“Unsteady Ground and Unanswered Questions: Why Nolan Wells Deserves Our Courage”

One of the places where the shaking is loudest for me is Mother’s Day. Once my nephew Marcus died unexpectedly my sister no longer had her loving, doting son here to celebrate her. Even though she encouraged me to celebrate, my own joy was muted. It felt strange and wrong to lean fully into celebration mode when I knew her arms were empty and her soul was grieving.

Years ago, on Mother’s Day, my heart turned toward another mother: Wanda Cooper-Jones, the mother of Ahmaud Arbery. Ahmaud was killed while jogging—doing something ordinary, something simple. His death reminded us that for African Americans in this country, ordinary can be deadly. Jogging, walking in your own neighborhood, sitting in your home, going on an innocent boat ride with friends—none of it is guaranteed to be safe. We stay in heightened alert. For our own safety and for the safety of those we hold dear.

Back then, I wrote about feeling like racism and disregard for our lives were dissecting me, cutting away at the parts of me that love all people and still, somehow, love this country. I was afraid that the bad parts of this nation would swallow the hope and humanity I fight to hold onto.

Six years later, with the news about Nolan Wells, I feel a sad and quite familiar ache. Actually, it’s been over six years and yet, the ground beneath me remains unsteady. Life rocks me back and forth. With sometimes violent shoves that won’t allow me to catch my breath.

Today, my sorrow is focused on the family of 18-year-old Nolan Xavier Wells, an African American student-athlete whose life ended after a Fourth of July boat trip to Horn Island off the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Nolan went to the island with friends and never came home. His body was found days later, and the questions surrounding his death are painful and unresolved.

His parents, Christine and Elmore, describe him as a bright light. They say Nolan was loving, infectious in his energy, a young man who could make a friend anywhere. His mother Christine said that all the best parts of them are with him now.

Here is what we know from public reporting from several news reports:

• Nolan traveled to Horn Island with friends on July 4, a remote barrier island with no staff, no shelter, no drinking water, and no facilities.

• His friends left the island and relayed to authorities that Nolan stayed behind and  planned to catch another boat back. He never did. His body was found off the shore on July 6.

• Officials have said they suspect drowning and do not currently see evidence of foul play, but Nolan’s family has raised serious concerns about contradictions in the story, an alleged altercation on the boat, and deleted messages from his phone which allegedly was found in the possession of his friends. The family has retained civil rights attorney Ben Crump and called for an independent autopsy and a thorough, transparent investigation.

• The sheriff’s office has asked the public for help. They are requesting photos, videos, eyewitness accounts, anything that might show what happened on that island, especially any altercations or unusual activity.

We do not know everything. But we know enough to say this: Nolan’s family deserves the full truth, not a partial story.

In a country with a long history of racism and violence against African Americans, suspicion is not a conspiracy theory, it is a survival instinct.

As moms, my podcast partner Teresa and I feel this in our bones. We know what it means to worry about whether our children will be allowed to come home after attending ordinary events on an ordinary day. We know what it means to watch another family (that looks like us) stand in front of cameras, begging for honesty, transparency, and respect.

Nolan’s death is not just a tragedy; it is a test. A test of whether this nation will treat his life as worthy of a thorough, unflinching investigation.

A call to courage: If you know something, say something

This is where the shaking ground meets our responsibility. There are people who were either on Horn Island that day or have valuable information about what may have occurred. There may be people who have videos, photos, memories, conversations. Some may be scared. Some may be protecting friends. Some may be telling themselves, “It’s not my business.” But when a child dies and you hold a piece of the story, it is your business. Silence is not neutral. Silence leans toward harm.

f you know something about what happened to Nolan Wells—if you saw something, recorded something, heard something, this is your moment to choose courage over comfort. Contact the Jackson County Sheriff’s Office. Reach out to investigators or Nolan’s family’s legal team. Share what you know with someone who can help bring the truth into the light.

Justice does not happen on its own. It happens when ordinary people decide that a mother’s right to know what happened to her child outweighs the discomfort of telling the truth.

The ground may never fully stop shaking, either for Nolan’s family, my family, or the families of Ahmaud Arbery and so many others. But we can choose how we stand on this unsteady earth.

We can choose to remember their names. We can choose to demand transparency. We can choose to speak when silence would be easier.

If you are reading this and you know something about Nolan Wells’s death, please—step forward. For his parents. For your own integrity. For a future where all children can go on a boat ride, a jog, a walk in their neighborhood, and come home. A future where their seat at the Thanksgiving table is not empty, where new memories are made and hope for their unfolding future abounds.

Lou