New ‘Day of Remembrance’ for Japanese American internment addresses importance of remembering history

Story and photos by CARLENE COOMBS

In Utah, Feb. 19 will now be recognized as an annual “Day of Remembrance Observing the Incarceration of Japanese Americans During World War II.” 

During the 2022 state legislative session, Utah State Sen. Jani Iwamoto sponsored the bill, S.B. 58, to designate the annual day of remembrance.

Iwamoto said during a Zoom interview that the bill is “very important and should be to all Americans,” especially with the rise in Asian hate and focus on civil rights over the last two years.

Utah Gov. Spencer Cox signed the bill on Feb. 17 making the day of remembrance official.

After the attack on Pearl Harbor, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed an executive order requiring the imprisonment of those of Japanese descent who were living on the West Coast. This order was signed on Feb. 19, 1942. 

In the ensuing six months, more than 100,000 men, women and children of Japanese ancestry from the West Coast were placed in internment camps. A majority of the people imprisoned were American citizens. 

“This is really an example of a law [that] took away people’s rights,” Iwamoto said, and is a reminder that our liberties can be taken away at any moment. 

Diane Fukami is a third-generation Japanese American whose father’s family was imprisoned in the Topaz War Relocation Center in Utah. More than 11,000 people were detained there between 1942 and 1945. A majority of those imprisoned at Topaz, which is about 15 miles from Delta, came from the San Francisco Bay area. At one point during its operation, the prison was the fifth largest population center in Utah.  

The Topaz War Relocation Center was located 16 miles northwest of Delta in central Utah and was surrounded by desert landscape. The camp was in operation until Oct. 31, 1945.

During a phone interview, Fukami said she was “really gratified” when she heard about the bill passing.

“I was … very appreciative of both the governor of Utah for doing this and also the people who supported that,” she said.

She said it is important for Americans to know about Japanese American internment camps because they show how fragile civil rights and liberties are. 

“If people understood that their rights, their liberties can be taken away because of wartime hysteria, hopefully they can prevent that from happening again to anybody else,” Fukami said.

Paul Reeve, a history professor at the University of Utah, said remembering this history can hopefully help us in the present when engaging in civil rights and injustice. 

“When we see people engaging in discriminatory rhetoric, harmful actions, racism, we can look at the experiences of the past and recognize what injustice looks like and be willing to stand in places of empathy, and stand up against racial injustice in the present,” Reeve said. 

At the time, Japanese Americans didn’t fit the definition of what it means to be American, Reeve said, so they were seen as more foreign and less loyal to the United States. 

“I think Japanese internment is another tragic example of how we Americans sometimes can look in on minority groups and make them suspects. Create an identity for them, which suggests they don’t fit the majority identity and therefore, we are justified in passing discriminatory policies against them,” Reeve said. 

In 1943, Topaz was the fifth largest population center in Utah with 8,316 internees.

Reeve also said it’s human nature to dehumanize the “enemy” during wartime, something Japanese Americans fell victim to. 

“It’s a manifestation of our desire for national security but a willingness to sacrifice personal liberty, the personal liberty of people of Japanese descent as a result,” Reeve said. 

Fukami, whose grandfather was incarcerated, said she believes American schools don’t do enough to teach about the Japanese American World War II experience.

She said because students have to study George Washington, the Constitution and the Civil War, they should also learn about other groups and what happened to them.  

“Every school kid has to learn about American history,” Fukami said. “And I think that a small component of it should include what happened with Japanese Americans.” 

Reeve said he believes there is a “concerted effort” among Utah history teachers to teach Japanese American internment in the curriculum so students grow up learning and understanding this part of Utah history. 

“It fits the narrative of Utah history. It’s not an outlier experience,” Reeve said. Similarly, he cited the experience of early members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Latter-day Saints arrived in northern Mexico in 1847, because they were fleeing the United States and then branded as un-American for the rest of the 19th century.”

Fukami said as a Japanese American and an independent producer who has done a lot of work on Japanese American internment, she feels a responsibility to educate others on this part of history.

“We think it’s our responsibility to educate people about what happened during World War II so that it doesn’t happen again to any other group of people in this country,” Fukami said. “And for us, that is one of the biggest challenges is to make sure that people know about the Japanese American concentration camps.”

After vandalism at Japanese Peace Garden, community organizers build bridges and solidarity against anti-Asian attacks

Story and photos by ROSE SHIMBERG

A bright red Tori gate marks the entrance to the Japanese Peace Garden, a pop of color in the cool spring morning.

Stone lanterns and evergreen trees dot the hilly landscape but the garden’s true beauty is yet to bloom — the pale pink blossoms of a sea of cherry trees.

the entrance to the International Peace Gardens at 1160 Dalton Ave. S. in Jordan Park.

A pair of bridges bookend the tranquil space and although the pond they traverse is dry, visitors still stop for a contemplative moment before reaching the other side.

The garden is just one of many in Jordan Park’s International Peace Gardens, where over two dozen countries are represented. But it alone fell victim to an act of hateful vandalism in October 2021.

It was just one incident in a series of anti-Asian attacks and threats in Salt Lake City, which have been on the rise since the outbreak of the coronavirus pandemic.

After speaking up about the issue and spreading awareness, community members quickly mobilized to clean up the garden, showcasing the strength and solidarity of a connected Asian American community.

The Tori gate marking the entrance to the Japanese Garden.

Trey Imamura was the first person to see the hateful message. Imamura was there on behalf of the Japanese American Citizens League (JACL), which brings volunteers together twice a year to clean up the garden. As co-president of the Salt Lake Chapter, he went to see what supplies would be needed for the cleanup.

Imamura said he was shocked and upset at what he found. But he wasn’t sure if he should report the crime.

“From what I’ve gathered, there’s a very Asian American mentality where it’s like, keep your head down, keep grinding away, don’t make a fuss,” he said. “But I had some friends who were like, ‘absolutely not! Cause some noise and make a ruckus.’”

One of those friends was Amanda Lau, a director of the Asian Link Project. She said she found out about the vandalism through Imamura’s Instagram story.

“Immediately when I saw that, the first thing I did was I told Carrie about it. And that’s when she got to work,” she said in a Zoom interview.

She was referring to Carrie Shin, cofounder of the Asian Link Project. Shin started the nonprofit organization with her husband in response to the rise in anti-Asian attacks nationwide. They had heard about a group in Oakland, California, that ran a chaperone program for elders who were fearful to go out alone. Shin wanted to provide that same support for the people of Salt Lake City.

“That’s how it started, with the chaperone project,” she said in a Zoom interview. “And we started gaining a little bit more trust with other people that were telling us of vandalism and coming forward with their stories.”

Naturally, the directors of the Asian Link Project immediately offered their help when they heard about the garden.

A view of stone lanterns from one of two footbridges in the garden.

Shin helped put Imamura in touch with Jason Nguyen, a local reporter at ABC4. Imamura also contacted Utah Sen. Jani Iwamoto, whose connections with the sheriff’s and police departments helped initiate a rapid cleanup.

Asian Link Project director Lau, who also works at the Salt Lake City Council office, said it meant a lot to see councilmembers Darin Mano and Dennis Faris speak about Asian American hate and vandalism happening locally.

“It was really moving for me to see that action took place quickly, loudly and proudly,” she said.

Thanks to the community’s swift response, the graffiti was gone within 48 hours, with the JACL cleanup taking place that same week. Asian Link Project volunteers made sure to join in on the effort.

“We had so many hands on deck and so many eager people to help, which we appreciate,” Shin said. “Sometimes these things take a little bit longer.”

She spoke from experience dealing with multiple instances of anti-Asian vandalism. When the window of Pho 28, a Vietnamese restaurant, was defaced in 2020, it took a lot longer to repair the destruction.

“They had to go with vandalism and damage on their window for about a year and a half until we were able to get that fixed,” Shin said.

These repeated attacks have shown that the vandalism in the garden was not an isolated incident. And the perpetrator still remains a mystery.

“This stuff just happens here, too,” Lau said. “And it goes underreported all the time.”

The Asian Link Project has big things in store for 2022, particularly the Asian Festival in July, where it will collaborate with local businesses and volunteers.

“With the surge of attacks, any exposure to racism, anything of that nature, we will always be available and we have our response plan,” Shin said. “But we are focusing on a lot of cultural events as well. We want to bring people together. We want to introduce people to Asian culture. We just want to make it normal.”

The Asian Link Project was not the only group that assisted Imamura and the JACL. The Organization of Chinese Americans (OCA) offered its support as well. It had previously partnered with the JACL to coordinate events such as vaccine clinics for senior community members.

The Salt Lake City chapter of the JACL also stands in solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement. Imamura himself moderated a 2020 event cohosted by BLM Utah founder Lex Scott and Japanese-American civil rights advocate Floyd Mori. The event aimed to educate young people about BLM.

“At the end of the day, we have to work together,” Imamura said. “No matter if you’re JACL, OCA, Black Lives Matter, we’re all here to create a just and equal society.”

He was pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of support he received after word spread about the garden. People he never expected to reach out checked in on him and made sure he was OK. For Imamura, this exposure is critical in preventing these things from happening in the future.

“I had the ability to report and say ‘OK, this happened in my community and I’m upset by it.’ If someone says, ‘Wow, I’m upset that you’re upset, that hurts me because you’re hurt,’ I think my job is done,” he said.

He uses the Japanese word kakehashi to inform and guide his work as a community leader.

A bridge traverses the pond, which once held water lilies and koi fish.

It directly translates to bridge but can be used to mean “building bridges.” This is exactly what Imamura hopes to do by spreading awareness of issues affecting not only the Japanese citizens of Salt Lake City but the Asian American community as a whole.

Without its bridges, the Japanese Peace Garden would be impassable. And if it weren’t for the community’s consistent care, the wooden structures would have rotted into the earth long ago.

“Instead of drawing lines in the sand,” Imamura said, “let’s build bridges, you know?”

On being Asian American in white America

Story by ASIA BOWN

Being a minority in a white community proves to be an exhausting experience for many Asian Americans. They do not look like a majority of their peers and therefore experience a level of separation from them, as well as both implicit and explicit racism.

These instances of racism inspire internal conflict in some Asian Americans. While stereotypes are widely disliked, some Asian Americans find that they identify with them, which can lead to slight identity crises. 

In the absence of a bustling Asian American community, there isn’t a void. People find their own ways to build communities that allow them to be themselves without having to field questions about their identities. 

Racism and feeling like an “other”

“When you’re a kid, you get singled out for your otherness,” said Brian Pham, a senior at the University of Utah, about his childhood in white South Jordan, a city 15 miles south of Salt Lake City.

He often felt singled out for being Asian. As one of the few Asian kids, racial slurs were cast his way at school and he heard his fair share of rude comments about his Asianness. It was the racism he faced from adults, however, that made the biggest impression. 

University of Utah senior Brian Pham poses for a photo taken by a close friend, Nick Tygeson. Photo courtesy of Brian Pham.

Pham described an incident regarding a gym teacher in middle school. “He couldn’t figure me out,” he recalled, recounting that the teacher said, “You have the hair of a Jap [Japanese person] and the last name of a Chinese [person].”

These sorts of explicit racism and microaggressions proved to be extremely exhausting for Pham. He said he feels like he constantly has to explain himself and his identity as an Asian American person, to explain what he is and is not.  

Pham referenced Cathy Park Hong’s “Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning” and called discussions about his Vietnamese American heritage ontological. He isn’t just explaining his heritage. The reality is much more philosophical than that.

He pulled the book out of his backpack and flipped through it to locate a favorite passage. “Patiently educating a clueless white person about race is draining,” he read from the book. “It takes all your powers of persuasion. It’s like explaining to a person why you exist, or why you feel pain, or why your reality is distinct from their reality. The person has all of Western history, politics, literature and mass culture on their side proving that you don’t exist.”

Pham added that he cannot shed his Asian American identity when he wants to avoid racist people, nor can he choose to “turn it on” when it might help him secure benefits like scholarships.

Wanting to take a break from your identity is rooted not in shame, but fatigue. Like Hong wrote in “Minor Feelings,” being Asian is having to offer a series of explanations defending your entire existence and having to explain why you are or aren’t a certain way. 

These microaggressions and experiences with racism aren’t unique to Pham’s experience. Katrina Mỹ Quyên Lê, a senior at the University of Utah, experienced a slew of racist conversations and actions directed at her Vietnamese and Chinese background while growing up in Taylorsville, Utah.

Katrina My Quên Lê stands in front of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge, photographed by Jaina Lee. Photo courtesy of Katrina My Quên Lê.

When she was in third grade, Lê’s teacher repeatedly told her parents that they should enroll her in English as a second language classes. Lê noted that this wouldn’t have been a problem if her English wasn’t good, but she was reading and writing at similar levels to her white peers. 

Her teacher’s comments were based on racist stereotypes rather than actual instances Lê had demonstrated she needed extra help.

As a kid, she also fielded racist comments from her classmates. Kids made fun of her food, telling her how gross it was. In eighth grade, one boy walked up to her and said some version of, “ping pang wing wang wong.”

Later, her family faced racist comments from neighbors after hosting a barbecue. Unbeknownst to them, such activities had been temporarily banned as a result of a recent fire. Neighbors confronted her parents, asking them if they could speak English. 

Lê’s family wasn’t aware of the ban.

It’s instances like these that may seem small to some people, but leave lasting impressions on the people that have to endure them. 

Internal conflict and learning to celebrate Asian identities

Along with the explicitly racist comments, Lê’s Vietnamese and Chinese heritage often bore the target of implicit racism. Kids at school would ask her if she was good at math or science because she was Asian. 

Not only were these assumptions annoying on a surface level, they also became the subject of internal conflict. Lê was good at math and science, but not because she was Asian. She worked hard and wanted to succeed, but these traits, too, are often interwoven with the perceived Asian American identity. 

As a STEM major, Lê continues to fit the stereotype, but she wanted to be seen as more than that. In fighting the nerdy Asian American trope, she discovered that the best way to feel comfortable in her identity was to create and embody a sort of counterculture that works against the stereotypes, one that’s even stronger.

She aims to feel empowered by her Asian American identity, not held down by it. Salt Lake City Council Member Darin Mano feels similarly about his Japanese American heritage. Mano said he finds inspiration through his Asian heritage that he hopes to channel in his work in city council.

“I don’t want to be beyond racial difference — I want to celebrate it,” Mano said of his identity philosophy in a Zoom interview.

Mano may be a city councilmember for one district, but he said he considers himself to be a representative of the entire Asian American community in Utah. He seeks to help his community through legislation and representation in local politics.

His achievements in race politics include the creation of a commission that governs racial equality in policing with only Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) in leadership. For Mano, this was an important step in advancing legislation for people of color, including Asian people.

The commission is also the first to compensate its members for their service. Mano said people expect BIPOC people to do work for free, and in achieving this goal he was able to champion people of color and ensure greater representation.

Building their own communities

While living in a predominantly white area can beleaguer people’s efforts to identify with a larger Asian American community, it does not appear to stop them from building their own communities in which they feel comfortable in their Asian identities.

Pham and Lê grew up and live in white areas, but they’ve managed to find communities wherein their identities are accepted and embraced. They have tight-knit friendships and family groups where they can practice their cultures and create their own traditions. 

Instead of fostering jealousy over the long-held traditions of other families and cultures, Pham is starting his own. On Thanksgiving, his family makes platters of Vietnamese food for everyone to eat, but every year someone will attempt to make a traditional American turkey. Regardless of its success, it’s an aspect of an American holiday that his family has taken and made their own.

Pham said that he’s continuing to build his cultural identity through creating new reasons and ways of celebrating holidays and other parts of life. It’s through these traditions that he can also celebrate his identity.

Lê finds solace in talking about her experiences with friends who can relate. She said that most of the comfort she finds in her community comes from time spent together eating, talking, cooking, and simply being with one another. 

They share their experiences of racism, questions they have about their identities, and they reckon with their own feelings about their identities. Not all of their conversations are so heavy, though, and this balance in her relationships brings her comfort and a sense of belonging.

Mano has also spent the majority of his life in Utah, making a large non-Asian population normal for him. Despite this, he feels a deep sense of community with those around him. He cares about his neighbors and has taken on the responsibility of advocating for Asian Americans in Salt Lake City.

The otherness that Pham discussed may seem like it could inspire feelings of loneliness, but there appears to be a certain resilience among Asian Americans. They don’t abandon all hopes of a community just because they aren’t surrounded by other Asians. Their community-building process consists of gathering the people who make them feel safe and celebrating their identities in various ways.

Pham, Lê, and Mano don’t feel hindered by the absence of a large Asian American community. Instead, they choose to champion their individual communities and work within them to celebrate their identities and cultures.

U of U Asian Americans reflect on affirmative action

Story by ANDRE MONTOYA

Serena Marie Aeschilman is currently studying for her master’s degree in Computer Science and is an ASUU senator for the College of Engineering. Photo provided by Serena Marie Aeschilman.

After she had earned an internship opportunity, Serena Aeschilman, a computer science student at the University of Utah, recalled feeling happy. However, she also recalled being told, “‘you only got that because they’re looking for diversity.’”

Because she is a female Asian American student in the field of engineering, Aeschilman wasn’t sure which type of discrimination she was facing from such a comment. However, she did know the legitimacy of her success was being called into question.

Two intertwined factors have challenged the validity of the successes of Asian Americans, a long-standing set of policies known as affirmative action and a stereotype that has persisted for years known as the model minority myth. Now, past and present U students reflect on the link between the two and their personal experiences.

Affirmative action is being challenged in the Supreme Court by Students for Fair Admissions, who allege that Harvard and other Ivy League universities discriminated against them based on their race. Some of the students in this group are Asian American.

“Personally, I support affirmative action and I hope that universities will still be able to use that as a criterion,” said Darin Mano, former adjunct professor of architecture and a U alumnus, in a Zoom interview with Voices of Utah. “It’s not a criterion of ‘are students capable of succeeding at that school,’ it’s ‘how can we create the best educational experience?’”

According to the U’s Office of Equal Opportunity, Affirmative Action, and Title IX, the university does enforce affirmative action but states there are no quotas and says, “These decisions should never be based on someone’s status based on gender or race and all candidates must meet the minimum qualifications for the position.”

Enrollment rates for first-time Asian American freshmen, undergraduate students, and graduate students all hovered at around 6% for Fall 2020, according to the U’s Office of Budget and Institutional Analysis.

Asian students are among the smallest racial demographics at the University of Utah. Graph by Andre Montoya.

In Fall 2019 at the U, Asian students had the highest graduation rate when compared to other racial demographics, with over 80% of Asian students graduating, according to a diversity report from College Factual.

Though the U does not have a large Asian student body, it is a place of achievement for them.

Mano, who now represents District 5 on the Salt Lake City City Council, remembered that the lack of diversity on campus was difficult at times.

“Oftentimes I felt like I was the only minority in most of my classes at the University of Utah,” Mano said when reflecting on his time at the U. “So, I really cherish the experience of being at a place where they were able to select what the makeup of the student body was going to be so they could ensure there were diverse voices.”

Opponents of affirmative action ask that when it comes to the educational experience, how can it be known whether a student of color who was picked was the most qualified of the pool of potential students? They also ask, how can it be an achievement for students of color if they begin from a perceived disadvantaged position?

Sunwhee Park is studying global communication and is a member of ASUU. Photo provided by Sunwhee Park.

“How many qualified POC (people of color) have been denied opportunities in the past simply because of their race and ethnicity, and how many less-than-qualified white people have been given those same opportunities because of historical precedent?” U student Sunwhee Park said in an email. “I encourage people to think about how the status quo became the status quo, and remind themselves that things aren’t correct just because they’ve always been that way.”

Park, a member of the Associated Students of the University of Utah (ASUU), views affirmative action as a way of demonstrating that people of color can be just as successful when given the same opportunities as white Americans and in the larger picture, create a future where such policies are no longer needed.

But with Asian American students doing well at the University of Utah and supposedly being too successful to be accepted into Harvard, what is holding them back?

Sociologist William Peterson coined the term “model minority” in a January 1966 article for New York Times magazine. The article, “Success Story, Japanese-American Style,” was meant as praise for the Japanese Americans who had spent two decades post-World War II positioning themselves as powerful and successful.

The model minority moniker has typically been applied to East Asian Americans to characterize them as exemplary when it comes to achieving the American Dream regarding the areas of education, employment, and wealth.   

At first glance, one might assume that the model minority myth is a compliment since it praises the accomplishments of Asian Americans and places them as admired and successful members of American society. But its detractors say it’s more akin to a double-edged sword.

“It’s incredibly patronizing and downright fake,” Park said. “The concept doesn’t change how Asians are viewed as perpetual foreigners and still aren’t accepted into many parts of the American cultural and historical narratives.”

The model minority myth uplifts Asian Americans to the level of what white Americans have deemed successful. It’s only a compliment because it separates Asians from other races and accepts them into white spaces, Park said.

As the social and cultural fallout of the coronavirus pandemic in America has shown, Asian Americans are accepted, but only to a certain extent.

Aeschilman, the computer science student, reflected on the amount of anger she felt when confronted with the rise of anti-Asian racism. With the support she felt from the Asian American Student Association chapter at the U, she decided to take her feelings and put them toward something constructive.

Even though she had helped organize a rally in support of Asian Americans, Aeschilman wanted to do more. In January 2022, she wrote a letter to the Utah Daily Chronicle summarizing her feelings, simply titled, “I Am So Angry.”

“I felt like I wasn’t heard when it came to how I felt, or the experiences I’ve had,” Aeschilman said when explaining why she decided to write her letter.

In the letter, she described her experiences facing microaggressions, and how the model minority myth ultimately drowns out the voices of Asian Americans when they speak out against them. But she implores others to reflect on their privileges and support the efforts of the less privileged.

“What I say doesn’t necessarily reflect the experiences of every Asian American here [at the U],” Aeschilman said, “but I feel like everyone should be heard.”

From suffering to redemption: Asian American Floyd Mori tells his story

Floyd Mori shares how, besides the pain, violence and discrimination, there is still love to give to the Asian American communities.

Story by LEYRE CASARIN

Sometimes you don’t need to be a superhero to do great things. Often, it is enough to simply give love and complete your work with dedication, commitment, and passion. As Floyd Mori did and does, showing uncommon courage.

Shiro Floyd Mori is a farm boy.

He is the seventh of eight children, who was raised in Utah by principled parents and long-suffering siblings. 

Floyd Mori, in the front row, with his older brothers Nobuo, Tom, and Shig in about 1944. All photos courtesy of Floyd Mori.

“I benefited greatly from my older siblings’ example and reputation they had of being stellar students,” he said in an email interview. 

Mori’s father emigrated from Japan in 1906 at age 16. Originally a worker at the railroad in Utah and then a farmer, his goal was to give and help the family have a better situation.

His father returned to Japan to find a wife when he was 30. He did and brought her to the U.S., where they settled in Cache Valley in northern Utah in 1921.

Because of language barriers, Mori’s parents were occasionally speaking English and conducted a social life more at home and at the farm. Mori and his younger brother helped till they left for college.

“Yes, my parents had their struggle with prejudice, but my father was very honorable and soon gained respect from neighbors all of whom were white,” he wrote in the email.

Japanese Americans and other Asians in the U.S. had suffered from racial prejudice and fear for decades. Discriminatory laws that prevented Asian Americans from owning lands, voting, testifying against whites in court and other racial discriminatory laws existed before World War II.

But that brought even more pain to the Mori family. Two of his older brothers got drafted into the U.S. Army and served during World War II. But one of them died while serving.

“It was a major loss to a Japanese family,” Mori said. “My mother suffered greatly and was depressed for years after his death. She regained much self-regard when she and my father joined the LDS (Mormon) Church in their later years.”

As if that wasn’t enough, in 1942, President Roosevelt authorized the secretary of war to prescribe certain areas as military zones, paving the way for the incarceration of Asian Americans in U.S. detention camps. The overwhelming majority of the inmates were Japanese Americans.

“So, during WWII much of the pride turned into shame because of the way they were treated. WWII was depressing for Japanese-born as well as U.S.-born Japanese. Besides being denied citizenship they were sent to desolate concentration camps just because of who they were,” Mori said.

Mori confirmed that the “generation of Asians that experienced a catastrophe in their lives are bound to become depressed with the results. WWII did that to me as I was a child when war was in progress and saw the negative caricatures and ugly depiction of the enemy at that time.”

Allyson Drayton, who is a National Certified Counselor, has written about racial trauma. Mental, physical and emotional health problems associated with racial trauma really build up over time. 

Mori added that he was ashamed of his identity, of who he was, and he avoided all that was Japanese in his youth, such as Japanese food. He was beaten up by older boys when he was a kid. During his teenage years, girls’ mothers would not allow them to date him.

Mori wrote that racial trauma is in violence, hate and taunting: that became part of their lives.

Violence has always been there but more recently recognized by society at large.

“My father-in-law lost a thriving business, his home, his dignity when he was forced from Los Angeles during WWII,” he said. “There was never a recovery from this trauma.”

Floyd Mori with the then Vice President Joe Biden in Washington, D.C. 

Mori added, “There is shame, embarrassment, and humiliation because of these violent treatments Asians receive.”

But from all this suffering, he made his way to redemption. Floyd Mori acted: a powerful weapon against pain.

He became an author and is an educator.

He is a former CEO at Asian Pacific American Institute for Congressional Studies (APAICS) and a former executive director of the Japanese American Citizens League (JACL).

To become who he is now, and to make it where he is now, besides a turbulent path, Mori became also a political activist and a civil rights advocate for minorities, impacting a lot of people’s lives.

Mori was a city council member, a mayor of Pleasanton, California, and an assemblyman.

“I knew he would be a great asset to the city of Pleasanton because of his values, knowledge and fairness. He was elected to the city council and then went on to be Mayor of Pleasanton,” Mori’s former student, Steve Ferguson, said in an email.

Floyd Mori with JACL fellows at an immigration march in Washington, D.C., 2010, while he was the national executive director/CEO of the Japanese American Citizens League.

“I met Floyd Mori in 1966 when I first attended Chabot College in Hayward, CA. He was my Economics Professor. He had always impressed me as a bright, caring, and dedicated man,” Ferguson said.

Sherrie Hayashi, Mori’s co-worker, said in an email, “Floyd is one of my favorite people. His dedication and commitment to advocating for Asian American communities and issues is aspirational. Floyd always has new ideas. He creates opportunities for young leaders and actively mentors and encourages people to collaborate and be engaged in community work.” They worked together on several projects, including the National JACL Convention in Salt Lake City in 2019. 

“Floyd has had a significant impact in Asian American communities, especially the Japanese American community. He has been a leader at the local, state, and national level, serving in leadership capacities in the nation’s oldest and largest Asian American civil rights organization in the United States (JACL) having been established in 1929,” Hayashi added. 

His works, his devotion, his love for his people, along with Asian American advocacy and organizations, are making the difference.

“The new generations of Asian Americans that have seen the results of bigotry in this country are not going to let this continue,” Mori said.

Floyd Mori, left, with Jake Fitisemanu at the Organization of Chinese Americans awards dinner in Salt Lake City, 2019.

Jake Fitisemanu, current West Valley City councilman, recollected good memories of Mori. 

“We first met in May 2015 when I was appointed by President Barack Obama to serve on the presidential advisory committee. Floyd has been an amazingly supportive and insightful mentor who encouraged me to run for local office when I concluded my service in the White House,” Fitisemanu said in an email interview.

“One thing that stands out to me is that despite his demanding schedule and external commitments to family, church, business, etc. he is frequently seen at community events, demonstrating his devotion to community through his presence, his physical, tangible support,” Fitisemanu wrote.

Floyd Mori is like a hero without a cloak. He is that type of person who has been able to face the difficulties of life with his head held high and who looks to the present and the future with a strong and enthusiastic spirit. 

“He provides strategic guidance and overarching direction but allows staff and volunteers the freedom and power to operationalize and implement using their own creativity and expertise,” Fitisemanu said.

Mori is an example to follow, as he is giving voice to and helping Asian American communities by showing courage in daily life, overcoming the obstacles society, the system, and the government throw their way, besides the improvements made for these minorities in the past years. 

“Floyd has also actively supported Pacific Islander communities and initiatives, with sensitivity and respect toward the controversial notion that combining Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders into a single demographic category is not mutually beneficial, and actually disadvantages Pacific Islanders,” Fitisemanu said. 

Without forgetting the past, Mori envisions a better future. “My optimism is in the fact that more Asians are engaging in the political process as voters and as vote-getters running for office.”

Sheer Ambrosia: a businesswoman’s journey

Story by JUSTIN GALLETLY

Sherrita “Rita” Magalde is the owner of Sheer Ambrosia, a small business based in Salt Lake City dedicated to baking baklava to sell to customers.

Over the last year, Magalde’s business has reached new heights.

She’s seen a big spike in sales and has met arguably the greatest commercial success of her business’s lifetime.

However, it wasn’t always glitz and glamour for her brand, as she, like many up-and-coming small-business owners, ran into many roadblocks along the way.

Many of these roadblocks predate her business’s very foundation and go back several years before she even came up with the idea to sell homemade baklava.

During a phone interview, she explained that she’s been involved in independent, entrepreneurial endeavors stretching as far back as the mid-90s.

In 1996, she and her then-husband moved from Spain to Salt Lake City due to its reputation as a great place to go skiing.

She started a small mortgage brokerage and later ran a travel agency with her husband.

Despite her success with her independently run business, her relationship with her husband wouldn’t last in the long run.

“We were six years into running the travel agency when we got a divorce and neither one of us wanted to leave the business. So we tried to make it work, but I was very unhappy so I decided to quit. I still wanted to be a business owner, but I wanted something that was all my own, so he bought me out of the agency in 2008, which is when I also started the bakery,” she said.

Rita Magalde

Magalde always enjoyed cooking and baking, having grown up learning from her mother.

Baklava, the dessert Magalde’s business is built around, was primarily learned from hanging around a Greek family she worked with while growing up in North Carolina.

“The baklava has stuck with me through the years, so I decided I wanted to see if I could turn it into a business. So I decided to start slow from home and got a cottage food license from the Department of Agriculture and began my baklava business then,” Magalde said.

Despite her experience running independent businesses in the past, the transition was not a smooth endeavor.

“One of the big differences between running a travel agency and a bakery is now you have to deal with inventory,” Magalde said. “It also isn’t as lucrative a business as a travel agency, so I’m selling my baklava at $3 a piece and wasn’t able to hire people right away. Also, unlike when I began the travel industry, I now had two children and was without a partner.”

She also refused to take any bank loans and only used the funds she gathered from selling her share of the travel agency.

The barrier to entry felt much steeper than previous endeavors.

Over time, she was able to find a degree of success with her business.

In 2013, five years after beginning Sheer Ambrosia, she took a big step to legitimize her business.

She ventured out into a commercial space in hopes of getting more people to take her business seriously.

“I put $50,000 of my own money into the space to build it out and was able to legitimize my business and really bring Sheer Ambrosia to the forefront. People weren’t taking me seriously until I did that,” she said.

Although while her business continued to do well, it didn’t do as well as she had hoped.

After the death of her father, Magalde decided to cut back, as the long hours which required her to work upward of 16-hour days every day of the week took its toll on her.

“I decided to sell the space to another bakery and moved Sheer Ambrosia back into my home,” Magalde said. “I fell into some debt, and my son who was graduating high school wanted to go to an expensive college. So I said I’m going to sell my home so I could get out of debt and allow my son to go to the college he wanted to attend.”

Things got especially stressful when the pandemic hit.

 Magalde’s business, like many small businesses, was severely hit when it all began.

“No one wanted baklava, they all wanted toilet paper and hand sanitizer, so I had to get another job to make ends meet when the pandemic hit,” she said.

Rita Magalde

Then, in the midst of the pandemic, a tragedy occurred that shook the entire nation to its core.

“In horror, we got to see George Floyd murdered before our very faces by a Minneapolis police officer. Black people have been watching this kind of thing happen for years, and it seems as though the white community has been oblivious to it,” she said. “Right after that, there were so many white folks in the community who decided they wanted to support local Black-owned businesses.”

While Magalde was initially reluctant to embrace this swell of support because she didn’t want to feel she was capitalizing off a tragedy, she changed her mindset when she realized how it played into a good cause.

“I started to think about it and saw that these were people who don’t necessarily want to protest in the street. They don’t want to get out there and hold a sign and yell, and walk the street protesting that way. This is their way of putting their money where their mouth is by supporting Black-owned businesses,” she said.

She also came to realize that while they may initially support her business because she’s Black, that didn’t mean they would continue their support if her products weren’t satisfying.

“It’s still my job as a business owner to make sure they want to come back by giving them a quality product and amazing service. So it’s not going to be free service, I still have to earn their repeat service, so this a challenge for me,” she said.

The success led to a busy holiday season, one where she would need some additional help if she was going to continue thriving.

Helene Simpson and her daughter, Desi Hayda, offered their services.

“She’s very dedicated. She’s very grateful for everything, and it’s hard that it was the death of somebody which created an influx of sales, her product is what continues her business and for people to come back to her,” Simpson said during a phone interview. “It’s not just because people think ‘Black Lives Matter’ and only supporting her for that reason. She sells quality products, has excellent customer service.”

Simpson said she appreciates Magalde’s positive guidance.

“I think she’s very thorough. Just how she explains things to you and wants things done, and that’s to be expected because everything she does is pretty perfectionist, so you just follow her instructions and help her out when you can. She’s awesome to work for,” Hayda said.

“Now I’ve got a following that I can parlay this into growth for my business, and I’m hoping for one day to quit my second job and go back to running my business full-time,” Magalde said.

Equalized health care: a new beginning

Story by JUSTIN GALLETLY

Systemic racism is one of the more contentious topics of debate today.

While racism itself is well known, the matter of institutionalized racism entered the common lexicon following the tragic murder of George Floyd at the hands of a police officer.

While the situation brought attention to the idea of police reform, one area without much publicity is its relation to health care.

Blacks generally receive worse treatment than the average white citizen regarding health care services in America. This can be attributed largely due to both implicit and explicit biases from both health care providers and staffers at hospitals and clinics.

In response to the issue reaching public awareness, many organizations are beginning to take a stand against the issue.

One of them is the University of Utah Health, which declared on Jan. 12, 2021, that “systemic racism is a public health crisis.

A way systemic racism impacts Blacks is discrimination based on insurance status, which itself disproportionately impacts non-white citizens.

Other issues include misunderstandings based on false information regarding biological differences in Black people.

Examples include beliefs that Blacks have less sensitive nerve endings, a higher pain tolerance, and even stronger immune systems than whites.

As much as 73% of white medical students believe at least one, if not more, false misconceptions of biological differences regarding Blacks.

The Office for Health Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion is helping U Health addresses the situation at large.

Dr. Jose Rodriguez is the associate vice president of the organization, and one of its leading voices pushing to see serious policy changes against systemic racism.

Rodriguez took his position in August 2018, and his immediate course of action was to get deans staffed in the individual colleges across campus to address equity and inclusion matters.

Rodriguez explained in a Zoom call that at the time, his boss was unable to meet his request, stating resources weren’t available to make it happen.

Following the murder of George Floyd, this all changed. The deans Rodriguez requested were finally filled and accommodated for.

“We understand the anti-racism war is an individual responsibility of every employee. Our diversity office has to serve as the resource and the guidepost for that kind of work,” Rodriguez said. “We’re helping each of these individual units develop plans to move more towards equity. We’re helping them to revise and review their hiring practices to favor equity instead of favoring the white demographic.”

Rodriguez added, “This injustice is not new, but the George Floyd execution put it on people’s consciousness, with people coming out to say, ‘This is not my America.’ When that happened, it brought Blacks and whites together.”

This turning point subsequently led to mandatory implicit bias training for all staff working across the different divisions across campus.

The training really focused in on making staff members address any unknown prejudices deep within them and learn to be more aware of it so it wouldn’t affect their judgement.

Dr. Jose Rodriguez

This way, all patients, regardless of their race, can receive the same treatment without fear of discrimination.

“Society has this deeply entrenched, so it’s not our job to go around blaming each other and feeling bad about it, it’s our job to end it,” Rodriguez said.

The pandemic also played a substantial role in revealing the racist prejudices in our health care system.

Early in the pandemic, it became apparent that Blacks were far more likely to die of the disease than whites, as much as 3.57 times more likely.

These statistics, combined with the ongoing struggles the coronavirus has brought to daily life and the outcry from the aftermath of George Floyd, set in motion a chance to change the U Health’s standards.

“What COVID did is it laid naked the intensely racist nature of our society,” Rodriguez said.

As a result, the U Health just hired a senior diversity leader, Mikel Whittier.

His position only exists thanks to the Office for Health Equity, Diversity and Inclusion insisting on a need for more diversity officers in the delivery line space at the clinic.

“The hiring of my position is the start of action in moving strong language and a strong foundation that has already been set both by the Health Sciences Department and the hospital into action,” Whittier said in a Zoom interview. “What we see across the country, especially over the summer, is there’s a lot of statements made about equity, diversity, and inclusion and how there’s zero tolerance, but we see more of the same across the institution. When there’s time for action, there’s inaction in which you become complicit in racist behavior, so this is a step in that direction.”

As a Black man himself, Whittier says he knows all too well the realities of systemic racism, given he’s been on the receiving end of it.

In 2018, he lost his stepfather to cancer largely due to the inequities in place related to cancer outcomes, with Blacks far more likely to die of the disease than whites tend to.

The consequences Whittier faced due to systemic racism even stretch back to when he was born.

“If you look at infant mortality rates amongst Black women dying of complications of birth, my mom had to stay in the hospital for six additional months after I was born, and that’s a critical time as a newborn to not have your mother there,” Whittier said.

These experiences helped shape his convictions and channel them into working to fix the system.

The different staff members at the Office of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion are all working together in specific tasks to tackle the problem and put an end to it.

Mauricio Laguan, a manager for recruitment and retention, explains some of the ways the Health division staff have managed to make positive changes to staffing policies.

Mauricio Laguan

“We’re developing an on-boarding training for new employees to understand how the University of Utah will protect them from discrimination and microaggressions from patients and other co-workers,” he said during a phone interview.

Laguan believes one of the harder challenges, especially for a state with as little diversity as Utah, is getting more people of color hired on for medical work.

“Long term, the things that are going to need more time is diversifying the people that work here. Having more Black doctors, having more Latinx doctors, more Polynesian doctors, more Pacific Islander doctors,” Laguan said.

Despite these challenges, work is being done to hopefully make a positive change for not only Blacks but all people of color at the U’s Health services.

For everyone at the Office of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion, this challenge is only the beginning.

Indeed, for all involved, the fight to end systemic racism never ends.

How Black Lives Matter Utah is tackling police reform

Story and infographics by TAESHA GOODE

Lex Scott is no stranger to a challenge.

“The movement is about hard, backbreaking work, and pain, and trauma, and death, and injustice every day of your life. That’s what the movement is about, and now the crowds have dispersed, but the work is still here,” said Scott, founder of Black Lives Matter Utah, in a Zoom interview.

As she was talking, she was driving through downtown Salt Lake City in a caravan demanding justice for the murder of George Floyd.

For activists like Scott, Black Lives Matter didn’t end after last year’s nationwide protests. In fact, it began long before. As always, she’s facing the fight head on.

The death of George Floyd in May 2020 spurred a sudden national wave of support for Black victims of police brutality. In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, injustice against African Americans took center stage, as people of every race, religion and gender gathered to speak the names of victims like Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Rayshard Brooks, and Elijah McClain.

Hashtags like #BlackLivesMatter and #ACAB (All Cops Are Bad) gripped social media, dashcam videos of racial profiling and violence flooded the internet and protests rocked the streets of both conservative and liberal states. It seemed a turning point for activists who had been fighting for this sort of publicity for so long. Scott was thankful for the awareness it brought, but she knew the momentum would be short-lived.

“The thing about the movement is people come and go. When there’s a high-profile officer shooting, you get a big crowd of people and then that crowd goes away, and then when there’s another shooting, they come back, and then go away,” Scott said. “Last year, thousands upon thousands of people came out, and I didn’t get excited ‘cause I’ve been here for seven years. I was like, I don’t care about you!” she said, laughing, “I care about police reform.”

For Black Lives Matter Utah, the most important initiative right now is changing the way police operate on a systemic level. Since the chapter’s founding in 2017, independent of the national Black Lives Matter movement, volunteers have been speaking out against police violence in Utah and around the country. Their current plan to tackle police brutality: take it to the capitol.

“We picked up two senate seats, we have several police reform bills passed in Utah, and the Justice in Policing Act passed the house,” Scott said.

The George Floyd Justice in Policing Act of 2021 is a national police reform bill directed to increase accountability and transparency in law enforcement, as well as implement specialized sensitivity training.

“The Justice in Policing Act gives us independent oversight of police, it gives us data collection, [a] police misconduct database, it gives us qualified immunity reform, it regulates dash cams in police cars,” Scott said. “[It] is the most important thing I’ve ever seen. It is on the same level as the civil rights act [and] it is just as powerful.”

To Rae Duckworth, vice president of Black Lives Matter Utah, that power does not go unnoticed. “I want the change more than anybody.”

According to Mapping Police Violence, in 2020, U.S. police killed 1,127 people.

Bobby Duckworth became one of those victims in 2019.

The loss of her cousin in an officer-involved shooting in Wellington, Utah, spurred Rae Duckworth’s involvement with Black Lives Matter Utah. “The pain of losing someone from a police officer — it’s a different type of pain,” she said in a Zoom interview. “Ever since then, I just dived into actively trying to make changes.”

In 2020, the Salt Lake Tribune reported, Utah Police fired at 30 people — 17 of those incidents being fatal.

The disproportionate policing of People of Color in Utah reaches much deeper, as highlighted by Amber McFee, a lawyer volunteering with the chapter. Although McFee got involved with Black Lives Matter Utah shortly after the nationwide protests in 2020, the discrepancies in charges shocked her.

“It depends on if you’re Black or white. If you’re white, you’re getting disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct,” McFee said in a Zoom interview. “If you’re Black, you’re getting inciting a riot, you’re getting charged with felonies.”

The Justice in Policing Act targets all this and more. And although the national movement has lost momentum since Summer of 2020, Black Lives Matter Utah makes it a point to showcase the power that comes from speaking up in your local government.

“The movement is losing its trendiness,” Duckworth said. “People can stay active by participating in their local committees and their local agendas with their representatives. Because speaking on behalf of your community members, those are protests in themselves, and people need to realize that.”

Although Black Lives Matter Utah knows the power in local government, creating a nationwide change is Scott’s biggest priority. “People don’t get it, we are this close,” she said. “You want to come out and protest all day, well how about you pick up the phone and call a senator.”

The end of the legislative session in Utah, however, means that, for now, the chapter can focus on other issues. Alongside gathering signatures for upcoming ballot initiatives, the chapter recently launched Utah’s first Black history museum.

Black Lives Matter Utah has also continued its work with the Salt Lake City Police Department’s Community Advocates Group (CAG), which holds biweekly public meetings on police transparency practices.

In addition, Duckworth said the chapter has become a great resource for stopping police abatements of unsheltered encampments during COVID-19.

“There are a lot of systemic issues that we can approach,” she said. “There is always growth or change to be implemented. I just think that, if people know what they want to change in their community, if they figure that out and they just go for it — that in itself is a protest.”

McFee, the lawyer volunteering with Black Lives Matter Utah, knows that dealing with systemic racism means first facing the facts. “You need to read and research things that you aren’t comfortable with,” McFee said. “Teach the truth, you’re not going to learn it in school so teach your kids the truth. I think that’s where we have to start to get to the big finish.”

For Lex Scott, who’s been active in the community for the past seven years, it’s about holding on and holding tight. At the start of this journey, “I didn’t know what I was doing,” she said.

But it wouldn’t be a challenge if it was easy. By pushing forward, she found a solid community of people who want to make real change.

She reminds us to stick to our values. “Be intersectional in your activism — make sure it includes all marginalized groups.  … Don’t expect the world to change overnight. You just gotta stick to your activism and change the world.”

Steven L. Johnson, CEO of Luke, Johnson & Lewis and Utah Black Chamber Chair, speaks about activism for Utah’s Black community

Story by SUNWHEE MIKE PARK

Steven L. Johnson watched in awe, as the legendary California Congresswoman Maxine Waters commanded the attention of a crowd in Utah’s prestigious Alta Club – an institution that formerly did not allow memberships to women or Black people. He could not believe that he was seated at her table, much less that they had just discussed the growth of Utah’s Black economy together. A surreal sense of pride washed over Johnson in that moment, as it dawned on him that in this room, he stood among Congresswoman Waters’ ranks as a revered and respected activist.

But it would take nearly a decade of devotion to Utah’s Black community before such a moment could arrive.

In 2000, Johnson packed up everything he owned and moved to Utah from Denver, Colorado. A freshly divorced ex-sister-in-law who needed help getting settled was reason enough for him to make the arduous 500-mile move. This decision was the first of countless others in Johnson’s new life in Utah in which he would move mountains to help those he cared for.

Throughout his first year in the Beehive State, Johnson became increasingly aware of the stark contrast between his native Denver and Salt Lake City. Chiefly, he noticed that the Black community in Utah was not only small (comprising roughly 0.7% of the entire state’s population then), but seemed also to be stalling and struggling.

Steven L. Johnson is chair of the Utah Black Chamber, and CEO of Luke, Johnson & Lewis. He is a devoted activist who has served UT’s Black community for almost a decade. Photo courtesy of Steven L. Johnson.

At this time, Johnson was used to the thriving Black community in Denver, which he recalled was akin to those of Black meccas like Atlanta or Detroit. In Denver, Johnson reminisced, Black-owned businesses had longevity and were often core components of the city’s booming economy. In Salt Lake City, however, he had trouble finding Black businesses that branched out from the archetypal barbeques or barbershops.

After a decade of wondering who and where the state’s Black professionals were, Johnson finally found himself at the Utah Black Chamber’s annual community barbeque hosted in Sugarhouse Park.

At long last, there they were. Utah’s Black business owners, professionals and community leaders. Observing Utah’s Black community at large for the first time, Johnson finally felt at home in a land that had only been unfamiliar to him until then. “I met more Black people at that event than I had seen in the [years] that I had been here,” says Johnson over the phone in a surprisingly youthful voice. “It was really eye-opening. It made me feel comfortable.”

There he met James Jackson III, founder of the Utah Black Chamber, known then as African Americans Advancing in Commerce, Communication, Education and Leadership (ACCEL). The fateful meeting, spurred on by Johnson’s wife (then-girlfriend), sparked the flame that produced two of Utah’s most revered Black leaders today. “When I met James, it was like a new beginning,” Johnson says, “[like] I might have the chance to help make a difference or a change here in Utah.”

Inspired by Jackson’s passion and devotion to the growth of Utah’s Black community, Johnson found himself increasingly involved in activism as well. But his methods transcended attending community events or facilitating networking between Black Utahns.

In 2011, Paul Law Office – where Johnson worked as a collections manager – shut down indefinitely. Johnson, however, did not lament his new unemployment. Using his final paycheck, Johnson jumped headfirst into entrepreneurship. He founded Luke, Johnson & Lewis (with partner Preston Lewis), a debt arbitration business that specializes in third-party recovery and collecting receivables.

For Johnson, this new venture was more than a simple means to earn profit. As one of the state’s handful of Black CEOs, he wanted his business to serve as a “beta test” for other pioneering Black businesses in Utah. By watching and learning from Luke, Johnson & Lewis, he hoped, future generations of Black-owned Utah businesses would thrive like those he remembered from his years in Denver.

Meanwhile, James Jackson had plans of his own for Johnson. Seven years into the growth of the Utah Black Chamber, Jackson was eager to increase its influence on a statewide level. In order to achieve such a feat, he required the strategic expertise and interpersonal skills of a seasoned legal professional. He brought Johnson on as the Black Chamber’s board chair in 2015, and later made him the chair of its membership committee as well. “Based on [his] leadership, experience, and desires … I felt [these positions] fit him the best to help grow the [Black] Chamber,” Jackson says in an email.

James Jackson III (left) and Steven L. Johnson receive awards from the Omega Psi Phi Fraternity Inc. for their work in the Utah Black Chamber in 2018. Photo courtesy of Steven L. Johnson.

Nicknamed the Black Chamber’s “Swiss Army knife,” Johnson took on a range of responsibilities – from strategizing the expansion of the Black Chamber’s membership, making connections with sponsors and spotlighting member businesses on a monthly basis, to furthering plans to establish the long-awaited Black Success Center.

Johnson, in addition to running his own business, was now leading the state’s largest Black-based organization. Yet his activism was still only in its fledgling stage.

Johnson explains that his personal philosophy forbids him from feeling as though he has ever done enough. “If you feel satisfied, you’ve closed the book. The chapter’s over,” he says. That’s why, in 2017, Johnson began a partnership with state lobbyist Craig Hulinsky to start the Good Deed Law Project.

Johnson explains that the Good Deed Law Project was founded with the goal of helping people in debt find alternative ways to pay off or reduce their overdue payments. Acting as the project’s Debt Initiative director, Johnson discovered methods to persuade businesses to write off debts as charitable donations, while allowing debtors to work off their sum in community service or work hours.

So far, Johnson’s debt arbitration model at the Good Deed Law Project has resolved $385,000 of debt while producing 10,000 community work hours. Johnson explains excitedly that his model has put over 500 debtors back on track to financial stability.

“He sets an example … in the Black community. His lifestyle is to be copied,” writes Rev. France A. Davis in an email interview. Davis, pastor emeritus of the Calvary Baptist Church, is another one of Utah’s highly revered Black leaders and an individual that Johnson considers his personal mentor. As part of the latest addition to Johnson’s activism, he and the reverend have recently become members of the Racial Equity in Policing Commission for Salt Lake City. There, the pair are able to review and make recommendations to the city’s police department about its policies, specifically regarding racial biases.

Twenty-one years ago, Johnson arrived in Utah without a job, without a home, with only the feeling that he was needed, that he could help. Now, as one of the state’s most active and respected Black leaders, his foundational drive to help those in need remains the same. Despite his many titles and roles – CEO, board chair, director, commissioner – Johnson’s activism is only just beginning.

“Utah’s Black community is growing … and I want to be there to witness [its] development,” Johnson says humbly about the very community that could not exist today were it not for his tireless efforts.

Black Faculty and Staff Awards honored University of Utah employees for social justice

Story by EMALI MACKINNON 

It was a celebration of excellence, creativity and dedication. It also was a moment to acknowledge ingenuity and perseverance. 

The second annual Black Faculty and Staff Awards honored University of Utah employees for sustained work on- and off-campus in areas including social justice. 

The event, held over Zoom on Feb. 26, 2021, was hosted by the U’s Black Cultural Center. “Tonight, we will showcase, award and promote examples of excellence,” said Director Meligha Garfield. Organizers’ goal “was to bring awareness of Black faculty and staff at the university whose teachings, research, support and innovations may go unnoticed here at the university,” he said, “especially where Black faculty in higher ed across the nation is well below average — at just a little under 5% — and the retention of Black staff at predominantly white institutions are declining year after year.”

Nona Richardson won the James McCune Smith Award of Veneration, which recognizes individuals who are “awe-inspired by dignity, wisdom, dedication, and excellence” at the U. 

Nona Richardson has worked in athletics administration for more than 30 years. Photo courtesy of Nona Richardson.

Smith was an American physician, apothecary, abolitionist, and author, who led by example.  

Richardson is an executive senior associate athletics director who oversees all student-athlete support services at the University of Utah. She plays a key role in the Ute Academy and with the student-athlete U.T.A.H. Group, United Together Against Hate.

“The transformation of the U.T.A.H. Group has been very uplifting and inspiring,” Richardson said in an email interview. “The diversity within the group, the allies, the leadership, everyone is dialed in and moving along the same path. With the foundation that has been set, we hope to grow it over the years to come.” 

She provides knowledge and leadership through academic services, strength and conditioning, sports medicine, sports nutrition, psychology and wellness, sports science, student-athlete well-being, as well as her sport programs, groups and committees.

Richardson will continue to work for our student-athletes and staff, to create the best possible environment to achieve success. 

“Unless you are in the field of play, your success is not measured by the number of awards you win, but by the number of individuals you have impacted along the way,” she said. 

Similarly, another winner of a staff award was Asma Hassan. She is a program manager at the Bennion Center who leads the Utah Reads program.

Asma Hassan has a M.Ed. in Special Education and a B.S. in Psychology from the University of Utah. Photo courtesy of Asma Hassan.

Hassan was awarded the Malcolm X Award for Social Justice, which recognizes individuals who have fought for justice in terms of distribution of equal access, opportunities, and privileges within our campus and greater community. 

Malcolm X was an African American Muslim minister and human rights activist who was a popular figure during the civil rights movement.

Hassan works with Title 1 schools in the Salt Lake City area where she provides resources and supplies for each student’s needs.

“Every year I’m working on making it better, better for tutors, better for the community and the students that we work with,” she said. 

Community engagement work and working with students individually is what Hassan is most passionate about. Being able to work closely with each student and understand their needs is what the Bennion Center is known for.

“I’m passionate about community engagement and will continue to live through my actions,” Hassan said in a Zoom interview. She will continue to always be aware of the community and contribute positive initiatives to it. “However small or large, I hope I can leave something that others can benefit from.” 

Lastly, Valerie Flattes, who is an assistant professor and nurse practitioner for the U, won the Madam C.J. Walker Resource Award. That prize is for individuals who have strengthened the community-engaged learning experiences and opportunities tied to civic engagement and fostered stronger partnerships between local and community at the University of Utah. 

Valerie Flattes has been a faculty member at the University of Utah College of Nursing since 2001. Photo courtesy of Valerie Flattes.

Walker was an entrepreneur, philanthropist and political/social-activist. She was a self-made millionaire after she created African American hair care products.

Valerie Flattes is dedicated to her work and her students. She considered herself a mentor and cheerleader for her students. She said in a Zoom interview, “It’s so important to get to know the community you are in because they are the people we are going to be asking to participate in your research. It’s a two-way street, you want them to do something for you but you also need to do something for them.” 

She started volunteer work at a young age. She quickly realized that she loved to be involved in  the community. It and community-based research is what inspires her most.

After receiving this award, Flattes told the audience, “I am very appreciative of receiving the award and looking forward to even spending more time especially at the BCC (Black Cultural Center) and being a mentor and a cheerleader again for students. I love it and I love teaching,” 

The Black Faculty and Staff Awards bring awareness to the Black Cultural Center, established in 2019, as well as entities including the Black Faculty and Staff Association, Utah Museum of Fine Arts, and the Division of Equity, and Diversity Inclusion. 

Meligha Garfield closed the awards ceremony by acknowledging all the people who helped put on the program, including the Black Faculty and Staff Association

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