Tuesday, August 11, 2020 - A precarious city from afar & tears of joy at Jack’s Wife Freda up close.
One question that I have had, often, of late, is this: has New York City ever been in a more precarious state.
The articles describing the downfall of the city are being published in droves:
New York Times – Retail Chains Abandon Manhattan: ‘It’s Unsustainable’
Fox News - American taxpayers footing NYC's bill to house the homeless in boutique hotels
Bloomberg –New York and San Francisco Can’t Assume They’ll Bounce Back.
In March and April few were writing about a city that would never recover. The national focus and narrative was different. Here was the novel coronavirus, wreaking havoc on a city that was woefully unprepared for its arrival. Yet, although we acted late ––– with our mayor telling us to go on about our regular lives (even through the first half of March), when we did act, we acted fast.
Our governor asked that we go on P.A.U.S.E. (Policies - Assure - Uniform - Safety - (for) Everyone), and we did –––– we sheltered in place. We stocked up and stayed home. Or we got out of the city for a while. We applauded essential workers, clinking and clanking wooden spoons and metal pots and cast irons pans together from our fire escapes ––– or through the cracked open windows of our apartments every evening at 7:00pm. And we watched, in shock and horror and sadness as the number of confirmed cases and deaths steadily increased. Of course, some of us weren’t lucky enough to just watch. We lost some twenty thousand of our friends and family members and loved ones. And of those who lost loved ones, we took time, and we still are taking time, to grieve.
In June we spoke in words and phrases consisting of key markers and measures, attempting to make sense of stages and progressions, which, upon reflection, simply did not make sense: Phase I means construction workers (I thought they had already gone back to work?); Phase II means retailers (which is different from a grocery store or a drug store), offices, and outdoor dining. And Phase III was supposed to mean indoor dining, at fifty percent capacity, but that, as yet, will have to wait.
To write of the downfall of the great metropolis from the perspective of a major media corporation makes sense: make it good, and make it sensational. Infrastructures must careen and crash; revenue ––– projected as well as actual –––must plummet; storefronts had better be vacant; unemployment had better skyrocket; and landlords and tenants had better duel and dance a one-two step of missed rents and pending evictions if the illusion of a destroyed and forgotten city is to be upheld.
When New York is written about through the lens of a nation that’s struggling to find itself; while rebuilding its identity in the wake of a massive and steadily growing call for greater justice, equality, and accountability, it’s just easier to leave the entire city for the birds.
These are the giants who loom above our Manhattan streets: The New York Times: 242 West 41st Street. CNN: 10 Columbus Circle. Fox News: 1211 Avenue of the Americas. CBS: 51 West 52nd Street. NBC: 30 Rockefeller Center. Bloomberg News: 731 Lexington Avenue. And the list goes on. In some respects, we need these giants (even Fox News!). We need them because they can crank and churn out stories about our city and broadcast those stories to the entire nation and the world. Day in day out, they’re painting the picture for the nation of what goes on within and throughout our streets, which gives people something to chew on and consider about New York, New York. And in that respect, we’re always a part of the national conversation, and often heading the table. But this much is clear: if you paint too broadly; if you churn out too quickly; and if you showcase too indiscriminately, too often, you’ll either overlook, or otherwise misdraw the truth.
With my entire heart, I miss the New York that I lived in this past January and February. It felt pristine; we felt untouchable; our streets and subways were overflowing and crowded; and rush hour was actually a thing. But the reality, we all know, was different from the perception. Even before the end of March, and April, the luxury condos that were sprinting toward the sky; altering Manhattan’s skyline; and hovering, precariously over Central Park as well as the avenues and streets of Midtown Manhattan, were nearly deserted.
The luxury market was tapping out. Billions of dollars worth of real estate had been built to attract foreign investors, but the Russian oligarchs and the Chinese billionaire moguls, as well as investors throughout the world who were previously keen on New York’s luxury residential real estate market, were no longer eating the cake. And the people who were and are living here, either couldn’t afford to live in these places ––– or simply chose to spend their money somewhere else, or save.
Here is one reason why independent publishing is needed: I cried today while standing outside of Jack’s Wife Freda at 224 Lafayette Street. I wept, quietly and softly to myself, tears of gratitude, as the waiter who took my to-go order, Chulo, was kind and caring, and cheerful and attentive, and encouraging and humorous; and because he kept refilling the glass of water, which I hadn’t asked for, though I was, nonetheless, oh so thankful to have while I waited.
Precarious means it’s not over yet. It means we could fall, but it also means we could rise again. It means that we could actually create a city that’s more beautiful, heartfelt, and compassionate –––– one where the car horns keep honking (I miss that sound!), but also one where it’s not impossible to find a place to live without demonstrating that you make 40 times the monthly rent. A city where people work together and look out for each other more often. A city that the titans who blast out the images and stories that describe what our city feels like won’t be able to capture; but that’s okay and here’s why: that city has already arrived. You just have to be here, to feel it.
- Isaac Myers III
