When I became an adult, and by that I mean a responsible, rent and bill paying, five sometimes six days a week hardworking adult, I quickly realized that there were some parts of Los Angeles that I didn’t want to live in.  It wasn’t because I was uppity or that I thought that I was better than anyone, but rather that I realized that I didn’t want to die from gang violence.

So what’s a young single Black female to do when she still wants to live around her people and not be too far from the community?  She’s moves to Mid-City Los Angeles, also known as West Adams and Jefferson Park.  And that’s exactly where I have been for the past eight or so years, but today is new a day and I realize that I am now living across the street from a crack house.

It happened overnight.  One minute there was a vacancy sign in front of a group of dilapidated apartments across the street from me and the next, coked-up zombies were roaming my street at all times of night.  Cars pull up in the middle of night, junkies run up to the window, place an order, and keep going.  Then there are the loud fights between homeless junk lovers in the middle of street.  Since the neighborhood crack house has been open, we’ve had two drive bys, one forcing me to fall out of my bed and hit the floor for cover.

Now I can deal with a lot of things… and I have.  From the shopping carts on my lawn, to the very loud Spanish music blaring at all hours of the night and Corona bottles in the street, to the occasional party on my porch with Latino men I have never seen before, to the reminiscent drunk that comes banging on my door when he thinks his ex-girlfriend still lives here.  I’ve dealt with the Black mechanic who works out of his house and parks at least ten cars on my block every week switching them from side to side to avoid being ticketed.  I’ve witnessed, first hand, the gentrification of my neighborhood with the influx of whites buying up property and moving in, and while I am not a fan of gentrification, especially when it involves Blacks moving out, I actually thought, with more whites in my neighborhood, the police would step up their game and take care of business.

So here I am after only two years in my current home, a home, that I might add, I carefully picked out because of its prime location being adjacent to Leimert Park and Crenshaw Boulevard, no children on the premises, and because it was one of the older duplexes with lots of charm, large closets, and built-ins, but I digressed.  Needless to say, I am plotting my next and hopefully final move until I buy my own home all because of the crack house next door.  But let me be fair, it’s not all the fault of the crack house, the gang violence has influenced this move a lot as well.  I just don’t feel safe anymore and there’s nothing more depressing than coming home after working all day and not really being able to unwind because you feel unsafe.

I knew it was time for me to go, and I mean really go, after one morning, when I was on my way to the airport, had to walk up the street to get to my car and ran into a car thief.  It was four in the morning and the only two people on the street were me and him.  I’m sure he didn’t expect to see me lugging my luggage down the street while he was conducting business, but there I was, and there he was, and it was all I could do to not drop everything and run for fear that he was going to knife me for being a witness.  But he didn’t and as he passed me, all I could think to say was “good morning” and shuffle off to my car.  If that hadn’t clued me in it was time to go, when a guy who had just bought crack tried to get in my car on Saturday morning thinking it was his, while I was in the car getting ready to drive to Las Vegas for the holidays, it was crystal clear.

I am ready to embrace a new year and a new, and hopefully safer, home.  One where I can walk in the evenings and jog in the mornings without having to worry that someone’s going to kill me.  One where I can live out my remaining rental years before I tap into the “American Dream” and buy a home of my own. 

I am not sure where I will end up.  I have a strong desire to live around other Blacks, but I think that desire is not as strong as my desire to stay alive.  Which is not to say that all neighborhoods where there are Blacks are bad, but these days it’s getting harder and harder to find those neighborhoods if you’re a renter.  One thing is for sure, I will definitely end up paying more rent than I am currently paying, but I guess that's the price I will just have to pay for peace of mind.

My only admonition is that I have noticed an incredible amount of development in the Mid-Cities and Crenshaw areas, and I think that’s great, but what’s the use if the surrounding neighborhoods are full of gangs and crack?  Can we get a little balance?  Build something and then do a couple of raids for gangs and drugs or something.  Let’s not just put all of our recourses into big development without taking care of the surrounding neighborhoods, because in those neighborhoods are people like me who are just trying to make it, and we could use a little help.

BC Columnist Jasmyne Cannick is a social commentator and activist who was chosen as one of ESSENCE Magazine's 25 Women Shaping the World. She is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists and writes a popular daily blog at jasmynecannick.com and myspace.com/jasmynecannick. She resides in Los Angeles. Click here to contact Ms. Cannick.

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