Mamiyaroid 10
Written Friday, October 23.
There is increased gun violence in my neighborhood, which is alarming. Earlier in the summer I asked some cops assigned to the area questions about the violence and they didn’t have any answers. One asked me if I felt safer with them around and I said, “To be honest, no.” He asked why and I said, “Because you also have guns. If I’m walking down the street and something happens and you pull out your gun as well… Guns don’t make me feel safe.” He had nothing to say to that.
On Friday I talked to another pair of cops and asked about the recent violence and again they said detectives were still investigating. I have no high hopes. I also don’t know what good the consequences would be when the underlying causes of the violence remain.
One black female cop, after learning I’d been in the area 10 years, asked me how I’ve survived and the truth is I survived a drive by. Literally dodged a bullet. Not sure what I’m going to do but something needs to change. (My situation is complicated.)
Then we talked some more and it turns out her partner, a younger Latino officer, was my student in 2013-2014. He used to sit in my library playing UNO and driving me nuts until I “lost” our deck of UNO cards after my failed attempt to get them to play silent UNO.
On my way to the subway I ran into Eddie, a black homeless man who sometimes sleeps in the basement of my building. None of us discussed it, but this is just something we have silently agreed to. He greeted me warmly and warned me about the violence and I asked him how long he’s been in the area and he laughed. “Since 1952.” He later said, “It’s happening everywhere.” Which yes, but also, no. Not to this extent, or with this proximity.
The day before a group of 3 black women were standing near where the gunfire happened and I asked if they knew anything about it. One said, “It’s a hot year.” There was a knowing resignation to it. I grew up in Washington Heights in the 1980s and didn’t leave until 2009; I’ve heard that resignation before.
My white neighbor partnered with a local Haitian restaurant to install garbage cans on our block so that the large groups of men who hang out during the day and night have a place to throw their trash instead of the ground, the way they usually do. He’d been walking up and down the block picking up trash each day because he said he didn’t want his daughter to grow up thinking your home should look trash strewn.
When the female officer asked me about moving I told her my apartment is perfect except for the violence. If you’ve followed my instagram you’ve seen many photos of my neighbor’s backyards, full of roses, and giant overgrown trees. It’s beautiful.
The night of the violence I saw my Asian neighbor and his white air b n b guests trying to go out for the evening and I yelled down, “Where do you think you’re going? Get back inside. They’re still investigating!” I mean, the detectives were literally canvassing the ground. Six people had been shot, with one dead. Also, we’re still in a pandemic. Not sure why people are visiting NYC and where they’re going.
The night after the violence I heard noise from the street and neighborhood community activists were having a sort of block party/information session about what to do if you find a victim of gun violence. Then they played loud music, and then it was finally quiet.
(I have much much much more complex thoughts on police, policing, and poverty, and racial inequality and how it’s all tied together that I’m not addressing here. This is just a snapshot of what I’ve seen.)
Later I ran an errand in Manhattan and saw a bunch of flowers next to a chair and was going to photograph it when a man walked over and asked if I was going to take a photo. He then offered to sell me the flowers, and I saw his empty coffee cup, and pulled out a dollar. I got out my canonet loaded with black and white film, but between the desperation of the man, my mask fogging my glasses, I’m pretty sure I didn’t meter or focus the shot properly. I still have 16 frames left on the roll so it will be a while before I see for sure. Not that I really care about the image! Another man walked over and he kept saying, “that’s a nice camera, miss”. I gave him a dollar.
Anyway, here is the photo I took with my phone. This gentleman requested I title it:
For the Ladies
Until next time…
Adalena
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-Adalena Kavanagh