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There are times one gets the feeling that a noose, a trap,
is drawing tighter; circling closer.
When my 70+ years young aunt from
Taiwan
announced that she was going
to take BART with a friend and enroll in citizenship/ESL courses in Oakland
Chinatown, I took my mom aside.
“Look, you have to MAKE her take off all that jewery &
stop carrying wads of cash like a typical Chinese.”
Mom sighed, “I know, we always tell her that but you know
she’s stuck in her ways…”
“Mom, I am serious. It is NOT safe. Even the few blocks from
Lake
Merritt
to class.”
She looked at me and knew what I meant.
“It’s getting worse, mom. I can feel it getting worse over the last few years.” I used to park on 8th and Alice, for the past 7 years.
I am sure mom remembers when we had a booth at a little
Oakland
retail mall,
around the time I was in 4th or 5th grade. My greatest joy in those days was to head to
the arcade and play Centipede and DigDug with Ben, or better yet- feed birds at
the park until they were utterly tame & perched on my arms.
Until the day a man from a neighboring
business had pulled up his shirt to show us the knife slashes he received while
being mugged for a measly $5. I can still envision my mom standing next to him,
gawking with horror at the jagged, scabby gash down his pale chest and stomach.
Mom had a talk with Aunt P.
Thus, for what is probably the first time in my entire life,
I have seen my glamorous auntie without a pirate’s chest worth of treasures
adorning her. Turns out she is more beautiful without all that distracting glitter.
Two e-mails came in the agency inbox last week:
1) heads
up everyone, on 8th and
Alice
someone had their purse forcibly snatched
2) heads
up everyone, our staff have had their cars broken into twice
This followed by some advice to stay alert and walk to BART
or our vehicles in pairs.
Then on a bulletin board at job # 2 work I noticed yet
another “Teen shot” newspaper article photocopied in place. With a sigh I glanced at the name, then felt
my heart freefall. I just met with that
handsome young man for an hour a few weeks ago. Now I imagine him dead, picture it in my head as I know it is true. Multiple gunshot wounds, a homicide with no
one apprehended, little hope for justice nor resolution. The muy grande cuidad de
San Jose
has suffered fewer than 20 homicides
thus far in 2007.
Last week as we all now know, journalist Chauncy Bailey was
murdered in a targeted “hit”. 19 year
old suspect linked to Your Black Muslim bakery, who did not act alone to off
the journalist that was evidently airing a bit too much of their dirty laundry. Mr. Bailey died on Alice and 14th. Also by our office. Near the McDonald’s serving the world’s saltiest salad and the big library and the courthouse for juryduty.
Tragic, tragic, in every way. Horrible
to lose a respected local leader and journalist, awful that this 19 year old
has dug his own slow grave so early in life’s bloom, so painful to see a
hopeful urban notion as Your Black Muslim Bakery go down. I used to be a fan. I loved that bakery’s
Oakland
airport kiosk. Prior to the recent
fancy schmancy gentrified re-model of OAK, Black muslim bakery was the only
airport food I could eat: fish sandwiches, carrot honey muffins, sweet potato
pie. Mmm. The gentlemen who staffed the kiosk were always friendly, the goods
always tasty. I thought it odd that the
one time I stepped inside Your Black Muslim bakery’s storefront, there was
barely anything on the shelves, and the staff were most decidely unfriendly.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20149399/
Last weekend as we now know, seven other lives ended
senselessly on these mean streets. I
believe we are on our 79th homicide.
“get out, get out” urge my husband, my father.
This noose around our little community is getting tighter
and it isn’t safe to stay much longer. I
see it in the preponderance of graffiti creeping onto buildings that were clean
for years. In the droves of children I
meet who have dropped out of school-and no one cares enough to call and see
where they are. In the ones I have met
who brightened my office with their jokes. We bear witness to them climbing out and falling of sexual exploitation,
group homes, juvie. We advise them how about
safe homes, hiding from pimps, about continuation school and vocational rehabilitation.
I met with another handsome young African American boy and
his mother today. “I want to get out”, She
said, “this is too much.”
She’d taken the day off work to get started transferring her
son to another school, another city, somewhere with kinder streets and less
hopeless residents.
I wished her luck. It’s easy to talk about staying to fight the good fight. But not when you’ve a handsome, doe-eyed, big baby boy to protect and pray that he sees adulthood in one piece.
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