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Black on white violence has been a reality of life in St. Louis for over fifty years. I am 60, and when I was 10, my sister and I went to visit some family in the “Gateway to the West” right after a new housing project had gone up. My uncle made a living repairing equipment at rec centers, and one time when he was driving my sister around, he had to make a stop at one of them. “Just stay in the car, I will be right back,” he said. Soon after, a dozen black thugs surrounded the car and were saying they were going to rape us little white girls. Suddenly, my uncle burst out of the rec center, baseball bat in hand, and my would-be rapists all fled.

Even though nothing really happened, my uncle felt horrible. He apologized and told us that even as recently as a week ago, the area had been considered safe. But that’s what Section 8 Housing does to a place. The whole complex was in ruins within a year.

More recently, two black thugs moved into my building. I prayed and anointed my home in the name of Jesus, because I knew I was in danger. Last Saturday night, one of them was shot in the head in his apartment. The survivor was evicted. God has my back.