The Voice of Ida B Wells

Voice of Freedom

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  • Gotta be the Shoes!

    There comes a point when spectacle can no longer masquerade as service, and the people must discern the difference between appearance and accountability.

    I have watched, with growing concern, a leadership that seems more devoted to performance than to the pressing needs of its citizens—so much so that even the image presented becomes symbolic. Day after day, the same faded brown shoes make their appearance, worn not merely on the feet, but as a quiet emblem of stagnation. For while attire alone does not make the man, it does reflect a certain neglect—an unwillingness, perhaps, to refresh what has long grown tired, both in wardrobe and in governance.

    And while the public is asked to place its trust in those who govern, one must also take note of what is done in plain sight. Somewhere around 11:10 on Wednesday morning—during the very hours designated for public service—two City Hall employees were observed walking into a liquor store on Homer Road. Among them, the mayor’s secretary, accompanied by a colleague. One cannot help but ask: is this what has become of city time? Is this the stewardship citizens are to accept while their own needs wait in line?

    A mayor may present himself as “hands-on,” but the timing of such engagement—particularly when it conveniently aligns with an election season—raises questions that cannot be ignored. True service is not seasonal; it is steadfast, consistent, and transparent.

    While the public is offered gestures and visibility, there remain deeper issues that demand urgent attention. The safeguarding of citizens’ personal information, the integrity of municipal systems, and the timely restoration of essential utility services during business hours are not luxuries—they are basic obligations of governance. When these duties falter, it is not merely an administrative oversight; it is a breach of public trust.

    Equally troubling is the pattern of leadership and appointments that appear rooted not in merit, but in familiarity. When positions of authority—particularly one as critical as Chief of Police—risk being filled from within personal or familial circles, the question of impartiality becomes unavoidable. A city cannot thrive under the weight of favoritism. It must be governed by those qualified, accountable, and representative of all its people.

    And let it be plainly stated: when the faces of influence and decision-making consistently fail to reflect the diversity of the community, it reveals more than coincidence—it exposes a system that has yet to fully reckon with equity.

    The people are watching. They are thinking. And they are no longer content with surface-level leadership—whether dressed in the same worn brown shoes or polished promises. They deserve integrity over image, service over show, and leadership that stands not only in visibility—but in truth.

  • Lights Out!

    Thank you for sharing your thoughts and story to Ms. Ida B. Wells.

    It appears that what was once a full crew has now been reduced to only two hands left to carry the burden. The lights may have been paid for and restored on paper, yet for the residents who sit in the dark, the service itself has yet to return. One must ask plainly: is this a failure of resources, or a failure of leadership within the Utilities Department?

    While the people wait for the most basic services owed to them, the mayor makes a careful show of public appearances—taking lunch with visiting representatives from Washington and reading storybooks to children in local schools. These gestures, though pleasant for the cameras, do little to warm a house left without power.

    Meanwhile, the departments meant to serve the citizens are left short-staffed and stretched thin during the very hours when the public depends on them most. The residents are not granted a reprieve, yet the workforce tasked with serving them has been cut back.

    Such conditions are often the harvest of a familiar practice: positions filled not by qualification but by friendship. When individuals are elevated from temporary agencies into municipal authority without the necessary experience, the people inevitably bear the cost of that decision.

    And so one cannot ignore the political winds blowing through these circumstances. When the pursuit of votes—particularly the securing of favor for the coming election—takes precedence over the proper staffing and functioning of city departments, the citizens are left to wonder whose interests are truly being served.

    For the public office is not a stage for performance nor a ladder for political comfort. It is a trust. And when that trust is neglected, it is the duty of the people to ask questions—loudly, clearly, and without apology.

  • Remember the Times

    The voices of racism do not always shout. Sometimes they whisper—soft enough for some to pretend they do not hear them, yet loud enough for those who know the history to recognize their sound.

    Integration in this town did not arrive until 1974. That is not ancient history. Many of the very students who once stood in opposition to Black children entering their “all-white” classrooms still walk these streets today. Time has passed, but for some, the spirit of exclusion has not. The years have changed the calendar, but not always the heart.

    One need not be a rocket scientist to read the room. Look around and see which spaces welcome us only in small numbers—just enough to claim fairness, but never enough to disturb the comfort of old traditions. There are institutions that proudly preserve a past that never intended for us to belong. A few are allowed through the door, while the structure itself remains unchanged.

    What is most curious is the contradiction. In some places our presence is unwelcome, yet our culture is eagerly consumed. Our music fills their celebrations. Our athletic gifts fill their stadiums. Our brilliance is welcomed where it entertains or profits, yet resisted where it demands equality.

    We even see it in education. They fight for entry into our historically Black institutions, yet work tirelessly to preserve their own schools as spaces where our presence remains limited. And somehow we are expected to applaud this arrangement.

    What is more troubling still is how easily we surrender our own spaces. Places built from the struggle and endurance of our people are too often handed over without reflection. Take “Miller Quarters,” once a place of shotgun houses where Black families lived under the weight of segregation. Now it is spoken of as a landmark—something to commemorate.

    But we must ask ourselves: What exactly are we memorializing?

    Must every reminder of our past be tied to oppression? Are there not places in this town that speak of Black achievement, pride, and community? The hospital on Talton Street or Maiden Lane. Places where life was built, where dignity flourished despite the obstacles placed before us.

    To elevate a place that symbolizes hardship while ignoring places that symbolize triumph is not remembrance—it is distortion.

    And the insult deepens when we continue to honor the names of men whose hands were stained with the terror of lynching our young Black men. To raise their names on signs and buildings is not history—it is celebration of cruelty.

    We must remember where we came from. But remembrance must come with truth, dignity, and wisdom. Our history should not be used to chain us to humiliation, but to remind us of the strength it took to survive it.

    If this town truly wishes to honor its past, then let it tell the whole story—and let the voices of justice speak louder than the whispers of racism.

  • No Title Needed

    There are times when a thinking citizen cannot help but pause, look around, and ask what strange silence has settled over a town. For in cities across this nation, when malfeasance in office appears, the light of scrutiny soon follows. Yet here, in this quiet corner that proudly calls itself the “happiest town in the South,” wrongdoing seems to hide comfortably in the shadows while the public is asked to look the other way.

    But let us be clear: the people know.

    They know what has been whispered in hallways and discussed behind closed doors. They know that money has moved in ways that demand explanation. They know that questions remain unanswered. And still, the silence persists. One cannot help but wonder—has every voice been quieted, or merely persuaded to remain so?

    We have seen before where city funds have been used to settle matters quietly, where payouts have replaced accountability. Twenty-five thousand dollars remains a matter still resting on the table, yet few dare to speak its name. Meanwhile homes are condemned and somehow find their way into the hands of those connected to power, sometimes placed conveniently in the names of others.

    And now the public is asked to watch yet another chapter unfold in the choosing of a Chief of Police—one candidate who has sued the very city he now seeks to serve, another whose personal ties intertwine neatly with the current administration. Should the latter prevail, one might fairly ask whether this city will be governed not by the people, but by a comfortable circle of family and familiarity.

    The citizens would do well to open their eyes.

    For while this drama unfolds in the chambers of power, another reality stands plainly in view. In offices across City Hall, how many Black citizens are seen in positions of authority? How many have been interviewed, hired, and trusted with leadership rather than with the broom, the curtain, or the phone?

    Look carefully and you will see the pattern.

    The only Black face in one office stands behind a curtain. Others are tasked with cleaning the halls. One answers the phone at the desk. And the question rises again—how many have been offered the chance to do more?

    Racism, though some would prefer to declare it dead, still lingers quietly in the air of 71055. It lingers in hiring decisions, in silence from leadership, and in the weary acceptance of those who have grown accustomed to injustice.

    Even in matters of faith, contradictions appear. On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, certain leaders are welcomed into our pulpits with ceremony and applause. Yet one must ask: are we welcomed into theirs with the same honor? A seat among the congregation might have sufficed, yet the pulpit itself is offered freely—while the dignity of our own community is so often dismissed.

    At some point a people must decide whether they will continue smiling politely in the face of disregard, or whether they will stand upright in the dignity that is their birthright.

    For everything is not well simply because we pretend that it is.

    Justice does not arrive through silence. Peace is not maintained by pretending wrongdoing does not exist. True peace is built through truth, knowledge, courage, and the willingness of citizens to hold their leaders accountable.

    This is not a call for chaos.

    It is a call for conscience.

    And the question remains before the people of this town:

    When will we stand not only for what is comfortable—but for what is right?

  • Questions.

    Thank you for all of your comments if you want to talk about or have any questions or concerns email me at-
     thevoiceofidabwells@gmail.com 

  • Next Candidate

    The people of Minden must learn to look beyond slogans and smiling faces, for behind the curtain of “progress” there often sits a hand pulling strings in plain sight.

    Now we are told there is a new candidate for police chief—yet this is no ordinary candidate. This man is the brother-in-law of a sitting council member. And the citizens should not be naïve enough to believe that family ties in government come without influence.

    Let us speak plainly.

    This same individual has sued the city not once, but multiple times. He has been fired—yet returned. And now, with history trailing behind him like a shadow, he steps forward as though he is entitled to the position meant to protect and serve the public.

    So I ask what any thinking citizen should ask:

    Who gave him the courage to run?

    Who assured him that the door would be opened for him—no matter his record, no matter the conflicts, no matter the questions?

    Was it the same voice whispering behind the scenes, the one posing as a savior of Minden under the banner of “making Minden great again”?

    Or is it the same power responsible for pushing the “colored” people out of the utilities office until the halls of employment look less like fairness and more like a calculated cleansing?

    These are not accidents. These are patterns.

    And patterns do not form without intention.

    The people have been trained to dismiss their instincts, to silence their doubts, and to accept “business as usual” even when business is anything but honest.

    But a town cannot be made great by removing its Black citizens from positions of visibility, dignity, and authority. A town cannot claim justice while placing power in the hands of those protected by bloodline and backroom deals.

    These are the things that make a wise mind wonder—

    and a brave heart speak.

    So I say to Minden:

    Watch closely. Ask questions. Demand answers.

    Because what is happening is not simply politics—

    it is power moving in darkness.

    Minden, please stay woke.

  • Do As I SAY!

    The handwriting is already etched upon the wall for all who dare to read it. The same council now recommends as mayor pro tempore the very man who approved the release of $25,000—an act carried out, we are told, without the mayor’s knowledge. Such a claim insults both reason and intelligence. Logic alone testifies otherwise.

    This matter was not whispered in a corner. It was motioned. It was seconded. And yet, not one council member raised a single question to justify or defend an action that remains “tabled” in the public eye. Silence, in moments such as these, is not neutrality—it is complicity.

    Look closely and the truth reveals itself plainly: these are not leaders exercising independent judgment. They are placeholders, arranged neatly beneath the command of one who rules by instruction rather than consent. Their charge is not to deliberate, but to obey. Not to represent the people, but to carry out orders.

    History teaches us that tyranny does not always arrive with fanfare; often it moves quietly through compliant hands and unchallenged authority. And when those entrusted with oversight refuse to question, refuse to challenge, and refuse to explain, they become instruments of the very injustice they pretend not to see.

  • Black Curtain

    For months I have held my silence, not because the wrongs were unclear, but because I sought to understand how injustice can parade so boldly while those sworn to serve pretend not to see it. I have watched as citizens are disregarded and dismissed, while the Black community—ever familiar with injustice—recognizes it immediately, for it has been our inheritance in this land.

    This pattern did not arise by accident, nor did it appear overnight. It began when this mayor assumed office. First, a Black supervisor was demeaned until retirement became the only refuge left to preserve dignity. Months later, another Black supervisor met the same fate—degraded, pushed aside—their grievances formally submitted to the so-called “new” council, where they were conveniently ignored.

    Soon after, a Black clerk was publicly diminished by the assistant city clerk. No correction followed. No accountability was demanded. Instead, the injured party resigned, her letter of protest sent to the council and buried in silence.

    There was a pause—long enough to suggest peace, but not long enough to signal change. Then, once again, the same offenses resumed. The council was fully aware. Another individual was degraded. More letters were written. More pleas cited racism and discrimination. And still, nothing was addressed.

    What is perhaps most troubling is not only the persistence of these acts, but the stillness of our response. We, the Black community, bear witness—and yet we remain unmoved to action.

    Now, when one walks into City Hall, the evidence stands plainly before us. Of the few Black faces remaining, one is obscured behind a so-called “Black curtain,” while the others are relegated to custodial roles. Is this progress? Is this representation? Or is it merely the modern costume of an old and familiar injustice?

    I do not know when we will awaken. But I do know this: history shows that injustice thrives not merely by the cruelty of those who practice it, but by the silence of those who endure it.

    And silence, once again, is being mistaken for consent.

  • The Mask

    You would have to be willfully blind to believe that the recent changes made in this town were for the betterment of its people. What we are witnessing is not leadership—it is domination disguised as development. Power has been traded for control, and the people are paying the price.

    Since when did gathering on your own family land become a crime? Must the descendants of those who built this soil now ask permission to stand upon it? These new restrictions are not about order—they are about ownership, about reminding citizens who holds the power to say yes or no to their very existence.

    Miller Park once stood as a symbol of unity, a place where families could gather freely and communities could breathe. The previous administration planted seeds of progress there, but now, even that progress comes at a cost. The people may be welcome to gather, but only under watchful eyes and tightened rules.

    We were told that changing utility providers would bring relief—a victory for the citizens. Yet the bills have not fallen, and the burden remains. The kiosks that fail to process payments, the removal of the drive-thru that once served working families—these are not innovations, they are inconveniences wrapped in deceit.

    And where is accountability? City credit cards seem to float without restraint, their use unchecked and unexplained. We hear whispers of one being used across state lines—in Texas—to repair a private vehicle belonging to someone preparing to sue the city, followed by a check to conceal the act. Such conduct is not mere carelessness. It is corruption.

    The pattern is as plain as daylight: decisions made in silence, funds moved in shadows, and every Black face quietly erased from the picture of public service. The so-called “friendliest city in the South” wears a smile that does not reach its eyes. Its friendliness is reserved for a chosen few, while the rest are met with closed doors and empty promises.

    Let us not be deceived. This is not progress—it is the quiet dismantling of community power. History will not absolve those who participated, nor those who stood idly by while the people’s voice was stripped away. For silence, too, is a form of consent.

  • Resting on the table!

    I watched the council meeting—still no mention of that $25,000. It remains tabled, tucked away like so many truths this city refuses to face. Officers are dismissed, yet the one with the red-orange hair, the very same who signed the check, stands untouched and unbothered, her unprofessionalism cloaked in protection.

    When the wrongdoer wears privilege, silence follows. But when they are Black, punishment is swift, merciless, and public. 

    Can you see it, Minden? The city clerk’s hand upon the pen, joined by the assistant city clerk’s signature—two names sealing a check that now lies beneath a veil of secrecy. Yet not a word of accountability crosses the council floor.

    Connections protect some. The wife’s best friend remains shielded, her actions excused. The red-orange head, too, enjoys the comfort of quiet complicity. Meanwhile, the citizens are expected to forget—to let it all rest on the table.

    But rest assured, truth never sleeps.

    Wake up, Minden. The rug they sweep it under is starting to lift.