Protesters (above) during the open housing marches cross the 16th St. Viaduct as pictured in the Sept. 9, 1967, Milwaukee Star newspaper and (below) a group marches on North Avenue on May 31, 2020. (Photo by Allison Dikanovic) Editor’s note: Have something on your mind? “Community Voices” is the place to let Milwaukee hear what you have to say. To be considered, we need your name, email address and phone number for verification. Please email your submissions to [email protected]. Antonio Ramirez is an assistant professor of history and political science at Elgin Community College in Illinois. Black, brown and white Milwaukeeans have taken to the streets to demand justice for George Floyd and all victims of police brutality. In Milwaukee and across the nation, protests have been met with police violence. Of course, this is not the first time Milwaukee police have tried to crush calls for accountability and justice. Do you have feedback on Milwaukee NNS's reporting? Take our survey to let us know how we're doing! In the late 1960s and early 1970s, a multiracial coalition in Milwaukee came together to fight for the rights of black and brown workers, mothers receiving welfare and victims of police brutality. And Milwaukee police and the Wisconsin state legislature used violent methods to try to stop them. Though they were vilified in their day, today Milwaukee celebrates black participants in the city’s 1960s civil rights movement and white leaders like Father James Groppi. The young people of the NAACP Youth Council and Commandos that marched for more than 200 days to demand open housing are, rightly so, now considered heroes. Fewer Milwaukeeans know that after the open housing marches ended, black and brown activists, along with Groppi, spent years demanding jobs for people of color, for welfare rights and for an end to police brutality. In July 1968, only a few months after the open housing marches ended, Father Groppi and members of the NAACP Youth Council began picketing Allen-Bradley to urge the company to hire more black workers. At the time, almost all of the 7,500-person workforce was white. By August, the campaign was heating up. Groppi said he and his supporters would end employment discrimination at Allen-Bradley “even if we have to burn it down.” A candidate for Milwaukee County sheriff called for criminal charges against Groppi and said he “agreed 100%” that, if protests got out of hand, law enforcement should shoot to kill. Residents of Milwaukee’s near South Side Latina/o neighborhood stepped up to join the struggle. During the previous decade, they had criticized the city and Allen-Bradley for razing Latinx-owned homes and replacing them with employee parking lots and an interstate freeway, squeezing the Latina/o community into a smaller area and dilapidated housing. That fall, Latinx activists including Roberto Hernandez (namesake of today’s UW-Milwaukee’s Latino student center) announced that Milwaukee Latinxs and African Americans had formed an alliance. The coalition would call for Allen-Bradley to hire blacks and Latina/os. Working together, black and brown activists won. Allen-Bradley was forced to diversify its workforce. The multiracial coalition’s work continued the following year when the Wisconsin Legislature proposed drastic cuts to welfare benefits. Assembling in Madison, unapologetically self-identified “welfare mothers,” other black and brown activists and Father Groppi marched down State Street, followed by thousands of students. The marchers entered the Capitol chanting, “Power to the People!” Demonstrators found the doors to the Assembly chamber locked, so members of the Brown Berets and Commandos broke them open. A thousand people flooded onto the legislative floor. Terrified legislators adjourned the session and fled. Marchers draped streamers around the chambers. Students smoked cigarettes and strummed guitars in legislators’ chairs. Mothers fed their children sandwiches and led them around the Assembly floor. Chicano activists with berets and khaki uniforms chatted in Spanish. Behind the Assembly speaker’s stand, someone placed a sign against the breast of a stuffed bald eagle that said, “We May Be on Welfare, But We’re Something.” Groppi stepped up to address the crowd, saying, “This place looks like a house in the middle of the black or Chicano communities – a little bit crowded!” Speaker after speaker took the podium and explained the hardships that welfare cuts would bring. “I can’t get enough money to live,” said Clementina Castro, who explained that she and her children were destitute. She finished by shouting, “Viva la Raza!” National Guardsmen arrived and the protest ended peacefully, but elected officials wanted revenge.