by Sara-Jessica Dilks

“Really ghetto.” “Sketch as f***.” “Gross.” Those are just a few of the responses I received when I asked some STA students earlier this year the question, “What do you think about Troost Avenue?”

Here’s the context: some neighborhoods near St. Teresa’s Academy in Kansas City earn a median income of $250,000 or above and are 100 percent white. If you drive less than ten minutes east and pass Troost Avenue, you’ll find yourself in a very different scene. These neighborhoods earn a median income of about $23,000 and are 93 percent black.

In October 2013, the Dart published “A City Divided,” a four-page newsmagazine spread about how Troost Avenue acts as a racial divide in Kansas City. As the page designer for the article, I wanted to find extra coverage to break up the long story.  So I roamed the halls of STA during a free period, pen and paper in hand. I asked about 15 random students the question, “What comes to mind when you hear ‘Troost Avenue’?” Then, I recorded their anonymous quotes and organized them together on the newspaper page.

The vast majority of answers were along the lines of “ghetto” or “sketch,” and were typically accompanied by a giggle and/or a distorted smirk.

Sadly, I wasn’t at all surprised by the general response of my fellow students. Actually, I was completely expecting them. Last year when American Literature students took a field trip downtown to the Kansas City Public Library, I was disappointed to overhear some classmates complaining that riding the bus is “scary,” “gross” and “dirty.”

I suppose when students use these terms, they’re not only deriding the people who live near Troost Avenue or who use public transportation, but also assuming an air of superiority.

Such arrogance is astounding.

The reality in this is that many students ostracize the people who don’t drive a gleaming SUV like the ones I see every day in the STA parking lot. They ostracize the people who don’t live in middle-to-upperclass local neighborhoods like Brookside and Waldo or affluent suburbs like Leawood and Overland Park. They ostracize the people whose parents don’t throw down tens of thousands of dollars every year to send them to an elite Kansas City private school such as St. Teresa’s Academy. This mindless phenomenon is contemptible.

Each morning when I walk into the the Music & Arts Building, I’m greeted by this message above the front halls: “All must be loved, all must be friends, all must be held dear.”

If this motto supposedly represents our school, why do many members of the student body continue to casually insult people in our city who are less affluent and less privileged?

In order to resolve this problem, I think some students could use a lesson from my mom. She’s from New York City and grew up using public transportation to get around. When my family moved to Kansas City, she continued using the public bus system. She whizzes around on the buses many times a week without giving a second thought. It’s simple: my mom loves the bus, and the bus loves my mom. And guess what? She doesn’t give a damn about the race, background, education, material possessions or destination of the person sitting next to her. She’ll have a nice conversation with them regardless.

Students who express feelings of being “sketched out” or “scared” because of economic, social or racial differences in our community need to reconsider their views. Generally, I’ve observed that while STA’s student body offers a wide array of interests and talents, there’s only subtle nuance when it comes to racial and socioeconomic diversity; this isn’t at all demographically representative of the city we live in.

If using public transportation or driving through a downtown neighborhood prompts you to make questionable comments, I hope you realize once you leave high school, you’re likely going to find yourself in a more diverse community.

Please know I didn’t write this opinion piece to be a guilt trip for readers. Rather, I’m trying to uncover how a sense of inconsideration, whether intentional or not, oftentimes comes along with privilege.

The last student I interviewed for my survey responded very differently from the rest. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear ‘Troost Avenue’?” I asked.

She didn’t giggle or smirk when she answered. “My home,” she said.