I have always found it ironic that the ghetto-bound would stay there given what Okies have done to get out of the Dust Bowl. Political bloviation to the contrary, I think when the going gets too tough, people have sense enough to come out of the proverbial rain.
So I believe that black people vote with their feet, or not. So basically the ghetto is at equilibrium. Everybody who lives there wants to be there, everybody who doesn't, doesn't.
Considering that there are millions of people without a dime who walk, bike, swim or levitate across our southern border in the face of indifference, hatred and law in order to make a fistful of dollars, the relative complaints of ghetto life are pins dropping in a thunderstorm. Considering the glorification of ghetto life by various superstars and the attendant market that supports radio station networks, clothing & shoe manufuacturers (hecho en Mexico), American Studies departments, and everything else that reads 'urban contemporary', there is really nothing to complain about. There are surely a million Sudanese who would give their right arms to chill with Snoop Dogg sippin' gin and juice in the hood with their minds on their money and their money on their minds. Whatever soul killing attributes we in the middleclass lay at the feet of the ghetto, the electricity is always on, and the corner store is always open. Hell, people complain about all the liquor stores. I've never seen a liquor store in the hood that only sold liquor. There's always bread, milk and eggs too. And orange juice in the winter. Maybe Latasha Harlins had it coming. Maybe that's just how real Koreans roll when fools try to bogard their cream.
People who care enough to escape that relative poverty may or may not retain virtual shackles on their feet. That doesn't stop the crabs from grabbing. And it doesn't stop the various industries attending ghetto life for trying to keep their market share by any means necessary. I mean you have to give them credit for maintaining the impression that everything and everybody black begins and ends in the ghetto. But you know if I escape the attention of those hucksters, I really don't mind a bit. They say the best revenge is a live well-lived. It's pleasant to regard the old 'hood as a distant, rough and character building memory in the foggy past. That's as good as it gets, and that's as good as it has to be.
This story will repeat in the next generation as new folks emerge from the barrel.