News (Media Awareness Project) - US TX: Retired Minister Works On For Justice |
Title: | US TX: Retired Minister Works On For Justice |
Published On: | 2001-09-09 |
Source: | Lexington Herald-Leader (KY) |
Fetched On: | 2008-01-25 08:30:15 |
RETIRED MINISTER WORKS ON FOR JUSTICE
Although he has retired and even though his political and social beliefs
are shared by only a few in Tulia, Texas, Charles Kiker has not muted his
passion for social justice the least little bit.
A Baptist minister who once lived in Louisville and Campbellsville, Kiker's
newest campaign is his quest to bring justice to the 46 people arrested in
a controversial drug bust two years ago in Tulia, his hometown. Instead of
praise, however, he has earned the scorn of former friends and others.
Kiker's most recent battle has brought national attention to the small
agricultural town of 5,000 in the Texas Panhandle.
On July 23, 1999, just four months after he retired to Tulia, TV cameras
caught the surprise arrests of 43 people accused of dealing drugs.
Newspaper headlines called those arrested "scum" and "garbage," and Kiker,
along with most of Tulia, was relieved to have those people off the streets.
It was only after his wife, Patricia Kiker, off-handedly asked how such a
small, poor town could support 43 drug dealers did Charles begin to look at
the situation differently.
Thirty-nine of those arrested were black. The others were in relationships
with blacks.
And then they noticed about 50 children were left homeless after the raids.
The 39 blacks arrested, 17 percent of the black community in Swisher
County, made up nearly half the black adults.
Charles, 67, Patricia and their daughter and son-in-law, Nancy and Alan
Bean, teamed up with their other daughter, Kathy Curry, the defendants,
their families, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored
People, and others to form a group known as the Friends of Justice.
They began to question the motive for the arrests. Nearly all of the blacks
arrested were charged with pushing powder cocaine, an expensive drug
usually preferred by upper-class users.
But what was far more urgent was the care of children who were left without
parents.
The Kikers took in three of the children until their mother was released.
Another woman is caring for two of her own and four of her sisters' children.
Patricia, 64, whose background is in early childhood education and
training, began organizing efforts to provide supplies for the children.
Donations of food, clothing and money came in, and a group from Lubbock was
able to provide each family with a new blanket as well as older blankets
before cold temperatures arrived. Patricia also spearheaded a drive to
provide gifts at Christmas.
And the needs continue. "There is hardly a day goes by that you don't get
calls from people who need help or have problems," Patricia said.
Throughout it all, she said, the families of the defendants must be taught
how to stand up for themselves, their family members and their rights. They
hold weekly meetings, research laws, have attended rallies in Austin and
spoken with legislators.
TV news magazines have broadcast stories on the drug sting, and newspaper
articles abound.
A lawsuit has been filed against the undercover agent, the Swisher County
sheriff and the district attorney, claiming blacks were unfairly targeted.
Also, the Justice Department and the FBI are investigating the arrests and
the sting.
Charles was born and grew up in Tulia, graduating from high school in 1950.
"The school system was entirely white," he said. "There may have been some
Hispanics in the lower grades, but they were migrant workers.
"The black population was constant. It was vulnerable because it was small."
The population of Tulia is estimated to be 51 percent white, 40 percent
Hispanic and 8 percent black.
The Kikers married as teen-agers and started their family in Tulia. They
then moved to Louisville from 1962 to 1968, while he was earning his
doctorate from the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.
>From 1971 to 1973, he was a professor and the campus minister at
Campbellsville Community College. Without elaborating, he said he was fired
and his family returned to Louisville, where he worked for six years in a
jobs program for the unemployed and underemployed. And he dabbled in real
estate.
His older daughter, Nancy, graduated from Campbellsville High School and
later the University of Kentucky. She earned a master's degree in divinity
from Southern Baptist in 1980.
His younger daughter, Kathy, attended Campbellsville High School, but
graduated from Atherton High School in Louisville in 1974 before attending
UK and finishing her nursing training at Elizabethtown Community College.
She worked as a nurse in Louisville for several years.
In 1979, Charles and Patricia packed their bags and moved to Colorado
Springs, Colo.
He worked in real estate and his wife worked in day care and with the Head
Start program. He also taught a course at the University of Southern Colorado.
In 1985, he re-entered the ministry, pastoring a congregation just south of
Pueblo for three years and then moving to a church in Idaho.
Then, in 1991, he became the head minister of First Baptist Church in
Kansas City, Kan., which turned out to be a training ground for his work in
Tulia.
The community surrounding First Baptist was changing from blue-collar and
middle-class whites to middle-class and professional blacks and Hispanics.
"It was a hard time in Kansas City," he said, adding that he tried to move
the church in a direction that would address the needs of the minorities
who were moving into the community.
"I didn't lick my finger and stick it in the air to see which way the air
was blowing before making a decision," he said.
And that didn't sit well with long-time members. "I was on shaky ground,"
with the congregation, he said, but, "I don't feel I have any choice" but
to work for change.
He and his wife decided to retire to Tulia, and did so in 1999. Their
daughters and their families beat them to the punch, moving there a year
before their parents.
Little did they know that an undercover police officer, Tom Coleman, was
weaving a web to snare as many of Tulia's drug dealers as he could.
All the defendants were arrested on the unsubstantiated word of an
undercover police officer whose integrity later came into question. No
guns, drug paraphernalia or large amounts of cash were seized in the raid.
In all but a few cases, Coleman alleged he was sold one to four grams of
powder cocaine, which is punishable by as many as 20 years in state prison.
Some acknowledged selling drugs to Coleman, but said they sold him less
than a gram of crack, which carries a jail term of as many as 18 months.
Those who pleaded guilty were sentenced to as many as 8 years in prison.
In a few cases, charges were dismissed for lack of evidence. Everyone who
went to trial was convicted, and sentenced to between 12 and 99 years. One
man was freed after the charges against him were dismissed on appeal.
With the help of the ACLU and a couple of other social groups, the Friends
of Justice won a victory this year. The Texas legislature passed a law that
requires corroboration for testimony of undercover informants.
Through it all, the Kikers, the Beans and Curry have been labeled
outsiders, even though Charles Kiker grew up in the county and Nancy Bean
once held the title of Little Miss Tulia.
Some folks in Tulia, who overwhelmingly support the sheriff, choose not to
speak to them. Alan Bean, a minister, has no chance of getting a job in the
area.
"We have good friends from the early days of our marriage," Charles said.
"They are still our friends, but they are a little more cautious about
being seen with us.
"Some of my family are very distant. My brother is very distant. My wife's
aunt and uncle host a family reunion each year, a big event with more than
100 people. (The aunt) let it be known that we weren't welcome. We went
anyway. Some of them don't understand what we're doing, but they love us
anyway.
"Then there is a couple who have written us off."
So, is it worth it?
"Is it worth it to be faithful to God?" Charles asked. "I don't feel I have
any choice."
But don't you get tired of it all? Don't you want to rest during your
retirement?
With her voicing breaking, Patricia said, "We have made these wonderful
friends who we would have no reason to hunt up, or get to know. These
people who are hung up in this kind of thing, some of these people are now
our dearest friends."
Isn't it exhausting? Don't you want to rest in your golden years?
"It doesn't last a day, but it comes. One time I said, 'I just want to get
this over so we can get our lives back.' My daughter said, 'Mom, this is
our lives."'
Although he has retired and even though his political and social beliefs
are shared by only a few in Tulia, Texas, Charles Kiker has not muted his
passion for social justice the least little bit.
A Baptist minister who once lived in Louisville and Campbellsville, Kiker's
newest campaign is his quest to bring justice to the 46 people arrested in
a controversial drug bust two years ago in Tulia, his hometown. Instead of
praise, however, he has earned the scorn of former friends and others.
Kiker's most recent battle has brought national attention to the small
agricultural town of 5,000 in the Texas Panhandle.
On July 23, 1999, just four months after he retired to Tulia, TV cameras
caught the surprise arrests of 43 people accused of dealing drugs.
Newspaper headlines called those arrested "scum" and "garbage," and Kiker,
along with most of Tulia, was relieved to have those people off the streets.
It was only after his wife, Patricia Kiker, off-handedly asked how such a
small, poor town could support 43 drug dealers did Charles begin to look at
the situation differently.
Thirty-nine of those arrested were black. The others were in relationships
with blacks.
And then they noticed about 50 children were left homeless after the raids.
The 39 blacks arrested, 17 percent of the black community in Swisher
County, made up nearly half the black adults.
Charles, 67, Patricia and their daughter and son-in-law, Nancy and Alan
Bean, teamed up with their other daughter, Kathy Curry, the defendants,
their families, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored
People, and others to form a group known as the Friends of Justice.
They began to question the motive for the arrests. Nearly all of the blacks
arrested were charged with pushing powder cocaine, an expensive drug
usually preferred by upper-class users.
But what was far more urgent was the care of children who were left without
parents.
The Kikers took in three of the children until their mother was released.
Another woman is caring for two of her own and four of her sisters' children.
Patricia, 64, whose background is in early childhood education and
training, began organizing efforts to provide supplies for the children.
Donations of food, clothing and money came in, and a group from Lubbock was
able to provide each family with a new blanket as well as older blankets
before cold temperatures arrived. Patricia also spearheaded a drive to
provide gifts at Christmas.
And the needs continue. "There is hardly a day goes by that you don't get
calls from people who need help or have problems," Patricia said.
Throughout it all, she said, the families of the defendants must be taught
how to stand up for themselves, their family members and their rights. They
hold weekly meetings, research laws, have attended rallies in Austin and
spoken with legislators.
TV news magazines have broadcast stories on the drug sting, and newspaper
articles abound.
A lawsuit has been filed against the undercover agent, the Swisher County
sheriff and the district attorney, claiming blacks were unfairly targeted.
Also, the Justice Department and the FBI are investigating the arrests and
the sting.
Charles was born and grew up in Tulia, graduating from high school in 1950.
"The school system was entirely white," he said. "There may have been some
Hispanics in the lower grades, but they were migrant workers.
"The black population was constant. It was vulnerable because it was small."
The population of Tulia is estimated to be 51 percent white, 40 percent
Hispanic and 8 percent black.
The Kikers married as teen-agers and started their family in Tulia. They
then moved to Louisville from 1962 to 1968, while he was earning his
doctorate from the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.
>From 1971 to 1973, he was a professor and the campus minister at
Campbellsville Community College. Without elaborating, he said he was fired
and his family returned to Louisville, where he worked for six years in a
jobs program for the unemployed and underemployed. And he dabbled in real
estate.
His older daughter, Nancy, graduated from Campbellsville High School and
later the University of Kentucky. She earned a master's degree in divinity
from Southern Baptist in 1980.
His younger daughter, Kathy, attended Campbellsville High School, but
graduated from Atherton High School in Louisville in 1974 before attending
UK and finishing her nursing training at Elizabethtown Community College.
She worked as a nurse in Louisville for several years.
In 1979, Charles and Patricia packed their bags and moved to Colorado
Springs, Colo.
He worked in real estate and his wife worked in day care and with the Head
Start program. He also taught a course at the University of Southern Colorado.
In 1985, he re-entered the ministry, pastoring a congregation just south of
Pueblo for three years and then moving to a church in Idaho.
Then, in 1991, he became the head minister of First Baptist Church in
Kansas City, Kan., which turned out to be a training ground for his work in
Tulia.
The community surrounding First Baptist was changing from blue-collar and
middle-class whites to middle-class and professional blacks and Hispanics.
"It was a hard time in Kansas City," he said, adding that he tried to move
the church in a direction that would address the needs of the minorities
who were moving into the community.
"I didn't lick my finger and stick it in the air to see which way the air
was blowing before making a decision," he said.
And that didn't sit well with long-time members. "I was on shaky ground,"
with the congregation, he said, but, "I don't feel I have any choice" but
to work for change.
He and his wife decided to retire to Tulia, and did so in 1999. Their
daughters and their families beat them to the punch, moving there a year
before their parents.
Little did they know that an undercover police officer, Tom Coleman, was
weaving a web to snare as many of Tulia's drug dealers as he could.
All the defendants were arrested on the unsubstantiated word of an
undercover police officer whose integrity later came into question. No
guns, drug paraphernalia or large amounts of cash were seized in the raid.
In all but a few cases, Coleman alleged he was sold one to four grams of
powder cocaine, which is punishable by as many as 20 years in state prison.
Some acknowledged selling drugs to Coleman, but said they sold him less
than a gram of crack, which carries a jail term of as many as 18 months.
Those who pleaded guilty were sentenced to as many as 8 years in prison.
In a few cases, charges were dismissed for lack of evidence. Everyone who
went to trial was convicted, and sentenced to between 12 and 99 years. One
man was freed after the charges against him were dismissed on appeal.
With the help of the ACLU and a couple of other social groups, the Friends
of Justice won a victory this year. The Texas legislature passed a law that
requires corroboration for testimony of undercover informants.
Through it all, the Kikers, the Beans and Curry have been labeled
outsiders, even though Charles Kiker grew up in the county and Nancy Bean
once held the title of Little Miss Tulia.
Some folks in Tulia, who overwhelmingly support the sheriff, choose not to
speak to them. Alan Bean, a minister, has no chance of getting a job in the
area.
"We have good friends from the early days of our marriage," Charles said.
"They are still our friends, but they are a little more cautious about
being seen with us.
"Some of my family are very distant. My brother is very distant. My wife's
aunt and uncle host a family reunion each year, a big event with more than
100 people. (The aunt) let it be known that we weren't welcome. We went
anyway. Some of them don't understand what we're doing, but they love us
anyway.
"Then there is a couple who have written us off."
So, is it worth it?
"Is it worth it to be faithful to God?" Charles asked. "I don't feel I have
any choice."
But don't you get tired of it all? Don't you want to rest during your
retirement?
With her voicing breaking, Patricia said, "We have made these wonderful
friends who we would have no reason to hunt up, or get to know. These
people who are hung up in this kind of thing, some of these people are now
our dearest friends."
Isn't it exhausting? Don't you want to rest in your golden years?
"It doesn't last a day, but it comes. One time I said, 'I just want to get
this over so we can get our lives back.' My daughter said, 'Mom, this is
our lives."'
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