While we were finishing this issue of the magazine — our annual City Guide — one of my colleagues shared a screenshot of some recent Facebook comments made on a post by another local media outlet, encouraging folks to subscribe to their publication. In response to such a simple pitch — which would be perfectly easy to just … ignore — commenters chose to denigrate the entire city of Memphis. “There’s blood and bodies all over the street,” one wrote. Yep, we have a significant problem with violence here, but unless you’re talking about chicken wings, I’m not seeing bodies all over the sidewalks. “Stay away from Memphis. All the business should leave,” argued another. Huh? Then what? “Memphis is a hell hole.” “Memphis is the worst place in the world to go.” Wow! Read any international news lately?
My first reaction to reading all this weirdly placed grumpiness was selfish: Ahh, so glad I deactivated my Facebook profile a few months ago! I first signed onto Facebook way back in 2004, when the university I attended was one of the first few dozen to join the brand-new site known then as “thefacebook” (styling theirs); back then, it was just a way to reconnect with high-school friends and to share debauched party pics (that we would upload from our digital cameras or even scan from drugstore print-outs?!). As time went by, and the site opened up to more and more users, the tone … evolved: What had once been a repository of semi-embarrassing memories shared among friends morphed into a place where your potential future boss was looking you up, and your great-aunt was sharing her, uh, astute political opinions, and also, just for kicks, foreign entities were working to low-key sway the results of presidential elections. (We live in such interesting times.)
That’s where we at Memphis Magazine aim to come in: not to pretend nothing is wrong, but to help remind our readers and ourselves that some things are still very right.
For me, the decision to deactivate wasn’t high-minded, particularly: I realized I wasn’t engaging with the platform anymore; many of my friends weren’t either, so I barely knew half the people whose posts I still saw; and I couldn’t see the rationale to maintain a presence if I couldn’t be bothered to actually sign on. Plus, I still have an Instagram account, so I’m not even boycotting Meta, the parent company of both sites.
Social media is, to state the obvious, not designed for nuance. It’s an echo chamber, and one where the loudest, pithiest, most absolute statements resound best. And Memphis? Well, in the parlance of Facebook’s most popular “relationship status” option circa 2004, “It’s complicated.”
Too much inequality, poverty, and crime. Too few solutions and resources, and too little shared vision. All of this is true.
But also: so much creativity, wisdom, determination, and opportunity. So much grit.
That’s where we at Memphis Magazine aim to come in: not to pretend nothing is wrong, but to help remind our readers and ourselves that some things are still very right.
I don’t blame people for being in a bad mood about this city. Our whole country is in a foul mood at the moment, and circumstances here are objectively harder than in lots of other places. It’s understandable that we would spend some time grousing.
When you’ve had your fill of grousing, though, I encourage you to log off Facebook, Nextdoor, and all the rest, and spend some time reacquainting yourself with Memphis the place, not just Memphis the collection of ideas.
Last month, a passel of in-laws came to visit — a prime opportunity to see this city through others’ eyes. Over the course of only a few days, they visited, for the first time, the National Civil Rights Museum, Memphis Botanic Garden, the redesigned Tom Lee Park, Big River Crossing, Central Station, the Arcade, and Crosstown Concourse. There wasn’t even time for Stax or Graceland or the art museums or all the other destinations on the very long list of possibilities. Even with a heat index of something like 111, the Central Gardens July 4th parade was completely charming, and a perfect illustration of how small-town this mid-sized city can be (including the moment when our new mayor, Paul Young, walked by with a wave and smile).
You don’t have to look far to find wonderful moments here, or to notice real struggles; the struggles don’t cancel out the charms, and vice versa. This is the spirit in which we offer our 2024 City Guide: to remind you, and ourselves, that even when some things are very, very broken, so much else is very, very right.
