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In a New Cannabis Landscape, a Navy Veteran Battles for Racial Equity

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“Transforming Spaces” is a series about women driving change in sometimes unexpected places.Jam the towel under the door. Open the window. And hide the bong.For decades, college students have found ways to mask the pungent aroma of marijuana smoke on campuses. Wanda James, however, did not always feel a need to hide. A 1986 graduate of the University of Colorado Boulder, Ms. James would sit on the steps outside her dorm and roll joints with her friends.It would be decades before Colorado became one of the first two states in the country to legalize recreational cannabis, but on campus, James never worried.“The worst that would happen is they would tell us to put it away, or they might take it from us, and that was the end of it,” Ms. James recalled of the campus police.Fast forward 40 years: Ms. James, a former Navy lieutenant, is a member of her alma mater’s Board of Regents — and a prominent advocate of racial justice in the changing cannabis landscape.It wasn’t until after college that Ms. James realized she had been living in something of an alternate reality with her cannabis use. She learned how the United States’ marijuana laws have led to Black Americans’ being sentenced to prison at a higher rate than white Americans despite near equal usage rates, setting her on the mission to which she has dedicated her life.Ms. James, the chief executive of the Simply Pure dispensary in Denver, is licensing her company’s name to entrepreneurs in the cannabis industry who are from communities that had once been hotbeds of marijuana arrests.Rachel Woolf for The New York TimesMs. James, 60, has owned multiple cannabis businesses over the years, including a pair of dispensaries and an edible company, which has given her a platform to speak about what she believes to be racial injustices in the industry. She has been at the forefront of calling for cannabis legalization at the state and federal level. Federal scientists, in recent reports, have recommended easing restrictions on marijuana, a so-called Schedule I drug like heroin, and having it reclassified to a Schedule III drug, along with the likes of ketamine and testosterone.“Wanda is a force of nature!” said Senator John Hickenlooper, the former Colorado governor who named Ms. James to a task force that came up with recommendations on how to regulate marijuana in Colorado. Those recommendations became a model for the two dozen states that have since legalized the sale of cannabis in recreational dispensaries.But as more states have legalized the sale of recreational cannabis, prompting bigger companies to get involved in an industry that is increasingly mainstream, Ms. James is one of the few Black women in a leadership role. Several smaller cannabis businesses, mostly run by people of color and women — many of whom were caregivers who saw the benefits of medical marijuana for those they cared for — have been pushed out of the space, Ms. James said.In fact, ownership by women of cannabis companies fell to 16.4 percent in 2023 from 22.2 percent in 2022 with racial minorities accounting for just 18.7 percent of owners, according to a report from MJBiz Daily, a publication that covers cannabis-related legal and financial news.These days, Ms. James is not only pushing for wider cannabis legalization — recreational use of the plant is legal in 24 states and the District of Columbia but illegal on the federal level — but also for reform in the industry to ensure more people who look like her fill leadership roles.She believes that by becoming a dispensary owner, and now a leader in an industry with policies that have historically harmed Black and Latino Americans, she could reclaim some power for minorities targeted in communities that were hotbeds of marijuana arrests. In New York, for instance, state cannabis regulators documented a staggering 1.2 million marijuana arrests that disproportionately targeted Black and Latino Americans over 42 years.“There is so much happening in the industry to where it has not been a promising place that looks to diversity as a positivity right now,” she said. “We are trying to find out ways to help.”Ms. James grew up in rural Colorado on a ranch filled with dogs, rabbits, chickens and guinea pigs. Her father, a single parent and Air Force veteran, was a cowboy and they often rode horses together.As a businesswoman and a shaper of marijuana policy, Ms. James has been honored by the Colorado Women’s Chamber of Commerce and High Times Magazine, among other organizations.Rachel Woolf for The New York TimesThe penchant for caring for animals has continued. Ms. James has housed more than 30 dogs over the years, including some she found on the street. Like her father, she joined the military, becoming the first Black woman to complete the University of Colorado’s ROTC program. She served four years in the Navy before moving to Los Angeles, where she worked for two Fortune 100 companies. She also met her husband, Scott Durrah, then a property manager in West Hollywood and a fellow pot smoker, with whom she opened several restaurants in Colorado and California. Ms. James’s Rottweiler, Onyx, was the maid of honor at their wedding.While the couple were building their businesses, the country was feeling the long-term impact of President Ronald Reagan’s hard-line policies on cannabis. Mr. Reagan’s Comprehensive Crime Control Act of 1984 and Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986 — the year Ms. James graduated from college — “flooded the federal system with people convicted of low-level and nonviolent drug offenses,” according to the Brennan Center for Justice. In 2007, nearly 800,000 people were arrested for simple marijuana possession, the F.B.I. reported. About 80 percent of those arrested were Black. .“It was the demographic least likely to have a family friend that was an attorney and the least likely to have parents or family money to be able to get them out of the situation that night,” Ms. James said.Those statistics remained front of mind for Ms. James as she pursued cannabis business ownership and worked behind the scenes in politics.Ms. James at an election-night watch party in 2022. She has been at the forefront of campaigning for cannabis legalization at both state and federal levels.David Zalubowski/Associated PressIn 2008, Ms. James managed the successful congressional campaign of Jared Polis, a Democrat who was elected Colorado’s governor in 2018. The following year she and Mr. Durrah opened the Apothecary of Colorado, a medical cannabis dispensary, becoming the first African Americans to own a legal dispensary in the United States. They later closed the medical dispensary to open an edibles company, Simply Pure, which in 2015 became Simply Pure Denver, a recreational dispensary.“She’s a trailblazer,” said Tahir Johnson, a mentee of Ms. James. “When you think about a strong Black woman, that’s what she embodies.”As she became a businesswoman and a shaper of marijuana policy, she had a personal point of reference that she has returned to often in her work: her half brother, who served time in prison for offenses including marijuana possession.The cannabis industry “has not been a promising place that looks to diversity as a positivity right now,” Ms. James said.Rachel Woolf for The New York TimesMs. James has shared her journey in short documentaries produced by The Atlantic and Yahoo, and in 2018, she was named one of the 100 Most Influential People in the cannabis industry by High Times Magazine. She has used her platform to call for federal cannabis legalization, which would help dispensary owners inject some of the money they’ve been paying in taxes back into their businesses, increasing the likelihood of creating “generational wealth,” she said; because recreational cannabis is still illegal on the federal level, dispensary owners are unable to write off basic expenses, like staff salaries, unlike noncannabis businesses.And she’s tapping into her network to create change. Beginning with Mr. Johnson, her mentee, Ms. James is licensing the Simply Pure name to young entrepreneurs in the industry who are from communities harmed by racial disparities in marijuana arrests.Mr. Johnson said he had been arrested three times for marijuana possession, and he was “honored” Ms. James chose him to continue her legacy. He plans to open Simply Pure Trenton soon.“The fact that she’s trusted me to take on this mantle to this next phase of the organization means a lot to me,” he said. More

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    Women Could Fill Truck Driver Jobs. Companies Won’t Let Them.

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    Three women filed a discrimination complaint against a trucking company over its same-sex training policy, which they say prevented them from being hired.The trucking industry has complained for years that there is a dire shortage of workers willing to drive big rigs. But some women say many trucking companies have made it effectively impossible for them to get those jobs.Trucking companies often refuse to hire women if the businesses do not have women available to train them. And because fewer than 5 percent of truck drivers in the United States are women, there are few female trainers to go around.The same-sex training policies are common across the industry, truckers and legal experts say, even though a federal judge ruled in 2014 that it was unlawful for a trucking company to require that female job candidates be paired only with female trainers.Ashli Streeter of Killeen, Texas, said she had borrowed $7,000 to attend a truck driving school and earn her commercial driving license in hopes of landing a job that would pay more than the warehouse work she had done. But she said Stevens Transport, a Dallas-based company, had told her that she couldn’t be hired because the business had no women to train her. Other trucking companies turned her down for the same reason.“I got licensed, and I clearly could drive,” Ms. Streeter said. “It was disheartening.”Ms. Streeter and two other women filed a complaint against Stevens Transport with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission on Thursday, contending that the company’s same-sex training policy unfairly denied them driving jobs. The commission investigates allegations made against employers, and, if it determines a violation has occurred, it may bring its own lawsuit. The commission had brought the lawsuit that resulted in the 2014 federal court decision against similar policies at another trucking company, Prime.Critics of the industry said the persistence of same-sex training nearly a decade after that ruling, which did not set national legal precedent, was evidence that trucking companies had not done enough to hire women who could help solve their labor woes.“It’s frustrating to see that we have not evolved at all,” said Desiree Wood, a trucker who is the president and founder of Real Women in Trucking, a nonprofit.Ms. Wood’s group is joining the three women in their E.E.O.C. complaint against Stevens, which was filed by Peter Romer-Friedman, a labor lawyer in Washington, and the National Women’s Law Center.Companies that insist on using women to train female applicants generally do so because they want to avoid claims of sexual harassment. Trainers typically spend weeks alone with trainees on the road, where the two often have to sleep in the same cab.Critics of same-sex training acknowledge that sexual harassment is a problem, but they say trucking companies should address it with better vetting and anti-harassment programs. Employers could reduce the risk of harassment by paying for trainees to sleep in a hotel room, which some companies already do.Women made up 4.8 percent of the 1.37 million truck drivers in the United States in 2021, according to the most recent government statistics, up from 4 percent a decade earlier.Long-haul truck driving can be a demanding job. Drivers are away from home for days. Yet some women say they are attracted to it because it can pay around $50,000 a year, with experienced drivers making a lot more. Truck driving generally pays more than many other jobs that don’t require a college degree, including those in retail stores, warehouses or child care centers.Women made up 4.8 percent of truck drivers in 2021, according to the most recent government statistics.Mikayla Whitmore for The New York TimesThe infrastructure act of 2021 required the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration to set up an advisory board to support women pursuing trucking careers and identify practices that keep women out of the profession.Robin Hutcheson, the administrator of the agency, said requiring same-sex training would appear to be a barrier to entry. “If that is happening, that would be something that we would want to take a look at,” she said in an interview.Ms. Streeter, a mother of three, said she had applied to Stevens because it hired people straight out of trucking school. She told Stevens representatives that she was willing to be trained by a man, but to no avail.Bruce Dean, general counsel at Stevens, denied the allegations in the suit. “The fundamental premise in the charge — that Stevens Transport Inc. only allows women trainers to train women trainees — is false,” he said in a statement, adding that the company “has had a cross-gender training program, where both men and women trainers train female trainees, for decades.”Some legal experts said that, although same-sex training was ruled unlawful in only one federal court, trucking companies would struggle to defend such policies before other judges. Under federal employment discrimination law, employers can seek special legal exemptions to treat women differently from men, but courts have granted them very rarely.“Basically, what the law says is that a company needs to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time,” said Deborah Brake, a professor at the University of Pittsburgh who specializes in employment and gender law. “They need to be able to give women equal employment opportunities and prevent and remedy sexual harassment.”Ms. Streeter said she had made meager earnings from infrequent truck driving gigs while hoping to get a position at Stevens. Later this month, she will become a driver in the trucking fleet of a large retailer.Kim Howard, one of the other women who filed the E.E.O.C. complaint against Stevens, said she was attracted to truck driving by the prospect of a steady wage after working for decades as an actor in New York.“It was very much a blow,” she said of being rejected because of the training policy. “I honestly don’t know how I financially made it through.”Ms. Howard, who is now employed at another trucking company, said she had worked briefly at a company where she was trained by two men who treated her well. “It’s quite possible for a woman to be trained by a man, and a man to be a professional about what the job is,” she said.Other female drivers said they had been mistreated by male trainers who could be relentlessly dismissive and sometimes refused to teach them important skills, like reversing a truck with a large trailer attached.Rowan Kannard, a truck driver from Wisconsin who is not involved in the complaint against Stevens, said a male trainer had spent little time training her on a run to California in 2019.At a truck stop where she felt unsafe, Ms. Kannard said, the trainer demanded that she leave the cab — and then locked her out. She asked to stop the training and was flown back to Wisconsin. Yet she said she did not believe that same-sex training for women was necessary. “Some of these men that are training, they should probably go through a course.”Desiree Wood, the president of Real Women in Trucking, says the trucking industry has not evolved to hire and train more women.Mikayla Whitmore for The New York TimesMs. Wood, of Real Women in Trucking, said trucking companies’ training policies were misguided for another reason — there is no guarantee that a woman will treat another woman better than a male trainer. She said a female trainer had once hurled racist abuse at her and told her to drive dangerously.“I’m Mexican — she hated Mexicans and wanted to tell me all about it the whole time I was on the truck,” Ms. Wood said, “She screamed at me to speed in zones where it was not safe.”Still, some women support same-sex training policies.Ellen Voie, who founded the nonprofit Women in Trucking, said truck driving should be treated differently from other professions because trainers and trainees spent so much time together in close quarters.“I do not know of any other mode of transportation that confines men and women in an area that has sleeping quarters,” Ms. Voie said.Lawyers for Prime, the company that lost the E.E.O.C. suit in 2014 challenging its same-sex training policy, called Ms. Voie as an expert witness to defend the practice. In her testimony, she contended that women who were passed over by companies that didn’t have female trainers available could have found work at other trucking companies. She still believes that.But Ms. Voie added that trucking companies also needed to do more to improve training for women, including placing cameras in cabs to monitor bad behavior and paying for hotel rooms so trainers and trainees can sleep separately.Steve Rush, who recently sold his New Jersey trucking company, stopped using sleeper cabs over a decade ago, sending drivers to hotels. He said fewer of his drivers quit compared with the rest of the industry, as a result.“What woman in her right mind wants to go out and learn how to drive a truck and have to jump into the sleeper that some guy’s just crawled out of,” he said.Ben Casselman More

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    Affirmative Action Ruling May Upend Diversity Hiring Policies, Too

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    The Supreme Court decision on college admissions could lead companies to alter recruitment and promotion practices to pre-empt legal challenges.As a legal matter, the Supreme Court’s rejection of race-conscious admissions in higher education does not in itself impede employers from pursuing diversity in the workplace.That, at least, is the conclusion of lawyers, diversity experts and political activists across the spectrum — from conservatives who say robust affirmative action programs are already illegal to liberals who argue that they are on firm legal ground.But many experts argue that as a practical matter, the ruling will discourage corporations from putting in place ambitious diversity policies in hiring and promotion — or prompt them to rein in existing policies — by encouraging lawsuits under the existing legal standard.After the decision on Thursday affecting college admissions, law firms encouraged companies to review their diversity policies.“I do worry about corporate counsels who see their main job as keeping organizations from getting sued — I do worry about hyper-compliance,” said Alvin B. Tillery Jr., director of the Center for the Study of Diversity and Democracy at Northwestern University, who advises employers on diversity policies.Programs to foster the hiring and promotion of African Americans and other minority workers have been prominent in corporate America in recent years, especially in the reckoning over race after the 2020 murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer.Even before the ruling in the college cases, corporations were feeling legal pressure over their diversity efforts. Over the past two years, a lawyer representing a free-market group has sent letters to American Airlines, McDonald’s and many other corporations demanding that they undo hiring policies that the group says are illegal.The free-market group, the National Center for Public Policy Research, acknowledged that the outcome on Thursday did not bear directly on its fight against affirmative-action in corporate America. “Today’s decision is not relevant; it dealt with a special carve-out for education,” said Scott Shepard, a fellow at the center.Mr. Shepard claimed victory nonetheless, arguing that the ruling would help deter employers who might be tempted overstep the law. “It couldn’t be clearer after the decision that fudging it at the edges” is not allowed, he said.(American Airlines and McDonald’s did not respond to requests for comment about their hiring and promotion policies.)Charlotte A. Burrows, who was designated chair of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission by President Biden, was also quick to declare that nothing had changed. She said the decision “does not address employer efforts to foster diverse and inclusive work forces or to engage the talents of all qualified workers, regardless of their background.”Some companies in the cross hairs of conservative groups underscored the point. “Novartis’s D.E.I. programs are narrowly tailored, fair, equitable and comply with existing law,” the drugmaker said in a statement, referring to diversity, equity and inclusion. Novartis, too, has received a letter from a lawyer representing Mr. Shepard’s group, demanding that it change its policy on hiring law firms.The Supreme Court’s ruling on affirmative action was largely silent on employment-related questions.Kenny Holston/The New York TimesBeyond government contractors, affirmative action policies in the private sector are largely voluntary and governed by state and federal civil rights law. These laws prohibit employers from basing hiring or promotion decisions on a characteristic like race or gender, whether in favor of a candidate or against.The exception, said Jason Schwartz, a partner at the law firm Gibson Dunn, is that companies can take race into account if members of a racial minority were previously excluded from a job category — say, an investment bank recruiting Black bankers after it excluded Black people from such jobs for decades. In some cases, employers can also take into account the historical exclusion of a minority group from an industry — like Black and Latino people in the software industry.In principle, the logic of the Supreme Court’s ruling on college admissions could threaten some of these programs, like those intended to address industrywide discrimination. But even here, the legal case may be a stretch because the way employers typically make decisions about hiring and promotion differs from the way colleges make admissions decisions.“What seems to bother the court is that the admissions programs at issue treated race as a plus without regard to the individual student,” Pauline Kim, a professor at Washington University in St. Louis who specializes in employment law, said in an email. But “employment decisions are more often individualized decisions,” focusing on the fit between a candidate and a job, she said.The more meaningful effect of the court’s decision is likely to be greater pressure on policies that were already on questionable legal ground. Those could include leadership acceleration programs or internship programs that are open only to members of underrepresented minority groups.Many companies may also find themselves vulnerable over policies that comply with civil rights law on paper but violate it in practice, said Mike Delikat, a partner at Orrick who specializes in employment law. For example, a company’s policy may encourage recruiters to seek a more diverse pool of candidates, from which hiring decisions are made without regard to race. But if recruiters carry out the policy in a way that effectively creates a racial quota, he said, that is illegal.“The devil is in the details,” Mr. Delikat said. “Were they interpreting that to mean, ‘Come back with 25 percent of the internship class that has to be from an underrepresented group, and if not you get dinged as a bad recruiter’?”The college admissions cases before the Supreme Court were largely silent on these employment-related questions. Nonetheless, Mr. Delikat said, his firm has been counseling clients ever since the court agreed to hear the cases that they should ensure that their policies are airtight because an increase in litigation is likely.That is partly because of the growing attack from the political right on corporate policies aimed at diversity in hiring and other social and environmental goals.Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida has signed legislation to limit diversity training in the workplace.Haiyun Jiang for The New York TimesGov. Ron DeSantis of Florida, who is seeking the 2024 Republican presidential nomination, has deplored “the woke mind virus” and proclaimed Florida “the state where woke goes to die.” The state has enacted legislation to limit diversity training in the workplace and has restricted state pension funds from basing investments on “woke environmental, social and corporate governance” considerations.Conservative legal groups have also mobilized on this front. A group run by Stephen Miller, a White House adviser in the Trump administration, contended in letters to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that the diversity and inclusion policies of several large companies were illegal and asked the commission to investigate. (Mr. Miller’s group did not respond to a request for comment about those cases.)The National Center for Public Policy Research, which is challenging corporate diversity policies, has sued Starbucks directors and officers after they refused to undo the company’s diversity and inclusion policies in response to a letter demanding that they do so. (Starbucks did not respond to a request for comment for this article, but its directors told the group that it was “not in the best interest of Starbucks to accept the demand and retract the policies.”)Mr. Shepard, the fellow at the center, said more lawsuits were “reasonably likely” if other companies did not accede to demands to rein in their diversity and inclusion policies.One modest way to do so, said David Lopez, a former general counsel for the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, is to design policies that are race neutral but nonetheless likely to promote diversity — such as giving weight to whether a candidate has overcome significant obstacles.Mr. Lopez noted that, in the Supreme Court’s majority opinion, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. argued that a university could take into account the effect on a candidate of having overcome racial discrimination, as long as the school didn’t consider the candidate’s race per se.But Dr. Tillery of Northwestern said making such changes to business diversity programs could be an overreaction to the ruling. While the federal Civil Rights Act of 1964 generally precludes basing individual hiring and promotion decisions explicitly on race, it allows employers to remove obstacles that prevent companies from having a more diverse work force. Examples include training managers and recruiters to ensure that they aren’t unconsciously discriminating against racial minorities, or advertising jobs on certain campuses to increase the universe of potential applicants.In the end, companies appear to face a greater threat of litigation over discrimination against members of minority groups than from litigation over discrimination against white people. According to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, there were about 2,350 charges of that latter form of discrimination in employment in 2021, among about 21,000 race-based charges overall.“There’s an inherent interest in picking your poison,” Dr. Tillery said. “Is it a lawsuit from Stephen Miller’s right-wing group that doesn’t live in the real world? Or is it a lawsuit from someone who says you’re discriminating against your work force and can tweet about how sexist or racist you are?”He added, “I’ll take the Stephen Miller poison any day.”J. Edward Moreno More

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    William E. Spriggs, Economist Who Pushed for Racial Justice, Dies at 68

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    An educator who served in the Obama administration, he championed workers, especially Black workers, and challenged his profession’s racial assumptions.William E. Spriggs, who in a four-decade career in economics sought to root out racial injustice in society and in his own profession, died on Tuesday in Reston, Va. He was 68.The A.F.L.-C.I.O., for which Dr. Spriggs had been chief economist for more than a decade, announced his death. His wife of 38 years, Jennifer Spriggs, said the cause was a stroke.One of the most prominent Black economists of his generation, Dr. Spriggs served as an assistant secretary of labor in the Obama administration and held other public-sector roles earlier in his career. But he was best known for his work outside of government as an outspoken and frequently quoted advocate for workers, especially Black workers.In addition to his role at the A.F.L.-C.I.O., based in Washington, he was a professor at Howard University, where he mentored a generation of Black economists while pushing for change within a field dominated by white men.“Bill was somebody who was deeply committed to the idea that we do economics because we have a social purpose,” William A. Darity Jr., a Duke University economist and longtime friend, said in a phone interview. “That this is not a discipline that should be deployed just for playing parlor games, and that we should use the ideas that we develop from economics for the design of social policy that will make the lives of most people far better.”Dr. Spriggs worked on varied issues, including trade, education, the minimum wage and Social Security. But the topic he came back to most frequently, and spoke most passionately about, was that of racial disparities in the labor market. Black Americans, he pointed out time and again, consistently experienced unemployment at double the rate of white people — a troubling fact that he argued got too little attention among economists.“Economists have tried to rationalize this disparity by saying it merely reflects differences in skill levels,” Dr. Spriggs wrote in an opinion article in The New York Times in 2021, before going on to dismiss that claim with a striking statistic: The unemployment rate for white high school dropouts is almost always below that of overall Black unemployment.During the nationwide racial reckoning after the death of George Floyd in 2020, Dr. Spriggs wrote an open letter to his fellow economists that was sharply critical of the field’s approach to race — not just in its failure to recruit and retain Black economists, which had been widely documented, but also in economic research.“Modern economics has a deep and painful set of roots that too few economists acknowledge,” Dr. Spriggs wrote. “In the hands of far too many economists, it remains with the assumption that African Americans are inferior until proven otherwise.”Biden administration officials said they had discussed appointing Dr. Spriggs to senior economic policy roles as recently as this year. In the end, he remained on the outside, nudging the administration in public and private not to back off its commitment to ensuring a strong economic recovery. In recent months he was a vocal critic of the Federal Reserve’s aggressive efforts to tame inflation, which Dr. Spriggs warned would disproportionately hurt Black workers.“Bill was a towering figure in his field, a trailblazer who challenged the field’s basic assumptions about racial discrimination in labor markets, pay equity and worker empowerment,” President Biden said in a statement on Wednesday.Mr. Spriggs speaking with Janet Yellen, then the chair of the Federal Reserve, at a conference in 2014. More recently he was a critic of the Federal Reserve’s aggressive efforts to tame inflation, which he said would disproportionately hurt Black workers.Jonathan Ernst/ReutersWilliam Edward Spriggs was born on April 8, 1955, in Washington to Thurman and Julienne (Henderson) Spriggs. He was reared there and in Virginia. His father had served during World War II as a fighter pilot with the Tuskegee Airmen and went on to become a physics professor at Norfolk State University in Virginia and at Howard, in Washington, both historically Black institutions.His mother was also a veteran and became a public-school teacher in Norfolk after earning her college degree while her son was in elementary school.“I remember studying history together,” Dr. Spriggs later recalled of his mother in a White House blog post written while he was at the Labor Department. “She would check out children’s books covering the topics she was learning about.”Dr. Spriggs earned a bachelor’s degree in economics and political science from Williams College in Massachusetts and attended graduate school at the University of Wisconsin, where he earned a master’s degree in 1979 and a doctorate in 1984, both in economics. While in graduate school, he served as co-president of the graduate student teachers union, helping to rebuild it after a largely unsuccessful strike the year before.Dr. Spriggs stood out at Wisconsin, and not only because he was the only Black graduate student in the economics department, recalled Lawrence Mishel, a classmate who was later president of the Economic Policy Institute in Washington, where Dr. Spriggs also worked for several years.Even as a graduate student, Dr. Mishel said, Mr. Spriggs was skeptical of the orthodox theories that his professors were teaching about how companies set workers’ wages — theories that left no room for discrimination or other forces beyond supply and demand. And unlike most students, Mr. Spriggs wasn’t interested in working for the top-ranked school where he could find a job; he wanted to work for a historically Black institution, as his father had.He got his wish, teaching first at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University in Greensboro and then at Norfolk State University — where his father also worked — before taking a series of jobs in government and left-leaning think tanks. He returned to academia in 2005, when he joined Howard. He was chairman of its economics department from 2005 to 2009.In addition to his wife, whom he met in graduate school, his survivors include their son, William; and two sisters, Patricia Spriggs and Karen Baldwin. Dr. Spriggs had a shaping hand in the careers of dozens of younger economists.“I would not be an economist today without Bill Spriggs,” said Valerie Wilson, director of the Program on Race, Ethnicity and the Economy at the Economic Policy Institute.Dr. Wilson was taking a break from graduate school and considering leaving the field altogether when one of her professors recommended her for a job working for Dr. Spriggs at the National Urban League. He helped restore her passion for economics by showing her an approach to the work that was less theoretical and more focused on the real world, she said. After two years at the Urban League, she told Dr. Spriggs that she was going back to graduate school.His response: “We need you in the profession.”Jim Tankersley More

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    New York City Moves to Regulate How AI Is Used in Hiring

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    European lawmakers are finishing work on an A.I. act. The Biden administration and leaders in Congress have their plans for reining in artificial intelligence. Sam Altman, the chief executive of OpenAI, maker of the A.I. sensation ChatGPT, recommended the creation of a federal agency with oversight and licensing authority in Senate testimony last week. And the topic came up at the Group of 7 summit in Japan.Amid the sweeping plans and pledges, New York City has emerged as a modest pioneer in A.I. regulation.The city government passed a law in 2021 and adopted specific rules last month for one high-stakes application of the technology: hiring and promotion decisions. Enforcement begins in July.The city’s law requires companies using A.I. software in hiring to notify candidates that an automated system is being used. It also requires companies to have independent auditors check the technology annually for bias. Candidates can request and be told what data is being collected and analyzed. Companies will be fined for violations.New York City’s focused approach represents an important front in A.I. regulation. At some point, the broad-stroke principles developed by governments and international organizations, experts say, must be translated into details and definitions. Who is being affected by the technology? What are the benefits and harms? Who can intervene, and how?“Without a concrete use case, you are not in a position to answer those questions,” said Julia Stoyanovich, an associate professor at New York University and director of its Center for Responsible A.I.But even before it takes effect, the New York City law has been a magnet for criticism. Public interest advocates say it doesn’t go far enough, while business groups say it is impractical.The complaints from both camps point to the challenge of regulating A.I., which is advancing at a torrid pace with unknown consequences, stirring enthusiasm and anxiety.Uneasy compromises are inevitable.Ms. Stoyanovich is concerned that the city law has loopholes that may weaken it. “But it’s much better than not having a law,” she said. “And until you try to regulate, you won’t learn how.”The law applies to companies with workers in New York City, but labor experts expect it to influence practices nationally. At least four states — California, New Jersey, New York and Vermont — and the District of Columbia are also working on laws to regulate A.I. in hiring. And Illinois and Maryland have enacted laws limiting the use of specific A.I. technologies, often for workplace surveillance and the screening of job candidates.The New York City law emerged from a clash of sharply conflicting viewpoints. The City Council passed it during the final days of the administration of Mayor Bill de Blasio. Rounds of hearings and public comments, more than 100,000 words, came later — overseen by the city’s Department of Consumer and Worker Protection, the rule-making agency.The result, some critics say, is overly sympathetic to business interests.“What could have been a landmark law was watered down to lose effectiveness,” said Alexandra Givens, president of the Center for Democracy & Technology, a policy and civil rights organization.That’s because the law defines an “automated employment decision tool” as technology used “to substantially assist or replace discretionary decision making,” she said. The rules adopted by the city appear to interpret that phrasing narrowly so that A.I. software will require an audit only if it is the lone or primary factor in a hiring decision or is used to overrule a human, Ms. Givens said.That leaves out the main way the automated software is used, she said, with a hiring manager invariably making the final choice. The potential for A.I.-driven discrimination, she said, typically comes in screening hundreds or thousands of candidates down to a handful or in targeted online recruiting to generate a pool of candidates.Ms. Givens also criticized the law for limiting the kinds of groups measured for unfair treatment. It covers bias by sex, race and ethnicity, but not discrimination against older workers or those with disabilities.“My biggest concern is that this becomes the template nationally when we should be asking much more of our policymakers,” Ms. Givens said.“This is a significant regulatory success,” said Robert Holden, center, a member of the City Council who formerly led its committee on technology.Johnny Milano for The New York TimesThe law was narrowed to sharpen it and make sure it was focused and enforceable, city officials said. The Council and the worker protection agency heard from many voices, including public-interest activists and software companies. Its goal was to weigh trade-offs between innovation and potential harm, officials said.“This is a significant regulatory success toward ensuring that A.I. technology is used ethically and responsibly,” said Robert Holden, who was the chair of the Council committee on technology when the law was passed and remains a committee member.New York City is trying to address new technology in the context of federal workplace laws with guidelines on hiring that date to the 1970s. The main Equal Employment Opportunity Commission rule states that no practice or method of selection used by employers should have a “disparate impact” on a legally protected group like women or minorities.Businesses have criticized the law. In a filing this year, the Software Alliance, a trade group that includes Microsoft, SAP and Workday, said the requirement for independent audits of A.I. was “not feasible” because “the auditing landscape is nascent,” lacking standards and professional oversight bodies.But a nascent field is a market opportunity. The A.I. audit business, experts say, is only going to grow. It is already attracting law firms, consultants and start-ups.Companies that sell A.I. software to assist in hiring and promotion decisions have generally come to embrace regulation. Some have already undergone outside audits. They see the requirement as a potential competitive advantage, providing proof that their technology expands the pool of job candidates for companies and increases opportunity for workers.“We believe we can meet the law and show what good A.I. looks like,” said Roy Wang, general counsel of Eightfold AI, a Silicon Valley start-up that produces software used to assist hiring managers.The New York City law also takes an approach to regulating A.I. that may become the norm. The law’s key measurement is an “impact ratio,” or a calculation of the effect of using the software on a protected group of job candidates. It does not delve into how an algorithm makes decisions, a concept known as “explainability.”In life-affecting applications like hiring, critics say, people have a right to an explanation of how a decision was made. But A.I. like ChatGPT-style software is becoming more complex, perhaps putting the goal of explainable A.I. out of reach, some experts say.“The focus becomes the output of the algorithm, not the working of the algorithm,” said Ashley Casovan, executive director of the Responsible AI Institute, which is developing certifications for the safe use of A.I. applications in the workplace, health care and finance. More

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    Once an Evangelist for Airbnbs, She Now Crusades for Affordable Housing

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    Precious Price ditched her profitable business of renting home stays to tourists to combat the mounting housing crisis.“Making It Work” is a series is about small-business owners striving to endure hard times.When Precious Price bought her first home four years ago in Atlanta while working as a marketing consultant, she took advantage of her frequent business trips by renting out her house on Airbnb during her absences. “I knew I wanted to use that as a rental or investment property,” she said. “I began doing that, and it was honestly very lucrative.”For Ms. Price, 27, and other young entrepreneurs of color, online short-term rental platforms like Airbnb and Vrbo represented a path to building wealth on their own terms. With an excellent credit score and minimal start-up capital — a primary barrier for people in this demographic — a professional Airbnb host could amass a stable of apartments on long-term leases, then turn around and rent those properties on a nightly basis to vacationers.Some of these entrepreneurs see it as a more equitable alternative to corporate America, with its legacy of institutionalized bias and inflexibility toward caregivers and working parents. Others are motivated by the desire to cater to Black travelers, who say they still face discrimination even after platforms like Airbnb promised to address issues like documented cases of bias.Ms. Price became an evangelist of sorts, establishing social media channels to teach other would-be entrepreneurs how to follow in her footsteps, and churning out a digital library’s worth of videos, tutorials and advice using the handle @AirbnbMoney.The irony was not lost on Ms. Price that her grand real estate ambitions were propelled by the 296-square-foot “tiny house” she spent nearly six months building for herself in her backyard. When the coronavirus pandemic slammed the brakes on travel, grounding her road-warrior lifestyle and evaporating her supplemental income stream virtually overnight, her tiny house allowed her to continue renting out her primary home and making a large profit.She even added to her portfolio, buying a second house and renting several furnished apartments in Atlanta’s popular Midtown neighborhood, and she eventually left her consulting job to manage her rental business full time.“It was a freeing experience at the time,” she said. “I’m making a ton of money that most of my family has never seen in their lifetime.”Ms. Price was earning as much as $12,000 a month and deriving a sense of purpose from her work on social media helping her peers achieve financial security. Initially, she said she had no interest in renting to long-term tenants — the profit margin for tourist bookings was so much higher.“I was adamant about only renting to vacationers,” Ms. Price said. “I was just so heavily into the rat race.”Then, the distressing messages started to come. First one or two, then too many to ignore: a litany of increasingly distraught calls and emails from people who didn’t want her Airbnbs for a weekend away — they were in desperate need of a place to call home.Ms. Price at the Emerging Founders program at Atlanta Tech Village, where she got support developing a resource hub to help homeowners of color build tiny homes.Lynsey Weatherspoon for The New York TimesMs. Price realized she was on the front lines of a housing crisis. By renting property to tourists rather than long-term renters, she and others like her were exacerbating the nation’s housing affordability problem, as she related in a 2022 TEDxAtlanta talk. “I started to realize that conversation began happening across the country,” she said.The pleas and stories of financial precariousness hit home for Ms. Price, the oldest of five siblings and a first-generation college graduate. She went to business school at Indiana University. “When I started to get these calls from single mothers and students, I started to realize that’s the identity of some of my family members,” she said. “And I’m realizing the connection of how I’m not very far removed at all from that.”She began to re-examine her values and to walk away from the lucrative vacation-rental business. She stopped listing properties on short-term rental sites, and over the next several months, she shed her rental portfolio. “Everyone has their own ethical compass and for me, mine felt just off with what I was doing,” Ms. Price said.The few remaining tenants she has now are on long-term leases, and the rent she collects is enough to cover her costs, with maybe “a couple hundred dollars left over,” she said. She supplements that income with freelance consulting and public speaking gigs. Although she is earning a fraction of her former income, she is more fulfilled and no longer feeling burned out, she said.The housing crisis Ms. Price witnessed in Atlanta is playing out across the nation. The United States is short about 6.5 million single-family homes, according to the National Association of Realtors. For more than a decade, homes were not built fast enough to keep pace with population growth, a trend that was exacerbated by the pandemic. During this time, demand for larger homes grew even as construction slowed, hamstrung first by public health restrictions, then by a labor shortage and supply-chain issues that made everything from copper pipe to carpet scarcer and more expensive.The number of affordable houses has plunged: Only 10 percent of new homes cost less than $300,000 as of the fourth quarter of 2022, even as mortgage rates have roughly doubled over the past year.These challenges have a cascading effect that has driven up rents, as well: Moody’s Analytics found that the average renter now spends more than 30 percent of their income on rent.“If you look at rental vacancy rates, they’re extremely low,” said Whitney Airgood-Obrycki, a senior research associate at the Joint Center for Housing Studies at Harvard University. “It’s really hard for people to find an affordable place to move to. It’s extremely tight, especially for low-income renters.”As Ms. Price experienced up close, a growing number of municipalities — including Atlanta — have emerged from the pandemic only to find a full-blown housing crisis on their doorsteps. Lawmakers are seeking greater regulation of short-term rentals, with many trying to discourage “professional hosts,” as opposed to homeowners who are renting out part or all of their primary home.Policies should be nuanced enough to distinguish between the two categories of renters, said Ingrid Gould Ellen, a professor of urban policy and planning at New York University, and faculty director of the university’s Furman Center for Real Estate and Urban Policy.“Airbnb can be a really useful tool for a lot of people, for homeowners who are maybe struggling to make their mortgage payments, or even renters who want to occasionally make some income and rent their units while they’re away on vacation,” she said. “Those are all forms of usage that don’t actually restrict the long-term supply of housing.”Ms. Price’s experience with the tiny house in her backyard inspired her to search for another way for people to add housing — and for homeowners to generate rental income. These units, known colloquially as “tiny homes” or “granny flats” and identified formally as accessory dwelling units, can take the form of tiny homes, guest cottages, or apartments that are either stand-alone or attached to the primary house. An increasing number of policymakers are hoping these units can help take some of the pressure off the tight housing market.Living in roughly 300 square feet lets Ms. Price earn income renting out her primary house.Lynsey Weatherspoon for The New York Times“She’s working on a pressing problem — the lack of housing supply across the U.S.,” said Praveen Ghanta, a technology entrepreneur who began the Emerging Founders program, a start-up incubator for Black, Latino and female founders in Atlanta. Ms. Price, a participant in the program, is working on a start-up she named Landrift, which is intended to be a resource hub so that homeowners — particularly homeowners of color — can increase the value of their properties and generate income by building their own tiny homes. “We can make a meaningful impact, particularly in markets like Atlanta,” Mr. Ghanta said.“Sometimes I think people get fixated on the notion of affordable housing and that it has to be nonprofit,” he said. “The reality is there’s a lot of both money to be made and housing to be supplied, even within market rate constructs.”Ms. Price has reoriented her social media platforms away from the management of short-term rental properties and toward the promotion of small-scale development of accessory dwelling units. “At this point I do want to begin acquiring other properties,” she said. She is looking for houses with enough land to accommodate a tiny house while building a second ancillary structure — a guest cottage — on her first property.“My plan is to get a property I would be able to do some kind of housing on so I’m not just taking housing, but would be able to make more housing,” she said. “The American dream is real estate.” More

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    California Panel Calls for Billions in Reparations for Black Residents

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    A task force recommended that legislators enact a sweeping program to compensate for the economic harm from racism in the state’s history.A California panel approved recommendations on Saturday that could mean hundreds of billions of dollars in payments to Black residents to address past injustices. The proposals to state legislators are the nation’s most sweeping effort to devise a program of reparations.The nine-member Reparations Task Force, whose work is being closely monitored by politicians, historians and economists across the country, produced a detailed plan for how restitution should be handled to address a myriad of racist harms, including housing discrimination, mass incarceration and unequal access to health care.Created through a bill signed into law by Gov. Gavin Newsom in the wake of the nationwide racial justice protests after the murder of George Floyd in 2020, the panel has spent more than a year conducting research and holding listening sessions from the Bay Area to San Diego.It will be up to legislators to weigh the recommendations and decide whether to forge them into law, a political and fiscal challenge that has yet to be reckoned with.The task force’s final report, which is to be sent to lawmakers in Sacramento before a July 1 deadline, includes projected restitution estimates calculated by several economists working with the task force.One such estimate laid out in the report determined that to address the harms from redlining by banks, which disqualified people in Black neighborhoods from taking out mortgages and owning homes, eligible Black Californians should receive up to $148,099. That estimate is based on a figure of $3,366 for each year they lived in California from the early 1930s to the late 1970s, when federal redlining was most prevalent.To address the impact of overpolicing and mass incarceration, the report estimates, each eligible person would receive $115,260, or about $2,352 for each year of residency in California from 1971 to 2020, during the decades-long war on drugs.In theory, a lifelong state resident who is 71 years old, the average life expectancy, could be eligible for roughly $1.2 million in total compensation for housing discrimination, mass incarceration and additional harms outlined in the report.All of these estimates, the report notes, are preliminary and would require additional research from lawmakers to hash out specifics. The costs to the state were not outlined in the report, but totals from harms associated with housing and mass incarceration could exceed $500 billion, based on estimates from economists.While the panel members considered various methods for distributing reparations — some favored tuition or housing grants and others preferred direct cash payments — they ultimately recommended the direct payments.“The initial down payment is the beginning of a process of addressing historical injustices,” the report reads, “not the end of it.“Kamilah Moore, the chair, and Amos Brown, the vice chair, at the task force meeting on Saturday.Jason Henry for The New York TimesLast year, the task force, which is made up of elected officials, academics and lawyers, decided on the eligibility criteria, determining that any descendant of enslaved African Americans or of a “free Black person living in the United States prior to the end of the 19th century” should receive reparations.Still, on Saturday, there was sometimes contentious debate over clearly expressing the criteria in certain sections of the report — particularly regarding compensation.Should lawmakers pass legislation for payments, the panel suggested that a state agency be created to process claims and render payments, with elderly individuals getting priority. Nearly 6.5 percent of California residents, roughly 2.5 million, identify as Black or African American.“This is about closing the income and racial wealth gap in this country, and this is a step,” Gary Hoover, an economics professor at Tulane University who has studied reparations, said in an interview. “Wealth is sticky and is able to be transferred from generations. Reparations can close that stickiness.”In voting on its final report on Saturday on the Oakland campus of Mills College at Northeastern University, the panel also suggested that state legislators draw up a formal apology to Black residents. A preliminary report made public last year, 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.In emotional testimony for much of the past year, Black residents have stood before the panel often revealing personal stories of racial discrimination, lack of resources in communities because of redlining and trauma that has had negative effects on health and well-being.While the task force marked the first such effort by a state, a similar measure aimed at creating a commission to explore reparations has stalled in Congress for decades.Representative Barbara Lee speaking during the task force meeting on Saturday.Jason Henry for The New York TimesIn brief remarks before the panel on Saturday, Representative Barbara Lee, a Democrat whose district spans Oakland, lauded the work members have done.“California is leading on this issue,” said Ms. Lee, who is running for the U.S. Senate. “It’s a model for other states in search of reparative damage, realistic avenues for addressing the need for reparations.”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 California, a recent report from the nonpartisan Public Policy Institute of California found for every $1 earned by white families, Black families earn 60 cents — the result of disparities in, among other things, education, and discrimination in the labor market.Assemblyman Reggie Jones-Sawyer, who is one of two state lawmakers on the panel, said he had spoken with Mr. Newsom in recent weeks and expressed optimism that legislation would be approved based on the panel’s report.“The reality is Black Californians have suffered, and continue to suffer, from institutional laws and policies within our state’s political, social, and economic landscape that have negated Blacks from achieving life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for generations,” said Mr. Jones-Sawyer, who represents a Los Angeles district. “This really is a trial against America’s original sin, slavery, and the repercussions it caused and the lingering effects in modern society.”Mr. Jones-Sawyer said he expected to present some form of legislation early next year.But the efforts and support for racial justice that followed Mr. Floyd’s death are now confronted with an economy that is shadowed by fears of a recession. In January, Mr. Newsom announced that the state faced a $22.5 billion deficit in the 2023-24 fiscal year, a turnaround from a $100 billion surplus a year ago.Nationwide, opinions on reparations are sharply divided by race. Last fall, a survey from the Pew Research Center found that 77 percent of Black Americans say the descendants of people enslaved in the United States should be repaid in some way, while 18 percent of white Americans say the same. Democrats were even split on the issue, with 49 percent opposed and 48 percent in support. Other polls on the issue have found similar splits.Even so, cities across the country have moved forward with reparations proposals. In 2021, officials in Evanston, Ill., a Chicago suburb, approved $10 million in reparations in the form of housing grants.More recently, the San Francisco Board of Supervisors has expressed support for reparations that could offer several million dollars. And in nearby Hayward, Calif., city officials are hearing proposals for reparations for land taken from Black and Latino families in the 1960s.Kamilah Moore, a lawyer who is chair of the California task force, said she was confident that the Legislature would “respect the task force’s official role as a legislative advisory body and work in good faith to turn our final proposals into legislation.”“It will soon be in their hands to act,” Ms. Moore said. More

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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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    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