Stop Building Prisons, Start Building Communities

Every Monday morning when I walk my unsuspecting, yet overexposed campers down to a small, simple park on the corners of Ellington and Erie streets in Dorchester, I cringe. Not just at the sudden movements toward oncoming cars of blissfully oblivious youths or the harshly pronounced words "nigga" and "faggit" that come out of their mimicking mouths, but at the harrowing scene that awaits us upon arrival.

The local park, a supposed safe haven for the tangible future of America, lies in shambles.

Bashed Budweiser cans sleep like dirty, excessively bearded men on smooth pavement decorated with cheerful blue imagery that perfectly complements the water three small sprinklers spray on screaming, smiling sons and daughters of the surrounding area. Pieces of glass, conveniently located in the one portion of the park allocated to the au natural foot, keep the used and abused can of Bud heavy company. Above, on the grass plot and foolishly positioned wood chips that envelop the slides and other attractions the park has to offer, sunbathe countless other discarded bottles, some with drowning liquids still ready to asphyxiate their next self-chosen victim. Wrappers, paper bags, soiled paper towels and napkins, mastication devices of all sorts, and sometimes even festival aids like firecrackers, depending on the time of year and how lady luck feels that morning, also inhabit the grounds.

***

As we call for and sometimes even receive legislation concerning the economy, energy, crime, and "national security," I can't help but wonder if we're somehow missing our target.

If my kids, with their prospects dimmed by ineffectual schools and neglectful parents, can't even play in a small park without constant reminders of the failings of their elders, how can we reasonably expect them to succeed? Graduating from high school with an inclination towards college shouldn't be the equivalent of winning the lottery, after all.

And yet, simultaneously, we allocate our resources for other purposes. As Lil Wayne talks about on "Misunderstood," the final track on his latest release, The Carter III, we send our law enforcement agents out to collect criminals, but focus on numbers rather than public well-being:

"I was watching t.v. the other day right
got this white guy up there talking about black guys
talking about how young black guys are targeted
targeted by who? america
you see one in every 100 americans are locked up
one in every 9 black americans are locked up
and see what the white guy was trying to stress was that
the money we spend on sending a mothaf**ka to jail
a young mothaf**ka to jail
would be less to send his or her young ass to college
see, and another thing the white guy was stressing was that
our jails are populated with drug dealers, you know crack/cocaine stuff like that
meaning due to the laws we have on crack/cocaine and regular cocaine
police are only, i don't want to say only right, but shit
only logic by riding around in the hood all day
and not in the suburbs
because crack cocaine is mostly found in the hood
and you know the other thing is mostly found in you know where i'm going
but why bring a mothaf**ka to jail if it's not gon stand up in court
cuz this drug aint that drug, you know level 3, level 4 drug, shit like that
i guess it's all a misunderstanding
i sit back and think, you know us young mothaf**kas you know that 1 in 9
we probably only selling the crack cocaine because we in the hood
and it's not like in the suburbs, we don't have what you have
why? i really don't wanna know the answer
i guess we just misunderstood hunh
you know we don't have room in the jail now for the real mothaf**kas, the real criminals
sex offenders, rapists serial killers
don't get scared, don't get scared
I know you saw one them sex offenders papers
don’t trip he live right on the end of yo block,
Mhm yea, that nigga live right down the street from you,
sex offender on the level 3 drug,
convicted ex-con
yea check em out
watch you got, you got a daughter, son, what you got?
hahaa yea, you know what
that’s the good weed,
you know what, I have a f**king daughter
you understand me and why the f**k would you bring my neighbor to jail
jus because the reason why he live next door to me, ain’t the reason I live next door to him
Meaning he didn’t rap his way to my f**king neighborhood
he sold crack cocaine to get to my neighborhood
you move him out bring him to jail for life
and then you move in with a sex offender"--Source.

Now, I'm not saying we should abort all drug laws--clearly that's not the solution. But, as Wayne asks, shouldn't we put the real criminals in jail, instead of some guy whose situation made choosing to sell drugs far more convenient than studying neuroscience?

I would prefer that child molesters and rapists remain incarcerated for the rest of their lives, alongside their more humane fellow sinners, killers. Drug dealers? I'd much rather tax their business than let it go unregulated and cost the public time, money, and effort. At least then maybe we could take the funding wasted on "patrolling" the streets for the type of snow the sun rarely sees and hire some goddamn teachers.

***

As I stoop down to collect another shattered bottle, indulgently pondering the irony of shattered lives, sweet-hearted seven-year-olds begin to pick up black plastic bags with the intention of tossing the weekend's leftover trash into the green basin designated for such remnants that rests less than an arm's length away.

"Thanks, guys," I say. "But that's not your job. Go play. It's dirty and I don't want you guys touching this stuff."

Silently they return to their fierce debates over who tagged whom and whose turn it is to play with the ball. I corral my haul and head to the trash receptacle, where the result of the ghetto's inner workings gather. Sadly, the bin operates at about 5% capacity. The weekend's unchecked party watches from all around, strewn upon the ground.

It's time to stop building prisons and start building communities.