My sister and I had a running joke when I was first moving into Flatbush, because I worked at a Subway restaurant at the time and she worked at a frozen yogurt shop. As we drove into my new home, she gestured at a Subway by the college and said, “Look, you can stop complaining about being first-wave gentrification scum. It’s already here.” “Subway’s are everywhere,” I said, “It’s you froyo kids we’ve got to look out for.” That’s why, when I began walking around Crown Heights and saw that there was a frozen yogurt shop that’s opening soon, I knew I’d see economic tension further in the neighborhood.
I went today (Thursday, February 12) around 10am, and started meandering the area. Granted, it’s a holiday morning and so not many people were out and about, but this is New York and there are always passersby everywhere. Not knowing where to start, I walked down Franklin Avenue and immediately collided headfirst with yuppiedom. There’s a cute little food market on the corner of Franklin and Lincoln, in front of which I hung out for a while – there was much foot traffic there, so I figured it was as good a place to start as any. Inside, there lay assorted artisanal snacks: scandinavian treats, individually wrapped Belgian waffles, packaged crepes. The people who walked on by were of the sort you’d expect: individuals with designer glasses, talking about their new vitamix and looking for quaint cafes. These cafes I discovered as I kept walking, along with Veggies natural juice bar and a gourmet shop that sold vegan marshmallows. The closer I grew to Park Place, the more trendy and expensive the boutiques became.
I retreated, moving back toward Eastern Parkway. Along that thoroughfare, many row houses stood and many people stood on their stoops to greet the day. I hunkered down along that area, to see who I might encounter. In this area, most of the people who walked by were middle-aged and black, leaving their homes to commute to their jobs elsewhere. I said good morning to some men on their stoop, and one called back, “Mornin’ Ms. Park Place.” Looking back, it was probably a derogatory statement, but at the time I was just excited to have an interaction. I asked him what he meant, said I lived in Flatbush and not Park Place. Immediately, the demeanor of the three men changed. One, whose name was Darnell, said he had assumed I was a rich girl. I laughed and told him that, to be fair, I was originally from the suburbs. He said it didn’t matter, because here I was now. I got to talking to the men, the four of us griping about monetary issues and the like. When I mentioned I had gone to a community board meeting in their area that had been about the gentrification and possible upzoning of the neighborhood, they were pessimistic. “It doesn’t matter what we say,” Darnell said, “We don’t have the money to back it.”
My whole experience perusing Crown Heights demonstrates the muted tension in the neighborhood as Park Place presses in and those who have been living there feel financial pressure to leave.
