In late October a young man I know from the corners in Baptist Town, Demetrius “Butta” Anderson, 18, is shot and killed. His older brother and cousin were both previously murdered. The following week I drive 16 hours to Greenwood, Mississippi for Butta’s funeral. Shoulder to shoulder, the community comes together to mourn the loss of one of their own. After songs and short remembrances, the Pastor steps up and quickly clarifies that he is not there to judge, but he speaks very pointedly to the young people in attendance.
“There’s no salvation in hanging out on the corner,” he says. “The only thing that is assured is a visit to a jail cell or an early grave . . . if you see your friend going down a path, you don’t have to follow them . . . if you live by the sword, you will die by the sword.” His admonishment isn’t lost on the adults who nod fervently. They have seen too much violence, too much death over the years. For the younger generation, many of them have never lost anyone so close.
Butta’s girlfriend gives birth to their daughter in December, barely a month after his murder.
While many of us would like to believe that we live in a post-racial society it is hard to imagine a place like Baptist Town existing without the South’s troubled history of racism and segregation. In a city where 50.9 percent of the black residents live below the poverty line, my goal is to remind people that while we may live in a time where civil rights are taught in history classes around the country, the real legacies of racism in the south continue to impact people economically and culturally, in persistent and often pernicious ways.
I want to directly focus our collective attention on this complicated inheritance, honing in on Baptist Town in particular by documenting the neighborhood for the remainder of 2011 while launching into the second chapter of the project documenting the adjacent, white neighborhood in Greenwood. In the end I plan to bring an exhibition of the work created to both Baptist Town and the more affluent white communities that surround them. I don’t want this to be a passive example of putting images in front of an audience and allowing them to draw their own conclusions. I want to actively engage the residents in a dialogue about improving the lives of their neighbors who have been disempowered for generations.
These neighboring communities are separated by fear, distrust and a history of exploitation. By photographically introducing neighbors to one another in an honest and intimate way, my goal is to foster understanding and dispel uncertainty and fear. I hope to bridge the gap between these two worlds, so close together and yet so different.
