Strangers in the “hood”
I’ve never been in a city that has such diverse but tight little neighborhoods. The first question asked by anyone you meet, after what do you do, is where do you live. Soon you know the tenant up the stairs, the cashier on your corner deli and some of your neighbors at the yoga salon on your block..it’s like a little village…you belong…here.
One way to identify the subtleties of a neighborhood is to attend it’s summer street fair. The fair in our neighborhood, called Atlantic Antic, stretched all the way from the Brooklyn Art Museum to the East River…almost two miles. There were the usual food stalls (mostly Soul and Jamaican), beer stations and sidewalk clothing displays (many hand-made African motif). Every 20 feet or so a different music group blasted out African drumming, old-style singing like the Ink Spots of years ago-the vocalists sporting hot pink and lime green jackets, hip-hop, soul, jazz and rock.
There was table after table with information about the local arts activities, local pre-school and kindergarten opportunities, school events, parent organizations, nanny services, environmental concerns, local zoning issues, and all the rest of the latest local political advocacy efforts. Even the candidates for the upcoming New York City mayoral election dropped by. Children everywhere…on backs, on fronts, on shoulders, in strollers, those who could walk running amok. Hillary Clinton’s “It Takes A Village To Raise A Child” has taken on a whole new meaning for me!
Each neighborhood has it’s subtleties. Many of the stalls offered African clothing and jewelry that were hand-made by their sellers. I was trying on a pair of earrings and sharing a mirror with a middle-aged lady in one small stall and suddenly she turns and says to me…”this is so much fun! I just love this fair! Love it! We never have anything fun like this in our neighborhood.” “Where do you live?” I ask. “Queeeeeens,” she grumbled! We both laughed, although I didn’t quite know why I was laughing…I guess just because she was laughing. We haven’t spent much time in Queens yet.
Bob was finished with the fair, however, as soon as he was confronted head-on by a large group of police with a few others circling around behind him. Apparently we had been followed. Bob had been video taping the fair as he walked along…panning the people and stalls of goods along each side of the street. One of the young policemen approached Bob and asked what he was doing here. “What is the problem?” Bob asked, oblivious to any criminal activity. “Why are you taking pictures of this?” as he pointed toward the sidewalk and the buildings. Bob was becoming progressiely nonplussed. The cop said, “that building.” Bob said “what, where?”
We hadn’t even realized we were in front of the Post Office! Bob then explained that he was just panning and video taping the street fair. “You can’t take pictures of public buildings,” the cop said. “Oh, then we aren’t supposed to take pictures of the Empire State Building or Ellis Island or the white house,” Bob thought. Bob, by this time was wondering “why me?” and he was finished with the fair. The last similar confrontation for Bob was in Dar es Salaam Tanzania. But that time the phony cop was after Bob’s wallet. The offense was photographing public buildings (also a post office in Dar).
We are still asking ourselves what it is that is causing people to regard us with suspicion here. I certainly don’t think we fit the typical terrorist profile–but then we are not your typical “local” either. Or maybe there is just some reverse karma regarding postal institutions.
Tags: Culture, Festivals & Ceremonies, New York City, USA
Zoe
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