Harlem, USA

“Looking behind, I am filled with gratitude”

As this is my last post of my JVC year (post-JVC New York blog? Probably not), I will keep it short and sweet, for there is far more to express than could even begin to be written. But, I always say that and then write about three pages. I write as I speak: far too much.

As my room mates will attest to, I love quotes more than most normal people do, and tend to post them around my room in a sort of manic way. (Because, who doesn’t like to read an Anne Braden quote when they are getting ready in the morning?) Anyway, a quote that I have posted in our bathroom and have stared at every morning all year is one that I stole from the infinitely wise Google buzz feed of Ms. Dawn Furfaro-Strode (it’s full of gems): “Looking behind, I am filled with gratitude. Looking forward, I am filled with vision, looking upward, I am filled with strength. Looking within, I discover peace.” Well, I am still working on the whole “discovering peace within” part of this equation, but looking backward on my year, I am so very deeply filled with gratitude.

I am grateful to New York, but more specifically, to Harlem. For a year of living in an old convent right off the mass transit glory that is the 3 express train. Living in Harlem, working a bit in Harlem, and doing many a night time summer walks around the neighborhood made me realize that one year is not nearly enough time to truly appreciate the community I was lucky enough to live in during JVC, but it makes me so grateful that I was there. Thank you, Harlem, above everything else, for reminding me to say hi to people in the street, talk to your neighbors, go to your corner stores, and smile at people. Especially for new people moving the NY, there is a lot of talk about how unfriendly Manhattan is, and a lot of pressure to blend into the sea of fast-walking, mean-mugging  people in Midtown. Granted, when I get off the subway at Penn Station to go to work, I do just that. But living in Harlem is a daily reminder of the importance of community, especially in this big city. Harlem has showed me the value of generations of families living in the same community, the successes and challenges of collective struggle, the overflowing and hugely diverse culture, arts, and music scene that I have been lucky to see even a small part of. I am moving to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn and am so sad to be leaving Harlem, but will take with me my Harlem state of mind: say hi to people, make friends, build community with those around you in everyday interactions. Thanks, Harlem.

As my final day of work approaches, I realize how lucky I have been to work at Tenants & Neighbors this past year. August 22 last year, my first day of work, I knew little to nothing about housing in New York City and community organizing. I could not be more thankful to everyone I have worked with who taught me so much about community organizing both through example and by the patient answering of many questions—this includes both coworkers and tenant leaders who I have worked with, who knew more than I could hope to know about housing, community organizing, and leadership. I am thankful to work somewhere that takes the time and the energy to ask and talk about the big questions of our work, look at how we are working and where it can be changed and improved, always with the input of a board and membership made up of people from all different types of housing in the city. Without the job that I had this year, I would never, ever have been able to get the job I have next or be in any way prepared for it. I’m sure that I wont be able to truly appreciate how T&N works until I work at many more jobs, some of which I am sure will turn out to be dysfunctional non profits that make me want to call my boss and co workers here and say thank you all over again. Because housing in New York is such a huge issue that covers so much ground and touches so many other things, I can’t imagine having come to NY and learned about or done anything else for my first year. I will miss my morning walk across the Fashion Institute of Technology campus, realizing that everyone around me goes to fashion school and is judging my outfit at 9:30 in the morning. For this and everything, T&N, thank you!

And to the people in New York helped me not only survive this year, but thrive in New York. It is uncanny how many of my very dear friends live in this city now, a fact which I constantly take for granted. To have friends here who not only know me so well from the past (including stretching back to 5^th grade on Mcnamee, woah) but who are also interested in and supportive of what I am doing now has made a huge difference this year and have played a huge role in me deciding to stay here. And to the people I met while here, through work, through room mates, through friends, who make me feel like my New York community is ever-expanding. Making new connections, like the amazing people I have met through Regenereracion or meeting my room mate’s friends who quickly became regulars in our house, makes me feel like I have a community of people I know here—a necessary survival tactic in a gigantic city for a Portland native. And, above all, thank you to my two future room mates, Emily and Tom. Thanks for planting the seed of staying in NY in my head from day one, dreaming and scheming about our commune. Nothing could get me back to NY after being in Portland except the beautiful, awesome, hilarious household I have waiting for me, with a fire escape, hardwood floors, delicious food and beer, real conversations, and a tin can phone running from my room to Emily’s room so we never have to be without communication for one second. Thanks for being an outlet and an inspiration for me this year. Also, I am still holding out on naming it the People’s Republic of the Wilderness.

And last but very, very much not least: to my community members. Looking backward, I am filled with gratitude for every one of you, for everything our community has been this year. I could not have asked for a better community if I tried—in fact, I would have had no idea that the combination of the seven of us were exactly what I needed this year to be challenged, to grow, and to have more fun than I thought possible on $100 a month. I will never celebrate a birthday, watch a youtube video, drink tea, go on a night walk, eat lentils, watch the Food Network, or do a million other things without thinking of each one of you. For everything, Janie, Noemi, Rebecca, Rachel, Lo, and Maura: thank you.

And so, for now, I will pack up the rest of my things from my little convent room, celebrate one last room mate birthday, have one last day of work, and then get on an express train from Harlem for the very last time on my way to the airport, loaded with a deep sadness for leaving, and appreciate that—because, after a year of living with seven different people, working at a new job in a new city, I could be leaving with much different feelings.  But more importantly, I will leave tomorrow with a deep gratitude for this year, knowing that I have lived it and invested in it as fully as possible, and that is what will remain.

Goodbye, Harlem. Hello, Portland!

The life and evolution of a beautiful wheat paste street art on 135th and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd over the course of the year, from August to August. 

New York as of late: A visit from El Salvador roomie Arianna, 4th of July riverside adventure with Janie and her watermelon shirt, Brooklyn Bridge and ice cream factory with Janie, more ice cream in Waynseboro, PA, midsummer with mom, and awkward hands on maura’s birthday <3 

Passing the one month from the end mark has made me extra nostalgic, a little less soap-box prone than normal, and overwhelmingly reflective about the past year.  As I am winding down and wrapping up my experience, I am realizing that a lot of the growing and learning will hit me later on, as I move out and move on, realizing how I may have changed this year without knowing it at the time. Something that I think won’t hit me until much later is the amount that I have learned and what I really value about my amazing community, which I haven’t written about much.

I have been thinking a lot lately about intentional communities, and what I have learned from not just the experience of living in one this year, but from each one of my room mates.

Having lived in an intentional community before, in El Salvador, I knew coming in that it isn’t just like having room mates. If your room mate is having a bad day, or one of your room mates really annoys you, you can just ignore them or avoid them. if one of your room mates only eats cereal for breakfast lunch and dinner, that’s too bad for her, but it doesn’t matter to you. Intentional communities mean not just living with people, but being connected to them.  Everything that happens in your house, you are implicated in—sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. It isn’t the way we are used to living, and it takes a lot more energy than living with room mates or even family. When I agreed to live in an intentional community, I knew I was giving up my autonomy for a year of radical interconnectedness with six other people.

That interconnectedness has its challenges—I couldn’t buy my own food, I was responsible for cooking/dishes a few nights a week, I had house duties and meetings that I needed to be home for. Sometimes, even small decisions needed to be considered in a community mindset—should I go out with my friend after work, or should I go home because I haven’t spent time with my community members in a few days? Should I leave my dishes in the sink, like I have historically been known to do, or should I wash them because otherwise someone else will have to? Should I spend an unhealthy amount of our food budget on kale and tofu, or will my room mates want to kill me when I get home from grocery shopping? Living with seven people means living with seven personalities, seven different ways of dealing with anger and conflict, seven different needs for personal space and time, seven different styles of communicating, and seven different sleeping, eating, laundry, and showering schedules. Seven different people who all depend on one another for not just food and household duties, but support and challenges. No small feat for seven people who hadn’t met each other until August 10, 2011.  No one is perfect, and no group of seven is perfect, but I am infinitely blessed and proud to say that in our little corner of the world this past year, we met our challenges with honesty and a community mindset; often imperfectly, but coming together as a community to figure out both the little problems and the bigger ones. 

It isn’t that the challenges of this year have been outweighed by the beauty of it; I think I am realizing that the two came hand in hand in my little community.  We have come a long way from last August as individuals, but I am most amazed by how far we have come as a community. I think of the seven very different people who all met in the middle of Pennsylvania last August and got on a mega bus to come to New York City with no idea what to expect, and I think of the seven people who will be hopping into two rental cars in a few short weeks to drive back to that place in the middle of Pennsylvania to close out our year. And it’s really only thinking about that which makes me truly realize what has happened between the two.

Before I get too far off into a rave gushing about my community, which I could do for years and years, I will get back on track with what I came here to write about. My community this year has taught me infinite things this year, things I didn’t know I needed to learn, things I thought I already knew, about myself, about others, about relationships and community. I, as so many JV’s before me, had such lofty dreams of what I would do in JVC. And those have been fulfilled, changed, abandoned, forgotten, enriched. But looking back, I am realizing that what I learned, and who I learned it from, has been more important than anything I did or accomplished. From my infinitely wise housemates, I have learned

• To be myself, unapologetically. In the beginning of the year, I always felt too abrasive, too out there, too loud, and too apt to over-sharing in my house that tended to be a bit quieter and more introverted than me, on the whole. It took me a few months to realize that this is what makes a community…different people. When we are all ourselves, and don’t apologize for being ourselves, we know each other more deeply and can enjoy each others’ true personalities in all their extreme differences and hidden similarities.
• To appreciate something because someone else loves it. Like taking the bus, or weird nicknames for your cat, or youtube videos, or dancing by oneself in one’s own room as a legitimate workout routine (and countless other things). When you live with someone who genuinely loves these things, sometimes you develop a love for them too (I have been known to watch far more youtube videos now than before, yes), or you just learn to love that it makes someone you love happy (I will never nickname a cat, nor own one). It is appreciating that others find joy in these odd things that makes you realize what you find joy in, and makes you rejoice with them when they get to make a pitcher of the sweetest tea you have ever tasted or watch fireworks.
• To enjoy relaxing. This is something I am still learning, but last weekend I actually sat on the couch for an hour with my room mates and didn’t feel the immediate pull to go explore, do, adventure, accomplish. Some of my favorite nights this year have been the ones where we are all too tired to go do anything on a Friday night, so we stay home and watch old Woody Allen movies or too many episodes of Iron Chef, or read short stories to each other.
• When you work collectively as a unit, the whole group feels joy, pain, stress, excitement, and sadness together; and that means opening your joy, pain, stress, and excitement up to others, which is much more fulfilling than feeling those things all alone.
  
• To care-front. It’s like confronting, but with love. Sometimes, things need to be addressed head-on, rather than talked and tip-toed around. Whether this is doing dishes or something a little bigger, care-fronting always makes things easier. It is easier to straight up tell someone to do their dishes than it is to beat around the bush, and it usually involved a lot less awkwardness and hurt feelings. Because I don’t dislike YOU, I dislike that you didn’t do your dishes (and, honestly, it was probably ME who didn’t do their dishes. Let’s be real)
  
•  Though we are socialized to believe otherwise, love, compassion, kindness, trust, and understanding manifest in an infinite number of ways. Some show them with words, others show them with actions, others with little notes or deeds. The beauty is, when you live with people long enough, you learn how they show these things, and come to love and appreciate everyone’s different way of expressing them. In the beginning of the year, when we barely knew each other, who could tell that someone’s making dinner, or making a joke during a hard time, or leaving a little note, or opening up, was a way of showing others how much they care and how they are willing to be themselves? I have also learned that, though imperfect, all of our ways of expressing love and compassion to one another are important and come deeply from who we are. If we all showed each other love in the same way, what a bland world to live in. The trick is getting to know people deeply enough, and entering into a trusting enough relationship with them, to learn their way of showing these things. And because of this, I have been able to accept and embrace the ways that I show love, compassion, and understanding.

“Expect Nothing. Live Frugally On Surprise.” An Alice Walker quote posted in my bathroom, fading daily from sun exposure, reminds me of this. I came in with expectations to have them changed, forgotten, and abandoned. Since then, I have lived frugally on the surprise of my community. And for that, my Harlem women, I am eternally grateful.

We assume so very much about each other. As individuals, as groups, as society. One of the best experiences so far of my time in New York has been seeing the vibrant, radical, active, dedicated communities which I have had the privilege of working with and in this year.  Being in a volunteer program has its problematic elements, like anything else. I think that, so often, people join, support, or condone volunteerism because they assume that people need help; and that there are people out there educated, wealthy, brilliant enough out there to help them. Despite my reservations about the culture of volunteering, I really respect JVC’s way of doing things, and I was very excited about my own position as a community organizer.

And it is not only in my job, but in my volunteering outside my job, and living in Harlem and NYC as a city, that have gifted me with the unforgettable lesson about organizing, fighting, and collective action: so very few people or communities take things sitting down. Through the web of interrelated oppressions that exist in our world, and in many communities and neighborhoods of NYC, people and communities are organizing, rising up, being vocal, resisting, and thriving.

So many people assume that people do community organizing because of a passion or an interest. This is true of many people—like myself, I am sure that I will be involved in community organizing and community struggles for most of my life, in some way. But this view of activism and volunteerism is a convenient way to ignore and devalue the organizing and activism that is born out of community struggles, out of necessity, and out of long traditions of community activism. I have met countless tenant leaders this year who are not only involved in their tenant associations, but also in their community groups, doing work not only on housing but on other issues affecting them and their neighbors. In my work with Regeneracion, an awesome child care collective I am so luck to be a part of, we ally with amazing groups who are organizing against issues from police brutality to domestic workers’ rights. In my neighborhood of Harlem, a historic center of community activism and engagement, there are people who have been organizing with their neighbors for decades for affordable housing, food justice, against the war on drugs, for school reform…the list goes on.

Our focus is so often on what is wrong—poverty rates, incarceration rates, rising costs of housing, unemployment, hunger and malnutrition, school inequality, healthcare inequality—which are all important. It would be all kinds of wrong to suggest ignoring these facts, especially in this little country of ours where they are all so astounding. But I also know that our minimal perspective of the ills of society do little to address or give name to the root causes of them (racism and all the other -isms we live with, including my personal favorite of capitalism, etc. etc.), and even more rarely acknowledge the strong history and present reality of resistance—resistance against these root causes and the resulting inequalities and injustices. Look at any injustice from the perspective of the mainstream media in this country, from immigration and food injustice to mass incarceration and school inequality, and you get, at best, victims; at worst, people who are demonized and blamed. These narratives overshadow (for reasons I can get into on a whole other rant) the reality that these are communities that have been organizing and active for years, decades, and even centuries, against these injustices. And, unlike volunteers, or social workers, or paid community organizers who are thanked and revered for their ‘help,’ people who are organizing in their communities are rarely, in mainstream media and society, valued or recognized.

I am so privileged to have been able to be a volunteer this year in NY, and have been invited into these spaces of organizing and activism in some way, either as an ally, as an organizer through my work, as a supporter, or merely a spectator from outside. Through my work, the childcare collective, my neighborhood, and the massive amount of reading I have gotten done on the subway this year, I have been lucky to come to start to see, understand, and learn from the deep history and inspiring present-day struggles of communities, especially low-income communities and communities of color. When we assume we know everything, or even something, about a person, a community, an issue, or a country, we miss the opportunity to learn and understand the world in a more real way. And me, I’m just beginnering.

One of about nine million things I will miss about my house next year: coming home from a late meeting to a plate of dinner, wrapped in foil, with a love note. Beans for Bean. Thanks, Harlem Women.

Something that I have been thinking a lot about lately is…well, a lot. Maybe I over think a few things (read: I over think everything). But, for the purpose of this blog post: I have been thinking about the difference between simple living and poverty, and the language we use, consciously or unconsciously.A lot of times, when I talk about my living and money situation this year, it is easy to slip and say ‘I’m poor.’ I think we all do that, especially when we feel like we are making no money at all or are barely getting by. When out with friends, I find myself constantly saying, ‘I’m poor, sorry, I can’t go get a drink,” or “ it’s the end of the month, I’m poor,” without really thinking. Because, this year and many other times in the past few years of my life, I really do feel poor: I have an incredibly limited amount of money to spend, I don’t have a credit or debit card to make up for the lack of cash in my wallet, and my daily activities are fairly mandated by how much money I have (taking public transit instead of taxis, always packing a lunch, flossing with really awful quality floss because I am a cheapskate who refuses to buy name brand products, etc. etc.).

But when I really think about what it means to be poor—really, actually poor—in this country, I am very far from it. Even this year, making a miniscule salary and living on very little, I wouldn’t consider myself poor. I am living simply, sometimes incredibly so, but there are precious few instances when I have felt the true reality of deep, structural poverty. And when I do get a small glimpse, it is an unbelievable humbling moment of realizing my own privilege. Those moments—like when I am running late and really wish I had the money for a cab, when I stay out longer than I thought and wish I had the money to buy a quick meal instead of trekking home for food, when I realize how expensive things like toothpaste and shampoo truly are—are those rare, very small, incredibly limited glimpses into a different reality. This year, I am living in an (amazing) apartment in Harlem, the rent on which I know will be paid each month by the collective salaries that my room mates and I all pool together into our collective bank account. Actually, since I am not on rent duty for the year, I don’t even have to worry about paying the rent—one of my very responsible room mates is always on top of it. So, I know my house will always be there, rent paid for, electricity on, internet functioning, warm water, free of pests (well, okay, SORT OF free of pests).

I know that I have a job for an entire year. I don’t have to worry about being laid off, or having my hours or wages cut. I have health care—I don’t have to wonder if I can afford to go to the doctor, or worry that if I have an emergency, I don’t know how I will pay for it. I know that I can even take time off from work if I am sick, without consequence. I have enough money for food—even if we do sometimes struggle to know what to buy and how much to buy. Those are the struggles of seven people making collective decisions (show me what democracy looks like?). My stomach will always be full, and even if sometimes we run out of vegetables by the end of the week, I won’t go hungry.

My stipend is small, only $100 a month, but it buys me all the basics that I need, plus some extra money for fun. I don’t have a lot of savings, but I know that if a huge expense comes up, I will have a bit of cushion to be able to tap into if need be. And, more importantly, if something goes really wrong, I have a family that will help me out (right, family?). I have friends in the city, family that visits, and family that sends things so that, even when I can’t pay for something, I can still go out to a drink, get a yoga mat, or make a nice dinner with the help of others. All things I am infinitely thankful for and humbled by, especially in this year of simple living, to remind me how many people I have who love me and take care of me in so many ways. One of the most important, and well stated, things I have heard in a long time was in February in the undoing racism training I took part in; after talking for a while about systematic, intergenerational poverty and social services, one of the trainers said, “people aren’t poor because they lack services. People are poor because they lack power.” This year, though I may lack money, may lack some opportunities or choices, I do not lack power in the same way that a person or a family living in true, structural, intergenerational poverty does.

So I guess the question is, why does it matter to me? Especially since one of my absolute favorite, and most challenging, parts of this year has been the simple living that has allowed me to reflect on what I value, to enter closer into solidarity with others, and to have a small glimpse, momentary and limited as it is, into the privileges that I have enjoyed for all of my life. For me, it is important to remember the distinction because it changes the way that I think about the choices I make and the way that I live this year, how my choices this year and beyond fit into the world in which I find myself.

Regeneracion!

The awesome childcare collective I am a part of, Regeneracion, is fundraising to go to the Allied Media Conference in Detriot. I can’t go myself (because it is when my mammala will be in NYC!), but I am helping to fund raise so some rad people can go! If you are in NYC, come to our fundraiser dinner next weekend. If not, check this out to learn more about Regeneracion and help out if you can!

Walden Pond, silent retreat.

“Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.”

May Day 2012