photograph by tyre nichols
Memphis rarely finds itself in the national spotlight for reasons civic boosters here would choose. To some extent, that’s simply the nature of modern media coverage, both local and national: Type just about any city’s name into a Google News search, and the results will comprise crime, corruption, and climate, with a sprinkle of sports. But Memphis seems to be remembered only or, at least primarily, when Something Bad Happens. Even in that context, some unspoken rule dictates that any report must mention blues and barbecue. Tragedy with a side of dry rub.
In the past six months, this city has endured a conspicuously difficult — and highly publicized — sequence of events: the September 2nd abduction and murder of kindergarten teacher Eliza Fletcher, followed less than one week later by a citywide shooting rampage broadcast by the alleged perpetrator on Facebook Live. Both events were, of course, discussed at length by just about every news outlet. And then, on January 7th, Tyre Nichols was pulled over by Memphis police in a traffic stop that ended in the brutal, and ultimately fatal, beating of the 29-year-old father, photographer, skateboarder, and FedEx worker. By late January, the horrific attack was front-page, above-the-fold news in just about every national outlet; on NPR, it was the lead story in each news block. Memphis was, yet again, in the spotlight.
Some might say that at such a fraught and painful moment, the way others perceive our community should be the least of our worries; our self-definition ought to matter far more. Trouble is, there’s no easy separation between the way Memphians see Memphis and the way outsiders present Memphis. We’re all, both individually and collectively, more porous than we might like to admit; we all allow others’ opinions to infiltrate our own understandings. In many ways, that’s a good and healthy thing.
People who have survived more than their fair share of loss and difficulty are often described as ‘resilient,’ and communities work the same way.
I worried, though, in late January, that my city would be too susceptible to others’ expectations. In the days and hours leading up to the release of the bodycam footage from Tyre Nichols’ arrest, speculation mounted in the national news that Memphis was on the verge of imploding, exploding, or both. The arrest footage was released on a Friday evening — in hopes, one supposes, that the city would be distracted by the start of the weekend — and people seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen. We all knew by then that the video would be ghastly. Whether the protests (and, critically, the police presence at the protests) would turn violent was anybody’s guess, though Nichols’ shattered mother enjoined everyone to remain peaceful, saying that’s what her son would have wanted.
In the end, the protests did remain peaceful. Activists temporarily blocked traffic on the I-55 bridge, and I read reports that several drivers — their cars stopped anyway — had stepped out and joined them. I’ve attended protests that turn volatile when law enforcement encroaches on activists, trying to contain or disperse them. I was not on the bridge that evening, but it appeared that the protesters were able to communicate their message unimpeded.
Certainly, it made a tremendous difference that the officers who were involved in Nichols’ death were swiftly fired and then charged with second-degree murder, among other felonies. But I don’t think that’s the only reason that, despite so many people’s expectations, no further violence erupted. (I caught myself wondering whether anyone on the national stage was disappointed. Mayhem makes for easier television than complex historical and structural narratives.)
Maybe it’s Memphians’ familiarity with awful events that prepared us to handle this latest horror. That’s not something to celebrate, but it does feel authentic. In a February 3rd New York Times article whose observations rang true, Richard Fausset explored Memphis as a city coursing with trauma. People who have survived more than their fair share of loss and difficulty are often described as ‘resilient,’ and communities work the same way. Memphis was shaken this January, but we’re resilient, for what it’s worth. And we weren’t truly surprised. We’ve seen awful times before, and will again; we know their contours and timelines.
Memphis does not summarize well. That’s part of our charm, I think.
Tyre Nichols loved photographing sunsets. One of the gatherings after his death was held at Shelby Farms, at sunset. On social media, people have been sharing photos of the sunset hashtagged with his name. Just when you think we’re going to erupt, we gather to be awed by the grandeur of a sunset. That’s the best summary I know.
