As immigrants once again redefine what it means to be a New Yorker, we should avoid any policy that drives newcomers--legal or illegal--into legal and economic shadows beyond the reach of the law. That's why Governor Eliot Spitzer's policy of making illegal immigrants eligible for drivers' licenses makes good sense.
Despite the claims of critics that the new license policy will undermine security, the safeguards built into his plan should be enough to maintain our safety. At the same time, they'll expand the pool of insured drivers on our roads.
Most important, licensing drivers is a healthy effort to end the social isolation of illegal immigrants. As the New York City police recognized long ago, they need the help of immigrants--legal and illegal--to keep order. They won't get tips from people who are worried about someone uncovering the state of their immigration status. The logic of that observation led the police to encourage even illegal immigrants to become as much a part of our legal mainstream as possible. The same holds true on drivers' licenses.
Given the Bush Administration's failure to enact any kind of reasonable immigration policy, and concerns about terrorism, the licensing issue is ripe for fearmongers.
But labor unions and the state's Catholic bishops support the plan. It is also likely to gain support from the growing number of immigrant voters, who see attacks on illegals as part of a politics of hostility toward all immigrants.
Finally, Spitzer seems to relish a fight on this one for all the right reasons. Here's hoping that he wins.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Changing Tides in Long Island City
Look out to sea and you behold a timeless vista. Turn around and look at where the sea meets the shore, as the historian John Stilgoe reminds us, and you'll often see a deeply historic scene. This principle holds not just for the ocean, but for the tidal strait that is the New York City's East River--especially in that part of Queens called Long Island City.
Once an industrial neighborhood sandwiched between Astoria to the north and Greenpoint, Brooklyn to the south, in the last ten years Long Island City-particularly the Hunters Point area--has become the site of new, high-rise developments on the east bank of the East River. New buildings, and the parks opened with them, have transformed the shoreline in a kind of microcosm of recent changes all around New York's waterfront. The results are mixed.
On one hand, the new, green shoreline of Long Island City--with public parks and excellent views of Manhattan--has reclaimed the riverbank for public uses. Affluent newcomers to the neighborhood have brought economic development and a range of stores, cafes, bars and restaurants unimaginable seventeen years ago, when I discovered Long Island City as the home of the excellent Italian restaurant, Manducati's.
In 1980, Long Island City was still a working-class, industrial neighborhood. It had a patchwork quality to it, with simple row houses and small apartments adjoining machine shops and factories. The new shoreline high rises, which lie at the western edge of the old neighborhood, aren't really integrated with the old community. To walk from the subway stop at Vernon and Jackson is to start in the world of working class New York and wind up in an enclave of affluence.
I talked to one woman from the neighborhood, who grew up there and now plans to go to Italy to attend graduate school. She recognizes the pluses and minuses of the recent past, but laments that the population growth brought by the new buildings has made her old neighborhood a more anonymous place. "I don't want my neighbors to be strangers," she said.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Advertising Makes a Subway Car Surreal
On a recent trip aboard the subway shuttle between Grand Central Station and Times Square, I was transported to an alien environment of larger-than-life television stars and outer-space imagery inspired by the NBC series "Heroes." Blame it on the advertising strategies of the MTA.
The interior of the car--walls and ceilings--was decked out entirely to make me think of the show, which depicts our world in the aftermath of a solar eclipse that leaves ordinary people with extraordinary powers. On the ceiling was fiery outer space imagery. On the walls were a dark, handsome fellow with wavy hair and stubble on is chin; a blonde woman in sparking earings; and two intense-looking Asian men. Everywhwere slogans exhorted me to tune in: "New purpose." "New adventure." "New quest."
The all-ad car that I rode in is part of the "brand car" strategy adopted by the MTA and advertisers. Although the concept goes back to at least around 2001, according to the New York Sun, I'd never seen anything so all-encompassing on the Lexington Avenue line, which I ride regularly to work. There, the typical ads tout subway security, the virtues of education and English lessons.
Balancing the demands of big, lucrative clients and less-wealthy small businesses in subway advertising is an old dilemma. In a article published in 1997, the Times described how the MTA was then backtracking from a big-money ad strategy to seek ads from smaller businesses.
Out of such strategies came subway cars with a range of ads--some of them for businesses, some for public institutions. A trip on the IRT brought you face to face with Roach Motel, personal injury lawyers and the City University. These ads weren't always elegant, but their juxtaposition on the walls of a subway car always reminded me of the splendid cacaphony of New York. At the very least, they were good for a laugh. And the best of them--the short poems of the Poetry in Motion series, the biographical blurbs of City University students and faculty, and the AIDS awareness telenovela of Julio y Marisol--were interesting, even inspiring..
I don't pine for the days of subway graffiti, which I always saw as vandalism no better than scribbling in a library book.
But I do like to see my subway cars, like my fellow passengers, reflecting the diversity and energy of the city.
Getting off the shuttle, I checked to see if the car next to mine extolled "Heroes." Instead, it was devoted to the show "Journeyman;" The slogan inside the car read, "Time changes everything." Indeed.
The interior of the car--walls and ceilings--was decked out entirely to make me think of the show, which depicts our world in the aftermath of a solar eclipse that leaves ordinary people with extraordinary powers. On the ceiling was fiery outer space imagery. On the walls were a dark, handsome fellow with wavy hair and stubble on is chin; a blonde woman in sparking earings; and two intense-looking Asian men. Everywhwere slogans exhorted me to tune in: "New purpose." "New adventure." "New quest."
The all-ad car that I rode in is part of the "brand car" strategy adopted by the MTA and advertisers. Although the concept goes back to at least around 2001, according to the New York Sun, I'd never seen anything so all-encompassing on the Lexington Avenue line, which I ride regularly to work. There, the typical ads tout subway security, the virtues of education and English lessons.
Balancing the demands of big, lucrative clients and less-wealthy small businesses in subway advertising is an old dilemma. In a article published in 1997, the Times described how the MTA was then backtracking from a big-money ad strategy to seek ads from smaller businesses.
Out of such strategies came subway cars with a range of ads--some of them for businesses, some for public institutions. A trip on the IRT brought you face to face with Roach Motel, personal injury lawyers and the City University. These ads weren't always elegant, but their juxtaposition on the walls of a subway car always reminded me of the splendid cacaphony of New York. At the very least, they were good for a laugh. And the best of them--the short poems of the Poetry in Motion series, the biographical blurbs of City University students and faculty, and the AIDS awareness telenovela of Julio y Marisol--were interesting, even inspiring..
I don't pine for the days of subway graffiti, which I always saw as vandalism no better than scribbling in a library book.
But I do like to see my subway cars, like my fellow passengers, reflecting the diversity and energy of the city.
Getting off the shuttle, I checked to see if the car next to mine extolled "Heroes." Instead, it was devoted to the show "Journeyman;" The slogan inside the car read, "Time changes everything." Indeed.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Tragedy and Inspiration
When Frank Carvill of the New Jersey National Guard was mortally wounded in an ambush in Baghdad in 2004, one of the men who tried to save him was an Iraqi interpreter attached to his unit. Today, that interpreter and his family are living safely in New Jersey. For that, you can thank the good men of the Jersey Guard---and Frank's own inspiring example.
Suhaib Abdulwahab is the interpreter's name. I met him, and his wife, at a dinner-dance last Saturday night in honor the men from the outfit (3rd Battalion, 112th Field Artillery) killed in two bloody days in Baghdad: Frank, Christopher Duffy, Humberto Timoteo, and Ryan Doltz.
Capt. Don Kennedy, who admired and commanded Frank, told me the story of the ambush and Suhaib's efforts to save Frank's life. Standing with Don, in the back of a crowded VFW hall in Saddle Brook, NJ, it wasn't easy to listen.
I had always consoled myself with the belief that Frank died instantly in an explosion. To learn that he was initially conscious, and that he told his comrades to look first to another man, was difficult to hear--and fully in character for Frank, who always put others first.
Don explained how the men from the outfit, who appreciated Suhaib's willingness to accompany them on dangerous missions, worked to bring over him and his family. (Mike Kelly told the whole story beautifully in today's Record.)
Then he told me something that I'll never forget.
Frank was a major activist in New York and New Jersey for Irish Americans and immigrant rights. And as Don worked against all sorts of bureaucratic obstacles to bring over Suhaib and his family, he thought about Frank and all the work he did for immigrants. Frank became an inspiration.
Frank's death will always be a tragedy, but the great example that he set for so many people will enrich the world for years to come.
Suhaib Abdulwahab is the interpreter's name. I met him, and his wife, at a dinner-dance last Saturday night in honor the men from the outfit (3rd Battalion, 112th Field Artillery) killed in two bloody days in Baghdad: Frank, Christopher Duffy, Humberto Timoteo, and Ryan Doltz.
Capt. Don Kennedy, who admired and commanded Frank, told me the story of the ambush and Suhaib's efforts to save Frank's life. Standing with Don, in the back of a crowded VFW hall in Saddle Brook, NJ, it wasn't easy to listen.
I had always consoled myself with the belief that Frank died instantly in an explosion. To learn that he was initially conscious, and that he told his comrades to look first to another man, was difficult to hear--and fully in character for Frank, who always put others first.
Don explained how the men from the outfit, who appreciated Suhaib's willingness to accompany them on dangerous missions, worked to bring over him and his family. (Mike Kelly told the whole story beautifully in today's Record.)
Then he told me something that I'll never forget.
Frank was a major activist in New York and New Jersey for Irish Americans and immigrant rights. And as Don worked against all sorts of bureaucratic obstacles to bring over Suhaib and his family, he thought about Frank and all the work he did for immigrants. Frank became an inspiration.
Frank's death will always be a tragedy, but the great example that he set for so many people will enrich the world for years to come.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Learning from Newark 1967
According to an urban legend, when Newark, NJ erupted in civil disorders in July 1967 you could stand on the west side of Manhattan and see flames on the horizon. The hard facts of geography make that unlikely, but the story suggests how Newark cast a shadow over the metropolitan area. Now those events are the subject of a strong exhibit, What's Going On? Newark and the Legacy of the Sixties at the New Jersey Historical Society.
The exhibit, mounted at the Society's building in Newark, puts the fortieth anniversary of Newark's disorders in a broad historical context. The show illuminates both Newark's descent into violence and its struggles for recovery.
The show takes the shape of an elongated horseshoe. You enter at a digital timeline, complete with visuals and audio, that sketches out the story of Newark from the 1920s to 2006. Illuminating everything from Pearl Harbor to Cory Booker's election, the timeline can seem fast and busy. Nevertheless, it gives you a basic orientation to what you are about to see.
You move counterclockwise through the exhibit. The opening section addresses Black migration to Newark, neighborhood life, and work.
The show gains depth and momentum as it introduces the voices of Newarkers, which you hear through headphones, relating their experiences in the city. More information setting these people in context--their pictures, their biographies--would have helped. Still, their words invigorate the exhibit.
The racial discrimination, deindustrialization, political corruption, ill-conceived urban renewal schemes, and police brutality that ravaged Newark are all covered in detail. So is the activism that tried to right these wrongs. In this exhibit Newark was, in the words of a Life Magazine headline, a "predictable insurrection."
The 26 deaths of that summer, as I noticed at a memorial service in July, are still deeply felt in Newark. Another audio-visual wall, this one mounted more than halfway through the show, identifies the slain, where they were killed, and situates their deaths in the flow of the upheaval.
What's Going On? tells a story with strong resonance for African Americans, but the exhibit includes other perspectives as well.
For me, the most moving section of the show was a display with three elements: a flag that covered the coffin of Newark Police Detective Frederick Toto, who was shot to death with a .22 round during the disorders; bullets and casings found in a ninth floor apartment of the Hayes Homes projects that strongly suggest the presence of a sniper there; and a painting of Eloise Spellman, who lived in the Hayes Homes one floor above the apartment where the bullets were found. Mrs. Spellman, who was shot in the neck while inside her home, bled to death while waiting for an ambulance.
Acknowledging these two deaths in this way doesn't necessarily heal the pain of the survivors, but it does enable us to contemplate, in one frame, their griefs and losses. In a segregated and polarized country, in a city where the decision to call 1967 a riot or a rebellion still sparks debate, that's progress.
"What's Going On" concludes with Newark's struggles to recover. While there are grounds for optimism, there is still much work to be done. One portion of the exhibit charts Newark's changing unemployment rate in the civilian workforce: in 1960, 8.2%; in 1970, 6.5%; and in 2004, 13.9--22.7%.
At the opening that I attended Wednesday, buttons were available that identified the exhibit and suggested something to do to build a better future, such as "Act," "Share," "Listen," and "Hope." I chose one that said "Educate." That's what this show does.
Last July, at a Newark 1967 memorial march, I asked Mayor Cory Booker why it was important to recover this history. He answered that Newarkers need to grasp that their city was devastated not by random acts, but by real forces of racism, deindustrialization, corruption, and police brutality. Armed with that understanding he said, people can summon up the knowledge and energy to reclaim their city.
For me, that's a good answer.
And if you want to understand the place of 1967 in Newark's history, What's Going On? is a very good place to start. The show is scheduled to be open at least until December 2008.
The exhibit, mounted at the Society's building in Newark, puts the fortieth anniversary of Newark's disorders in a broad historical context. The show illuminates both Newark's descent into violence and its struggles for recovery.
The show takes the shape of an elongated horseshoe. You enter at a digital timeline, complete with visuals and audio, that sketches out the story of Newark from the 1920s to 2006. Illuminating everything from Pearl Harbor to Cory Booker's election, the timeline can seem fast and busy. Nevertheless, it gives you a basic orientation to what you are about to see.
You move counterclockwise through the exhibit. The opening section addresses Black migration to Newark, neighborhood life, and work.
The show gains depth and momentum as it introduces the voices of Newarkers, which you hear through headphones, relating their experiences in the city. More information setting these people in context--their pictures, their biographies--would have helped. Still, their words invigorate the exhibit.
The racial discrimination, deindustrialization, political corruption, ill-conceived urban renewal schemes, and police brutality that ravaged Newark are all covered in detail. So is the activism that tried to right these wrongs. In this exhibit Newark was, in the words of a Life Magazine headline, a "predictable insurrection."
The 26 deaths of that summer, as I noticed at a memorial service in July, are still deeply felt in Newark. Another audio-visual wall, this one mounted more than halfway through the show, identifies the slain, where they were killed, and situates their deaths in the flow of the upheaval.
What's Going On? tells a story with strong resonance for African Americans, but the exhibit includes other perspectives as well.
For me, the most moving section of the show was a display with three elements: a flag that covered the coffin of Newark Police Detective Frederick Toto, who was shot to death with a .22 round during the disorders; bullets and casings found in a ninth floor apartment of the Hayes Homes projects that strongly suggest the presence of a sniper there; and a painting of Eloise Spellman, who lived in the Hayes Homes one floor above the apartment where the bullets were found. Mrs. Spellman, who was shot in the neck while inside her home, bled to death while waiting for an ambulance.
Acknowledging these two deaths in this way doesn't necessarily heal the pain of the survivors, but it does enable us to contemplate, in one frame, their griefs and losses. In a segregated and polarized country, in a city where the decision to call 1967 a riot or a rebellion still sparks debate, that's progress.
"What's Going On" concludes with Newark's struggles to recover. While there are grounds for optimism, there is still much work to be done. One portion of the exhibit charts Newark's changing unemployment rate in the civilian workforce: in 1960, 8.2%; in 1970, 6.5%; and in 2004, 13.9--22.7%.
At the opening that I attended Wednesday, buttons were available that identified the exhibit and suggested something to do to build a better future, such as "Act," "Share," "Listen," and "Hope." I chose one that said "Educate." That's what this show does.
Last July, at a Newark 1967 memorial march, I asked Mayor Cory Booker why it was important to recover this history. He answered that Newarkers need to grasp that their city was devastated not by random acts, but by real forces of racism, deindustrialization, corruption, and police brutality. Armed with that understanding he said, people can summon up the knowledge and energy to reclaim their city.
For me, that's a good answer.
And if you want to understand the place of 1967 in Newark's history, What's Going On? is a very good place to start. The show is scheduled to be open at least until December 2008.
West Side Story, Fifty Years On
Fifty years ago this week, the musical West Side Story opened on Broadway. Marya Mannes, an American journalist writing for the BBC’s Listener, opened a piece on the play with the comment that “the people of this great city are turning dark while the buildings are turning light—a complete reversal of values from the days when I was a child and New York was a town of white faces and brown buildings.” Then, as now, racial and ethnic differences and conflicts are central to the fascination of the play. But it hasn't always been easy to recognize that or talk about it.
When West Side Story opened, some Puerto Ricans complained that play stereotyped them as criminals and mocked them in songs like "America." At the same time, New York critics recognized the animosities of the Jets and the Sharks but tended to see them as "juvenile delinquents"--teenage hoodlums who represented a deviant youth culture, not shock troops of ethnic conflict in a changing city.
There was plenty of racial and ethnic conflict in New York City during the summer of 1957, but people didn't always find it easy to identify it.
Indeed, in the summer just before West Side Story opened, a white youth from Washington Heights, Michael Farmer, was killed by a mostly Black and Hispanic gang. The nub of the matter was that a mostly Irish gang, the Jesters, saw it as their job to keep mostly Black and Hispanic gangs, the Dragons and Egyptian Kings, out of the pool. The conflict culminated in the slaying of Farmer, who may or may not have been a Jester.
But coverage of the story in the metropolitan press, courtroom procedures in the trial that followed, and a deliberately low-key response by Democratic Mayor Robert Wagner muted discussions of racial and ethnic conflict in the city. People emphasized the "crazy kids," and not the larger structures of power and prejudice that motivated them.
In this climate, West Side Story raised subjects--ethnic conflict, juvenile delinquency, and murder--that New Yorkers preferred to avoid: they clashed with the image of a liberal city that could solve all its problems. Still, the play is imperfect. The accents in "America" still make me cringe, and the paucity of well-rounded depictions of Puerto Ricans in the popular culture of the Fifties made the Sharks loom large in unfair and distorting ways. Nevertheless, as Frances Negron-Muntaner noted in her book Boricua Pop, the play still draws people in--Puerto Ricans included.
Fifty years old, West Side Story gives us glorious dance and song--and more. Drawing on the Thirties tradition of socially conscious plays, alive to the issues of the Fifties, and committed to the musical as an art form that was both brilliant and popular, Leonard Bernstein and his collaborators created a work of enduring power.
Partly that's because the play recognizes an issue that is still part of of our time: ethnic conflict. More important, it looks at ethnic conflict in a spirit that we still need: a belief that a great work of theater can help us understand the tragedy of hate and move us toward making a better world. 9/27/07
When West Side Story opened, some Puerto Ricans complained that play stereotyped them as criminals and mocked them in songs like "America." At the same time, New York critics recognized the animosities of the Jets and the Sharks but tended to see them as "juvenile delinquents"--teenage hoodlums who represented a deviant youth culture, not shock troops of ethnic conflict in a changing city.
There was plenty of racial and ethnic conflict in New York City during the summer of 1957, but people didn't always find it easy to identify it.
Indeed, in the summer just before West Side Story opened, a white youth from Washington Heights, Michael Farmer, was killed by a mostly Black and Hispanic gang. The nub of the matter was that a mostly Irish gang, the Jesters, saw it as their job to keep mostly Black and Hispanic gangs, the Dragons and Egyptian Kings, out of the pool. The conflict culminated in the slaying of Farmer, who may or may not have been a Jester.
But coverage of the story in the metropolitan press, courtroom procedures in the trial that followed, and a deliberately low-key response by Democratic Mayor Robert Wagner muted discussions of racial and ethnic conflict in the city. People emphasized the "crazy kids," and not the larger structures of power and prejudice that motivated them.
In this climate, West Side Story raised subjects--ethnic conflict, juvenile delinquency, and murder--that New Yorkers preferred to avoid: they clashed with the image of a liberal city that could solve all its problems. Still, the play is imperfect. The accents in "America" still make me cringe, and the paucity of well-rounded depictions of Puerto Ricans in the popular culture of the Fifties made the Sharks loom large in unfair and distorting ways. Nevertheless, as Frances Negron-Muntaner noted in her book Boricua Pop, the play still draws people in--Puerto Ricans included.
Fifty years old, West Side Story gives us glorious dance and song--and more. Drawing on the Thirties tradition of socially conscious plays, alive to the issues of the Fifties, and committed to the musical as an art form that was both brilliant and popular, Leonard Bernstein and his collaborators created a work of enduring power.
Partly that's because the play recognizes an issue that is still part of of our time: ethnic conflict. More important, it looks at ethnic conflict in a spirit that we still need: a belief that a great work of theater can help us understand the tragedy of hate and move us toward making a better world. 9/27/07
The Press, Ahmadinejad, and Freedom of Speech
In the New York City press, editorial reactions to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's appearance at Columbia University were mixed. To the Post, the entire exercise was a "Lesson in Absurdity" with no big First Amendment implications. To the Daily News, Columbia was "damnably wrong." And while the Sun thought President Lee Bollinger of Columbia did "pretty darned well" in his confrontation with Ahmadinejad, it still held that "it may have been a mistake" to invite the president of Iran to the campus.
Only the Times and Newsday defended Columbia on the grounds of freedom of speech and the right of universities to conduct inquiry, dialogue and debate as they see fit. By my count, that makes the city's press a shaky bulwark of support for the First Amendment.
But take heart. A Daily News Web poll asked, "Should Columbia University have invited Ahmadinejad to speak on campus?" Look at the answers.
Yes: 1,191 (57%)
No: 912 (43%)
Web polls are notoriously unscientific and should always be taken with a grain of salt.
But this one suggests that the people who answer such polls are better guardians of the First Amendment than many of the men and women who inhabit the editorial boards of the New York City press. 9/25/07
Only the Times and Newsday defended Columbia on the grounds of freedom of speech and the right of universities to conduct inquiry, dialogue and debate as they see fit. By my count, that makes the city's press a shaky bulwark of support for the First Amendment.
But take heart. A Daily News Web poll asked, "Should Columbia University have invited Ahmadinejad to speak on campus?" Look at the answers.
Yes: 1,191 (57%)
No: 912 (43%)
Web polls are notoriously unscientific and should always be taken with a grain of salt.
But this one suggests that the people who answer such polls are better guardians of the First Amendment than many of the men and women who inhabit the editorial boards of the New York City press. 9/25/07
Stand Firm, Columbia
President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran is a loathsome man who heads a repressive regime; his nuclear efforts and ugly talk about Israel make the world a much more dangerous place. It would be a delight to see him questioned in detail about his rhetoric and polices. Yet that, according to the New York Times, is exactly what we will be denied if New York City Council President Christine Quinn has her way.
Speaker Quinn, like Senator John McCain and Mitt Romney, former governor of Massachusetts, have called on Columbia to bar Ahmadinejad from the university's upcoming World Leaders Forum.
William V. Campbell, chairman of the Columbia board of trustees, has offered exactly the right answer.
So far, Columbia stands by its invitation.
If she likes, Quinn can hold a rally protesting Ahmadinajad's presence in the city. She'll have plenty of company, and rightly so.
But she has no business telling a university who it can and can't invite to its campus.
The intellectual autonomy of universities is a fragile thing, and never more than in times of war. You don't have to like Ahmadinejad to believe that Columbia has the right to invite him, talk with him, and question him as the university sees fit.
Quinn thinks he'll be getting a platform. I think he'll be revealed in all his ugliness.
Stand firm, Columbia. 9/21/07
Speaker Quinn, like Senator John McCain and Mitt Romney, former governor of Massachusetts, have called on Columbia to bar Ahmadinejad from the university's upcoming World Leaders Forum.
William V. Campbell, chairman of the Columbia board of trustees, has offered exactly the right answer.
The freedom of our deans and faculty to create challenging and even controversial programs for our students is essential and sets a powerful example to the world about the strength of American universities and society.
So far, Columbia stands by its invitation.
If she likes, Quinn can hold a rally protesting Ahmadinajad's presence in the city. She'll have plenty of company, and rightly so.
But she has no business telling a university who it can and can't invite to its campus.
The intellectual autonomy of universities is a fragile thing, and never more than in times of war. You don't have to like Ahmadinejad to believe that Columbia has the right to invite him, talk with him, and question him as the university sees fit.
Quinn thinks he'll be getting a platform. I think he'll be revealed in all his ugliness.
Stand firm, Columbia. 9/21/07
One Dead and Thousands Gone
In August, Cpl. Juan Alcantara, a native of the Dominican Republic, was killed in action serving in Iraq. He was mourned at St. Elizabeth's Church in Washington Heights, NY, buried at Long Island National Cemetery, and on September 17 granted posthumous citizenship in a ceremony at City College, according to an Associated Press report in Newsday. He left behind a fiance and an infant daughter.
Nothing compensates for his death, but my curiosity about how to put it in context led me to a fine piece by Noam Cohen in the Times and two very interesting Web sites that cover casualties of the Iraq War.
At the Iraq Coalition Casualty Count, you will find a detailed accounting of casualties by city, state, and many other tabulations.
At Statemaster, you will find painful and fascinating graphs that depict the total losses by state and the losses per capita. As you'd expect, as one of the larger states, New York has one of the larger totals of deaths: 117 (compared to 255 for California, 222 for Texas, and 122 for Pennsylvania.)
But if you calculate losses on a per capita basis, our losses are comparatively smaller: .608 per 100,000 people, or well below the weighted national average of 1.2 per 100,000. The heaviest losses were to American Samoa: 8.638 per 100,000 people.
However you count it, this is a tragedy. 9/18/07
Nothing compensates for his death, but my curiosity about how to put it in context led me to a fine piece by Noam Cohen in the Times and two very interesting Web sites that cover casualties of the Iraq War.
At the Iraq Coalition Casualty Count, you will find a detailed accounting of casualties by city, state, and many other tabulations.
At Statemaster, you will find painful and fascinating graphs that depict the total losses by state and the losses per capita. As you'd expect, as one of the larger states, New York has one of the larger totals of deaths: 117 (compared to 255 for California, 222 for Texas, and 122 for Pennsylvania.)
But if you calculate losses on a per capita basis, our losses are comparatively smaller: .608 per 100,000 people, or well below the weighted national average of 1.2 per 100,000. The heaviest losses were to American Samoa: 8.638 per 100,000 people.
However you count it, this is a tragedy. 9/18/07
Crime Took a Real Toll on the City
In the September 16 Times, in his piece "When He Was Seventeen," novelist Christopher Sorrentino looks back on the New York of 1980, when he was 17 years old. He recalls an edgy, creative city where crime didn't undermine day-to day life. I remember things differently.
Like Sorrentino, I lived in the Village. In the early Eighties I remember one friend raped and another who woke up to find a strange man inside her apartment. I remember the burglary that left my friend sleeping with bars on his windows and a bat at his bedside. I remember the night I ran my way out of a mugging on Fourteenth Street. I remember friends who had guns pulled on them riding the subway late at night.
And I remember the trial where I served as an alternate juror: the teenage defendant was accused of murdering an elderly woman in Washington Heights who hired him to run errands. It took the jury less than an hour to convict. Later, we learned that the same defendant had also murdered an elderly woman and raped his best friend's mother.
Sorrentino's dead right about the screaming levels of inequality in the city today, but wrong in his assessment of crime. People coped not because crime was no big problem, but because they learned to survive and adapt in harsh conditions. And as bad as things got in the Village, they were much worse in poor, Black and Hispanic neighborhoods.
The problem of today's New York is that the transforming fall in crime came in the mayoralty of Rudy Giuliani, who had no worthwhile plan for building on the crime drop to create healthy, sustaining neighborhoods for all New Yorkers. And the Bloomberg administration, which has seen impressive crime reductions of its own, still hasn't found a way to even out the disparities between rich and poor that undermine our city.
Fear of crime once scared away the plutocrats who lately have done much to make Manhattan a less interesting place. And the fall in crime has attracted gentrifiers whose ability to pay high rents has priced many creative types out of once-affordable neighborhoods. But the troubles of gentrification, urgent as they are, should not be used retrospectively to diminish the threat of crime.
The reality of crime in New York City from the Sixties to the Nineties, especially for the poor, was truly awful. It took a terrible toll on the city. 9/16/07
Like Sorrentino, I lived in the Village. In the early Eighties I remember one friend raped and another who woke up to find a strange man inside her apartment. I remember the burglary that left my friend sleeping with bars on his windows and a bat at his bedside. I remember the night I ran my way out of a mugging on Fourteenth Street. I remember friends who had guns pulled on them riding the subway late at night.
And I remember the trial where I served as an alternate juror: the teenage defendant was accused of murdering an elderly woman in Washington Heights who hired him to run errands. It took the jury less than an hour to convict. Later, we learned that the same defendant had also murdered an elderly woman and raped his best friend's mother.
Sorrentino's dead right about the screaming levels of inequality in the city today, but wrong in his assessment of crime. People coped not because crime was no big problem, but because they learned to survive and adapt in harsh conditions. And as bad as things got in the Village, they were much worse in poor, Black and Hispanic neighborhoods.
The problem of today's New York is that the transforming fall in crime came in the mayoralty of Rudy Giuliani, who had no worthwhile plan for building on the crime drop to create healthy, sustaining neighborhoods for all New Yorkers. And the Bloomberg administration, which has seen impressive crime reductions of its own, still hasn't found a way to even out the disparities between rich and poor that undermine our city.
Fear of crime once scared away the plutocrats who lately have done much to make Manhattan a less interesting place. And the fall in crime has attracted gentrifiers whose ability to pay high rents has priced many creative types out of once-affordable neighborhoods. But the troubles of gentrification, urgent as they are, should not be used retrospectively to diminish the threat of crime.
The reality of crime in New York City from the Sixties to the Nineties, especially for the poor, was truly awful. It took a terrible toll on the city. 9/16/07
An Unexpected Yawn at the Post
New York's three major dailies have delivered editorial verdicts on President Bush's September 13 speech on Iraq, and reaction to the address in the Post, of all places, was vague and dull to the point of being lukewarm. Could it be that the Murdoch machine, which likes nothing so much as a winner, has begun to tire of a president who offers only empty platitudes without resolution to justify his war?
The Post, in its editorial "The Korea Parallel," recognized that the president offered no substantial changes in his policies. Effectively, he will dump the war on the next president---"For better or for worse," the paper concluded. Aside from expressing doubt that any of the presidential candidates can do better than Bush, the Post editorial showed neither enthusiasm for the president's speech nor optimism about Iraq's future.
That contrasts sharply with the Daily News, whose "Challenge to Congress" suggested that it is up to that body to build on what the News sees as the recent achievements of the Bush administration--5,700 troops coming home by Christmas because the combat zone has become more stable. Absent from the News editorial was any sense of the shakiness of that "stability" and evaluation of the utter lack of any long-term Bush plan for Iraq's future--outside of the U.S. staying there for many years to come. Still the News believes that a U.S. victory in Iraq--whatever that means--is still a possibility.
The Times editorial, "No Exit, No Strategy," recognized the Bush plan post-Petraeus for what it is: "Mr. Bush refuses to recognize the truth of his failure in Iraq and envisions a military commitment that has no end."
Post columnists John Podhoretz and Amir Taheri found more to praise in the president's speech---especially Taheri. And that's to be expected in a paper that has been so predictably supportive of the president. But the Post's editorial lacked the fire that you expect from a Murdoch paper. It's worth watching to see if this editorial is a one-time yawn or a sign of impatience with the president. 9/14/07
The Post, in its editorial "The Korea Parallel," recognized that the president offered no substantial changes in his policies. Effectively, he will dump the war on the next president---"For better or for worse," the paper concluded. Aside from expressing doubt that any of the presidential candidates can do better than Bush, the Post editorial showed neither enthusiasm for the president's speech nor optimism about Iraq's future.
That contrasts sharply with the Daily News, whose "Challenge to Congress" suggested that it is up to that body to build on what the News sees as the recent achievements of the Bush administration--5,700 troops coming home by Christmas because the combat zone has become more stable. Absent from the News editorial was any sense of the shakiness of that "stability" and evaluation of the utter lack of any long-term Bush plan for Iraq's future--outside of the U.S. staying there for many years to come. Still the News believes that a U.S. victory in Iraq--whatever that means--is still a possibility.
The Times editorial, "No Exit, No Strategy," recognized the Bush plan post-Petraeus for what it is: "Mr. Bush refuses to recognize the truth of his failure in Iraq and envisions a military commitment that has no end."
Post columnists John Podhoretz and Amir Taheri found more to praise in the president's speech---especially Taheri. And that's to be expected in a paper that has been so predictably supportive of the president. But the Post's editorial lacked the fire that you expect from a Murdoch paper. It's worth watching to see if this editorial is a one-time yawn or a sign of impatience with the president. 9/14/07
Remembering 9/11 and What We Lost
Six years ago, I ran for my life from the collapse of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. My fiercest feelings of that day--anger, fear, energy, bewilderment, grief--are fading. But there is one emotion that I feel slipping away with a sense of regret, and that is the tremendous sense of solidarity that I felt on the day of the attacks and their immediate aftermath. I attribute that to the healing power of time, the fragmentation that is so much a part of American culture, and the war in Iraq.
The acts of sustaining courage and kindness were many that day. I helped a man who was stumbling along in shock, then food service workers pulled us indoors from the choking smoke. I directed a lost woman to her sister's home, she shared her eye drops with me to take the sting out of my eyes. A woman in a deli loaned me her cellphone so I could call my mother and tell her I was okay. When I stopped in a bar to get a glass of water, an old timer bought me a drink because he said I looked like I needed it.
When I got home, the first thing I wanted to tell my children was that the extraordinary courage of ordinary people had seen us through the attacks.
We were all battered or broken that day. Only by helping each other could we make each other whole enough to endure.
I still recall 9/11 with great sorrow. But the beating I took that day has been lessened by the passage of time. I'm thankful for that.
We're back to our more selfish and self-centered ways for reasons that have to do largely with our media and our economy; the fragmentation of American culture under the pressures of niche media and niche marketing destroys the social bonds that are essential to a democratic way of life. But we'd be afflicted with this without 9/11.
What does bother me is the way that 9/11 was used to justify the war in Iraq. The war is a moral and strategic disaster. It isolates us, weakens us, and puts our country in danger. It has bitterly divided our nation in ways that I could not foresee on September 11, 2001. For me, the invocation of 9/11 to justify the war in Iraq casts a divisive and dishonest shadow over a terrible day when I saw people at their best. 9/11/07
The acts of sustaining courage and kindness were many that day. I helped a man who was stumbling along in shock, then food service workers pulled us indoors from the choking smoke. I directed a lost woman to her sister's home, she shared her eye drops with me to take the sting out of my eyes. A woman in a deli loaned me her cellphone so I could call my mother and tell her I was okay. When I stopped in a bar to get a glass of water, an old timer bought me a drink because he said I looked like I needed it.
When I got home, the first thing I wanted to tell my children was that the extraordinary courage of ordinary people had seen us through the attacks.
We were all battered or broken that day. Only by helping each other could we make each other whole enough to endure.
I still recall 9/11 with great sorrow. But the beating I took that day has been lessened by the passage of time. I'm thankful for that.
We're back to our more selfish and self-centered ways for reasons that have to do largely with our media and our economy; the fragmentation of American culture under the pressures of niche media and niche marketing destroys the social bonds that are essential to a democratic way of life. But we'd be afflicted with this without 9/11.
What does bother me is the way that 9/11 was used to justify the war in Iraq. The war is a moral and strategic disaster. It isolates us, weakens us, and puts our country in danger. It has bitterly divided our nation in ways that I could not foresee on September 11, 2001. For me, the invocation of 9/11 to justify the war in Iraq casts a divisive and dishonest shadow over a terrible day when I saw people at their best. 9/11/07
Clear Waters in New York Harbor
Standing at the water’s edge, ready to launch my kayak, I looked at the mottled brown, black and grey stones beneath my feet. The cold water swirling over them had the crystal clarity you associate with the coast of Maine—even though I was standing by the East River in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge.
The cleanup of the Hudson River and New York Harbor is one of the great environmental success stories of recent times. But to fully appreciate it, you have to get close enough to the water to see it, feel it and maybe even taste it. I did that today on a kayak trip on Upper New York Bay.
I’ve canoed and kayaked on the Hudson River for decades, but I’ve done very little paddling on the Bay. Despite a long-standing desire to paddle to the Statue of Liberty, the frantic ferry and outboard traffic around the Battery that I once met circumnavigating Manhattan by canoe made me wary.
But when a Brooklyn sea kayaker of 18 years’ experience, Tanny Sasson, proposed the trip, I grabbed at the opportunity. It was already September, and I thought it might be the last trip of the fading summer.
We put in at Brooklyn Bridge Park on the East River, one of the new waterside parks with launching facilities that is part of the great growth of kayaking in New York City. Tanny paddled a Perception Shadow, while I borrowed his Aquaterra Sea Lion. We paddled north to the Manhattan Bridge, then turned around and headed back down the East River. Our goal: the Statue of Liberty.
Tanny explained that he finds the waters of the Bay more “interesting” than those of the Hudson. By that he meant that the combination of East River and Hudson River currents, shoals, islands, and winds make for paddling conditions more varied than you find on the Hudson. At first, I was skeptical: the three-foot swells that we met in the East River made me dubious about the prospect of bigger water in the middle of the bay. But Tanny said that up ahead the waters would be calmer. He was right, and we paddled on.
After passing Ellis, a Coast Guard boat approached to warn us of a powerboat race passing through 40 minutes. Forewarned, we paddled past the Statue of Liberty, and scooted back across to Governor’s Island. We then paddled north along Governor’s Island, rounded its tip, and then zipped down Buttermilk Channel, which runs between Governor’s and Brooklyn, to our takeout in Red Hook.
In about 2 ½ hours of paddling, we paddled three foot swells, two small whirlpools, smooth waters that coursed over shoals, choppy waters where the currents of the Hudson and East River meet, waves reflecting off the seawalls of Governor’s Island, and the fast water of the outgoing tide in Buttermilk Channel. It was indeed interesting.
We put out at the Louis J. Valentino, Jr. Park and Pier in Red Hook, named for a New York City firefighter who died searching for wounded comrades. The beach was a little murkier than at our put-in place, but the squeals of kids excited by fisherman reeling in bluefish snappers convinced me that I was still in good waters.
I’m not giving up the Hudson—I’m too in love with its hidden beaches, the views of the Palisades, and the sight of the George Washington Bridge in a setting sun at the end of a day of paddling. But I’ll be back on the Bay. The water is clean and interesting. And the old Brooklyn piers, witnesses to the history of seagoing New York, offer plenty of enticement for a return trip on another day. 9/9/07
The cleanup of the Hudson River and New York Harbor is one of the great environmental success stories of recent times. But to fully appreciate it, you have to get close enough to the water to see it, feel it and maybe even taste it. I did that today on a kayak trip on Upper New York Bay.
I’ve canoed and kayaked on the Hudson River for decades, but I’ve done very little paddling on the Bay. Despite a long-standing desire to paddle to the Statue of Liberty, the frantic ferry and outboard traffic around the Battery that I once met circumnavigating Manhattan by canoe made me wary.
But when a Brooklyn sea kayaker of 18 years’ experience, Tanny Sasson, proposed the trip, I grabbed at the opportunity. It was already September, and I thought it might be the last trip of the fading summer.
We put in at Brooklyn Bridge Park on the East River, one of the new waterside parks with launching facilities that is part of the great growth of kayaking in New York City. Tanny paddled a Perception Shadow, while I borrowed his Aquaterra Sea Lion. We paddled north to the Manhattan Bridge, then turned around and headed back down the East River. Our goal: the Statue of Liberty.
Tanny explained that he finds the waters of the Bay more “interesting” than those of the Hudson. By that he meant that the combination of East River and Hudson River currents, shoals, islands, and winds make for paddling conditions more varied than you find on the Hudson. At first, I was skeptical: the three-foot swells that we met in the East River made me dubious about the prospect of bigger water in the middle of the bay. But Tanny said that up ahead the waters would be calmer. He was right, and we paddled on.
After passing Ellis, a Coast Guard boat approached to warn us of a powerboat race passing through 40 minutes. Forewarned, we paddled past the Statue of Liberty, and scooted back across to Governor’s Island. We then paddled north along Governor’s Island, rounded its tip, and then zipped down Buttermilk Channel, which runs between Governor’s and Brooklyn, to our takeout in Red Hook.
In about 2 ½ hours of paddling, we paddled three foot swells, two small whirlpools, smooth waters that coursed over shoals, choppy waters where the currents of the Hudson and East River meet, waves reflecting off the seawalls of Governor’s Island, and the fast water of the outgoing tide in Buttermilk Channel. It was indeed interesting.
We put out at the Louis J. Valentino, Jr. Park and Pier in Red Hook, named for a New York City firefighter who died searching for wounded comrades. The beach was a little murkier than at our put-in place, but the squeals of kids excited by fisherman reeling in bluefish snappers convinced me that I was still in good waters.
I’m not giving up the Hudson—I’m too in love with its hidden beaches, the views of the Palisades, and the sight of the George Washington Bridge in a setting sun at the end of a day of paddling. But I’ll be back on the Bay. The water is clean and interesting. And the old Brooklyn piers, witnesses to the history of seagoing New York, offer plenty of enticement for a return trip on another day. 9/9/07
More Taxis on Park Avenue
On the morning of the second day of the taxi strike, more cabs could be seen cruising up and down Park Avenue in the East Eighties. The total number of cabs might have been slightly down from normal, but doormen on Park--who spent the first morning of the strike scrambling for hard-to-find taxis--agreed that there were more cabs on the street.
On street corners, most people trying to hail a cab caught a ride within a few minutes. In the press, the striking cabbies got a mixed reaction in the pages of the city's three major dailies.
My copy of the September 6 Post is headlined, "Fare Game: Cabbies Cash in as slackers strike." The depiction of the strikers went downhill from there. The main strike story on page three, "Lucky Taxi $cabs," argued that the strike was barely noticeable and had resulted in a jackpot for strikebreaking drivers. Andrea Peyser's column described a ride in a strikebreaking taxi as a delight.
But the bottom of the Post's coverage, as so often is the case, was reached on Page Six. There, a cartoon depicts a couple sitting in the back seat of a taxi. At the wheel of the cab sits an ape. One passenger says to the other, "See, the strike fizzled and everything is back to normal."
The Post may style itself as the paper of the average New Yorker, but when it comes to economic issues it has no interest in fairly presenting the taxi workers' case. And depicting the average driver as an ape, in an age when so many of our drivers are new immigrants, is a slur that doesn't belong in print.
While the Post depicted taxi drivers as apes, the Daily News and the Times showed a bit more humanity.
Michael Daly's column depicted the strike as a doomed fight against computerized "progress," but argued that the drivers have a legitimate complaint on the issue of electronic credit card readers: the use of them generates a five percent surcharge, of which only one third kicks back to the drivers. The News' editorial, "Give Cabbies Their Due," seconded Daly's point.
In the Times, James Barron's front-page story, "Cabs Are on Strike, but Are on the Street, Too," emphasized the inconveniences of passengers but also recognized that the strike had more impact than Mayor Bloomberg allowed. On the editorial page, the Times offered a balanced assessment of the strike and the need to make the Global Positioning Systems that sparked the walkout more palatable to drivers and useful to riders. New technology, the Times concluded, "has to serve both drivers and passengers." 9/6/07
On street corners, most people trying to hail a cab caught a ride within a few minutes. In the press, the striking cabbies got a mixed reaction in the pages of the city's three major dailies.
My copy of the September 6 Post is headlined, "Fare Game: Cabbies Cash in as slackers strike." The depiction of the strikers went downhill from there. The main strike story on page three, "Lucky Taxi $cabs," argued that the strike was barely noticeable and had resulted in a jackpot for strikebreaking drivers. Andrea Peyser's column described a ride in a strikebreaking taxi as a delight.
But the bottom of the Post's coverage, as so often is the case, was reached on Page Six. There, a cartoon depicts a couple sitting in the back seat of a taxi. At the wheel of the cab sits an ape. One passenger says to the other, "See, the strike fizzled and everything is back to normal."
The Post may style itself as the paper of the average New Yorker, but when it comes to economic issues it has no interest in fairly presenting the taxi workers' case. And depicting the average driver as an ape, in an age when so many of our drivers are new immigrants, is a slur that doesn't belong in print.
While the Post depicted taxi drivers as apes, the Daily News and the Times showed a bit more humanity.
Michael Daly's column depicted the strike as a doomed fight against computerized "progress," but argued that the drivers have a legitimate complaint on the issue of electronic credit card readers: the use of them generates a five percent surcharge, of which only one third kicks back to the drivers. The News' editorial, "Give Cabbies Their Due," seconded Daly's point.
In the Times, James Barron's front-page story, "Cabs Are on Strike, but Are on the Street, Too," emphasized the inconveniences of passengers but also recognized that the strike had more impact than Mayor Bloomberg allowed. On the editorial page, the Times offered a balanced assessment of the strike and the need to make the Global Positioning Systems that sparked the walkout more palatable to drivers and useful to riders. New technology, the Times concluded, "has to serve both drivers and passengers." 9/6/07
Few Taxis on Park Avenue
In Manhattan on a workday morning, the stretch of Park Avenue in the East Eighties is usually busy with cabs. But this morning, the first of a strike by the Taxi Workers Alliance, doormen were scrambling to hail the few cabs to be seen on Park. On this part of the Upper East Side, the strike was definitely having an impact.
In the morning, I usually walk up Lexington Avenue from my home on East 81 Street to take the subway from Lexington and 86 Street. Today I varied my route and at around 7:30 am took Park uptown to get a small sense of the strike.
The streets seemed quieter than usual, so I asked six doormen and building workers if the number of taxis on the street was down. All six said that there were definitely fewer cabs than usual.
For doormen, that seemed to mean hustling to hail one of the few cabs on the street.
But one building worker liked the change. Gesturing to the relative quiet on Park and the blue sky, he said: "This is nice. Look at all the fresh air." 9/5/07
In the morning, I usually walk up Lexington Avenue from my home on East 81 Street to take the subway from Lexington and 86 Street. Today I varied my route and at around 7:30 am took Park uptown to get a small sense of the strike.
The streets seemed quieter than usual, so I asked six doormen and building workers if the number of taxis on the street was down. All six said that there were definitely fewer cabs than usual.
For doormen, that seemed to mean hustling to hail one of the few cabs on the street.
But one building worker liked the change. Gesturing to the relative quiet on Park and the blue sky, he said: "This is nice. Look at all the fresh air." 9/5/07
Taxes and Taxis
In news coverage of the anticipated taxi drivers' strike, I haven't seen much attention devoted to an issue that two cabbies discussed with me Monday night: the possibility that installing GPS systems in taxis will make it harder for drivers to cheat on their taxes.
In an utterly unscientific survey, I asked the drivers who took me to and from the West Side how they felt about the GPS systems and the strike. My outbound driver had no problem with the GPS systems and opposed the strike. He claimed that drivers are angry because an automated system will accurately measure their earnings and make it harder for them to fudge their taxes.
My inbound driver disliked the GPS system and didn't like the idea of anyone monitoring where he drove. Yet he, too, said the GPS would make it harder for drivers to avoid paying taxes.
Is there anything to this belief that tax paying is at the bottom of this dispute? Please speak up--I'm not seeing anything on it in the Times, Post or News. I don't like tax cheats, but at the same time I don't like the idea of work where wages are so low that workers have to dodge taxes in order to bring home a decent amount of pay. What is going on here?
As for my own feelings on computer screens in the back of taxis, I thnk they're an annoyance. One the way home from JFK a week ago, I snagged a cab with one. The volume level split my ears. Over my children's objections, I insisted that we turn off the screen before it distracted the driver. The view out the window of a taxi is enough enertainment for me. 9/4/07
In an utterly unscientific survey, I asked the drivers who took me to and from the West Side how they felt about the GPS systems and the strike. My outbound driver had no problem with the GPS systems and opposed the strike. He claimed that drivers are angry because an automated system will accurately measure their earnings and make it harder for them to fudge their taxes.
My inbound driver disliked the GPS system and didn't like the idea of anyone monitoring where he drove. Yet he, too, said the GPS would make it harder for drivers to avoid paying taxes.
Is there anything to this belief that tax paying is at the bottom of this dispute? Please speak up--I'm not seeing anything on it in the Times, Post or News. I don't like tax cheats, but at the same time I don't like the idea of work where wages are so low that workers have to dodge taxes in order to bring home a decent amount of pay. What is going on here?
As for my own feelings on computer screens in the back of taxis, I thnk they're an annoyance. One the way home from JFK a week ago, I snagged a cab with one. The volume level split my ears. Over my children's objections, I insisted that we turn off the screen before it distracted the driver. The view out the window of a taxi is enough enertainment for me. 9/4/07
Labor, New York City, and Inequality
On Labor Day, it is worth remembering how much New York City owes to immigration and immigrant labor---and how the growth of inequality threatens to undermine the contributions of both.
The recovery of New York from the bleak Seventies, Eighties and early Nineties has been driven to an important degree by immigration. Newcomers to New York have saved us from the population loss that has drained smaller cities of their vitality, while immigrant labor has been an important force in the vigor of the New York City economy.
But in the long run, poor and working-class immigrants will revive New City only to the extent that they can settle in, make a decent living, and embark on the path to a middle class standard of living. That's why a recent report on the growth of inequality in the New York metropolitan area is so disturbing: it raises the spectre of a New York metropolitan area where the rich get richer and the poor stay poor. And nowhere, the report, says, is this trend greater than in Manhattan.
Manhattan is in danger of becoming what one of my friends calls "another Monaco--an island of rich people and their servants." If that trend spreads to the rest of the city, immigrant New Yorkers who came here to work their way to a better standard of living will find themselves socially isolated, priced out of housing, and locked into a treadmill of low-wage work with no exit. In the long run, that is a disaster for them and for New York City.
The labor movement in New York City may be weak, but the city still needs to reward work with a decent standard of living and the prospect of earning your way to a better future. Anything less puts the city's future in jeopardy. 9/3/07
The recovery of New York from the bleak Seventies, Eighties and early Nineties has been driven to an important degree by immigration. Newcomers to New York have saved us from the population loss that has drained smaller cities of their vitality, while immigrant labor has been an important force in the vigor of the New York City economy.
But in the long run, poor and working-class immigrants will revive New City only to the extent that they can settle in, make a decent living, and embark on the path to a middle class standard of living. That's why a recent report on the growth of inequality in the New York metropolitan area is so disturbing: it raises the spectre of a New York metropolitan area where the rich get richer and the poor stay poor. And nowhere, the report, says, is this trend greater than in Manhattan.
Manhattan is in danger of becoming what one of my friends calls "another Monaco--an island of rich people and their servants." If that trend spreads to the rest of the city, immigrant New Yorkers who came here to work their way to a better standard of living will find themselves socially isolated, priced out of housing, and locked into a treadmill of low-wage work with no exit. In the long run, that is a disaster for them and for New York City.
The labor movement in New York City may be weak, but the city still needs to reward work with a decent standard of living and the prospect of earning your way to a better future. Anything less puts the city's future in jeopardy. 9/3/07
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