There is the story of when somebody from my high school went to the inner city of Paterson to buy some marijuana. The pale-faced visitors were approached by some ‘black’ male. The person in the passenger’s seat of the car held out the money for the exchange. The ‘black’ male grabbed the cash and punched the buyer in the face.
I have served eight years as a volunteer missionary in the inner city of Newark, New Jersey. The police call the area the ‘Wild West’. On the corner by the location where our congregation met there were at least two people who were murdered. The state police made at least three raids there as well.
When I first went down to the then new congregation I felt uneasy about simply parking my car. But the call to evangelize kicked in and I knocked on hundreds of doors in Newark, Hillside, and Irvington. And thus some of the thoughts behind this poem.
Hatred Game
By John Kaniecki
White boy, white boy in the hood
You're only there to do no good
See a lady have a good time
Get some smack a bag a dime
You don’t come to socialize
You come to take and deal
Why are you so surprised
When you find the pain real
Why don’t you come to talk
To see what we’re about
You don’t have to run, walk
We’ll dismiss your fear and doubt
But when you come to have a score
You will have trouble of that I’m sure
But if you was you and me was me
You’d see the true reality
We ain’t animals, thugs or crooks
Our dreads and such ain’t bad looks
Come to the hood to understand
Come to the hood to lend a hand
We are people we’re much the same
Why we gotta play that hatred game?
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