Bed Stuy, Brooklyn

December 31, 2009 Columns, Cosmopolitan in Brooklyn

by Patricia Spears Jones, April 2006


At the performance at Le Dakar, Kim Lyons opined, unlike Manhattan, directions in Brooklyn are vague, things are not between but near or far. There’s no real grid in Brooklyn, so being “off the grid” means nothing. Bed-Stuy a historically Black and culturally rich locale has its moments of grandeur—brownstones just thisside of being mansions; projects where gangsta style grew from boasts to monster; a sudden influx of money and whites and fear of change. Now I live in Bed-Stuy, once in Prospect Heights, another more diverse neighborhood threatened with mega complexes and an influx of WHO? I asked a friend who has some money, are there that many rich people? Who will live in those 17 high-rises that Ratner is building? Are they going to suddenly leave their fabulous Manhattan sites for a poorly designed complex for the wealthy and the unBrooklyn? I guess Bruce Ratner knows.

So I take in the Bed-Stuy visuals: two black guys around 10 p.m. practicing on unicycles, well one was doing fine, the other was hugging the light box. A pretty girl in pink two-piece and a blue hat jumping up and down at the corner of Macon and Tompkins, her mother not amused. On Saturdays, the line of middle-aged black folks at Royal Rib House on Macon waiting for a taste of home (southern, meaty, lots of sugar in the tea). A line of blossoming pear trees on Macon, their delicacy in sharp contrasts to the roughhewn clothes and bad attitudes of pre-adolescents on their way to school. Black clothes on just about everyone-men, women, old, young and amazing beads in the braids of young girls. The haughty hair of African or Caribbean sistas ready to market whatever they can sell. The spiky beauty of IBO Landing’s display window. The Afro-Gothik look of the catholic church on Throop between MacDonough and Macon—the Madonna painted red, black and green.

But Bed-Stuy aural-not so nice. As in them niggas jumped him at the Chinese joint or you see how stupid that nigga is? Or nigger why you late, where you been, what you doing here on the planet at this time? There’s no affection in the word or in the tone speakers make so is this now the definition for all young/old and in between Black males? I know that in hip hop all things are all okay, but you know I ain’t down with this. Nigga, nigger, all of it means lower than human and I don’t care what the commercially benefited say. Ugly is ugly and the sound of that word everywhere on all these young people’s tongues saddens me. Like a kind of drill into the psyche saying you’re worthless, useless or easily thrown away like the litter on the street. I come from the Black is Beautiful era and you know what, I think I’d rather go for beauty visual or sound any time, any day, any where, but especially here in Brooklyn.

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