Essay 824

From The Chicago Tribune…

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Community’s woes may not be matter of class

By Dawn Turner Trice

An African-American colleague, who happens to be a master numbers cruncher, and I were talking about the guilt that sometimes befalls some of us in the “black middle class” who have left the ‘hood.

It’s important to note that neither Mr. Numbers Cruncher nor I grew up middle class. If we had to affix a label, it would have been working class.

I grew up in the South Side neighborhood called Bronzeville, but I no longer live in the city. My colleague grew up farther south, in Washington Heights, and now lives closer to downtown Chicago.

When I was a child, my neighborhood was this odd mix of three disparate communities that straddled 35th Street. On one side of the street was the Lake Meadows development, a middle-class enclave with doctors and lawyers. On the other side was the Ida B. Wells public housing project. And not far away stood the Theodore K. Lawless Gardens apartment complex, where I grew up. Classwise, it was neither Lake Meadows nor Ida B. Wells, but somewhere in the middle.

As poverty and crime grew in Ida B. Wells, a tall fence was built around Lawless Gardens. Over the years, the fence evolved from wire link, to wire link with barbed wire, to wrought iron.

Anyway, Mr. Numbers Cruncher and I were talking about one particular refrain that sticks out when folks--including academics, commentary writers and even Bill Cosby in his talks about blacks and self-reliance--posit why impoverished black communities are so mired in gangs, drugs and violence.

One reason that’s often given is that there are too few role models because the best and the brightest have moved out. Too many times, what’s left is a preponderance of people who weigh the community down.

Of course this is true for some communities. But, said Mr. Numbers Cruncher, U.S. Census data reveal something else in Chicago.

Take the Austin community. We tend to hear more bad news than good news from it. Part of it lies in the Harrison District, which Chicago police recently called the city’s most violent district.

But according to the 2000 U.S census--the latest data we have at the neighborhood level--41.4 percent of the households in Austin would be considered middle class, defined by the census as a household with an income of more than $40,000. (By comparison, Chatham, a neighborhood long known for its strong middle class, had 38.9 households considered middle class. West Englewood had 34 percent.)

Consider Roseland, an area we are often told is beset by crime, where good and bad blocks hopscotch the community. Nearly half of the households there were middle class.

A Tribune analysis of census data three years ago found that 78 percent of black middle-class block groups in Chicago were within half a mile of block groups where at least one-third of residents lived in poverty.

As my old neighborhood showed, blacks of varying classes have always clustered, by choice or by force. There have always been opportunities for an exchange of ideas and ideals. (Despite the fence around my community, many of the Lawless Gardens and Ida B. kids went to school together.)

Of course, there are far more factors that determine a viable community than how much money people make. Having what politicians often call “middle-class values” is more catchphrase than classifier.

What’s ailing embattled communities is extremely complex. But the assumption that poor communities don't have nearly enough role models may not be the right assumption, especially when you consider that the role models aren’t just the area’s highly paid professionals.

They’re the people, no matter their income, who promote education, have high moral standards and work hard, particularly at strengthening the family structure.

As I look back at my old community, I know there’s value in what I had behind the fence. But there was something about being able to peer across the street into the two other worlds that broadened my perspective and goal set.

I wonder: Is the view these days so clouded that it’s nearly impossible to see the other side? And is the black middle class not doing enough from close up and from afar? I’d love to hear your views.

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dtrice@tribune.com