The Racial Politics of a Sheriff Correcting a Black Mayor

On Friday, Mayor Monroe Nichols, the first Black mayor of Tulsa, shared a reflection on his Facebook page about the killing of Renee Nicole Good, a White woman shot and killed by a federal immigration agent during an enforcement operation in Minneapolis. Nichols’ post acknowledged grief, expressed solidarity with the family, and called for accountability. It was measured. It was human. It was rooted in moral clarity.

The following day, Tulsa County Sheriff Vic Regalado responded publicly on Facebook, rebuking Nichols for his comments, accusing him of irresponsibility, and warning that he was “raising the temperature” and risking civil unrest. What followed was not simply a disagreement between two local officials. It was a public confrontation that exposed deep hypocrisy, racial power dynamics, and the policing of Black leadership in real time, right here in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Why Black Truth Is Treated as More Dangerous Than White Rage

Let’s start with the hypocrisy, because that is the most honest place to begin. And in Tulsa, it is impossible to talk about “lowering the temperature” without confronting the city’s own history of what happens when irresponsible rhetoric goes unchecked. 

In 1921, a false accusation and inflammatory newspaper coverage helped ignite one of the deadliest racial massacres in American history. The Tulsa Tribune did not “lower the temperature.” It poured gasoline on it. And within hours, White mobs burned Greenwood to the ground, murdered Black residents, and erased a thriving community. So when a sheriff in 2026 lectures a Black mayor about tone, it is not just ahistorical; it is dangerous. 

Tulsa knows, better than most cities, that reckless language has consequences. And yet, in modern America, from Donald Trump all the way down to Oklahoma’s own Markwayne Mullin, violent, inflammatory, and reckless rhetoric has been normalized in politics with little to no consequence. 

Trump told supporters to “fight like hell” before a mob stormed the U.S. Capitol. Mullin has threatened journalists and postured for physical confrontation. Where was the outcry then? Where was the concern about “lowering the temperature?” Where was the sheriff’s sermon on civic unity? It was silent. Because this has never really been about tone. It has always been about who is speaking, and in Tulsa, a Black man naming injustice will always be treated as more dangerous than White men inciting it.

Law Enforcement Only Matters When It’s Convenient

Let’s talk about January 6. More than 140 law enforcement officers were injured during the insurrection. They were beaten with poles, crushed in doorways, dragged down stairs, sprayed, stomped, and screamed at. Those officers were left bleeding on the steps of democracy while the same political class that now claims to revere law enforcement minimized their trauma, downplayed the violence, and rewrote history.

Then Ashley Babbitt, a white woman, was shot while breaching the Capitol because President Donald Trump told her to go to the Capitol and to “fight like hell.” Hence, the narrative was flipped. She became a hero. A martyr. A symbol. The officer who shot her was publicly scolded. 

So let’s be very clear: when law enforcement officers were beaten by a violent mob, there was silence. When a woman was shot while attacking the seat of government, she was sanctified. But when a Black mayor names harm and calls for accountability after Renee Good was killed, he is scolded. That is not an inconsistency. That is selective outrage. 

Empathy Meets Rebuke: Why a Black Mayor Was Scolded for Naming Harm

Mayor Monroe Nichols responded to the killing of Renee Nicole Good with grief, solidarity, and moral clarity. He acknowledged pain. He called for accountability. He recognized that this was not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern of violence. He did not issue a legal verdict. He did not incite unrest. He did not attack law enforcement as a whole. He did what leaders are supposed to do in moments like this. He stood with people.

Sheriff Vic Regalado responded not with empathy, but with a rebuke. He called Nichols’ comments “irresponsible.” He questioned his moral standing. He warned about civil unrest. He challenged whether anyone is even being targeted. When he asked, “Who exactly is being targeted?” He was not seeking clarity. He was narrowing the frame. He was policing the narrative. He was dismissing lived reality. That is a privileged question, asked by people who have never had to assume vulnerability as a condition of living. For Black communities, targeting is not theoretical. It is historical. It is experiential. It is inherited. That is not neutrality. That is power.

Vic Regalado chose to publicly scold Monroe Nichols. Not Donald Trump. Not Markwayne Mullin. Not the Oklahoma officials who have trafficked in violent rhetoric for years. Not the politicians who flirt with chaos as a strategy. He chose the Black mayor. That is not a coincidence. That is a microaggression with a badge. It sends a clear message: I will not challenge my peers, but I will correct you. If this were truly about tone, the rebuke would be consistent. If this were truly about unity, the standard would be equal. If this were truly about lowering the temperature, it would be applied across the board. It is not. It is selectively enforced. And in America, selective enforcement almost always travels along racial lines. 

No Apology Was Owed

Let’s be very clear. No apology was owed. Mayor Monroe Nichols acknowledged the sanctity of life. He expressed grief. He called for accountability. He stood with a community in pain. Meanwhile, according to widely circulated video and reports, the federal agent who killed Renee Nicole Good shot her, called her a “fucking bitch,” and walked away. That is not a narrative problem. That is a moral problem. 

It is deeply disturbing that more engagement has been spent policing the language of a Black mayor than interrogating the conduct of an armed federal agent who took a life and showed open contempt while doing it. Let that sit. The mayor is being criticized. The shooter is being defended. The victim is being debated. That is Tulsa. That is America.

The Black Leadership Tax

After the sheriff’s rebuke, Mayor Nichols issued a clarifying statement. He emphasized that he was not attacking law enforcement. He referenced his father’s career in policing. He invoked humility. He apologized for seemingly alienating some in the law enforcement community. 

Let’s be honest about what that was. It was not an admission of wrongdoing. However, it was the racial leadership tax. Only one leader had to reassure the institution. Only one leader had to prove he was not a threat. And that leader was Black. 

Sheriff Regalado did not apologize. He did not soften. He did not acknowledge harm. That asymmetry is not about personality. It is about power. 

Tulsa is not just any city. Tulsa is Greenwood. Tulsa is 1921. Tulsa is mass graves. Tulsa is denial. Tulsa is a century of being told to wait for facts while Black bodies were erased. 

For a Black mayor in Tulsa to speak about targeted violence is not symbolic. It is historical. It is ancestral. It is loaded with memory. 

For a sheriff in Tulsa to push back against that framing is also historical. Whether intentional or not, it echoes the same institutional instinct to protect structure over truth. This is why this moment feels heavy. Because it is.

Black leaders name harm and they are told to soften. White or non-Black leaders inflame and they are excused. Institutions are challenged and they close ranks. Communities grieve and they are told to wait. This is not new. It’s happening on social media. 

Why Black Leadership Is Always Required to Shrink

The question is not whether Monroe Nichols should have been gentler. The question is why Black leaders are always required to be smaller so institutions can be comfortable. Why is Black pain always expected to be polite? Why is Black grief always expected to be quiet? Why is Black leadership always expected to apologize? 

Monroe Nichols did not raise the temperature. He named reality. Vic Regalado did not defend unity. He defended the system. And the fact that he felt comfortable scolding a Black mayor while remaining silent toward White and non-Black officials with long records of incendiary rhetoric tells you everything you need to know about how power is still distributed in this country. The hypocrisy is not subtle. The cognitive dissonance is not accidental. And the expectation that a Black mayor should apologize for valuing humanity is not unity; it is control.