Editor's Note: The following column was written and published before September’s tragic events: the abduction and murder of Eliza Fletcher, and the shooting rampage less than a week later that forced Memphians to shelter in place. We debated whether or not to post this column online, and ultimately decided that the issues and sentiments discussed remain relevant today.
I love Memphis. I do. I love this city for her soul, her audacity, and yes, her grit and grind. I love that in Memphis, everybody seems to know everybody else, and no one’s ever very difficult to reach. (The former, admittedly, can be delightful and harrowing in equal measure. One does not always wish to conduct spontaneous business meetings and grade-school reunions at the grocery store.)
I love our florid sunsets, even though I sometimes wonder, in the golden light, how many of those dazzling hues were painted by air pollution. I believe that Memphis and the surrounding South can be, and sometimes are, models for what’s possible when people work together toward progress, and that this is true in large part because of our troubled history and (let’s be honest) troubled present.
If I were explaining to Facebook (c. 2007) the status of my enduring love for Memphis, I would say that the two of us are in a relationship — and it’s complicated. I don’t choose to believe that every terrible thing that happens in Memphis is the fault of “Memphis” writ large. Terrible things happen everywhere, right? That’s what we tell ourselves, and it’s true — to a degree.
A good first step would be acknowledging what troubles us about our community and what we love. Too often here, we limit ourselves either to blinkered boosterism or unmitigated trash-talk. Neither is very productive.
But I confess that when I returned home at the end of July after nearly two weeks on the road, I found myself grimacing. A heat wave roared on and on, like someone had left the oven door open, then cranked up the dial. Even at night, the air hung thick and gummy. It seemed to me that there was more garbage festering on the sidewalks than I remembered. Folks were driving in a particularly Memphis way — when did we decide it was okay to turn right from the left turn lane? A whiff of the renegade spirit can be charming — but not when your renegade spirit collides head-on with another motorist.
Recklessness is one thing. Active disregard for human life is quite another, and we have our share of that, too. In a horrific and heartbreakingly unnecessary act, the Reverend Autura Eason-Williams, 52, a pastor and United Methodist Church leader, was killed in a carjacking on July 18th. She had just pulled into her own driveway in Whitehaven, and several teenagers — teenagers! — rushed in, shot Eason-Williams dead, and stole her vehicle. Doubtless she would have handed over the keys had she been given the chance.
Instead, a 15-year-old boy is charged with first-degree murder. Too young to obtain a driver’s license, but old enough to carjack and murder a community leader. His older associate, the other individual who’s been charged in the case — with theft of property — is all of 16.
My stepson will be 15 in a few weeks, the same age as one of the alleged carjackers. My stepson is a sophisticated kid, possessed of all manner of arcane knowledge, but he is a kid, as he ought to be. I mostly cannot stop thinking about how devastating it is that a leader, mother, wife, friend, pastor, and teacher was taken, But also, I cannot stop thinking about how very, very young these boys are, how very young they always are.
Several weeks later, another community leader, another mother, another teacher, Dr. Yvonne Nelson, 60, was shot and killed in Whitehaven. The circumstances surrounding her death are not entirely clear — originally reported as a carjacking, the latest updates indicate perhaps an argument about money precipitated the shooting, this time committed by another woman.
Last year in Memphis, 346 people — a record number that broke the previous year’s record number — died by homicide. So far, this year appears to be tracking marginally lower, but only marginally. Rev. Eason-Willis and Dr. Nelson were but two of the several hundred people who will die by homicide in Memphis in 2022. Very likely, by December 31st, the number of homicides in our city will nearly match the number of days in the year.
Where do we go from here? Well, what do you do when you love someone, but they also break your heart? Maybe you leave. Plenty of people choose to leave Memphis. Or maybe you decide to stay and help the person — or city — you love to heal. I don’t have the answers for you, but I believe (most of the time) that we can work towards them together.
A good first step would be acknowledging what troubles us about our community and what we love. Too often here, we limit ourselves either to blinkered boosterism or unmitigated trash-talk. Neither is very productive. If we’re choosing to live here, we would do well to follow the examples set by the lives and works of Dr. Nelson and Rev. Eason-Williams, and pour as much of our talent, faith, fight, and love into this community as our days allow.
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September 15, 2022 at 09:21PM
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Memphis, I Love You, But … - Memphis Magazine
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