The chapter on Loisaida by Nandini Bagchee and the essay by Bill Weinberg helped solidify the histories and concepts we were introduced to by the Weinberg himself on our trip to the Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space. The in-depth historical background given by Bagchee was nicely contextualized by my experiences seeing many of the actual locations described in the text. After reading these texts, I have all the more appreciation and respect for the way the social/cultural reclamation of this section of the Lower East Side by the Puerto Rican community has been preserved through the years.
I think could be reasonably difficult for some to understand the purpose of protecting an empty lot-turned-community garden from speculation and development. The gardens could be perceived as a relic of a nearly unimaginable time when land in the Lower East Side was once considered undesirable. When one looks into the history, however, the symbolism behind the gardens becomes clearer; the area is an example of what Bagchee terms “property as resistance.” The neighborhood has always been, as phrased in the chapter, a stepping stone to a better life for immigrant families. The employment, housing and education crisis of the 1970s encouraged activism in the community, especially giving new agency to the large Puerto Rican community, who renamed part of the neighborhood Loisaida. The community, helped by groups such as AAD and CHARAS, planted gardens in vacant lots, and turned tenements into cooperative housing. Ultimately their movement encompassed the reclamation of public spaces that had been abandoned, “piecing together a fragmented city scape with acts of public participation.” I was moved to read about the artistic community that arose out of this movement, especially around El Bohio (the reclaimed old schoolhouse that served as a community center). Loisaida represents the powerful ties between land and community; by reshaping the land into purposeful public spaces, the public became engaged in the art and activism of and for their community.
Weinberg’s frustration with the government’s overall dismissal of the community history is palpable in “Viva Loisaida Libre.” He expresses his dismay at the privatization of public spaces by private administration and heavy policing that is “antithetical to this vision”– a vision that not only represents the ideals of the grassroots DIY ethic, hard work, and de-commodification of labor that Loisaida supported, but Weinberg’s vision of public spaces. He describes public spaces like parks to be neighborhood meeting places where, when necessary, “forums for free speech and protest” are “available to anyone, regardless of income or social status.” I wanted to note in this post that Weinberg mentions the privatization of part of the East River Park, which is relevant to my project on the East River Coastal Resiliency project–recently, there has been community backlash against the developers, who initially planned the construction around the park with community members. Community plans were thrown out behind their backs, their input ultimately ignored–the East River Park is now set to be buried under a landfill, with a new park build atop it. I can imagine the disrespect a community member might feel from the city when their voices, arguably the most important voices in cases regarding their community, are not listened to.
Weinberg also mourns the social-cultural losses he has seen firsthand, describing something that I have noticed before but have been thus far unable to articulate: “It is not a city of neighborhoods and working people,” he claims, and goes further to say that cities like New York are now “merely centers for elite global management and electronic paperwork.” The turn of events in the community was something that I recall even Mr. Weinberg saying to have been unable to foresee, summarized in a sentence by Bagchee that I found particularly enlightening: “Whereas during the 70s community groups had focused on laying a physical claim to an unwanted neighborhood, the next decade was about preserving these gains.”
It really is hard to imagine a time when such a huge part of this busy, expensive city — and this neighborhood romanticized by the Beats, the punks, the New Wavers, and the Madonnas of the world — was so utterly neglected by the city, state, and federal government. Considering that, Bagchee does a fantastic job of painting an image of how important CHARAS was as a beacon of hope in the neighborhood and YOU do a fantastic job of reading her carefully enough to empathize with what she’s saying. Ultimately, Weinberg is asking: what is a city for if not the people who live there? And Bagchee is saying: here is how people try to rebuild their neighborhoods in a just way even when no one else cares about them. And you’re saying perhaps: where does someone like me fit into this historical continuum, this imagined future, this city with an agenda that seems, at best, misaligned and, at worst, undemocratic?