海角大神

When Jorge Martinez first arrived in Boston to start community organizing, he dropped into some of the city鈥檚 poorest 鈥� and predominantly nonwhite 鈥� neighborhoods, which had been plagued by poverty, drug use, and violent crime for years. It was the early 1990s, and he says he was ready 鈥渢o change the world.鈥�

鈥淚 said I was going to deal with open-air drug dealing, open-air alcohol drinking, gang activity,鈥� he recalls.

One of his first acts as an organizer for Project RIGHT, a community group that promotes public safety and economic development, was to organize a community meeting in Roxbury around gang activity. In a , five women came. Within minutes, one of them was crying as her mother berated her about now not being able to go home.

Mr. Martinez asked why. Then he looked out the window and found the answer.

鈥淚 saw gang members on the corners, looking at who was coming into the meeting,鈥� he remembers. Simply attending a meeting to discuss gangs and drug dealing, it appeared, 鈥渃ould get you killed.鈥�

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, this was the everyday reality in African-American neighborhoods around the country. It was in this context that black political leaders, under pressure from their communities, pleaded for the federal government to address the drug problem. The now infamous response from the federal government was a series of bipartisan 鈥渢ough on crime鈥� laws that, instead of just cracking down on drugs and violent crime as intended, filled the country鈥檚 prisons to a breaking point, disproportionately with young black men.

Now amid bipartisan efforts to undo many of these laws, and the rise of a new generation of civil rights activists, this history has created a strange dissonance. Black Lives Matter activists have criticized Hillary Clinton, the front-runner for the Democratic nomination, for supporting these tough-on-crime policies as first lady in the 鈥�90s. But Mrs. Clinton has ridden overwhelming support from black voters to a commanding lead in the Democratic primaries. Earlier this month, the urban black vote helped her in the Massachusetts primary over challenger Sen. Bernie Sanders.

鈥淚f you read some intellectuals on the left, they鈥檇 suggest there should be a grudge against the Clintons, but I think the primary results show there isn鈥檛 a grudge at all,鈥� says Michael Fortner, a professor of urban studies at the City University of New York and author of the book 鈥淏lack Silent Majority.鈥�

Part of the reason, he notes, is that black communities are aware that for decades they were some of the loudest advocates for tough drug laws. Tough-on-crime policies, he adds, 鈥渨eren鈥檛 something that just happened to black people, that were imposed on the black community鈥�. Political leaders, mayors, and pastors played an important role in pushing for these policies.鈥�

Another reason, he says, is that most black voters aren鈥檛 just concerned about criminal justice policy, past or present.

鈥淭hey鈥檙e also, like everybody else, concerned about paying their bills, they鈥檙e concerned about good schools, concerned about achieving the American dream,鈥� he says.

Tough on crime, or tough on black neighborhoods?

But as these black communities contend with the spectrum of issues brought on by the drug laws of the early 鈥�90s, they are also working to roll back those laws. At the federal level, there is enough bipartisan support for such criminal justice reforms 鈥� including reducing mandatory minimums for some low-level drug offenses 鈥� that it could be Congress passes this election year.

Overhauling America's criminal justice system has also become an election issue. Ending policing that comes down hard on minor infractions and decriminalizing marijuana possession are two of the of the Black Lives Matter movement. In Massachusetts, Project RIGHT is also working on similar reforms at the state level, Martinez says.

鈥淚 think the African-American community, like Hillary Clinton, they鈥檝e had to rethink their approach,鈥� says Thomas Whalen, an associate professor of social sciences at Boston University. 鈥淎nd you have to. In a so-called drug war, you can鈥檛 be rigid in your position and hope to be ultimately successful 鈥� you have to be as flexible as possible based on the conditions on the ground.鈥�

Evidence that a change of mentality is taking hold can be found in the government response to the heroin crisis, which has many parallels to the crack epidemic that gripped black communities in the 1980s.

鈥淣ow there鈥檚 a recognition that those policies [in the 鈥�90s] failed," says Professor Whalen. 鈥淣ow there鈥檚 a recognition in law enforcement increasingly that there should be an emphasis on drug treatment, rather than locking them up and throwing away the key.鈥�

For many decades, however, drugs were a priority. As early as June 1970, for example, an article titled: 鈥淏lacks declare war on dope.鈥澛營n 1986, 16 of 19 African-American members of the President Reagan鈥檚 Anti-Drug Abuse Act. And eight years later, 22 members of the Congressional Black Caucus voted for Bill Clinton鈥檚 1994 crime bill that boosted funding to police, expanded the death penalty, and created the 鈥渢hree strikes鈥� sentencing law.

'It was a sickness then, too'

Roxbury was a neighborhood where these policies took a particularly heavy toll. A historically Irish and Italian enclave, redlining 鈥� denying services based on the racial makeup of a neighborhood 鈥� made it one of the few places where African-Americans in Boston could get a bank loan to buy a house. As black families moved in, white families moved out, sometimes burning properties down for insurance money as they left. By the 1980s, there were around 1,300 vacant lots in the neighborhood, along with illegal trash dumping and a drug epidemic.

Ask long-time residents about that period and they respond with a mixture of anger and resignation. One recent Friday morning, the Reggie Lewis Track and Athletic Center in Roxbury, Purvis Coleman, 72, took a break from lifting weights to reflect on that period.

鈥淚 really think they were just overwhelmed, because [drug-dealing] was happening everywhere,鈥� he says.

鈥淭he first thing they thought of was, 鈥榃e鈥檒l take people off the streets and that鈥檒l stop people from doing it,鈥� 鈥� he adds. 鈥淚 think they could鈥檝e put more thought into it. But that was one way of dealing with it, and that鈥檚 what they did.鈥�

Nearby, an 89-year-old called Billy scoffs, blinking through circular tortoiseshell glasses. After growing up nearby in Boston鈥檚 South End in the 1920s, riding streetcars along cobblestoned streets, he watched as drugs and gang violence consumed the city鈥檚 black neighborhoods. Not hiding his bitterness, he echoes an argument that many in the : a heroin epidemic is ravaging white Americans in suburbs and small towns, and authorities are taking a much softer approach to it than they did with drug epidemics that struck black communities decades ago.

鈥淧olice didn鈥檛 give a damn. We survived,鈥� he says. 鈥淣ow that it鈥檚 the white community, they鈥檙e trying to do something,鈥� he says.

The new emphasis on treatment, rather than punishment, certainly had not been tried in Roxbury, Mr. Coleman agrees.

After arresting someone for having some weed,聽鈥渢hey would act like he had something really, really serious. Now they鈥檙e saying, 'He鈥檚 not a criminal, he鈥檚 sick.' Why wasn鈥檛 he sick in the 鈥�60s?鈥� he asks. 鈥淭he stuff they鈥檙e saying now is, 'It鈥檚 a sickness.' It was a sickness then, too.鈥�

Martinez, now Project RIGHT鈥檚 executive director, is busy dealing with a new generation of issues created by drug-war policies: integrating ex-convicts back into society, helping children from broken families get economic and educational opportunities, encouraging economic development without inciting gentrification.

The tough on crime policies, he says, 鈥渉ave driven this neighborhood into a worse place.鈥�

鈥淯ncles, fathers, brothers, have been in prison for crimes that really shouldn鈥檛 have got them the number of years they got,鈥� he adds. 鈥淭his has become intergenerational now. This has affected families across decades.鈥�

Coleman sits on a bench in the athletic center, leaning on his knees, stroking his thin white beard. He understands why some African-Americans are still angry about the damage the policies of the 1990s did to their communities 鈥� part of him is angry as well 鈥� but as the response to the current heroin crisis has shown, it seems that some lessons have been learned. He doesn鈥檛 want anger to obstruct that.

鈥淚f someone hurt you and you get angry about it, and you stay angry, you only hurt yourself,鈥� he says.

鈥淚f you find that person and found out why they did it, find a solution to the problem, it gives you a chance to understand why they might鈥檝e did what they did,鈥� he adds. 鈥淗opefully, I think people are looking at things a little different now.鈥�