Where's Wallace, String?
“Where’s Wallace, String?”
The Wire’s Core
It is clear almost instantly that Wallace will die. Even though David Simon and Ed Burns’s The Wire bucked cinematic norms—zigging when the audience expected a zag—the creative duo behind the greatest television show of all time could not escape the lure of Wallace. The Wallace tropes are time-honored—innocence in the face of adversity, youth countering maturity, kindness amidst evil, confusion clashing with certainty. He is a classic composite character; adrift in Baltimore’s drug trade netherworld, Wallace straddles the line between a desire to be 100% in the game and his wish to be bigger than the streets, to have a future. Wallace does not have Bodie’s natural street smarts, D’Angelo’s hunger to please, or Poot’s…(it is unclear what Poot has beyond a proclivity for phone sex). He is nurturing and book smart. Although Wallace is transparent, 2-D, and overwhelmingly wholesome—something that cannot be said about any other character on The Wire (one of the show’s greatest assets is that every character, good or bad, has both demons and redeeming qualities)—he is the most important person in the show’s five seasons. If The Wire were boiled down to its bedrock, it would be Wallace. Wallace epitomizes both of The Wire’s critical pillars: the failure of capitalism and the pathetic state of American institutions. Stuck in the drug trade without a clear path towards an alternative future, Wallace has been abandoned by both the public school system and the government.
It is obvious from the earliest moments of season one that Wallace isn’t made for the drug trade. In an early episode, Bubbles and Johnny dupe Wallace, paying for their midday fix with shoddy homemade counterfeit bills. At a different moment, Wallace messes up the count, forcing D’Angelo to baby-step him through his job. These scenes are poignant because they reveal, via Wallace, the centrality of capitalism to The Wire. Much of the show revolves around this theme: how America’s capitalist system has crumbled from a universally beneficial high to a ruthless, blood-sucking low. Capitalism in The Wire has been co-opted by a Social Darwinist survival of the fittest state of nature—those with the most muscle (Avon), the sharpest business acumen (Prop Joe), and later the combination of both (Marlo) are in charge. Because capitalism failed on a macro scale and no longer provided benefits to the majority of society, extralegal entrepreneurs molded the economic system to fit their own needs on the micro level. Without institutions (discussed later) in place to provide an alternative or to police this on-the-streets capitalism, young Baltimoreans literally have no choice: drug trade or bust.
Like his peers, Wallace grew up in the midst of capitalism’s nosedive. Season one aired in 2002 when Wallace was 14-years-old. This means Wallace was born in 1988. Clearly, David Simon is offering a link between the failure of American capitalism and the presidency of Ronald Reagan. 1988 was the Reagan administration’s swan song—George H. W. Bush was elected in November 1988—and The Wire is a fierce critique of Reagan’s eight years of ultra lasseiz-faire, trickle-down economics. Low taxes on the wealthy combined with little to no regulation of the financial industry was Reagan’s antidote to the broad liberalism of the 1960s and 1970s. This strict fiscal conservatism appealed to the Silent Majority of white suburbanites who felt that civil rights era government programs were strictly for African-Americans. The Great Society threatened to make a powerful non-white middle-class. Fearful for their own hegemony, the Silent Majority—composed centrally of suburban New Deal Democrats—abandoned the Democratic Party in favor of the New Right. Reagan’s fiscal program promised hands-off government and promoted individualism. While the middle-class managed to avoid the worst effects of Reaganomics, cutthroat corporate capitalism destroyed the United States’ cities. Without robust federal funds, cities floundered. Instead of wealth trickling down, misery and deprivation set in. This was Wallace’s reality: born into a city forsaken by the government without the financial flexibility to take care of its citizens. With control of the levers of the local economy up for grabs, kingpins grabbed the reins. Capitalism’s failure emboldened the drug trade and forced Wallace to join Avon’s crew. This was only possible, however, because time-honored American institutions allowed it to be so.
The failure of American capitalism was buttressed by the plight of fundamental American institutions, specifically schools and government. The Wallace character reinforces both of these themes. Firstly, Wallace implies the lackluster public education system in Baltimore. Before introducing Michael, Dukie, Randy, and Namond, Simon presents Wallace, Bodie, and Poot. While Simon does not explicitly show how bad Baltimore’s school are—these horrors are saved for season four—it is clear that Wallace and company were failed by American education. This is the reason they spend their days in the pit. Wallace, more than Bodie and Poot, however, is explicitly tied to public education because it is clear that he is book smart. Wallace tutors the young children that live under his roof. After Brandon’s death Wallace wishes to return to school. This desire ties into the second institution that is at the center of The Wire: government. When Wallace offers to help the police solve the mystery surrounding Brandon’s death, Baltimore PD shuttles him into the countryside for his protection. Distracted after Kima is shot, BPD forgets about Wallace and allows him to venture back to Baltimore. It is at this juncture that Stringer orders Bodie and Poot to murder Wallace. This sequence of events is a blatant indictment of local government—the police failed Wallace (foreshadowing their failure with Randy in season four). Wallace is murdered because of the chaos in government. The police wanted to avenge Kima, the mayor’s office demands a drop in crime, the courts demand surefire cases, the state demands statistics to justify spending, and the beat goes on. This spiral of competition between each sub-governmental institution is witnessed through Wallace’s murder.
David Simon and Ed Burns’s masterpiece is illuminated through Wallace. Everything that the creative duo wanted to illustrate was presented through the tragic arc of this character. From the micro level Wallace can be extrapolated to the ultra macro: Why and how has capitalism failed the people of Baltimore? Why and how are young children forced to work in the drug trade? Why and how do local institutions allow children to succumb to disaster? Wallace has no American Dream. There is no possibility of one. From the moment of his birth the deck was stacked against Wallace and there was no way for him to overcome these odds. Unlike the feel-good stories in most television shows or movies, Wallace presents the hard truth. He isn’t going anywhere, even when he wants to. Someone or something will prevent it. This is the brilliance of The Wire. Wallace is the truth—a cold-blooded reality. Whereas Bodie and Poot don’t hit as close to home because they accept their fates, Wallace tries to fight back. The ultimate message is: resistance is futile. Wallace is going nowhere. Capitalism, schools, and government ensure this fact. Wallace is the most important character in the show’s five seasons because he reveals this incontrovertible truth. He is stuck. There is no hope. He is a pawn in the game—a soldier serving the king. No matter what he tries to do to escape this future, societal structures force him down. When he returns to the pit after late-night walk back from the countryside, Wallace explains to D’Angelo why he came back: “This is me, yo, right here.” Truer words couldn’t have been spoken. Ambition be damned. Wallace is in the game. What he represents is the power of that game over all else. That is why he matters.
Benji Cohen splits his time between Charlottesville and Cambridge. He appreciates the dynamic between Brother Mouzone and Lamar, following Robert’s Rules of Order in criminal conspiracies, Norman and that Chris Partlow always buttons the top button.