MLK50 allowed the writer to use an alias in order to protect their identity.
I never thought I’d find myself caged in a poorly constructed labyrinth, gaudily decorated with racist décor — Trump’s gold ballroom version of oppression, all flash and no freedom — but here I am.
I’m Black and grew up in Memphis. I was born here, raised here and bore my own children here. My hometown has always felt like a cage that other millennials and I knew was a mirage. For so long, we told ourselves that the struggle wasn’t real. We believed that if we worked hard enough, prayed long enough or stayed quiet enough, we could eventually step through that mirage into something better.
But the truth is, Memphis is infrastructurally racist. The schools, the roads, the housing — all of it is designed to keep poor Black and brown folks in economic servitude. The state government’s negligence and hostility aren’t accidental; it’s strategic. It keeps us dependent, exhausted and convinced that surviving is the same as living.
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Now, even that illusion is cracking. The bars are visible. I saw them from the day I started fearing something as ordinary as driving with my kids.
My babies have ambiguous features — curly hair, tan skin — and Spanish names like their father. I worry: Will some cop see them and get “curious”? Will they question whether they’re really mine? Will they separate us, like they’ve done to so many families, because my kids don’t fit neatly into one racial category?
I’m not built to see my babies in zip ties because of somebody’s xenophobia.
Even our normal routines — going to Kroger three times a week, going to parks for them to spend time with their father, taking them with me anywhere — now come with a background hum of fear. These are the ripple effects the media refuses to acknowledge. Our everyday lives have been twisted into gears inside a propaganda machine that claims to protect “public safety” but only serves the comfort of whiteness.
And so people ask, “Why don’t you just leave?” Like it’s that simple. Leave implies freedom. What they really mean is flee. But how do you flee when every escape route is blocked?
I can’t even get a “REAL ID,” which feels like the government’s way of deciding who gets to move freely in this country and who doesn’t. Sure, there are appointments in December — but what good does that do when the danger is right now? I could take my chances and stand in line for hours, but the social media reports of lurking task force agents make that a hard “no” for me.
This isn’t about paperwork. This is about an unprecedented invasion of our city by our own government — federal agencies and local officials working together to intimidate and control Black and brown bodies under the guise of “keeping the peace.” It’s an entrapment luncheon, and yes, they’re serving sweet tea with it.
My kids’ father hasn’t been able to see them during this domestic occupation of Memphis. Every time he steps outside, he risks his freedom for the crime of being a Hispanic man. He was almost detained once during a “traffic stop.” When he asked why, the officer told him they “needed no reason.” No reason — just melanin and power.
This is our current reality. And as a history buff — one of my autistic special interests, gifted to me by the neurodivergent gods — I can’t unsee the pattern. The FBI, ICE, MPD, ATF, Homeland Security — all moving in sync, all targeting the same communities they’ve always targeted. Tell me that doesn’t sound familiar.
This is exactly how fascism takes root: quietly, bureaucratically, under the cover of “order.” It’s what happened in Nazi Germany. It’s what happened during slavery. It’s what happened under Jim Crow and in Japanese internment camps. Every time, the world watches, whispers “never again,” and then looks away as it happens again.
Memphis is the science fair project of 2025 — an experiment to see how much control they can exert over a population before anyone notices.
And I need the nation — the world — to stop and pay attention.
This story is brought to you by MLK50: Justice Through Journalism, a nonprofit newsroom focused on poverty, power and policy in Memphis. Support independent journalism by making a tax-deductible donation today. MLK50 is also supported by these generous donors.