First Me, Now My Daughter
On September 8th, 2024, my daughter Terri McKenzie arrived home, thinking she would end her night relaxing. Instead, she heard gunshots outside her window, and immediately jumped up to start recording on her phone. As Terri documented the incident on Facebook, she had no way of knowing how deeply this particular instance of police brutality would impact her or our family. An hour later, we were notified that Terri’s son, Tommie Dixion, had been shot eight times by Wisconsin’s Sheboygan County police, and was in critical condition at the hospital. As Terri & I quickly put the pieces together, we were horrified to realize that what Terri had been documenting was the police assaulting her own son.
The rate of fatal police shootings of Black Americans between 2015 and October 2024 stood at 6.2 per million of the population per year- nearly three times the rate of police killings of white Americans. For every person who is killed by police, there are approximately 40–70 who receive non-fatal injuries and require treatment in a hospital- people like my grandson, Tommie. Black people in the US are 50% more likely than white, non-Latiné people to experience force during “non-lethal” interactions with police. These particular stories of police violence are often difficult to document, because use of “non-lethal force” is a standard part of policing, and not reported under protocol.
The tragic reality for many families is that one run-in with police is often only the beginning of an ongoing series of forced interactions and legal entanglement, often dragging on for years, with damage rippling into our communities. This is something that our family knows all too well. We are from Chicago, a city notorious for police abuse. In Terri’s lifetime alone, there have been 259,000 allegations of police brutality filed against the CPD. My son- Terri’s brother- Michael Carter, was falsely accused and convicted of murder in 1999 after being tortured into a confession by members of the Chicago Police. Michael was visiting home from college, where he had an engineering scholarship, at the time. I heard my son being beaten at the police station, all those years ago. It is a memory that continues to haunt me- never in my worst nightmares did I ever think that my own daughter would also have to live through the horror of having her baby snatched and brutalized by police, right in front of her own eyes.
Once we were notified that Tommie had been shot, we rushed to see Tommie in the hospital, where he was in critical condition. When we arrived, we were told that we wouldn’t be allowed to see him. We weren’t given a legitimate reason for this, but I overheard one of the police say to another, “We don’t want Mommy to get to him, because we want to get to him first.” When we demanded answers, we were told that we would have to go to the police station. Tommie was later airlifted to Green Bay for more intensive treatment.
When we arrived at the Sheboygan County police station, the anxiety and anger and anguish I felt in 1999, when I heard Michael being beaten by police and calling out for me to help him, flooded me. It was like I was reliving it all over- this couldn’t possibly be happening again, now to my daughter; this must be a terrible dream! As we tried in vain to get information from the police, we were told “This is not Illinois”- and indeed, it was not. Wisconsin is a “hearsay state” meaning that the police can lock you up for rumors and things that are said on the street. It is one of only 14 states that refuse to release police employment and certification data. This restriction allows cops who are accused of misconduct to resign and easily be rehired at other agencies. The culture of silence creates a wall for families trying to get information about our loved ones, and for anyone trying to understand the context and details of police use of force cases.
It’s now been over two months since Tommie was shot by the police. We are still being denied access to the body cam footage of the incident. Police won’t tell us the names of the officers involved in the shooting- just that they are “on leave”. Tommie is still being held on $30,000 cash bond. They are keeping him in a medical unit, where he has undergone daily X-ray and monitoring because there are still bullets that cops put in him lodged near his lungs. Terri has only recently been able to visit him. While we are thankful that Tommie’s community has rallied around him, and us, supporting our demands for information by posting and speaking to the media, Wisconsin’s policies provide greater protection for police than in Illinois- and I believe the discrimination based on race is more explicit in Sheboygan County- and we are struggling to find a lawyer who will take Tommie’s case.
I am devastated that my own daughter is now going through the same trauma I’ve experienced- and that stories like this are not unique to my family. Many of us have more than one loved one whose life is disrupted by police and the US legal system, and this won’t end until we address the violence and harm that is baked into these institutions. As a mother, being separated from your child when you know they are in pain is one of the worst possible things you can experience- when they cry, we cry; when they scream, we scream with them. We will never give up our fight for our children, and for all people who are kidnapped and held captive by the US in-justice system.
Denise Spencer is a mother-activist, gospel singer, and Elder in her church. Her son, Michael Carter, is a survivor of police torture, incarcerated since 1999 and currently fighting for freedom on post-conviction appeal. Finding deep purpose in serving others, Denise is not afraid to speak her mind and is a fierce advocate for herself, her kids, and her fellow Mothers Of The Kidnapped.