Here is my personal story.
A urine smell permeated the stairwell. In the darkness due to smashed light bulbs, the sound of broken wine bottles underfoot echoed off the concrete walls. I was nine years old. With the elevators out of service half the time due to vandalism, I was forced many times to take the scary trek into the shadow of death up the stairwell to our sixth-floor apartment in the projects of east Baltimore.
This was a far cry from the brand spanking new building we had moved into just two years earlier. I remember our excitement when my parents, three younger siblings and I moved in our apartment. It was a dream come true – moving from our leaky-roofed ghetto into a place where everything, including the appliances, were new.
We were one of the first in the 11-story, all black residents building. While a few people kept their apartments lovely, most seemed committed to destroying the building.
All I kept hearing was that everything was the “white man’s fault”. Even at the age of nine, I sarcastically thought to myself, “how can we stop these evil white people from sneaking in here at night peeing in the stairwell, leaving broken wine bottles, smashing the light bulbs and attacking people?”
— Tea Party anthem composer Lloyd Marcus, in — astonishingly enough — England’s Guardian. (Read the whole thing.)
(H/T: Kyle Smith)