CHICAGO — I am a reporter.
During my career, editors have assigned me to write stories about horrific moments in poverty-stricken pockets of Chicago.
I’ve been to more bloody crime scenes than I can remember.
I’ve interviewed weeping mothers next to makeshift shrines that honor the memory of their slain sons.
An 8-year-old Roseland boy once explained to me in great detail where one gang territory ended and another began.
Living in Pullman, too, I’ve met some locals who have helped me get a closer look at what a struggle it can be for some people to muster the courage to hope for a better life.
And whether I’ve had a notebook in my hand or not, I’ve listened to folks from nearby neighborhoods struggle to find words to articulate exactly how frustrating it is to feel trapped by their economic circumstances, racism and their unwavering belief that there’s nothing they can do about it, and nobody will help them.
Pieces of those conversations stuck with me and have shaped my view of Chicago, a city starkly divided by class and race.
I’d like to think I’ve done my best to write stories that capture the humanity, or lack of it, as it exists down here.
But sometimes it feels like news stories aren't enough.
So, I wrote a song.
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