Let’s talk about the ‘hood.
Carver Shores. Ivey Lane. Mercy Drive. Parramore. The Trail.
Too many places to list……
Yet, it really doesn’t matter where, the “perception” of those who dwell there is all the same…..
It’s the easiest scapegoat to blame for the ills of society. It possesses a helplessly bleak atmosphere where enthusiasm for anything is hardly ever cultivated. Those who dwell there most likely hold close a hopeless mindset where nothing good will ever happen.
No dreams.
Bleak.
Sunny days are greeted with a clouded sense of doom.
How much pain do I have to endure today? How do I escape it even just for a moment? The affluent who look upon those in the ‘hoods of this country act as though its residents are the cause of their problems, but in fact some in the ‘hood may think the same about them.
And justifiably so…….drug dealers thrive there and live large so others think. But the fact of the matter is that most low level drug dealers hardly ever can afford a car as they do what they do to merely make ends meet. Imagine selling drugs and risking your freedom for mere groceries as so many do.
Now am I justifying doing something illegal and saying that it is right?
Absolutely NOT!
But I am just telling you what is.
Yes, it is wrong to sell drugs and I wouldn’t condone any profit for any reason when it comes to exploiting the weakness of another human being. But that’s why I can’t also condone those in power who have the vast means to finance the huge drug deals, the planes and boats to transport it in, the military resources and the political permissions to deliver those substances of death right to the front door of my beloved ‘hood.
But who is the generally accepted face of what a drug dealer looks like? Probably more like me more so than your locally elected city official.
Wait! Did you say beloved ‘hood?
Yes, beloved…..because that’s where my divine mission lays awaiting. Those are the dry bones in the valley with the omnipotent potential of death that hangs in a threatening manner over my head too. Those who are there are the former Black Kings and Queens who do not know who they truly are. Many in the higher degrees of the secret societies know those lost souls in the ‘hood are, but they are sworn to secrecy to withhold the truth. Men and woman broken down to the lowest common denominator, who, like an old vehicle that lies unappreciated and junked in a automobile salvage yard, takes someone with a keen eye to see the mighty potential that lays dormant waiting for restoration.
It’s so funny how “others” try to distance themselves from the blight called “hood” and the so called prison bound “animals” who call it home. But when one of us rise up to beat the odds put in our path, they can’t wait to embrace us wholeheartedly and even lay claim to making us what we are in our polished final form. It’s the way of this country to be so hypocritical. Why would anyone be surprise when we look back at the historic lies taught to us in our young while forced to attend their propaganda chambers of indoctrination?
Get a job the affluent and misinformed will say! Well who is going to hire me with a record? This is not an excuse but it is the never ending dilemma of many. A life comparable to that of a tagged pigeon. And sure my spiritual Brothers and Sisters, we do know that with God anything can be accomplished, but do understand that so many of those in the ‘hood are so far away from a truly God centered mind to be effective in anything more but the most menial tasks of basic survival.
Poor and uneducated Black men young and old, holding their crotches on the corner… standing outside with nothing to do…drinking or smoking to escape the pain of not being in a position to possess the things that are “oh so shrewdly” displayed on the billboards that tease their diminishing manhood everyday. While at the same time other neighborhoods are quiet because the majority of its residents are not present on the corners because they are for the most part gainfully employed.
Teen pregnancies that make our young Black and Latino women look as though they are irresponsible sexual beasts, where their white counterparts quietly whisk their wayward girls to the abortion clinic discreetly with no shame or hesitation in order to maintain their “pristine” reputation and their “prominent” family name. “You don’t see the unwanted babies running around in our neighborhood”, their mothers and fathers would say. Sure you don’t, ‘cause those babies where killed in the clinic three cities over so you can brag about how responsible your daughters were in their teen years.
Be real.
Some of us can see right through the stench of your lies and dysfunctional views of the world. The ‘hood is AFTER the fact. It’s the sludge of neglect that lurks in the bottom of societies’ sewer system from those that won’t take responsibility for what most “in the know” understand but will never admit.
Go to any big banquet and don’t clean up after it’s over and see what happens. It begins to smell. Vermin appears and the stench intensifies. Someone has to clean up or it won’t be a pretty picture. Someone enjoyed the big feast, lavish arrangements, drank, laughed hard while acting a fool afterward in their drunken stupor before going home to their amenity filled castle. But those very same people who left with their bellies full don’t feel they are the ones who should clean up the mess that they left behind.
In the ‘hood someone collects rent. Usually a section 8 arrangement where the money is guaranteed and the slum lord deals with the “undesirables” on a limited basis. They count their money in the affluent side of town while they laugh at the subhuman conditions of the very neglected people that make it possible to keep them living so well.
After dark, it seems as if Black men are all crack users if they are not actually selling the drug. But no one sees the white guy from the other side of the tracks come in to purchase a grand (One thousand dollars) worth of crack in a quick deal that he may smoke up in a two day splurge well hidden in a gated community but they see that hungry dirty Black crack head “nickel and dime” his way through his habit appearing to buy more because of those repeated trips to “cop” his dope when in reality maybe getting 35 or 50 dollars worth to get high with in those same two days.
The poor ‘hood crack addict doesn’t have a rehab to go to like his white counterpart, he only has a jail cell. And the common consensus is that being locked down brings that weary addict the best sleep he has ever had.
He doesn’t have the luxury of an affluent family to support him “through his problem” with the unlimited finances, a nice warm bed with clean clothes like his rich white counterpart has, but all he can hope while out on the street is a quiet alleyway where he can sleep uninterrupted and a dumpster in the morning in the back of a restaurant or supermarket that might be full of food that’s not too stale. I am not by any means making any excuses for any one; I am just telling you how it is.
It’s been said countless times over that our inner cities are a cesspool for prostitution, but this statement in my humble opinion is a clear indication of the law of supply and demand. Interesting. Those scantily clad entities with ghoulishly painted faces wouldn’t be able to set up shop if no one was feeding that carnal system with a constant flow of outside money by their covert purchases. No one ever speaks of the legions of older white men who flock to the ghettos like moths to a floodlight in their “second car” (Usually an older distressed vehicle on it’s last leg that doesn’t bring any unwarranted attention as it “blends in” with the downtrodden surroundings) to indulge in their freakish desires while their unknowing wife sleeps peacefully at home after praying to the God above for blessing her with such a wonderful marriage and faithful (Who craves all of the acts performed that she refuses to indulge in!) husband.
This “faithful husband” and “fine upstanding member of his community as well as a dutiful servant of the Lord” either has a fetish for a bubble butted Black women or even more commonly has a secret taste for the transvestites who act as a sexual “shoehorn” for their more dormant unprotected homosexual activities. The majority out here making the purchases of fleshly delights ain’t the Black brothers, who, in actuality don’t have the funds and are grubbing for money for the most basic of needs.
But who will ever “see” this when they don’t “live” this?
Those who have the most mouth, speaking out pompously and ignorantly about the true conditions here do not understand how complex this jungle called “hood” can truly get….how entangled one can become in its relentless grip on ones life. How can anyone have a total understanding when they get their opinions off of the news every night? A processed calculated candy coated very intoxicating media assault on your mind, forming a false perception of reality that is far from the total truth because it usually has an aim and a goal in mind. The same way they paint the young Black men trapped in the ‘hoods of amerikkka as animals, robbers, drug dealers, pimps and thieves, so when we are shown to be the victims of police brutality, the general consensus of public opinion would be not to care as “those thugs need to be extinguished anyway.”
We in the ‘hood are told that the resources are not there to clean it up to make it a wonderful place to raise a family and live a fruitful life. But when the profit minded property developers see an opportunity for financial gain in building high rise condos and plush affluent homes for the so called upper class, the money and tax breaks appear literally out of nowhere and in no time the ‘hood is turned around in a few short years into a PARADISE on earth but not for us. We are pushed out like cattle as the political machines enforce their plans in pulling the rugs up from under our tired feet.
So as you can see, there is more to the ‘hood than meets the eye. But the invisible economic system that thrives there magically interlocks with the legitimate world in ways that may surprise many. So before you go running off with the mouth about something you know nothing about, think about how blessed you are to not have to endure those conditions and know that you may only be a paycheck, travesty or personal disaster away from calling that often maligned place home.
