Well, the case has been heard and I can finally tell the full storyâa tale of white supremacy, weaponized power, and small-town corruption.
June 26, 2025. Simmesport, Louisiana. We tied up at an unmarked patch of riverbank. No signage. No fences. No purple paint. Just a strip of land beside the water, quiet and ordinary. We crossed it a few times that day to reach a public road on the map. No one cared. No one said a word.
Until two young Black menâfriends of oursâcame to visit. Then the guns came out.
Two members of the landownerâs family rolled up in tactical vests, sidearms, and AR-15s locked and loaded. They confronted our friends, made them fear for their lives. Our friends called us. We walked up to make sure they got out safely. No shouting. No threats. The whole thing ended with fist bumps and everyone walking away.
But that wasnât the end.
A calm Facebook postâno names, no accusationsâwas enough to light the fuse. The landowner didnât like being talked about. And in this town, thatâs all it takes.
That night, our friends were in the back of a police SUV in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. We stood outside for hours in the dark, swatting mosquitoes while the cops âtook statementsâ from the men with guns. Then they charged usâthe people who had been threatenedâwith criminal trespassing.
Because the man who owns that land isnât just any landowner. Heâs the former mayor. Former fire chief. Owner of two restaurants and a construction company. In Simmesport, that makes you untouchable.
They even threatened to charge the woman who posted on Facebookâwith terrorism. Not because she lied. But because she told the truth in a town where truth is dangerous.
This wasnât about trespassing. It was about control. It was about race. It was about reminding peopleâespecially Black peopleânot to step out of line.
In Louisiana, the law doesnât protect you. It protects them.
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