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St. Cloud, Minn. — St. Cloud's human rights director, Baba Odukale, is standing in front of the charred remains of a garage. He's in Clearwater, about 10 miles south of St. Cloud; he's investigating a case. A pile of blackened junk emanates out from the garage. A police sign reading "arson" crowns the scene. It hangs in curious juxtaposition to a sign at the church just next door. That sign reads "fellowship."
Odukale shakes his head as he examines the burnt out car and bicycles piled inside the garage.
"How this place is still standing is somewhat amazing to me," he remarks.
Odukale has heard from sources that this arson might be race related. A black family lives here-- the Beasleys. They have 5 kids.
Inside the home, Odukale asks Natoyia Beasley to describe what happened the night of the fire.
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"I was sitting in the chair over here, and my husband came over to sit next to me," she explains. "And the house shook, like a really big bang. My husband jumped up and said 'The garage is on fire! The garage is on fire.'"
Beasley goes on to describe race related problems her family has had since moving to town in June. She says a group of boys ride by the house regularly and yell racial slurs. But that's not all.
"My son was at the park and he was jumped by one of these boys," she says.
Odukale gets on the phone with local police and asks about the arson investigation.
"Do we have any suspects in mind?" Odukale pauses. "Several suspects? Okay. So there are some leads."
The police tell Odukale there isn't enough evidence to pursue the arson as a hate crime. But given the Beasleys' stories about other racial incidents, Odukale will hold on to his notes about the family and check in with them again.
Odukale says in cases like this, which take place outside St. Cloud's city limits, he can only play an advisory role. But he says knowing what's going on in neighboring cities like Clearwater will be useful down the road.
"If, at the end of the day, some people are talking about regionalizing the office of human rights, we'd also be interested in being able to say 'Well listen, even if you're out of our jurisdiction, we continue to get complaints there,'" Odukale explains. "So there is a need for a human rights office of some sort in some of these areas."
Convincing neighboring towns to grant the office legal powers will be one step. It will also be necessary to win their financial support.
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St. Cloud mayor John Ellenbecker says city budgets are tight everywhere, given the state's cuts to local governments. So Ellenbecker knows it won't be easy to get other towns to pitch in for a regional human rights office. But he says grant money could get the ball rolling.
"We would like to see if we can't find some sort of a granting organization that would see this as a valuable community move and give us some of the seed money that it would take to get a more regional approach to enforcement," Ellenbecker says.
It's worth noting that another human rights office of a comparable size, in Duluth, is struggling to stay open. Duluth and St. Cloud are the only cities outside St. Paul and Minneapolis that have human rights departments with investigative powers. Only recently, money came through to keep the Duluth office open through 2005, but it isn't clear what will happen thereafter.
St. Cloud's investment in its human rights office is a source of pride for Baba Odukale.
"We are the only one in Central Minnesota to have a human rights office. That in itself is a plus," Odukale says. "This city is a lot more progressive than we give it credit for."
There have been improvements in the way the city administration deals with human rights issues, but problems persist at the ground level. In the past few weeks, racist graffiti has appeared in public places around St. Cloud and at a home in nearby Sauk Rapids. It's proof that the human rights office is responding to a real need, and there's still a lot of work to be done.
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