Detroit Michigan

John Simpson originally published this piece in the editorial section of the Michigan Chronicle. He shares his sentiments and struggles with his hometown Detroit on GoTryke.com.

For decades, the city of Detroit was synonymous with African American Pride. It was a city, unlike many other cities, where you could see other black folks. Folks just like you and me, in positions of power. In positions traditionally reserved for whites. Detroit had black mayors, black police chiefs and black city council persons. We had Black auto execs, business and community leaders, Black Judges and black politicians. It was a city where a strong auto industry allowed blacks to enjoy the blessings of home ownership and a middle class lifestyle. A lifestyle that we as black Detroiters grew accustomed and felt entitled to. Detroit also built a legacy in the music and entertainment world. As the Motor City and Motown, Detroit had unparalleled international swagger. I grew up in Detroit. Off 7 Mile and Livernois. I spent many a night at Palmer Park eating Boogaloo sandwiches and drinking Faygo red pop. It meant something to say “I’m from Detroit.” Or as the young people put it, “I’m from the D.”

People, what happened to our city? What happened to that swagger? How did we become a city known more for its crime rate and poverty than for its rich historical contributions? “How did we earn the title of a dying city”? How did we develop such a tarnished image? How did we become a city that if you do well in school or speak the kings English, you are labeled a sell out and your blackness is called into question? Where keeping it real (ignorant) has eclipsed the concepts of being educated, well mannered and professional. How did we become a city riddled with political scandal that continues to lose young talented individuals by the thousands. Where we litter our own neighborhoods? How does an old shoe wind upon the freeway anyway? What happened to us Detroit?

I recently came across a quote in the local newspaper from Ken Cockrel, the newly sworn Mayor of the City of Detroit. He explained the exodus of Detroiters to the suburbs. “If you’re going to pay a 30% surcharge for automobile insurance, if you’re going to be living down the street from some school where you’re not comfortable sending your child because your child might find himself or herself exposed to a 26-round semiautomatic MAC-10 brought by some progeny of an irresponsible parent. Those are real considerations. “I’m not going to condemn anybody who says, ‘I can’t deal with it.”

He’s talking about me. Eight years ago when I married and had children, I packed up my family and left the city of Detroit. I left Detroit kicking and screaming. My wife wanted to move. I did not. At one point, during one of our many fights about whether or not to leave Detroit, my wife asked, “So if we stay in Detroit, ‘do we keep the pistol on the night stand or under the pillow?”

Enough said. I lost and out of Detroit we moved. Actually, since then we have moved twice. Each time a little further from Detroit. But did I really lose the argument? It’s nice out here. Bigger house for the wife and kids. Polite neighbors, and great “public schools.” Out here we have all the amenities one could hope for. Restaurants, entertainment, shopping, All that.

Wow. Folks out here have it good. Did I say that already? Since being out here, I’ve also gained a troubling new perspective on home. The sense that for years I had the wool pulled over my eyes. I thought that crack heads and bulletproof glass was a way of life. That car jacking and home invasion was commonplace. Grocery stores offered sub par produce and “light brown meat.” Iron security doors and bars on every window were standard. In many instances we were prisoners in our own homes. Liquor stores on every corner and abandoned buildings were just part of the landscape.

Sadly, I had not only become accustomed to, but had grown to accept living in fear and chaos, in conditions often less civilized than the city zoo. That was life. Or so I thought. Ultimately, I came to realize– as did many of my now-suburban neighbors– we had a choice. We didn’t have to live like that. We were refugees of Detroit, no longer willing to sacrifice quality of life for loyalty to the town we had loved so much.

My dilemma is this… I desperately I want to come home to Detroit. A city so rich in culture and heritage, now buried beneath the rubble of failed leadership. The city that has turned out so many brilliant products and people. The city that gave us the automobile and the Motown sound, Joe Louis and Faygo pop, Aretha Franklin and Coleman Young, Berry Gordy and Damon Keith. All made in Detroit. Detroit helped shape everything about me. But as a business man with a family, I cannot overlook the fact that it costs considerably more to live in Detroit. I did the math. “Out here” I have more house, lower taxes, and more amenities. Better schools, cleaner safer streets and peace of mind. Did I mention “fresh red meat.”? Out here I get much more for much less.

I understand that a large urban city such as Detroit is going to have more challenges than wealthier suburbs. However, I would move home in a heartbeat if I believed that Detroit was moving in the right direction, was meeting those challenges head-on, and was on a path toward better schools, safer streets and “a better quality of life.” It is easy for some to argue that in order for me to realize my dream of returning to a better Detroit, I need to take personal actions to help make it a better Detroit. I know. I know. Stop being part of the problem and become part of the solution. Stop talking about it and be about it.We need to start being more sophisticated about how we pick our leaders and the criteria we use to choose. We need to demand accountability from our leadership. We need to become more active in our community. We need to commit to quality education for our children. We need to take responsibility for not only ourselves but for our neighbors. Absolutely, we – or rather I say I? – need to be better.

I’ll work on that. But in the meantime, I need to reconcile my own confusion and uncertainty about what is real for me at this point in my life. Is home still home when the people and places you cherish have all but vanished? As a true Detroiter, am I incapable of building a home elsewhere? Have I temporarily relocated to this Suburban utopia waiting for my real home in the city to be rebuilt? Is the prospect of a new Detroit achievable in the foreseeable future? Against all my other life demands, do I have the time, energy, and patience to help overhaul the mess that has been made in Detroit?

Such questions sadden me because here’s the real truth: while it’s nice out here in suburbia, I never truly feel at home, and doubt I ever will. I’ll never feel as though I really belong. It’s a bit like driving someone else’s brand new car: it’s handles great but it ain’t yours. For now, at least, even in borrowed wheels, I’ve found a lane that’s moving. Home, as I know it, is fading in my rear view. There’s a point on the road of every journey when making a U-turn seems out of the question. I am nearing that point. None the less, I want to come home. Real talk.

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