On Compton vs. Winnipeg

Some people go to California to relax. I tried my best.

You can take the crime reporter off Selkirk Avenue, but the undisputed winner of my vacation was a visit to Compton.

Ah, the legendary Compton. I grew up on tales of the "dangerous" South Central Los Angeles neighbourhood, helped along prodigiously by the legendary hip-hop artist Tupac.

Compton is seen as a don't go zone for many Los Angelenos, including a motherly African-American woman I met near central L.A. who told me I was causing heartache for my parents and implored me not to go. The fact that the devout Jehovah's Witness climbed on the bus near Macarthur Park, another place famed for crime, gave me pause for thought.

It's not accidental that my opening line with some Winnipeg youth involved in the Canadian justice system often begins with a discussion of why they're wearing assorted Tupac gear.

The revered late rapper was shot to death in 1996 by a drive-by shooting in Nevada.

The youth's answers often focus on Tupac's brushes with the law and hatred for police, but Tupac's lyrics occasionally speak to deeper issues of racism and classism in American society. This is the dude who lamented his life in America as "I'm tired of bein' poor and even worse I'm black. My stomach hurts, so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch."

For what fans describe as Tupac's egalitarian approach and gang-life operas, I would be remiss not to note Tupac was convicted of sexual assault in 1994. He had a terrifically awful view of women, and police.

Anyways, I didn't get shot in Compton. Didn't get stabbed.

Barely got harassed. Stepped off the train at Compton station to see a Starbucks and a fringe element that was more than happy to point me to the courthouse and public library, where patrons have to be buzzed into the front bathroom.

Inside, a woman I assume to be homeless reapplied her cakey lipstick.

You could say I stuck out a bit, but once I refused offers of pirated DVDs and giving away my transit pass my trip was mostly tame. The first view I had was of a mural of Barack Obama outside the local post office (no postcards there).

It's telling that all the painted murals around Compton's City Hall featured figures prominent in combatting racism, like civil rights hero Martin Luther King and Mexican-American labour leader Cesar Chavez.

The portraits of current African-American politicians lined a front area, with womeaking up a healthy proportion.

What I heard from people I chatted with was this: please tell Canadians that Compton gets a bad rap. And they're right.
Not surpringly, it's the refrain I hear frequently from residents of the North End.

Magnus Avenue and Winnipeg a.k.a. Detroit North get stereotyped too, much to my sometimes defensive dismay.

There was a Mexican cab driver who was more than happy to include a non-English speaking family in our ride.

There was a packed courthouse with a gentle African American woman who smiled at me as I wandered past.

I walked into a courtroom minutes later to watch her bravely testify against two men accused of sexually assaulting her.

Down the hall, two women sat in a brightly decorated child care room. I turned down a ride from a concerned local resident to Compton's swap meet (California slang: a flea market). His teenage niece told me she won't walk Compton streets at night.
It's not perfect. But Compton has character, and good people.

It reminded me that behind legend lies substance, and that logic can be applied locally, too.