I resided in the City of Baltimore for one thousand five hundred seventy-seven days. I actually pulled up to my husband’s medical school graduation in a U-Haul truck. I had enthusiastically packed.
During my 4-year stint there, the city’s population dropped from 701,000 to 645,000. The mass exodus was marked by solid blocks of boarded-up homes and empty storefronts. If I had to use one word to summarize my experience, it would be “depressing.”
As you may have already guessed, I was not a fan. But as the old adage goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is something about a pulled pork sandwich, sold off the stoop of a formstone rowhouse, that makes it taste that much better. A daily pilgrimage down the block to get a snowball (a slushy topped with marshmallow fluff) was the highlight of scorching summer days for children of all ages—especially this child. And “Balmore” (because you can’t be a real Baltimorean and pronounce the “t”) was simply a small town trapped in a big city’s body.
Today I find myself following the red dots on the Google riot map, reading incident reports and counting the decreasing number of blocks between my old home on Hudson Street and the looting and fires. My heart aches for a place I once called the Armpit of the Universe.
I never considered Baltimore a safe place, nor did I want to raise my children there, but as I witness the destruction of the city, I find myself asking, “What role did I play in this tragedy?” I am not there anymore. I didn’t elect the current officials, and I certainly wasn’t directly involved in the death of Freddie Gray. Yet I feel an innate responsibility for the events occurring.
I just lost you, didn’t I? Let me rewind. I am talking about being source. It’s not some magical mystic, “woo-woo” philosophy drenched in patchouli oil. It is how our world operates. We create a space for things to occur. Did you ever notice that when you are experiencing love, everything is right in the world? A bad driver cuts you off, and you shake your head and laugh about how bad the drivers in your city are. You say “Hi” to every person you pass by, and you call it a good day. On a day you allow someone or something to piss you off, you might come across that same bad driver and then spend the rest of your day pissed off and angry, using the phrase ”FML” on replay. That is source—well, a part of it, anyways.
I am not saying that not protesting or not being more active with the NAACP makes me culpable—quite the opposite. Have you ever heard, “what you resist, persists”? The driving force against any given thing is actually what feeds it. In this way, the space from which I live makes me responsible. Where in my life have I decided that injustice is ok? When did I last lay blame on someone without looking first at myself to see how I had created the situation? How do I live my life without regard to others? The day we all begin to ask these questions, we will have a chance at true peace. Instead we are too busy clambering for the Apple Watch so we can all walk around staring and shouting at our wrists instead of connecting with the world around us.
Take a quick scan of my Facebook feed, and it’s easy to see what side my friends fall on. Those in law enforcement are blaming the victim. My friends who may have grown up in an urban area are blaming the police. My more “enlightened” friends blaming society and inequality. Not many people are willing to ask, “how did I play a role in this?”
Do you want to stop the violence in Baltimore? Say hello to everyone you walk past today. Fetch your neighbors mail for them and walk it to their door. Call your mom just to say “hello.” Feed the homeless. Go get me a snowball with extra fluff and ship it to Delray. That last one might not do it (but it was worth a shot), but above all, connect. Connect with your fellow human beings because you can be the one that stops the riots in Baltimore.
Miriam Pearson-Martinez, LM CPM
Recovering Balti-moron and mother of 4