Late February, in South Brooklyn, the bad part of Sheepshead, near the public homes. My ignorance is fierce this morning.

Was this the ghetto of last century?With Russian roots and a nihilistic sense that sits over this place like a grey cloud. Broken ice like glass on the pavement and guns under counters. The brick high rise projects uniform except for their variety of decay. A light snow falling.

The job brings me here to knock on unfamiliar doors in hopes those inside will sign up for our programs charity & services. Which will bring more like me to tell them what they should be doing with their lives, how to smile in the face of bullshit. In order to change what the place looks like outside their apartments.

I know… what a stupid idea.

Us (me) acting like saints with nice pens & paperwork. Least we aren’t the police. This community has every right to be suspicious of me, what I do, and what I represent. I am here to buy out the revolution because the powers that be know nothing here will change without a movement. I’m talking bodies moving through the streets demanding fair reparations, an honest chance at the pie they bake, FREEDOM! Not police surveillance and fast food.

I’m expected to market the chance to live the good life like me (debt-ridden) so that we don’t riot in City Hall, the Capital, Wall Street, the factories, ports, subway stations, hotels and restaurants. So that don’t march OUR very streets.

I say, “I’m here to see if you’d be interesting in Care Coordination services (the public/them/us billed by Medicaid). To help you manage your mental / medical conditions (make sure you keep taking your drugs for Big Pharma and support the sick industrial complex).” Blank stares or worse, fear.

“And with anything that keep you from doing that: employment (indentured servitude to capitalism) , education (cultural neutralization) and even housing.” I lie. Some eyes might light up.

Believe in rhetoric much?

Cause I don’t which is why I’m here doing my best to serve these people. Make sure they have enough food to feed their kids, get them out of bed and find purpose, hope for a better future. I can never really tell if what I’m doing is good or bad. Whether there is a moral reason, a progressive forward, or just relative truth?

I’m walking the street looking down with sirens in the distance. The air is cold, 29 degrees and I’m thankful because two days ago it was 10 and windy. The darkness of the project windows looks down at me like brown pupils. There’s all sorts of trash on the sidewalk, cracked pavement, and unshoveled snow turned to deadly ice because the city has no money for this part of town. An older woman is walking the street, cracked skin, dry lips, thick glasses, if she fell, it might kill her. A mother passes me with her baby in an umbrella stroller, she looks tired but determined.

I’m snapping photos but don’t know what to do with them. Maybe if I show them.

Maybe if I show them.

http://www.sheepsheadbites.com/2013/08/sheepshead-nostrand-houses-among-most-neglected-nycha-buildings/