class warfare and vandalism (part 2)
As I was walking home tonight I noticed that the cement in front of my building was still roped off and looked dry (which I expected.) Yet when I checked it there was still some give. I was about to scratch in a repeat of the message from the night before (which was paved over this morning), when I noticed that the old one could still faintly be seen. I immediately began scratching back to the surface with a key when I heard a deep voice behind me:
*sarcastic tone* "Yeah, that's right. Scratch it in even deeper. Go ahead!" Not sure I was being spoken to, I continued what I was doing.
This time I was sure this man was yelling at my back: "You know, that's really wrong! We shouldn't all have to look at that. You should stop what you're doing!" He was walking by with a woman I assume was his wife, and stopped to berate me. Well-dressed white guy, maybe a little crunchy, very typically Park Slope.
I told him, "You know, I actually live in this building, and have lived here for 33 years." (Except for five years living in other apartments, but I didn't mention that ;)
"That doesn't mean we have to look at that " *points* "for the next 33 years!"
"If you walk by here, it does. I think after living here this long that it's OK for me to put a mark down, especially when people like me who grew up here are getting priced out of this neighborhood every day. Maybe you should consider different circumstances before yelling at people."
He had no response to that, and just kept walking.
I don't know if what I carved will last, or ultimately if I was right or wrong to do it, but I feel that the whole interaction highlights my ambivalence about living in this now expensive neighborhood. It's a privilege for most to be here, but I've always been here, the gourmet restaurants and boutiques came after I did. I see people pushed out all the time, and others struggling to keep their space, while newer, richer, and whiter people keep moving in. I'm here by family fate and luck (and under some false pretenses), but maybe what keeps itching at me is that there's privilege for me in some ways, too, and that's uncomfortable.
In case it goes away forever, here's the subversive message I put down: G *hearts* L (though it doesn't have to be in the pavement for it to be the truest thing in my life *)