America is a melting pot of opinions and ideas. It's one of the things that makes this country unique. Rural areas of Illinois vote for the same governors as small suburban communities and this metropolitan giant we live in called Chicago. Conflicts in our predominantly black, poverty-stricken neighborhoods on the South Side are broadcast on Fox to be judged by those as far away as Florida, and Virginia. The residents of these states obtain their news from sites and television programs hungry for attention and continued viewership. Devastated communities are reduced to choked out words at a podium and a wide-angle shot of balloons and flowers on a curb. Pained expressions of life are turned into soundbites, then finally reduced to simple words on a page via calculated transcription. This allows a for-profit media to engage in the commodification of tragedy and also enables them to engage in a very particular form of dishonesty.

The dishonesty I am referring to is very simple, and one of omission; we lack exposure to the life and daily activities of residents who experience these 'newsworthy' moments. We are only alerted to periods of abnormality, and as a consequence, we normalize it. We see a deluge of articles and opinions on a protests' violent end, but a quick blurb on its' peaceful beginning. I can't count how many monthly marches with cries of "Stop the violence!" occur in my vicinity, only to be quickly acknowledged with a 15 second video, or, in unlucky cases, shown in an easy to miss, fast moving info bar at the bottom of the screen, along with sports, and whatever celebrity blunders occurred that day.

As a consequence of this reductive reporting, we are exposed to these extreme situations so often that we cannot relate and empathize with those who come out and live, in spite of them. I eagerly await the day when a story about Englewood appears and it's about a resident opening up a business, or a new public school, or a lemonade stand. When your side of the city always has media attention for one thing or another, these recorded moments, whether of mundanity, or elation, matter the most.

Being a black resident of the southern portion of Chicago, and also a frequent customer of a variety of coffee shops in the north, I've experienced every conceivable reaction to my chosen place of habitation, and I'll be frank. They're infuriating. I'll be the first to admit that many neighborhoods, including the one I live in, are not the safest places to live. The issue is to leave the conversation at that single point and state nothing else.

Yes, Chatham is not the safest neighborhood in Chicago. But we have some of the best Jamaican jerk chicken in the state, and a delicious healthy eating restaurant called Soul Vegetarian to boot. Brown Sugar Bakery has the biggest and most delectable German Chocolate Cake I've ever had. Margherita Pizza is a delicious place to get thin crust Chicago-style pizza. Lem's Bar-B-Q is a super messy guilty pleasure. Greater Institutional AME Church is a community past-time. At all of these places, there are people who have lost a friend, or a relative to violence seen every day on the news. Some of them have taken somebody out of this life and spend every day repenting for it. Still, others visit family at the Metropolitan Correction Center or Cook County Jail and love them regardless of actions committed or time served. Drug dealers sell bags of tootsie rolls for children while they sell cannabis to adults at our 79th Red Line train station. People peddle cigarettes on the train and go home to families.

Here, we are forced to see life in its shades of gray, and I think that I benefit every day from a more open mind. I leave this here so that you may, too.