Right of passage

A local hip-hop group wanted to host a free memorial for victims of the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot. Its members found out that was harder—and more hurtful—than they knew.

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The group hosted a similar performance at the Green the year before. Called “The 4 Elements of Hip-Hop,” it was a showcase of an interdisciplinary genre, disobedient of societal divisions and boundaries. Hahn envisioned a repeat, with breakdancing, graffiti, rap, and DJ’ing; this year, he thought, on that date, it could be more than just a concert.

Hahn got the go-ahead from the other six members of Oilhouse and reached out for sponsors. Oilhouse signed the McNellie’s Group and Blue Ox Dining Group, the Arts and Humanities Council of Tulsa, and Louder Than a Bomb, a spoken-word program for Tulsa high schoolers. The group used the money to hire a sound technician and to print posters and hand bills for the event, which it named “1921: Tulsa Race Riot Memorial Arts Showcase.” Curtain time was set for 7 p.m., nearly 93 years to the hour since Tulsa’s darkest chapter was written.

A month before the event, on his planning period at school, Hahn sat down to his computer to see if the group was any closer to his goal of 1,000 RSVPs. His stomach sank when he saw that a single comment on the event’s Facebook page had, in just a few hours, erupted. He scrolled through more than 100 comments, reading them all, replying to most, defending his intent. If this event is for “the community” as Hahn had said, some commenters asked, why was it planned for the Brady District and not Greenwood?

As he watched on Facebook the discontent about the “1921” event grow, Hahn wondered, “Did I just offend the entire group I wanted to honor?”