The Other View
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Other kids at school had had similar experiences. But I became aware early on that they often saw them differently. Nobody could deny the struggle of the black community in Detroit during the ’80s. It was apparent even to elementary school kids in rich, white neighborhoods. But not everyone saw naked injustice. Many of my classmates, clearly taking intellectual guidance from their parents, believed that poverty was entirely self-inflicted. A consequence of poor individual decision-making. The essential claim was that black people spent their time doing drugs and crime rather than good, old-fashioned hard work like us white folks, and that was the reason why their neighborhoods were so barren, impoverished, and violent.
Mom and Dad didn’t agree with any of that. They believed that we were very fortunate in life, not necessarily that we “deserved” everything we had. Dad worked in the business of treating and saving the lives of gang members and other victims of violence. He knew that certain people have to face obligations and moral dilemmas that others do not. That the world is not a fair place. So it has always seemed obvious to me that not everyone enjoys the same set of opportunities.
But as I go through life I continue to encounter subscribers to the other view. People who believe that the poor are just playing the rest of us hard workers for patsies. There are the ones who think that the poor are poor because they are lazy and that they are lazy because we keep giving them handouts, like seagulls at a crowded beach. And then there are the ones who believe that the poor are not really poor or lazy at all. In fact they are just a step or two away from usurping our culture in its entirety and replacing it with something else.
The truth is that black popular culture during that era did have a very ascendant feel. They were dressing better than us. They were dancing better than us. They were making better music than us. They were better at basketball than us. They were funnier than us. Prime-time television was dominated by series about upwardly-mobile black families; The Cosby Show, the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Family Matters.
In fifth grade I was wearing “Hammer pants” to school, trying to learn to rap, furiously practicing my layups and jumpshots. When the Detroit Pistons won the NBA Finals three times in a row, it wasn’t lost on me that most of the star players were black (with Bill Laimbeer being the notable exception). I knew if I was going to play pro basketball I had to overcome the disadvantage of my whiteness. I asked Mom for a set of ankle weights to help me improve my vertical jump.
But the apparent rise of black pop culture was clearly at odds with the facts on the ground. In real life the black community and the white community were at war, and the black community was not winning that war.
