What Happened To The Village?
Neighborhoods are now ‘hoods/Cause nobody’s neighbors/just animals
Surviving/with that animal behavior.
-- Posdnous from De La Soul’s Stakes is High
When the above dropped, it ignited a huge conversation. The people who agreed and disagreed with the statement were evenly matched. Fast forward a whole lot of years, and many of us are having the same argument. One side argues that the lack of a cohesive black community is a media fabrication. The media promotes only the negative events that happen, and “willfully ignores any progress, as it does not fit with the national narrative of what Blackness should and can be—in the eyes of the White power structure” (actual quote). The other side accuses black folks of thinking “we made it” and that this is a fallacy brought about by the mythologizing of the Civil Rights Movement, and the election of Barack Obama. “We have not made it” they proclaim, “the evidence is in Chicago, Richmond, San Francisco, New Orleans, and wherever else Black communities used to thrive, but don’t now” (another quote). The truth, as always, is quite a bit more complex.
For almost two decades, I’ worked with adolescent males in the juvenile justice and mental health systems. I did community-based work, so I was always where the people lived and worked. During the course of my day I saw heartbreaking things, but the following killed me. They happened ten minutes apart:
1. A teenaged sister was walking with a little girl. She took the girl’s bottle, poured out the water, filled it with soda, and gave it back to the little girl, who eagerly drank.
2. A young couple was walking down the street, pushing a baby boy in a stroller. The baby became fussy, so the young woman picked the baby up and hugged and kissed him. The young man snatched the little boy and shoved him back into his stroller. The little boy started to wail. The young man looked at the young woman and said: “You better stop spoiling that little ni**a. You want that little ni**a to be bitch?”
After those incidents, I felt heartbroken and disappointed in myself because I did not step in to offer support. This was new for me, as I always intervene. Always. I live by a simple code: ‘Act the way you want the world to be. Don’t react to the way that it is.’ I want the world to be a place where children are raised in love and health. So, what stopped me?
I’m from a community where your friend’s parents would scold (or whoop) you just as quickly as they would their own. There was zero hesitation in their actions. You acted a fool; you were called out and treated like one. This was just how my hood got down. Part of my hesitation stemmed from my now being a parent and not wanting anyone to tell me that I was not raising my kid to the best of my ability. Not to mention, most young black folks are rarely told that they are doing anything well.
Another prime factor is that it is becoming more and more unsafe to do so.
I’ve had people curse me up and down for intervening in their parenting. I’ve had knives pulled on me, and once had a dude pop his trunk, making threats to “blast me” for telling him he shouldn’t have a baby in the backseat while him and his boys were getting high. Now that I am a father, I do not want to take the risk of my getting hurt (or worse) but I feel like an absolute traitor to my values by not intervening like I used to.
Is it the ‘stop snitchin’ BS that has so effectively integrated itself into some of our communities that has made fellowship dangerous? Has what was once an admonishment against speaking out against criminal behavior become a flag under which no behavior is held accountable? There are things that are profoundly wrong in some of our communities. Yet any attempts of easing the pain, making the struggle less arduous—especially pertaining to children—is seen as an insult; a declaration that you somehow see yourself above those who you want to help.
We’ve all heard of ubuntu (very loose translation: I am because we are), and the idea of ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ has been drilled into many of us for years—and they are great philosophies to live by. What an amazing idea it is to recognize that you exist and thrive because others care. What an astounding experience it would be for a child to have a legion of aunties, uncles, and play cousins who conspire to raise, love, and protect them in the best possible way. What is it that is stopping us from living these ideals? What causes many of us to become so defensive, that any intervention in support of a child can be perceived as an attack? I eagerly await your solutions.
