By Janet Allen
We are not lost—we are lodged. Lodged in the belly of a system that has consumed our labor, our neighborhoods, our legacy and called it progress. West Baltimore knows this belly well. It is lined with redline maps and absentee landlords, with food deserts and broken covenants. It is dark, but not silent.
Inside, we organize. We build. We remember. We name the pain not to dwell in it, but to disrupt it. Because pain left unspoken becomes policy. It becomes budget cuts and boarded-up homes. It becomes the quiet erasure of Black futures.
West Baltimore is a community with deep roots, rich culture and extraordinary resilience. Yet today, we face the harsh realities of long-term disinvestment—where the consequences are most visible and most painful.
We’ve lost essential businesses—Rite Aid, Walgreens, Target, Family Dollar and Starbucks—despite strong local support. These closures stem from modern-day redlining, compounded by repeated theft, open-air drug activity and insufficient public safety coordination.
Families are left with no nearby place to buy medication, food, or basic goods. Children walk past drug corners every morning on their way to school, an unspoken reality that should never be normalized. In many neighborhoods, individuals struggling with addiction are more visible than law enforcement—often roaming the streets in search of money through panhandling or package theft. These desperate acts funnel directly into the hands of drug dealers stationed openly on street corners, creating a cycle that destabilizes our blocks and erodes public trust.
Yet we are not defined by loss, addiction, or disinvestment. We are defined by our determination to rebuild—not from the margins, but from the marrow. We are reconstructing what was swallowed: our homes, our histories, our economic engines. And when we emerge, it will not be by miracle. It will be by design.
The city’s current approach to harm reduction, while well-intentioned, has unintentionally concentrated the crisis in neighborhoods already stretched thin. We need a more balanced strategy—one that centers residents, protects public spaces and creates pathways for healing, growth and opportunity.
Disruption means refusing to normalize crisis. It means challenging policies that concentrate harm. It means rejecting the idea that West Baltimore is a problem to manage—and insisting that it is a promise to fulfill.
We must disrupt the cycles that keep our blocks unstable and our families underserved. That means:
- Reimagining harm reduction strategies that center residents and protect public spaces
- Attracting and retaining middle-class homeownership
- Building economic engines that generate career-track employment, ownership and wealth
- Investing in safe corridors, strong public schools and the amenities that make neighborhoods thrive
As President of Heritage Crossing Resident Association, I believe in building—not just surviving. We must build wealth that endures—not just for today, but for generations yet unborn. Our residents are ready to partner, ready to lead and ready to welcome investment that honors their lived experience.
This is not a lament—it’s a blueprint. A call to disrupt our collective pain and replace it with collective power. With the right tools, partnerships and vision, we can transform the epicenter of neglect into a model of renewal.
Let West Baltimore rise—not from despair, but from determination. Not from pain, but from purpose.