27, 2025
Meta (Instagram)/ ACLU of SC
Meta (Facebook)/ Rev. Clementa Pinckney
Meta(Instagram)/ Alana Grant
Meta (Facebook)/ Rachelle Estrill
AP Photo/David Goldman
AP Photo/Chris Carlson
Meta (Instagram)/ columbiacollegesc
Photo courtesy of City of Charleston Department of Planning, Preservation and Sustainability
AP Photo/Stephen B. Morton
Meta (Instagram)/ Community Renewal Society - Chicago
This month marks the 10 year anniversary of the Mother Emanuel mass shooting that took place in Charleston, S.C. A decade later, gun reform advocates are still working for change in the name of Tywanza Sanders (top, left); Rev. Clementa Pinckney; Rev. Daniel Simmons; Rev. Sharonda Singleton; Cynthia Graham-Hurd; Ethel Lance (middle left); Rev. Depayne Middleton-Doctor (middle, right); Susie Jackson Lane (bottom, left) and Myra Thompson (bottom, right).
Ten years later: Charleston remembers slain parishioners as push for gun reform gains urgency By D. Kevin McNeir Special to the AFRO
afro.com
Ten years ago, on June 17, 2015, a group of worshipers entered Mother
Emanuel AME Church for a Bible study, in Charleston, South Carolina. Though they stepped into the oldest AME church in the South to strengthen their walk with
God, they were joined by one visitor who had a different motive. Driven by racial hatred, the young man they had welcomed with open arms,
opened fire during Bible study. By the end of the night, nine of the 12 parishioners in the room lay dead– including a sitting state legislator, Rev. Clementa Pinckney, of South
Carolina’s 45th District. Since then, community leaders say little has been done to protect others from falling victim to similar fates due in part, due to stark
differences between Democrats and Republicans on the need for tougher laws. Ten years later, legislators Continued on A2
AFRO EDITORIAL
Our lives are on the line—again: What political violence means for Black America As elected officials are murdered in their homes and threats escalate nationwide, we must confront the deadly cost of divisive rhetoric—and why it matters now more than ever to Black communities. The recent targeted murders of elected officials in Minnesota are a national tragedy—shameful, despicable and heartbreaking. On June 14, former Minnesota House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband were gunned down in their Brooklyn Park home by a man impersonating a police officer. That same day, state Sen. John Hoffman and his wife were critically wounded in a similar attack. Law enforcement later revealed that the suspect had compiled a hit list of more than 30 elected officials, including Gov. Tim Walz and
Congresswoman Ilhan Omar. This violence is appalling but, tragically, it is not surprising. In recent years, America has witnessed an alarming rise in political violence: the foiled plot to kidnap Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer in 2020, the 2022 hammer attack on Paul Pelosi, the Jan. 6, 2021 assault on the Capitol, and the arsonist who set fire to Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s home earlier this year. These acts aren’t random. They reflect an increasingly dangerous climate—one that has been stoked, not softened, by the words of those in power. Chief among them is Donald J. Trump, the 47th president of the United States. For nearly a decade, Trump has used his platform not to unite, but to
vilify; not to uplift, but to provoke. In campaign rallies, speeches, interviews, and social media posts, he has painted his political opponents as enemies, traitors and threats to the nation’s survival. He has spoken of “bloodbaths” if he loses elections. He’s suggested that top military officials deserve execution. He has referred to immigrants as people who are “poisoning the blood of our country” and revived dehumanizing language like “vermin” to describe his critics. Even members of his own party have not been spared. He said Sen. Mitch McConnell had a “death wish” and publicly mocked McConnell’s wife, former Transportation Secretary Elaine Chao, using a racist nickname. In 2019, he told four congresswomen of color—including Rep. Ilhan
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Omar—to “go back” to the “crime-infested countries” they came from, though all were U.S. citizens and three were born in America. These aren’t gaffes. They are intentional rhetorical choices, often delivered with a smirk and later defended or repeated. And while many Americans dismiss them as showmanship or tough talk, the real-world consequences are now impossible to ignore. Violent language can—and does— lead to violent action. The Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol, carried out by supporters who believed Trump’s repeated lies about a stolen election, proved that. In its aftermath, rather than denounce the rioters, Trump referred to them as patriots. Earlier this Continued on A8