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On Mott Haven, Bronx, NYC, New York, United States, America
When you enter the subway in Manhattan, you are in the seventh richest congressional district in the nation. When you leave, you are in the poorest (3). One woman’s reflections: “There are pockets of hell in our inner cities, and that even as an entire sector of America is condemned to burn in them, we insist on looking the other way.” Mott Haven is stuck in poverty. Most of the housing is low income housing the government sticks poor people in to get them out of Manhattan. Originally, I think it was supposed to be a temporary fix, but they’ve been here for years. With poverty and lack of education comes the crime of robberies, jumping’s, shootings, and drugs.
“It’s not like, ‘Well, these babies just aren’t dying fast enough. Let’s figure our a way to kill some more.’ It’s not like that at all. It’s like—I don’t know how to say this…” She holds a Styrofoam cup in her hand and turns it slowly for a moment. “If you weave enough bad things into the fibers of a person’s life—sickness and filth, old mattresses and other junk thrown in the streets and other ugly ruined things, and ruined people, a prison here, a sewage there, drug dealers here, the homeless people over there, then give us the very worst schools anyone could think of, hospitals that keep you waiting for ten hours, police that don’t show up when someone’s dying, take the train that’s underneath the street in the good neighborhoods and put it up above where it shuts out the sun, you can guess that life will not be very nice and children will not have much sense of being glad of who they are. Sometimes it feels like we’ve been buried six feet under their perceptions.” (p. 39)
My first full day in the South Bronx…
Denny, a tall strong friend, who could be mistaken for Puerto Rican with his Indian skin, keeps me company for the day. He is one of the many friends worried about four white girls living in the south bronx, in the worst police precinct, in New York. We get off the subway at Brooke Avenue, and walk up to 139th street. We stand for a few minutes, just taking in the sunlight and activity.
“Welcome home.” I look up at him and smile, and he looks back at me with a face stuck between a grimace and a smile. As we walk, I point out that there are no white or Indian people in sight. Finding a person who is neither black nor Hispanic becomes a game neither of us win. We pass an elderly man, tall and big wearing shorts and white socks rolled all the way up. He carries a bright pink backpack and is moving slightly to the beat from his headphones. 
We keep walking.
We stop two over-weight policewomen walking down the street to ask the location of the police station. The women are clearly curious as to how we got so lost that we ended up on “this” side of town. The woman on the right smiles and says, “Just one block up and two avenues over, on the corner of 138th and Alexander. You’ll see it.” After pointing us in the right direction, they leave us and continue their stroll. We follow them before cutting over at the school on Willis Avenue. Before we arrive at 138th and Alexander, we see the police cars parked along the street and know we must be getting close. It’s a busy cross road, but a woman in beat-up green car stops to let us all cross. The light is green for her, and there’s a big red hand telling us not to walk, but she waves us across anyway. Denny pulls open the big double doors and we walk into the police station.
The police station for Precinct 40 is a happening place. We wait at the huge sign five feet from the door that says:
UPON ENTRY, STATE YOUR BUSINESS HERE.
There are two women in front of us and a few people waiting over to the right. There’s a young man and a pretty woman behind the desk. When it’s our turn, we tell them the address and ask about the neighborhood. The man looks at the woman and looks back and says, “It’s a pretty rough block.” Denny and I nod. I hesitate, but Denny doesn’t, and he tries to get him to say more. “Can you give us any more information on the safety there? You know- what precautions they should take. Will they be targeted because they are four white girls living in a predominantly black and Puerto Rican neighborhood?” I continue, and ask specifically about how worried we should be about someone breaking in, murder, rape, and the gang situation. The policeman shrugs and tries again, “Well, it’s a really rough block. Me telling you that is a lot. Take every precaution you can. Don’t be stupid and use common sense. Be careful.” But I want more, so I push harder. It seems like he’s holding a lot back. “Listen, all I can tell you if you want the honest truth is that it’s one of the worst streets in our precinct. Our precinct stretches from (insert here) and Beekman Ave. is one of the worst blocks. It isn’t suburbia.” I look to the pretty woman and ask if she has anything to add about ways to stay safe. She smiles and apologizes and says she just moved there. I laugh and ask if she’s just using that as an easy way out. She laughs too, but looks at me and says “maybe. I heard there was a homicide or stabbing or something there a few days ago. That’s all I know.”
We walk out the front doors. I’m frustrated. I feel like they haven’t told us anything. I complain to Denny that we just wasted our time. Denny stops a man and woman just getting into their cruiser and asks if he can have a minute of their time. The older man ignores him, climbs in and buckles his seat belt, but the woman gets back out of the car and asks what’s up. We tell her the situation and explain how we are worried about moving in on Beekman Ave and we want the honest truth about the area and advice we can give them on how to stay safe.
“Which side of Beekman are we talking about?” I tell her the apartment is at 321 Beekman right at the corner of 141st and Beekman. She nodes, “Yep, that’s the bad corner. I’ve been here for eighteen years, and that side of Beekman has given us a lot of trouble. The area is picking up though. Things were definitely a lot worse when I first started here. In the past twenty years we’ve been doing a lot of work to clean up the area and most of the gang leaders who control the drug trade have been arrested. But there are still problems. Right now, we have someone there around the clock because of the shooting a few days ago.”
I ask about safety measures, and she decided we should definitely talk to the officers in charge of community affairs- Mira or Cortez. She leans down and asks her partner if they are in the station. He thinks so, so we run back inside. Someone tells us Cortez was the man walking by us as we walk in, so we run back out to catch him before he goes for lunch. We can’t find him anywhere. We come back inside and ask for Mira. After waiting for a few minutes, a young, really pretty woman comes over and asks how she can help us. I share with her the situation and she looks at us and just shakes her head. I ask her to please not hold anything back.
“Honestly, I would tell my friends to stay away from there. I’m not going to tell you not to move there, but I will tell you that it’s a dangerous block. Which side are you on?” Again I tell her our exact location and she shakes her head some more. “We’ve had a lot of trouble with that corner.” We just did a sweep though and kicked out 60 people with felonies that had drugs in their place from the housing projects. So that’s good. You know, always be aware and careful. Don’t go out at night. Always use the buddy system. Be careful going in and out of your door. Look outside if you can before going out to see what’s up. It’s good that you have your own apartment and are not in a building. I don’t know what else I can tell you. Call us if you have any problems. We patrol the area, but we don’t see everything.”
I ask if I should carry pepper spray with me when I’m walking around. She shrugs and says, “Well I understand if you decide to, but I can’t tell you to.” I asked her why not and she looks at me and laughs and explains, “it’s illegal!!!” Denny and I start laughing and thank her for her time. She wishes us luck.
We walk to 321 Beekman and I give him a quick tour of the place. We lock it back up and go for a walk to St. Mary’s park. We pass a few people on the way. It’s not yet three o’clock and there aren’t many kids sitting outside. A few old men sit by the corner store chatting and nod at us as we walk by. Before getting to the end of Beekman Ave. the shouts of young children can be heard drifting over from the playground. Their sounds make me walk a little faster. When I turn the corner, I see little children with their mothers running around. Their laughter and squeals energize me and I climb up to the highest peak in the park and look out. I feel like Simba from the Lion King standing atop Pride Rock and remember the line of advice from Simba’s father, “being brave does not mean you go out looking for trouble.”
Denny climbs a little slower and stands back a ways. I always forget he’s scared of heights, but I’m not budging. The view is too beautiful.
Two kids go by on bikes. They are clearly racing, and we make sure to stay out of their way. Over to the right, there’s a pipe pointed up that sprays water everywhere. While the mothers watch from a distance, the kids run around and get totally soaked. To my left, I can still see Beekman Ave. It’s such a short block, I can’t stop the chills when I think of how many people have died on the street.
We continue on our walk around and pass a quarter jogging track. Inside, there are young men on the work out equipment doing push-ups and throwing a ball around.
That brings me to the gangs…
I’m looking out for the colors I now know symbolize different gangs. The Bloods started in Los Angeles in the 1960’s and focused mainly on neighborhood protection and opposing their rivals the Crips. A founding Blood member, Omar Portee, started the gaing for the purpose of “brothers getting together, people getting together, fighting oppression.” The original intent was not to create trouble, but now the gang deals in murder, conspiracy, credit card fraud, extortion, prostitution, and drugs. In 1993, the Bloods started up on the east coast and now control most of the prisons in New York. There are hundreds of factions of the Bloods. One of which is the “Treyside Bloods” named after the 300 side of Beekman Avenue where they operate their drug network. In 2005, 28 members of the “Treyside Bloods” were indicted.
Our apartment is located at 321 Beekman, so we are most definitely on the “300” side. Everyone keeps asking (as a joke) if I’ve chosen a gang to align myself with- the crips or the bloods. I haven’t, of course, and I hope we don’t have to. But when I look out my window the Treyside Bloods are the ones who control our end of the block.
The Wild Cowboys also dominated our block for a long time in the 90’s. In one sweep everyone was arrested from the top leaders to the lookouts. The gang went to trial for 30 grisly murders (think disembowelment and torture). They held a seven-year reign of terror over Mott Haven, and their headquarters at 348 Beekman Ave. made $16 million a year in drug trafficking.
But that’s all history. More recently (2005), 600 police officers, F.B.I. agents and other investigators fanned out across the Diego-Beekman housing complexes and dismantled 12 violent drug gangs. Almost a hundred people were arrested that year. Good stuff.
So what do we hope to accomplish.
We want our house to be a hospitality house full of love in this place of such corruption and death (not necessarily dead people, but just dead futures for too many). We want to know our neighbors and just become part of the community on Beekman Ave. We want to treat the people with respect and worth. I’m hoping we will have kids over for game nights and tutoring nights, and friends from the neighborhood over for dinner. One room, the hang out room, is full of games and books. People can bring a book in exchange for another (obviously people who don’t have books can just take one). And already, we are putting together a closet with our friends extra clothes and toys. I made the point that we shouldn’t just be handing out stuff (because I’ve seen how that can go wrong), but let’s say we have our neighbor over for tea and she’s sad that she can’t buy her daughter a sweater and it’s getting cold, that’s when we would be like, “well, I have some of my sister’s clothes that she’s outgrown, maybe they would fit your daughter.”
Please pray
I want to be a part of this community so badly but I don’t know if it’s the right thing for me right now. It’s my dream to live in a place like this, but i don’t feel at peace with the decision to live there. I am having trouble putting my finger on why. I don’t know if it’s the danger that’s scaring me, or that my parents don’t want me living there, or that it’s just where i’m supposed to be right now, but it’s really frustrating. I’ve moved all my stuff in, and right now the plan is to hang around a lot, maybe sleep there a few nights, and get a better feel for the neighborhood, and everything. Tomorrow I’m going to church at Promiseland, a few blocks away from us. Pray that I can figure out what I’m supposed to do.
“I don’t think of it as working for world peace. I think of it as just trying to get along in a really big strange family.”
“Justice at its best is love correcting all that stands against love.” – MLK Jr.
On Me…
Many years ago I figured out where I am happiest. It’s Africa. I don’t know if it will always be Africa, but right now it’s Africa. This summer’s experience in Kenya reinforced what I knew to be true but did not want to believe. I had to return home to learn more before committing fully to a life of service abroad. I know I have more to learn before I can go back. I want to accomplish the most that I can in this short life.
As George Bernard Shaw said, “This is the true joy in life … being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one … being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy … I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. For the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It’s a sort of splendid torch which I’ve got to hold up for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing on to future generations.”
A year ago, I figured out where I want to live while I’m in the US preparing to go elsewhere. I believe we are all made to live in fellowship and close communion with each other and we ARE our brother’s keepers. What does that mean? Well, according to Jesus it means that we are supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves. Except it’s more than that too, it’s putting others needs and desires before my own. Always thinking about what is in the best interest of others- even at my own expense. So that’s what I’m trying to do with my life. I know it sounds difficult, but sit for a second and think of how different the world would be if everyone loved everyone and everyone put everyone else’s best interest first. Wow. What would that look like, and would it even work? That’s what I want to find out.
How does this translate into every day things? Well, if I want food to eat, I have to be just as concerned that all my neighbors have food too. Or shelter, a good education, safety, loving relationships, you name it. Some people think a neighbor is someone living next door, or in the neighborhood, or even in the country. I like to think of the world as one place, and the human population as one big family where we are all brothers and sisters just trying to get along.
So, I figured I’d go to the poorest area I could find. Well, with three friends, I found it! Mott Haven, located in the South Bronx, is less than 20 miles from my home in Rye, New York. More than 50% live below the poverty line. More than 35% of them are children. The idea was to move in, live very simply, make many friends, really get to know the people and become a part of the community, all while going to school. Why? We can accomplish more that way. By living in the community, and becoming part of the community, we aren’t just coming in and saying, “ok, here I am, let me help!” and then packing up and leaving a few hours, days, or weeks later. Who am I to help these people? I have NO idea what they really need or what I have to offer. Sure, I can do the things like tutor, or serve at a soup kitchen, but there’s no way to know about the long-term effects of said help without joining the people and becoming one of them.
Here are some examples from around the world to illustrate what I mean. In the winter of 2002, I handed out Christmas gifts to the children living in the garbage dumps of Mexico. These kids live in cardboard boxes or abandoned cars, and live on what they can salvage of other people’s trash. So, I go and hand out whatever I have to give them- little toys and food. The kids and the mothers are thrilled. They give us hugs while murmuring “gracias” over and over again with tears in their eyes. Sounds great, right? Wrong- really wrong. The 500 toys we handed out that Christmas had a negative effect on the community as a whole. While the kids went to bed happy that night, the father’s (the providers for the family) lost respect in the eyes of the children. We stepped in, took the father’s place, and gave the family’s more than the father’s could- thus usurping them of the power and respect father’s need to raise a family. There was an easier way we could’ve done this, and a better way for the community as a whole. The next year, the Christmas toys were kept at the community center, and a few nights before Christmas, the father’s came, bought their children Christmas gifts (for a very low price), wrapped the gifts themselves, and then gave them to their kids Christmas morning. Problem solved. Because Tim lives there all the time, he could see the effects of our “help” and make changes accordingly.
Very few people need hand outs- people need hands! Many times, handouts just reinforce the cycle of poverty and the power divisions between the haves and the have-not’s.
One missionary friend brings me stories from Honduras where do-gooders come in with toothbrushes and pens and pencils to build a school building. They hand out their gifts to the children; take lots of pictures, and leave. The long-term missionaries are left fixing the wreckage left behind. The next day kids whack each other with their new gifts and fight over them. The children who did not get any are upset and mad that God has been so unfair. Next time visitors come, the kids ask for more. If the new visitors are unprepared to give out gifts, the kids ask, “What’s wrong? Do you not love us? The visitors before gave us gifts.” If a mission team builds a long-term relationship with people, they must be careful NOT to reinforce a cycle of have and have-nots.
In Kenya, the kids on the side of the road have gotten so used to receiving sweets from visitors. Whenever you walk by, hundreds of kids run out screaming, “sweets, sweets, sweets please!” I look and smile and shake my head and keep walking.
What I’d like to do is live in one community for a few years before tackling social problems that right now, I am only beginning to understand (poverty, welfare, drugs, gang warfare, school drop-out rates, health issues, etc.). In the meantime, I just want to learn, learn, learn, and learn some more! And love all the people I meet.
Jillian, who is a total saint, spent the summer finding the perfect place. Our apartment is located at Beekman Avenue at 141st street. Beekman’s notorious for being one of the deadliest and most dangerous streets in the city- and it’s a very short block! In the past few days I’ve spent time walking around and getting to know the people. The next entry will contain what I’ve learned from my conversations, observations, and the book “Amazing Grace” by Jonathan Kozol.
Right now I am in Burnside, Kentucky with my family visiting my grandparents. A few years ago, I counted up the weeks and months I had spent here as a child and came to the conclusion that it had to be at least two or three years. But, the times have changed. The long lazy summers of boating, waterskiing, tubing, VBS, southern cooking, and family and friends has been reduced to a short week of somewhat frenzied visits, and one or two fun-filled lake days.
Because we are only here for a week this year, I put my computer and phone away. I’ve decided that this age of communication and technology is really incredible, but it’s dangerous! Yes, dangerous. And not because someone might post negative pictures of me or because someone could stalk my every move and murder me. Don’t get me wrong, I think the benefits of technology far out-weigh the negatives. The internet, social networking, cell phones and digital v/cameras connect people and information around the world. But, for over-users like me, it’s a distraction from life. My aunt Rosemary calls it “the sin of over-communication.” When I’m using my phone, I am too distracted to fully focus on the people around me! I might be in touch with more people at once through texts and facebook, but I’m never fully present.
Same thing goes for when I try to follow the news. This year, I started waking up early to give myself time to read through the New York Times and the Drudge Report. At first, I was so excited (and dare I say it, proud) to be up on all the current events around the world. I could spend all afternoon reading and not get anything productive done. I thought what I was doing was VERY productive. But, I could only read so many articles talking about the rising price of oil, the declining economy, political conflicts, natural disasters, diseases, and political speeches before things started sounding pretty repetitive. What’s the point of knowledge without action? Who cares if I know Mugabe or Kibaki’s most recent activities or the death toll from the Tsunami if I’m not acting on what I’m learning. I’ve decided that while the news is important, it takes a back-seat to my life and my dreams.
I love the idea of always being connected, but it’s too much. I have enjoyed spending time with my immediate and extended family and friends without my cell phone/computer/the news distracting me. When I get home, I am going to keep my cell phone on vibrate for emergencies, but I will only pick up/read and respond to texts when I am alone or it’s important. No more dinners or hanging-out conversations where I apologize while I look down to text someone back. I can imagine this might be really frustrating for someone trying to get in touch with me, but it’s just the way it’s going to be. If I don’t text back immediately, I’m not trying to be rude- I just am busy! You’ll have to leave a message and I will call you back when I have time- same thing goes for e-mail.
Anyway, I am SO sore from water-skiing and tubing down on the lake so today I visited the local bookstore. It’s nothing like Barnes & Noble, but there was still a good plethora of books to look at. I let myself wander over to the self-help section. You know, the area of the bookstore with titles like, “Ten Steps to a New You!” “Hottest Sex Positions” “Why Men Cheat” or “The Secret to Happiness.” I looked specifically for books about young women and men making a difference (with an eye out for anything on Africa). There were plenty of books about losing weight, thinking positively, and how to live a better life, but I certainly did not find what I was looking for. Where are the books about changing the world? Three of my favorite books ever are Mountains Beyond Mountains, Three Cups of Tea, and Infidel. But those three are all about older folks, and the other ones about teens are fictional (Angel of Mercy). Please recommend any books you can think of! Anyway, after looking around the bookstore for one such book, I am thinking I should write my own. Of course I’m not a writer, and I’ve never really taken any advanced writing classes- but I could try. Here’s what it could say on the back:
I am on a quest to save the world.
It’s an impossible quest.
But the journey is unlike anything else.
I am not alone.
There are many who have gone before me.
Many who are with me now.
And many will come after I die.
It’s a hell of a trip.
What are the goals?
There’s only one-
Love.
Does the quest sound hard?
It’s easier than you might think.
Join me?
Haha, does it sound like something you might want to read- or is it just totally corny? I want to share my experiences and the stories of those I’ve met. I don’t care so much how. I just want to bring attention to real people with real need and the importance of LOVE/God. It could be through writing, video, photography, or presentations. All four would be cool too. And I want to encourage other people to follow their dreams. Is there anything else more important?
My sister (age 10) just picked up a book- How to Win Friends and Influence People. She really does not need any help with either of those BUT she just looked at me and said, “Julia, did you know, people are most interested in themselves? Not other people. I don’t think you knew that. You always tell me to do the opposite. Well, the New York telephone company made a detailed study of telephone conversations to find out which word is the most frequently used. It is the personal pronoun- I, I, I. It was used 3,900 times in five hundred telephone conversations. Think about it, when you look at a picture, who is the first person you look for?” I looked at her and was like oh, hm… because I was busy writing. Then, I made her repeat the whole thing again. I told her that’s true, but that it’s possible, and more fulfilling to think about others first. Ohhhhh man…
