National
Few Blacks Elected State Prosecutors
By Jazelle Hunt
NNPA Washington Correspondent
WASHINGTON (NNPA) – Of the 46 states that elect prosecutors, more than half – 27 – have no known African Americans, according to a report by the Women Donors Network, an organization of progressive women philanthropists and advocates, which examined the demographics of state prosecutors who had been elected into their positions as of summer 2014.
“The whole thing honestly is so shocking,” says Brenda Choresi Carter, director of the Reflective Democracy Campaign. “Just the stunning absence of Black prosecutors even in states where we know there is a historic and well-developed Black electorate…came as a surprise.”
The study, which is part of the organization’s Reflective Democracy Campaign, was unable to verify the race and gender of 165 elected state prosecutors. White people account for 95 percent of the verified ranks (79 men, 16 percent women). In some states, including Tennessee and Washington, there are no elected prosecutors of color.
State prosecutors’ offices investigate crimes and are the highest criminal prosecutors in their cities, counties, or other municipalities. They are often the ultimate decision-makers in a wide range of criminal proceedings, from charges, to sentencing, to appeals and parole.
Compounding the problem is that the legal profession is one of the least diverse professions in the U.S. Whites are 88.1 percent of all lawyers, compared to 4.8 percent who are Black, 3.7 percent Latino and 3.4 percent Asians. Seventy percent are males. By comparison, Whites are 81 percent of architects and engineers and 72 percent of physicians and surgeons.
“The irony of the prosecutor is that in many ways they have more direct power over people’s lives than most other elected offices. All the points along the process of pursing a [criminal] case…are subject to a prosecutor’s own individual discretion,” Carter says.
“If these [powers] are concentrated in the hands of a demographic group that does not have the experience being a person of color in America, or a woman…it’s difficult to see how they would understand the full range of the impact of their decisions.”
Nobody has to explain that to Philadelphia’s R. Seth Williams, who became the first Black elected district attorney in the state of Pennsylvania in 2009. It’s an unusual position for a Black man, but one he says more people of color should consider.
“People think if you are a member of a minority group you should be a defense attorney, but as a state prosecutor I have much more power than a defense attorney,” he explained.
“I can not charge [someone] or not pursue the death penalty, I can get drug programs started for those who need it, I can create veteran offenders programs…. A district attorney has the power and discretion to do the right thing.”
Williams is one of just 62 Black elected state prosecutors across the country, out of 2,444 total – less than 3 percent.
One of Williams’ proudest, and most controversial actions was becoming the first D.A. in the country to successfully prosecute a Catholic clergy member in connection to the sex abuse scandal. He has also prosecuted white-collar criminals, and has reduced the number of criminal charges filed in small drug-related cases. His goal is to be smart on crime, not just tough – even if it means ruffling feathers.
“I wanted to show that we’d apply the same standard of justice to everyone, regardless of your last name, who your father is, the zip code you live in, or what your race is,” he says, adding that his office pursued people from all walks of life, “not just going after the corner boys for selling bags of weed.”
While most state prosecutors are hired or appointed, the Women Donors Network study focused on those elected because they theoretically represent voters. In these cases, aspiring prosecutors must run a political campaign; but the study points out that 85 percent of incumbent prosecutors run unopposed for their reelections. Carter says a lack of financial, social, and political access perpetuate an “old boys’ club” in government.
“There is a real issue with the fact of access to the ballot…. There are people who will never even run for office, or be in state government, or be a state judge because they cant afford it, not because they aren’t good or don’t have brilliant ideas. They don’t have access to the money, the donors, the ballot the same way others do,” she explained.
“What we see in elected offices overall is that it’s a pretty closed system. What we see with prosecutors is all of that plus more.”
Williams agrees.
“We need many more concerned, caring, empathetic, outstanding attorneys to become state prosecutors. We also need people who better reflect the communities we serve, to become prosecutors.”
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Activism
Oakland Post: Week of November 13 – 19, 2024
The printed Weekly Edition of the Oakland Post: Week of November 13 – 19, 2024
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Activism
Oakland Post: Week of November 6 – 12, 2024
The printed Weekly Edition of the Oakland Post: Week of November 6 – 12, 2024
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#NNPA BlackPress
OP-ED: The Illusion of Allyship. White Women, Your Yard Signs Mean Nothing to Me
NNPA NEWSWIRE – “The blue bracelets are something White women are wearing so others can see that they didn’t vote for Trump,” says Liberal Lisa from Oklahoma on X. Chile, bye. These bracelets are hollow symbols, empty gestures that mean nothing to me. An accessory to claim distance from Trump’s legacy is superficial comfort, while the choice to not stand with us in the voting booth is far more profound.
Political yard signs can symbolize intentions and allegiance. But this year, they’ve also symbolized betrayal. During this general election, Black women were led to believe that more White women would stand with us. Exit polls, however, told a different story. Despite overwhelming displays of support, more White women still chose to vote for the convicted felon, reality TV star, and rapist. White women answered the call but left us hanging at the polls.
A Familiar Disappointment
I live in DeKalb County, Georgia, and the abundance of Harris-Walz yard signs could’ve fooled me. But I’ve seen this before, back when Stacey Abrams ran for governor. White women showed up, put up signs, attended rallies, knocked on doors, and phone-banked. Yet, when it came time to vote, they let us down—not once but twice. I’ve been here for over 15 years, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that political signs are symbols without weight.
In every election, I’ve talked with White women. Most aren’t the primary earners in their families and vote along party lines, aligning with the preferences of their fathers and husbands. These conversations reveal a reluctance to break from tradition, even when their votes affect women and certainly when their votes impact the lives of people who look like me.
The Illusion of Solidarity—Symbols Are Not Enough
On social media, I’m seeing White women posting pictures of blue bracelets to “prove” they didn’t vote for Trump. “The blue bracelets are something White women are wearing so others can see that they didn’t vote for Trump,” says Liberal Lisa from Oklahoma on X. Chile, bye. These bracelets are hollow symbols, empty gestures that mean nothing to me. An accessory to claim distance from Trump’s legacy is superficial comfort, while the choice to not stand with us in the voting booth is far more profound.
I’ve seen Black Lives Matter signs and black squares posted on Instagram to “prove” support for Black people, but we now know that was a lie, too. Will those same people who claimed Black lives mattered now take down their Harris-Walz signs and show their true selves?
Navigating these truths is a daily struggle for me—professionally and socially. White women often misuse their privilege, supporting us only when it’s convenient. Seeing overqualified Black women sabotaged or abandoned by White women at critical moments is a constant emotional challenge. It’s exhausting to live with this reality, especially when solidarity seems like something they pick up and discard at will.
One clever campaign ad from Harris-Walz that spoke directly to White women. “Your Vote, Your Choice” emphasized that their vote was private—independent of their household situation. Another was from Olivia Howell Dreizen, the “Vote Without Fear” campaign, which empowered women to consider the greater impact of their choices. But it seems many still couldn’t choose the roadmap to freedom—even when it was handed to them.
A Call for Action Beyond Words
White women, I want to believe you care, but actions speak louder than yard signs, bracelets, or Instagram posts. Show up in our communities, advocate in your workplaces, and stand up to dismantle the structures that uphold white supremacy. Only through real action will we know where you stand.
If you choose not to act, we see you—and we know exactly where you stand. Good luck these next four years.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of BlackPressUSA.com or the National Newspaper Publishers Association.
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