New York is a colossally massive city, and summing it with a generalized, sweeping judgement would be an error that millions have already made before me. What can be said about the city is that it is America’s city, for better or worse. It is the emblem that represents American values at their most extreme, a magnifying prism that separates the fibers of our society into neat primary colors on a subway map. Which line are you? New Yorkers will insist that they are the least American, they will dogmatically differentiate themselves from “them” and cite their cosmopolitan urbanity, their superior transit, their intense approach to vertical dwelling a defining separator from the perceived slow, homogenous suburban landscape that most Americans live in. What I see, however, is precisely what Americans want, although it may not be evident at first sight.
New York is money-obsessed, it is driven by an increasingly accelerated momentum toward power and influence, and it certainly succeeds at this. American values, whether we like it or not, are not driven by dreams or hope or community, but by money, and this is something to come to terms with.
We can think of nothing better to show our pride and resilience after the destruction of two towers than to build a single taller one, brighter and with more office space than ever before, and we like to call it “triumphant.” This is the ethos that Americans link to freedom, that New Yorkers equate to power. What they don’t see, however, is the prison they’ve built for themselves, codified in ever-growing castles of rich elite, looking down upon the minions as they trap themselves amongst the clouds of Midtown. What they don’t seem to realize is the commodification of a horrendous tragedy, the obliteration of solemn reverence in favor of loud bigness, and its so ugly it can only be American. Early plans from the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation included constructing a subterranean shopping mall beneath the 9/11 Memorial.
Times Square was once a space for city dwellers to gather and celebrate baseball games and holidays, a civic space for the rich and poor. Today’s Times Square is a freakish imitation of itself, with jumbotrons so bright you can’t see the charade before you. It is surely a caricature of its own history, a capitalist’s wonderland in the theme park that is the island.
If the cities of the world were children on a playground, New York would be the loud, screaming bully, pushing the others around and insisting she’s the best there ever was. I’ve always felt that if you have to say it, its probably not true.
Manhattan, and increasingly parts of Brooklyn, is the quintessential American ecosystem, teeming with imperatives toward constant spending in the 24-hour lifestyle. Neighborhoods are fetishized like fashion trends, and the excess populous of this real estate rush are pushed one stop further along the L-train every year. New York is in no way unique in its self-destructive gentrification, but it is certainly the best at it that I’ve seen.
New Yorkers have an unabashed pride in their city, and rightfully so. New York is so many colors, so many wonderful chaotic happenings at once that its hard to believe they all exist in one place. From the monstrous verticality of Manhattan to more moderate-scaled Brooklyn, and everything in-between, there is so much to see in New York, and it certainly cannot be described as one thing, because it is so many at any given time.
I only got a tiny slice of the city on this visit, and I both loved and hated what I saw, but it can be said that there is absolutely nothing quite like New York City.
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