The TV cast a stark, brutal light over the living room, illuminating my mother’s face as we watched the video of Tyre Nichols’ assault together. She sat next to me, 60-something years old, a woman who has lived through her share of injustice and yet somehow, each time, the pain lands fresh. As the footage played, she shook her head, muttering words that pierced the silence between us: “They didn’t have to do that boy like that.”

Her voice held the weight of every incident, every assault, every silent and not-so-silent act of violence she’s witnessed in her lifetime. There was a world of exhaustion in those words, an unspoken reminder that, in all her years, justice and mercy have too often felt like distant promises, even in moments when they were most desperately needed. As we sat together, it felt like the weight of generations bore down on us, each one grappling with this sickening realization: that for all our progress, so much still remains unchanged.

Moments like these remind me why, as a Black woman, I cannot afford to sit back during an election year. Watching Donald Trump’s influence on our nation—the rhetoric that emboldens hatred, the policies that dig deeper into our wounds—feels like a constant, chilling reliving of the Jim Crow era. It’s a modern-day public lynching, inflicted through policies and powers that harm us in ways that feel calculated and cruel. The phrase echoes in my mind: “He don’t have to do us like that.” Yet, each day, we see him and others in power act as though there’s a silent permission to disregard us, to dismiss the calls for change, and to double down on practices that uphold systemic inequities.

This is why our vote is vital. For Black women, 2024 is not just another election cycle—it’s a reckoning, a moment when we have the opportunity to push back against the tides of racism and misogyny that are dressed up as politics as usual. Voting isn’t just a right; it’s a tool of survival, a way of demanding acknowledgment and respect, of claiming the justice that our mothers and grandmothers dreamed of but often never saw. It’s our chance to hold leaders accountable and to say, Enough is enough.

The struggles that my mother has endured, and that I have witnessed, fuel my determination to make sure that my voice, my vote, and my resolve count. Watching that video reminded me of our pain, but it also reminded me of our resilience. Black women have always been a powerful force in our nation’s history. Our votes have led to shifts in policies, inspired movements, and disrupted the status quo. We are a force to be reckoned with—and this election is no different.

In 2024, we must stand together, casting our ballots not just as citizens, but as stewards of a legacy that demands to be seen, heard, and honored. We must channel our anger, our grief, and yes, our hope, into action. We vote because we cannot watch another generation inherit the same brutal realities. We vote to demand a future where Black lives matter in every sense, and where justice is not just a word spoken but a right lived.

This year, as we approach the polls, let’s remember my mother’s words: “They didn’t have to do that boy like that.” Those words are both a painful reminder and a call to action, urging us forward. We vote because we know we deserve better—and we are determined to see a world that reflects that truth.

Kirstin Cheers is the deputy director of public relations at KQ Communications. She holds a master’s in communications studies from the university of Memphis. She lives in Memphis, TN.

If you were to ask anyone on my campus to describe November 6, the day after the presidential election, they would likely respond with the word “unremarkable.” For this reason I think it is more important than ever to tell the unremarkable story of my Appalachian campus, cozily nestled in a sea of red, one day after the 2024 presidential election.

In the weeks leading to Election Day, I visualized campus on November 6 with one candidate elected and then-the other. In one scenario I imagined campus in turmoil, an externalized expression of feelings including scenes of protests, riots, and unrest. In the second scenario, I imagined the same turmoil but within myself as a form of internalized grief knowing I would be in the minority. Regardless of whether my candidate won, I was loathing the day after the election because of my uncertainty about how campus was going to react. My coping method for dealing with anxiety was to extinguish fearful fantasies the minute they ignited and ignore this major historic event that was about to happen.

Fast forward to Wednesday, November 6. I walked into my office at 8 am having had very little time to reflect on or process the election. In an ideal situation, I should have had a day to digest the results and gauge students’ demeanor, but I did not have that privilege. I had to jump in with the belief that the world’s worst topic I could discuss the day after the election was how to build a persuasive argument with logic and credibility in a public speaking course. I had one hour to figure out how to address this sensitive topic in a way that did not inflame a potentially already agitated audience–students. My head was not clear after a sleepless night of watching election results and I was doing a miserable job of keeping my emotions composed. I was nervous and foolishly unprepared to teach an already difficult topic to a public speaking class with what I imagined to be a room full of happy students as the majority and a small group of sad students as the minority.

In my anxious and frantic state, I resorted to talking through my thoughts with my Dean by using her as a sounding board at 8:30 am. I had a few tears of anxiety but she remained stoic. Her reaction to my anxiousness was so muted that I began to wonder if I needed to be as nervous as I was. Thankfully, in a few minutes we brainstormed a way to teach logic through lighthearted topics like, why our town should serve free ice cream once per month. This simple approach nurtured my feelings and convinced me to have courage to face students and the day’s topic. My goal was to carry business on as usual without causing emotional instability. I have been especially sensitive towards the emotional tone of my classroom since the pandemic where dark clouds of social isolation and anxiety loom; where concealed weapons on campus have recently been made legal; and where students of an Appalachian community college struggle with real-world issues like poverty, caring for terminally ill loved ones, and drug addiction. By the time I arrived to class at 9:30 am, only one of my colleagues had mentioned the previous night’s election.

After I gave a quick lesson on logic and had students work in groups to create an argument with their lighthearted topics, I realized everyone seemed astoundingly normal. Not one group brought up politics or strayed off topic to discuss election results. They were all very focused on the assignment but were struggling significantly. They could not figure out how to take a stance and build an argument. One group even begged me to tell them what their stance should be on their topic of what season is the best of all. I began to realize the majority were struggling with the assignment because they were terrified to form an opinion among peers whom they had been building relationships with for over 13 weeks. Then I realized their reticence on the election results was for similar reasons. I wanted to be certain that this was true, so I talked to one of the small groups that seemed “safe” to unleash my thoughts.

I explained that it bothered me that there was inevitably both happiness and sadness in the room but not a soul would know. I told them I imagined this being extremely lonely. I explained that I could not imagine anything worse in the world than to feel unable to share a feeling of any kind with anyone and that is what I imagine their experience being with the election. I visualized feelings of emptiness and loneliness as more terrifying than any election results and explained that my wish for them is to take my lesson on how to build an argument to build confidence in learning how to share an opinion and even more importantly how to share an emotion with others. As I was talking, I could tell my words deeply resonated with the students. Students agreed, not through their words, but through their nonverbal reactions. This may not sound like much; but in my post-pandemic days of teaching, the biggest struggle I have is eliciting any kind of verbal or nonverbal response. For the first time this semester, I felt like I was truly talking to humans with real feelings and opinions. Not a single student found the courage to discuss this further but I knew I had left them feeling validated for their undisclosed feelings.

I came back the next day with a new group of public speaking students and tested what I had said to the small group the previous day. I wanted to be sure my perception was accurate. This time, I got one brave student to raise a hand and say, “That is a very kind way of describing us but do you feel deceit when students don’t express themselves?” I responded, “Of course not; I believe that fear to express an opinion and feelings is a very real experience and I want more than anything to empower them to conquer those fears. Loneliness is more terrifying than any elections results.” I could tell I had touched another group of students who were also silently struggling for a voice but were lost in how use them.

To this day, November 14, only one colleague has initiated a conversation about the election results with me and not one single student has. If any election results were discussed on campus, it was because I initiated the conversation. It appears someone has pushed the mute button on my campus for all voices. So, there we have it, a seemingly unremarkable story with a strong message about Generation Z, our inability to engage in meaningful dialogue, and the future of democracy.

Biography

Dr. Mary Beth Held is an Associate Professor of Communication Studies at a community college in Appalachia, where she has dedicated over thirteen years to fostering student voices and academic growth. Dr. Mary Beth Held holds an M.A. in Communication Studies from West Virginia University and a Ph.D. in Higher Education Administration from Ohio University. Her passion for empowering students through effective communication continues to be the driving force of her work, as she remains committed to helping her students develop the skills and confidence to succeed both in and outside the classroom. If you would like to reach Dr. Mary Beth Held, they can be emailed at mheld@wvup.edu.

As a Nurse Practitioner (NP) in primary care, I see firsthand how the health of African- Americans in Memphis is shaped by social, economic, and systemic factors. Memphis, a city rich in culture and history, is also a city where health disparities—particularly for African-American communities—are stark. Despite advances in medicine and healthcare delivery, African- Americans in Memphis still face significant barriers to achieving optimal health outcomes.

As a healthcare provider on the front lines, I am continually reminded that these disparities are not just the result of biological differences, but are intricately tied to socio-economic conditions, historical inequities, and the structure of our healthcare system. In this post, I will explore these health disparities, provide insights based on my practice, and offer thoughts on how we can move forward as a community.

The Scope of Health Disparities in Memphis

African-Americans make up approximately 65% of the population in Memphis. However, this majority population experiences some of the highest rates of chronic disease, such as hypertension, diabetes, and heart disease. According to the Shelby County Health Department, African-Americans in Memphis have significantly higher mortality rates from conditions like heart disease and stroke compared to their white counterparts. These health issues are often diagnosed later, managed less effectively, and result in worse outcomes.

Chronic Diseases

Memphis is often ranked among the top U.S. cities for obesity, and within the African-American community, rates of obesity are disproportionately high. Obesity is closely linked to conditions like hypertension and diabetes, both of which are prevalent among African-American patients I see in primary care. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), African-Americans are 40% more likely to have hypertension and are twice as likely to die from it as non-Hispanic whites.

I routinely encounter patients who present with blood pressure readings well above the target range for hypertension. Often, these individuals have not seen a healthcare provider in years—sometimes due to lack of access, other times due to distrust of the healthcare system. The long-term, unmonitored progression of hypertension contributes to heart disease and stroke, leading causes of death among African-Americans in Memphis.

Diabetes is another pervasive issue. African-Americans are twice as likely to develop type 2 diabetes, and in Memphis, complications from this disease—such as kidney failure, amputations, and blindness—are tragically common. In my practice, I work diligently with patients on lifestyle changes, medication management, and diabetes education, but the social determinants of health make long-term control difficult for many.

Mental Health

Mental health disparities among African-Americans in Memphis are equally concerning. African-Americans are less likely to receive treatment for mental health issues, even though they experience similar rates of conditions like depression and anxiety compared to other racial groups. Structural racism, economic disadvantage, and the trauma of living in poverty-stricken neighborhoods contribute to high levels of stress and mental illness.

In my role, I often serve as a first point of contact for patients who are struggling with their mental health. It’s not uncommon for African-American patients to report somatic symptoms—such as headaches, fatigue, or unexplained pain—that are tied to stress or untreated depression. Yet, due to stigma and lack of access to mental health professionals, many patients do not receive the treatment they need.

The Root Causes of Health Disparities

The health disparities in Memphis are not solely the result of individual behaviors. They are rooted in broader social determinants of health—conditions in the environments where people live, learn, work, and play. Many African- Americans in Memphis are, unfortunately,  more likely to live in poverty, experience unemployment, and face food insecurity—all of which contribute to poor health outcomes.

In my experience, the lack of access to healthy foods is a major issue in predominantly African-American neighborhoods. Many of my patients live in food deserts, where fresh fruits and vegetables are hard to come by, and fast-food options dominate. When I talk to patients about managing their diabetes or hypertension, I often hear the same response: “It’s hard to eat healthy when the only grocery store near me doesn’t carry fresh produce.”

Another major barrier is access to healthcare itself. Many African-Americans in Memphis are either uninsured or underinsured. Even those with insurance often face long wait times for appointments or live far from healthcare facilities. This delay in accessing care leads to late diagnoses and complications that could have been prevented with earlier intervention.

Solutions and the Role of Nurse Practitioners

As a Nurse Practitioner, I believe that we are uniquely positioned to address health disparities, particularly in primary care. Our role allows us to form long-term relationships with patients, focus on preventive care, and address not just the symptoms of disease but the root causes as well.

Culturally Competent Care: One of the most important aspects of reducing health disparities is delivering culturally competent care. In my practice, I make it a priority to listen to my patients’ concerns and validate their experiences. Building trust is essential, especially for African Americans who may have a history of mistrust with the healthcare system. This trust allows for better patient-provider communication, which in turn improves adherence to treatment plans.

Community Outreach and Education: I believe that healthcare providers must go beyond the clinic walls. In Memphis, community-based programs are crucial for reaching those who may not regularly access care. As an NP, I participate in health fairs and community education events that focus on preventive care, particularly in African American neighborhoods. These events help to raise awareness about chronic disease management, the importance of regular screenings, and mental health support.

Advocacy for Policy Change: Addressing health disparities requires systemic change. Nurse Practitioners can be powerful advocates for health equity. By pushing for policies that expand Medicaid, increase funding for community health centers, and address food deserts, we can help dismantle the barriers that disproportionately affect African Americans in Memphis.

A Path Forward

The health disparities among African Americans in Memphis are profound, but they are not insurmountable. As a Nurse Practitioner, I see the potential for change every day in my practice. By providing culturally competent care, engaging in community outreach, and advocating for policy changes, we can work together to reduce these disparities.

But this effort requires more than just healthcare providers. It requires collaboration across sectors—education, housing, transportation, and food systems must all work together to create environments that support health. In Memphis, where the challenges are great, the opportunity to create lasting change is even greater.

As I reflect on my role in primary care, I remain hopeful. Hopeful that with sustained effort, we can create a healthier future for African Americans in Memphis, where disparities in health outcomes are a thing of the past, and every patient has an equal opportunity to live a healthy, fulfilling life.

References:

1. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). (2022). Health Disparities: African Americans. https://www.cdc.gov/healthequity/race-ethnicity/africanamericans/index.html
2. Shelby County Health Department. (2023). Memphis Health Status Report. https://www.shelbytnhealth.org/
3. Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. (2023). The Role of Social Determinants in Health Disparities. https://www.rwjf.org/

Jimarie Nelson, MSN, APRN, FNP-C

Originally from Detroit, Michigan, she has called Memphis home for over a decade. J Jimarie holds an MSN with a concentration in Family Nurse Practitioner from the University of Memphis Lowenberg School of Nursing, a BSN from Louisiana State University Health Sciences Center, and a BA in Biological Sciences from Wayne State University.

Her passions for science, community service, and dance fuel her commitment to helping clients look and feel their best while driving growth and wellness in the community.

 

 

Ida B. Wells-Barnett is recognized throughout history for her late 19th-century antilynching campaign. Her activism—through numerous essays and pamphlets—contributed to a decline in lynchings during her lifetime. Ninety years after her death, President Joe Biden’s administration passed the Emmett Till Antilynching Act, a federal law that defines lynching as a hate crime. While Wells-Barnett’s laborious efforts eventually bore fruit, we must ask ourselves: at what cost did it take for the U.S. to finally pass a federal law prohibiting lynching? (Tianna Mobley, “Ida B. Wells-Barnett: Anti-lynching and the White House).

I often reflect on the personal and professional sacrifices that Wells-Barnett made in order to speak truthfully about lynching. In this piece, I want to discuss one of the highest prices she paid to report on lynchings in the South: her exile from Memphis, Tennessee. According to her autobiography, diaries, and biographies, Wells-Barnett had no plans to leave Memphis. She decided to return to the city after realizing that staying in Visalia, California, with her aunt would not work out ((Miriam Decosta-Willis, The Memphis Diary of Ida B. Wells: An Intimate Portrait of the Activist as a Young Woman)). At that time, Wells (who would later marry Ferdinand Barnett and become Ida B. Wells-Barnett) found that Visalia lacked the social and political life she was accustomed to in Memphis. As a young Black woman, she knew she would not thrive in Visalia, prompting her return to Memphis ((Ida B. Wells, Crusader for Justice). We can assume that Wells intended to settle down and start a family there. However, after returning to Memphis from a trip to promote her newspaper, The Free Speech, she received devastating news: her best friend, Thomas Moss, had been lynched. Motivated by his murder, Wells embarked on a path that would begin her antilynching activism, fundamentally altering her plans to make Memphis her permanent home (Nathaniel C. Ball, “Memphis and the Lynching at the Curve”).

Wells began this journey by writing an exposé that revealed the true reasons behind the lynchings of Thomas Moss, Calvin McDowell, and William Stewart. This exposé would later transform into one of the most impactful pamphlets of her career, Southern Horrors (Ida B. Wells, The Light of Truth: Writings of an Anti-Lynching Crusader). In the South, Black men were typically lynched on the pretext of having raped white women. Wells’s exposé dismantled this “threadbare lie,” exposing the rape myth narrative surrounding Black men. Her reporting revealed that Southern white men used this narrative as a red herring to obscure their true motivations: to prevent Black men from advancing in economic, political, and social spheres. Many Southern whites were threatened by the rapid gains made by emancipated Black people during Reconstruction and post-Reconstruction, especially those who resented the South’s loss in the Civil War.

Wells’s exposé enraged white Southerners even further. After her article circulated in Memphis, white mobs planned to lynch her. They descended upon the Free Speech office in search of her, but she was away on business (Paula J. Giddings, Ida: A Sword Among Lions: Ida B. Wells and the Campaign Against Lynching). They destroyed her office and threatened to lynch her upon her return. As a result, Wells’s career in Memphis ended, along with her dreams of a permanent settlement there. Yet, despite this setback, Wells bravely continued her fight against lynching by traveling to Britain for her antilynching crusade tour, which proved to be a success. She also found love with Ferdinand Barnett in 1895, and together they started a family in Chicago, Illinois, where they were well-respected politically and socially.

However, we should contemplate the “what ifs” of Wells staying in Memphis. When Southern Blacks like Wells were exiled for exposing racial violence, we need to consider what Memphis truly lost. While it is important to commemorate the impact that Memphis had on Wells, we should also ponder the further impact she might have had if she could have remained there. Instead of Wells’s family being based in Chicago, what if they had established roots in Memphis? Would there have been an Ida B. Wells Homes? What about Wells’s Black Women’s Clubs? Instead of the Ida B. Wells Homes being demolished in the early 2000s, could they have survived in Memphis? Perhaps the Ida B. Wells Woman’s Club and the Alpha Suffrage Club would have thrived in Memphis due to the deep Black Southern roots in the city.

I conclude with this thought: the past is immutable; we cannot change it. Because of her exile from Memphis, Wells became even more motivated to continue her social justice activism, which included public writing, speaking, and traveling. My aim is to highlight the imaginative possibilities of what could have been had Wells stayed in Memphis, while also addressing a larger reality. This reality is that Wells-Barnett and many other Black women sacrificed immensely for social change. We can admire their bravery, but we must also acknowledge the significant loss represented by the “what ifs.” I urge us to examine history not only through the lens of Black women’s courage but also through their sacrifices for the places and communities they cherished—motivated by a belief in a greater purpose: the freedom of Black people. I encourage us to consider how we can develop strategies to protect Black women without forcing them to abandon the places, spaces, and people they love, while still fighting for the advancement of their communities.

Sophia Muriel Flemming M.A.
PhD Candidate, University of Georgia

Sophia Flemming is a PhD candidate in Communication Studies with an emphasis on rhetorical studies. Generally, Flemming studies African American public address, specifically focusing on Black feminist and Womanist rhetorics from the 18th to the 21st centuries. Her research examines the topics Black women communicate about, their communication styles, how voice manifests in their experiences and epistemologies, how they interact and engage within and outside their communities, and, most importantly, how they communicate interpersonally and in public spaces.

 

A peom by Mollie A. Steward

By B.P. Franklin

This post is part of our series on the 2021 Hooks National Book Award Finalists.

This post is part of our series on the 2021 Hooks National Book Award finalists, written by the authors.

By Deanna M. Gillespie

The Citizenship Education Program and Black Women’s Political Culture retells the story of the civil rights movement to foreground southern Black women’s formal and informal networks.  From 1957 to 1972, the CEP empowered thousands of Black women to teach their friends and neighbors to read and write.  This was subversive work in the Jim Crow South.  Literacy skills shifted the balance of power because literate Black people gathered information, registered formal complaints, demanded equal treatment, signed their names, and they stood in front of white county clerks and took the literacy test required for voter registration.  Across the South, Black women organized CEP classes in church halls, community centers, living rooms, and beauty salons. These makeshift classrooms were incubators for collective action.  Gathering twice a week for three months, local people organized to address long-standing inequities in social welfare and community well-being, affordable and accessible health care, equality and justice, education, and criminal justice reform.

Hear from Author Dee Gillespie on Our YouTube

Black women taught CEP classes because it was familiar work.  It was “women’s work.”  In segregated all-Black schools designed to teach racial inferiority, Black teachers told and retold stories of resistance and achievement.  In local communities, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and neighbors guided children safely through Jim Crow’s unforgiving rules.  They taught the Bible on Sunday mornings and carried the message through the week.  Theirs was – and is – a political culture built on family and community, constant struggle, and the unshakable belief in human dignity and a just and better day.

Organized into four case studies, the book traces the CEP’s evolution from its beginnings on the South Carolina Sea Islands, to expansion into Savannah and southeastern Georgia, out to Mississippi, and back to Selma and Alabama’s Black Belt.  In the final chapter, I examine the program’s decline after 1965, a reminder of how quickly pieces can scatter when political winds shift.  By the time the CEP ended in 1972, the program had trained over two thousand local leaders who organized 7280 classes, reaching over 26,000 people. As teachers and students fanned out, they influenced an estimated 95,000 people to register and to vote.

The CEP tapped into a deeply-rooted gendered political culture and recent elections provide evidence of its enduring nature.  In Fall 2020, the United States held a presidential election during a global pandemic.  Across the country, voter participation soared through expanded use of mail-in ballots, drop-boxes, and early voting periods.  Grass-roots organizing and mobilization turned reliably-“red” Georgia “blue” for the first time in a generation.  News coverage shined a bright spotlight on Black women’s clubs, organizations, and local leadership.  Likewise, inDecember 2017, headlines announced Democrat Doug Jones’s victory for Alabama’s contested U.S. Senate seat.  Within hours, #BlackWomen trended on social media.  In post-election interviews, these women cited concerns about the future of social welfare programs, health care, education, and criminal justice reform as motivation for political action – the same issues that enlivened CEP classes a generation before.

Introduction

COVID-19, the disease caused by the novel coronavirus that emerged at the end of 2019, resulted in the closures of businesses and workplaces, causing enormous disruptions to work and to the economy (Rothan & Byrareddy, 2020; Sorhabi et al., 2020), particularly to the most vulnerable in society including minorities, who often bear the brunt of poverty and exclusionary policies (Reeves & Rothwell, 2020; Weible et al., 2020; Wright & Merritt, 2020). Racial minorities experienced the worst of the pandemic early on (CDC, 2020). COVID-19 was a great game-changer, but in many ways, it was not. Existing disparities were only magnified.

COVID-19 and Employment/Unemployment

The pandemic did not affect everyone equally. Existing problems brought by social policies that advantage certain groups while excluding others were magnified by the pandemic (Long et al., 2020). Income inequality is associated with worse outcomes from the pandemic, but income inequality was not brought on by the pandemic; it is a preexisting condition (Graham, 2021).

Privileged Workers: Working from Home

Those workers who were able to work from home digitally were able to retain their incomes, health insurance, and housing (Long et al., 2020). People who were able to work from home were also impacted a lot less by school closures and lack of childcare, as they were able to stay home and watch their children (Gould & Shierholz, 2020).

Essential Workers

People in the service and hospitality industries were affected in the worst ways (Long et al., 2020). People in the service industry, particularly those in the lowest strata and with low to no power, did not have the opportunity to protect themselves by working from home, by practicing social distancing, or by having the necessary personal protective equipment (PPE) (Glover et al., 2020; Miller et al., 2020; Van Drie & Reeves, 2020). These workers were not only not able to avoid work and social distance, but they were additionally burdened by school and childcare center closures (Gould & Shierholz, 2020). African Americans are disproportionately affected by these burdens (Yancy, 2020).

Essential workers such as grocery and warehouse workers and truck drivers were called “essential” because they provided services that allowed people who were able to work from home and isolate to continue to receive what they needed to support life (US. DHS, 2020). However, essential workers were not essential in the sense that they should survive or receive adequate compensation or protections – essential workers are, in fact, expendable workers. These workers have no choice because while the death rate from the virus may be between 2% and 10%, the death rate from starvation is 100%.

Workers Who Lost Their Jobs

Many people lost their jobs, particularly when restaurants closed and people canceled vacations (Long et al., 2020). People in precarious situations suffered the worst job losses, but others were furloughed, which meant they received no salary during the period (Graham, 2021). For a worker who depends on his or her salary for survival, the income loss was devastating. People who lost their jobs or were furloughed lost their healthcare also. (Graham, 2021).

Nationally, job losses between May 2019 and May 2020 were most acute on an absolute basis among restaurant, janitorial, and secretarial workers and on a percentage basis among tourism, entertainment, and hairstyling workers. There were actually strong increases in employment among computer programmers (absolute increase) and telemarketers (percentage increase). (BLS, 2020a, 2021a) Note that the increases were among occupations with high work-from-home potential, while the decreases were among occupations with required physical attendance.

Memphis Poverty and Job Distribution

Minorities in Memphis tend to have the highest poverty rates and to be concentrated in service jobs that were most likely to either disappear due to the drop in demand or to require the worker to continue to expose himself/ herself to the virus with no protection. In Shelby County, roughly 21% of Blacks and 26% of Hispanics work in service jobs, while only 13% of Whites do. (U.S. Census Bureau, 2020a, 2020b, 2020c). Roughly 23% of Whites and 23% of Blacks work in office jobs, while only 113% of Hispanics do. Roughly 5% of Whites and 6% of Blacks work in agricultural jobs, while 30% of Hispanics do. Roughly 50% of Whites work in managerial or professional jobs, while only 25% of Blacks and 15% of Hispanics do.

In the Memphis metropolitan area, job losses between May 2019 and May 2020 were most acute on an absolute basis among restaurant, janitorial, and secretarial workers and on a percentage basis among agricultural workers. There were strong increases in employment among nonprofit social service workers and legal service workers. (BLS, 2020b, 2021b). As seen nationally, the increases were among occupations with high work-from-home potential, while the decreases were among occupations with required physical attendance. As seen above, jobs which employ Blacks and Hispanics were disproportionately lost, while jobs that employ Whites were disproportionately gained.

The K-Shaped Recovery

People in low-wage jobs were hit hardest, and many of those jobs may not have recovered because workers moved to different jobs or different regions (Begley et at., 2021). In Tennessee, according to Opportunity Insights (2021), at the height of the pandemic crisis on April 17, 2020, the unemployment rate was for low-income workers minus 29.2%, for middle-income workers minus 15.6%, and for high-income workers minus 7.2%, what these had been in January 2020. The huge drops did not last long, however, and by June 30, 2020, things had stabilized somewhat, with the unemployment rate for low-income workers at minus 10.7%, for middle-income workers minus 4.9%, and for high-income workers plus 0.9% January 2020 levels. The situation has not improved much for low-income workers since then. When compared to January 2020, on May 5, 2021, high-income workers had gained 13.1% in employment, middle-income workers had gained 3.0%, but low-income workers were still 10.1% below where they had been before the crisis, or roughly in the same situation as in June 2020.

The same is true in Shelby County, with the difference that both low-income and middle-income workers have had much difficulty recovering. During the worst moment of the pandemic crisis on April 17, 2020, the unemployment

rate was for low-income workers minus 23.2%, for middle-income workers minus 11.8%, and for high-income workers minus 8.8% what these had been in January 2020 (Opportunity Insights, 2021) The huge drops did not last long, however, and by June 30, 2020 things had stabilized somewhat, with the unemployment rate for low- income workers at minus 9.5%, for middle-income workers minus 7.8%, and for high-income workers plus 0.3% January 2020 levels. (Opportunity Insights, 2021). The situation has not improved much for low-income workers since then. When compared to January 2020, on May 5, 2021, high-income workers had gained 11.5% in employment, but middle-income workers were still 6.4%, and low-income workers were still 10.1% below where they had been before the crisis, or roughly in the same situation as in June 2020 (Opportunity Insights, 2021)

Plantation System: Policy Choices and Implications

Tennessee Cutting Federal Benefits

The state of Tennessee has refused extended unemployment benefits for workers affected due to the pandemic (Tennessee Office of the Governor, 2021). State officials explicitly stated that they feel that these unemployment benefits, none of which exceed or even meet the poverty level, are considered to be larger than the income that workers have any right to expect (Sher & Flessner, 2021). To reiterate, the official position of the state of Tennessee is that workers have no right to be paid enough to avoid starvation for themselves and their families. The line between this and slavery is so thin as to be rendered meaningless.

Exploitive System

No one is exempt from economic shocks and labor market failures. COVID-19 threatened all people equally, but the effects of the pandemic were not felt equally by all. Those who had precarious jobs and no protections suffered the worst. (Graham, 2021). In addition to the exploitation suffered by vulnerable workers, the current system abuses small businesses to the benefit of megacorporations. It provides capital and trained, healthy employees to Wall Street at the expense of Main Street. Small Black businesses get strangled under this abusive system.

Recommendations

Support for Workers

• Income – To pay a worker less than it costs to feed, clothe, and house the worker is abusive. Unfortunately, it is just one example of the abusonormativity (the normalization of abusive behavior) of American society. This must change. Workers are humans and merit a living wage.[1]
• Jobless benefits – When a worker, through no fault of their own, cannot obtain work for which they are qualified, they should be sustained and given the skills necessary to obtain work. Our failure to do so is another example of American abusonormativity.
• Universal healthcare – The difference between humans and animals is that we do not leave our sick behind to die in the wilderness. Our failure to do so is yet another example of American abusonormativity. Universal healthcare is a necessity to maintain a productive society.
• Childcare – It is often said that the lives of our babies are of primary societal importance until they are born, at which point they become expendable. This is still another example of American abusonormativity. Parents should either be financially supported in raising their children themselves or with outside assistance. Internet – The means of participating in our government and, increasingly, the education of our children are dependent upon access to the internet. Otherwise, we are applying a new poll tax and destroying public education by making these resources available only to those with excess resources. This is more American abusonormativity.

Support for Small Business

Small businesses are the backbone of America, providing almost half of all private jobs, accounting for almost two-thirds (2/3) of all job growth, and representing over 40% of US GDP (U.S. Census, 2018). These businesses have been among the hardest hit by the pandemic (Bartik et al., 2020). Over half of them had less than two weeks of cash on hand when the pandemic hit, and many experienced significant difficulties in obtaining CARES funding.

The answers to rebuild these businesses are obvious:

• Capital – If banks and other lenders cannot or will not provide capital under relaxed criteria and low-interest rates, the government must step in as the lender of last resort. If the government is the lender, fair employment practices and living wages should be rigorously enforced.
• Training – Well-trained employees do not appear out of thin air. Small businesses rarely have the resources to train employees from the ground up. Our education system, in particular our community college system, must have the resources to undertake this training on a large scale and at minimal cost to the trainees and small businesses.
• Universal healthcare – Small businesses often lack the resources to provide quality health insurance to their employees. This results in expensive turnover and places small businesses at a competitive disadvantage against large private and public employers who can afford to negotiate better rates with insurers.

Watch the authors present on this topic on the Hooks Institute YouTube page: https://youtu.be/yCUx1Rl1R-k

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[1] “Abusonoramtivity “ is a term coined by the authors to describe the normalization of abusive behavior by institutions and individual actor