Samaria Rice lost her son Tamir more than a decade ago. She still has not had a chance to grieve.
“I’ve been working since the death of my son. Haven’t had much of a break,” she says. “I haven’t had a chance to mourn him because Cleveland has not allowed me to do it.”
In late June, she started a GoFundMe to commemorate what would have been her son’s 23rd birthday. On Nov. 22, 2014, Tamir was killed by former Cleveland police officer Timothy Loehmann. The 12-year-old was playing in a park with a toy pellet gun. The tragedy fueled nationwide protests.
Why We Wrote This
Tamir Rice was killed at age 12 by a Cleveland police officer. His mother’s passion and solace are in helping children, but she also wants to provide a cultural road map for young people. Part of an occasional series.
Ms. Rice, who is trying to open a cultural center for children, has done previous fundraisers in the years since her son’s death. What made this one different was the contribution of a former Cleveland Cavalier. Kyrie Irving, who made the go-ahead basket in the final game of the 2016 NBA Finals, donated five figures toward Tamir’s legacy.
“I was sitting in a meeting when [someone] said, ‘Kyrie Irving just donated $50,000,’ and I was screaming so loud,” she recalls in an interview at her son’s memorial, which rests at the site of the shooting, just beyond the Cudell Recreation Center facility. “He sees the vision, and he believes in what I’m doing.”
Her plan for the funding is clear. “I want to open the Tamir Rice Afrocentric Cultural Center. I want Black children to know where they come from and who they are.”
“An exceptional child”
The Cudell Recreation Center was perhaps Tamir’s favorite place to play. On this late summer day, there’s a colorful mural lining the facility and a city-sponsored youth event where children are singing and laughing. Vendors are selling food and drinks to cut through the summer heat wave.
Within eyeshot of the mural is empty playground equipment, which looks frozen in time. With the playground in the background, Ms. Rice sits at a rock garden and memorial for Tamir, which features his boyish face and a compelling message, which reads in part:
The government of the United States shall never know the amount or depth of everlasting pain they have caused Black Americans.
Tamir, you were a unique sacrifice, and for that I will never forget the devastation caused by this country built on denying truth and fostering hatred.
His mother visits the memorial “between three and four times a year” for his birthday, the anniversary of his death, and other occasions.
“But I have other people come out and send me pictures, just to make sure [the area] is not damaged,” she says.
Tamir, born June 25, 2002, was described by many as an athletic and talented child. The former attribute became the source of what the American Civil Liberties Union of Ohio described in 2016 as racialized “adultification” after his death.
“Following the death of Tamir Rice, much attention was paid to his size. The Cleveland Police Patrolmen Association president said ‘Tamir Rice is in the wrong. He’s menacing. He’s 5-feet-7, 191 pounds. He wasn’t that little kid you’re seeing in pictures. He’s a 12-year-old in an adult body,’” the ACLU wrote in 2016. “The fixation on the size of black bodies dates back to America’s days of slave auctions, where size was exploited for value and profit. Adultification and attempts to justify physical attacks against black children in America is not new either. In fact, being young did not protect Black children from being lynched in America.”
Ms. Rice’s memories of Tamir are much more motherly, and carry a mournful lament.
“He was shooting three-pointers at 12 years old. He could throw a football as good as a grown man. He never needed training wheels or swimming lessons,” she says. “He was an exceptional child. He could have been anything. … He could have been the next Kyrie, or [soccer star] David Beckham.”
On the occasion of his 12th birthday, her son was “transitioning” from Legos, animals, and cars to playing video games and hanging out at Cudell. The draw at the rec center was the free Wi-Fi, the swimming pool, and art classes.
“He loved to draw. … Sonic [the Hedgehog] characters and stuff like that,” Ms. Rice says. “He was a big, gentle giant. He was in sixth grade, learning how to play the drums and learning how to speak Chinese.”
A few months after his 12th birthday, Tamir was playing with a toy gun near the playground at Cudell. Someone called 911 and reported that there was a “guy with a pistol” at the park, and that it was likely fake and the “guy” was a juvenile. That message was lost in translation, and the two officers in the police cruiser, including Mr. Loehmann, arrived at the scene. Initial reports suggested that Mr. Loehmann shouted three warnings at Tamir, but grainy video of the incident showed the officer fired within seconds of arrival.
“I had to reeducate myself after my son’s murder. I really thought as an American, I was gonna get justice,” Ms. Rice says. “I said, ‘How could they kill an unarmed baby and just get away with it?’ I really believed that I was going to get an indictment for the murder of my son.
“It crushed me when I didn’t get that indictment in 2015, on the 28th of December,” she says.
Mr. Loehmann was never charged for shooting Tamir. He only lost his job after investigators found that he lied about his employment history.
“I found myself falling to my knees, crying and screaming,” Ms. Rice recalls.
“I developed my voice”
Ms. Rice recalls the things she had done to keep her three children out of harm’s way. Certain video games were off-limits for Tamir. The family mostly lived in quiet, rural communities as opposed to urban areas.
“I have tried to put positive things around my children and expose them to positivity, because I had such a bad childhood,” she says. “I didn’t want them to have to go through what I went through.”
Ms. Rice was born and raised on the East Side of Cleveland, between Garfield Heights and an area formerly known as Miles Heights. That distinction is significant and ironic because Miles Heights was once an integrated suburb in Cleveland seen as a safe haven. Garfield Heights, meanwhile, endured as a representative of the city’s manufacturing history.
She describes her parents as “very loving” and “blue collar.” Then, the 1980s drug epidemic devastated her young life.
“My mom worked at the steel mill and my dad worked at [soda bottling and distribution plant] 7-Up, but when the drugs came in the ’80s, that destroyed the home,” she says. “My mom lost her job, my parents ended up getting divorced, and so on.”
Ms. Rice’s son was 12 when he was killed, and she was the same age when she essentially found herself on her own.
“I’ve been in the streets since I was 12 years old. I’ve been through the system a little bit, and then eventually I was on my own,” she says. “I can’t say it’s been peaches and cream for me. But you know, when you’re a product of your environment and there’s no guidance around, this is what happens.”
She was homeless when Tamir was born, the result of leaving an abusive relationship. She hit “rock bottom.” But the baby persevered, and became something of a “jokester.”
After the police shooting, she says she had to “suppress my feelings” to make sure that her other two children finished school. And then, she found herself speaking up against injustice of all forms.
“I was expressing myself and really standing on business, making folks accountable,” she says. “No more lies at this point. I don’t want to hear another lie. So that’s how I developed my voice.”
Building from scratch
In a lot of ways, the Afrocentric center would be a lot like Tamir – cultured, gifted, youthful – and be geared around after-school programming.
“I’ll have a performing arts studio, consisting of creative writing and theatrics. There will be mentoring, tutoring, and free music lessons,” she says. “I will implement Pan-African history classes, economics, and nutrition.”
Her passion and solace are in helping children, but she also wants to provide a cultural road map for young people.
“That’s why I’m adding civics classes … to give a child an opportunity to do things the right way,” she says. “I just want children to know exactly who they are and where they come from.”
In the middle of building the center, which she hopes will open next year, Ms. Rice is still honing her primary mission: honoring her son’s legacy and standing up for her community.
“I’ve been in and out of therapy. Probably gonna be in and out of therapy the rest of my life,” she says. “But it’s God that allows me to do the things that I do, to be a voice, to give me the courage to do and say everything that I need to say.”
Earlier in the series:
Aug. 8: How the birthplace of Black Lives Matter rebuilt trust after Trayvon Martin’s killing
July 17: ‘The city becomes a canvas for storytelling.’ How Baltimore is honoring Freddie Gray.
July 7: ‘That’s the warrior spirit.’ Why Valerie Castile is determined to honor her son.
May 21: George Floyd’s family lawyer thinks the path to justice is ‘more daunting than ever’
May 18: George Floyd’s murder sparked a reckoning on race. But did America change?
