Dear Baltimore,

We need to talk, neighbor to neighbor. While we've met often, you probably didn't realize we
were neighbors, so allow me to reintroduce myself. This the Westside, where helmet-less youth
wheelie dirt bikes down the boulevard and Catholic churche choirs wear Kente cloth. This is Druid
Hill, where the smoke from row home barbeques drifts past the abandoned synagogues, our concrete
jungle next to the Baltimore Zoo. This is Greenmount and 29th, where in the shadow of Johns Hopkins
University we show love by placing teddy bears and balloons outside the Chinese restaurant
where "Yao Brothers" became a synonym for shootout. You can call me what my friends call me,
B'More.

I'm writing to...well honestly I'm not sure what I'm writing for. I fear this is a bit like a character
from Homicide trying to hold a conversation with a character from Harispray. So while we do need to
talk, I'm not sure words exist which can truly bridge the space between the Arcadian splendor of
Roland Park, and the Mad Max scene that is Poplar Grove, where flashing blue light police cameras
twinkle at night like sad Christmas decorations, accentuated with yellow caution tape garland. Perhaps,
for now, you should just listen.

The wisest of our sons, Frederick Douglas, once pondered "The Meaning of the Fourth of July
to the Negro?". In 1852, he said it was quote "your" holiday, not his. One may now ask, "What does
the Anniversary of 1812 mean for B'more?". Long before the tourists can to the inner harbor, came the
British; the bombardment, the "rockets red glare", the unscathed flag. The rest is history. The fact that
Scott Key's brother-in-law led a Supreme Court that returned escaped slave Dread Scott to
that "peculiar institution", is also history, just the kind deemed unsuitable for such a celebratory event
as this year's bicentennial. But here in B'more, this past is not history. As Faulker once said, it's not
even past, and I write today to remind you that the promise of 1812, a true "land of the free", has yet to
land here on the other side of "The Wire", and as such 1812's bi-centennial is your holiday, not mine.

While I aver that the bill of redress between us is long delinquent, I do not claim no installments
have been paid. My children have been education your schools, and I've seen kids with names like
Lakeisha and DeShawn received educations once reserved for people with names like Abercrombie
and Rubinstein. But for every City College, every "Castle on the Hill", there's a too many hovels on the
corner. There are too many kids whose voices never enter this discourse, lost in the space between us.
You'll probably never receive a letter from them. So I write on their behalf, hoping if not for
understanding, then at least, for starters, recognition. Where we go from there, I don't know, but I truly
hope it's better than where we've been.

Sincerely,
B'More

DEAR BALTIMORE

In this city full of researchers, foundations, and nonprofit organizations; "at risk" is a
word regularly thrown around.

Some serve it up to gain some kind of "street cred" with their peers like: "Yea, I
spend my weeks working with 'at risk' youth."

Others pepper their funding proposals and grants with the label believing that it
will better their chances like: "We will support impoverished 'at risk' people in East
Baltimore."

The politically ambitious types seek to strengthen their campaigns by sharing their
visions for 'at risk' sections of our city while standing at bullhorns bellowing: "We
can do better for those 'at risk' populations in Baltimore!"

Governors and policymakers propose plans to erect a Youth Jail on a street called
Monument in the event that 'at risk' babies will one day grow and transfer from the
pitiable classrooms to the plushness of the prison cell.

Sometimes I feel like if Baltimore didn't have the "at risk," it wouldn't have much of
an economy at all. The "at risk" are our cash cow.

For how would nonprofits get those grants without those "at risk" youth?

How would the state get federal dollars for Homeland Security if not for those
economically excluded "at risk" men who've formed street organizations sometimes
called gangs?

How would politicians fuel their election campaigns and find catchy slogans if not
for "at risk" communities?

How would developers gain large chunks of Black neighborhoods for gentrification
from City "leaders" if it wasn't for the accommodating nature of the "at risk."

It's high time for the "at risk" to get some long overdue appreciation - for where
would we be without them? How would we make a living?

The City Council should pass a resolution honoring the invaluable work of the "at
risk" in Baltimore's revitalization.

The Mayor should declare a special day of observance for "at risk" populations
around the city.

The Governor should give his skybox at stadiums to the "at risk" for their work in
helping him achieve a national platform.

Nonprofits should commission a Truth & Reconciliation Committee so we could find
out exactly how much the "at risk" have brought to Baltimore in terms of dollars and
cents.

Let's invoke the spirit of Edgar Allen Poe and write an Ode to the At-Risk.

Some of us have to work for our genius, but what a mystifying blessing to be born in
Baltimore with the "at risk" gene already coursing through your veins!

Pastor Heber Brown III

State of the Re:Union
Dear City Letter
March 14, 2012

Author:

Dear Baltimore,

We've been together a long time, the better part of thirty-one years, and I can honestly say I
thought seriously about leaving you only once.

It happened while I was in graduate school in London, meeting people from all over the world—
fashion models, a retired major general who loved practical jokes, lawyers-in-training. So many
lawyers. They're everywhere.

As happens when you're getting to know people, we talked about home. Very quickly I noticed
that few of my new friends said the city they loved scared them the way you did when I was
mugged or those many nights I wondered if my mom would arrive in one piece from her second
job. It started to look as if I'd spent my entire childhood along a fault line and needed to travel
3,000 miles before the low, rumbling panic I'd thought was normal began to subside.

But I came back. Why?

Because even from such a great distance you still dominated the way I saw the world. Looking
at pictures of London after the blitz, I thought about the half-abandoned sections of the East
Baltimore I grew up in. And I knew instinctively where in East London to find a black barber
because the landscape of bus stops, storefronts, and playgrounds felt strangely familiar.

Basically, I became re-convinced of what I already believed: If I was going to do good work
anywhere, I should start with the place I knew best.

You get under a lot of people's skin this way, natives and new-comers alike. Since returning,
I've met college students who were willing to sleep outside to make a statement about the cruelty
of homelessness; a New Jersey transplant so inspired by the city's potential, he became director
of the department of planning when he was 28 years old; and black men who have mentored
hundreds of kids.

About 10 years ago, I stopped being a regular fixture in church on Sundays because I wanted a
community that was committed to working for change not just one but every day of the week. It
took a while, but you helped me find them. We've come from all over. And when we're together,
the tremors aren't nearly as bad as they used to be.

Yours,

Lionel Foster

Dear Baltimore,

It may sound corny, but the main thing I want to tell you is that you're a
big source of inspiration to me as an entrepreneur. Your "do-it-yourself",
quirk-celebrating culture was just the thing I needed when I landed here
nine years ago, when I was trying to figure out what to do after finishing my
Navy career. I didn't have many friends, but I did have the wild idea to start
an improv group. I found a big audience for that kind of theater along with
many people who wanted to help. 

Since then I've started a few other ventures such as Ignite Baltimore and
I've had the same experience: your people have embraced my efforts and
lent critical support at every juncture. Now as I work to start technology
companies in the city, I need that kind of encouragement more than
ever. You're the kind of town that's big enough to have a critical mass of
successful people living here, but small enough that I can actually connect
with those people. I feel like I'm part of a network of energetic people,
where I'm mentoring and being mentored by other entrepreneurs.

I know you have your problems and I don't want to gloss over them or
romanticize you, but I wanted to say that I see every day the raw potential
you have to overcome these problems, because that's the raw potential
that's fueling my own endeavors. Your problems aren't easy to solve but
they are solvable. I feel lucky to live here.

-Mike