Letter from Baltimore, Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by people of all colours and races here in Baltimore City, Maryland. For 48 hours, I have been utterly speechless and spellbound by the graciousness I've seen displayed all around me by people of all colours. I apologise for the length of this letter, but I have written each word, each phrase and each passage with the utmost care and delicate touch as to purvey my true understand and gift to you as provided to me. I have been blessed, as when I expected hate, aggression and spite in the face gross injustices perpetuated against the masses, here in Baltimore, I instead and to my deepest surprise and wonder found and witnessed love, harmony and sincerety in the face of darkness. Don't get me wrong; the wails of sorrow and dejection ring in one's ears louder than even the most thunderous storm and the sight of irritation and exasperation bring tear to even the most hardened soul. The buildings here are either of ivory and marble in West or crumbled, abandoned and decrepit in the East, but that does not appear affect the hearts of those whom I've had the privilege to meet this week. There were hundreds gathered in a storefront church, invisible to the casual observer and unrecognised by tourists and news vans scattered throughout the city, but magnificent nonetheless. "I bring you greetings from our struggle in Ferguson," exclaimed Rev. Osagyefo Sekou, a man not unknowing of the circumstances here, in Baltimore City. His dreadlocks superseded in character only by his marvellous rhetoric to expound upon his perceptions and personal experience in tumultuous environments. "This is not an issue as it relates to the race and pigmentation of man, this is a human rights issue, this is a survival issue, this is a world issue," exclaims an academic, revered by many from east to west. He appeared unmoved and unmovable, with wide eyes, ubiquitous hair, and powerful statue. It only be fitting they call him "The Teacher," Dr. Cornell West. America needs to understand Baltimore, because this is the place in this country vexed and plagued by unjust circumstances so great, so complex, so impermeable and misunderstood, in our time, in America that one would be compelled to think even the greatest, most unrelenting believer in God turn to the abyss. That unbeliever be improved in their belief that the world be Godless and Oneless; that Mohammad, Jesus and Buddah be mockeries of justice and perpetuators of crimes against humanity, if they exist, or phantoms of promise and illusions of grandeur if they do not. That however is not the case here. You may be shocked by these words, coming from me. But on this journey, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to rearrange much of my thought-patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. But, surprisingly, this was not too difficult for me. For perspective, I have grown to believe in the divisiveness of justice and religion: one conflicting with the other. That pastor and preacher be hypocrite, that to be saved is impossible. That to be righteous is simply to do right. Despite my firm convictions, I have always been a man that has tried to face facts, and the truth is this: --God is not fact. --God cannot be proven through scientific method. --God cannot be tested under strict-scrutiny. --God cannot debated. In the past, I have used these notions to prove God's non-existence, or if existant, God's inferiority and unwillingness. I was wrong. My notions of judgment and reality were clouded by false perceptions between logic and realty, validity and truth. --God is not fact-God is Truth. --God cannot be proven through the scientific method-God is Methodological. --God cannot be tested under strict-scrutiny-God is Law. --God cannot be debated-God is Righteous. During the past few days here in Baltimore, I have listened intently to the rhetoric and perceptions of the few towards the many, and the many towards the few. I have not been one indifferent or unwilling to contend differences among my fellow man by virtue of the hue of their skin-but we are all equal here. I watched in awe as a White man, skin paler than snow, wept at the unjust murder of a Black boy, pronounced by his strong-willed and proud mother. I watched in awe as a transgendered woman was introduced by a Presbyterian pastor, in a Methodist church as a "Woman of God" with visible communists and socialists in attendance. She was celebrated by a large congregation of believers and non-believers, those with bibles held tight and those with hijabs worn tighter: not a heckler or subjugator in sight. We are truly all equal here, in every sense of the word, and although we do not all share the same beliefs in our God or Gods or even the notion that one exists, we stand here peaceful but resilient in the face of the unrighteous and injustice. As vessels of the Supreme, we cannot be content with the naive belief that injustice will simply be and that someone, hopefully, will end it. "if you are worried about [him] go stand next to him." We are the vessel, we are the spirit and we must change the world through love and pursuance of justice and not stand idly by as hatred and destructive forces aim to obliterate it. Although, I contend, that love differs between the believer and the non-believer, both nature and value, those who attempt to love inevitable open their heart to God and therefore all of humanity as a whole. I could see from this, that perhaps, that if we could all except Oneness in God, then perhaps too we could accept in the reality of the Onesness of Man and cease to measure and hinder other's in terms of their differences in colour, orientation, wealth and other personal qualities so often, arbitrarily, subjected to ill-will. Each hour, here in Baltimore, allows me to have greater spiritual insights into what is happening in America and the world. Within minutes of entering this city, we were approached by a man, James, who shared his life story with us. He prefaced with this: "The things I've seen, the things I've experienced, if I were to explain them all to you, you'd have grey hairs by the time I finished." I've heard no truer words spoken. For years, he lie in prison, tormented by wardens and police, beaten and punished. He served thirty years plus for offences ranging from petty theft to capital murder. In one incident, he explained, he was stabbed three times and had his ribs broken. He was spit on and chastised by the wicked and nearly executed by members of the Aryan Brotherhood. Through it all, however, he remained resonant. He maintained his vigilance towards justice in that his only desire now is to improve the lives of others, as to avoid such tremendously horrid circumstances as he had faced growing up and into adulthood. He wrote a book, I pray it gets published soon, titled: "Out of the Innermost Circle of Hell." He explained that his faith in both God and Man led to his self-discovery. Not too long ago, after thirty some-odd years, he was exonerated of all charges. He is an innocent man. With poverty plaguing this city in ways I've never before experienced or witnesses first hand, there is nevertheless light that shines through. Don't misunderstand me: I have both observed and lived in poverty in the south, the imprisonment of family members and friends, lives turned destructive and families torn apart - but this here is not the same type of poverty. It is absolutely catastrophic. On our second day, we met another man, Anthony, who we first had believed was an oppositioner to the social justice movements here, in Baltimore City. He arrived by city bus, outside of where we photographed a memorial of Freddie Grey, quickly catching drift of our easily captured youthful optimism and outsider appearances, asking us who we were and where we were from. He expeditiously moved upon us explaining, in front of his mural, how Freddie Grey was no hero. Freddie Grey was no martyr. Freddie Grey was not to be revered. "He sold drugs in front of my building every day, always yelling 'James Brown'!" but he quickly resorted to calling out the problem from where it truly stood, when asked, "What is the problem?" He rapidly spake, "Poverty." "What you need to know is that half of the women in this Neighborhood are crackheads and their boyfriends and husbands are in jail, so the kids have no guidance. Of course they'll go and burn cars and buildings when they're frustrated. There's no jobs for miles. The places here only hire their family members, and they don't live here." Anthony was deliberate and passionate in his speech, but showed great irritation and empathy. He showed true, deep and loving concern for his fellow man. He knew, by our outer-appearance that this was not our residence, so he welcomed us in order to help us understand where he came from, what East Baltimore was. He showed us into his community and into his home. He, contrary to our previously held notions, helped us. We could not offer him a thing of value. Never have I ever been so highly honoured. Never have I been made to feel more humble and unworthy. He allowed me into his home. His home resembled that of the physical circumstances just outside. Decrepit. Failing. Hopeless. He told us how, people will have sex and smoke weed outside his apartment, because the apartment building door doesn't close. It remains open 24/7. His mailbox, he showed us, hasn't been fixed in six months so people would steal his mail because anyone could grab it. But what you must understand, is that Anthony didn't tell us all of this for sympathy or self-pity. He pleaded for our comprehension of the dire circumstances here. He knows what America thinks of Baltimore. The people are lazy, no one wants to work. Drug addicts, criminals and fiends. What we do not realise is that two blocks down from Anthony's home lies a police station, entirely barricaded and cut off from the neighborhood. There is no way in without express permission from a patrol officer, who sits back behind the wheel of their cruiser behind a seemingly impenetrable steel police fence. What we do not realise is that, according to Anthony, the average police response time is four hours, regardless if they are but a block away. So why call the police when the crime be long over after responded to. What we do not realise is that there are likely more homes abandoned and crumbling than those occupied in East Baltimore. What we do not realise is that there are literally no jobs available within the general vicinity of this neighborhood, reserved for the family of the owners and friends. What we do not realise is that the streets and blocks are littered to your knees with trash and deposits, but there are no public dumpsters in sight. The only dumpster I found read "metal only, no trash." What we do not realise is that these are the forgotten people. Soon after a long conversation Anthony had with us, we all went out to eat with one another. I broke bread with my fellow man. We enjoyed each other's company and we shared our thoughts and beliefs on why we are where we are. There was not a moment of futility. Before he left us, on the steps of the Bruce Court Housing Projects, a little girl, maybe four or five, with her sister or a friend, returning from school, saw Anthony and waddled towards him with the brightest smile and most jubilant expression I've ever had the opportunity to witness. It was the light that shines through utter impermeable darkness. I tried to capture the moment in time and space but it swiftly passed as he hugged and kissed the little girl, showing her care and embrace; for but a short time, I imagine, this little girl was able to forget the woes of the world and the problems that engulfed her environment. He soon after placed her ever so gently onto the ground and continued on with his day. You could readily tell this was not out of the norm for him. He is needed here in this community. People like Anthony are the Hope of Baltimore City. I wish I could share this with you more intamately, but I suppose this was something only for but a small number of us to witness. I was blessed. I have found my Mecca here in Baltimore City, land of the forgotten and deposed. Never neglected, we joined the struggles of our brothers and sisters in the City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia, to recount the 1985 MOVE bombings, that took the lives of many fighting the struggle, on behalf of the state, that still affect the poor and deposed today. Now, as we travel home, in the twenty-third hour, my mind, heart and soul are forever changed. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. It is my choice as to what I will follow and observe. My belief in God will directly determine my perceptions and how I am able to share this perception of dire circumstance. I no longer fear sharing this message of truth and righteousness: all praise is due to God, the almighty, omnipotent, omnipresent and omniscient. I have witnessed both damnation and Holy truth here. I am forever changed, my heart forever open, my mind forever free, my soul forever forged. I leave you with a set questions, to answer for yourself. These, then and now, remain some of the most important moral, philosophical and theological questions of our time and can apply to not only great and academic or philosophical debate and circumstance, but your daily life. These are the quintessential questions of justice: 1. How shall integrity face oppression? 2. What does honesty do in the face of deception? 3. What does decency do in the face of insult? 4. How does virtue meet brute force? - W.E.B DuBoise
