niemanlab | On Aug. 20, 2018, the first day of a federal police surveillance
trial, I discovered that the Memphis Police Department was spying on me.
The ACLU of Tennessee had sued the MPD, alleging that the department
was in violation of a 1978 consent decree barring surveillance of
residents for political purposes.
I’m pretty sure I wore my pink gingham jacket — it’s my summer go-to
when I want to look professional. I know I sat on the right side of the
courtroom, not far from a former colleague at The Commercial Appeal. I’d
long suspected that I was on law enforcement’s radar, simply because my
work tends to center on the most marginalized communities, not
institutions with the most power.
One of the first witnesses called to the stand: Sgt. Timothy
Reynolds, who is white. To get intel on activists and organizers,
including those in the Black Lives Matter movement, he’d posed on
Facebook as a “man of color,” befriending people and trying to
infiltrate closed circles.
Projected onto a giant screen in the courtroom was a screenshot of people Reynolds followed on Facebook.
My head was bent as I wrote in my reporter’s notebook. “What does this entry indicate?” ACLU attorney Amanda Strickland Floyd asked.
“I was following Wendi Thomas,” Reynolds replied. “Wendi C. Thomas.”
I sat up.
“And who is Wendi Thomas?” Floyd asked.
She, he replied, used to write for The Commercial Appeal. In 2014, I left the paper after being a columnist for 11 years.
It’s been more than a year since a judge ruled against
the city, and I’ve never gotten a clear answer on why the MPD was
monitoring me. Law enforcement also was keeping tabs on three other
journalists whose names came out
during the trial. Reynolds testified he used the fake account to
monitor protest activity and follow current events connected to Black
Lives Matter.
My sin, as best I can figure, was having good sources who were local
organizers and activists, including some of the original plaintiffs in
the ACLU’s lawsuit against the city.
In the days since cellphone video captured white Minneapolis police
officer Derek Chauvin squeezing the life out of George Floyd, a black
man, residents in dozens of cities across the country have exercised
their First Amendment rights to protest police brutality.
Here in Memphis, where two-thirds of the population is black and 1 in
4 lives below the poverty line, demonstrators have chanted, “No
justice, no peace, no racist police!”
The most recent protests were sparked by the killings of Floyd and of
Breonna Taylor, a black woman gunned down in her home by Louisville,
Kentucky, police in March. But in Memphis, like elsewhere, the seeds of
distrust between activists and police were planted decades ago. And law
enforcement has nurtured these seeds ever since.
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