inner city blues, part one.

I work in an area called Pigtown. Washington Village is its technical name, located in Southwest Baltimore. I grew up about 5 minutes away from this place, on McCulloh Street. Westside. Every day I come to work, I have to walk past a generator with 4 stadium style lights attached to it. A Baltimore City Police sticker emblazoned on its side. Across the street, a camera hangs from a lighpost. Above it, a blue light flickers. Similar Baltimore City Police sticker surrounds it.
Everyone has a couple different personalities that reside inside of them. I have about 6 I think, but for today's purposes, I'll only discuss 2.

One is optimistic Mike. He likes to believe in the inherent goodness in people. In the system. In white people, government and the police. That somewhere, powerful people are tirelessly working to remedy the wrongs. All of them. He knows they care, but sometimes "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." But the intentions are noble, and as long as the intentions are noble, the actions are bound to conicide with them.

The other is pessimistic Mike. He likes to think of himself as the penultimate realist. Not negative, just realistic. He can't believe that people are at heart decent when they do such terrible things. White people have to be evil, because they enslaved another race of people. And to add insult to injury, established a system of oppression so detrimintal and inconspicous that they could retire the whips, chains, hoses, nooses, jim crow laws, miscegnation laws and granfather clauses and elect them to the hall of fame. We (black people) willing perpetuate our own distruction. The police are pigs and the streets are the sty where they do their dirt. Judges and other members of the justice system are the farmers that keep them fed and fat, sometimes sacrificing a couple when public opinion dicates it.

Optimistic Mike reads the newspaper and cheers when he reads about advances like Drug Courts. They are in existance to funnel non-violent drug offenders away from jail and into drug treatment programs. Treating addiction as a medical problem. Score one for the good guys trying to make a difference. Re-arrest rates for those in drug court down 50%. 700 people graduated from drug court since 1995 and only 11% have been convicted of new crimes. Optimistic Mike shows off that Tiger Woods fist pump. Hop on the 8, and head to work. Blue lights dots the horizon. Stadium lights illuminate the street corners. Pessimistic Mike doesn't have to say a word. A simple head shake speaks volumes.
(I told you so) is etched in his gaze.
700 people saved by the systems since '95. Those cameras will make up for the loss. 6 months tops. 72 months wipe out 11 years of sympathetic judges and remorseful defendants. How can trust the noble intentions of the justice system and their Drug Court when they assist in the placement of 178 electric eyes all over my fair city? 178 cameras= 2 million dollar Homeland Security grant+ 2.9 million dollars in confiscated drug money+ 20 million dollar grant from the U.S. Justice Department. All that cake. And how effective could they really be?

Take a trip with me, back to your childhood. Your in your room, mind set on no good. And right before you can commit the mischevious act, moms pops in. Thwarted, for now. But her presence didn't make you want to do dirt any less. Let's say, that your momma stayed there, and didn't leave. Once you got past the initial fear that moms was now a robot, you would go somewhere else where she couldn't see you. These lights and camera do not eliminate crime, just shuffle it into different areas where big brother isn't watching. (hood feng shui) And here is the essential problem with this type of surveilance (other than invasion of privacy): it's an all-or-nothing proposition. Put them up everywhere where a crime could be committed, or save your money. Watching crime instead of changing the situation that allows it to be one of a few viable options? To be continued.

the lorax.

"And all that the Lorax left here in this mess

was a small pile of rocks with one word...

"UNLESS"

Whatever that meant well, I just couldn't guess.

That was long, long ago.

But each day since that day

I've sat here and worried

and worried away.

Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart

I've worried about it

with all of my heart

"But now" says the Once-ler,

"Now that you're here,

the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.

UNLESS someone like you

cares a whole awful lot,

nothing is going to get better.

It's not."

cry.

"Cry the beloved country, for the unborn child that
is the inhertitor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him
not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too
silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too
moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to
a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too
much."

I have always heard that I was weird, and this is a claim that I no longer deny. But recently I am hearing the description weird being replaced with crazy. As in "Yo Mike, you're going crazy." or "You need to take medicine, you crazy bastard." I do not deny this claim either. So then I began to think about what is the cause of this impending insanity. I know why people think I'm going bannanas. The consensus is that I "over-think" life. I rather not go into my actions that lead people to beleive this, but if you know me, you have a pretty good idea. My peers have their ideas: my Gilman education, my father, my overall Singleton Heritage, the fact that I live in Baltimore, among others. They might be right. Last night I came up with the reason for my off-center mindset. I love too many. Too much. Too deeply.

People who have known me in recently years, or on a cursory basis may notice a bitterness, a seeming deep resentment for life in general. This is true. What has to be realized however is that love and hate go hand in hand. The capacity to hate is only achieved by those with the capacity to love. My resentment seems so strong because my love runs deeply. Gift and Curse alike. I hate this world as it stands because I love what it has the potential to be. I have heeded the warning of the above quote. I have refused to love anymore a people that seemed destined for demise. I have refused to love a land that is defiled. For I have a fear that these things will be taken away from me. A destroyed people, a barren land, a seemingly inevitable outcome. Bitterness removed the fear. I despised the world around me because that hate allowed detachment. I was no longer afraid because I now hated those things I once loved. Destroyed, defiled, debased, ruined, spoiled, it all could come to fruition, and it wouldn't matter to me. Or so I thought. The fact of the matter is that there is no way I can turn it off. I have to care for this world, because if I do not, who will? Not to look at it with resentment, but with understanding. I want to be better than I am, I want people to be better than they are, I want this world to be better than it is. I will cry out for this change. I began writing this to prove to myself, and to others that I was not insane. I do not think I was successful. Know this is my struggle, my joy and my hope, my depression and elation. But the fear is gone at least.

Your love is too thick,
Sethe.

Love is or it isn't, Paul D.
Thin love ain't no love at all.