The ’80s and ’90s have bred some of the fiercest soldiers this world has ever seen. I’m not talking about the army vets; I’m talking about the hood legends. If you were born into a black community in the ’80s and early ’90s, chances are you’re a war baby. In 82, under the leadership of Ronald Regan, America declared war on drugs. During the next few years, legislations would pass that would shift the idea of drugs being a public health problem to a brutal crime. Then in 85, as if it appeared out of thin air, crack cocaine emerged. Being a cheaper, much more destructive product, it was the perfect Trojan horse to walk into the black community, spawning a battleground full of bloodshed and horror. We were under attack. A year later, amid this bombard, one of the most significant war babies of all was born—my cousin Straw.
Raised in Michigan city’s Harbor Side Projects, Straw and his family were not like the “crack whores” and “crack babies” the media desperately tried to paint us. My Aunty was actually in the newspaper for having the cleanest apartment in the projects, a reputation she upheld till her last breath. They had morals. Yet, America still saw them as sullied. Apparently, our skin had a permanent smudge that even the cleanest woman in the city couldn’t purge. Imagine being a child and turning on the tv only to see someone with the demeanor of your father being called a “super predator” or a woman who resembles your mother being called a “welfare queen.” Think about what that could do to a kid’s psyche and confidence. The hopelessness in the air was breeding a generation destined for persecution.
Co-founder of BLM Patrisse Cullor’s memoir ‘When they call you a terrorist’ shed light on the coercion young black boys had to face in their everyday lives. There is a reason the NWA made songs like ‘Fuck the Police’. She describes the harassment and violence her adolescent brothers, as young as 12 years old, faced by full-grown policemen, stealing their innocence in the process. I related to this on a personal level. I remember the police coming to my grandmother’s house and handcuffing my brother to a chair, degrading him in front of his family. He was no more than 13 at the time. The school to prison pipeline has become an essential topic in our culture, but at the time, metal detectors, belittlement, and excessive punishments were normalized. Indeed, some of the kids raised in these war zones were troubled. Yet, instead of receiving love and therapy, they were belittled and chastised. It felt like my cousin couldn’t escape punishment. He even did a stint in a boy’s school. Although we were children, the world was programmed to see us as future criminals.
The climate created from poverty and the drugs we now know the CIA helped smuggle caused destruction and strife for nearly everyone. Gangs, who forged initially for protection, turned to a life of crime to survive. The black-on-black crime was on the rise. Sometimes, it seems unfair for a child had to be raised in these conditions. It is likely for him to adapt to sustain. Maturing at a faster rate and walking in the footsteps of his beloved father, the weed man for all of Michigan City, Straw became a hood pharmacist at an early age. One of my mother’s favorite stories to tell is when she asked her youthful nephew where he worked, and he replied, “Aunty, I work at this corner, that corner and that corner.” By the time he was 18, he and his best friend had become the biggest dope dealers in the city. The problem with adapting to this game is you’re conforming to something built to destroy you. For many of the players, it was only a matter of time. In 2006, for charges I won’t mention here, straw was incarcerated for 15 years.
When speaking on any major war or catastrophe in history, the world takes pity on the kids of that era, except the children born during the war the drugs. A lot of them became products of their environment, hardened shells whose innocence is long gone. I still believe in this generation; I have faith in my cousin. With love and community, we can help them heal. Straw turns 35 today, his wisdom far beyond his years. I appreciate our connection; I learned through him to choose a better path. Though he’s spent nearly half of his life behind bars, he’s grateful and highly optimistic, with plans on counseling the youth so they too can learn from his mistakes. This unforgiving world will label him a felon upon his release and give him little room or resources for redemption. They see a bad guy, but I see a hood legend. I know the kid that would wake up every morning, make his bed and cook breakfast for his little sister. The kid that put money in his mother’s mailbox, the kid who was courageous enough to stand by my brother’s side as they engaged in a Roman candle war with the whole block. I see a human being who deserves peace and love just like everyone else. God bless the war babies 🤲🏾.
Comments