By Al Peter Barnett
There are so many who, without mal-intent, have called and continue to call for sweeping change to the businesses along Nostrand Avenue. With an open mind one can comprehend this point of view,
particularly in light of the development of neighboring areas, such as Franklin Avenue. However, there is a contrasting point of view, which stems from the West Indian community that resides here. We have a connection to the Avenue that was spawned well before many of our parents even set eyes on each other.
“Nah-strahnd”, for the vast majority of first and second generation West Indian immigrants, is the Caribbean. It evokes its essence: Through food.
To go to Gloria’s for some roti or Thora’s for her fried king fish. Through vibe. You hear some (not on the Legend album) Bob Marley as you pass by Lion Heart or some sweet Soca emanating from vehicles in the street. The dialect. To converse with ease, without having to concentrate and contort your tongue to say words like “Three” rather than “Tree”. Having others fully understand you. To hear colloquial terms (from greetings to expletives) rarely uttered outside the Caribbean. “Wah happnin. Wah iz dee scene?” Being on Nostrand, you can close your eyes, think back, and for a moment, you can remember the mango trees, and warm sun, festivals and pah-ty (parties).
This area provides a temporary reprieve, a Caribbean oasis of sorts in the middle a mostly apathetic American desert. Nostrand Ave; Flatbush Ave; Utica Ave — all three are rooted in West Indian-American history and culture, and have been, and continue to be, well-known and well regarded in the islands through story and song. They might very well need a face lift, but not a complete transformation. Nostrand Avenue reminds us that a hard-working, colorful and fun-loving community of dreadlock Rastas and Christians whose roots trace back to a collective of islands in the Caribbean Sea, co-exists with an austere community of devout Hassidic Jews whose traditions stem from doctrine of ancient Isreal. Nostrand is a testament to the beautiful patchwork of this country. It is an American legacy.
I am Trinidadian. Born and bred for over twenty-five years. I don’t blog. I didn’t even grow up with a computer. But I felt compelled to share my perspective. As a Brooklyn resident for the past few years I have enjoyed Nostrand’s aura and the emotions it stirs via its West Indian parallelisms — so too have countless before, at present and hopefully in the future. By presenting the contrast of West Indian sentimentality I hope that its relevance to the majority of Crown Heights residents will be better and truly understood — so ultimately when the inevitability of change prevails, so too will open-mindedness, inclusion, and understanding to the benefit of the community holistically.
Crown Heights 360 – This is my perspective.
Beautifully written. I share your sentiments BUT with a twist! I am a lifelong Brooklynite as were my parents and their parents before them. My dad is of Italian descent. His great-grandparents came to the USA in the 1890’s. My mom’s family is from South Carolina on one side and Barbados on the other. The South Carolinians were descendants of Africans who were stolen from Africa to toil as slaves in North America while my Bajan ancestors, who were taken from Africa for that same purpose but were sold perhaps in Christ Church just one stop before that ship sailed into Charleston Harbor.
Despite their very different backgrounds, my dad the first college grad in his family, my mom one of a long line of educators, both my parents who are Erasmus Hall alumni share a sadness when they come back to Flatbush to visit. They both lament on how unrecognizable Nostrand (‘Nosetrun’), Flatbush and Church Avenues are to them. Either of them could have written your very same words just 30 years ago!
They miss the upscale Department stores like Macy’s and Loehman’s. They can’t understand why once grand movie and concert venues sit empty or have been converted to sneaker stores. They miss Jahn’s where thye could sit down and have lunch. They complain about loud music, loud talk and sometimes being asked questions by people using dialects of English that they don’t understand.
Residents with surnames like Russo, Weinstein, O’Brien and Washington have been replaced by residents with surnames like Charles, Rampersand and Jena-Gilles. Even before any of the above there were the Lotts, the Lefferts, the Van Pelts and the Van Deveers who built farms on property that once belonged to Native Americans. No doubt that with the growing popularity of many Brooklyn neighborhoods, we may well see the tide change yet again. Nostrand Avenue will morph to reflect the culture of the people who inhabit its environs. Not just their ethnic culture but the urban culture, economic culture, and environmental culture sometimes to the detriment of those who preceded them. Some changes we will welcome and others we will protest but change will come. As “new people” move to the area and those who have been here for a while move on, changes will definitely be biased toward the new energy. It has always been this way and it will always be this way. Sigh! or celebrate the constant rebirth of our community.
Jen, can i just say as a jamaican american with parent who are educated as well, nostrand is a breath of fresh air. and being a vegetarian, you tell me the place with food for me like that in the rest of city??? of course really old people will complain that things are different. but when you start saying that the family names have changed and take an elitist tone like that, thats some old world racist shit. you should take that crap down to fort hamilton. im sure the other ‘italians’ will love that rhetoric.
Al,
You may not blog, but you write beautifully. I enjoyed reading your post. I’m not sure how many people there are really calling for sweeping change on Nostrand. My guess is they happen to be those with megaphones or whatever the equivalent of that happens to be today in the media, blogosphere or in real estate saavy/holdings. Hope you are enjoying this weather. I know the jerk is cooking outside.