Fighting Seattle's "Obeisance To Police" by Marshall Bender

This paper is dedicated to the victims of police violence everywhere. May your deaths never be in vain. 

The civil rights movement in the United States of the 1960s ushered in a period of national transformation with distinct local agendas. As the fight for civil rights raged on in the South, media outlets shared images of activists being beaten by police, attacked by police dogs, and sprayed down with fire hoses. Despite being brutalized by police forces across the country, activists stood on their feet, defiant in the face of the racism and violence that characterized this period of American history. People all over the country watched these events unfold, glued to television reports, radio broadcasts, and newspapers. Newspapers played a key role in the dissemination of information about the civil rights movement with a weekday circulation of 58,882,000 in 1960, which rose steadily throughout the decade.[1] Individual newspapers, each governed by their own politics, interests, and supporters, expressed a variety of narratives about the civil rights movement and its demands. Seattle’s two major newspapers—The Seattle Times (Times) and Seattle Post-Intelligencer (P-I)—were no exception. One topic in the media displayed this diversity of opinion strongly: police violence. Controversial, emotional, and rooted in American history, police violence captured the attention of concerned citizens and media outlets alike. The Times and the P-I reported on police violence in 1960s Seattle from a variety of perspectives which changed over time. This paper explores how these media perspectives were influenced by community outcry and activism against police violence, and highlights how activism influenced the newspapers to feature the perspectives of activists and those impacted by police violence more prominently in their reporting. Through activism, action, and visible outrage, Seattle’s activist community pushed media coverage on the issue of police violence, bringing their own viewpoints and demands into the public debate.

Critical to my understanding of police violence in the media is The Politics of Force: Media and the Construction of Police Brutality, by Regina Lawrence. In this work, Lawrence discusses what influences media coverage of police violence. Chief in Lawrence’s analysis is the distinction between sources. Lawrence defines two types of sources that media outlets use when discussing police violence: 1) “official” sources, which come from police officers, politicians, and government agencies, and 2) “nonofficial” sources, such as those of activists, victims of police violence, and their families. Within these categories, Lawrence also distinguishes between sources that are “critical” of the police and those which are “noncritical,” as she defines it. She also argues that newspapers and their reporters rely heavily on “institutionally positioned officials,” such as police officers, as “the most legitimate source of news.”[2] Principally, newspapers must rely on police officers’ statements about police violence events, as they are the first to be there and witness it (aside from the victim). This in turn creates a biased narrative in newspaper coverage of police violence because it legitimizes the statements of officials over nonofficials, “providing reporters with narratives that defend their use of physical force.”[3] Using these arguments, Lawrence displays how major newspapers in New York City and Los Angeles discuss events of police violence. Overall, Lawrence finds that newspapers push narratives that reinforce official, noncritical perspectives when reporting on events of police violence. She highlights, however, that when met by community outcry, newspaper coverage of police violence begins to include more nonofficial, critical perspectives, and becomes more sympathetic to victims and activists protesting the issue. Using Lawrence’s framework to inform my own research, I explore cases of police violence in Seattle during the 1960s through their representations in the Times and P-I, determining that community outcry, activism, and protest against police violence during this period influenced the papers to transition from a reliance on official, noncritical source material to an increased reliance on nonofficial, critical sources when reporting on police violence. 

Throughout this paper, I rely on newspaper articles from the Times and P-I as my primary source material. In the twentieth century, these newspapers were in fierce competition. It is important to emphasize their history of conflict because it shows the effects that Seattle’s activists had on police violence coverage in the 1960s. The demands of the community played a critical role in influencing the papers’ selection of sources, word choice, sentence structure, and more. The Times and the P-I took a more sympathetic approach to nonofficial, critical sources over time in the 1960s as a response to widespread community activism, outrage, and action against police violence. 

Since at least the 1930s, police violence has been recorded in Seattle’s newspapers. Black Seattleites and community activists, frustrated at these injustices, have continually fought for justice for the victims. On March 26, 1938, 27-year-old Black waiter Berry Lawson died in police custody after being arrested by Seattle Police Department (SPD) officers Patrick J. Whalen, Fred H. Paschal, and Walter F. Stevenson for allegedly trespassing at the Mount Fuji Hotel. In the scuffle to arrest Lawson, the officers claimed to the Times that Lawson “was injured fatally” after he broke away from the officers and fell down a flight of stairs in the hotel.[4] Several witnesses stated otherwise, claiming they had seen the officers strike and threaten Lawson.[5] His death aroused the attention of Black community activists, namely Joseph S. Jackson, vice president of the Seattle branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). Suspicious of the official claims, Jackson organized community meetings to protest at the  county prosecutor’s office and to hand over a resolution demanding the officers be charged with murder.[6] The conclusion of the official autopsy proved that Lawson could not have received his fatal injuries from falling down stairs.[7] This new evidence prompted Prosecutor B. Gray Warner to charge the three officers with second degree murder, for which they each received 20-year sentences.[8] The Washington State Supreme Court upheld the ruling, stating the officers had “used more force than necessary in arresting Lawson.”[9] In this case, the Seattle NAACP had “led a successful campaign to indict three policemen”, but the state soon reversed its decisions after new evidence about the true nature of Lawson’s death was revealed.[10] 

Officers Paschal and Stevenson were proven innocent and received full pardons from Governor Clarence D. Martin after Whalen confessed that he alone struck Lawson.[11], [12] Miraculously, Whalen also avoided justice and received a pardon after a series of heart attacks which made him unable to serve his prison sentence.[13] Justice escaped these men, and they received no punishment for their crimes against Lawson. What Seattle’s mainstream newspapers lacked in analysis of police violence, they substituted by manufacturing sympathy for the accused officers. Media coverage of the pardons in both the Times and the P-I included images of Paschal and his mother embracing each other in glee, while Whalen reportedly received the news of his pardon with “tears in his eyes.”[14] Few nonofficial, critical sources were included in these stories. Instead, officers were praised, stripped of any legal responsibility, and separated from their violence. 

Seattle’s Black-owned media, namely The Northwest Enterprise, contrasted deeply with these narratives. In an editorial published in the paper on April 8, 1938, the editors spoke for their audience in voicing their strong opposition to police violence. They stated that they would work to end these injustices collectively if the Black citizens of Seattle were not “afforded protection from maltreatment when being arrested,” promising to “use every weapon available to correct this odious condition.”[15] They followed up on these promises by protesting at the county prosecutor’s office, holding mass community meetings, and sending a resolution to the prosecutor which demanded that the officers be charged with murder. The Enterprise also used the term “police brutality,” which was never once used in an article by the Times or the P-I. Clearly, there was a strong sentiment among Seattle’s Black community against police violence at this time, and this sentiment continued to grow in the following years. The death of Berry Lawson at the hands of the SPD and the actions taken by community members would serve as a reminder to Seattle’s Black community of “their precarious status when confronted by bigoted and violence-prone police officers,” but also of their combined power to work together to “prevent the erosion of their rights as citizens.”[16] Countless more instances of police violence would follow, and activists continued to work to hold the SPD accountable. 

Beginning in the 1950s, community efforts to end police violence increased in Seattle. Seattle’s Black community and activists were enraged at continued injustices, discrimination, and violence towards Black Seattleites by the SPD, such as the killing of Lawson. To funnel their anger into change, community members formed groups to end police violence once and for all. In 1950, The Committee to End Police Brutality (CEPB) met with police chief George D. Eastman to speak out against the “police persecution of Negro persons in Seattle.”[17] Their demands were shared with the city by John Daschbach, a representative for the group, who penned a letter demanding the City Council to investigate police violence against Black Seattleites. In the letter, Daschbach declared that Black people “have been a target of a majority” of police violence cases in the city.[18] Then in 1955, mayor Allen Pomeroy appointed community members to the Advisory Committee on Police Practices to “deal with problems affecting minority groups.”[19] The committee consisted of Black activists and community members, such as John C. Leffler, dean of St. Mark's Cathedral, as well as members of the Seattle Urban League and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU). The committee discussed policing issues in Seattle and made policy recommendations to improve public-police relationships, such as increasing police salaries. They claimed that police salaries at this time were “not such as to attract the highest grade of men and women, nor to provide the proper incentives for advancement.”[20] They additionally advocated for the “enlistment of qualified persons from… minority groups” as a way to increase community trust in the police, as “the policing of Negro neighborhoods in other cities has been greatly improved by a police force on which Negroes serve.”[21] The demands of this committee were rooted in belief in reform, and did little more than advise policy changes. However, its establishment was spurred on by an increasingly visible and influential activist community which demanded an end to police brutality in Seattle—a movement that continued to grow throughout the 1960s. 

Seeing police officers attack their neighbors without punishment infuriated Seattle’s Black community and activists, prompting them to act. After SPD officer Francis L. Veith pistol-whipped 29-year-old Black Army sergeant Herbert Bullock during a traffic stop in 1960 and got off with a $50 fine, a movement to establish an independent police review board in Seattle emerged.[22], [23] Activists believed that police officers could not be trusted to police themselves, and they wished for a civilian-led review board which would bring officers who violated the law to justice. The city government believed differently. In April 1962, the city council and Mayor Gordon Clinton shot down proposals introduced by the Urban League calling for an independent police review board.[24] Later, in 1964, the ACLU filed a petition requesting the establishment of a police review board, citing misconduct by the SPD. Mayor Dorm Braman and the city council rejected these proposals in a unanimous vote, again squashing activist demands.[25], [26] They claimed that such a review board was unnecessary and a waste of resources, as the SPD could be trusted to investigate themselves. Further instances of police violence and mismanaged investigations throughout the 1960s disproved this claim and encouraged Seattle activists to resist police violence and discrimination. The actions and perspectives of activists, Black Seattleites, and victims of police violence became more visible and radical throughout the decade, and the Times and the P-I responded. At the beginning of the 1960s, both papers favored official, noncritical perspectives in their reporting on police violence. The dedication and diligence of activists in Seattle throughout the decade brought greater media attention to this issue, and as a result, the nonofficial, critical perspectives of activists and Black Seattleites appeared more prominently in both the Times and the P-I by the end of the decade.  

On the night of June 21, 1965, SPD officers Harold Larsen and Franklin Junell were out on the town with their wives. Gleefully drinking, eating, and chatting at the Linyen Café in Chinatown, the two officers and their wives claimed that they were beaten “without warning” by a group of Black men in the café.[27] Both officers suffered cuts and were covered in blood as the alleged assailants ran out of the building and fled in two cars. The officers followed them on foot and Larsen yelled out to the cars to stop, identified himself as a police officer, and then fired his weapon five times towards the fleeing automobiles. One of his bullets hit fleeing 41-year-old Black man Robert L. Reese directly in the back of the head, killing him instantly. The shooting of Reese was deemed “excusable homicide” by a coroner’s jury, and both officers returned to the force cleared of any wrongdoing.[28] In the months following this incident, the officers attempted to paint the event in their image, denying having done anything to provoke the alleged assault. Witness statements and other evidence, however, said otherwise, and motivated Seattle’s activist community to demand greater police reforms and to protect their communities through direct action. At first, the Times and the P-I covered the event with a mixed perspective, highlighting the conflicting testimony between the officers and witnesses. As community outcry manifested itself in protest and direct action, the papers took notice and began to include nonofficial, critical perspectives more prominently in their coverage of the Reese case.  

In nearly all of the early articles about the incident in both the Times and the P-I, the official, noncritical perspectives of the officers are emphasized. The officers claimed that the beating occurred without warning, and denied making any remarks which could have provoked the assault.[29] Reporter Richard Simmons of the P-I wrote that Larsen denied making any derogatory statements when testifying at the inquest trial, still “bearing the marks of the head wound he suffered.” In the same article, Larsen stated that he had “no opportunity to defend himself while in the booth.”[30] These selected quotes convey sympathy for the officers and portray them as innocent in the café encounter and Reese’s death. Several articles in the Times echoed these claims and attempted to protect the image of the officers and the SPD. In an article by Robert A. Barr titled “Assault in Cafe a ‘Nightmare,’ Say Officers,” officer Junell denied making racist remarks, stating that SPD officers “are forbidden to speak or act  in any manner fostering racial prejudice.”[31] This quote reinforces the claim that the officers did nothing to provoke the assault, as they are bound by their oath of service to not discriminate. Junnell also added that what happened was “regrettable,” but that it was his “duty” to stop the suspects: he “just had to try stop them.”[32] First feigning remorse, Junnell then quickly justified his actions by appealing to his duties as a police officer. Additionally, the title’s word choice creates sympathy for the officers. By describing their altercation with the men in the cafe as a “nightmare,” the Times chose to side with the officers rather than analyze the situation more deeply. These official claims in news coverage painted a picture that the officers were unjustly attacked, therefore justifying their shooting of Reese as a form of self-defense. 

Despite official claims, statements from the men involved in the beating and other Black witnesses supported a different perspective. These individuals claimed to both papers that the officers provoked the fight with racist and derogatory language. Osborne Moore, a Black man who was eating at the café before the brawl began, reported to the Times that he heard racist remarks coming from the officers’ table. Fearing trouble, he called some friends to come down to the café.[33] When they arrived (Reese included), two of the men, Leroy Head and James Williams, heard one of the officers say “Here come some more n*****s,” after which the brawl began.[34], [35] An unnamed witness corroborated his statement, claiming to the P-I that “the fight started because one of the officers allegedly used” the derogatory word.[36] Other witnesses heard additional threats of racist violence. Margaret Lofton, a Black woman dining at the café with her friend Doris Blood, stated that she heard officer Junell say to his wife: “just pick out any one of them… and I’ll kill him,” as he gestured to his sidearm.[37] When asked by reporters if the officers identified themselves before killing Reese, witnesses claimed that neither did.[38] The nonofficial, critical perspectives of these witnesses stood in direct opposition to the claims of the officers and generated controversy, which both newspapers followed closely. Both papers knew there was more to the story, and sought alternative sources to get the full story. 

An all-white inquest jury ruled officer Larsen’s killing of Reese as excusable homicide. As Seattle’s Black community mourned Reese’s death, both the Times and the P-I covered the verdict and its developments closely. The P-I focused on nonofficial, critical sources and their reactions, representing a break from past coverage, while the Times held a neutral stance on the inquest verdict. P-I reporter Richard Simmons was present at the trial and he wrote that spectators reportedly “moaned and murmured” when the jury announced their ruling. The “predominantly Negro crowd of spectators” then “shook their heads and stormed out.” Reese’s brother, William, was also quoted stating that “further action” would occur as a result of the jury’s ruling. An unnamed woman shouted that this was “just the beginning. It’s gonna be a long summer.”[39] Here, the P-I plainly expressed the pain and frustration felt by Seattle’s Black community. The P-I also featured the voices and perspectives of its readers in a section called “Voice of the People.” Several community members’ statements are included in the segment, such as Mrs. Henry Kalberg. She claimed that officer Larsen’s shooting and killing of Reese “was gravely disproportionate to the offense that Reese and his companions had committed… a man has been carelessly and needlessly killed.”[40] The P-I was deeply aware of the intense controversy associated with Reese’s death and allowed its viewers to participate in the discussion. Additionally, the P-I focused on community perspectives critical of the police and the inquest verdict, pushing nonofficial viewpoints forward. 

The Times, in contrast, favored a more balanced approach on the inquest verdict. In an editorial published on July 1, 1965, the Times stated that the ruling “was the best the jury could make out of a bad mess in which none of the participants was guiltless.” Aware of the emotion and anger felt by the Black community, the Times stated that “a cooling-off period without inflammatory activities” was necessary. Since Black people were involved and a Black man was killed, the case “may well have [had] much deeper significance in relationships between the Police Department, firebrands in the civil rights movement, and… the general public.”[41] The Times was aware of a growing attitude among the general public, civil rights activists, and Black Seattleites that was critical of police violence and the SPD more generally, but the paper remained neutral on the issue. 

Although the jury’s verdict protected the officers and legitimized their violence, the Reese case prompted greater oversight over the SPD and small changes within department policy. In their closing statements, the inquest jury concurred with Prosecutor Charles O. Carroll’s recommendation that SPD regulations be changed to bar off-duty officers from “carrying weapons while drinking intoxicating beverages.”[42] The Times echoed the jury’s perspective in a piece entitled “When Police Need No Arms,” expressing their hope that police chief Frank C. Ramon would enact this change “without undue delay.”[43] Under pressure from the jury, the Times, the Black community, and activists, Ramon changed the department’s policy, ordering SPD officers “not to carry arms when engaged in off-duty social activities.” This change negated “police department regulations of 89 years,” and was a direct result of the media coverage of the case and nonofficial perspectives present in the reporting.[44] In addition to this policy change, Mayor Braman announced the suspension of officers Junell and Larsen for eight days due to their “excessive drinking” and racist language. He later extended that suspension to thirty days.[45] In a concession to activists, he admitted that the death of Reese was detrimental to the goals of “peaceful race relations in Seattle.”[46] Civil rights groups and activists agreed, and began to push forward with demands and direct action to protect themselves and their communities against future police violence. 

Fed up with yet another case of unpunished police violence, activists in Seattle demanded reforms to hold police officers accountable for their crimes. Reverend John Adams, chairman of the Central Area Civil Rights Committee  (CACRC), was a prominent voice in Seattle’s movement to reform the SPD. In a formal statement published by both the Times and the P-I, Adams wrote that the “earnest pleas” of Seattle’s Black citizens had been “completely disregarded” by the SPD’s refusal to discipline the offending officers.[47], [48] He added additionally that whenever something like the Reese case happens, the media and politicians call for a “cooling-off period.” A clear reference to the previously mentioned Times editorial, Rev. Adams suggested that “the people who are on our backs [should] cool off a bit” instead.[49] Claiming that the “life of the Negro in Seattle has been considerably cheapened,” he promised that the CACRC would work for equal rights and justice.[50] They demanded the removal of Junell and Larsen from the SPD, the passage of anti-discrimination laws in the city, the establishment of a nonpartisan police review board, and that a liaison between the Black community and the SPD be established to foster understanding between the two groups.[51] 

Another powerful figure in the movement was Reverend Samuel B. McKinney, a pastor at the Mount Zion Baptist Church and a member of the Seattle Human Rights Commission. In a statement for the P-I, Rev. McKinney stated that no issue “aroused the Negro community as much as the shooting of… Robert L. Reese.”[52] Rev. McKinney unapologetically expressed his opinions on the matter, and demanded that police Chief Ramon publicly denounce the officers’ derogatory comments and change SPD policies which required officers to carry their guns off-duty. After voicing their demands to the media, activists took to the streets. 

Reese’s death prompted the CACRC to organize and establish “Freedom Patrols.” Participants in these patrols took a strong stance against police violence and intimidation in their communities, keeping an eye on police officers in their neighborhoods for any misconduct, violence, or discrimination committed by the officers.  Essentially, they were “walking review boards,” a physical manifestation of activists’ demands for an independent police review board.[53] Both the Times and the P-I reported on these patrols, featuring nonofficial and critical perspectives in their articles. The P-I highlighted the motives of activists to establish these patrols, such as Rev. Adams. Rev. Adams justified the establishment of the patrols as necessary because he believed that there should be “no power-wielding arms-carrying group in our society that isn’t partially controlled by the public.”[54] The P-I was keenly aware of the actions that activists took to protect themselves and their communities from police violence, and plainly expressed the views of Adams and the CACRC.

The Times similarly focused on nonofficial, critical perspectives, but attempted to present a more balanced approach to the Freedom Patrols, neither advocating for nor opposing them. In articles for the Times, reporter Lane Smith detailed the perspectives of nonofficial sources, while also including contrary official perspectives. Smith quoted Rev. Adams, who declared that public protests would continue “in every form available… until we get satisfactory justice.” Directly after this statement, Assistant Police Chief Charles Rouse is quoted calling the patrols “ridiculous and juvenile.”[55] Chief of Police Frank C. Ramon was also often quoted as an official source by the Times, stating several times that the Freedom Patrols “were organized for the purpose of finding things to complain about,” conveniently ignoring the reasons why the patrols were established. He claimed that participants in the patrols would “make complaints” about police “whether there is anything to complain about or not.”[56] Here, Smith and the Times reported on the Freedom Patrols without advocating for them nor opposing them directly. 

However, these official claims were overshadowed by nonofficial, critical perspectives in later Times reporting. In another article by Smith, Charles V. Johnson, attorney and vice president of the Seattle branch of the NAACP, stated that activists were “attempting to solve problems and create a better climate between police and citizens” with the proliferation of Freedom Patrols. Walter Hundley, chairman of the Seattle Congress of Racial Equality, also stated that the Black community feared that what happened to Reese could happen to them: “All of us with Black skins—have no confidence that the same thing couldn’t happen to us.” He added that the fight for a police review board and better policing attitudes would “have to go to the streets” if the city and SPD continued to fail to listen to activist voices.[57] Also highlighted by Smith was the unity of activists fighting police brutality. Quoting Rev. Adams in his article “Freedom Patrols Begin Task”, Adams urged Freedom Patrol participants to remember that they were not alone and were “part of an organized effort by the civil rights community to come to grips with police brutality.”[58] Though Reese’s life was lost to police violence, the movement to end police violence continued. The organized and militant efforts of the Freedom Patrols, which presented a viewpoint contrary to the police status quo, caught the attention of both the P-I and the Times. The controversial nature of the patrols prompted the papers to rely more on nonofficial, critical source material in their reporting. 

In the years following Reese’s death, further police killings motivated community activists to continue to organize against police violence. On November 30, 1966, SPD officer Harry W. Hansen shot and killed 19-year-old Black man Eddie Ray Lincoln. Fleeing a speeding citation, Lincoln was spotted in a parking garage apparently attempting to steal an automobile. He was killed by Hansen after attempting to avoid arrest and allegedly threatening the officers. The officers stated that Lincoln pulled out a cigarette lighter that they claimed was “shaped like a pistol,” that Lincoln then threatened to kill Hansen.[59] The officers then fired “warning shots” which struck and killed the fleeing Lincoln. During the inquest trial investigating Lincoln’s death, both officers claimed that Hansen had fired twice and that the bullets “must have” ricocheted, hitting and killing Lincoln.[60] In contrast to the officers’ statements, Dr. Gale Wilson, the chief pathologist at the King County coroner’s office, and Bill J. Dunagan, an SPD detective and ballistics expert, claimed that at least one of the bullets which Hansen fired was fired directly at Lincoln.[61] Despite this information, the inquest jury ruled that Hansen’s shooting of Lincoln was justifiable homicide after less than an hour of deliberation.[62] Once again, an SPD officer was cleared of any wrongdoing in the killing of a Black man. Activists, frustrated and enraged at this unnecessary killing, outwardly criticized the inquest system and called for change. The initial coverage of Lincoln’s death in both papers perpetuated official, noncritical accounts of the police encounter, but as more details about the police encounter and activist activity came out, the papers shifted their focus to include more critical, nonofficial sources in their reporting. 

Articles about Lincoln’s death at the hands of officer Hansen did not make headlines in the Times during the initial period of reporting, but were instead stuffed deep beyond the cover page. The first article in the Times about Lincoln’s death titled “Youth Fatally Shot While Fleeing Police” sits unnoticed on page 33 of the December 1st, 1966 edition.[63] In contrast, early coverage in the P-I about Lincoln’s death included an article by Dee Norton on page 1 of the December 1st, 1966 edition. Although Norton’s article was more prominently placed, it perpetuated official, noncritical narratives which supported the police’s actions and viewpoints. Norton described the police encounter using the passive voice, stripping Hansen of any responsibility: “A 19-year-old Negro youth was killed by a police bullet Wednesday night as he fled from officers arresting him as a car prowling suspect.”[64] Here, neither Hansen nor Lincoln are named, and Norton claims it was the bullet that killed Lincoln—not a police officer with the power to kill extrajudicially. In police reports to both papers, the officers said that Hansen’s two bullets ricocheted off the ground before hitting and killing Lincoln, both claiming that they never intended to fire directly at him.[65] Norton later wrote in their article that the “police said it was possible [Lincoln] was struck by a ricocheting slug.”[66] Both papers legitimized the claims of the police as official, noncritical sources in their initial reporting on Lincoln’s death. However, as activists began to organize for justice, community outcry pressured both newspapers to feature nonofficial and critical perspectives more prominently in their reporting. 

After Lincoln’s death, activists organized for change within the inquest procedure and, in Rev. Adams’ words to the Times, the city’s “blind, thoughtless obeisance to police.”[67] Both papers followed activist demands closely after the conclusion of the inquest trial, including  critical, nonofficial perspectives in their coverage. In a Times article, both the ACLU and CORE criticized the inquest process, claiming it did not afford “due process of law” to Lincoln or his representatives. Although Lincoln’s family was represented by counsel, Arthur Kobler, president of the ACLU, stated that there was “limited opportunity for questioning and none for cross-examination.”[68] To the P-I, Kobler stated that the jury’s ruling proved that inquests were  “unable to reach the truth.” Seattle CORE chairman John T. Cornethan echoed these statements, describing the verdict as “deplorable.” He additionally stated that “no citizen of Seattle is safe when police can shoot at will.”[69] Lincoln’s family’s perspectives were also covered by the papers. Speaking to the P-I, Lincoln’s divorced parents Wilbur Lincoln and Verzena Oliver deemed Lincoln's death an “unnecessary act” and demanded a charge of first-degree murder.[70] Joined by a coalition of other civil rights groups, the CACRC demanded that action be taken to prevent “excusable murders on mere suspicion of theft and where another’s life is not at stake” in a Times article by Lane Smith.[71] By publishing the critical perspectives of activists, community organizations, and Lincoln’s family in their articles, the Times and the P-I responded to both local and national demands for action on police violence, displaying a growing anger at injustice in Seattle and beyond.

The Times additionally acknowledged the distrust that Black Seattleites felt towards the SPD. In an editorial titled “Three Problems Are Raised By Shooting” by Associate Editor Herb Robinson, Robinson writes that the strong reactions of Black Seattleites at Lincoln’s death showed “that little has been done toward easing the attitudes of fear and distrust toward the police.”[72] Although the Times stated in a different editorial that it did “not take issue with the jury’s verdict” that absolved Hansen of consequences for the shooting, they did state that Hansen “was not acting entirely within the letter or the spirit of the Police Department’s manual on the use of firearms” and advocated for better police training and adherence to the police manual. Still describing themselves as “stout” advocates of the police and opponents of a police review board, they urged the mayor and SPD to “initiate the actions necessary to prevent recurrences of such shootings… which do not seem to us to have justified the taking of lives.”[73] The Times, although still against the establishment of an independent police review board, noticed the public outcry at Lincoln’s death and responded by criticizing Hansen’s actions and calling for change. The death of Eddie Ray Lincoln at the hands of the SPD outraged the activist community, which organized itself to change King County’s inquest system. As activists cried out at injustice, both newspapers noticed a shift in the public conscience which sought change and justice. In response, these papers shifted to include more nonofficial, critical sources in their reporting, amplifying the perspectives of community activists, organizers, and Seattle’s Black community.

Activism against police violence continued after Lincoln’s death as activists and Black community members sought more profound, radical change in Seattle and around the country. The Black Power Movement emerged from the Bay Area in 1966 and swept through the nation because many Black activists had become frustrated with the leadership of the civil rights movement and slow, incremental change. When Stokley Carmichael, chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), spoke at the University of Washington (UW) and Garfield High School on April 19, 1967, he defined the emergent Black Power movement as “a coming together of Black people to fight for their liberties by any means necessary.”[74] His speeches characterized and foreshadowed the emergence of Black militancy in Seattle. When Seattle CORE voted to impeach their president John Cornethan on September 7, 1967, for failing to “implement CORE’s national Black power policy”, the Black Power Movement had firmly established itself in the Emerald City.[75] Black Power groups first emerged here in early 1968, when the Black Student Union (BSU) was formed at the UW.[76] Later that year in May, Seattle’s Black Panther Party (BPP) was the second branch established in the country.[77] The rapid organization happening in Seattle’s Black and activist communities demonstrated that “Seattle had become part of a national shift in orientation toward Black power.”[78] Like their more moderate counterparts, Black radicals in Seattle organized themselves to fight against police violence. They took to the streets demanding that their comrades be freed from jail and armed themselves, citing the necessity to defend themselves from the police by force.[79] A once non-violent civil rights movement was transformed by radical Black activists who sought change and justice through revolution, and combating police violence remained at the top of their agenda.

On October 5, 1968, SPD officer Erling J. Buttedahl shot and killed 17-year-old BPP member Welton Butch Armstead at point-blank range. After spotting a stolen vehicle, Buttedahl  signaled to the car to stop and Armstead, an occupant of the vehicle, fled.[80] Chasing Armstead on foot, Buttedahl reported to the Times and the P-I that he shot Armstead in self-defense, fearing that he “would be shot right there” after Armstead allegedly pointed a rifle towards him.[81] An inquest jury ruled Armstead’s death justifiable homicide, and Black radicals and other activists lept into action at this injustice. The day after Armstead’s death, SPD officers Dave Severance and Nils Seth were ambushed and injured by three shotgun blasts while in their patrol car at the intersection of 34th Avenue E. and E. Pike Street.[82] A clear act of retribution against police violence, the discontent felt by Seattle’s Black community and activists showed its face in militant radicalism and mutual aid organization. Radicals worked together to investigate the true roots of Armstead’s death and to discuss the future of their increasingly radical movement, and the media covered their actions in great detail. Initial reporting on Armstead’s death reinforced Buttedahl’s perspective on the event, painting Armstead as a violent criminal. When activists spoke up at the injustice, however, both papers reported on Armstead’s death, the inquest trial, and activist activity with a balanced perspective, highlighting both official and nonofficial perspectives. Activist voices crying out at Armstead’s unjustified death brought their perspectives into Seattle’s major print media through action and outrage, showing the power of collective action against police violence.

Early articles published in the P-I and Times after the killing of Armstead supported and reinforced Buttedahl’s noncritical, official perspective of the shooting. The article “Youth Pointing Rifle Slain By Policeman” published in the P-I on October 6, 1968, featured no community or nonofficial perspectives. It relied only on police reports as source material, claiming that Buttedahl shot Armstead after he refused to heed his commands to drop the rifle and tried to grab the officer’s firearm.[83] A different article in the Times echoed these statements while highlighting Armstead’s truancy from Green Hill School for Boys, a state juvenile correctional institution in Chehalis, painting Armstead as an out-of-control youth.[84] Here, both papers legitimized Buttedahl’s claims and protected the officer by failing to include contrary perspectives from activists and community members. 

Later articles in both papers used passive voice to describe Armstead’s death: “Killed was Welton Butch Armstead, 17, with a .38-caliber bullet from the pistol of Officer Erling J. Buttedahl.”[85] Here, the P-I failed to attribute the killing directly to Buttedahl, and instead placed the blame on the bullet. The Times used passive voice and stated that “Armstead, 17, was wounded fatally by a police officer.”[86] By not including the offending officer’s name and using passive voice, the Times lessened the severity of Armstead’s death at the hands of a police officer. The passive voice appeared multiple times in the both papers’ reporting, simplifying Armstead’s death and stripping Buttedahl of the blame through sentence structure.

Although the P-I and Times highlighted noncritical, official perspectives at the beginning of their reporting on Armstead’s death, they shifted their focus to critical, nonofficial perspectives as activists organized and community members resisted police violence. Armstead’s mother, Mrs. Gladys Mapps, attempted to stop the police killing by running at Buttedahl, yelling for him to stop. The P-I failed to include her name or perspective in their articles, describing her simply as a “woman” who was arrested for interfering with the arrest. In contrast, the Times showed a shift towards nonofficial, critical sources by quoting her in an article by Mike Parks and Mike Wyne: “I could have stopped it if [the police] hadn’t grabbed me.”[87] The Times also highlighted other Black community members’ comments on Mapps’ actions. Lloyd Jackson, chairman of the Negro Voters’ League (NVL), stated to the paper that Mapps’ actions were a “sheer instinct for her to attempt to protect her child.”[88] By featuring her voice and supporting community statements, the Times granted Mapps agency in resisting police violence that the P-I did not. Community activists also attempted to investigate Armstead’s death themselves, outside of the status quo of the county inquest system. A radical coalition of 50 Black organizations formed in September 1968, The Black United Front (BUF), announced that they would complete their own investigation into Armstead’s death in a statement to the Times. Dave Mills, president, declared that it was “time for the Black community to let the white community know we can no longer tolerate these legal killings.” Mills also added that “whenever a white officer kills a Black person, it is called justifiable homicide… Black people are fed up.”[89] Taking matters into their own hands, the new radical voices in Seattle were visible, loud, and impossible for the media to ignore.

        Other groups not directly associated with Black radicalism also spoke out against police violence and demanded justice for Armstead. Their statements, like those of Black activists, were also publicized by the Times and the P-I as public discontent at Armstead’s death grew. One of these groups was The New Party, a radical national political movement founded in the 1960s, which offered “an alternative to Democrats and Republicans” while advocating for the end of “the United States’ policy of intervention, exploitation, and colonialism.” The Seattle chapter demanded the removal of Prosecutor Carroll from office, an investigation into Armstead’s death, and urged “the police department to review its policy of shooting fleeing persons,” calling Buttedahl’s killing of Armstead an “irresponsible police action.” Hascal O. Humes, New Party candidate for the county commission, described the King County coroner’s office as “one of the most bigoted institutions you will ever find” and the inquest a “farce.”[90] The NVL echoed these statements by organizing a recall movement to oust Prosecutor Carroll, bringing his abusive record against King County’s Black community into focus. They sought a federal hearing under the provisions of the Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1967, and in addition, chairman Lloyd Jackson harshly criticized the slaying of Armstead, asking “why was the boy shot in the stomach?” when something “less injurious [such] as tear gas or mace” could have been used.[91] Here, both papers plainly portrayed the increasingly radical attitudes of Seattle’s activist communities by publishing their critical statements in full. 

Both papers also centered their focus on a large rally criticizing the SPD, Mayor Braman, and Prosecutor Carroll. Seattle BPP Minister of Defense Curtis Harris stated at the rally that Black activists must “all get together and do something” about the inquest trial.[92] Lloyd Jackson, also at the rally, stated that Seattle’s Black citizens were “no longer willing to obey the white man’s timeline” for justice. Not expecting justice to be served, Harris stated at Armstead’s funeral that he “knew beforehand” that the inquest jury would rule his death justifiable homicide. Putting it succinctly, one speaker stated that Armstead’s death “would have been a shadow” in the past, but “today it is the voice of Black liberation by any means necessary.”[93] The demands for justice were not just isolated within the Black community. Rather, huge swaths of people from all walks of life came together to demand justice for Armstead and to advocate for change within the SPD and King County inquest system. Black radicals and other activists in Seattle were ready for changes in policing and the status quo, and as they organized, the Times and P-I took notice by featuring their words and perspectives in their reporting. Their actions would continue throughout the 1970s, and the slaying of another Black man only motivated them further.

On the morning of May 15, 1970, Larry G. Ward, a 22-year-old Black Vietnam War veteran, was driven to Hardcastle Realty at 24th Avenue E. and E. Union Street by police informant and ex-convict Alfred Rudolph Burnett. Upon reaching their destination, Ward exited the vehicle and approached the property, carefully analyzing his surroundings to ensure he was alone. The coast clear, Ward allegedly walked up the building’s steps and set down a small dynamite bomb wrapped in newspaper, but failed to properly ignite it. The light of his matchsticks were noticed by SPD officers John Hannah and John Garner, who were waiting across the street inside an unmarked police vehicle.[94] The officers shouted their identities at Ward and demanded that he freeze. Ward bolted, and the officers pursued him in their vehicle. Officer Hannah, armed with a shotgun, aimed and fired at Ward, missing twice before hitting Ward in the chest and killing him with the third shot. Ward was later pronounced dead on arrival at Harborview Medical Center. The police claimed that there were no witnesses to the shooting, and that no car was found in the area. In a surprising turn of events, the inquest jury ruled that Ward died “by criminal means,” effectively placing blame for his death on Officer Hannah.[95] Like the shooting of Reese, Ward’s death shook up Seattle’s politics and mobilized community activists to fight for justice and to advocate for reforms within the SPD. Coverage in the Times and P-I of this instance of police violence was mixed in comparison to previously mentioned cases, with both papers publishing wildly different perspectives on Ward’s death. Throughout this case’s news cycle, the Times relied on noncritical, official source materials in response to Ward’s alleged act of terrorism. Rather than explore the context of his actions and speak to other sources, they maintained a narrative which portrayed Ward as a criminal whose death was necessary. The P-I, in contrast, maintained a sympathetic analysis of the case and sought out nonofficial, critical sources by profiling community members and Ward’s family.

Seattle’s Black community and activists erupted in rage at Ward’s death. Collectively, they demanded that charges be brought against officers Hannah and Garner, that half of the members of the inquest jury be selected by the Black community, and that activists hold a mass demonstration at the location of the inquest trial.[96] The pressure that community activists placed on King County Prosecutor Charles O. Carroll eventually led to the placement of two Black men on the inquest jury: Edward Russell Jr., the former head of the Seattle CORE office, and James Jackson Jr., a railway worker.[97] The unprecedented 3-2 ruling which claimed that Ward had died under “criminal means” signaled a change in the public perception of police violence in Seattle and created controversy which both papers highlighted in their coverage. Throughout the media discussion of the inquest trial, the P-I published articles which featured nonofficial, critical perspectives prominently, showing their sympathy for the viewpoints of activists and community members. The Times, in contrast, was unwilling to show sympathy for an alleged bomber and placed a smaller emphasis on nonofficial perspectives, focusing primarily on official perspectives and their demands in regard to the inquest process. Although both the Times and the P-I became more sympathetic to community and activist voices over time, the Times dramatically reverted back to a reliance on noncritical, official source material when reporting on Ward’s death. 

Community activists were deeply involved in the inquest process, and their opinions on the trial were published by both papers. During the trial, John Caughlan, an attorney unaffiliated with the case, shouted for justice and the right for attorneys to cross-examine the witnesses, which was not allowed at inquest trials. In the Times, he is quoted describing the inquest as just another tool used to justify police killings, “a mockery of justice.”[98] In agreement with Caughlan was James McIver, the attorney for the Ward family. He proclaimed to the P-I that the inquest system “sets up one man as judge, jury and prosecutor, from which there is no appeal.”[99] A strong position against the inquest system existed among community members seeking justice for victims of police violence. Aware that the system was a farce, critics made their voices heard, and both papers published their criticisms—with strong differences.

The P-I’s coverage of the Ward case was sympathetic and analytical, including several pieces about Ward’s personal life and qualities. The paper also discussed the context of the Black community’s strong reaction to his death. In a profile of Ward, P-I reporter Whittier Johnson took up nearly an entire page describing Ward’s life and passions, photographs of his family included. Ward’s mother, Mrs. Gertrude Ward, stated that her son was easy-going, gentle, and a hard-working member of his family who in no way would have attempted to bomb a building. The article also quoted letters he wrote to his mother and brothers while serving in Vietnam in which Ward stated that he had plans to buy up land and build a nice house for his future family. Unfortunately, his life was tragically cut short by police violence. Ending the piece, Johnson wrote: “Not all good and not all bad, Larry Ward was a confident, quiet Black man, a war hero, a dreamer, a regular guy and a favorite brother. Was he the kind of young man who would get involved in a militant bombing? Will we ever know?”[100] Previous reporting on other cases of police violence in the P-I included these crucial perspectives, but only during the Ward case did the paper so strongly characterize and contextualize the pain felt by the community and the victim’s family. An article of such magnitude shows how the P-I covered police violence with more sympathy and analysis over time in response to community outcry and pressure.  

Another important article which displayed critical, nonofficial perspectives on the Ward case was Hilda Bryant’s “A Look At Seattle in Midsummer” in the P-I. This piece contextualized the ideas and opinions of Seattle’s Black community and displays how the P-I’s sympathy for opponents of police violence and victims increased over time. By interviewing local community leaders and activists, Bryant showcased the viewpoints of Seattle’s Black community, the national struggle for civil rights, and political strife around the nation. Quoting one community member, Bryant wrote that activists “believe real change can only be wrought through revolution.” Foreshadowing future actions and a growing radical state of mind, the community member said “if we can’t have a part of America, there won’t be a part of America as we know it today.” Harold Bookens, the instructor for the Concentrated Employment Program (CEP), told Bryant that after the Ward case, he noticed that more of the youth in the Central District openly carried guns. Georgiana Arnold, another CEP instructor, echoed the growing radicalism of the community: “I think if another killing like [Ward] occurs, it is going to be very bad for policemen here.”[101] The community was enraged at the injustice of police violence, and Ward’s death only motivated them further. Bryant honestly portrayed the emotions and opinions of Seattle’s Black community by publishing their statements without censorship or adaptation. Through the publication of this article and the fiery, controversial statements of community members and activists, the P-I sympathized with community activism and demands during the Ward case.

In contrast to the P-I, the Times published relatively few articles about the Ward case before the controversy of the inquest trial began. To their credit, the Times published articles several days after Ward’s death which displayed activist demands, but there are no activists or other nonofficial perspectives directly quoted in the articles. Times reporter Paul Henderson’s article “Officers’ Suspension Urged” laid out the demands of community activists, but included limited statements from nonofficial voices. The only resemblance to a quote in this article is the recollection of James McIver’s statement that the “physical evidence does not support the police account of Ward’s death.”[102] Rather than directly quote activists like the P-I, the Times chose to include their perspectives without quotations, sterilizing their demands. The Times also frequently collectivized the opinions of community members, referring to them as “the Blacks” and simplifying their complaints against the status quo: “The Blacks said Sowers’ method of selecting a jury leads to whites whitewashing crimes by police against Blacks.”[103] The Times mainly covered legal and local political issues from an official perspective in regard to the Ward case, with few articles focused on community demands. Instead, the Times lasered their focus on the inquest trial controversy. 

The result of the Ward inquest came as a shock to city and county officials. After several days of testimony from 19 witnesses—17 of whom were police officers—the inquest jury found in a 3-2 vote that Ward had died by criminal means.[104] The jury’s vote to accuse Officer Hannah of a crime announced a shift in the public understanding of police violence. Officials responded to this shift by working to protect the offending officers from punishment and criticizing the county inquest system.

County Inquest Officer Leo M. Sowers was a former deputy sheriff and had a strong partiality to police officers. In his service as coroner, “no inquest verdict involving conflict between Blacks and policemen was resolved in favor” of the Black victim.[105] He found a friend in the Times, which published and legitimized his statements and the statements of others criticizing the inquest jury’s ruling. Sowers spoke at rallies in support of the police, which the Times described as the “silent majority” and the “quiet middle.”[106] Several other official perspectives were quoted by the Times in an article by Marty Loken. Major Raymond Lewis Carroll, Officer Hannah’s commanding officer, proclaimed that “justice would be served” in the Ward case—but only justice for Hannah, not Larry Ward, whom Hannah killed extrajudicially.[107] At one of these rallies, Sowers was quoted saying that when he was the county coroner, “these types of things”—referring to an inquest jury finding a police officer guilty—did not happen. Clearly, his criticisms of the inquest system stemmed from his allegiance to law enforcement officers. After allowing the inquest to happen and giving in to the demands of community activists, Sowers backpedaled when the jury came to a conclusion he found unfavorable, and he criticized the system he created. The Times circulated his strong official viewpoints, legitimizing his criticisms against the inquest jury’s ruling. Additionally, the Times’ refusal to further analyze the case shows their dramatic shift back to relying on official sources, rather than including a mixture of official and nonofficial perspectives. 

Other officials following the Ward inquest put forward their own demands, which were circulated by both papers. Seattle’s police officers and their union, the Seattle Police Officers Guild (SPOG), held a meeting after the jury’s findings. At the meeting, they threatened a work stoppage until a new inquest was scheduled. In a statement to the P-I, Seattle Police Chief Frank Moore claimed that the SPD’s internal investigation into the shooting gave them “no reasons to believe” that the jury’s verdict was justified.[108] No police officer wishing to protect themself or their colleagues from punishment for misconduct, violence, or discrimination would have said otherwise. Speaking to the Times, Moore deemed the verdict “incredible.” He added that this verdict “points out the spot that the police are in,” as if the police were the ones being killed extrajudicially. Finally, he revealed his opinions on the trial, making it seem as if the inquest jury ruled incorrectly: “We pay a man to go out there… and expect him to maintain law and order by whatever means is at his disposal. Then something like this blows up in his face.”[109] To Moore, seeing Hannah receive punishment for his act of violence against Ward was an injustice. Moore was frustrated to see the inquest jury, which historically had protected officers from facing legal consequences for their violence, rule against an officer. The officers voiced their support for Officer Hannah’s violent actions against Ward, and SPOG President Sgt. Pat Murphy declared to the P-I that they would refuse to “be intimidated by any so-called inquest or radical element—whether they be white or black” in upholding their oath of office.[110] The police department took a position which protected and justified the actions of Officer Hannah in the face of public criticism. Here, both the Times and the P-I responded to the controversy surrounding the inquest jury’s ruling by turning to official sources. In doing so, the papers legitimized the claims of the SPOG and SPD officers which portrayed the inquest ruling as an injustice to Officer Hannah. 

Although the findings of inquest juries were simply advisory, the county prosecutor usually filed a charge against the accused person. Instead, Prosecutor Carroll declined to file any charges against Officer Hannah, claiming “insufficient evidence.”[111] This was the first time that a prosecuting attorney in King County had gone against the verdict returned by a coroner’s jury in 35 years.[112] Further solidifying Carroll’s stance, Presiding Superior Court Judge Stanley C. Soderland denied writ requests from James McIver to issue a warrant for Officer Hannah’s arrest. Claiming that because the jury’s findings were split and thus nullified, Soderland chose to forgo standard legal procedure in favor of protecting a guilty police officer.[113]  Community activists were frustrated by this action, and stated to the Times that the decision “not to prosecute John Hannah would lead to more strife and polarization” within the city.[114] This strife and polarization continues today as people are killed on the streets of Seattle by the SPD. 

Countless times in Seattle’s history, the killings of Black men by police officers has gone unpunished. Despite these injustices, the slayings of these men did not go unnoticed. Activists, Black Seattleites, and concerned citizens alike organized to fight police violence by taking actions into their own hands. The work that these individuals did to fight for justice and an end to police violence empowered activists to find their voice. Together, they formed Freedom Patrols to patrol their communities and protect their neighbors. They organized protests, drafted petitions, and established radical community groups such as the BPP and BSU to fight for more profound changes in the SPD. They made their voices heard to the media, directly and indirectly, to spread their message of justice and radical change. Through all of these battles, The Seattle Times and the Seattle Post-Intelligencer were there to report the news. At the beginning of the 1960s, these papers were reliant on the SPD and police officer statements as the official, noncritical source material on instances of police violence. Stripping police officers of responsibility in their slayings, the papers described police violence using the passive voice when reporting on the deaths of Robert Reese, Eddie Ray Lincoln, Welton Butch Armstead, and Larry Ward. However, as activism increased throughout the decade, the actions of Seattle’s Black community and activists grabbed the media’s attention, which brought their perspectives, opinions, and sympathies into the media coverage as nonofficial, critical sources. As the 1960s wore on, the papers included the perspectives of activists, Black Seattleites, and victim’s families more prominently in their reporting—except for in 1970, when the Times specifically reverted back to a reliance on official, noncritical sources during their coverage of the Ward case. The fact that Ward was killed while allegedly engaging in terrorism made the Times reevaluate their source material, as showing support for a supposed terrorist would not have benefited their reputation. Despite this aberration, activists still had a tremendous influence on the coverage of police violence in Seattle’s major print media in the 1960s. Their work must not be forgotten—activists everywhere fighting against police violence should learn from their hard work, and fight to bring their perspectives into the media. The media plays a crucial role in how we define and understand deeply controversial and divisive political issues, and the perspectives of those who seek justice must proliferate for change to come. Together, Seattle’s Black community and activists forged a powerful movement which defied police violence and the false media narratives that stripped police officers of responsibility and demonized victims. This tradition of defiance continues today in the United States—a nation still plagued by police violence—yet populated by citizens who are enraged, inspired, and ready to act. Police violence must end, and we all have the power to stop it, together. 

 References