photo : Flickr CC by Narmer – Adam Clayton Powell Blvd
The bus pulled in, leaning low and heavy to allow a crowd of passengers trembling with cold to enter. Hoping to find seats , we inched our way to the back. It isn’t dark yet but it’s rush hour and the city is popping with its usual blend of after work fatigue and, more importantly, anticipation of home.
The ride is slow. We sit and bury our noses in books. I’m already semi nauseous and a little distracted. Cramped crowded spaces and a jungle of scents do that to me. The intermittent scruff of a pair of shoes sliding across the wet rubber floor pulls me up and out of the safety of my book. I try not to look around but I hear girls talking behind us. Fire hot words about boys and weaves and sex spew from their mouths. They talk loud, fast and over each other. Theirs is a story of too much too soon. On auto pilot, I perk up and perform the parental shield. I strike up a conversation with Ila in hopes of distracting/protecting her from their words. It’s going to be a long ride and it’s like this every time we ride the Madison Ave bus.
Ila doesn’t like the bus ride uptown.
A few things you should know about my skater girl – Ila grew up riding in a car. This isn’t typical for life in NYC. Cars aren’t mandatory and can be a huge inconvenience. Limited, expensive parking and ridiculous rules and regulations make owning a car in the city an option calling for careful consideration. Many families don’t use them but we chose to have one. In fact Ila’s arrival was the kick in the pants I needed to learn to drive. At 11, she still prefers I take her to skating and other classes, but we take the bus from time to time. On Tuesdays this year our family schedule collided with her skating commitments and the only way I could get her uptown and on time, was on the bus. This plan was met with resistance. She knows what the ride is like. She’s older now and more aware and vocal about her surroundings. She’s asking all the right questions about race and class and putting together a framework surrounding her identity as a young woman of color. It’s not just fast talking teenagers with saucy words. It’s so much more.
She identifies with whose she is. She’s a mighty little prayer warrior. She gets and loves Christ. It’s the “who” from a communal standpoint…who are you and what is your place in the community that seems to be the question. In that context one’s neighborhood and community shape significant parts of the answer.
A few factors play a role in the angst I feel about our bus ride.
The ‘hood is now haute and hip. People of color are no longer the majority. Business and industry have fully invested in what some considered an economic wasteland. The slow and steady flow of gentrification that started years before she was born has given rise to an unsettling spirit of change you can see…and feel. Growing up in the subtle and not so subtle messages sent by an ever-changing community is complicated. When you’re on the negative end of the unfolding narrative, when you’re cast you as the victim, the under- served, the negative and needy. Well? Who are you and what is your place in the community?
It’s the same old, same old. And I’ll roll my eyes and cross arms for emphasis. The narrative of need goes something like this. People of color…all people of color need saving and we’re here to make things better. That story is played and played out. In the words of the Cosby shows Claire Huxtable, “It is sad and pitiful and weak and tired.” My job as a parent is to flip the script on that story. Put it to rest once and for all. Because our children deserve more. All of our children deserve more.
Our neighborhood is weathering the storm of gentrification that blew through Harlem back in the 80’s. A quiet storm of incremental changes promising revitalization and rebirth for a historic community. Explaining the changes to tweens who all of a sudden “get” and want to talk about “it” is challenging. How does this story end and does it end well for people who look like us? How long can these two worlds peacefully exist? Is “Us” on the way out? I sink into the powerlessness of feelings, knowing emotions won’t solve anything. So I don’t want to just talk about change and I don’t think its wise (in this situation), to wait for change. Maybe I can be part of the change.
So back to the bus ride… We live uptown between Fifth and Madison Avenues. Two bus routes, we ride both. On Madison Avenue (I know what you’re saying, Madison Ave? Yes. Madison Ave. Stay on the bus past 96th street when a sudden shift in riders occurs. The midtown crew got off in the 70’s and the nannies all get off before 96th St. We’ll cross the top of Central Park and turn for a ride up the broad and beautiful Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard. The change is astounding. Madison Avenue brings to mind Gucci and upscale designer houses like Ralph Lauren. Well we’re riding uptown, way uptown – a fair portion of the scenery includes projects, abandoned buildings, drugs, poverty and poor health. Food deserts.
We’ll pass our share of hi-rises and multi-million dollar buildings, along with newly established fashion boutiques and french bakeries. Every convenience you can imagine from banks to florists have appeared out of no where. But all this is juxtaposed against a backdrop of marginalized, seemingly forgotten people. One avenue has become a haven of new businesses while another remains a food desert. Really, you could walk in some areas and not find an apple worth eating for 10 blocks. Gentrification is supposed to address all these evils but before that happens is this. There’s a bus full, a community full of people living with the threat of displacement. This community, the few who remain, are afraid.
Gentrification is scary. Gentrification produces fear.
Fear is attitudes and eye rolls. It’s pseudo-parenting and lack of ambition. It’s disrespect for the elderly. Fear says forget you…I’ve got to go for mine. Fear says I. Don’t. Care. Fear is on the bus and she feels it. The headache and heart-break of the ride is what she doesn’t like. It stands in stark contrast to our experience on the downtown 5th Avenue bus.
P.S. This is part 1. I’ve mulled the idea for this post around for weeks. Prayed and sighed over it. I don’t consider myself an expert on economics and hold no degrees pertaining to anything I share here. I hope to present this topic honestly and of course from my perspective as a middle-aged woman of color who grew up in the city. I love this city and it’s diversity. I am a New Yorker.