I have been sitting with the news about Nolan Wells, a Black teenager from the Mississippi Gulf Coast who went to party on a barrier island with a group of mostly white friends on July 4, never returned home and was later found dead. On Monday the district attorney in Jackson County, Mississippi, said the 23 members of a grand jury had unanimously voted against charging anyone with a crime in Wells’ death.

The cause of the teen’s death remains categorized as “undetermined,” and the grand jury found that his death was “consistent with drowning.” His family has long rejected the idea that he simply drowned, because he was a good swimmer and athletic.

At a Tuesday news conference, Wells’ mother, Christine Wonsley, asked, “How can a jury come to the conclusion of drowning, despite knowing that there was trauma to his body, and despite hearing many inconsistencies?”

An independent autopsy conducted by Wells’ family that was released in July also found that the cause and manner of his death were “undetermined,” pending further investigation.

The state’s official autopsy report determined that Wells’ airways and stomach were empty. “What this means is that there is no water in the stomach, there is no water in the lungs, and there is no water in the throat,” Liza Park, an attorney for Wells’ family said Thursday.

The more I process the news of no charges being filed in Wells’ death, the more I think about the difference between a justice system and what Black people have longed called a “just us” system.

Play

Nolan Wells’ death sparks protests, calls for independent investigation

July 12, 2026 / 09:48

I want to be careful here. I don’t know what happened to Nolan Wells. But in Mississippi in particular, Black people know when the pieces of a puzzle don’t seem to fit together. That isn’t paranoia. It’s experience.

I was born in Mississippi. Being a Black woman from the South means I come from people who know the difference between justice and what the system calls justice.

Because let’s tell the truth: In Mississippi, in the South and, really, across the United States, there is a long history of the system not pursuing justice for us with the same urgency, rigor or determination it pursues justice for white people. In this case, Black people have a hard time imagining a white teen going off with a group of Black friends, mysteriously dying and none of his Black friends being charged.

We know history. Our parents and grandparents made sure of it.

I grew up hearing whispered stories about Mack Charles Parker, a 23-year-old Black Army veteran who was lynched in 1959, in a Mississippi town close to the one where I was born, after an all-white grand jury charged him with raping a white woman. Parker’s body was found in the Pearl River more than a week later. Nobody was ever charged in Parker’s death, and just three years ago, the Department of Justice’s Civil Rights Division closed the case with no criminal referral.

The Equal Justice Institute, which maintains a memorial for victims of lynching, says, “Statements from those in the community suggested that the woman fabricated the rape claims to hide her consensual affair with a white man in a nearby town.” I remember hearing the whispers about what happened to Parker, hearing the things people believed they knew and the things that were never fully resolved.

And I learned something long before I had the language to name it: that sometimes a community carries questions long after the official record has gone quiet. That’s why I cannot hear about Nolan Wells and simply say, Well, the system has spoken.

I am not interested in manufacturing certainty where there isn’t any, but like so many Black people with connections to Mississippi, I also refuse to accept this uncertainty as the end of the matter.

I can admit I don’t know exactly what happened to Nolan Wells — and still say something about his death doesn’t add up. I can respect the legal process and still ask whether every question has been pursued with the urgency it deserves. I can acknowledge that the Jackson County grand jury did not indict anyone and still ache for a family — and a community — that feels justice hasn’t been done.

Because I am afraid of something else: I am afraid of Nolan becoming a footnote. Another story people tell years from now. Another “You know what I always heard? …” Another conversation at the kitchen table that begins, We knew something wasn’t right back then.

I don’t want the mysterious death of Nolan Wells to become a story that Black folks whisper to each other 20 years from now because we were afraid, unable or unwilling to keep asking the questions while there was still time to pursue answers.

I want the questions asked now. I want the unanswered questions pursued now. Not because I have decided I know what happened. But because that young Black man’s life is worth the trouble of finding out.

When the justice system reaches the limits of what it will — or can — do, then those of us left dissatisfied have a responsibility too.

Play

‘It just does not add up’: Questions surround Nolan Wells’ death as family demands investigation

July 11, 2026 / 08:57

Not to invent facts. Not to convict people in the court of public opinion. But to remember. To witness. To document. To keep asking. To make sure his family members aren’t the only ones raising the questions. To refuse to let the story disappear simply because the news cycle has moved on.

I don’t know what happened to Nolan Wells.

But I know he and his family deserve us doing everything possible to find out.

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