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    How Janelle Jones’s Story About Black Women and the Economy Caught On

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    The first Black woman to serve as chief economist at the Labor Department advanced the idea that lifting up people on the margins helps everyone else, too.“Transforming Spaces” is a series about women driving change in sometimes unexpected places.It takes approximately 30 seconds of conversation with Janelle Jones, the chief economist and policy director of one of the largest labor unions in the United States, to learn where she’s from and why it matters.“I’m from Ohio! Is that not obvious?” she exclaimed, at a decibel level that reflects how core the state is to her identity. Lorain, Ohio, to be exact, where her mother and her mother’s mother (and aunts, uncles and cousins) worked in the local Ford plant.Those union jobs, and the upward mobility they provided to millions of Black people who migrated from the South in search of freedom and opportunity, taught Ms. Jones what it means to move from the margins to the middle class. She noticed the difference when her mother switched to making Econoline vans after years serving Happy Meals at McDonald’s — a business that her current employer, the Service Employees International Union, is in a long-running battle to unionize.Now she is fighting to make more jobs as good as the union jobs that supported her family — or, even better, jobs with new safeguards that protect workers’ physical health.“It is a town where one of the best jobs you can have is to work at Ford,” Ms. Jones, 39, said of Lorain. “And while I love that for a lot of the people I know, it’s not the only way a town of 70,000 should be able to have economic security.”Last year, Ms. Jones left the U.S. Labor Department, where she served as chief economist, for the Service Employees International Union, which represents nearly two million security guards, nurses, teachers, airport retail workers and janitors. About two-thirds of the members are women, and more than half are people of color. That’s why the position seemed tailor made for the philosophy she’d developed and advanced over her entire career — that targeting policies to assist some of the most disadvantaged members of society will lift everyone else up in the process.Ms. Jones with Aparna Kumar, assistant director of communications for the Service Employees International Union, at the organization’s headquarters in Washington, D.C.Lexey Swall for The New York TimesMs. Jones’s superpower, according to her colleagues, is her ability to translate the economy into a framework that helps workers.For the past several years, Ms. Jones has been developing one central philosophy: Because Black women have historically been concentrated in low-paid caregiving jobs, which are often excluded from labor laws and benefits like Social Security, they have accumulated less wealth and experienced worse health outcomes. Furthermore, Ms. Jones argues, helping Black women — through measures like raising wages in care professions and canceling more student debt — is the best way to construct an economy that functions better for everyone.In 2020, she gave her narrative a name, “Black Women Best.” She came up with it while working for a progressive nonprofit called Groundwork Collaborative, which conducted focus groups across the country to find a narrative about how the economy should work for working people.“They were like, ‘I would like to not be tired,’” Ms. Jones recalled of the participants. “‘I want to buy school supplies.’ ‘I want to know that if my car breaks down, because I think it might, I won’t lose my apartment.’” Solving those basic problems for people with the least resources, she thought, would buoy the labor market from the bottom up.Her premise, which she articulated in a working paper for the Roosevelt Institute, a left-leaning think tank, found an eager audience under President Biden, who owed his victory in large part to Black women. It was embraced by influential figures, including corporate economists and a Federal Reserve president, and formed the basis of a 133-page report commissioned by the Congressional Caucus on Black Women and Girls.It hasn’t escaped pushback: Some scholars, including Tommy J. Curry at the University of Edinburgh, counter that Black men are more disadvantaged than Black women. Dr. Curry, a professor specializing in Africana philosophy and Black male studies at the university, said that, while he understands the “political popularity” of Ms. Jones’s theory, the evidence did not back it up. Black women, he said, “have seen higher levels of labor participation, entrepreneurial endeavors supported by government grants, and higher rates of college degree attainment since the 2000s, while Black men have been shown to have greater unemployment, less earnings per dollar — at 51 cents by some measures — and an overall downward mobility.”Ms. Jones declined to respond to Dr. Curry’s critique, but emphasized that her policy recommendations are generally not a zero-sum game.Ms. Jones in her office, meeting remotely with government relations colleagues about their lobbying efforts to increase the federal minimum wage to $15.Lexey Swall for The New York TimesMs. Jones’s desk chronicles her history in photos, books and a letter from President Biden.Lexey Swall for The New York Times“I do think that, in a really short period of time, she’s been able to get traction because people do see it as an additive vision,” said Angela Hanks, who worked with Ms. Jones at Groundwork and is now the chief of programs at the think tank Demos. “In a world where there aren’t a ton of totally new ideas, it’s a new idea. And one that’s resonant because it’s explicit but not exclusionary.”While few concrete policy changes are the result of one person’s efforts, it’s possible to see Ms. Jones’s message in actions as small as a guaranteed income program for Black mothers in Mississippi (now in its fourth round of funding) and as large as the expanded child tax credit and unemployment insurance provisions in the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021. Both federal policies helped low-income people in service professions, where Black women are overrepresented.“What Black Women Best is pushing us to do is to center those who have always been described as ‘deserving’ of their economic hardship,” said Azza Altiraifi, a senior policy manager at the racial justice advocacy group Liberation in a Generation. “Those sorts of stories were not common before. And it’s not because there weren’t people doing that research — it just didn’t seem to be a worthwhile exploration.”Ms. Jones’s path to influencing policy wasn’t a straight line. After majoring in math at Spelman, a historically Black college for women, she started two different Ph.D. programs and dropped out each time, after finding them to be only glancingly useful for the real work she wanted to do.“I felt like economics was the way I could do something for my grandmother, who was on a fixed income, or do something for my cousin, who’s a home health aide,” Ms. Jones said, explaining why she called off her pursuit of a doctorate. “I thought it was going to be labor economics, the things that I love, and it wasn’t. It was like advanced real analysis. It was honestly awful.”Fortunately for Ms. Jones, Washington is littered with Ph.D. dropouts who found policymaking more motivating than academic credentials. She spent years training with economists at the city’s labor-oriented think tanks. When Mr. Biden’s transition team went looking for a chief economist at the Department of Labor, in the wake of nationwide protests for racial equity in early 2020, she was an obvious choice — and became the first Black woman to hold the position.Ms. Jones with Alesia Lucas, assistant director of communications for the Service Employees International Union.Lexey Swall for The New York TimesWorking for Labor Secretary Martin J. Walsh, Ms. Jones found, was a unique opportunity to put her ideas into practice. She was charged with carrying out the president’s executive order on advancing racial equity, which instructed each agency to determine how it could eliminate barriers for minorities. Ms. Jones dug in, finding ways to make sure people of color got their share of procurement dollars, unemployment insurance, apprenticeships, jobs at the department, fair performance reviews and everything else that the Labor Department had to offer.Through it all, she argued that the economy hadn’t recovered until everyone was doing well. At times she even had to make that case inside the 17,000-person department, where some of her colleagues didn’t realize that the Black unemployment rate is almost always about twice as high as the white unemployment rate. Other times she had to make that case publicly, in regular videos breaking down the latest jobs report, for the better part of the year she worked at the Labor Department.While the average unemployment rate sank back to its prepandemic level in 2022, the racial gap remained wide. “It took forever — forever — for Black women to recover to even 2018 levels,” Ms. Jones said. She took this message to Twitter, sometimes using memes. In 2021, she didn’t hide her disappointment when the Senate backed off of legislation that came right out of the Black Women Best playbook — including beefed-up subsidies for child and elder care — in the face of opposition from Senator Joe Manchin III, the West Virginia Democrat.Mr. Walsh, who recently stepped down as labor secretary, said that Ms. Jones kept him focused on the idea that the prepandemic status quo wasn’t good enough.Ms. Jones is seven months into her new role at the Service Employees International Union.Lexey Swall for The New York Times“Janelle brought her brilliant economic mind, passion for building an accessible, equitable economy for all, and leadership to the Department of Labor at a critical time of transformation in the American economy,” Mr. Walsh said in an email, “insisting that this country’s workers — especially those usually left behind — remain at the forefront of the national policy response to tremendous upheaval.”Ultimately, Black men and women made strong gains as the pandemic waned, in part because in 2021 the Federal Reserve held off on raising interest rates for months in an attempt to cool off the economy, even as prices started to escalate. Raising interest rates makes businesses less willing to expand and often results in layoffs, which tend to hit people of color first. Ms. Jones, who now speaks for millions of union workers, had argued that a tight labor market would reduce racial inequality.“I care about all workers, obviously, but I really, really care about Black and brown women,” Ms. Jones said. “And to be in a place where those workers are centered, where it’s most of our members — it feels like the perfect place to do the things that make me excited.” More

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    In Appalachia, Margo Miller Leads from “a Place of Courageous Joy”

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    “Transforming Spaces” is a new series about women driving change in sometimes unexpected places.Margo Miller, the executive director of the Appalachian Community Fund, describes herself as a “proud Black mountain woman” in a region not widely known for being home to generations of Black people.In her day-to-day work, Ms. Miller, 53, is in charge of financially supporting regional organizations, individuals and groups working to advance social, economic, racial and environmental justice across Appalachia. The largely economically depressed region is a vast swath of land that encompasses some or all of 13 states, including parts of Kentucky, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, the Carolinas, Maryland and all of West Virginia.Support from the fund is sometimes a couple hundred dollars and other times $5,000 or more, depending on the year and the causes.In 2021, the organization gave out more than $600,000 to organizations, individuals and groups in Appalachia, where the often stunning landscape consists of family farms, twisting back roads, steep mountain passes and fairly secluded communities, some with newly revitalized downtowns. Since its inception in 1987, the fund has given away more than $6 million. Ms. Miller said that lately it had been getting a lot more support from a diverse array of donors.“Our range is 50 cents to $50,000,” she said. “We have a donor who would tape quarters inside of an envelope and send it to us.” One year, she added, another regular donor sent a gift of $50,000, “saying, ‘I know the region can really use this gift this year.’”Ms. Miller, who lives in East Knoxville, has become one of the most powerful people in philanthropy in a rapidly evolving region that has long been marred by stereotypes, misunderstanding and, for Black people, erasure, according to academics and leaders of nonprofit groups. Many Black people, including Ms. Miller’s family, have lived in Southern Appalachia and Central Appalachia for at least three generations (she had relatives who worked in Kentucky’s coal mines), but their stories are not often told.Margo Miller, at the Knoxville Botanical Gardens in East Knoxville, a historically Black neighborhood where she has lived since 2008.Jessica Tezak for The New York TimesMs. Miller said she relished having access to the natural beauty that she strives to celebrate as an artist and activist.Jessica Tezak for The New York TimesInstead, the Appalachia portrayed in popular culture tends to be largely associated with stories of white coal miners and their families, a narrative that several scholars, sociologists, artists and residents, Ms. Miller among them, have been working hard to shift.Dr. Enkeshi El-Amin, an assistant professor of sociology at West Virginia University, doesn’t remember exactly when or how she met Ms. Miller, but she does recall hearing about her since her earliest days of living in Knoxville in 2013. “Margo’s name was one of those names that you just knew,” said Dr. El-Amin, whose academic work focuses on how “racial practices shape Black places and how Black people are, in turn, involved in practices that define, contest and reimagine places.” Ms. Miller, she said, “is sort of like an O.G.” She added, “Her name was always there, which tells you a lot.”Ms. Miller, in fact, has always been a natural leader, whether she realized it or not.As a child growing up among the mountains and hollows, or hollers as the valleys are colloquially called, of Roane County, Tenn., and later in North Knoxville, she said, she was “the bossy one who wanted to play the teacher.” In her mostly white elementary school, she was student of the year (the first Black student to receive the title), and in high school she was class president (the first Black student to hold the position). She is a self-professed nerd.“Being a nerd is kind of trendy now, but back then it wasn’t the case,” she said in a recent interview from her office, surrounded by crafting supplies. She’s a big crafter too. “I definitely was a kid who had my nose buried in a book.Standing nearly 5 feet 10 inches, Ms. Miller today knows how to command a room, whether she is speaking or not. But she recalled that the earliest days of her career as an administrator were more challenging, in part, because she is a Black woman. She talks of going on job interviews in the 1990s and white men being surprised when she entered the room. Some would start to say, “I wasn’t expecting you. … ” and she would have a ready comeback.Ms. Miller in 2014, with Rev. Keith Caldwell, left, then the vice president of the N.A.A.C.P. in Tennessee, presented a social justice plan at the Highlander Research and Education Center, which nurtures movements for social, economic and restorative environmental change in disenfranchised communities in Appalachia. Ebony Blevins“Back then, I would laugh and say: ‘I know. You weren’t expecting me to be so tall,” she said. “I would really try to make them feel more comfortable and they’d look at me like, ‘Who are you? I’m waiting for a white Margo Miller.’” Those experiences were demoralizing, but she found joy, support and opportunities to grow in Knoxville’s theater community, where she was surrounded by other Black people. She had immersed herself in theater while in college there and became a performer and stage manager.Ms. Miller said her experiences with racism were not the same today. “I’m currently surrounded by a community of social justice folks who are all about equity and inclusion and anti-racist practice,” she said. “I’m fortunate and do not have the same experience of other sisters who work for mostly white boards and trustees. Many of them have uphill battles.”African Americans make up about 10 percent of Appalachia’s population while those identifying as Hispanic or Latino account for 5.6 percent of the population, a number that is growing, according to the Appalachian Regional Commission. Still, sociologists and historians said, Black and Latino people with roots in Appalachia have a deep connection to the area and their rich history should be studied and appreciated. People like Ms. Miller, who are connected to the region’s history, help with this effort, they said.“You get coal mining stories or you’ll hear of good race relations here because there weren’t many Black folks here, but those stories distort,” Dr. El-Amin, of West Virginia University, said. “Black folks have always been in the region. From slavery on up.”The fund that Ms. Miller heads supports all Appalachians, regardless of race, gender, sexuality or other identities, but under her leadership, which started in 2011, minority Appalachians say they have felt more included. For them, merely seeing a Black woman who is committed to the growth and development of the area is a comfort and source of encouragement.Richard Graves, an artist in Abingdon, Va, a 2021 recipient of $5,000 from the community fund’s fellowship program said that the money made it possible for him to find stability during the first year he worked as an artist full-time. The foundation gave a total of $80,000 to fellows like Mr. Graves. But even more valuable than the financial support, he said, was the community support that came with being in the fund’s network.“Because of how sectioned and pocketed off these rural communities are, doing community work together can be hard,” he said. “It gave me faces and names of people across the region. We met on Zoom every two weeks and continue to keep in touch.”Strengthening community and bringing people together is one of Ms. Miller’s strongest qualities, according to several organizers and beneficiaries of the organization’s fund.“Margo has been a field builder making space for nonwhite voices, nonwhite leadership in the region, in central Appalachia,” Lora Smith, the chief strategy officer for the Foundation for Appalachian Kentucky, said. “She is as unapologetically Appalachian as she is unapologetically a Black woman leading a community fund.”Ms. Miller in the craft room at her home in Knoxville. She retreats there to create and play, finding inspiration in thriftiness and working with various fibers, particularly patchwork.Jessica Tezak for The New York TimesMs. Miller’s fabric shelves in her craft room at her home. She has learned through Appalachian, Japanese, Indian and African methods of mending that great beauty can come out of frugality and being resourceful.Jessica Tezak for The New York TimesMs. Smith, who took over Ms. Miller’s seat as the co-chair of the Appalachian Funders Network, a nonprofit, said that beyond her professional qualifications, Ms. Miller leads with care, openness and vulnerability. She recalled a meeting in which Ms. Miller unexpectedly took words participants had written and combined them into a powerful poem and read it aloud. Ms. Miller has been writing poetry and been an avid crafter since childhood. She’s also a D.J.“It was amazing to then see how people responded to that in a very humanistic way and the vulnerability and openness that her openness brings out in others,” Ms. Smith said. “She leads from a place of courageous joy. The Appalachian Community Fund resources some of the most forward-thinking and radical work in Appalachia and has done so for decades. That takes a courageous leader who is rooted in her values and can take critique and blowback when it comes.”Ms. Miller’s generosity extends beyond the workplace, according to stories from Black activists, organizers and scholars. Dr. El-Amin recalled sharing in early 2021 that she was concerned about whether The Bottom, a space she had created for Black people to gather, study and experience culture together, would survive amid the gentrification of East Knoxville. She was worried that they would not be able to afford to keep the space.“Margo said, ‘I will take the equity out of my house for you all to buy the building,’” Dr. El-Amin recalled. “This is something I will forever remember and she did it.” To Dr. El-Amin, this was yet another example of Ms. Miller’s commitment to fostering Black history, voices and safety in the community.“I’m grateful that I was in a position to make the purchase happen,” Ms. Miller said, adding that the line of equity loan was repaid in less than a year, and that she then signed a deed to remove herself from ownership of the building.Ms. Smith said she judges how good executive directors are by how well-received they are by their younger employees and collaborators. The best leaders, she said, engage with young people who may have different ways of thinking and may push them beyond their comfort zones. Ms. Miller, she said, is one of these leaders.“She embraces next-generation leadership and is actively standing with and supporting younger people,” Ms. Smith said, “especially Black, Brown and queer folks, in stepping into their power and leading the region forward.”For her part, Ms. Miller said she anticipated that she would stay in her role for another year or so, but felt that she was ready to seek out new challenges.“I want to figure out who I want to be when I grow up,” she said. “I think in order to serve in the next leg of whatever I do, I need to take the time to rest and welcome the next generation of philanthropic leaders.”Ms. Miller, a self-proclaimed proud Black mountain woman, centers herself while overlooking the LeConte Meadow at the Knoxville Botanical Gardens.Jessica Tezak for The New York Times More

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    California Panel Sizes Up Reparations for Black Citizens

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    In the two years since nationwide social justice protests followed the murder of George Floyd, California has undertaken the nation’s most sweeping effort yet to explore some concrete restitution to Black citizens to address the enduring economic effects of slavery and racism.A nine-member Reparations Task Force has spent months traveling across California to learn about the generational effects of racist policies and actions. The group, formed by legislation signed by Gov. Gavin Newsom in 2020, is scheduled to release a report to lawmakers in Sacramento next year outlining recommendations for state-level reparations.“We are looking at reparations on a scale that is the largest since Reconstruction,” said Jovan Scott Lewis, a professor at the University of California, Berkeley, who is a member of the task force.While the creation of the task force is a bold first step, much remains unclear about whether lawmakers will ultimately throw their political weight behind reparations proposals that will require vast financial resources from the state.“That is why we must put forward a robust plan, with plenty of options,” Dr. Lewis said.The effort parallels others on a local level, in California and elsewhere, to address the nation’s stark racial disparities and a persistent wealth gap. The median wealth of Black households in the United States is $24,100, compared with $188,200 for white households, according to the most recent Federal Reserve Board Survey of Consumer Finances.In a preliminary report this year, the task force outlined how enslaved Black people were forced to California during the Gold Rush era and how, in the 1950s and 1960s, racially restrictive covenants and redlining segregated Black Californians in many of the state’s largest cities.Californians eligible for reparations, the task force decided in March, would be descendants of enslaved African Americans or of a “free Black person living in the United States prior to the end of the 19th century.” Nearly 6.5 percent of California residents, roughly 2.5 million, identify as Black or African American. The panel is now considering how reparations should be distributed — some favor tuition and housing grants while others want direct cash payments.The task force has identified five areas — housing discrimination, mass incarceration, unjust property seizures, devaluation of Black businesses and health care — in discussions for compensation. For example, from 1933 to 1977, when it comes to housing discrimination, the task force estimates compensation of around $569 billion, with $223,200 per person.Final figures will be released in the report next year; it would then be up to the Legislature to act upon the recommendations and determine how to fund them.The state and local efforts have faced opposition over the potentially steep cost to taxpayers and, in one case, derided as an ill-conceived campaign to impose an “era of social justice.”More on CaliforniaJaywalking Law: California has had one of the strictest jaywalking laws in the nation. Starting Jan. 1, that will no longer be the case.Remaking a River: Taming the Los Angeles River helped Los Angeles emerge as a global megalopolis, but it also left a gaping scar across the territory. Imagining the river’s future poses new challenges.A Piece of Black History Destroyed: Lincoln Heights — a historically Black community in a predominantly white, rural county in Northern California — endured for decades. Then came the Mill fire.Employee Strike: In one of the nation’s biggest strikes in recent years, teaching assistants, researchers and other workers across the University of California system walked off the job to demand higher pay.A two-day public meeting of the state task force this fall, in a makeshift hearing room tucked inside a Los Angeles museum, included a mix of comments from local residents on how they had been personally affected and how the disparities should be addressed, along with testimony from experts who have studied reparations.While even broad-scale reparations would be unlikely to eliminate the racial wealth gap, they could narrow it significantly, and proponents hope California’s effort will influence other states and federal legislators to follow suit.“Calling these local projects reparations is to some degree creating a detour from the central task of compelling the federal government to do its job,” said William A. Darity Jr., a professor at Duke University and a leading scholar on reparations. Even so, Dr. Darity, who is advising the California task force, said “there is an increasing recognition” that the lasting effects of slavery must be addressed.Every year for almost three decades, Representative John Conyers Jr. of Michigan introduced legislation that would have created a commission to explore reparations, but the measure consistently stalled in Congress. After Mr. Conyers retired in 2017, Representative Sheila Jackson Lee of Texas began championing the measure, which passed a House committee for the first time last year, but stalled on the floor.Underscoring the political hurdles, opinions on reparations are sharply divided by race. Last year, an online survey by the University of Massachusetts Amherst found that 86 percent of African Americans supported compensating the descendants of slaves, compared with 28 percent of white people. Other polls have also shown wide splits.Still, several efforts have gotten off the ground recently.In 2021, officials in Evanston, Ill., a Chicago suburb, approved $10 million in reparations in the form of housing grants. Three months later, officials in Asheville, N.C., committed $2.1 million to reparations. And over the summer, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors approved a plan to transfer ownership of Bruce’s Beach — a parcel in Manhattan Beach that was seized with scant compensation from a Black couple in 1924 — to the couple’s great-grandsons and great-great-grandsons.“We want to see the land and economic wealth stolen from Black families all across this country returned,” said Kavon Ward, an activist who advocated on behalf of the Bruces’ descendants and has since started a group, Where Is My Land, that seeks to help Black Americans secure restitution.“We are in a moment that we cannot let pass.”A so-called blight law from 1945, the task force’s interim report explains, paved the way for officials to use eminent domain to destroy Black communities, including shuttering more than 800 businesses and displacing 4,700 households in San Francisco’s Western Addition beginning in the 1950s.After work on Interstate 210 began later that decade, the report goes on, the freeway was eventually built in the path of a Black business district in Pasadena, where city officials offered residents $75,000 — less than the minimum cost to buy a new home in the city — for their old homes.And there is Russell City, an unincorporated parcel of Alameda County near the San Francisco Bay shoreline where many Black families fleeing racial terror in the Deep South built lives during the Great Migration. Testimony to the task force by Russell City residents recounts the community’s rise and ultimate bulldozing.A mural honoring the history of Russell City in what is now Hayward, Calif.Jim Wilson/The New York TimesMonique Henderson-Ford grew up hearing stories from her elders about Russell City, where many Black families fleeing racial terror in the Deep South built lives during the Great Migration.Jim Wilson/The New York TimesThe town was demolished to make way for an industrial park.Jim Wilson/The New York TimesUnlike neighboring Hayward and San Leandro, Russell City didn’t have racist housing covenants stipulating that only white families could own certain homes. After World War II, it grew into a small but tight community of Black and Latino families that once included seven churches.On weekends, children played on the unpaved streets as their parents, many of whom worked in the shipyards, sat on porches, and on some foggy nights, Ray Charles and Big Mama Thornton played shows at one of the town’s music venues, called the Country Club.“It was vibrant,” said Monique Henderson-Ford, who grew up hearing stories about Russell City from her mother, grandmother and cousins.After leaving Louisiana in the 1950s, her grandparents lived briefly in San Francisco but were displaced by an urban renewal project. Using savings from years of work at Pacific Gas & Electric, her grandfather paid $7,500 for their property and home in Russell City, and the family soon added three small houses to the homestead for their sons.“This was their American dream,” Ms. Henderson-Ford said in an interview.But it didn’t last long.Lacking sewer lines and reliable electricity, the area was designated as a blight, and officials called for its destruction and the area to be turned into an industrial park. Russell City was annexed into Hayward, and the city and county bought up some properties and seized others through eminent domain. Residents, including Ms. Henderson-Ford’s grandmother, pleaded with officials to be allowed to remain in their homes.“I got a nice place,” she told the Alameda County Board of Supervisors during a public meeting in 1963, according to a transcript. “Allow me a break.”In exchange for their property and homes, county officials gave the family roughly $2,200, less than a third of what it had originally paid, according to Ms. Henderson-Ford.On a recent morning, Ms. Henderson-Ford and her cousin joined a reporter on a walk through what was once Russell City but is now an industrial park.They passed the spot where their grandfather used to fish, yanking up striped bass from the bay as he peered northwest and watched San Francisco’s skyline take its distinctive shape.“Imagine if the houses were still here,” Ms. Henderson-Ford said. “We would all be sitting on a fortune.”Amid the uproar in 2020 over the murder of Mr. Floyd, a Black man, in police custody in Minneapolis, Artavia Berry, who lives in Hayward, knew she had to do something.“We could not look away from what happened right here,” said Ms. Berry, who learned the history of Russell City after moving to the region from Chicago a decade ago.Ms. Berry, who leads the Community Services Commission, a municipal advisory body, composed what would become a formal apology from the City of Hayward to onetime residents of Russell City. Last November, the City Council approved the resolution, as well as several follow-up steps.An aerial view of the area as the industrial park that replaced Russell City, lower right, was under construction in 1971.Hayward Area Historical SocietyA kindergarten class on the playground at a school in Russell City in 1949.Hayward Area Historical SocietyBut in a public letter to city officials, Hayward Concerned Citizens, the group that railed against an “era of social justice,” said the apology was misguided, arguing that Alameda County, not the City of Hayward, had pushed residents out.“We are strongly opposed to any direct financial reparations,” the group wrote.For Gloria Moore, who grew up in Russell City, the words stung.Now 79, she was 3 when her parents arrived in Russell City from Texarkana, Ark. Her mother worked as a cook at a local elementary school and her father worked for Todd Shipyards in the Bay Area. She still has vivid memories of walking to school in the mud when it rained, because the streets weren’t paved and there was no public transportation.After their home was taken for about $2,200, the family members struggled to regain the financial stability and community they had built in Russell City.By the 1970s, Ms. Moore had moved to Los Angeles to begin a career in city government, and she remembered noticing how many of her co-workers owned their own homes. She was renting.Over the years, she and other former residents of Russell City have gathered at a park in Hayward for a Labor Day reunion, where they share stories and often tears.“Sometimes things were suppressed because it was too painful,” she recalled. “But no one ever forgot.” More

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    The Subprime Loans for College Hiding in Plain Sight

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    Many families can borrow most of the cost of college using a Parent PLUS loan. This will not end well.If you want your kids to go to college but you can’t afford the bills, the federal government has a deal for you that will blow your mind.You can borrow the entire cost — minus any other aid your child receives — through something called a Parent PLUS loan. Moreover, your income — and thus your ability to repay the debt — doesn’t matter. As long as you don’t have one of a handful of black marks in your recent credit history, you can borrow six figures even if your take-home pay puts you below the federal poverty level.This is totally bananas. But don’t take my word for it.“The honest truth is that Congress created a subprime lending program unintentionally,” said Rachel Fishman of New America, the left-leaning think tank.“I absolutely hate them,” said Beth Akers, of the American Enterprise Institute, the right-leaning think tank, referring to these loans.“It’s gone completely off the rails,” said Justin Draeger, the president of the National Association of Student Financial Aid Administrators.Most parents don’t pay for college using this loan. But about 3.6 million of them — with about $107 billion in outstanding debt — have. Within that group are a number of low-income Black families at schools that may not have given their kids enough help in the way of scholarships. Many of those families are struggling to repay the money that the federal government so freely offered up.And, really, why wouldn’t moms and dads use a PLUS loan if it appears to be the least horrible option? For many people, parenting means keeping the American promise that children should do better than family members from previous generations. A college degree is a rocket booster that can help make that possible.When Congress created parent PLUS loans in 1980, there were decent reasons for doing so. College costs had increased, and many middle-income families struggled to pay for tuition out of their income. At the time, interest rates were also very high.The PLUS loan, which came with a lower-than-market interest rate, solved a worsening problem. It also made it easier for parents to pay a larger share of the bill and perhaps help their children borrow less.At the time, you could borrow only $3,000 per year. In 1992, that cap went away, thanks, it seems, to a successful push by a higher education lobbying association, according to a report from the Urban Institute report in 2019.What to Know About Student Loan Debt ReliefCard 1 of 5Many will benefit. More

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    What Will Happen to Black Workers’ Gains if There’s a Recession?

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    Black unemployment fell quickly after the initial pandemic downturn. But as the Federal Reserve fights inflation, those gains could be eroded.Black Americans have been hired much more rapidly in the wake of the pandemic shutdowns than after previous recessions. But as the Federal Reserve tries to soften the labor market in a bid to tame inflation, economists worry that Black workers will bear the brunt of a slowdown — and that without federal aid to cushion the blow, the impact could be severe.Some 3.5 million Black workers lost or left their jobs in March and April 2020. In weeks, the unemployment rate for Black workers soared to 16.8 percent, the same as the peak after the 2008 financial crisis, while the rate for white workers topped out at 14.1 percent.Since then, the U.S. economy has experienced one of its fastest rebounds ever, one that has extended to workers of all races. The Black unemployment rate was 6 percent last month, just above the record low of late 2019. And in government data collected since the 1990s, wages for Black workers are rising at their fastest pace ever.Now policymakers at the Fed and in the White House face the challenge of fighting inflation without inducing a recession that would erode or reverse those workplace gains.Decades of research has found that workers from racial and ethnic minorities — along with those with other barriers to employment, such as disabilities, criminal records or low levels of education — are among the first laid off during a downturn and the last hired during a recovery.William Darity Jr., a Duke University professor who has studied racial gaps in employment, says the problem is that the only reliable tool the Fed uses to fight inflation — increasing interest rates — works in part by causing unemployment. Higher borrowing costs make consumers less likely to spend and employers less likely to invest, reducing pressure on prices. But that also reduces demand for workers, pushing joblessness up and wages down.“I don’t know that there’s any existing policy option that’s plausible that would not result in hurting some significant portion of the population,” Mr. Darity said. “Whether it’s inflation or it’s rising unemployment, there’s a disproportionate impact on Black workers.”In a paper published last month, Lawrence H. Summers, a former Treasury secretary and top economic adviser to Presidents Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, asserted with his co-authors that the Fed would need to allow the overall unemployment rate to rise to 5 percent or above — it is now 3.5 percent — to bring inflation under control. Since Black unemployment is typically about double that of white workers, that suggests that the rate for Black workers would approach or reach double digits.In an interview, Mr. Summers said that outcome would be regrettable and, to some extent, unavoidable.“But the alternative,” Mr. Summers argued — “simply pretending” the U.S. labor market can remain this hot — “is setting the stage for the mistakes we made in the 1970s, and ultimately for a far larger recession, to contain inflation.”The State of Jobs in the United StatesEmployment gains in July, which far surpassed expectations, show that the labor market is not slowing despite efforts by the Federal Reserve to cool the economy.July Jobs Report: U.S. employers added 528,000 jobs in the seventh month of the year. The unemployment rate was 3.5 percent, down from 3.6 percent in June.Slow Wage Growth: Pay has been rising rapidly for workers at the top and the bottom. But things haven’t been so positive for all professions — especially for pharmacists.Care Worker Shortages: A lack of child care and elder care options is forcing some women to limit their hours or has sidelined them altogether, hurting their career prospects.Downsides of a Hot Market: Students are forgoing degrees in favor of the attractive positions offered by employers desperate to hire. That could come back to haunt them.“These arguments have nothing to do with how much you care about unemployment, or how much you care about the unemployment of disadvantaged groups,” he continued. “They only have to do with technical judgment.”Many progressive economists have been sharply critical of that view, arguing that Black workers should not be the collateral damage in a war on inflation. William Spriggs, an economist at Howard University, cautioned against overstating the Fed’s ability to bring inflation under control — especially when inflation is being driven in part by global forces — and underestimating the potential damage from driving interest rates much higher.Black workers will suffer first under a Fed-induced recession, Mr. Spriggs said. When that happens, he added, job losses across the board tend to follow. “And so you pay attention, because that’s the canary in the coal mine,” he said.In a June 2020 essay in The Washington Post and an accompanying research paper, Jared Bernstein — now a top economic adviser to President Biden — laid out the increasingly popular argument that in light of this, the Fed “should consider targeting not the overall unemployment rate, but the Black rate.”Fed policy, he added, implicitly treats 4 percent unemployment as a long-term goal, but “because Black unemployment is two times the overall rate, targeting 4 percent for the overall economy means targeting 8 percent for blacks.”The Fed didn’t take Mr. Bernstein’s advice. But in the years leading up to the pandemic, Fed policymakers increasingly talked about the benefits of a strong labor market for racial and ethnic minorities, and cited it as a factor in their policy decisions.After Mr. Biden took office, he and his economic advisers pushed for a large government spending bill — which became the $1.9 trillion American Recovery Plan — in part on the grounds that it would avoid the painful slog that job seekers, particularly nonwhite workers, faced after the 2007-9 recession and would instead deliver a supercharged recovery.Federal pandemic relief provided a cushion for Ms. Jordan, at her home near Atlanta with her husband and children. Rita Harper for The New York Times“It’s been faster, more robust for African Americans than any other post-recessionary periods since at least the 1970s,” Cecilia Rouse, the chair of Mr. Biden’s Council of Economic Advisers, said in an interview. Black workers are receiving faster wage gains than other racial and ethnic groups, and have taken advantage of the strong job market to move into higher-paying industries and occupations, according to an analysis of government data by White House economists shared with The New York Times.Menyuan Jordan is among them. Ms. Jordan, who has a master’s degree in social work and was making a living training child care providers in February 2020, saw her livelihood upended when Covid-19 struck.“The money was based off face-to-face professional development that went to zero almost immediately overnight,” she said. “I couldn’t afford the rent.”But pandemic relief packages from the federal government helped cushion the blow of lost earnings. And by last winter, Ms. Jordan had landed a job as a mental health clinician near her home in Atlanta — one that offered training and paid roughly $13,000 more than her prepandemic role, which she estimates brought in $42,000 annually.Administration officials say they are optimistic that Black workers can continue to see higher wages and improving job opportunities even if the labor market cools. But Goldman Sachs analysts, echoing a common view, recently concluded that average wage gains for workers would need to fall much further to be consistent with the Fed’s inflation goals.Fed policymakers are still somewhat hopeful that they can bring down inflation without causing a recession or undoing the gains of the past two years, in part because of a hope that the labor market can slow down mainly through reductions in job openings rather than layoffs.Jerome H. Powell, the Fed chair, has made the case that only by bringing inflation under control can the central bank create a sustainably strong labor market that will benefit all workers.“We all want to get back to the kind of labor market we had before the pandemic,” Mr. Powell said in a news conference last month. “That’s not going to happen without restoring price stability.”Some voices in finance are calling for smaller and fewer rate increases, worried that the Fed is underestimating the ultimate impact of its actions to date. David Kelly, the chief global strategist for J.P. Morgan Asset Management, believes that inflation is set to fall considerably anyway — and that the central bank should exhibit greater patience, as remnants of pandemic government stimulus begin to vanish and household savings further dwindle.“The economy is basically treading water right now,” Mr. Kelly said, adding that officials “don’t need to put us into a recession just to show how tough they are on inflation.”Michelle Holder, a labor economist at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, similarly warned against the “statistical fatalism” that halting labor gains is the only way forward. Still, she said, she’s fully aware that under current policy, trade-offs between inflation and job creation are likely to endure, disproportionately hurting Black workers. Interest rate increases, she said, are the Fed’s primary tool — its hammer — and “a hammer sees everything as a nail.”Reflecting on a dinner she recently attended in Washington with “really high-level, all-white progressive economists,” Ms. Holder, who is Black, said there was a “resigned attitude” among many of her peers, who want positive near-term outcomes for people of color overall but remain “wedded to the use of mainstream tools” and ask, “What else can we do?”Mr. Darity, the Duke professor, argued that one solution would be policies that helped insulate workers from an economic downturn, like having the federal government guarantee a job to anyone who wants one. Some economists support less ambitious policies, such as expanded benefits to help people who lose jobs in a recession. But there is little prospect that Congress would adopt either approach, or come to the rescue again with large relief checks — especially given criticism from many Republicans, and some high-profile Democrats, that excessive aid in the pandemic contributed to inflation today.“The tragedy will be that our administration won’t be able to help the families or individuals that need it if another recession happens,” Ms. Holder said.Morgani Brown, 24, lives and works in Charlotte, N.C., and has experienced the modest yet meaningful improvements in job quality that many Black workers have since the initial pandemic recession. She left an aircraft cleaning job with Jetstream Ground Services at Charlotte Douglas International Airport last year because the $10-an-hour pay was underwhelming. But six months ago, the work had become more attractive.Morgani Brown returned to an employer she had left in Charlotte, N.C., when the hourly pay rose. Damola Akintunde for The New York Times“I’d seen that they were paying more, at $14,” she said, “so I went and applied for Jetstream again.” She remains frustrated with some work conditions, but said the situation had “ended up being better.”With rents rising, she saves money rooming with her boyfriend and another friend, both of whom work at an Amazon fulfillment center. Ms. Brown, who has a baby on the way, is aware that the e-commerce giant has recently cut back its work force. (An Amazon official noted on a recent earnings call that the company had “quickly transitioned from being understaffed to being overstaffed.”)Ms. Brown said she and her roommates hoped that their jobs could weather any downturn. But she has begun hearing more rumblings about people she knows being fired or laid off.“I’m not sure exactly why,” she said. More

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    Inflation Reduction Act to Rewrite Embattled Black Farmer Relief Program

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    To circumvent legal objections, the new law will provide aid to farmers who have faced discrimination, regardless of their race.WASHINGTON — A $4 billion program to help Black and other “socially disadvantaged” farmers that never got off the ground last year amid legal objections will be replaced with a plan to make relief funds available to farmers who have faced discrimination.The changes, which are tucked into the climate and tax legislation that is known as the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022, are drawing backlash from the farmers whom the original debt relief program, part of the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan of 2021, was intended to help. The new program is the latest twist in an 18-month stretch that has underscored the challenges facing the Biden administration’s attempts to make racial equity a centerpiece of its economic agenda.Black farmers have been in limbo for months, not knowing if the debt relief they were promised would be granted. Many invested in new equipment after applying last year for money to help defray their debt. Some received foreclosure notices from the Department of Agriculture this year as the program languished.The legislation, which passed the Senate this week and is expected to pass the House on Friday, would create two new funds to help farmers. One, at $2.2 billion, would provide financial assistance to farmers, ranchers and forest landowners who faced discrimination before 2021. The other would provide $3.1 billion for the Agriculture Department to make payments for loans or loan modifications to farmers who faced financial distress.The money would replace the $4 billion program that was intended to aid about 15,000 farmers who received loans from the federal government or had bank loans guaranteed by the Agriculture Department. They included farmers and ranchers who had been subject to racial or ethnic prejudice, including those who are Black, American Indian/Alaskan Native, Asian American, Pacific Islander or Hispanic.Last year’s pandemic relief package included an additional $1 billion for outreach to farmers and ranchers of color and for improving their access to land.White farmers and groups representing them questioned whether the government could base debt relief on race and said the law discriminated against them. The program was frozen as lawsuits worked their way through the courts.The program also faced resistance from banks, which argued that their profits would suffer if the loans they had made to farmers were suddenly repaid.Fearful that the program would be blocked entirely, Democrats rewrote the law to remove race from the eligibility requirements. It is not clear how discrimination will be defined, and the legislation appears to give the Agriculture Department broad discretion to distribute the money as it sees fit.Groups representing Black farmers, who have faced decades of discrimination from banks and the federal government, are disappointed that the money will no longer be reserved specifically for them.What’s in the Climate, Health and Tax BillCard 1 of 8What’s in the Climate, Health and Tax BillA new proposal. More