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The Wire, Season Three, Episode Six, “Homecoming”: “I'm just a gangsta, I suppose.”

He wants his corners.

Avon Barksdale is the top authority of the Barksdale drug empire, and Stringer Bell is his best friend, main strategist, and confidant. Stringer has been trying to move out of the drug game and into legitimate business. In this scene, he lays out his plan to Avon, trying to get him onboard for the new strategy away from the petty violence of the streets. Avon considers this, and then utters the immortal line: “I’m just a gangsta, I suppose. And I want my corners.”

There is a mystical element to The Wire. Everyone who passes through our field of vision has a soul to them; a fundamental build that contains their skills, intelligence, motivations, and sense of self. This is part of its social commentary, as it observes how people can be punished or rewarded based upon how their environment interacts with who they are as people. To a large extent, this is about race, class, and social position – as Carver puts it, “They fuck up, they get beat. We fuck up, we get pensions.” Specifically, Wallace and Dookie are quiet, sensitive, intelligent boys who end up murdered and driven to heroin respectively because they simply don’t have the opportunity to capitalise on those talents and are punished beyond all reason for their weaknesses.

(It also extends outside that. Prezbo is terrible at being a cop, at least out on the street, but uniquely talented to be a great teacher.)

In this sense, The Wire is an articulation of Stephen J Gould’s quote “I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.”. Avon is fascinating in this context, because he’s a guy who, from the start of the series to the end, is exactly where he needs to be. 

He understands not just the practicality of The Game but the emotions. Heavy is not the head that wears the crown; he’s comfortable wearing power and organising the deaths of his enemies, but he also knows and loves both his limitations and his responsibilities. He’s a king who takes care of his subjects. When you get right down to it, he is both directly – through things like supporting kids playing sport and being noticed by talent spotters – and indirectly – through financing Cutty’s gym – getting more kids out of The Game early than any of the institutions in the show.

Between him and Stringer, he’s also the one who knows that you can’t assassinate a politician and get away with it. He has that famous scene in which he shows D’Angelo a gangsta who got shot and ended up in a coma and explains that one mistake – one accident – will get you killed, and you’ll never be able to control your environment enough to be certain you can avoid that (“And how you ain’t never gonna be slow? Never be late?”). He does what he does knowing he is going to die and it’s almost certainly going to be a bullet that gets him. He accepts that.

It’s an attractive quality in a person. It doesn’t matter that he’s a murderous drug kingpin who orders the deaths of children to protect his empire – he has a regal quality to him. Wood Harris’s performance is extraordinary, a man in total control of himself with nothing to prove to the world. He is a gangsta, nothing more and nothing less. Ambition without pretence; pragmatism with the glow of divinity.