An Open Letter to the Urban Poor of America
Hear me out, urban poor. I'm not one of you, but you need to know what I know.
You probably can't see it coming, but that's understandable; most of you don't really have a very good view. Look, I know what this sounds like, but it's not condescension, just a warning. They're out there, waiting for the slightest opening, slowly encroaching. It doesn't matter what kind of hellhole you live in. It hardly matters how many corner boys you gun down in one weekend, not anymore. They're coming. Soon, your block will be their block, and what it will become will be nearly unrecognizable. You'll be gone, although God knows where you'll go. Out into a blighted suburb, even further from the bright centers of civilization, or maybe to one of the many rotting post-industrial skeletons that dot the American landscape. Third-tier dead cities with no remaining reason to exist and no will left for reinvention will always have vacant rooms. But the real cities, they won't have you anymore.
Not to say you never had your shot, your time in the sun. My God, you've ruled the roost for more than thirty years. Since the early 70s the cities have been yours. Sure, the shuttered rich and a substantial slice of dolorous, unsung working class stuck it out, enough ultimately to give an in to the forces that will eventually wrest you out entirely. But at the time no one noticed or cared about them. You had it all: the media hype, a roundabout but enormous political clout, the fear and attention of an entire nation aimed squarely at you. Now? Now you're just a specter, a bogeyman at best. At worst, you're chow for the conservative and liberal jackals. Your world of the ghetto was an unknown, then briefly bohemian, then a gritty distilation of every night terror of the American psyche. Now it's a pop culture fantasy, and the real ghettos ape the fake vision they supposedly inspired. Now that the ghetto's been successfully mass-produced, nobody gives a damn about the original model. The fascination's gone, and in its place big, unsympathetic, unknowning gears are turning.
What did you think, that they left you alone because you'd won, you'd driven them out and staked your claim for good? Fat chance. They're coming now because for the first time in years you have something they want: proximity, the amenities of city living, a certain trendiness, and that adorable brownstone two-story that's going to look great when they fix it up. First the fringey types, the edgy hipsters not self-aware enough to know they're hip, the opportunist real estate agents and slum lords, then the gays, the tough-ass liberals, a smattering of broke and gutsy college kids, the idealists from other places who are invariably the ones who get stuck up coming off the bus at night, then the professional fixer-uppers, the early-adopter young professionals, the self-aware hipsters, and the cowardly liberals, and behind them all, the franchises and the yuppies.
They're coming for you, and they're going to get rid of you with the same tool they've used in the past, albeit with a much different approach this time. They'll simply throw money at you until you gradually disappear. As for your problems, you'll get to keep those. After decades of urban decay, urban renewal, municipal government reorganizations, crime sprees and backlashes washing over you like huge, mute ocean waves, four words will finally shake your lives into pieces: urban living is chic.
You ought to be terrified in New York, especially. Bed-Stuy and Bushwick ought to be pandemonium, a desperate last-chance stand against young professionals and skinny-jacket scenesters. Hell, even the Bronx ought to be nervous.
They're not. I'm sure you're not worried up there, because in Philadelphia you're not paying any attention, and if it's happening here in a leading competitor for America's murder capital, I can only imagine what plans they have for you in New York, in LA, in Chicago, in Boston, in Washington, in Miami. What can you do about? Hell, I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't do anything at all. Maybe it'll make your lives a little better, though I don't really see how. Most likely you'll just get priced out and forced on. The ones doing it to you aren't an evil force. They aren't bad people; some of them are really very courageous. They're rejuvenating America's cities. It's just tough luck on you.
You deserve a heads-up, urban poor. You do deserve at least that. So remember this letter. Don't say you were never warned.
You probably can't see it coming, but that's understandable; most of you don't really have a very good view. Look, I know what this sounds like, but it's not condescension, just a warning. They're out there, waiting for the slightest opening, slowly encroaching. It doesn't matter what kind of hellhole you live in. It hardly matters how many corner boys you gun down in one weekend, not anymore. They're coming. Soon, your block will be their block, and what it will become will be nearly unrecognizable. You'll be gone, although God knows where you'll go. Out into a blighted suburb, even further from the bright centers of civilization, or maybe to one of the many rotting post-industrial skeletons that dot the American landscape. Third-tier dead cities with no remaining reason to exist and no will left for reinvention will always have vacant rooms. But the real cities, they won't have you anymore.
Not to say you never had your shot, your time in the sun. My God, you've ruled the roost for more than thirty years. Since the early 70s the cities have been yours. Sure, the shuttered rich and a substantial slice of dolorous, unsung working class stuck it out, enough ultimately to give an in to the forces that will eventually wrest you out entirely. But at the time no one noticed or cared about them. You had it all: the media hype, a roundabout but enormous political clout, the fear and attention of an entire nation aimed squarely at you. Now? Now you're just a specter, a bogeyman at best. At worst, you're chow for the conservative and liberal jackals. Your world of the ghetto was an unknown, then briefly bohemian, then a gritty distilation of every night terror of the American psyche. Now it's a pop culture fantasy, and the real ghettos ape the fake vision they supposedly inspired. Now that the ghetto's been successfully mass-produced, nobody gives a damn about the original model. The fascination's gone, and in its place big, unsympathetic, unknowning gears are turning.
What did you think, that they left you alone because you'd won, you'd driven them out and staked your claim for good? Fat chance. They're coming now because for the first time in years you have something they want: proximity, the amenities of city living, a certain trendiness, and that adorable brownstone two-story that's going to look great when they fix it up. First the fringey types, the edgy hipsters not self-aware enough to know they're hip, the opportunist real estate agents and slum lords, then the gays, the tough-ass liberals, a smattering of broke and gutsy college kids, the idealists from other places who are invariably the ones who get stuck up coming off the bus at night, then the professional fixer-uppers, the early-adopter young professionals, the self-aware hipsters, and the cowardly liberals, and behind them all, the franchises and the yuppies.
They're coming for you, and they're going to get rid of you with the same tool they've used in the past, albeit with a much different approach this time. They'll simply throw money at you until you gradually disappear. As for your problems, you'll get to keep those. After decades of urban decay, urban renewal, municipal government reorganizations, crime sprees and backlashes washing over you like huge, mute ocean waves, four words will finally shake your lives into pieces: urban living is chic.
You ought to be terrified in New York, especially. Bed-Stuy and Bushwick ought to be pandemonium, a desperate last-chance stand against young professionals and skinny-jacket scenesters. Hell, even the Bronx ought to be nervous.
They're not. I'm sure you're not worried up there, because in Philadelphia you're not paying any attention, and if it's happening here in a leading competitor for America's murder capital, I can only imagine what plans they have for you in New York, in LA, in Chicago, in Boston, in Washington, in Miami. What can you do about? Hell, I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't do anything at all. Maybe it'll make your lives a little better, though I don't really see how. Most likely you'll just get priced out and forced on. The ones doing it to you aren't an evil force. They aren't bad people; some of them are really very courageous. They're rejuvenating America's cities. It's just tough luck on you.
You deserve a heads-up, urban poor. You do deserve at least that. So remember this letter. Don't say you were never warned.