Returning, To What I Should Have Said

An open letter, to my former co-worker, who once told me on a rainy day, beside an empty pool, that he would never want to attend my high school. When prompted for a reason, he replied “The Ghettoness of it.”

An open letter, to a sheltered moron.

Dear Moron,

You know nothing of “Ghettoness,” know nothing of the lines between white and black; the juxtaposition of segregated and integrated, of knife fights and rumors of drive-by’s; of cafeterias split almost entirely by race, almost perfectly down to the person.

You do not know, for example, what it is like to form friendships in a homeroom where you are among only a handful of white students, where the first smiling face– one of the most charismatic, kindhearted and unforgettable people you know– tells you, upon first introduction, that at age 15, he is the father of a beautiful baby girl, Tatiana.

You do not know, for example, what it is like to see news reports showing pictures of your friend’s face, with the caption: “Body found in river, died at age 19.”

Most especially, you do not understand the differences between you and I; the subtle contrasts between being exposed to “The Ghettoness” and being isolated from it.

You’ve never realized that coming from a largely black high school does not make you less white. That your understanding of urban public schools and exposure to youth poverty does not make you any less privileged.

You wouldn’t understand that my proximity to “The Ghettoness,” in actuality, makes me farther from it than you will ever be. You wouldn’t understand my non “Ghettoness,” when placed directly alongside real “Ghettoness” removes me entirely from the “Ghettoness.”

You do not know of the lines between the two.

If you did, you would not have said that. You would not have used the word “Ghettoness” to describe a school with a large population of black students. You would not have been afraid to learn in that school, to sit in that segregated cafeteria, to average your friends’ estimates of how many guns are in that school at any given time and land on a number larger than five. You would understand that this estimate, while probably exaggerated, could illuminate in some small way, the issues some of your classmates face. It could reveal the realities of facing discrimination, teen violence, unsafe neighborhoods and assumptions made about the color of your skin. You would realize, that instead of hiding from these problems, witnessing them will actually allow you to live your life in a more enlightened, guided manner.

You may also have to realize that you are taking pride in knowing people who are directly affected by discrimination and teen violence and unsafe neighborhoods and racist assumptions. You may have to realize that you are taking pride at their expense. You may have to be aware of that pride.

The complexities of my school cannot be articulated in a word like “Ghettoness.” They cannot be worked out until we start acknowledging them, understanding them, and realizing when they are misrepresented. You misrepresented my school, you assumed things because of the student body’s skin color, and years later, I’m acknowledging your ignorance.

Please never use the word “Ghettoness” again. You know nothing of the complexities– of the lines between, of the distances from– you and I to the word.

You know nothing of “Ghettoness.”

Your former co-worker.