Author: Solomon Jones

I was angry when I learned that a grand jury found no cause for criminal charges in the death of Nolan Wells, a Black teenager who died after a July 4 boat trip to an island in Mississippi with a group of white friends.

The facts surrounding the case were strange from the time Wells went missing. His friends said the 18-year-old wanted to stay on Horn Island to talk to a girl, so they left without him, and Wells left his phone on the boat. Days later, when Wells’ body was found floating in the waters off the island, Jackson County sheriff officials declared that no foul play was suspected.

Then, just days after the grand jury concluded Wells’ death was “consistent with drowning,” Wells’ family released details from the official autopsy report from the Mississippi medical examiner. The autopsy indicated that there was no water in the lungs, stomach, or throat of Wells, which begs the question: How does one drown without ingesting water?

That troubling question, along with a history that includes countless lynchings, the murder of Emmett Till, and the murder of voting rights activist Medgar Evers, demands a deeper investigation. Yet I know, in that secret place where my ancestral memory lives, that the investigation might never take place.

Wells’ family did all they could to find the truth. They hired attorney Benjamin Crump, sued social media companies for cell phone records, and hired an independent pathologist to conduct a second autopsy after the Mississippi medical examiner performed the initial postmortem. Wells’ friends were mostly silent, but the internet was not. Observers retreated to their familiar corners — left and right, progressive and conservative, bigoted and anti-racist. Our opinions of the case tended to be shaped by our long-held views and lived experience.

Perhaps that’s why, when Jackson County District Attorney Angel Myers McIlrath promised to conduct a fair and thorough investigation, I was skeptical. Then, when she announced that she would convene a grand jury, I was hopeless.

I had already watched police officers walk away unscathed after a conservative attorney general in Kentucky convened a grand jury in the shooting death of Breonna Taylor. I remembered a grand jury refusing to indict Officer Darren Wilson after he killed unarmed teen Michael Brown in Ferguson, Mo.

Because grand juries operate in secret and only view the evidence presented to them by the prosecutor, the outcome is heavily influenced by the prosecutor. I believe that’s why we don’t see criminal charges in cases like the tragic death of Nolan Wells.

Just as my ancestral memory calls out to me and screams for racial justice, the history of Mississippi calls out to the current power structure and demands white supremacy.

That’s why, after closed-door proceedings and a state autopsy report that was never fully released, after unexplained blunt force trauma to the back of Wells’ head and body, after the family received the body without the neck structures, the grand jury could conclude Wells likely drowned.

It’s why the district attorney could release a redacted grand jury report, never share all the evidence, and scold the public for questioning whether race played a role in Wells’ death.

“What I cannot accept, what I cannot ignore, is that false narratives that Nolan’s death was somehow racially motivated, and that this is a case of another young Black man denied justice by a racist, corrupt system, were perpetuated and allowed to spread,” McIlrath said in a video explaining the grand jury’s decision. “There is not a shred of evidence to support these narratives.”

Perhaps the DA can’t accept what she framed as false narratives, but how can we know they’re false? The grand jury operated in secret, then released a report with some of the details blacked out. There was no preliminary hearing, no public airing of evidence, and no real attempt to answer the family’s ongoing questions about what happened to their son.

There is only one thing that I know to be true in the death of Nolan Wells, and his mother, Christine Wonsley, gave voice to it in the wake of the grand jury’s findings.

“Last night was a reminder that our son’s life does not matter to those who hold positions that are supposed to serve and protect the public,” Wonsley said.

It breaks my heart that she’s right.

Editor’s note: An earlier version of this column misstated the location of the island that had been visited by Nolan Wells; it was Horn Island. It also incorrectly noted that Wells’ organs were removed before his body was released to his family; the organs were included with the rest of his remains.

Less than 24 hours before legendary feminist Gloria Steinem died, my Instagram post about defending Black women crossed the million-view threshold.

For me, the two moments melded into one because it underlined that two things can be true at once.

In this case, it’s true that Steinem was a fierce hero for the feminist movement.

It’s also true that American feminism has too often minimized the unique needs of Black women.

And while I don’t pretend to comprehend the various intricacies of Black womanhood, I do understand that among the duties of Black manhood, one of them looms larger than most.

We must stand up for our women.

In recent months, it’s become increasingly clear that some of our most prominent men have spent far too much time doing anything but that. In fact, national figures like ESPN analyst Stephen A. Smith have been rightly castigated for their inordinate criticism of Black women, including former Vice President Kamala Harris, U.S. Rep. Jasmine Crockett, and journalist Joy-Ann Reid.

In fact, the National Association of Black Journalists, of which I am a member, gave Smith a thumbs-down award for precisely that reason. In protest, Smith appeared on Fox News and complained to right-wing journalist Sean Hannity. In my view, that made things worse. He has since circled back and debated the issue with journalists Jemelle Hill and Cari Champion — two Black women. The results of that remain to be seen.

But the call to protect and defend Black women is not just about Smith and his cutting criticism of national figures. It is also about the Black men I have watched cast boulders at the first female mayor of Philadelphia.

As a matter of full disclosure, I have known Cherelle L. Parker for more than 20 years. As neighbors, we’ve watched each other’s children grow up. And while I don’t agree with her on every policy or political priority, I respect her because she has always been the same steady person, the same tenacious fighter, the same Black woman I met so many years ago.

On this point, I will not waver, whether the Black woman in question is Michelle Obama, or Parker, or Miss Dot from 25th and Oxford.

This does not mean there will never be disagreements between us. It does not mean arguments will never happen.

In truth, disagreement is a normal and healthy aspect of any functioning relationship. It is when those disagreements spin into hateful diatribes and rhetorical violence that we lose ourselves in the chaos.

This is not the time for abject pettiness, for a crabs-in-the-barrel mentality, or for fomenting discord under the guise of holding leaders accountable.

The racists who say Obama “is a man” do not need our help.

The bigots who call Crockett “ghetto” are not in need of our assistance.

The misogynists who question the intelligence of Harvard graduates like Reid can do that all by themselves.

To put it plainly, there is no circumstance under which Black men should help our enemies to disparage and disrespect our women.

After watching 300,000 Black women lose their jobs in just a few months after the Trump administration’s cuts in the federal workforce, we have to know that sisters are under attack, and we must act accordingly.

That means standing beside them as they lead in communities.

It means standing in front of them when they are under attack.

It means standing behind them when they need someone to push them forward.

Black men understand, in ways others simply don’t, that Black women are stronger than they look, more vulnerable than they seem, and more beautiful than they know.

When they present all that to the world, the totality of their power can be intimidating — especially for those who harbor insecurities of their own.

But as the husbands, brothers, and sons of these strong women, we cannot afford to see them as competitors.

We must see them as partners, because in these uncertain times, when racism removes its hood and stands boldly in America’s streets, Black men and women can ill afford to turn on one another.

We must instead turn toward one another, and face the slings and arrows of this world together.