Chapter 2

The Problem With Westchester

Somehow over time we have come to accept that there is crime in poor neighborhoods. The deplorable living conditions of the underprivileged and minorities have been largely ignored for decades. Not only do we ignore it, we put the blame for urban blight on the people who suffer it. "Let them help themselves. Let them get off welfare and get a job," is the usual refrain. We are all adept at shifting the burden to someone else. It's the guiltless way to view social problems. From the perspective of an inner-city teenager, the message is clear: "You're on your own buddy. I want nothing to do with you." It's fundamentally rude, and there is a fundamental rudeness in how we handle crime and juvenile delinquency. The elite of society would never think of actually associating with city kids, but woe be unto those children if they should break society's rules. The authorities would be more than happy, thank you, to apply the requisite punishment to those unfortunates who stray outside the boundaries.

It all comes back to courtesy. Our society is seriously deficient in this regard. Yet it's not a deliberate thing. We simply don't assign much importance to the finer aspects of human interaction. Civility and decency are on the decline, and you see evidence of it everywhere. From the magazines in the check-out line, to the films at the local theater, to the patter on talk radio, discretion, restraint and modesty have all but disappeared from our culture. The most highly regarded individuals are those who behave the worst. If you're gross and outrageous, you're cool. But the grossest violation of decency by far is the manner in which people are allowed to exist in poor neighborhoods. The shear ugliness is disgraceful, and the extent of the crime is absurd.

The problems of the inner city are so daunting it's impossible to focus on them directly. One is overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task. In the suburbs, however, we have some breathing room. A person can step back and see both sides of the picture—the sunny, hopeful view of America, as well as the dark and seamy side. So rather than examining the problems of, say, the housing projects of Anacostia, I'm going to instead put a microscope on my immediate neighborhood of Westchester Estates. We are five miles from Anacostia geographically, but five hundred miles on the socio-economic scale.

Over the past several years there has been a steady increase in crime in our area. What is disturbing about this trend is that serious crimes such as armed robbery have been taking place within residential neighborhoods. In Camp Springs and the original Temple Hills, where the subdivisions were designed for middle to upper-middle class families, and the median household income touches on $69,000 per year,[1] there is a sharp contrast between the affluent suburban setting and the level of crime we're seeing. No, Camp Springs does not have open air drug markets, at least not the kind you associate with the ghetto, and crimes where someone is physically hurt are still rare, but we have seen carjackings in my neighborhood. We've seen front doors kicked in by armed robbers. We've seen people mugged taking a walk to the park. And we know for certain there are teenagers living among us who carry guns and do business with drug dealers. The incidence of crime has progressed beyond the point where you can dismiss these as isolated events. Many residents have sold their homes and fled rather than put up with it. For them, even one carjacking, one armed robbery or one shooting is one too many.

Meaningful crime statistics are difficult to come by in this county. The Prince George's police are not very forthcoming with information. You can't just dial up a police computer or make a phone call and have a report sent to you, at least not the kind a resident really needs. You might put your hands on a yearly summary totaling the number of robberies, break-ins and so forth county-wide for the entire population of 800,000, but the crimes that most interest me are the ones taking place in my own backyard. Since a neighborhood by neighborhood report is impossible to obtain, I started keeping my own database of incidents. They were compiled mainly from the word-of-mouth accounts of my neighbors. In Figure 2.1 I've cited several examples that illustrate the severity of the crimes occurring in Westchester in recent years. What these events have in common is they all took place either within the neighborhood or very near to it; in other words, right where people live, right at our homes. I submit that any one of these incidents is serious enough to make an intelligent person think about leaving. In this respect, it doesn't really matter what the statistics say about crime in other parts of the county or even other parts of Camp Springs. If nothing ever happens on your street or in your neighborhood, you can overlook a lot of bad news from elsewhere. Even the robberies and what-have-you that go down at nearby shopping plazas have nowhere near the impact of a crime that takes place at your home or on your block. When crime hits that close, you realize how outrageous this stuff really is. It simply should not be happening. No one, regardless of where they live, should have to deal with this kind of thing ... ever.

As measured by the rising crime rate—in other words, by the safety factor—the quality of life in these parts has suffered in recent years. At the same time, the expression of courtesy has declined as well. I would like to relate a few examples that provide evidence of this decline. My intent is to demonstrate how lack of courtesy is manifested at the grass roots. I'm going to concentrate on incidents I, myself observed either in my own neighborhood or very close by. It might seem such a parochial focus would hurt my argument, but after you read through these narratives, I think you'll agree the phenomenon they illustrate can be found almost anywhere.

The contrast between the affluence of my community and the nature of the crimes being committed actually provides an advantage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .text truncated

The observant reader will detect a moral tone creeping into our discussion. Evidently it wasn't realistic to think we could stay completely clear of moral issues. Yet I think the moral content appears to be greater when seen in the abstract than it would be in actual practice. I'm searching for the boundary where action in the light of morality leaves off and pure action by itself begins. The problems we're examining manifest as moral questions, and we must describe them as such, but their solution lies outside the moral realm.