Faith, Fat Chances, and Gentrification

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Anyone who follows me on Twitter knows that I’m always talking about gentrification, displacement, and diversity. That’s one of the reasons why I was commenting earlier this month in a #DiverseBookBloggers thread about how we need books by authors of color about neighborhood change. Then I happened to pick up Carla Trujillo’s Faith and Fat Chances and found exactly that conversation on the page.

Faith and Fat Chances takes place in a (as far as I can tell) fictional community right outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico called Dogtown that is being threatened by a winery development that would force most of the residents to relocate elsewhere. Just fyi, for anyone who has read What Night Brings, Trujillo’s first novel about a child growing up in a household of domestic violence, Faith and Fat Chances feels like a much lighter read.

Faith and Fat ChancesI didn’t find the book as riveting as I wanted it to be. Some of the characters seemed underdeveloped and the plot moved slower than I’m used to. That being said, I really loved a couple of the main characters, especially Pepa, an older curandera (a type of folk healer) whom all the residents of Dogtown come to with their ailments, both physical and spiritual.

I also enjoyed Tala, a character whose brother is trying to build the despised winery, and who leads the fight to try and save their town. Tala and several other characters fall on the LGBT spectrum, which is great since more books need gender and sexual orientation diversity. Many of the residents of Dogtown are Latino, and the book has lots of Spanglish going on, which felt important to the story voice.

There’s also a healthy dose of magical realism here, which in my opinion usually makes a book more intriguing. Think: a mysterious rain that menaces the town and won’t stop until people get their *ish* together. A few other details like this add some of the humor and lightness to the book.

I can’t help but wonder if Trujillo was interested to write on this subject matter given that she’s a Bay Area local, where the conversation around gentrification and demographic change has been raging for years. While Dogtown’s landscape looks a lot different from that of Oakland or San Francisco, I kept getting eerie chills on hearing the rhetoric of the developers and the mayor of the fake city. It hits close to home.

While I’ve seen a lot of nonfiction, especially online articles, talking about changing neighborhoods, there are fewer fiction books that I’ve come across that really address the topic. One that does come to mind is Angela Flournoy’s The Turner House, a large family drama set in present-day Detroit (great book, go read it!). But I’m hoping that talking about gentrification is a new trend in literature.

Ghettoside in Los Angeles

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I just finished working my way through Jill Leovy’s Ghettoside: A True Story of Murder in America, which is a deep dive into the LA Police Department’s homicide detective unit for South LA. I picked this one up at the library thinking it would be a perfect intersection of my interests: black people, urban challenges, and criminal justice, but I have to admit I came away conflicted.

GhettosideGhettoside follows LAPD Detective Skaggs as he tries to solve the murder of a colleague’s son. Leovy spends a lot of time describing Skaggs’ character — how hardworking and dedicated he is to seeing each case through to the end. She also builds a picture of South LA from the point of view of several residents, especially those who have lost loved ones to homicide. She describes the unpredictable certainty of violence for young black men in the area, and all of the complex ways people try to avoid it.

Leovy’s got a lot of great going on here. She embedded with LAPD to really get deep on the story, and as a result, the book is almost like a fictional crime thriller in how close it shadows detectives working homicide cases. She shows the real burnout that detectives face trying to handle massive caseloads and working without optimal funding resources. And she encapsulates some of the real tragedy of losing family members and friends to violence.

But at the same time there’s a not-so-subtle message that Leovy’s putting out through the book, which is the idea that black neighborhoods wouldn’t be such violent and forsaken places if cities put more of their resources into swiftly and harshly punishing black perpetrators of homicide:

When violent people are permitted to operate with impunity, they get their way. Advantage tilts to them. Others are forced to do their bidding. No amount of ‘community’ feeling or activism can eclipse this dynamic […] [Victims] need some powerful outside force to sweep in and take their tormentors away. That’s what the criminal justice system is for.

Of course it’s true that black people in high-crime neighborhoods wish there were less violence. Middle-class blacks in particular move away from neighborhoods all the time because they’ve had experiences with (or fear) community violence. To pretend that fear doesn’t matter would be disrespectful.

However, it’s overly-simplistic to make one factor seem like the sole cause of a massive issue like black-on-black homicide. As Ta-Nehisi Coates eloquently described in his essay The Case for Reparations, black people and black communities have been through countless rounds of violence and marginalization since slavery. A simplistic stroke of “taking tormentors away” would in reality mean gauging more holes into already broken family networks and not solving the root problems that lead to crime, such as unemployment, poor housing, and continued de facto segregation.

Leovy herself notes that when someone is killed in South LA, or when someone snitches, there’s frequently a hit put out on that person. Removing residents to put them in prison wouldn’t stop others from going after the witnesses who put someone behind bars. The cycle would continue.

Again, I think Leovy does have a lot of insightful content here, especially when it comes to noting how black-on-black homicides often get ignored by police structures, and that this kind of violence can thrive within communities that feel abandoned by the rest of the world. It’s just that the abandonment isn’t solely about public safety, it’s about economic empowerment and a host of other issues too.


Header Image: Flickr

Caribbean Tourism and A Brief History of Seven Killings

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When the 2015 Man Booker Prize was announced, and I saw that it was a Jamaican author for the first time, and an LGBT author to boot, I knew I’d need to investigate. It was partially the desire to be a cheerleader for diversity at the highest levels of the literary mountain, but also an interest in deepening some of my past experiences.

I’ve never been to the Jamaica that James talks about with A Brief History of Seven Killings. But I have been to Jamaica. When I was younger my family took a once-in-a-lifetime Caribbean cruise, and I remember our guided adventure clambering up the Dunn’s River Falls — one of the popular tourist attractions in a curated section of the island. The experience was magical, yet I was also uncomfortable with my clearly delineated tourist role.

A Brief History of Seven KillingsOn this same trip our boat stopped in Labadee on the island of Haiti, another part of the Caribbean that’s carefully guarded to keep tourists happy and keep most locals out. I remember going out into the ocean alone at the Labadee beach. There was this little area that was roped off as the place to swim and across the water I could see the rest of Haiti, not just the little section that we were on.

I had a pool chair and lay floating on top of it. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life. The sky was this ridiculous blue and the water was so clear that it looked like glass and shadows. It was paradise to a T. And at the same time I had an inkling of how carefully constructed it all was.

At the time I was reading Mountains Beyond Mountains, Tracy Kidder’s powerful investigation into the work of Dr. Paul Farmer, who had been working on bringing medicine for infectious diseases to Haiti for years. I knew that what I was seeing on my vacation was so much different than the reality lived by Hatians and Jamaicans beyond the borders of the resort. And because of that, I couldn’t settle. I felt guilty and I wanted to learn more about this place. Years later, A Brief History came my way, with it’s gritty depictions of Jamaica’s Eight Lanes and Copenhagen City neighborhoods.

Marlon’s book is an epic work of fiction that’s clearly grounded in years of research. It looks at a particular period of time, when Bob Marley was everything — the god of Jamaica who kept it real and didn’t lose touch with the people he knew before he was famous. And yet, Marley was also the subject of an assassination attempt by his own people, which is the historical point that the entire books spins into and out of.

It was a challenging read, since each chapter is written from the point of view of a different character, and much of the book is in Jamaican patois. But what kept me moving through it was the fantastic job that Marlon did in bringing out the various voices — male, female, rich, poor, Jamaican, American, etc. — and layering the various actors together in a way that reveals no clear right or wrong.

Parts of the book aren’t dissimilar to The Wire, where you have government officials and politicians working to quell the violence of poor, gang areas, while always looking after their own interests. The drug trade is a prominent aspect of the story as well. I definitely came away from A Brief History with a bigger picture of Jamaica than when I went in, and I’m happy to now hold that more complex impression, instilled by a master of literature.

Header Image: Wikimedia

Open City Wanderings

Open CityI couldn’t remember what life was like before I started walking.
—Teju Cole,
 Open City

I read Teju Cole’s Open City while traveling through India. It was a bizarre yet wonderful experience, because Cole’s book starts off all about New York City, which is strikingly different from the environment I found myself in at the time. But it’s also a book about exploration and connection. The magic of Open City is not in what happens, but rather in how the main character experiences life. And those fictional wanderings called up memories of my own experiences walking without a clear destination.

Open City follows a Nigerian American doctor who is in the midst of his residency at a Manhattan hospital. The doctor finds himself with lots of unstructured time in his odd periods of respite from his demanding work schedule, and so he walks. He walks all throughout NYC, and eventually his wanderings take him to Brussels and beyond. He encounters all manner of people —rich, poor, white, of color, young, old. And throughout his adventuring he maintains a persistent and alluring internal monologue that shows an uncanny self-awareness and depth of mind.

Back while I lived in Washington, DC, a close friend of mine was located in NYC. So, when I had free weekends, I would sometimes take a bus up to the Big Apple to hang out. I had a great experience in DC — it’s an interesting city and it fit my lifestyle at that point. But New York was even more intriguing to me, because it isn’t just interesting, it’s an endlessly interesting place.

One of the first times I visited NYC my friend had to work all day. I wanted to see what the city had to offer, so in the morning I left the apartment and took the subway from Queens to Columbia University in north Manhattan. I admired the campus for a little while and then wandered to a deli and then a park nearby to eat lunch. From there, I figured I might as well see some of Harlem and so I wandered over to 5th Avenue and started to make my way down alongside Central Park. And after that for lack of much else to do, I simply… kept walking.

Columbia’s manicured haven had opened into the grittier streets of Harlem, where I experienced the feeling of being both at home and on edge at the same time. I saw Central Park change, as I walked from its more vacant end toward museums, the ritzy area, and then the hubbub of the central city. I ended up at Wall Street and the former site of the World Trade Center, absorbing that end-of-the city feeling as evening blew across the water and into the grid of streets.

The approximate route I took, minus a few meanderings

The approximate route I took, minus a few meanderings

I’ll never forget the tender sense of accomplishment I had at the end of that day. It was just like the closing of a book, the sense that I had fully opened myself up to the city and what it had to offer. I had seen so much, felt so much, encountered so many different people and blocks in one day. I may never experience New York in that same way again — it was a lot of walking after all — but I’m grateful for the memory.

I have some confusion about Cole’s choices for the very ending of Open City that I can’t really get into without spoiling. But otherwise, the writing is truly graceful, and I’m glad Cole reminded me what it feels like to give in to the beautiful sensation that is wanderlust.

The Kolkata Flyover and Sustainability Politics

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I returned last Thursday from a three-month trip in and around India. The first thing I did was sleep. A lot. And then the next day I turned on my computer to see that a flyover collapse in Kolkata had just killed more than 25 people.

I’m sometimes guilty of reading quickly past international tragedies. They can seem so far away and unconnected to my everyday world. But I spent a week in Kolkata during the month of February. Having been in that exact city just over a month ago makes the pain palpable. In one image I saw the yellow and green backs of two autorickshaws buried in the rubble, and I thought about how much time I spent getting around the city in that type of vehicle. I could have been there when it happened.

The collapse makes me think of China, which for many years now has been on a rapid infrastructure expansion and construction boom. While China may now be slowing down its rate of construction. It’s also not unheard of for similar collapses to occur at building sites within the country.

Both countries get mentioned a lot when it comes to conversations of global development. And talk isn’t always flattering. For instance, the media is all over the serious pollution issues in parts of India and China. And it is a real concern. My introduction to India was Bangalore, a city now renowned for its bad air. Careening through oppressively crowded streets in a rickshaw, I often saw heavy black soot coming out the exhaust pipes of trucks or other vehicles ahead. I felt the visceral relief of spending time at tree-filled Lalbagh Park to get away from the crush of traffic.

In many ways, so-called developing nations struggle to keep up with the sheer size of their populations (as of 2013 India was at nearly 1.3 billion and China had almost 1.4 billion residents). The rapid pace of their urbanization means that planners, engineers, and builders are racing to redesign Asian cities under this huge pressure of people.

It does seem like a tremendous task to keep up with the rapidly urbanizing parts of India, as well as the roads, trains, electricity, broadband, and other infrastructure to connect them. Environmental concerns might often be getting shoved under the rug. But we’re missing some things also, aspects that are less sexy to report on, in declaiming “Oh, poor India,” and thinking of it only as an environmentally-challenged place. We miss the reality that there are also ways in which Indian culture is radically ahead of the game when it comes to sustainability.

I’m thinking of how ridesharing is nothing new to India for instance. Whole families often commute through cities on motorbikes, and rickshaws taken by locals are frequently stuffed to the brim. Uber advertises all over India (where it takes cash to adjust to infrequent use of credit cards), along with similar services already based in India. But their model seems much less innovative or necessary in a place where it’s already quite common to be riding in a vehicle with several other people.

Another example is the strict use of resources. From what I could see during my travels, hardly anyone seemed to own water- and electricity-guzzling appliances such as clothes washer/dryer sets or dishwashers. Most people bathe using buckets of water (not always heated either) rather than employing the use of water-guzzling showers. It’s something that a lot of travelers coming from the Western world have to get used to, given that we are so used to having these comforts.

Not too long ago, however, Western countries didn’t look so different. And while I’m not going to be the first to replace my shower in California with a bucket bath, I do have to wonder if it’s possible for India to grow and change differently than other industrialized countries have? Could it hold on to some of its more sustainable ways of living and at the same time embrace the things that would help increase environmental health, life expectancy, gender equity, and all the other markers that some places are arguably closer to? At the very least, it’s clear that sustainability isn’t always a clear cut issue.


Image by NOMAD [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons