la lucha

"...[A]rtists have long been recognized as pioneers and catalysts of gentrification," Arlene Dávila asserts (86). Indeed, the history of postwar art in New York attests to this fact: the Lower East Side was once an artistic haven; when artists were priced out there they moved to SoHo; when artists were priced out there they moved to Chelsea and the Meatpacking District; now that artists are being priced out there they're moving to Greenpoint, Williamsburg, Bushwick, and Gowanus. Having studied the influential East Village art scene in the late-mid/mid-late 20th century, I realize that I too am implicated in this trend, not just of artists but also of students and young professionals; haven't I too used gentrification to convince my mother to let me move into Brooklyn instead of staying in the dorms, used promises/half-truths/white lies of "everyone's moving out there, it's all students and yuppies, so it's safe"? Haven't I too dreamt of living la vie bohème, the life of an artist in a rundown Brooklyn studio, unaware that la vie bohème would only lead to la vie bourgeoise?

Yet artists have the ability to combat gentrification, to document and preserve the present, the past; Martin Wong, for example, is famous for his paintings of the Lower East Side and Chinatown, and also for collecting large amounts of graffiti art; his one-time boyfriend and collaborator Miguel Piñero co-founded the Nuyorican Poets Café in Loisaida. However, Dávila writes, "Initially established as an alternative movement, [the Nuyorican Poets Café] continues to embrace Nuyorican and Latino/a culture, however some argue that only as a 'content'—that is, as a bohemian version of multiculturalism where 'Latinidad' is oftentimes more a metaphor of inclusion..." (88-9)

The disparity between artists as bearers of culture and "art culture" as one that implicitly encourages inauthentic imitation—dressing the part, acting the part; how many of the artists that thrived in the 1970s East Village actually came from (upper) middle class suburbia, gave up their privileged lives to seek out la vie bohème?—becomes an apt analogy for the marketing of race in El Barrio, the battle between cultural preservation and "Latinidad" as a "content," the sanitized version of Latino and Puerto Rican history, or even the erasure thereof. As artists flourish, and/or as low rents allow younger crowds to move in, and a neighborhood becomes trendy, the development of businesses by outsiders trying to capitalize on the area's success is sure to follow.

Dávila discusses the importance of the tourism industry in the relationship between gentrification and ethnic cultural heritage; specifically, she compares the public awareness and recognition of places in Harlem, like the Apollo Theater, Sylvia's Restaurant, and the Abyssinian Baptist Church, with the lack of "cultural recognition of El Barrio, and of its Latino heritage" (102-3), which she attributes to the popularity of these landmarks among tourists, as opposed to the relative lack of interest in El Barrio's history. Dávila recognizes, however, that tours of Harlem are "always complemented with a visit to the Old Navy, Starbucks, and Disney Stores" (114-5)—even the Studio Museum is located within steps of a giant H&M and two Starbucks within a block of each other—the implication being that, though (or perhaps because) the existence of famous historical sites of in Harlem act as a sort of validation of Harlem as a cultural center, the effect of gentrification in the area both attracts greater interest and marketable traffic and sanitizes its history and the conflicts still present, simplifying the complexities of racialized spaces into a standardized set of buildings that represent certain abstract ideas of race that are palatable to white tourists and outsiders.

If gentrification and tourism in Harlem glosses over its complex history, it still at the very least allows for recognition of the significance of Harlem in the city and in the nation. In El Barrio, where much fewer famous establishments exist, the fight against gentrification then becomes the fight for self-representation, for the ability to create heritage sites, and the ability of El Barrio itself to become known as a cultural center. Tellingly, Dávila quotes a tourist brochure for Harlem whose sole mention of East Harlem says, "See 'Little Italy' in East Harlem" (114), completely erasing El Barrio from its map and, thus, denying not only its marketability, but its importance as a neighborhood and, to some extent, its very existence.

I'm interested in comparing the issues of gentrification in Harlem and El Barrio with the development of Chinatown, where, other than a Starbucks, a McDonald's, and a Duane Reade or two, there seems to be a complete lack of gentrification: the majority of businesses in the areas are Chinese-owned and cater to Chinese residents (although some restaurants obviously get a considerable amount of non-Chinese business; Joe's Shanghai is the first to come to mind). Despite that, Chinatown (or, at least, Canal Street) attracts throngs of tourists all the same; what about Chinatown has allowed it to still attract outside consumers while seemingly resisting gentrification? Is it the exotification of Chinese culture and fetishization of Chinese cuisine (indeed, I would argue that the majority of non-Chinese traffic to Chinatown centers around food), and the proximity to SoHo? If anything, most non-Chinese tourists seem to stay near the periphery of Chinatown, along Canal or maybe Bayard, but rarely past Pell; is it merely a rest stop for cheap, tasty food after a day of shopping? Also, how has New York's Chinatown developed this way, when, for example, D.C.'s Chinatown has faced so much gentrification that it can barely be recognized as such were it not for the Chinese-language signs (most of them translations of the English-named business) and the arch?