Living in coronavirusworld 164: No Kap, no justice

 9/10

Now we know

California's shaking like an angry child will
Who has asked for love and is unanswered still

Jackson Browne

A temperature of 120’ has been recorded in California.  Wildfires are in California, Washington  and Oregon. The skies above San Francisco are orange. Oregon orders 500,000 people to evacuate. The fire in Southern California began with a stray pyrotechnic at a “gender reveal party.”

The West Park Center program committee meets. Attempting to make plans to create a virtual season. Some groups will be allowed in to use the stage for making videos or streaming. We continue to work on a reimagined residency project. There are obvious concerns about expanding the diversity of our residencies, presentations, etc. It was always our intention to lead in this, but we are nowhere near that.  Even though we are perceived to be a “white” neighborhood, there is still a Black Baptist church seven blocks up the street. West Park has hosted two Black congregations. And there are still public housing projects in the neighborhood.  As the Upper West Side has gentrified, these populations have become more and more invisible. Historically, these were some of the most successful public housing projects in the country because of the neighborhood's economic integration. But as the the middle class has been forced out, we are left with the very rich and very poor, a stratified situation that gets worse every year. 

I also challenge the committee to think creatively about the hotels that continue to house homeless people in a hostile neighborhood. What is our capacity to engage the neighborhood creatively? The answers are not clear. But our original vision was to be a place of individual and social transformation through arts and culture, intergenerational education and spirits exploration. That has subtly changed into something slightly different. But that original call remains. 

I talk with an old friend in Portland.  Seemingly the epicenter of the apocalypse with raging fires and social upheaval. Ever surging homeless population. Portlandia is is being shaken to its foundations. My friend steps outside, choked  in the smoky air. The wind is dying down…maybe…. He and his wife are getting ready to move across the river to Vancouver, Washington. 

The NFL kicks off its season with playing “Lift Every Voice and Sing” (the so-called Black National Anthem) as well as “The Star Spangled Banner.” Players are allowed to wear names of police violence victims or social justice slogans on the back of their helmets.  There is a pregame “show of unity” with opposing players locking arms. And the socially distanced Kansas City crowd boos. And when their Chiefs score, they do the “Arrowhead Chop” chant and gestures.  All these showy demonstrations of corporate conscience ring hollow, seem a cynical sham, as long as Colin Kaeprernick, the first to take a knee, remains a pariah.  Remains unemployed and unwelcome and unapologized to. No Kap, no justice. Its that simple. 

Thirty-third day of Lent: Persevere

4/15

Chuck and Paula are waiting for me at the door. Chuck and his family  have been part of West-Park for almost as along as I’ve been here. His wife Angela was once our volunteer coordinator and in the eighteen months after 9-11, directed our Hub Church program where we responded to the needs of people who fell between the cracks of government programs.  His children Martha and Jasper baptized here. And those children led directly to our bringing Holly here. 

Chuck, like most people in this city, came with a dream.  Philly roots, Syracuse, acting dreams. Supporting that dream by working in the food service industry. Union man. He and his family part of the migration of young families from the Upper West Side to Harlem as the cost of housing has moved beyond working/middle class means. 

(Our neighborhood has always “worked” because of its economic integration. Because of that, we have had the most successful public housing projects in the country. No one is seriously thinking about the heightening social tension caused when the middle class is forced out of a neighborhood and only rich and poor remain.)

Chuck was also part of our  Men’s Spirituality and Writing Group, a cell group that ran for years. 

He and Paula were both founding members of the 29th Street Rep Theatre Company, the home of so-called brutal theatre, though Paula says that was a kind of tongue-in-cheek way of saying they did the plays they wanted to do. 

Over the years, I’d seen them both in intriguing and challenging pieces like Bobby Supreme and The Censor, and South of No North which opened up the world of Charles Bukowski to me. They were willing to push the boundaries, explore rough places but always with an eye to the complexity of human relationships. They lost their theatre in the ongoing rising tide of commercial rental rates. They’ve come to West-Park to see if this might be a place to bring those dreams back to life. So we take the tour.

Paula has other ideas, too. Possibilities that could emerge out of art and her evolving role in that world. We are attracting people with dreams, it’s at the very center of this project. But to make them real...

Bob and Paula

LJ comes up the street while I’m sweeping. She’s coming to see about getting married. Surprised to see me in the street. I explain to her the story of what we’re trying to do. She’s asking me about doing her marriage  because she’s read I’ve got experience in interfaith and bilingual ceremonies. She slipped into Spanish in our phone conversation to see how I’d respond. But the clincher was when I identified the 503 area code as Portland, Oregon. And said, PDX.

There is this odd connection. My friend Ken, an Episcopal Deacon and publisher who was in residence at West-Park for a year developing our Deacons’ program and creating a weekly Taize service moved there.  Dave, co-chair of a PHEWA network and Pastor for the mother of Jane Galloway. My old friend Bill from Tulsa. Amanda. Bill who spoke about Ritual Space. The Mayor’s Office of Sustainability. The US office of Sabeel, the Palestinian Theological and Liberation project from Bethlehem whose director Naim Ateek I’ve known for years is there. I’ve only been to the city once, but, well, these connections.... Despite the joke about being  a place where young people go to retire, or what Kermit said on Treme, they clap on the beat there,  there’s an ethos that seems to connect with where we’re trying to go. 

LJ’s interfaith New York Jewish-Peruvian Catholic marriage is actually not the future, it’s the world we’re living in now. 

Paul, a young African-American, comes in to take a look. “I always wanted to see inside here,” he says. “I like looking inside of churches. This is beautiful.” Been here three years. Usually goes to St.Gregory’s. He crosses himself. On the way out he asks, "Are you the guy who takes care of the church?" I pause for a moment. “Yes, I am.” We shake hands.

Outside Elle is coming past the church with her companion. Arm in a sling. I ask her what happened. Broken elbow. Ironically, I’d spent the morning with Andrea and her newly broken elbow. Elle lives in an apartment that would have been blocked by our proposed condominium tower. She says she appreciates how much better the church is being cared for. Asks how we’re doing. And I tell her.

“You’ve got to persevere,” she says. “You can’t give up. I was a designer. Fashion. When I’d be out out one door, I’d go right in the next. Persevere.” I thank her. She heads home. 

If only it were that simple. This part of the story is taking too long.