We Own This City: A True Story of Crime, Cops, and Corruption by Justin Fenton
As a blogger who revels in the chaos and complexity of urban narratives, when I first stumbled upon Justin Fenton’s We Own This City, it felt like setting down a compass in a city I thought I knew. Growing up in the shadow of shows like “The Wire,” I believed I had a grasp on Baltimore’s dark alleys and tangled stories of crime and corruption. But this book—rooted in the reality of human lives affected by the Gun Trace Task Force scandal—plunged me even deeper into the heart of my city, revealing layers I couldn’t have anticipated.
Fenton, a reporter for the Baltimore Sun, brings not just journalistic integrity but an intimacy with the city that’s palpable on every page. He recounts the alarming saga of Wayne Jenkins and his cadre of officers, who, under the pretext of protecting the community, became embodiments of betrayal. Tasked with dismantling crime, this police unit instead became a criminal organization, ensnaring innocent lives while feasting on the very system meant to safeguard them. What struck me profoundly was how Fenton underscored the concept that “nobody’s a criminal ‘til they’re proven guilty.” In a society where presumption of innocence can so easily slip away in the name of “justice,” his reminder felt essential and unsettling.
The book’s structure flows seamlessly, weaving timelines and testimonies into a straightforward narrative that makes complex legal and bureaucratic details digestible. I found myself nodding along, recalling many of the headlines that had long faded in my memory, now reconstructed in vivid detail with Fenton’s insight. His ability to humanize the events, illustrating how power corrupts and how trust can be so easily shattered, resonates deeply—not only as a local story but as a cautionary tale for communities everywhere.
Fenton’s writing style, at once accessible and compelling, invites readers into a gritty world filled with high stakes and moral dilemmas. His vivid depictions of the fallout from the GTTF’s actions—how lives were irreparably changed, families torn apart, and justice distorted—made me reflect on the fragility of community trust. It’s not merely a recounting of events; it’s a call to recognize the impacts of systemic corruption. The chilling quiet surrounding the unresolved homicide of Officer Sean Suiter lingered like a dark cloud over the narrative, reminding me that some truths remain painfully unexamined.
For anyone intrigued by real stories of moral complexity—those who can appreciate the impossible questions posed when law enforcement oversteps—We Own This City is a must-read. It provides more than just an exposé of corruption; it presents a stark reminder of the humans behind headlines and what happens when the lines between protector and predator blur.
In reading Fenton’s account, I was not merely an observer but became acutely aware of the responsibilities we all share in demanding accountability and justice. As I closed the book, I was left with a renewed awareness—of Baltimore, yes, but also of the broader moral implications in our society. This is a book that invites conversation, reflection, and perhaps even activism; it reminds us that we each own a piece of the city we call home.
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