Inside the Walls of Power: An Exclusive interview with Trenchport Police Chief Marcus Dawson

By Lena Carmichael,

Senior Investigative Reporter

A City in Shadow

Trenchport doesn’t sleep so much as it twitches. The static of unrest hangs in the air like smog over the harbor.

In neighborhoods where children learn to duck gunfire before they read, and small business owners keep shotguns behind counters instead of cash registers, trust in the systems of law and order is threadbare at best.

It is in this climate that I sat down with Chief of Police Marcus Dawson—stoic, pressed, and ever-calculated—to ask the questions our readers have been asking for years.

"If the city’s bleeding, it’s my responsibility to stop it, But I can't stitch the wound if everyone’s holding the scalpel."

This is not an easy city to protect. But the question that looms larger than any badge or title: is it being protected at all?

The Crime Landscape: Numbers, Names, and Neighborhoods

In the past fiscal year, Trenchport has seen a 17% rise in violent crime—murders up by 9%, aggravated assaults by nearly 20%.

Districts 2 and 4 have borne the brunt, with frequent shootouts reported in the industrial corridor and residential neighborhoods on the east side.

Residents in District 1 and District 3 cite increased gang activity, with some even relocating out of fear.

"There used to be big gangs in Trenchport. Dixie Mobb. Cash Click. OMG's like Devils Angels. Now? They're gone. What we are left with is rabble, Small town trash. We’ve identified two primary gangs still active: the Rejects and now this new set—the Baby Demons, They’re younger, louder, and more brazen. Tagging near my own home? That’s a message. I’ve heard it. We will meet, posthaste."

But the gangs aren’t just posturing in back alleys. Several sting operations over the past year revealed ties between gang operatives and small commercial fronts—pawn shops, laundromats, vape lounges—all allegedly laundering dirty money while providing cover for weapon deals and narcotics movement.

Policing the Police: The Corruption Allegations

No one wears the badge without accumulating scrutiny, but Trenchport PD has earned more than its share.

Multiple anonymous tips and leaked documents over the last 18 months have suggested that some officers have accepted payouts or looked the other way during criminal incidents involving known gang members; So much so that a federal investigation recently netted multiple officer arrests in the city.

As a result it has left the department severely understaffed for a city of this size. A particularly damning internal memo, uncovered last fall, cited a sergeant in District 3 for "failure to intervene" during a violent dispute involving and outlaw motor cycle gang and its affiliates.

Dawson bristled when confronted with this.

"We have many sworn officers. Many are good people doing impossible work. A Few? They’re under internal review. That’s what accountability looks like—not silence, but process."

When asked about the culture of silence and fear of retaliation inside the department, Dawson shifted slightly in his seat.

"There’s a difference between loyalty and complicity. And if my people don’t know that, they’ll find themselves outside my department."

Still, critics claim those investigations rarely lead to terminations. Records show that of 21 internal affairs cases opened last year for misconduct, only three led to administrative leave, and only one officer was removed until the federal government intervened.

"That’s not a failure, That’s due process. I don’t run a witch hunt. I run a department."

The Interview: Confrontation and Cold Realities

Our exchange was cordial, but never warm. Tension hummed beneath every question.

Dupress: "How can the people of Trenchport trust you when the violence keeps rising and the scandals keep surfacing?"

Dawson: "Because I haven't walked away from the fight. That’s more than I can say for some of the people pointing fingers."

Dupress: "What are you doing—truly—to combat corruption within your own ranks?"

Dawson: "Every complaint gets logged. Every lead followed. But if you’re asking me to fire people for optics? That’s not justice, that’s PR. Not going to happen."

The conversation veered toward emotionally charged territory when we spoke of public sentiment. I presented excerpts from anonymous citizen statements:

"We don’t call the cops. We call our neighbors and pray. Police only come after the shooting stops—and they never ask the right questions."

Dawson’s jaw tensed, but his voice held.

"I hear that. I hate that. I’m trying to change that. But it’s hard to build trust in a city this damaged. People have seen decades of disappointment. I can’t undo that overnight."

The Human Cost

Outside statistics and strategy, the real tragedy lies with the people caught in the crossfire.

One mother from District Four; who asked not to be named, told the Tribune:

"My son was 15. He was walking to school. Wrong hoodie, wrong time. Shot twice in the chest. No arrests, no witnesses, just... silence."

These are not isolated stories. They are daily truths.

Another resident, Tyrone Wilkins, a former EMT, recalled arriving at scenes where officers lingered, hesitant to enter buildings without backup:

"They were scared. I get it. But we’re scared too. The difference is we don’t have vests or training. We just have our lives. And we’re losing them."

When confronted with those statements Chief Dawson was visibly angered.

"We don't fear them. We will meet them on soft or solid ground, anytime, anywhere, light or heavy, Makes no difference to us, these criminals and gangsters won’t walk away."

The Fight for Justice: Policy or Performance?

Dawson insists the department is evolving.

"We’ve launched 'Safe Steps' in District 2—a foot patrol and community engagement unit. We’ve expanded our trauma-response team and paired officers with licensed social workers. We’re not perfect, but we’re not idle."

But residents and advocacy groups remain unconvinced. Community meetings are often sparsely attended, and many claim they feel more like lectures than conversations.

When asked whether the outreach efforts are genuine, Dawson shot back:

"Judge us by outcomes, not slogans. Come walk with my officers. Look them in the eyes. Then decide."

Closing Thoughts: The Fog Ahead

As we ended our discussion, the sun was sinking low over the industrial docks, casting long shadows over a city still struggling to find its shape.

Dawson’s final words were not optimistic, but honest:

"I’m not asking for trust. I’m asking for time. And for people to understand that I’m here. Not hiding. Not running. Just here, fighting like both the citizens, and the gangs are. If the public wants to win, and the department to keep them safe, they need to fight beside us. Not against us."

But time is a currency Trenchport seems to be running out of.

Conclusion: A City at the Crossroads

This interview didn’t resolve Trenchport’s problems. But it did expose them—raw and unfiltered.

We are a city perched between resilience and ruin. Whether Dawson’s leadership can steer us forward or keep us spinning in place remains to be seen.

Accountability is not a memo or a media quote—it’s a mirror. And right now, when this city looks into that mirror, it doesn’t like what it sees.

So we ask: when justice falters, who will carry its weight? And for how much longer can we afford to wait?