VIOLENCE + VIDEO: The Story of Tyisha Miller

Today is Dec. 28:

The Story of Tyisha Miller.

I always remember Tyisha Miller. Today I remember even more painfully because it is the anniversary of her embittering death. December 28, third day of the African American holiday of Kwanzaa. Before I tell you about a play I recently saw about her murder, let me give the back-story.

In the early morning hours of December 28, 1998, Tyisha Miller, a 19-year-old African American woman from Rubidoux, Riverside, California, had been driving with her 15-year-old friend late in her aunt’s Nissan Sentra when the car got a flat tire. A passing stranger helped them change the tyre, but the spare was flat, so the stranger led them to a filling station to inflate it. The tire would not hold air so Ms. Miller waited in the car while the man drove her friend home to get assistance from the family.

When relatives arrived they found Ms. Miller apparently comatose in the locked car, with the engine running and the radio on. She was shaking bodily and foaming at the mouth, and had a .380 semi-automatic pistol in her lap. Unable to wake her they called 9-1-1. Four Police officers arrived at the scene within minutes and, informed by family members of the presence of a gun in the car, approached the vehicle with guns drawn. After attempting for several minutes to get a response from Miller, the decision was made to force entry into the vehicle as Miller was in apparent need of immediate medical attention. As one of the officers was attempting to remove the gun, Miller is said to have sat up and grabbed the weapon, at which point the officers opened fire 23 times, hitting Ms. Miller with at least 12 bullets, including 4 in the head.

Back to the play, I recently had the honor of meeting the mastermind behind this play, Rickerby Hinds. He has been revolutionizing the landscape of Black performance with his hip-hop theater, a sub-genre of theater that uses beat-boxing, rapping as delivery of dramatic meaning on stage. As I sat in that theater watching this brilliant play called Dreamscape, I was hit by a bitter sense of familiarity with the play.  I recognized the excellent portrayal of the daily micro-aggressions I endure as a Black man living in the US. I recognized the pain and the fear that flashes before my eyes everytime I get stopped by police for “fitting the description” of a burglar on the loose. And that description? Dark Skin.

Rickerby Hinds’ docu-dramatic play, Dreamscape is a stirring account of the cold murder of Tyisha Miller, a 19-year old African-American whom police officers shot when they found her comatose in her car. She was intoxicated – yes – but the bone-splitting bullets that rained upon her body remain a bitter, if unnecessary, reminder of racist police violence in the US. Using elements that an American audience would see as markers of Black culture in the US such as hip-hop, beat-boxing, ebonics etc., Rickerby Hinds cleverly weakens the power of the stereotype and makes way for multiple narratives of Blackness, or at least a Blackness definition that includes humanity. By that I mean that he does not deny that some of us Black people enjoy hip-hop for example but he shows what else we love – simply being human and being perceived as such without need to be spectacularized. There is an underlying tone of Negritude, of re-claiming racial charges, with which Hinds adapts the Tyisha Miller story.

As a Black man living in the US, I am an angry object of both White-against-Black racism, and America-against-foreigner racism. I am a fetishized token of diversity and Americans expect me to the embodiment of all things insultingly “cultural,” primitively “African” and so forth, completely erasing my individuality out of the picture. It is through my facelessness then that I recognize Tyisha’s. Before the law, she is just another Black body and that is why the said police officers can joke about her death, remarking laughingly that Kwanza having come early for her grieving family. To these laughing policemen, she is not someone’s daughter or sister, in the eyes of these keepers of law and order. She is just another one from that traumatized incomprehensible group that has hopped labels from Nigger to Negro to Black American to African-American in search of a name that cures the trauma of history only to find endless yearning for belonging.

Miller’s blood was spilt at the hand of police officers and as such the playwright uses the coroner’s report as his source material. In this way Hinds is able to show how draconic the American justice system is without ranting against it but rather holding up a mirror to the system itself. This literary device is well-employed to allow the audience to start its own conversation about the law and hopefully with the law. Another way that Hinds holds up the mirror – although this time to his audience – is by having a Black actor portray the police officers, none of whom were Black. Consumption of the Black body in American art and entertainment is of a body that can do too many things – like loudly sing, jump up and down as a minstrel, shout melodiously, contort like a snake, frighten with its gaze, seduce with its Otherness – but is never the face of the law, at least not in a way that calms anxious racists. Seeing the voice of the law embodied in Black skin therefore forces the audience to confront its prejudices therefore. You cannot deny that this is the legal report. But why is it strange to you that it is coming from a Black body, despite that body being American just like its blonde and blue-eyed compatriots? The audience gets to see its own prejudices and then hopefully that softens them to the adapted story of California’s Tyisha Miller.

Along the same vein of corporeal embodiment, Hinds exemplifies how adaptation can succeed transmedially. I am reminded of Josephine Baker who, although she is never included in the list of Negritude writes, did write with her body. She used her body as text and instrument in order to carve out new images of Black women’s power on stage and in returning the gaze of their spectator. In a similar manner, Hinds not only takes Tyisha’s emotions and last thoughts and puts them into the written word but also puts them into dance. Again, this being a hip-hop theater piece, I heard audience members’ airing their expectations of booty-popping before the show. But Hinds showed them a Black female body gliding through balletic movements with her clothes on which is a far cry from the Black female bodies that exist in hip-hop music only to writhe on truck-tops wearing only their underwear. The source material here, hip-hop music (especially for the beat-boxing parts), is re-territorialized in the process of adaptation in order to dismantle the single story of misogynist hip-hop, to dismantle the single story of the vixen Black dancer, to quietly and hopefully show that perhaps Tyisha’s life was more than her drug use or her skin.

Today is December 28. I am in California. I am Black.

 

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RIVERSIDE:

Playwright debuts drama inspired by Tyisha Miller case

 KURT MILLER/STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER
Rhaechyl Walker, 23, of Moreno Valley portrays Myeisha Mills, and John "Faahz" Merchant, 27, of Ontario plays the police officer, dispatcher and coroner during the rehearsal of "Dreamscape," a play about Tyisha Miller by UCR professor Rickerby Hinds. 
For years, Rickerby M. Hinds balked at writing this play.

When “Dreamscape” opens Saturday night at UC Riverside, officers will fire 12 bullets into a 19-year-old girl. Each shot will trigger a memory of her short life before the last three end it.

That character is Myeisha Mills, who’s asleep in her car with a loaded pistol on her lap.

Hinds hopes the performance will evoke memories of the nightmare Riverside would rather forget.

The 80-minute production is a haunting echo of one of the biggest racial controversies in the city’s recent history, the fatal police shooting of Tyisha Miller 14 years ago.

Ever since the event roiled Riverside and grabbed national headlines, “Dreamscape’s” author/director/producer knew the story was his to tell. The challenge was how to dramatize it in a compelling way.

Until 2004, Hinds, an award-winning professor of playwriting at UCR, dodged writing the script for fear of exploiting the tragedy.

COLD, HARD FACTS

In the early morning of Dec. 28, 1998, Tyisha Miller, a 19-year-old black woman from Rubidoux, was slumped unconscious inside a locked car with a flat tire at a Riverside gas station. The radio was playing and the engine was idling.

Miller was shaking and foaming at the mouth, with a semiautomatic pistol in her lap. Police responded after her family arrived and called 911.

Officers tried to rouse Miller, then broke a window to grab the weapon.

The officers, who were white, said they fired in self-defense when Miller reached for the gun. Four officers fired 24 shots, hitting Miller with at least 12 bullets. The incident sparked demonstrations and protests amid claims of police brutality and racism.

The officers involved in the shooting lost their jobs, but the U.S. Justice Department closed the investigation, citing insufficient evidence to prosecute.

Hinds blends narrative details from the actual 911 call, police and coroner’s reports with dance, recorded music, hip-hop verse and humor to imagine the last moments of Miller’s life.

“It’s crystal clear this is a powerful piece that’s trying to call us into witnessing that cultural trauma to our community,” said Tiffany Lopez, an associate professor of theater at UCR.

Hinds, 46, decided not to deal with the post-shooting politics. “I want to raise awareness versus calls for revolution,” he said.

He also avoided interviewing Miller’s family and friends for fear they would demand a biographical sketch. “I didn’t want that battle,” the playwright said. “I didn’t want to recreate or reproduce her memories.”

A REFRAMING

The piece is a marriage of fiction and reality to reframe Miller’s death as a reel of images unspooling about food, hair, sex, movies, cheerleading and softball.

“Is she dreaming? Is her life flashing before her eyes? The message, the theme, will come out of the audience, not out of the characters onstage,” Hinds said.

Produced on a shoestring budget from grants and sponsors, the set, lighting, sound effects and cast are minimal. Two actors sit in back-to-back chairs. Rhaechyl Walker, 24, of Moreno Valley, embodies the free-spirited tomboy, Myeisha Mills, who breaks into dance movements and stream-of-consciousness in pitch-perfect hip-hop rhyme.

“Did you ever have one of those dreams when nothing comes out when you want to scream?” Walker repeats throughout the performance.

John Merchant, 27, of Ontario, as the dispatcher, officer and coroner, intones the facts with vocal sound effects by manipulating his James Earl Jones’ bass. With clinical dispassion, he describes the trajectory and impact of each bullet:

“Squeeze once. Bullet one. Right upper arm, fracturing the right humerus. Nonfatal.”

Walker rises from her chair, her right arm crooked and dangling awkwardly as she dances. She’s annoyed that the blast will affect her new routine. Walker muses that her broken humerus “is not such a funny bone.”

Each hit releases another memory, a glimpse into Myeisha Mills’ kaleidoscopic thoughts before she died. Her shattered jawbone conjures the beef tips, cole slaw and baked beans she’ll miss at Gramm’s Mission BBQ on Main Street and the fantasy of kissing movie idols Denzel Washington or Wesley Snipes.

Walker, who supervises a Starbucks in Riverside, is a former student of Hinds. Merchant, a beat box artist, works in radio.

The actors clicked at the first rehearsal in August. Each instinctively responds to the other’s every pause, breath and syllable. “We mesh well,” said Merchant. “I see sounds. I visualize everything she says. Kerby (Hinds) allows us to develop our own creativity.”

THE PLAYWRIGHT

Hinds is a native of Honduras, whose family immigrated to South Central Los Angeles when he was 13. He calls “Dreamscape” one of his most important works.

“The politics comes from the audience,” he said.

Hinds wanted the language to be poetic and beautiful. “The feeling in the piece isn’t so much anger, but a sense of loss of a human being, that this shouldn’t have happened,” the playwright said. “I didn’t want to idealize (Tyisha) that she could have been a doctor or a lawyer.”

‘DREAMSCAPE’

All 500 seats already are filled at UCR’s University Theatre for the

8 p.m. performance Saturday. The playwright is working on scheduling a national tour. For news of the next local show, call 951-682-6070 or email dreamscape@bpcmediaworks.com

>via: http://www.pe.com/local-news/riverside-county/riverside/riverside-headlines-i...

 

 

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TYISHA MILLER:

She was many things to different people

Tyisha Shenee Miller, 19, seen here in this undated file photo. 
Photo: CONTRIBUTED IMAGE
Tyisha Shenee Miller, 19, seen here in this undated file photo.

Editor's note: Story originally published 12/28/2008

Like the circumstances of her death, Tyisha Miller's life cannot be summed up tidily.

The 19-year-old woman was athletic, gregarious and funny. Quick with the wisecracks and full of spunk.

She was also a high school dropout, who lived life day to day, and, according to police records, prone to fighting.

Whatever her hang-ups, her family and friends said, Miller did not deserve to die so young.

“The girl was vibrant, she was smart,” said her close friend Ayanna Simmons. “There was a future, for sure, for her.”

Miller grew up in an isolated pocket of Rubidoux north of Highway 60 near a set of railroad tracks.

She was raised by her mother, Delmer Miller; her aunt, Gwendalena Butler; and her grandmother, Minneola Butler.

Mother's Ill Health

Because Miller's mother suffered health problems, her aunt and grandmother were her primary caregivers, relatives said.

Miller was estranged from her father, David Miller. Her older sister, Latasha, had a family of her own.

Miller routinely attended church with her grandmother until she died in 1994.

Her aunt, who looked after several foster children, made sure all the children got up for school on time, did their homework and finished their chores. Saturdays were “Double Scrub” days when everything had to be extra clean.

The house often served as a gathering spot for Miller's many aunts, uncles, cousins and close friends. Food was always being prepared.

In the fall, Miller helped her aunt bake dozens of sweet potato pies in preparation for the holiday season.

Miller, who also went by the nickname “Doo Doo,” had many friends. Their pictures filled her room along with pictures of hip-hop artists and rappers she liked, including Mary J. Blige. They enjoyed listening to music and playing video games in the garage.

One of her defining qualities, they said, was her infectious, belt-out-loud laugh.

They got a kick out of the way she mocked people's mannerisms or the clothes they wore, though it was never mean-spirited.

'Free Spirit'

Miller was a tomboy through and through and didn't take offense to the term.

Her uncle, Ronald Butler, paid her $50 to wear a dress to the prom.

Pendleton-brand shirts -- like the one she wore the night she was killed -- basketball shorts and baggy pants were more her style.

Miller was a gifted athlete. On Sunday evenings, she and her relatives played softball at nearby Avalon Park.

Miller had no problem taking on the boys on the basketball court and wasn't afraid to talk smack in their faces either.

She never joined a school team even though players and coaches asked her.

She was a “free spirit,” her cousin Ray Butler said.

Miller dropped out during her senior year at Rubidoux High School. She enrolled in a continuing education program but didn't finish.

She didn't talk much about her long-term plans with her friends or family, though she did express interest in possibly joining the Army or the Air Force.

Fights

Family and friends said Miller didn't go out looking for trouble. But police reports suggested she was prone to getting into fights. According to the reports:

In January 1998, Miller and six other females jumped an 18-year-old woman. Miller later pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge of disturbing the peace.

From March to June 1998, Miller worked at Castle Amusement Park as a ride operator. A security guard complained to Miller's supervisor that her friends and relatives were lingering in gang attire and intimidating others while waiting for Miller to get off work.

When Miller found out, she told the guard, “I'll come back, you white bitch, and take you out!” the security guard told investigators.

In August 1998, Miller and her friends got into a fight at Club Metro in Rubidoux. The confrontation spilled into the parking lot and later to a Taco Bell. Miller was not charged.

In September 1998, Miller tried to enroll a 15-year-old girl at Rubidoux High School, but the principal suspected the girls were there to beat up a student. As they were escorted off campus, they yelled obscenities at the assistant principal.

In the months leading up to her death, Miller had made several new friends.

Miller didn't like the tight leash her aunt kept on her. She frequently slept over at her friends' homes.

One of them was Norma Castanon, then 27, who had worked with Miller at Castle Park.

Selflessness

Castanon said one of Miller's best qualities was her selflessness.

“You didn't have to ask her for anything,” she said.

She recalled the time when she was saddled with looking after a friend's 6-year-old daughter.

Miller showed up unannounced with $60 or $80 in cash to help her get by. Castanon asked Miller where she got the money.

“Don't worry about it,” Castanon remembered Miller saying.

Even though they were adults, they giggled and acted more like teenaged girls during the sleepovers, said Castanon's mother, Nancy Baron.

Baron recalled how they climbed out the back window at night to go to 7-Eleven to buy ice cream.

Miller smiled with her whole face and bounced around like the fictional Winnie-the-Pooh character, Tigger, Baron said.

In summer 1998, Miller befriended Ayanna Simmons, then 25, who had moved into a house around the corner from Miller's cousin.

They clicked.

Simmons taught Miller how to drive a stick shift. They traveled to San Francisco -- Miller's first plane ride -- and to Las Vegas together.

A few days before Christmas, they were driving down Interstate 10 when they almost collided with another car, Simmons recalled.

Later that day, they reflected on their near-mishap. What Miller said still haunts Simmons.

“When I die, hundreds of people will be at my funeral,” Miller said. “Everybody loves me.”

Family members and friends have found different ways to keep Miller's memory alive.

Five of Miller's cousins got tattoos on their backs that say: “Tyisha, Rest in Peace.”

Miller's cousin Ray Butler chose Tyisha for his daughter's middle name.

Preserving Letters

Bernell Butler, Miller's second cousin, stores in a briefcase a couple of letters Miller wrote to him while he was in the Navy.

In one, Miller confided that she wished she had a better relationship with her father. She asked Butler if he could be her father.

Ayanna Simmons keeps in a jewelry box some of Miller's possessions from the night she was killed: her earrings, a lollipop and a Castle Park job application.

Norma Castanon and her mother used to call Miller's pager just to hear her voice. Every year, after Thanksgiving, they visit her grave, which is adjacent to her aunt and grandmother's graves. They place a small Christmas tree there and decorate it in blue -- Miller's favorite color.

This morning, as she has done for the past 10 years, Castanon will drive to the gas station where Miller was killed. At 2:01 a.m., she will light a candle and place it on the ground where Miller was parked.

She will say a short prayer, tell Miller she misses her, and pray that God is watching over her.

 >via: http://www.pe.com/local-news/reports/tyisha-miller/tyisha-miller-headlines/20... 

 

 

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No Charges in


Killing of Tyisha Miller


The Justice Department says it finds insufficient evidence to prosecute four white Riverside police officers who shot the black woman in car.

December 13, 2002|David Rosenzweig | Times Staff Writer

The Justice Department's civil rights division said Thursday it had found insufficient evidence to prosecute four white Riverside police officers involved in the 1998 shooting death of a 19-year-old black woman who passed out in her car with a gun in her lap.

"Tyisha Miller's death was a terrible tragedy," said Assistant U.S. Atty. Gen. Gerald Boyd. "Our decision to close this investigation does not signal approval of the conduct of these officers, or indeed any official opinion concerning their conduct, but the bottom line is that our investigation, which was conducted conscientiously, has not revealed enough evidence to support federal criminal prosecution."

Boyd said any negligence, poor judgment or mistake by the officers was not enough to warrant criminal charges

 

 

Debra W. Yang, the U.S. attorney in Los Angeles, met with Miller's family to convey the Justice Department's findings, a spokesman said. Some relatives and family supporters reacted with anger and disappointment.

Miller's death created an uproar among many African Americans in Riverside, exposing a deep racial divide. It also led to intervention by state Atty. Gen. Bill Lockyer, who ordered the Police Department to adopt a sweeping reform plan designed to root out any racism.

Lockyer's office also declined to prosecute on grounds of insufficient evidence. However, the four officers were fired. Two are fighting to be reinstated.

Boyd said federal investigators reviewed the results of the local investigation and then began their own probe, interviewing witnesses to the shooting.

Miller was killed Dec. 28, 1998, when the four officers were summoned to a service station where she had locked herself in her disabled car, and then passed out while a friend had gone for help.

The officers said they tried unsuccessfully to rouse her. One then broke a side window, according to the police account, causing Miller to sit bolt upright. Fearing for their lives, they said, they opened fire. Miller did not fire her gun. Officers fired 24 times, striking her with 12 bullets.

"Our investigation did not reveal evidence disproving the officers' claim that they subsequently shot out of fear for their safety," Boyd said. "All eyewitnesses confirm that Ms. Miller had a gun in her lap and the forensic evidence corroborates the claim that she sat up -- a perceived movement toward the gun -- when one of the officers shattered the window of the locked car to gain entrance and render aid to Ms. Miller."

He said the federal investigation revealed that the first shots were fired while the officer who had shattered the window was leaning inside the car trying to reach for the gun in Miller's lap.

The fact that the officers admit firing even while their colleague was leaning into the car is strong evidence that they acted out of fear rather than with any malicious intent, Boyd said.

 The Justice Department is still conducting a civil investigation into the policies and practices of the Riverside Police Department, Boyd said, including an analysis of its dealings with minorities.

Despite the decision not to prosecute, U.S. Atty. Yang said her office remains committed to prosecuting civil rights violations whenever the evidence supports criminal charges.

The mayor of Riverside, Ronald Loveridge, said Thursday night that "this is another chapter, among the last to be closed. The city has moved forward. We've increased the professionalism and community policing. There is widespread community support for the Riverside Police Department."

He also said the city respects "the legal skills and values and research that led to the Department of Justice's decision."

But the decision was criticized by some in the community who had been involved with the family or the case. It also rekindled a bitter disagreement within the community over the Miller family's decision to settle a wrongful-death lawsuit with the city for $3 million.

The Rev. Bernell Butler, a preacher and Miller's cousin, said he disagreed with the decision to settle but backed the rest of the family at the time. Now, he said, he believes the settlement is coming back to haunt Miller's relatives.

"When they settled, it gave the federal government an out to sweep this thing under the carpet. It took away the drive and motivation for justice," Butler said. "These guys murdered her with malice, prejudice and bigotry. She was murdered. And she was a good girl."

Carolyn B. Murray, a member of the Tyisha Miller Steering Committee and a professor of psychology and ethnic studies at UC Riverside, said she was disappointed with the decision, but not shocked.

"They don't prosecute white, male police officers. They just don't -- even when the evidence is overwhelming," Murray said. "That's the American way. People say we live in a democracy. It's a facade. It's a democracy for a few."

Murray agreed with those who found the government's explanations lame at best.

"They had enough evidence to try those officers, if not on the count of murder, then on manslaughter or violating her civil rights," Murray said. "The officers that were involved all told different stories about what happened. But they all agreed on one thing: The first bullet was fired from outside the car."

Larry Halstead of Highland, a friend of Miller's family and an original member of the Steering Committee, said civil rights activists worked for weeks after the shooting to persuade angry youths not to take to the streets with violence.

"We kept all that from happening," Halstead said. "And this is how you repay us. This is what I told [federal prosecutors]: 'You undermined our credibility. You treated us like a bunch of thugs.' They are sending a message that is the wrong message. They are sending a message to the citizens of the United States that cops are going to get away with this."

>via: http://articles.latimes.com/2002/dec/13/local/me-tyisha13