The Death Of The Street

Culture in urban communities, also referred to as inner-cities, are growing increasingly violent. In the article, The Code of the Streets by Elijah Anderson, he begins to take an in-depth look at the root of the evil. He deduces that economic factors, parenting and the troublesome environments largely influence the violent norms within this culture.

The novel “The Street” by Ann Petry demonstrates the relationship of Lutie Johnson and urban setting by personifying the wind, using imagery to show how brutal the wind was, selection of detail and figurative language in which refers to a deeper meaning of the wind-racial discrimination.

The Elijah Anderson’s article, “Code of the Streets” is a perfect illustration for cultural arguments because it involves environments that are susceptible to learning a criminal culture; even up to a point of promoting that type of criminal behavior as “normal”. It also has links to Differential Association and Social Learning theories of crime

In this paper, I plan to first describe the “Code of the Street” which is a term coined and a book written by Elijah Anderson. I would also summarize and describe two journal articles that test Anderson’s idea of the “Code of the Street” for a more definite explanation. I will tell how the two articles that I have chosen relates to some of the concepts that Anderson talked about in the book. I will then define general strain theory and social learning or differential association theory. Lastly, I will explain how general strain theory and social learning theory or differential association theory explain some of the behaviors that were seen by the individuals in the book published by Anderson. I will point out some of the individual’s behavior and demonstrate whether it may lead to crime or whether the behavior was learned in any way.

The smell of coffee filled the police station. “Morning, Sami!” called officer Turner, who was drinking a cup of said coffee. I was walking to my desk when, “Homicide on 9753 Shady Leaf Alley!” was yelled from officer Reinerman’s desk. I stopped and remembered. The last time I went there was…..was…..it doesn’t matter. The past is the past. I went with officer Reinerman and officer Wyler to the police car. We drove to the alley.

Elijah Anderson’s novel, Code of the Street: Decency, Violence, and the Moral Life of the Inner City, offers the reader a glimpse of what life is like being a black youth living in the inner-city. Living by the “code of the street”, a term Anderson uses to describe the unwritten rules many youth in the inner-city when interacting with others, these young people often find themselves on the destructive path to delinquency. Through a lack of role models, a sweeping change in the global market, the ever enticing underground drug trade, the constant institutional discrimination towards African Americans, and the corruption of the criminal justice system, the people who live by the code of the street become a part of an alienated subculture. Through

Outside, a deep silence fell over the neighborhood. This silence crept into every household. Members of the community had a guise of anger and pain expressed on their faces. Everyone locked themselves inside, to lament such a tragedy that has brought sorrow to a twelve years old’s family. Parents fell on their knees with tears in their eyes. This last murder represented the final straw. So many of their own had been murdered by the malicious, metallic, monsters that were supposed to be the defenders of their community. They felt insecure, threatened by the

Latt internally sighed in relief, no longer concerned that he might be having a heart attack. However he quickly noticed that the pain in his leg had gotten much sharper. Latt put his hands down and opened his eyes. He saw nothing but darkness. He quickly went from moderate concern about the pain in his leg, to near panic as he feared that he might be blind. However this panic quickly dissipated as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness and he began to take in his surroundings. As he looked around trying to comprehend his unfamiliar surroundings he started to rub his leg only to find a small piece of metal poking him. “Is this what I have been feeling?” he wondered aloud. As if to confirm he noticed a small piece of broken glass behind him, near the same place that the pain his back would have been in had he been lying down. Around him were countless other broken fragments and debris varying widely in shape, size and material littering the street. there were scraps of paper with weird glyphs on them, semi-melted plastic, destroyed electronic devices of unknown function but nothing to give him any indication as to where he was. After a few minutes of contemplation he stood

Elijah Anderson’s Code of Street is an ethnographic study of several neighborhoods in Philadelphia in the early to mid-1990s. This book is mainly focus on the criminal elements, economical, educational, social, and judicial system in the African American communities. Anderson did several interviews, field observations and researches for four years to demonstrate the internal factors that hold on inner cities. Decency, violence, and the moral life of the inner cities are the most significant key arguments in this book. Author aim in this book is to concentrate on the social and cultural aspects of the interpersonal violence, which is undermining the quality life on the urban communities. Furthermore, it explains the drugs culture, scarcity of sustainable jobs, racial discrimination, and frustration in impoverish neighborhoods.

In the first part of this article Anderson talked about the interpersonal violence and aggression in the black inner-city community. He talked about the environment people grow up in and the two groups they are classified as decent, people with good morals and want to be good people, and street, people who have evolved into the way of the streets and using violence to gain respect. After that he talked about, “the code of the streets”, which is when the street group does anything to be socially on top of their peers. For example if somebody disrespects them, they have no quarrels with attacking a person over the smallest thing and if they lose the attack they will continue to retaliate until they are superiorly respected.

The cool wind blows through the Melbourne alley ways, it’s 3am on the 8th of March and not a soul could be heard. The street lights were flickering and there wasn’t a car insight. The atmosphere, cold and dark, would give a deathly shiver down anyone's spine. Then, a loud, gut wrenching scream broke all silence. The sound of fleeting footsteps echoed throughout Hosier Lane and moments later sirens screeched through the streets of Melbourne.

I was given a special task: to “persuade” a businessman named Carl to buy more of our alcohol so he could sell it in his bar. Everyone made it seem like a simple enough task, so I did not worry too much. The man’s neighborhood was deserted. No one in sight and no one in ear shot. This was familiar; it reminded me of my own neighborhood. I knew the kind of amount of fear felt to clear the roads when gangsters were coming. The thought of the fear in those people’s minds; so much fear, they decided to hide away in their homes and practically lock their business doors; sent chills up and down my entire being, especially because I have known that fear all too well. The roads were so deserted I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat, which was racing unlike any other. When we finally arrived at our destination, my heart seemed to slow, as if the only thing worrying me was the drive over.

Domiciled a crossroad away, stood a Seven Eleven, it was a zephyr summer afternoon. The clouds were reluctant to clear away from the sun as a gentle breeze distorted the leaves on the trees. Patiently waiting for the hand to turn into the walking man. Wavering on the sidewalk as I ponder about the imaginary hoodie upon me, giving me warmth. The construction workers had just passed me. The vibrant aroma of the freshly paved road created a soothing environment in the vicinity. Operating machines filled my ears as it passed by. The intoxicated gases out of the road-roller polluted my surroundings with egregiously perilous chemicals. It created a cloud of smoke, innately making me inhale the smoke resulting into vigorous coughs. Before I realized, the hand turned into the white walking man sign; even though my gut feeling was the walking sign will change, I still carried on. I thought I could scurry across, but as I put my first step on the sidewalk, my stomach had mice running in it. Gggrr! My mutilated stomach, suddenly debilitated my body, forcing me to walk tediously. The plight of my stomach, utterly lacking in energy and the sense

I was underground. That much was certain. I reached for my watch but braces latched around my wrists prevented me from doing so. The room that held me was blank and cold. A lone bulb of light dangled from the ceiling, swinging back and forth to tamper with the shadows. My eyes fell to my leg where a cast had just been applied and then to my right forearm where a red-blotched bandage was tightly wound. It took less than a second to understand that they had taken my blood. That was the only thing that I feared: clear, irrevocable evidence of my identity. Looking down at my hands, the familiar scars casted over the ends of my fingers relinquished an unsettling tingle. Unfortunately, slicing off one’s fingerprints was not an act that an innocent person partook in. I wasn’t trying to hide my guilt but rather the crimes themselves that struggled to remain dormant. They had my blood but that would only prove my existence. My momentary fear quelled. Eventually, I’d find my way out. Always did. They may have thought that the dark ambience would instil fear but I was not a victim. It was my presence that horrified

As the sun reaches its horizon and the shadows of buildings cast endless shade, people from all over Denton come out to “the square” (downtown). The freedom to roam around, catch a bite, a coffee, read a book, hang out with friends or even just relax is there. A variety of shops surrounds Denton’s courthouse giving the people choices from choosing an ice cream shop to getting a tattoo. However, as many people would say there is one particular spot that catches our attention even from a couple blocks back. A building on the south side of the courthouse is illuminated by a red and blue neon guitar logo that lights the night away. While a band plays its music on the rooftop of the building. Underneath the neon lights, crowds of people are standing next to the red brick walls waiting to be called in by an LSA hostess.