Leader Indicted on 25 Federal Counts of Fraud, Money Laundering
The executive director of Black Lives Matter Oklahoma has been charged with dozens of federal crimes, accused of embezzling millions in charitable donations meant for bail funds and social justice efforts and using the money to fund an extravagant personal lifestyle.
According to a newly unsealed federal indictment, Tashella Sheri Amore Dickerson, 52, was charged with 20 counts of wire fraud and five counts of money laundering by a grand jury on December 3.
“For each count of wire fraud, Dickerson faces up to 20 years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000,” the Department of Justice said in a statement. “For each count of money laundering, Dickerson faces up to 10 years in prison and a fine of up to $250,000 or twice the amount of the criminally derived property involved in the transaction.”
Federal prosecutors allege Dickerson diverted over $3.5 million from accounts tied to Black Lives Matter Oklahoma (BLMOKC) into her own personal bank accounts. The indictment accuses her of spending the funds on vacations to Jamaica and the Dominican Republic, six properties in Oklahoma City, tens of thousands in luxury shopping, and over $50,000 on food and grocery deliveries for herself and her family.
Advertisement“Beginning in June 2020 and continuing through at least October 2025, Dickerson embezzled funds from BLMOKC’s accounts for her personal benefit,” the indictment states. “Dickerson deposited at least $3.15 million in returned bail checks into her personal accounts, rather than into BLMOKC’s accounts.”
The case marks one of the largest fraud prosecutions to emerge from the Black Lives Matter movement since 2020, when the organization and its affiliates raised hundreds of millions of dollars following the death of George Floyd.
Advertisement
According to prosecutors, BLMOKC raised more than $5.6 million from online donors and national bail funds during the 2020 protests. Much of the money came from the Community Justice Exchange, the Minnesota Freedom Fund, and the Massachusetts Bail Fund, and was intended to bail out protesters and support “racial justice” initiatives.
The indictment states that although BLMOKC was not a registered nonprofit, it raised money under the fiscal sponsorship of the Alliance for Global Justice (AFGJ), an Arizona-based left-wing nonprofit. As the fiscal sponsor, AFGJ required BLMOKC to use its funds strictly for charitable purposes permitted under Section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code — and to provide full accounting upon request.
Instead, prosecutors say Dickerson “used interstate wire communications to submit two false annual reports to AFGJ” that concealed her personal use of the funds.
“She reported that she had used BLMOKC funds only for tax-exempt purposes,” the indictment reads. “She did not disclose that she used funds for her personal benefit.”
Federal agents say Dickerson funneled more than $3 million in returned bail checks into her personal accounts. She then used the money to fund a luxury lifestyle that included recreational travel to Jamaica and the Dominican Republic, tens of thousands of dollars in retail shopping and designer goods, over $50,000 in restaurant and grocery deliveries, the purchase of a personal vehicle, and six real estate properties in Oklahoma City registered in her name or under Equity International, LLC, a shell company she controlled.
The indictment describes a years-long scheme in which Dickerson repeatedly lied to donors and AFGJ about how BLMOKC funds were being used. “Although BLMOKC was supposed to use national bail fund grants to post pretrial bail for individuals arrested in connection with protests for racial justice after the death of George Floyd,” prosecutors wrote, “Dickerson used those funds for personal enrichment.”
If convicted on all counts, Dickerson faces decades in federal prison. U.S. Attorney Robert J. Troester announced the charges Wednesday, stating that the indictment “reflects a commitment to holding accountable anyone who exploits the public’s trust for personal gain — regardless of their politics or position.”
The case adds to a growing list of corruption scandals linked to local and national leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement. In recent years, several BLM-affiliated organizations have faced lawsuits or criminal charges over alleged misuse of donations.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
