There’s a disturbing story coming out of Jackson, Mississippi, involving the death of a 29-year-old Black woman whose body was found hanging from a tree behind a vacant home. Her name was Tasia Fortune, and according to reports, her body was discovered on August 3 after she had reportedly been there for several days. Authorities have opened a death investigation, and an autopsy is being conducted to determine the cause and manner of her death. At this point, there’s no official conclusion that she was murdered, and there’s no official conclusion that she died by suicide. There’s also no official finding that a hate crime or racial motivation was involved. Those facts still have to be established.
That distinction is extremely important because I’m not interested in creating a conclusion before the evidence is available. I’m not going to tell you that this woman was lynched when investigators haven’t established that. I’m not going to accuse a hate group, a police department, or an individual without evidence. But I’m also not going to pretend that the circumstances don’t deserve serious scrutiny. When a young Black woman is discovered hanging from a tree behind an abandoned or vacant property, especially in a state with Mississippi’s history of racial terror and lynching, people are naturally going to have questions. Asking those questions isn’t the same thing as making an accusation.
The responsible response is to investigate everything. Investigators need to establish the timeline, examine the physical evidence, determine how she arrived at the location, review available surveillance, examine relevant communications, speak with people who may have information, and determine whether the evidence supports suicide, homicide, accident, or another explanation. If the evidence eventually points toward racial motivation, that possibility needs to be investigated as well. If the evidence points somewhere else, then that evidence needs to be followed. The goal should never be to force the facts into the conclusion we already want. The goal should be to discover what actually happened.
But there’s another reason this story matters, and it goes beyond the circumstances surrounding one woman’s death. For Black Americans, certain images carry historical weight that cannot simply be erased because decades have passed. A Black person hanging from a tree in Mississippi immediately brings the history of racial terror into the conversation. The Equal Justice Initiative has documented thousands of racial-terror lynchings of Black people in America, including thousands during the period following the Civil War and continuing into the twentieth century. That history doesn’t prove what happened to this woman, but it explains why the circumstances surrounding her death can’t simply be dismissed as something nobody should question.
That’s where I believe we need to find the balance between emotional reaction and responsible vigilance. We shouldn’t accuse people without evidence, but we shouldn’t be afraid to demand evidence either. We shouldn’t declare that this was a hate crime before the investigation establishes it, but we also shouldn’t discourage investigators from examining whether racial motivation played a role if the evidence points in that direction. There’s a difference between jumping to a conclusion and refusing to accept a convenient conclusion without enough information. I’m choosing the second position because I believe truth deserves a full investigation.
HISTORY DOESN’T PROVE WHAT HAPPENED, BUT IT EXPLAINS WHY PEOPLE ARE WATCHING
When Black Americans hear about a Black person being found hanging from a tree in Mississippi, history is going to enter the conversation whether some people like it or not. That isn’t because Black people are incapable of being rational. It’s because history has consequences. For generations, racial terror was used to control Black communities, intimidate Black families, and reinforce a social order through violence. People were murdered, families were destroyed, and entire communities were taught that challenging the racial hierarchy could cost them their lives.
The painful part is that many of those acts of violence weren’t committed in secret. Some were public spectacles. Some were tolerated by communities. Some were ignored by authorities. Some perpetrators were never held accountable. That history created a deep distrust that didn’t disappear simply because laws changed. When people have inherited stories about relatives, neighbors, and community members whose deaths were never properly investigated, they naturally become suspicious when another unusual death occurs under circumstances that resemble something from that history.
But history cannot be allowed to replace evidence. If we want justice, we have to be disciplined enough to separate what we know from what we fear. The fact that lynching happened doesn’t mean every modern hanging is a lynching. The fact that racial violence exists doesn’t mean every unexplained death is racially motivated. Those conclusions have to be established through facts.
At the same time, the absence of an immediate official declaration doesn’t mean every question should disappear. Investigations are supposed to consider possibilities before reaching conclusions. The public has a right to demand that investigators examine all reasonable explanations. If the evidence ultimately establishes suicide, then that’s the answer. If it establishes homicide, then that’s the answer. If it establishes racial motivation, then that’s the answer. The responsibility is to follow the evidence wherever it leads, even when the answer is uncomfortable.
TRUST HAS TO BE EARNED
One of the most difficult parts of this conversation is the issue of trust. Black Americans have legitimate historical reasons for questioning whether every institution has always treated them fairly. That doesn’t mean every police officer is corrupt, every investigator is dishonest, or every local government official is involved in wrongdoing. Those claims would also require evidence. But it does mean that trust cannot simply be demanded from a community that has experienced discrimination and injustice.
Trust is earned through transparency. It’s earned when investigators explain what they can explain, when evidence is properly preserved, when families are treated with dignity, when legitimate questions receive answers, and when officials are willing to acknowledge mistakes if mistakes are made. Trust becomes stronger when institutions understand that scrutiny isn’t automatically an attack. Sometimes scrutiny is what protects an investigation from suspicion.
That’s also why there can be circumstances in which federal involvement becomes appropriate. If credible evidence points toward a federal civil-rights violation, a hate crime, or misconduct that falls within federal jurisdiction, there are federal investigative mechanisms available. That doesn’t mean every suspicious death should automatically become a federal case. It means people should understand that local authorities aren’t always the only level of accountability available when the facts warrant something more.
The strongest position isn’t to automatically distrust every institution, and it isn’t to blindly trust every institution. The strongest position is to demand evidence and accountability from every institution.
THIS SHOULD FORCE US TO ASK HOW WE PROTECT OUR OWN
Now let’s move beyond this particular investigation, because there’s a larger lesson here that we shouldn’t ignore. Regardless of how this case eventually turns out, Black communities across America need to become more connected and more protective of their own people. That doesn’t mean becoming paranoid, violent, or obsessed with enemies. It means recognizing that communities are stronger when people actually know one another and pay attention to what’s happening around them.
We live in a strange time when people can know everything about strangers online while knowing almost nothing about the people living next door. We know celebrities’ personal business. We know who’s fighting with whom on social media. We know what somebody ate for breakfast. We know who somebody is dating. Yet we may not know that the elderly woman down the street hasn’t been seen in several days. We may not notice that our neighbor’s daughter hasn’t come home. We may not know that somebody has been receiving threats or being followed.
That kind of disconnection creates weaknesses that dangerous people can exploit.
A strong community should have trusted ways of communicating when something unusual happens. People should know who they can call when there’s an emergency. Families should have systems for checking on one another. Parents should know where their children are. Young people should know who they can contact when they feel threatened. Neighbors should be willing to notice when something doesn’t look right without turning every unusual situation into gossip.
There’s a major difference between gossiping about somebody and protecting somebody. Gossip spreads information because people want entertainment. Community protection spreads information because people want safety. We need much more of the second and much less of the first.
PROTECTING OUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN HAS TO BECOME A COMMUNITY RESPONSIBILITY
Our women and children deserve special attention because predators often look for isolation. That doesn’t mean teaching our daughters to live in fear or telling our children that everybody around them is dangerous. It means teaching them how to recognize warning signs and making sure they know they have people who will take their concerns seriously.
Simple systems can make a difference. Families can establish check-in routines when someone is traveling alone. Trusted relatives and friends can know when someone is expected home. Communities can organize responsible neighborhood watches that focus on observation and communication rather than confrontation. People can install security cameras where practical. Parents can teach children about inappropriate behavior, manipulation, online dangers, and the importance of immediately telling a trusted adult when something doesn’t feel right.
None of this requires hatred.
None of this requires vigilantism.
None of this requires us to assume that every stranger is an enemy.
It requires preparation.
The mistake we often make is waiting until something terrible happens before we decide that community matters. By then, it may be too late. Protection has to be built before the emergency, not after the funeral.
THE INTERNET HAS CREATED A NEW KIND OF THREAT
We also have to recognize that the battlefield has changed. Hate groups, extremists, stalkers, predators, scammers, and other dangerous individuals can use the internet to communicate, recruit, threaten, manipulate, and hide behind anonymous identities. That doesn’t mean every anonymous account is part of an organized hate group, and we shouldn’t make reckless assumptions about people simply because they post something offensive.
But credible threats should never be dismissed.
If somebody receives repeated threats, those messages should be preserved. If someone is being stalked online and offline, the evidence should be documented. If there’s a pattern of harassment, screenshots, dates, usernames, messages, and other relevant information can become important. If an online threat appears connected to a real-world incident, that information should be given to appropriate authorities rather than simply becoming another argument on social media.
Technology can be part of the problem, but it can also become part of the solution. Security cameras, communication groups, emergency alerts, location-sharing tools, and other lawful technologies can give families and communities more information when something goes wrong. The goal shouldn’t be to turn our neighborhoods into prisons. The goal should be to make it harder for somebody to hurt another person and disappear without leaving evidence.
DEFENSIVE DOESN’T HAVE TO MEAN DESTRUCTIVE
I know some people will hear me talking about community protection and immediately assume I’m advocating hatred or violence. That’s not what I’m saying. There’s nothing hateful about wanting your family to be safe. There’s nothing hateful about teaching your children how to recognize danger. There’s nothing hateful about walking someone to their car at night, checking on a neighbor, documenting a threat, or demanding that an investigation be done properly.
Self-protection and hatred are not the same thing.
We can reject racism while understanding that racism exists. We can reject violence while understanding that violence happens. We can believe in equality while understanding that every individual and every community still has a responsibility to protect vulnerable people.
The objective should be to become harder to isolate, harder to intimidate, and harder to ignore. That doesn’t require us to become violent. It requires us to become organized.
And organization is something we desperately need.
WE CAN’T DEPEND ON POLITICIANS TO DO EVERYTHING FOR US
Every time a tragedy happens, there are usually politicians ready with statements, condolences, promises, and calls for change. Sometimes those promises lead to meaningful action, and sometimes they fade away once the cameras leave. Meanwhile, families continue living with the consequences long after the political conversation has moved on to something else.
That’s why I don’t believe our survival can depend entirely on political promises. Politics matters, but community matters too. Government matters, but family matters too. Law enforcement matters, but neighbors matter too. Courts matter, but documentation matters too.
We need to understand how these systems work, but we also need to understand their limitations. We need to know our rights and know where to go when those rights may have been violated. When evidence suggests a federal civil-rights violation or hate crime, federal authorities have mechanisms for investigating those matters. The existence of those mechanisms means communities should understand that accountability doesn’t necessarily stop at the local level.
But none of that replaces community responsibility.
We can’t wait for a politician to tell us to care about one another.
We should already care.
IF THIS WAS SUICIDE, THE QUESTIONS DON’T DISAPPEAR
Let’s consider the possibility that the final investigation determines that this young woman died by suicide. If that’s what the evidence establishes, then we have to respect the evidence. But we also have to recognize the tragedy underneath that conclusion.
A 29-year-old woman would have been carrying something powerful enough to bring her to that point. Maybe people knew. Maybe nobody knew. Maybe she hid her pain. Maybe she reached out and nobody understood. Maybe she felt completely alone.
We don’t know.
But that uncertainty should remind us that community protection isn’t only about protecting people from external threats. It’s also about protecting people from isolation, despair, abuse, and hopelessness.
Sometimes we wait until somebody is dead before we discover that they were suffering.
We need to get better at checking on people while they’re alive.
We need to get better at asking how somebody is really doing.
We need to get better at noticing when somebody’s behavior changes.
We need to create communities where people don’t feel like they have to carry everything alone.
If this death turns out to have been suicide, that lesson still matters.
IF THE EVIDENCE SHOWS FOUL PLAY, WE HAVE TO FOLLOW IT
But if the evidence eventually establishes foul play, then nobody should be afraid to follow that evidence wherever it leads. If it was homicide, investigate the homicide. If there was an attempt to disguise a murder as suicide, investigate that. If there’s evidence of racial motivation, investigate that. If there’s evidence of official misconduct, investigate that. If authorities did everything properly, then the evidence should establish that too.
That’s what justice requires.
We don’t need to know the conclusion before the investigation. We need to know that the investigation was thorough enough that the conclusion deserves our confidence.
That’s a much stronger demand than simply shouting accusations.
WE NEED TO BUILD OUR COMMUNITY BEFORE THE EMERGENCY
The larger lesson from this situation is that protection cannot begin after somebody is already dead. We need to build stronger systems before the crisis arrives. We need trusted communication networks. We need people who actually know their neighbors. We need parents who know where their children are. We need families who check on one another. We need communities that notice when someone disappears. We need people who understand how to document threats and preserve evidence.
And we need to stop confusing community with gossip.
Knowing everybody’s business doesn’t make us united.
Knowing who needs help does.
Knowing who is vulnerable does.
Knowing who hasn’t been seen does.
Knowing who needs somebody to make a phone call does.
That’s what real community looks like.
STRENGTH WITHOUT HATRED
Being defensive-minded doesn’t mean becoming destructive. It means understanding that danger exists and deciding that we’re going to reduce our vulnerability wherever possible. It means teaching our children, communicating with our neighbors, protecting our families, documenting suspicious activity, and demanding accountability when legitimate questions arise.
It means refusing to be helpless without becoming hateful.
That’s the balance I believe we need.
We don’t need vigilantes roaming the streets. We don’t need people taking justice into their own hands. We don’t need to attack people because of their race, political beliefs, religion, or anything else. We need disciplined communities that know how to observe, communicate, document, report, and protect.
That’s strength.
THE TRUTH MUST COME FIRST
So I’m not going to tell you that Tasia Fortune was lynched. I’m not going to tell you that she committed suicide. I’m not going to accuse a hate group, a police department, or an individual without evidence. What I’m saying is that a 29-year-old Black woman was found hanging from a tree behind a vacant home in Mississippi, and the circumstances deserve a complete investigation. The authorities have the responsibility to determine what happened, and the public has every right to expect that the investigation will be thorough.
At the same time, I refuse to believe that asking questions is somehow irresponsible. Black Americans have a history that makes certain circumstances especially painful and especially concerning, and acknowledging that history doesn’t mean declaring someone guilty. We can remember what happened to Black people in the past while still demanding evidence in the present. We can respect an investigation while insisting that investigators leave no legitimate possibility unexplored.
And while the investigation continues, we can use this moment to strengthen our communities regardless of what the final answer becomes. We can communicate more. We can check on our people more. We can protect our women and children more. We can build responsible neighborhood networks. We can document threats. We can use technology wisely. We can learn our rights. We can understand where to turn when local answers aren’t enough. Most importantly, we can stop waiting until tragedy forces us to remember that we belong to one another.
Because politicians can make promises, but communities have to live with the consequences when those promises fail. Institutions can investigate, but families have to live with the loss when an investigation comes too late. Governments can create laws, but ordinary people still have to look out for one another every day. That’s why I’m saying we need to become more connected, more observant, more organized, and more defensive-minded without becoming hateful or violent. We don’t need to become the thing we fear in order to protect ourselves from it.
If this death ultimately turns out to be suicide, then we have to accept the evidence and ask what could have been done to help a young woman who was hurting. If it turns out to be something darker, then we have to follow that evidence wherever it leads and demand accountability without fear. Either way, we should come out of this stronger than we went into it. Because the ultimate lesson isn’t simply about one woman, one tree, one vacant house, or one investigation. It’s about whether we’re willing to become a community that notices, a community that communicates, a community that protects, and a community that refuses to let its people become invisible. We don’t need hatred to survive. We need each other. And if we truly believe that, then it’s time we start acting like it.
SCURV
1. BUILD COMMUNITY COMMUNICATION NETWORKS. Every neighborhood should have trusted ways to communicate quickly when someone goes missing, receives a threat, witnesses suspicious activity, or needs help.
2. PROTECT OUR WOMEN WITHOUT TURNING THEM INTO PRISONERS. Encourage buddy systems, check-ins, safe transportation, emergency contacts, location sharing with trusted people, and awareness when traveling alone.
3. CREATE RESPONSIBLE NEIGHBORHOOD WATCHES. The goal shouldn’t be confrontation. It should be observation, documentation, communication, and contacting the proper authorities.
4. DOCUMENT EVERYTHING. Threatening messages, stalking, suspicious vehicles, repeated harassment, unexplained incidents, and other evidence should be preserved rather than dismissed as gossip.
5. USE CAMERAS AND TECHNOLOGY. Doorbell cameras, security cameras, neighborhood camera networks, emergency alerts, and other lawful technology can create evidence when nobody happens to be standing there.
6. TEACH CHILDREN HOW TO RECOGNIZE DANGER. Children need age-appropriate lessons about strangers, trusted adults, online predators, manipulation, unsafe situations, and when they should immediately seek help.
7. BUILD RELATIONSHIPS WITH RESPONSIBLE AUTHORITIES. Community protection doesn’t mean automatically trusting or automatically distrusting police. It means knowing who to contact, knowing procedures, and demanding accountability when necessary.
8. KNOW WHEN TO SEEK OUTSIDE INVESTIGATION. When credible evidence raises questions involving civil-rights violations, racial motivation, official misconduct, or conflicts of interest, communities should know that federal civil-rights channels exist.
9. STOP CONFUSING UNITY WITH GOSSIP. Knowing everybody’s business isn’t community. Knowing who needs help, who’s missing, who’s vulnerable, and who needs protection is community.
10. BUILD DEFENSIVE-MINDED COMMUNITIES WITHOUT BECOMING VIOLENT COMMUNITIES. We don’t need vigilantes. We need organized people who communicate, observe, document, protect vulnerable family members, preserve evidence, and demand justice through lawful means.
