Dante Spain: Downtown, North Camden
By Alex Meier
Photograph courtesy of Molly Easton
Pop!
It’s time to play “Guess That Sound”.
On a warm summer day, the sound is reminiscent of miniature firecrackers Dante bought from the corner bodegas as a young kid.
But daylight doesn’t always outshine Camden’s darkness.
The pop from a gunshot has become all too familiar to Dante. Judging by loudness and number of rounds let off, he and his friends began competing with one another in guessing the make of the gun.
“You’ve been around something for a good frame of time, you get immune to it,” he said. “You make a mockery of it.”
Dante knows deadly pops are merely spurts of thunder caused by the storm of the drug culture—the heavy, iron-colored cloud casting its shadow over the city streets. He heard its fury when living in New York and Atlanta, but he believes nothing can compare to its impact on Camden.
The rumble of the drug world does not deafen Dante as it has for some of the city’s black, 20-something men. Rather, he listens with an ear pressed against the door, with one foot resting on its threshold and the other forced outside.
Dante’s involvement with nonprofits causes this state of liminality. Shortly after moving here, he joined Hopeworks N’ Camden, an organization that helps pave futures for at-risk youth through education, technology, and entrepreneurship. I met him when he lived in its residential community, the C.R.I.B., but since he’s moved across the street to where I intern, DeSales Service Works.
From the windows of DeSales we share relatively similar perceptions. The dog-like whimpers of addiction melodically coordinate with Fr. Mike’s welcomes to street dwellers. We hear hope in the prayers of community members backdropped by gritos leaking from the city streets.
But unlike me, Dante has black skin, a broken family, and an urban background—an unwelcome invitation to trouble.
Whether a request for a dime bag or glare from a passerby, racist profiling blends Dante in with the black market. His frustrations further swell when watching money pour onto smiling drug kings while money from his honest work barely drips into his pockets. Where does society dump him if he doesn’t want to work the streets?
Dante answered this question by pushing himself into the world of hip hop.
Wanting to feel motivated, wanting to find a place for themselves, he and his friend D.J. created P.U.S.H. An acronym for Put Up Some Heart, the initiative aims to bring artists together who believe in the mission of working hard for their dreams.
“We felt like we were being pushed around by society,” he said. “We wanted to show the world that we can take these skills that we’ve acquired and put it toward a vision that we want, that no one says you have to be like.”
Although Dante’s starting off small, music is his passion and will continue to be a part of his life, whether or not he will make it in the industry. He believes the music has helped him survive and keeps his head high.
He knows hip hop is the heartbeat to the song of the city. When pop! the media plays guess that sound, they only listen to words that make the headlines and filter out the rest. For the people of Camden, hip hop may be the only mirror of their stories, the only mainstream acknowledgement of the worries and fears that feed the drug culture’s storm.
“It gave the minority an identity. What comes with identity is self esteem, pride. It’s a way of expression.” he said. “Camden without hip hop—Camden would be like a Third World country. You would never hear the things that go on. A lot of people out here couldn’t speak for themselves. ”
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