One June 16^th, 2003, Benton Harbor resident Terrance Shurn was fleeing local police officer Wes Koza by motorcycle. The high-speed chase ended when Shurn crashed into a vacant building near the city’s center. He died on impact. Terrance was 28 years old. He was black. Koza, his pursuer, was of mixed racial background. Initial reports, however, described Koza as white.

Riots ensued. Approximately 300 Benton Harbor citizens threw rocks and bottles at police cars, flipped pedestrian vehicles, and burned abandoned buildings to the ground. Gunshots were fired at heavily armed S.W.A.T. units who responded to the scene. Michigan Governor Jennifer Granholm sent 130 state troopers to Benton Harbor in order to assist local law enforcement. The riots ended two days later and garnered national media attention.

Newspapers, radio programs, brief clips on local news – the story broke everywhere, and accentuated the socioeconomic divide between poverty-stricken Benton Harbor, and its neighboring city, white, affluent Saint Joseph, Michigan. The media blamed the riots on crumbling race relations and long-standing prejudices between the two cities. As a citizen of Saint Joseph, I can’t say I disagree.

In June of 2003, I was 14 years old – an incoming freshman at Saint Joseph High School. Despite the proximity of our two cities – Benton Harbor and Saint Joseph – I knew very little about the riots taking place just miles from my home. I never talked about it with my friends, I never talked about it with my teachers or my parents; there were no announcements made, no guest lecturers or school-wide assemblies. I was in the dark.

But whose fault was it; why didn’t I know about the plight of Benton Harbor, Saint Joseph’s “twin city?” In part I blame myself. I heard rumors; I could’ve picked up a newspaper or turned on the television. But for some reason, the riots seemed so far away – too far for me to care. I also blame Saint Joseph. It was as if a giant curtain had been strung across the city’s Northern border, separating white from black, rich from poor, order from chaos. Somewhere along the line I realized I was embarrassed by my city and the ignorance its citizens displayed. But I was one of those citizens; I, too, was ignorant towards Benton Harbor. Therefore, I found I was dissatisfied with myself and the inconsiderate role I’d inadvertently fulfilled.

But that was the environment I was raised in: wealthy, conservative, and resultantly pretentious. Saint Joseph had a quaint downtown shopping district, a picturesque lighthouse, and a population composed almost entirely of middle to upper class white citizens. Our churches were white and conservative, our banks were white and conservative, our grocery stores and local government were run by white conservatives. Saint Joseph was what Benton Harbor used to be before the ‘60s, when African Americans moved in and rich white people ran away.

Citizens of Saint Joseph saw their town as hard-working and successful, filled with pleasant homes and smiling neighbors. In their minds, Benton Harbor was the opposite – decrepit, decaying, filled with drugs and local gangs. Saint Joseph defines its relationship with Benton Harbor through the following physical, socioeconomic, and socially constructed attributes: (1) the Saint Joseph River, which literally separates the two cities (a visible landmark that keeps things “separate but equal”), (2) the economic divide that splits rich from poor (Saint Joseph’s affluent prestige from the poverty of Benton Harbor), and (3) the color divide that people of either city tend to associate with the aforementioned physical and economic divides. People in Saint Joseph accepted these attributes as undeniable, unchangeable fact. Little was done to address these issues; to know that they existed was enough.

These forms of segregation – physical, socioeconomic, racial – manifested themselves in my high school. In the lunchroom, for example, African American students sat at the same two tables every day. A small number of Asian and Indian students intermingled with whites throughout the rest of the cafeteria – they had been accepted, assimilated into realms of social “whiteness.” While there were no specific instances of outright discrimination against blacks, African American students had clearly been ostracized from the majority of the student body. In this instance, segregation was an everyday occurrence.

Also, it was widely known that Benton Harbor’s academic facilities were in blatant disrepair – students were taught using outdated textbooks, science labs didn’t have the right equipment, teachers and staff were undermanned and underpaid. In comparison, Saint Joseph’s facilities were second to none – we had new textbooks and calculators, an overabundance of high-quality computers, plenty of teachers and supplies, a brand new field house adjacent to our brand new football stadium. Clearly, the segregation of our schools – though never openly enforced – led to massive social inequalities.

In Saint Joseph, however, these inequalities were more or less acceptable; its citizens had little to complain about. And that was how our city justified its ignorance, by hiding behind the “undeniable attributes” that separated the people of Benton Harbor and Saint Joseph.

As an adult, I’ve come to accept the ignorance of my adolescence, and consequently, I’ve made efforts to improve. I’ve also realized that Saint Joseph is not necessarily a bad place; its people are not driven by hatred or malicious intent. Good people live there. They go to good schools and work hard to raise their families in safe neighborhoods, but at times, they are incredibly naïve about their role in the relationship between Benton Harbor and Saint Joseph; they allow themselves to remain ignorant because ignorance is easy. Ignorance allows them to maintain their pleasant lifestyles.

Regardless, Saint Joseph is a part of who I am – I was raised within its boundaries and socialized by its ideals – both good and bad. I can’t deny my upbringing, or the opportunities I’ve been given; I can’t deny the friendships I’ve made, the memories I’ve acquired. Although I disagree with a majority of its socioeconomic standards and perceptions concerning Benton Harbor, I’ve decided to accept Saint Joseph for what it is – my home.