Re-visiting June 30, 2008 ("neighborhood" added: 4/28/09)

Tonight we had our East Side Restorative Justice informational meeting. I am sure we'll get enough people who will commit to the facilitator training. Several of us participated in a circle role play, Commander Casper spoke from an officer's perspective, and I spoke from a victim's perspective.

I feel the need to write a bit about the experience simply because as I spoke tonight, I realize that the incident, or at least some of the emotional impact, is fading. That's a good thing, but what really helps it to fade is that I had arranged to meet with one of the three people who had beaten me. Also, I don't want all the memory to fade. Remembering emotions, feelings, and circumstances is essential to making change - to be able to put ourselves in another's place; to recall the sensation of humiliation or pain so we don't offend or demean others; and to remember the outrage.

PART ONE - The incident itself:
see KSTP video below (older post), "Woman with the garden hose"
The two cars had been at the bottom of Fourth Street at Maria. I heard yelling between the cars...road rage? drug deal gone bad? I didn't know. Then, one after the other, the cars came erratically and fast, backward up the hill. One veered to the curb and I thought it was going to park in front of my neighbor's house, but it veered back out into the road. My thought at the moment was of the five or six kids who were running between the street and the sidewalks. This is something they had not been safely able to enjoy for several years because of now closed drug houses and the heavy vehicle and foot traffic they brought to Fourth Street. The closed, inactive drug houses filled our neighborhood with an uneasy peace, many of us not quite believing the quiet could be lasting. The evenings were quiet - no more excessive drinking or noise until 3am - neighbors would comment that it was almost too good to be real, but we confessed that we could get use to it.

I yelled at the first car to slow down - it didn't and drove north onto Bates. I yelled at the second to slow down and turned the hose on it, the the car hood. It sees odd to me now - in fact, the whole situation seems a bit surreal in retrospect. After being hosed, the car left. I stood on the grass between the sidewalk and the street, next to the large tree. One of the younger children, who had seen the hosing, came over and looked down Bates where the car had driven. I asked him if the car was returning. He said no. Another neighbor later said the car appeared to have gone around several blocks before it returned, stopping in the middle of Fourth at the Bates intersection. I remember how eerie the air felt right then...such a strange quiet. I thought it so strange that no cars came through that whole time period between the hosing and Shedavia's return. Normally we would see a stream of traffic.

When the three arrived, with Shedavia jumping out first, from the passenger's side, and yelled "I just washed my car!!" The man and other woman, Marcella, jumped out also. They ran toward me, with Shedavia standing just inches in front of my face. She kept screaming into my face. From previous experience on the street, I was expecting her to scream herself out and then leave. I have absolutely no idea what she was saying. What actually went through my head was that if I start screaming back, we'll be two women screaming; if I tried to talk, she'd scream more and wouldn't hear my anyway. So I stood there and said nothing. I did think that her screaming behavior was so incongruous with her beautiful teeth and neat clothing.

When I thought of it later, listening to her voice was like listening to an adult talk on a Charlie Brown cartoon: no distinguishable words, but WHA, WHA, WHA, WHA'. I stood by the mighty tree, holding the garden hose a few inches down from the nozzle as if it were Liberty's torch and a mighty protection. Meanwhile, the other two were standing behind and beside me, pounding on the side of my head, my shoulders and my left arm. At one time I tried to raise my right hand, thinking I could swing the hose, but Marcella had a tight grip on my arm from behind. Nor could I move my right arm...it felt as if it were in a vise. My glasses had already flown off to the ground. I zoned out the beating, hardly feeling the intensity that left bruises and a few abrasions and an extremely sore arm that still affects movement today.

It wasn't until Marcella began pushing me toward the street and Shedavia began pulling on the neck of my shirt that the tight holds were broken. Then I was finally able to free my right arm and grabbed at Shedavia's white top...I wasn't about to fall easily into the street. They got me to the street, between the curb and their car, which was parked in the middle of Fourth at the intersection. I was flat on my face, which, fortunately, never hit the pavement. Just my knee and hand hit and got bruised and skinned.

It was then that X, my neighbor came over waving his cell phone around yelling he was taking their pictures and that they should leave. With X running here and there and yelling, the three eventually scattered. I think he was scared to death. He couldn't have seen me being beaten as I was standing on the east side of the tree. After they left, X walked toward his house, then came back toward me and turned again toward his house. I staggered over to the curb and as I did, another neighbor came out carrying a mobile phone, asked if I was ok. I said yes, and the neighbor walked back to her house, never coming closer than 20 feet to me. (Is it not crazy? It's like going into the doctor with pneumonia, the nurse asks how we are and we say 'fine'.) I don't hold anything against how people acted or didn't react...I certainly didn't respond how I would have thought. I just felt so alone out on the street with people walking away from me.

Finally X came back and told me to go to his porch. His wife brought out an ice pack for my head injury and knee. After some minutes I commented that the police were slow. It turned out that neither neighbor had ever called the police. They were probably in more shock than I was. I think both neighbors, each with a phone in hand, were totally stunned and frozen, even though one of them called the police so often for so many other incidents on our street. This, I think, was just too real and too close to home...literally. When people say 'I would do ____ or _____ " in a situation, I just shake my head. Long ago I learned we don't know how we would react until it actually happens to us. I certainly didn't react any way near what I would have expected or planned. I still don't know what he was thinking - he's barely spoken to me since it happened, though he used to call almost every night with a neighborhood update.

It was one of our beat officers that responded when X did call. Most other officers, he said were in training for the upcoming RNC. He came quickly and was, as usual, very helpful. Though X hadn't actually take any photos, he did accompany the officer and identified the car around the corner. As it turned out, Shedavia lived two blocks from me and had attacked and beaten a woman (who lives at the end of my block) a month before. That was a third degree assault that resulted in a cornea transplant for D.

I refused an ambulance, didn't even want to go to emergency, but glad X and his wife and the officer insisted. X drove me, didn't stay, but walked me in. Every time United Hospital calls for fund raising for their emergency room rebuilding, I tell them "I'm familiar with it and it certainly does need rebuilding." But, some of the poor 'reception' has to do with staffing. A couple officers were called, came in to take photos of my injuries, and that was well done - polite, efficient. Then I was put into a wheel chair and placed in the center of the traffic pattern, under a draft, and by the entrance/exit to the walk-in emergency doors. I couldn't get the desk staffer's attention to move me. I was freezing, whether from the shock of the attack or from the overhead blower, I don't know.

I had the most difficult time 'finding' and using my voice in all this. I felt as if I were a piece of garbage on display. People would stare at my bruised face and wet, dirty clothing (from the hose and being dragged down) and seem to cringe. No staff ever asked me if I was ok, warm, etc....something I would think a common enough question after such an incident. It was obvious that I was unaccompanied. I felt so alone and so helpless to take care of myself. though almost every seat was filled with someone waiting for emergency care, despite the fact that people were coming and going from the waiting area, and despite the fact that staff were at several desks facing our direction, I felt so very emotionally isolated and so very invisible to the emergency staff.

Earlier, when I was first wheeled out and still on a bit of adrenaline, a young woman and someone who seemed to be her father or uncle, had made a bit of welcomed conversation before she was called. Amusingly to me, she seemed to know the differences in all the assault degrees and what might happen to the offender in court. I asked how she knew so much, and she said she used to be the one doing the beating. For whatever her past, she was an angel to me in the emergency waiting room that evening, and I thank her, whoever and where ever she is.

I realized that once we reach a certain age, even with insurance, if we are 'out of shape' (I believe that would be a criteria), we become a disposable commodity and much less regarded as a human being. My knee causes much trouble for me - buckling in what feels almost backward from the way it is supposed to bend. Many days it feels as if someone had kicked me just under my knee caps. I live on the second floor of a house and wonder for how long. Certainly, I have slipped on ice and hit my knees, twisted them, etc. but to not even be asked if you want to bear the cost of having your knees checked after injury is a slap in the face. I later had an MRI on my arm and there was damage, but, again, nothing at emergency, though the attending muttered the word 'cost'. Be it known that a person probably has to have sufficient medical knowledge to know what to request when you are in emergency and to believe that as a human being, you deserve it.

The Saint Paul Police were great in the detectives who checked in with mug shots, keeping in touch by phone, and my beat officers who would stop by when I was on my porch - to see how I was. Though Shedavia and friends had disrupted my neighborhood, their violence had not deadened it.

PART TWO - At work:
A few days after I returned to work at the university, I started hearing rumors of what had happened to me - most infuriating were comments from a safety related person and the bookstore manager, neither of whom had talked with me about the incident. The safety person knew of it directly, as I had come into work shortly afterward with my arm in a sling and my face badly bruised. He didn't ask any questions and I just very briefly, with no detail, related what happened. Our FH offiicer was at the desk with the other. Oddly, it was the FH person who later expressed appreciation and a 'good for you' for sending out an all-Metro e-mail, while for months, the other avoided me when our paths crossed and never said a word, let alone ask about the incident and whether (because, as he knows, I live just five blocks from Metro) there might be any connection that might affect the safety of anyone at the university.

Here is the e-mail I sent to all Metro/colleagues:
July 23, 2008
I want to thank all those who expressed concern about an assault on me on June 30. I've found there are many layers (and rumors) to both the action and to the aftermath of an occurrence of this sort. For several reasons, I need to address these to my 'work community', so please bear with me.

First, to allay any safety/security fears, the assault on me did NOT happen on the grounds of Metro State, nor did it happen during work time. I was watering my 'street garden' in front of my home, after work and in broad daylight. I live on the corner of _____ and _____, just a few blocks from here. One block in this neighborhood can differ tremendously from the next, in income, appearance, [community] involvement, or behavior of residents.

Because there seems to be a brief outline of a story going around with people filling in the 'meat' of it, here is what happened:

Backstory, and this is important:
I've lived on my block for almost eight years and rent the second floor of a Victorian. I started the [current] block group for Maria/Bates and beyond and am very active in my community from my block to city issues. Last year 'our' last big drug house closed on our block. I met with one of the biggest 'problem' absentee property owner/landlords and he cleaned up his act with his three properties on my block. This is the first summer in years that residents on this block have been able to enjoy quiet. It's the first time in a very long time that children are able to play tag and run foot races down the street, and just be kids. I 'planted' shepherd hooks and hanging pots up and down the block in an effort to give the block some visible unity of life and color amid the vacant/boarded up houses.

I was told the hooks would be taken out [of the ground] and used as weapons; that no one would appreciate the flowers and they'd be stolen. What has happened is they are still there. Know what else? A woman who is a self-disclosed drug addict gave me a big hug when I gave her flowers. Now we talk and listen to each other. She [may] still be an addict; we live different lives; be we have become 'real people' to each other.

She asked for a second hanging planter and she takes care of them. Other neighbors and visitors have said that seeing the flowers in front of their homes give them hope. Our neighbors sit and visit on each others' porches. Yes, flowers are a small thing; they are 'only' flowers...but they bridge a gap, set attitudes, and begin conversations. The hanging plants started with two flats of flowers from the District Council [4] to be planted in public places.

'The event':
After work on June 30 I was watering my street garden. Five or six children, ages about 10-14, were playing outside, running from street to sidewalk (we don't have yards to accommodate all the energy of that age). I heard some voices of people yelling at each other at the bottom of my block, then a car driving erratically and fast, backward, up the street. As it reached my intersection I yelled 'Slow down!' It took off. A second car sped up and I yelled 'Slow down!" With the kids outside, and the disregard these drivers had, yes, I turned my garden hose and gave them a quick spray to their car. This is a garden hose, from 20 feet away!

That car took off. After apparently going around two or three blocks, the second car returned, two women and a man jumped out (in their twenties). A neighbor told me later that one person yelled, "I just washed my car!" This neighbor, who heard the car was comment has debilitating arthritis and cannot move easily and was without a phone, so he could not help. One woman stood face to face with me, screaming. This had been the norm for the neighborhood and I really thought she would scream and they would leave. No, I never expected that two adult women and a man would start beating me on the head and arm. It wasn't until I was face down in the street that a neighbor came running out and chased away my attackers.

Common questions from those who have asked [or made comments I've heard second hand]:
- Yes, I reported it to the police; the assault on me was a 5th degree.
-No, I did not know the people who did this to me. The primary woman already has a 3rd degree assault charge against her from about a month earlier. The woman who did this lives down the street from Metro. [update: she moved within a month, thanks to city ordinance about rentals and violence]
- Was it racial? No, her first victim is Black

- Would I react the same way [again]? We never know how we would really respond to something until it happens. There is no 'standard response' to the unexpected. I have been told that even self defense doesn't prepare one for everything. What I know is that I hope I would always do anything to ensure the safety of kids around me...they don't have to be related to me for me to be responsible for their safety and well-being.

- Did I stand in the street waiting to be beaten? No. To even have that question posed tells me that the program and policies on domestic abuse and violence awareness at Metro State need to be strengthened or brought back to life...that something isn't getting across to people. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE ASSAULTED OR ATTACKED, either emotionally, physically or verbally. The people who attacked me made a conscious decision.

The aftermath:
Yes, my black eyes and bruised forehead are faded. The huge lump on my forehead is almost gone. My head is still tender in spots; I don't have full use of my left arm yet. It causes great pain at times and I've not been sleeping well because of the discomfort. 'Looking normal' is what many people want. The visible scars jar people and I understand that. It is much better than to have had people cover their mouths or scream or point at me as if seeing a monster (though that's probably what I looked like). I have had trouble concentrating and of course, I think constantly of some part of this life event...either directly or how various people have reacted or not and the effects on people.

The police, Kathy Lantry, all those connected with the city have been helpful, supportive, and on top of everything. The kids who were out when this happened have been coming over (only one actually lives on my block) and helping me garden. They come, sit on my porch and talk. Neighbors still visit with each other on porches. Our neighborhood, which extends for several blocks any direction, has been slightly emotionally damaged because violence came so close to home - not as a drug dealer or an intruder, but as a 'good neighbor'. Most important, the community of our neighborhood has survived and grows stronger...and we know how to show we care and how to laugh.

If you have any questions, please ask; it's ok.

In response to this e-mail I received so many heart-felt and caring notes. Some sharing similar, very personal experiences. I treasure those who so responded.

PART THREE - The neighborhood:
My feelings and thoughts about Shedavia and her two friends, who attacked me, are so different from those concerning my neighbors and their reactions. I believe I understand why my neighbors reacted as they did..whether from fear of the external, or fear that reality of what could happen when we so directly confront violators; or was it shame or embarrassment because they didn't come out earlier (maybe they didn't notice the screaming? didn't see the three beating me?) or didn't call the police until I asked X to do so. (he seemed in shock). What causes me difficulty in sorting out feelings or fully coming to terms with HOW I feel, is the fact that none of them will talk about it. The only neighbors who really talk about it are L and Doris. L used to live on our block, but remains fully engaged in it, though she wasn't anywhere in the neighborhood when the beating happened. I've talked with Stephanie, from the Reconciliation Center, of the possibility of holding a Peace Circle for the neighborhood. Meeting with Shedavia gave me answers I needed. It gave me an understanding and answers I needed so that I could get past the unknown. I believe I need the same step from these neighbors.

April 28, 2009
I had written the first draft of this neighborhood section a few months ago. I am surprised to see in the draft that I had written: "...but I don't think I've really reached a forgiveness. In part because they [neighbors] seem so reluctant to talk about it." Perhaps that's still true. The individual neighbor and I carry on the same relationship as always. But for me, it's as if I am carrying a little pod in my pocket and want to talk about it, yet never feeling as if I can bring it up...maybe if I carry that pod around long enough, the time will present itself and I can open it. The forgiveness part: I don't feel any ill will that I can identify, but the relationships need a healing that I can't begin without conversation.

I can't say for sure that X and his wife have closed themselves off from me because of that - maybe I did something else to annoy them. Two or three days after the attack, after not hearing from them (X used to call virtually every night about something in the neighborhood...then it stopped when I was beaten), I went over and asked if they were angry with me for being beaten. The Wife said, "No, no one deserves ever to be beaten". That didn't really answer the question.

Several times later I went to their house to 'get back the groove' and each time, X came to the door and hurried me away from the house. Contact ceased except a few very terse, almost biting e-mails.
More later...this is more difficult to write than I had thought, even after almost a year. sh 4/28/2009

Senator Mee Moua, fiercely determined!

With two friends tonight, I attended the Asian American dinner at Metropolitan State University. It was poorly attended, possibly because this evening was so warm; how could someone avoid being lured for a walk around the lake or preparing a garden? But, though the room lacked full seating, my senator, Mee Moua filled it with warmth, electricity, fire, and emotion. I never tire of hearing Senator Moua speak.

Tonight, though, her words were filled with a passion and a message that were delivered with an edge that I had not heard before. The theme of the evening was 'Change and Transformation'. Giving her speech a context, she told of the animosity she and her family faced when they first moved to the U.S. - beer bottles and ash tray contents thrown at them, teaching her mother that the middle finger, presented in one's face, is not a friendly greeting. Mee shared her determination to work hard and succeed in life rather than let anger rule her or allow others misuse their power [in ignorance or stupidity].

Too often being identified as 'the Hmong senator' instead of the Senator of Senate District 67, Senator Mee daily, in personal life and in her professional life, is too often the object of another's prejudice or scorn because she is Hmong, Asian, or simply 'differentthan'. "Change alone is not enough." Anyone could philosophize about change and transformation or does change lead to transformation. Mee's message got down to PICK A SIDE! Saying you're 'independent' is not action enough...choose a party, any party. Work for it; work for what you believe in; stand on what you believe in.

Tying into the prejudices she has experienced and continues to experience, Senator Moua indicated she'd rather an openly prejudiced person open his/her baggage in front of her than be the behind the back bigot. Senator Moua urged the rapt audience to accept that people be honest with themselves in that we all possess biases and prejudices. It's part of true human nature; part of what a human being is.

This speech in itself was so refreshing - after all the 'anti-racism' workshops that are offered where people later say they were afraid to share how they feel or what they feel. As one faciliator said about such poorly done workshops, either people leave feeling they have wrenched the power from the other group and feel they have the upper hand, or they feel they have been raked over burning coals and demeaned. And no, it's not always 'black and white' in who identifies with what group. Ultimately, no one leaves with dignity intact. Anti-racism workshops can be so much better....and, I would like to see more workshops on classism, also.

Finally, with Mee's charge, to 'choose a side and not just 'let it happen', she's lifted and encouraged me when I needed it. I went into the dinner event feeling somewhat wiped out and used up. I take to heart the observation that there is always someone who [in position of greater authority or power] wants to wipe out someone else. I find that sometimes it's not wiping me out, but treating me as if I'm invisible or 'less than'. At times I feel as if I want to be one of the people who hides inside and denies or pretends that the drug deals, vandalism and disrespect isn't out on the streets. Though over and over I find that I can't give up, Senator Moua gave me the boost I needed.

Senate District 67 is very fortunate to claim her as our Senator. I am very fortunate to call her a friend. I am deeply grateful that Senator Moua continues with fortitude, dignity, integrity and as the dynamite legislator she is.
sh 4/17/2009

'That woman with the garden hose' (Video)

Rock the Metro!!

If anyone who reads this has a Metro LSI, here's a question - does your ignition sometimes lock up so that you can't turn the key to start the car? Does rocking the car to and fro help? This has happened to me a number of times. A friend had said, with great assurance, that if I 'shake' the car I can trick its sensor, which will then allow the key to turn. It works! I don't think it really matters whether it is back and forth or up and down.

After no problem for several months, I've had to rock the car three times in four days. One day late last fall, I was in the Blair Arcade (Common Good Books) parking lot rocking my Metro. Two well dressed young men came near the car and one said he wondered what the car rocking was. I quickly explained the sensor and then asked if they wouldn't mind rocking the car from the front as my efforts weren't making any difference.
They gave it a couple hefty rocks and voila! it started right up. I have found that it's easier to rock the car facing down hill rather than up hill ( I position myself with my left foot on the street to give leverage, and my right hand on the key to keep turning it while rocking).

Women's Friendships and Art Collaborative

I left work and couldn't decide what I needed. Ten minutes sitting in the car and I took off for a glass of tea and to read a book. I knew I didn't want to go home yet, as there is so much abnormal activity in a nearby property; I just didn't want to have to see it and it's wearing on me. Halfway to my destination a friend, K, called and said she needed to get out, could we meet? I was so glad that our timing worked to get together. We spent the next three hours on my porch, in conversation of different depths. I treasure this friendship and the direction K's conversation and thinking takes me. And, the beginning of 'porch sitting season' is off to a good start. One of my housemates, J, passed through on her way from work and out to a party, but taking time to join our conversation and plans for a women's art collaborative.

K and I have our work in a local exhibit right now, and it does uplift me to exhibit my work. Now, putting such a collaborative in motion, means I need to start warping one of my looms and/or working on some drawings. It'll be much easier to get some photos matted and wrapped for the short term. This incentive is what I need for the larger scale work and for inspiration in even getting started.

Smells and Images: life's references

I was receiving and processing journals at work today and found a couple of surprises when I opened the latest issue of 'Minnesota History'. First, the magazine, (my cat is ALL over my keyboard and hand right now - driving me crazy!) perhaps the binding glue, smelled like newly done drywall or paint. It was a flat white smell.

Then, while flipping through it, there was an article about returning WW vets. One photo showed a 'village' of quonset huts. For about a year when I was five or six years old, my family lived in a quonset hut on a farm near Union Grove, Wisconsin. Seeing that photo brought back memories: my father was working in Chicago and came home occasionally. He was a bartender and musician (played the trumpet and had his Bill Sage's Dixieland Jazz Band). My mother and we children, I think three at the time. The quonset was one large space with rather open door space between rooms. I don't remember actual doors, except doors to the outside, one at each end.

Some memories that come immediately to mind: my brother, a year older, was in second grade and I was in first, in a one room school - two in his class, and only me in mine. Parent/Teacher meetings were like parties - the neighbor would take us in his Buick, I think, one of those bulky cars, so round and curvey in its shape. Adults would ride in the seats and we kids would be piled in the trunk with the trunk lid propped open with a large pole or stick! People would take pies or cakes and so a cakewalk to raise money for the school.

We were totally dependent on neighbors for rides to town, so we did a lot of scrounging. My mother was one of the most creative people I've ever known. For my birthday, she peeled silver paper from cigarette and gum wrappers. Then she glued the thin, small sheets onto a cigar box and then 'engraved' my initials onto the lid. I still remember how I treasured it; it may well have been sterling for the joy I felt.

We had a dog named Duke at the time. He was a tiger-striped boxer that would chase chickens every chance he could. My mother used to complain that 'Duke was at it again and got loose from his chain' and we had to eat a chicken he chased and killed. Turns out that my mother would actually let the dog loose at night so he would bring a chicken home! Dad wasn't the best about sending money home, and though my mother did what jobs she could get in the rural area, they were mostly jobs like forking corn from the wagons to the corn crib. The vision of her doing that is as clear as watching her clean the feathers from the chicken in a big tub of water over an outdoor fire...or using a washboard in that same manner, to do our laundry. She was an amazing woman in many ways.

During our time there was the only time I every remember seeing my mother and father embrace and kiss. Obviously, with two more children, it had to have happened at least one more time! My father had come up for a visit and he had brought a band member with him. I remember two things about the visit - seeing the drummer passed out at the table with his face in his plate of partially finished food, and seeing my parents embrace.

After a better sleep

I'm finding little material on violence, excessive noise, etc. as a health issue, but it is increasing. Of course, to label such activities as affecting our health, means that the enforcement (city codes, laws, regulations) need to change their framework of what have, until now, been viewed as infractions of law. It also means we get serious about the holistic approach in connecting and involving ALL the family, the immediate neighborhood, health and code enforcement agencies, schools...it means tearing aside the layers of bureaucracy that separates the individual from the power-to-do/$$ at the top.
It means that the people take charge of their neighborhoods and build relationships and awareness of their neighbors and how what we do and how we live affects everyone. It means letting people know that when they act disrespectfully, we care and expect any negative behavior to change. It means that we expect those who who have been elected or appointed to oversee a higher quality of life for us, do their jobs.
It means that, since most of our elected or appointed public servants don't live with these affronts of excessive noise, of guns fired, of heavy vehicle traffic through a residential neighborhood, that we need to keep reminding them that we deserve better than this. There can be no hiding behind the curtains or the other extreme of running out and yelling at and threatening the kids because their very presence, number and color intimidate a resident. Responsibility, conversation, assessment of self, action of civility, critical thinking, compassion, the list is endless, but anger and thinking only of self is not the answer. (4/7/09)

Violence as a health issue

I stayed up last night until 2:30am. An acquaintance makes videos about neighbors and (wow! sorry for the digression, but I just looked up to the sky; an awesome full moon is positioned against the still light blue sky) how disturbances affect their lives. He looks at the violence as psychological, emotional, mental and physical health issues instead of law-related. Disturbances include excessive noise such as car stereos, over-populated and/or noisy houses, littering, public urination, vandalism, etc.
The reason I couldn't get to sleep - agitation about something that appears going on in my neighborhood. I've called the authorities, but even while I know they are checking it out and that it takes time, it's unsettling and annoying to see the continued activity. We've had drug houses here in the past (not saying this is a drug house, but I'm realizing over the last years how, when we live with this stuff, how absurd and inane it is that we become desensitized and treat it as an everyday occurence.
For instance: On Saturday I called the police and said I wanted to talk with an officer and be assured that something was being done or I would make a tremendous nuisance of myself with people connected with this activity. I don't want to do that, because what it essentially does, is simply move a 'problem' from one block to another. I don't believe that's an suitable answer.
After seeing a black and white pass my house three times without stopping, and I had not received a call-back, I went outside to pick up litter as I wrote down car makes and license plates. I glanced up the block and saw two or three squads blocking the next intersection. A friend was outside and we chatted, while another three squads blocked the intersection to the south of us, half a block. Later, I thought, all these squads blocking someone and here we are chatting as if it's nothing.
I also realized how hyper-vigilant I've become to sounds of different cars and which ones park where - and do the blink headlight on and then off, wait a few seconds and repeat. I even have photos of what appears to be a drug exchange (taken from my livingroom window). We recognize cars used by several drug dealing scum and know the street names of several. I even know the given names of some and am sorely tempted to greet them with these names (which they don't like).
There is something to changing the frame of how we look at these occurences. Perhaps it offers nothing more than a fresh look. And that's all right. I hope, though, that it changes how we take action against these activities and perhaps WHO takes action. If it's a health issue, wouldn't that superbly broaden the circle of people who could make change and have been effective in other areas?