THE GHETTO RULES TO LIVE BY RANT

Perhaps you’ve heard the expression, “it’s all good in the hood.” The fabled “Hood”, of course, refers to the ghetto, the projects, the tenements. No matter what terms are used to describe it, they all have the same theme and it’s identical in every slum in any city in the country: life is all too often nasty, brutish, and very, very short. The school in which I have been teaching for damn near a quarter century is situated in possibly one of the worst areas of New York City and virtually all of the students commute back and forth every day from areas that are extremely dangerous, crime ridden, and deadly. They view this joint as some kind of safe haven, their port in the storm. These folks are accustomed to violence, death, and general all around mayhem as the norm and far too many of these young people never expect to become old people.

As with any milieu, even the ghetto has certain rules, customs, and traditions that can literally be termed survival skills. Those who don’t learn them at a very young age can expect a significantly lower life span in an environment where it is already far too short. A few days before our Thanksgiving break, I issued the usual vacation admonitions to my charges. At the time, an empty suit from the Board of Education was observing classroom procedure and wound up in mine. I cautioned the kids to stay low and watch out for stray bullets and ricochets. I suggested that when home at night with the lights on be sure to keep the shades and curtains drawn so as not to make a clear target from the street. They understood that the warnings were issued only partly in jest.

The suit didn’t get it and instantly became angry, outraged, and even acrimonious. He reared up to his full height and, with reddened face, lambasted me. How, he wondered, could I dare speak to these fine young people so negatively and callously? How could I be so insensitive and cruel? He indignantly demanded to know exactly what the Hell was wrong with me! At this point, Shatiya quietly asked, “Hey Mista, how ‘bout you come and stay at my crib for the holiday?” She continued, “I live in Bushwick.” The suit promptly stormed off.

These folks are so used to the sounds of gunshots and sirens that they feel somewhat puzzled/perplexed if a night passes quietly. It’s somewhat akin to dealing with the concept of fresh air after a trip upstate. They don’t quite know how to react to it. These kids are not like most of us who by a mere accident of birth were born into middle class homes and raised by middle class families with middle class values. My students, through no fault of their own, were not so lucky. Most of us, for example, expected to see the ripe old age of twenty-five and most of us for most of our lives have attended the funerals of those who were far older than us when they died. Most of us do not expect to have family, friends, and associates who have been the victims of purposefully brutal acts of violence. My students live existences that most of us, thank God, simply cannot fathom or comprehend. They don’t come from the same planet we do and view us, for the most part, as alien beings from a distant world in some other galaxy.

Well, okay you say. What’s that got to do with those of us who domicile in the “burbs” where life is idyllic, peaceful, and prosperous compared to those ghetto creatures? They’ll stay where they belong as will we, and never the twain shall meet. If you really believe that, Numb Nuts, then get your head out of your ass so that you can at least walk a straight line! New York City, for example, is really very little more than utterly respectable to exclusively wealthy neighborhoods surrounded by shit, crime, violence, and poverty. Its surrounding suburbs, regardless of direction, are either becoming or have become exactly the same. The suburbs now boast their own ghettoes with their own minority populations that do not have anything close to middle class values. If you are at all familiar with the concept of “gated communities,” you know exactly what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter what urban center you choose, their suburbs are becoming “ghettoized” and their values will at the very least clash with yours. Maybe you can take the boy out of the ghetto but you can never take the ghetto out of that boy! Can we all say in unison, “Defining Deviancy Down?!?”

What other ghetto survival skills have my students been taught since they’ve been old enough to walk? Let’s see. When rounding a corner in a hallway or on the street, always make very wide turns so as not to get blind-sided by some cretinous pustule waiting for his next victim. Similarly, when the elevator doors open do not immediately enter, but stand back a few feet and survey the scene to ascertain the threat level before boarding. It’s little tips like these that just might help avoid serious injury or worse. At all times be observant and vigilant and know what’s behind you and who is on your flank. Try not to travel alone but always in groups and by any and all means never fall asleep on the subway! Additionally, when indoors at functions or gatherings, try to keep your back against a wall so you’ll have a clear view of what might be coming at you. We’ll have no Aces and Eights Syndrome here! How many of us ever have to give issues like these even a passing thought as we go about our daily routines in our own neighborhoods? My students don’t really have to think too much either for these behavioral patterns have become so ingrained that I believe they are virtually instinctual.

What else should be included in our Better Guide to Ghetto Living? Let’s see – of course! Never sit in a parked, unmoving car – you’re simply too tempting a target. Additionally, try to avoid anything remotely resembling a block party! Two students of mine recently attended just such an event in their Ghetto Garden Spot. Only one of them made it out alive. The survivor explained to me that he was in school merely to say goodbye. He and his buddy were standing on a sidewalk doing nothing to nobody when a car came screaming around a corner at high speed. Multiple shots were fired and one of them took a bullet in the head. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The other kid got so scared that he literally “soiled” himself. He was standing only inches from where the slug hit his friend. He said, still quite shaken, “Yo, Mista, two more fuckin’ inches and it woulda’ been me.” He called an uncle who lives in a small town somewhere around Atlanta, Georgia, and was taking a bus in two days to live there permanently. On the bright side, at least he made it out. Additionally, never wear gang colors or flash gang hand signs unless you are a bona fide, initiated member of one of these “social clubs”. The three main color schemes around here are: yellow and black for the Latin Kings; blue for the Crips; and red for the Bloods. These gangs take themselves ever so seriously and it’s an excellent decision health-wise not to overly annoy the lads for they are ever so sensitive and extremely identity protective.

As a ghetto dweller and possible gang-banger, you’ll be taught from early on some essential lessons and among the most important is to at all times mind your own business! Furthermore, keep your mouth shut and never, ever do names because that could easily get you really dead really fast. Omerta is key. You will also have learned by the time you’ve spent your first dozen years on the planet never to admit to anything at any time for any reason. Adopt the following mantra: “I didn’t do nothin’; I didn’t see nothin’; I didn’t hear nothin’; and I don’t know nothin’!” You may have just witnessed the modern day equivalent of the Valentine’s Day Massacre at twelve noon in full daylight. You don’t know shit!! If ever apprehended with something illegal on your person – oh, say an ounce of coke, a gun, or perhaps a knife – never admit that it’s yours. Your answer should always be something like, “Hey man, this ain’t even my fuckin’ jacket. Some Nigga left it at my crib!” Remember, admit to nothing!!

The topic of being caught with illegal substances seg-ways very nicely into one of the most important relationships you will ever have as a true “ghettoite”: your relationship with the PO-lice! All residents of all ghetto neighborhoods anywhere in the country will have an ongoing and permanent association with the Boys in Blue. Some will have merely passing ties with “The Man”, while others will have, shall we say, a much more intimate acquaintance. Whether the relationship is casual or close, cops are always to be viewed as the enemy and are never to be trusted be they white, black, Hispanic, or Asian. This is just a given in the ghetto and the slogan To Protect and Serve should be viewed as nothing less than false advertising. Even the most law abiding ghetto denizens – and that, of course, includes the great majority – have learned to be at the very least suspicious and somewhat fearful of the cops. Those criminal slum dwellers, however, view them at best as competition and at worst mortal foes!

If you fall into the latter category, certain behavioral standards are expected by your peers so be sure not to disappoint. For example, after jumping the turnstile to board the subway always give the local neighborhood undercover cop a cheery, “Good morning officer!”, and wish him a nice day. This lets him know that you know and sends a warning out to those who don’t know. You’re really providing a form of public service – how very civic minded! It’s also very important to begin your criminal career as soon as possible because we all know how important and useful those “street creds” can be. You’ll probably start with the small things like turnstile jumping as alluded to above. By the age of thirteen or fourteen, activities like shoplifting, purse snatching, and drug use should be considered additional staples to your budding criminal repertoire. As you get older, the more violent crimes should have kicked in and will range anywhere from simple muggings and stompings to robbery, rape, and murder. Illegal gun ownership is, of course, a must for the well rounded criminal ghettomeister.

A current student of mine recently asked if I happened to remember his cousins whose presence had graced my classroom some fifteen years earlier. One tends to remember the best and the worst whereas the average types become something of a blur. As it happened, I did remember those brothers because they were two of the most horrific I’ve ever had: complete fucking horror shows; train wrecks just waiting to happen! I dutifully queried as to how they had fared since last we met and was not at all surprised by the answer. One is doing a double life sentence at, I believe, Sing Sing while the other is serving his dual life term at Danamora. My student informed me that they are eligible for parole no earlier than 2110 – a mere 102 years from now! Apparently, they brutally butchered an entire family somewhere in up state New York. It’s always so heart warming to learn about the progress of my former scholars. While most of the ghetto scum do not receive sentences as terminal as this, the vast majority will do at least some time. It’s really considered a right of passage without which one is never fully embraced by one’s fellow predators. Once released and back in the hood, you have beyond any question established your bone-fides and your street credibility is considered utterly impeccable. You have, as the saying goes, arrived.

There are, of course, any number of ghetto traits still to be examined. We might begin with the whole motherhood-fatherhood thing. The concept of the American family has been completely ravaged, ransacked, and utterly ruined and this spells the absolute end of this nation within just a handful of generations. When the family fails, so too the country. In inner-city neighborhoods the out of wedlock teenage pregnancy stands at about 75% and, I believe, is rising. Fathers are virtually nonexistent and mom and the kiddy-poohs will just have to cope as best they can. Welfare is not merely an option but rather an absolute certainty. The young “dads” rack up as many different children with as many different “moms” as they can and brag about the number of offspring they have to one another. The young moms, of course, know for sure that father will disappear in the blink of an eye but they keep spreading their legs anyway. Apparently, if a young lady hasn’t birthed at least one bastard by the time she hits the ripe old age of fifteen she is mocked and ridiculed by her peers. She is asked, “What’s wrong with you, Bitch, can’t you find no man?” Birth control? Get the fuck outa’ here!!

As bad as it is in the ghetto, the out of wedlock birthrate nationwide is over thirty-three percent and rising. I’ve seen figures that put it at over forty percent. This spells disaster for America. Two parent households are becoming a thing of the past and single parenthood is rapidly becoming the standard. I had one young lady ask me very seriously not to let her classmates know that she resided at home with BOTH her biological parents. If that got out she would be scorned, tormented, and ostracized: viewed as some kind of freakish aberration. I overheard one fine young ghetto specimen ask a friend, “What the fuck would I do with a father?!?” If you for one moment think this attitude and phenomenon aren’t spreading nationwide you are fucking self-delusional! Can we all say lowest common denominator?

In the “Hood” tattoos, of course, are absolutely mandatory and the more the better. Females are required to have very large tattoos right in the middle of the small of the back and the male of the ghetto species must have multiple “tats” on the neck and face. It’s all the rage, don’t you know? Some of the so-called skin artistry is symbolic as in gang signs while some are really very touching and emotional as in “RIP POPS” which a young fellow had inked onto his left pectoral to honor his dad who was blown away while attempting to rob a jewelry store. The kid took his shirt off to show his fellow troglodytes and they were, of course, suitably impressed. One scumster – I, uh, mean youngster – had “Brooklyn” displayed on his right forearm and I asked what would happen if he moved to Queens or perhaps New Jersey? He looked at me and said, “never fuckin’ happen.” Talk about territorial!

Additionally, the more body piercing one has the more, it seems, one is respected. Multiple ear rings for men and women are virtually passé and not even worthy of comment. The ladies, of course, must have the ever so trendy belly button adornment and both ghetto genders need those ever so tasteful “tongue rings” (that’s gotta fuckin’ hurt)! Multiple eyebrow adornments are becoming increasingly popular as are multiple nose and lip rings. One young “lady” went to the trouble of having her eyebrows completely and permanently removed to be replaced with tattooed facsimiles of same. Sadly, the trend seems not to have caught on. One female gang bangerette was having an especially difficult time making it through the school’s metal detector. Eventually, the security guards had her remove every single piece of metal in her face, mouth, and belly button. Still no joy. The damned alarm kept sounding which gave the female SSO an idea. She instructed the Bemetalled Bitch to follow her to the ladies room where she discovered yet additional body art adorning her – her, well, you know, her whatsis. You figure it out. I find the entire concept of self-mutilation completely and horribly disgusting, vile, and perverted but what the fuck do I know? I’m just an old white fart from the hinterland.

The last Ghetto Rule to Live By, although there are certainly many others, to be discussed in this screed would be the admonition to thoroughly despise “Whitey” and to avoid at all costs adopting, emulating, or admiring any attributes that in any manner, shape, or form might be construed as even remotely “white.” Caucasians are the enemy and it is these evil “Ice People” that are the cause of the failure, oppression, and hopelessness of those trapped in the ghetto. For example, a student from the slums who attends school regularly, reads and writes on grade level, and studies for and passes exams will invariably be accused of “acting white.” The individual guilty of such behavior will be scorned, ridiculed, and cast out by the brothers. The white man must be blamed for all of life’s personal failures and disappointments. Didn’t get accepted to that college or university of your choice? White Racism. Got accepted but never graduated? White Racism. Didn’t get that job or promotion? You got it, White Racism. Been in and out of jail for most of your life? Whitey’s Fault.

Never, ever look in the mirror and admit that you are the cause of your own failures and disappointments – you and you alone! “Scape-Goating” is far easier and much less damaging to the ego. Wallowing in self pity and anger allows one to continue ignoring reality, avoids the painful prospect of fessing up to one’s own mistakes, and therefore implementing corrective measures. Hatred is the easy way out and it conveniently lets you off the hook. This kind of attitude not only works well on the individual level, but also on the collective plane. If your group is not competing well with others in society, if they are moving up the ladder of success more rapidly and are achieving the American Dream at a far faster and more consistent level just blame the evil White Man and Racist America! Talk about convenient, self-defeating bull shit – well I guess!!

If these kinds of attitudes or “ghettitudes” catalogued here were relegated to a few isolated instances or areas it would not be that big a deal and could be managed. As alluded to earlier, the phenomenon is oozing irreversibly into fabled “Whitelandia” and is actually being adopted by the native population. You’ll notice Lily White Suburban Teenagers emulating, imitating, and admiring some of the biggest, toughest pieces of criminal shit still stalking the right side of the grass. These “Paddy” boys and girls adopt the hip hop dress of the baggy pants buckled around their asses so as to show off the latest boxer fashions. They wear massive amounts of expensive, gaudy, and ostentatious jewelry to further accentuate their status as ghetto wanna-be’s. In their case, however, instead of robbing and stealing the “bling” as would any self-respecting ghetto gang-banger, mommy and daddy provided the funds so their spoiled little fucking darlings could go to the mall and purchase the shiny shit. Talk about the absolute height of hypocrisy! They memorize word for word and beat for beat the heart warming melodies of the Hip Hop Rapsters and feel that themes which include killing your mother, fucking your sister, blowing up your school, and “offing” cops are somehow instructive and worthy of study!

Not long ago, I was enjoying an early morning week end breakfast at a diner in a middle class town on the beautiful and scenic Island of Long. About halfway through my repast, four of the most disgusting, foul, loud mouthed, vulgar pure white bread gangsta wanna-be’s sat down in the booth directly behind me. These Long Island, lily white spoiled rotten excuses for humanity were dressed to the nines in their finest ghetto regalia and they commenced, as they say, “talkin’ shit.” I might have found it somewhat amusing save for the fact that five days a week, day in and day out, I have to contend with the real deal and I was damned if I would tolerate it on my own time! I kept glaring in their direction hoping they’d take the hint. I even turned around and looked very obviously right at them. Nothing. Other diners appeared extremely uncomfortable and even nervous as these pathetic clowns became increasingly loud, obnoxious, and vile.

One of them, decked out in what appeared to be about three pounds of gold including a set for the teeth, began talking about how he was “gonna fuck dat Nigga up” and take his “tooly and cap his motha’ fuckin’ sorry ass!” This cretinous booby had, of course, all manner of “tats” and body piercing to make him look authentic. That’s it: enough; basta; finished; through; finito. I left my booth, took two steps, and planted myself directly in front of them and became extremely confrontational. Where I work, it’s called “getting all up in one’s face.” I said absolutely nothing but kept glaring at the group and then locked eyes with each one individually. They couldn’t hold the stare and averted their eyes.

I kept my voice very low and told them to shut the fuck up and pay very careful attention to the offer I was about to make. Not a peep out of any of them. I explained to them that I would speak to the principal of their high school so that they could be excused for a day. On that day, we’d all meet at the same diner where I’d buy them breakfast. We’d then proceed to my particular institution of lower education. I’d make sure they got through the metal detectors and security guards and then set them loose. I guaranteed that they would last, at the very outside, fifteen to twenty minutes before they became nothing more than prey for some truly vicious and authentic ghetto beasts. These sorry-ass, lame, Honkie assholes in hip hop drag glanced at one another, distinctly nervous. I continued, that if they’d prefer I could simply leave them on the street in, oh-let’s say East New York, Bushwick, or by the infamous “Pink Houses”. I explained that there was an excellent chance that they’d literally never be seen again and suggested that they definitely bid farewell to family and friends.

Their eyes got very wide and a couple of them actually gulped. I told them that putting the four of them in the aforementioned environment would be analogous to placing Fluffy the Cuddly Kitten in a room with four huge attack Rottweilers trained to guard drug dealers and their product. They started to stand and I blocked their way – I refused to move. One kid muttered a muted, “Excuse me Sir,” and the four of them quietly filed past me looking like scared pups with tails tucked firmly between their legs. I’m sure they went home to white mommy and daddy in their totally white neighborhoods and their completely white split level homes complete with two car garage and whined and cried to the folks about the mean old bastard in the diner who destroyed their fragile self image and crushed their freaking miniscule sense of self esteem! Give me a fucking break! The owner of the establishment thanked me and asked me if I hadn’t been just a tad afraid. The thought made me smile slightly. Had I pulled a bone-headed move like that anywhere in the vicinity of my school, I would have lasted perhaps thirty seconds. A very lengthy hospital stay would have been the least of my worries. I would have been stabbed, slashed, stomped, and perhaps shot. Even looking at someone the wrong way in those neighborhoods can and has summoned the meat wagon! Afraid of these four wanna-be’s? Please!

The point here folks is that when kids like these seriously emulate and make heroes out of pure ghetto filth, scum, and drek it’s a sign that it’s over and that the nation is spinning out of control and slipping away. Perhaps I extrapolate just a tad too much here or maybe my paranoia is merely kicking in again. I have a sinking feeling, however, that in the not too distant future, I’ll be sporting a huge shit-eating I told you so grin!


Much Luv Y’all and Have a Great Day!

The Fifth Horseman