Park Slope Reader

Feature

Slope Survey: Shahana Hanif

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The Slope Survey returns for its 20th installment with Shahana Hanif a candidate running for New York City Council for District 39.

Shahana Hanif is a Kensington Brooklyn born-and-raised daughter of Bangladeshi immigrants running to represent Brooklyn’s 39th District in the New York City Council. She’s a product of public schools having attended P.S. 230 and Brooklyn College, she’s an activist, community organizer, and public servant who has been building with neighbors on our most local fights for over a decade. At 17 she was diagnosed with Lupus which almost killed her. She had both hips and her left shoulder replaced and was bedridden in the hospital for months. Her experience navigating the complex health care and the inaccessible transit system was the catalyst for the community organizer and activist she is today. 

What brought you to the neighborhood? 

I’ve lived in District 39 in Kensington my entire life. My father arrived in Kensington over 35 years ago as a ship jumper from Bangladesh and my family has lived in Kensington ever since. 

What is your most memorable Brooklyn moment?  

In February 2019 during one of the coldest weeks of winter, the NY Times reported that detainees at the Metropolitan Detention Center, a federal jail in Sunset Park, were without heat and power. Council Member Brad Lander and I ran to Sunset Park to a harrowing scene of those inside banging in protest of abominable conditions. My video recounting this scene spread far and wide, getting 4.6 million views on Twitter alone and galvanized hundreds of protesters on the ground to demand the immediate restoration of power and heat. We succeeded. Every constituent deserves a voice in this city. And we have a lot more to do to end mass incarceration and divest from over-policing. 

Describe your community superpower.  

Throughout my life, I have been my community’s older sister — for friends on our block, to students at Brooklyn College, to tenant leaders while organizing at CAAAV. My life’s work is dedicated to bringing communities together to build local power and win transformative change. As an interfaith organizer and a superpowered connector, I know first-hand that we can only build coalitions once we build trust between different communities. Building trust is slow, hard work, and as an older sister to Sabia and Sazia and having spent most of my life as an organizer, I am always working on cultivating trust, being a better listener, and centering our community in the decision-making process. 

If you could change one thing about the neighborhood, what would it be?  

Bring back the B71 bus, which was a vital transportation service for seniors, public housing residents, students, families, and more. If the B71 cannot be brought back, we still need a comparable bus that provides East-West support across the Gowanus Canal.

What do you think Brooklyn will look like in 10 years?

This June is a critical turning point for Brooklyn and New York City as we elect a new Mayor, Comptroller, and a majority of Council Members. I want to see a feminist Brooklyn grounded in care that shows up for all our neighbors. We can create a Brooklyn where our government is participatory and responsive, where our schools are fully funded and integrated, where we have universal healthcare and affordable housing, where we secure a liveable future for our City with a Green New Deal, and where our streets are lush with trees, have protected bike lanes, and more open spaces for play and community arts programming. In 10 years I hope Brooklyn is a truly multiethnic, multilingual, intergenerational, feminist place to live.

What are you reading, would you recommend it?  

While I haven’t had a lot of time in the last year to read for pleasure since I’ve been running for office, Stacey Abrams’ book Lead From The Outside has been a lifeline as I’ve navigated running as a first time woman candidate of color.   

What is your greatest extravagance?  

A dinner consisting of tagliatelle in a creamy spinach sauce topped with ricotta cheese from Giovanni’s Brooklyn Eats and cranberry sage pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream Four & Twenty Blackbirds in Gowanus.

If you couldn’t live in Brooklyn, where would you go?  

Queens, because it’s the second best borough in NYC for food. But it’s hard to pick between Jackson Heights or Flushing. 

Who is your hero, real or fictional?

Nahar Alam, a co-founder of the Bangladeshi Feminist Collective. Nahar has been foundational for my feminist analysis on care work and the lessons from her time leading Andolan and transformational multi-racial organizing, led by a coalition of Black, Latinx, Asian, and South Asian women. In the 90’s she organized to protect the rights of domestic workers – nannies, health aides, housekeepers and other household service workers. Andolan lobbied legislators to strengthen labor laws to put women workers over profits, and made way for the passing of the Domestic Workers Bill of Rights in New York State, guaranteeing protections around wage, work hours, and safety.

Last Word, What’s turning you on these days?

I’ve been deeply inspired by the abundant ways neighbors are showing up for one another during the pandemic in every corner of our district, from the Camp Friendship Food Pantry in Park Slope to People In Need’s work in Kensington. We’ve shown up for undocumented neighbors by raising over $40,000 in direct survival funds, provided food and art kits to working families, and fought to make vaccine distribution more equitable. 

I’ve also been energized by all the community support I’ve received throughout my campaign. District 39 is ready to elect their first woman Council Member! 

Tales of the Night Watchman: Under the Surface

By Filed Under: Brooklyn Comics, Feature Tagged With: ,

By Dave Kelly, Katrina Lord, Brett Hobson, Clare DeZutti, & DC Hopkins

Tales of the Night Watchman is the story of three baristas and a city full of monsters. In “Under the Surface” , Serena takes her old pal the Night Watchman on an adventure–to the literal bowels of the city. Wear a mask, folks.

READ MORE TALES OF THE NIGHT WATCHMAN HERE

You Can Call Me Coach

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Frances Perkins was the first woman appointed to the cabinet of a US President. In 1933, Franklin Delano Roosevelt appointed Francis Perkins as the Secretary of Labor during the Great Depression. Perkins ushered in massive social reforms, leading the legislative efforts to institute Old Age, Survivors, Disability Insurance (aka “Social Security”), unemployment compensation, and workers compensation. 

The first of her kind, the press was confused about what to call her other than “Secretary Perkins”. The Speaker of the House of Representatives, Henry Thomas Rainey (D-Ill), was called upon to clarify the appropriate honorific to use. 

“When the Secretary of Labor is a lady, she should be addressed with the same general formalities as a secretary who was a gentleman. You call him Mr. Secretary. You will call her Madam Secretary.”

It’s not hard to show respect for women who take on roles that have long been held by men. Most times, you can simply call the woman by the same exact title as a man in the same position, like “Doctor” or “Vice President”. But for some people, finding a way to refer to women in positions that have been long dominated by men seems really difficult. This holds true on the baseball fields of Brooklyn.

In the depths of the Great Depression, President Franklin D. Roosevelt appointed Perkins as secretary of labor. Against overwhelming odds, she became the driving force behind Social Security, the 40-hour workweek, the eight‐hour workday, minimum wage, and unemployment compensation.

In the spring of 2010, I took to the artificial turf fields at the Dean Street Playground, near what would become the Barclays Center, as the head coach of the SFX Youthsports T-Ball team, the “Beetles”. My three year-old son, Jack, was excited to put on a uniform and enjoy the game that he saw his older cousins playing every spring. There was never a question about who would coach his team. It would be me.

For the five years before our first T-ball season, I served as an assistant coach to my nephews’ SFX recreational baseball teams, led by my brother-in-law, Coach John. In the spring of 2007, you could find me, visibly pregnant with Jack, coaching the runners at first base.  For the first two springs of Jack’s life, a few times a week, he watched his uncle and his mom lead his nephews in practices in Prospect Park, and games all around Brooklyn. His Auntie Kristin, his Nana Sue, and his Daddy would keep an eye on Jack on the sidelines while John and I were busy on the field. I enjoyed my first Mother’s Day at the Parade Grounds, where Coach John helped coordinate coffee and donuts to celebrate the moms, like me, who made it to the game that morning. 

For five years I was taking mental and physical notes about the kind of head coach I wanted to be when it was my turn. First and foremost, I wanted to instill a love of the game in my players. Just like John, it was important to me that the players knew the rules so they could understand the beauty of baseball. There was never a doubt in my mind that if the player could see how intertwined the physical and the psychological parts of the game were, that they would essentially find the spirituality of baseball, and fall in love. 

Of course, this education had to be provided in an age-appropriate manner. Would you try to teach three and four-year-olds how to work a count for their own benefit and the batters behind them? Since there was no pitching in t-ball, such would be unnecessary, but also developmentally impossible. A success to be found in at-ball game was when a player would drop their bat before running, or more importantly, running to first base, instead of third. I’m still interested in the choice made by the baseball founders requiring baserunners to run counter-clockwise around the bases, instead of clockwise.  I guess most three and four-year-olds feel the same way. 

That first year as a head coach for the Beetles I didn’t feel out of place as a woman on the field. There were a few women leading t-ball teams that year, though we were definitely not close to a majority. There were also moms serving as assistant coaches, and moms helping coordinate the line-ups. There were moms helping with after-game snacks. Moms were everywhere. As the years went on, and the players got older, most moms moved back, away from the field, to enjoy their children’s participation on the field as a spectator. But not me. I was still there in the middle of the action, where I wanted to be. 

After years of watching John, I was eager to coordinate my own team’s defense and offense. I was preparing pre-game and post-game team talks as I fell asleep at night. I got the butterflies every game day, out of excited energy. 

This is 2012. That’s me sitting at first base. I generally coached from down there. 1) that way parents on the sidelines wouldn’t be obstructed by me. 2) I was at kid level, and 3) my adrenaline was so high I would shake… but, in this picture, you can also see 2 coaches/Dad’s from the other team behind me…

As we moved past the t-ball stage, and into Prospect Park as the kids turned five, my uniqueness as a female coach became more obvious. There were practically no other women wearing the collared SFX head coach shirt with the color-coordinated baseball cap that I wore each game with great pride. I guess my rarity as a female head coach helps explain why many fellow head coaches, men wearing the same collared shirt and hat as I, would literally miss my physical existence as we prepared for game time. Time and time again the opposing coach would walk up to a father on my team, not wearing a coach’s shirt or cap, to clarify which team was batting first, or what time our game would start. Time and time again the dads on my team would put their hands up and say something like, “oh, no. I’m not a coach. You have to talk to Coach Kathryn. She’s over there.” And there I was, wearing a matching outfit, setting up the field; putting the bases down, measuring the base paths with my retractable measuring tape. I thought I was ultra-visible in my uniqueness, but on those occasions I was invisible; the opposing coaches didn’t even know to look for me, though I was clearly there.

Not being seen is hard to take, but being seen and not respected is more difficult to swallow. A few glaring examples over the past decade come to mind. There was the father of a 5-year-old player on the opposing team who left his spot on the sidelines to tower over me, incensed that I was insisting an umpire apply the appropriate rules to his son’s at-bat. His voice raised, he kept referring to me as “ma’am” at the end of each of his sentences, but the inflection of his tone made it clear that he was not using it as a term of respect, but a reminder that I was the only woman on the field. 

Then there is the use of “lady”. At least with “ma’am” the speaker can feign respect; when a man calls a woman “lady”, as in “what’s your problem, lady?”, it is quite clear that no civility is intended.  I get “what’s your problem, lady?” at least once a year. Most often it comes from the sidelines, uttered by frustrated dads who seem to have trouble accepting their son will lose to a team coached by a woman. Sometimes it comes from opposing coaches, usually when I’ve caught them trying to skip past their weaker batters in the line-up when the score is really close. When Jack was nine, there was the middle-aged umpire, frustrated, and likely embarrassed, with my correcting him and our opposing coach on the rules of our level of play. As I turned away from our meeting behind home plate to return to my team’s dugout, he muttered within earshot, “whatever, lady”.

There is absolutely no reason to use the terms “ma’am” or “lady” on the baseball field. There is one term, and one term alone that should be used to refer to me, or any other woman leading their team on the baseball field, or any other sports field for that matter. You can call me “Coach”.

Pride in Park Slope

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There’s something special about celebrating Pride in NYC – the history, the grassroots movements, the fabulous festivities! 

Equality means more than passing laws. The struggle is really won in the hearts and minds of the community, where it really counts.”

Barbara Gittings, American LGBTQ Activist

The Stonewall Rebellion at the landmark Christopher Street Inn on June 28th, 1969 gave fuel to the fire of LGBTQ+ liberation for years to come. We remember historic New York trailblazers from Marsha P Johnson and Slyvia Rivera, who together founded the Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries,  to self-described “Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet” Audre Lorde, to artistic advocate and activist Keith Haring, to so many more who paved the way for leaders today. 

While together we have accomplished so much, there is still work to be done. Being part of Pride events throughout this month give us the opportunity to be activists, advocates, and allies. To celebrate and better what makes our community historic, rebellious, diverse, and full of joy. 

Here are some neighborhood Pride events going on throughout the month. Whether you’ll be attending, volunteering, or donating we encourage you to check out and get involved with the amazing organizations that continue to work throughout the year to support the LGBTQ+ community here in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn Pride Kick Off Party 

June 7th, Monday 5:00-8:00 at Out of the Closet

AIDS Healthcare Foundation and Brooklyn Pride are throwing a rooftop cocktail party to kick-off Pride week! Hosted at Out of the Closet Thrift Brooklyn, where 96 cents of every dollar directly funds AHF’s programs, their housing services, and on-site pharmacies and free HIV testing. Drink, mix, and mingle supporting a great cause! More Information

Brooklyn Pride 5K Run/Walk

June 12th, Saturday 10:00-12:00 at Prospect Park 

This is the 25th Annual Brooklyn Pride LGBTQIA+ 5K partnered with Maimonides Medical Center and Front Runners New York. Register for the race or donate to earn your t-shirt and swag. Then Saturday morning join the race or show up to cheer on the runners. Let’s go! More Information

Pride Mini-Street Festival 

June 12, Saturday 12:00-5:30 at Old Stone House 

After the 5K, the party continues to everyone’s favorite Old Stone House in Washington Park. Vendors and organizations will be set up, plus music for everyone – rock, hip-hop, and even some Drag Performances! Support local businesses, artists, and mutual aid groups. More Information

Drag Queen Story Hour

June 15 & 23 (Virtual), 18 (Walt Whitman Library), 24 (Dumbo Archway)

Drag Queen Story Hour is a wonderfully fun time for kids to imagine, learn, and make new friends. Partnered with Brooklyn Public Libary, there are virtual and in-person storytimes for ages 3 to 8. Kids can enjoy songs and stories read by a glamorous queen while learning about gender fluidity and self-expression. More Information, Follow On Instagram for Live Events

Drag Queen’s Makeup Tutorial Hour

June 16, Wednesday 3:30-4:30 (Virtual)

Tune in to the live stream on the Drag Queen Story Hour NYC Instagram page for a makeup tutorial from Cholula Lemon. Kids and teens of all genders and makeup experience levels will get something out of this workshop. You can follow along to learn new techniques and tips for fabulous eye makeup looks! More Information, Follow on Instagram for Virtual Live Event

Ice Cream Social Celebrating Pride Month 

June 17th, Thursday 6:30-8:00 at Prospect Park 

There’s no better way to celebrate in summer than with ice cream! Join the METRO New York Library Council Uncle Louie G’s then head over to Prospect Park for an ice-cream social. An evening of sweet treats and even sweeter friends! More Information

Brooklyn Community Pride Center 

Self Care, STD Testing, Support Programs, and More Donate Now 

Throughout Pride Month and every month, Brooklyn Community Pride Center hosts a vast arrange of events, from self-care days, meditation and yoga classes, support groups, and game nights. On Wednesdays, they partner with Brooklyn G.H.O.S.T. Project to distribute food, clothes, and other resources to Trans and Gender Non-Conforming community members. On Thursdays, they provide Free HIV testing and safe sex kits. All programs can be found on their calendar and you can visit their website for more information on how to get involved and donate. Brooklyn Community Pride Events, Brooklyn Ghost Project

Additional Resources:

Doug Schneider: On Rebuilding & Reform

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Meet the Civil Rights Attorney and Democratic Community Leader Running to Represent Brooklyn’s 39th District 

“When people see politicians with children, they often assume that the children are being used as props. For me, bringing them to work is a necessity and a reality,” said Doug Schneider, over the phone. He regularly brings his children to work, including in the political arena. His seven-and-a-half-year-old son is a 1st grader at PS 107; his daughter is four. Schneider is transparent about the challenges of being a politician and equal caregiver; and, after a year of overseeing remote learning for his son, among countless other pandemic-related complications, he makes a strong case for normalizing children in the workplace— including on the campaign trail.  

In the fall of 2020, Doug Schneider, a civil and criminal defense litigator and Democratic District Leader for the 44th Assembly District, announced his candidacy to represent City Council District 39 in the upcoming Democratic primary election. District 39 includes Park Slope, Gowanus, Carroll Gardens, Columbia Waterfront, Cobble Hill, Windsor Terrace, and portions of Borough Park and Kensington. Schneider joined the primary for term-limited Councilman Brad Lander’s seat, while Lander himself is in the running for City Comptroller. Recently, Schneider’s campaign received the endorsements of 39 community leaders, including support from other District Leaders, PTA leaders, climate activists, worker’s rights advocates, and activists for transportation and street safety. 

“As we face a post-pandemic recovery, we need experienced leaders with a proven record of results,” Community Leader, Dorothy Siegel, told Bklyner in a statement. Siegel is the founder of ASD Nest, a community-focused program that specializes in serving the needs of children living with an autism spectrum disorder. Siegel is right— City Council needs an experienced leader with both a history of community leadership and an agenda to ensure a full economic recovery. 

In addition to historic economic fallout, the novel coronavirus pandemic exposed some of our nation’s deepest inequalities. In New York City, once the center of the global outbreak, many low-paid workers were forced to continue working in unsafe conditions, without proper PPE or adequate salary. When schools shuttered, women disproportionately left their careers to become full-time caregivers, and now struggle to reclaim footing in the job market. Those from historically underserved communities have experienced the highest rates of eviction, viral infection, and death. For these reasons and more, Schneider is committed to not only rebuilding District 39 but also plans to address the longstanding discrimination that has hindered minority communities. 

The focus of Schneider’s campaign platform is: 1) Transportation and Street Safety, including reimagined sidewalks and bike lanes, accessible public transportation, and the expansion of traffic safety enforcement and speed cameras; 2) Economic Recovery for small businesses, women and working parents, and out-of-work New Yorkers; 3) Education, including updated school infrastructure, expanded after-school programs, a pandemic-response taskforce, and substantial investments in higher education; and 4) Constituent Services, providing a broad range of services to constituents, including information on government programs and affordable housing resources, and an expansion of language access at the polls.  

Schneider’s ties to Brooklyn—and more specifically, to Park Slope— predate his plans to run for City Council. Though his parents are both from Brooklyn, Schneider and his siblings were raised in New Jersey. After graduating from law school and marrying his wife Joni, the couple decided to settle in South Slope, where they have resided for almost 15 years. Around the time of the 2016 presidential election, Schneider began to consider his run for City Council, as he did not like where the Trump Administration was leading the country. 

“I always had an interest in politics but never saw myself as someone who could get elected,” said Schneider. His involvement in volunteering for political campaigns goes back to 1999. After graduating from college, he worked as a congressional aid before attending law school. In recent years, he has served as a Trustee to the Park Slope Civic Council and has previously held a seat on the District Committee for Brad Lander’s participatory budget initiative.

“I saw where things were headed and I didn’t like where they were going. I began to think that I could make a difference,” Schneider said. He thought about the leading issues of the Brooklyn Democratic Party and the need for greater transparency. “I decided to run on issues that were at the forefront because they matched with the things that I have always been passionate about,” he told me. Schneider then shared his lived experiences as a small business owner, attorney, and activist. 

Schneider’s law practice focuses on civil and criminal cases, including employment discrimination and business litigation, and occasionally, pro-bono representation for street safety activists. He has worked with clients on cases related to employment discrimination, including a technician who was fired for a disability and a personal assistant who was wrongfully fired for being pregnant while she was on approved maternity leave. Schneider has also represented individuals charged with state and federal crimes, in addition to individuals under investigation by the federal government and the State of New York. 

As an experienced attorney and fierce advocate for civil rights issues and criminal justice reform, Schneider is also committed to bringing police reform to City Council by passing legislation to hold officers accountable for misconduct, and reallocating resources to invest in underserved communities. 

In July of 2020, after months of school closures across the country, Schneider organized a DOE town hall meeting to discuss NYC’s re-opening plans and devised strategies for creating long-term solutions to safely re-open schools. Subsequently, Schneider organized a protest outside of City Hall in November, demanding that New York City schools stay open. Despite the city’s increasing positive test rate for COVID-19, the positive test rate in schools was under 1%. 

“There was a path to doing this effectively, but the plan to fully re-open schools couldn’t be waiting until COVID completely disappeared,” Schneider told me. “We knew that we would eventually get to a point like today, where we are vaccinated, but we had to act before then.” He explained the lag in long-term planning and its negative effect on the mental and emotional health of students.  

In addition to the implementation of the Pandemic Response Emergency Plan (PREP), Schneider’s multi-step solution to long-term pandemic planning, he also plans to expand after-school programs, restore arts curriculum, and address the longstanding racial divides within New York City’s school system. Schneider has pledged to end the school-to-prison pipeline by replacing law enforcement with social workers and mental health professionals.

I asked Schneider how he and his family were managing to recover after a year of such intense devastation. 

Quietly, I wondered how a politician like Doug Schneider—with his extraordinary record of experienced leadership and Herculean efforts to rebuild his community— was able to hold down a day job AND be an equal caregiver. His answer was remarkably, human. He told me that his family survived in 2020. They continued to persist one day at a time— albeit still adjusting and still making mistakes, like “too much screen-time on some days.”

“We have to forgive ourselves for our mistakes made during the pandemic that allowed us to get by,” he told me. “New Yorkers are resilient and communal […] and we all did what we had to do to survive.” 

Slope Survey: Yonatan Israel

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The Slope Survey returns for its 19th installment with Colson’s Patisserie owner Yonatan Israel.

Yonatan was born and raised in Paris (France). He’s been a New-Yorker since 1998. After working in film, he was inspired by Hubert Colson, a family friend, to open a French-Belgian bakery. Colson Patisserie opened its doors in 2006  in Park Slope and has since expanded into wholesale distribution across NYC. Colson produces its baked goods and breads daily from Industry City where it also operates another store. Currently, he lives with his wife and three children between Tel-Aviv (Israel) and NYC.

What brought you to Park Slope? 

In 2005, I was looking for a good neighborhood to open my bakery. I was living in the East Village at the time and it did not feel like the right fit. So were most neighborhoods I knew in the city. Rents were already very high and I was looking for a space that was affordable and in a community that would embrace what I was trying to do. I saw this corner space that was a decrepit bodega but seemed to have potential. As I walked out, I met my neighbor, Olivier Conan who had opened Barbes next door a few years prior. I thought that if he could do business on that corner so should I.

What is your most memorable Park Slope moment?  

So many moments, so many people. 

Great music next door, drinks with my staff. Michael Hearst who worked at the bakery in the early days and became one of my best friends. Many days spent in the kitchen with Hubert Colson who was so proud to have his products live on in Park Slope.

Describe your community superpower.  

Our Financiers Teddy Bears.

If you could change one thing about the neighborhood, what would it be?  

I never lived in Park Slope (I know, sacrilege) so I can’t really complain. It’s been good to me.

What do you think Park Slope will look like in 10 years?

Based on the amount of recent residential projects on 4th Avenue, it will probably get more crowded, even less diverse and affordable. But that’s a city wide reality and it has been for as long as I’ve been here.

What are you reading, would you recommend it?  

I am reading “The kings county distillery guide to urban moonshining”. I’ve read a few books about distilling and spirits in the last year and that is one of the best ones. 

I’m also researching pizza and bread again and I’ve read a few great volumes by Marc Vetri and Ken Forkish. 

On the fiction side, I am in the middle of “The housekeeper and the professor” by Yoko Ogawa. Beautiful story 

I am an avid but slow reader and I always dozens of books in my kindle waiting to be read. Not enough time…

What is your greatest extravagance? 

I travelled with my family for 7 months starting in the summer of 2019. We were in India in March 2020 when the country closed its doors to tourists because of COVID. We ended up in Israel where my wife and kids still are. I’ve been back and forth since last summer. Taking time off or living elsewhere is something that seems inconceivable and/or impossible for most people. We were very lucky that we were able to do it. It was an incredible collective and individual experience.

If you couldn’t live in Park Slope or in Brooklyn, where would you go?  

I live right now between New York and Tel Aviv. I grew up in Paris. I’ve been lucky to live in very different and wonderful cities. If I could, I would like to live in India for some time.

Who is your hero, real or fictional?

Joni Mitchell, John Coltrane, Jose Andres, Jamie Raskin, James Baldwin to name a few who’s names start with J.

Last Word, What’s is turning you on these days?

Permaculture. We need to start living and working in a way that sustains our planet and our people. Look it up!

Dispatches from Babyville: The Dream of After

By Filed Under: Dispatches From Babyville, Feature Tagged With: ,

Art by Heather Heckle

My grandmother, an almost 90-year-old immigrant from Italy, spent the first few months of the pandemic quarantining with us. We were holed up in my mother’s house in the wilds of suburban New Jersey, and it reminded my grandmother of when she fled Rome as a child, to hide from the fascists in an abandoned barn in the country.

As my grandmother and I sat around the house, cooking pasta, breaking up squabbling kids and watching the death toll tick up and up and up on the news, my grandmother kept asking, “Ma quando finisce questa guerra?” 

“When is this war going to end?” 

She spent countless hours (we had hours, plenty of them) hearkening back to her experience as a child in Italy during World War II, and pondering the similarities between that war and what she’d come to think of as the Covid war. 

One distinct difference, she pointed out, was that in our current situation, we were lucky enough to have plenty of food. Toilet paper, not so much, but who needed toilet paper? They didn’t have toilet paper back in that abandoned barn she lived in during the war with her parents, four siblings, the local priest, and his two sisters. And back then, they didn’t have food either. 

“My fadder would walka hours to get a loafa bread.” She clucked her teeth. “If he found uno pomodoro for us to share, we woulda cry wit happiness.” 

Meanwhile, in our Covid quarantine, where the only novelty or pleasure could be found in what we ingested, we prepared lavish feasts, the likes of which we never enjoyed in pre-Covid days.

“We eata like kings!” My grandmother laughed, as she regarded her loaded plate — barbequed ribs, fluffy mashed potatoes, garlicky string beans, and a pie cooling on the counter. “What kinda war is dis?”

But as the pandemic wore on, her opinion of the Covid war changed. The isolation, she said, wasn’t something she had to deal with as a child in Italy. In the war of her youth, there was an enemy you could see. But, during Covid, the enemy of contagion turned even the people you loved, people you trusted – friends, family, neighbors –  into a threat. As spring turned to summer and summer turned to fall and fall turned to winter, the loneliness of isolation grew and she decided, for certain. This really was a war – cruel, terrible, merciless.

“Ma quando finisce questa guerra?” she’d ask – more plaintively, it seemed all the time. “When will this war be over?”

Just a few days ago, my grandmother, a Park Sloper, had the tremendous good fortune to receive her second Covid vaccine dose. This has filled her with optimism for the future. She sees the light at the end of this dark, dark tunnel. Instead of asking when the war will be over, she’s started to talk about what she’s going to do when it is. She imagines the “End of Covid” the way she remembers the end of World War II – the Americans driving into Rome in tanks to liberate the Italians from fascism. One day, the war was raging. The next day, it was over. 

I do not tell her what I am thinking, which is that this may not be “over” for a long, long time. Maybe it won’t ever be over. Certainly it won’t be for the half a million families that lost loved ones. But even in the most literal sense, it seems likely that Covid, in some form, will persist. We’ll have to find a way to live with it, around it. That’s not helpful for my grandmother to think about. It’s probably not even helpful for me to think about. We have to be forward-looking. We have to delude ourselves a little bit. As my eighth-grade-daughter recently wrote in her essay on Of Mice and Men, “There is no guarantee that dreams will come true, but they fill your life with purpose and meaning.”  

As true in our time as in Steinbeck’s. We need our post-Covid dreams, and we need to talk about them. We need George to tell us about the rabbits. And we definitely need to forget how that book ends. 

As far as my grandmother’s concerned, her dream is simple but vividly-imagined. “When dis is over, I’mma gonna go shopping. I’mma gonna buy all de fruits and vegetables. I’mma gonna load my shopping cart full. Then I’mma gonna make a big dinner, and you come over to eat, all of you.”

That’s what freedom means to her. 

For my eight-year-old daughter, the after-Covid dream is to go to Harry Potter World in Orlando, Florida. Browse wands in Dragon Alley. Eat Bertie Bots. Geek out about quidditch. 

My 16-year-old son wants to ride the rails again with his friends. Hop on a Metro North out of Grand Central with no particular destination in mind, get off at some sleepy Hudson town, walk, explore, eat a burger in a gazebo, come home when he feels like it. Wander free. 

My 14-year-old wants to see her grandmother in Tennessee. Curl up on her couch with those big, slobbery Southern dogs piled on top of her, while eating Little Debbie cakes and looking at the Smokies out the window. 

My husband dreams of live music, concert halls pulsating with sound.

I have a list of after-Covid dreams as long as the Christmas list my daughter sends to Santa. But the main one is: I want to see new things. Radically new things. Unimaginable sights and sounds and tastes. I want to marvel. I want to ride an elephant. I want to climb a mountain. I want to float in the Dead Sea. My appetite for adventure has been whetted like never before. I could devour the Earth and still be hungry for more New Things. To sate my hunger, I’d probably have to get intergalactic. 

People are speculating that when we reach herd immunity, it could be like the Roaring Twenties all over again. Life in Technicolor. Famished people let loose in an all-you-can-eat buffet of celebration. So much time to make up for. 

Who knows if that’ll come to pass. What I do know is that soon, very soon, my grandmother will dust off her handy shopping cart, secure a mask on her face and head out to the grocery store for the first time in a year. I know that it’ll be the Roaring 20s in that shopping cart. You can bet your bottom dollar that it’ll be piled high with eggplants and tomatoes, three kinds of meat for bolognese sauce, prosciutto and melon for an antipasto, and probably those rocket ship popsicles the kids love. I’ll accompany her on that first trip, just to see her face. Her mouth will be masked but her eyes will be grinning. I’m sure of it. 

Meet Shahana Hanif, The Bangladeshi Muslim Woman Running To Represent District 39

By Filed Under: Feature, Persisting in Park Slope Tagged With: , ,

Shahana Hanif – Mailer Marketing Campaign 2021 for City Council

When she was 17 years old, Shahana Hanif received life-changing news. A doctor told her that the reason she was experiencing so much pain each day was that she had Lupus, a disease that causes the body’s immune system to attack its own tissues and organs.

“I barely knew what Lupus was,” said Hanif, a Muslim feminist and daughter of Bangladeshi immigrants running to represent Brooklyn’s 39th District in the New York City Council. 

“I had just started the 12th grade when I was diagnosed,” she added. “When I should’ve been thinking about colleges, prom or going abroad, which were the conversations my friends were having, I was needing to understand this degenerative, complicated medical issue that I had never heard about.”

Hanif felt alone. In storybooks, “there were not protagonists who looked like me,” Hanif said. At home and in her community, having a chronic illness was taboo and stigmatized. Despite being diagnosed with an incurable disease that, at a young age, occupied many of her thoughts and emotions, Hanif was pressured to keep her diagnosis, and all of the struggles that came with it, somewhat to herself. 

Now 30 years old, Hanif has spent the past 13 years in and out of intensive care units. She has gone through chemotherapy, had biopsies and has had both of her hips and her left shoulder replaced as a result of the complexities of the disease. 

At the beginning stages, Hanif remembers waiting for hours and hours, confused and in pain, in the waiting area of the emergency room at Coney Island Hospital. In ICUs, she was consistently left without access to adequate medication. 

“The limitations in care for young people and for immigrant communities was very evident,” said Hanif.

A couple of years later, while pursuing her undergraduate degree at Brooklyn College, Hanif remembers struggling to find housing that accommodated her inabilities. “I had not yet had my hips replaced, and I was suffering,” said Hanif. “I couldn’t walk.”

Soon after, Hanif had her application to Access-A-Ride, the NYC public transportation van service designed for those with certain disabilities and health conditions, rejected. 

“To get rejected was humiliating,” she said. “It is absurd to think that a service that should be available to people like me includes bureaucracy. I didn’t get to make the decision for myself, someone else did. This meant that I was spending hundreds of dollars on car services to get to and from doctors’ appointments. This was before Uber, Lyft and other rideshares.”

For over a decade, Hanif has felt the weight of living with Lupus. But as a Muslim woman with parents who immigrated from Southeastern Asia, she knows firsthand that structural inequities are not limited to those with illnesses or disabilities. 

“This disease pushed me into becoming a fighter,” said Hanif. “I learned to advocate for myself.” 

Throughout college and her professional career, Hanif has actively worked as an organizer in and around her home neighborhood of Kensington. Since May of 2018, Hanif has served as the director of organizing for current District 39 councilman Brad Lander, who is giving up his seat because he has reached his term limit. 

Hanif has focused a lot of her work on preserving and expanding public space for community events, advocating for immigrants and protecting those affected by domestic violence. She helped create the Avenue C Plaza, a public park in Kensington, a neighborhood long-known for its lack of public outdoor space. In April of 2019, Hanif was profiled in The New York Times after helping a Bangladeshi woman escape from an abusive forced marriage. 

If elected, Hanif would become the first Muslim and South Asian woman ever to serve in the New York City Council. She would also be the first woman ever elected to represent District 39, which covers Park Slope, Kensington, Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, and parts of Borough Park. 

As a city council member, Hanif’s number one priority would be improving education equity in the District. 

“I am a student of the district. I went to P.S. 230 in Kensington,” said Hanif. 

Hanif personally experienced the local public education system, which she said routinely fails many students and their families, particularly those who are immigrants or have disabilities. 

Specifically, Hanif would work to end admissions screening, a process heavily criticized for putting Black and brown students at a disadvantage. She would push for smaller class sizes, more guidance counselors and accessibility for students with disabilities. And she would work to create pipelines for Black and brown teachers. 

The second mission on Hanif’s agenda would be pushing for “free and accessible healthcare.” She would organize for universal healthcare and push to create a statewide single-payer healthcare system. She also claims that she would invest in translators and interpreters in the healthcare system to help immigrants, like her parents, understand what doctors and nurses are telling them. And she would recruit mental health counselors of color, with disabilities and from immigrant communities to work in public hospitals and community-based health clinics. 

As the daughter of a Bangladeshi restaurant owner, the third item on Hanif’s long list of priorities is to provide a path for small businesses to recover from the COVID pandemic. 

“So many stores on 5th Avenue and 7th Avenue are shuttered,” said Hanif. “The most impacted are women-and minority-owned businesses.” 

Specifically, Hanif wants to pass commercial rent cancellation, pass commercial rent control and permanently establish the Open Streets program, which provides restaurants and bars with more space to sit people and allows for more public art and performances. 

“I’m envisioning a new form of governance, one that isn’t alienating folks or making politics or government a separate entity,” said Hanif. “I’m just taking all of the work I’ve done, now with some bigger tools, to city hall. And the folks I’ve been working with are coming with me.”

LEARN MORE ABOUT SHANA FROM BK

Tales of the Night Watchman: The Big Howl Over Bushwick, pt. 3

By Filed Under: Brooklyn Comics, Feature Tagged With: ,

By Dave Kelly, Katrina Lord, Brett Hobson, Clare DeZutti, & DC Hopkins

Tales of the Night Watchman is the story of three baristas and a city full of monsters. In The Big Howl Over Bushwick Pt. 3, the Spectral Eye gang is not out of the weeds yet–the fate of more than just the demon hound is now at their feet.

Reflections on Art, Denial, Global Pandemics, and a Cross-Country Move

By Filed Under: Feature, Pandemic Diaries Tagged With: ,

Author Julia DePinto in Southern Califorrnia

Editor’s Note: 

When my editor asked me to write about my experiences living in Brooklyn, when the novel coronavirus first hit the city— and then my subsequent move to Southern California, just as the virus and the wildfires were beginning their assaults here— I obliged, without hesitation. I had moved to the Los Angeles area over the summer, right as NYC’s economy was reopening and mass protests against police violence were sweeping the country. California was great at first; the mountains and ocean provided a likely source of comfort, and COVID-19 cases were on the decline. But then the fires happened, and then the infection rate skyrocketed, and suddenly we were back to a partial shutdown with more forced isolation. It felt all too familiar to life in NYC last spring.

Writing about the events of the past year has been a catharsis for me. I look back at the photos of empty park benches and deserted streets with a deep appreciation for the beauty of the city and the resilience of New Yorkers. Those were difficult months and some facets, like the makeshift trailer cemetery in Sunset Park, will haunt me for a long time. But like my friend Jen said, after the wildfires finally quelled, “Nature has an incredible way of healing and rebounding.” I think the same is true of people. 

It was Monday, March 9, 2020, and I was sitting in the basement of the printshop scrolling through emails and news updates on my iPhone. Ink covered my fingertips and stained my skin. I didn’t care. I was still reveling in nostalgia from the weekend. It was one of the best weekends of my life. It sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. I lived for the New York art fairs! The Armory Show, SPRING/BREAK, VOLTA, Moving Image— I looked forward to the spring shows every year. The day before, I toured Art on Paper at Pier 36 in the LES. A friend had given me VIP tickets. 

I met up with friends later in the afternoon. We drank coffee and walked along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. We discussed the art world, our pets, our families, and our careers. We joked about our exes and thought about the nuances of life. It was sunny and warm for a New York day in early March. I held their baby close to my chest as we walked. I was entirely ignorant of her world and to how soon the scope of her world— and our world— would change. 

“Fuck,” I mouthed to myself. BREAKING NEWS: Several East Coast Universities Cancel Classes in Coronavirus Response. I put my phone down on my lap and buried my face in my ink-stained hands.  

The printshop smelled of paint thinners and chemicals. The air was dank. I was starting to feel nauseated from the fumes. What did it mean that colleges all around the city were canceling classes? Was this the beginning of a lockdown? No, they’re just following protocol, I thought. This is temporary. 

I stood up to stretch, and to get back to work. I put my phone in my back pocket and headed up the stairs. At that moment, my phone vibrated with a text message from my husband, Matthew: 

“Our lab is closing, indefinitely. I have an hour to pack up my office and leave the building.”

Indefinitely sounded exaggerated. I was sure he meant a week or two—at least I had hoped it wouldn’t be longer than that. Our apartment was already crowded enough. 

I looked around the printshop, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. Everyone had gone home for the day. It occurred to me that maybe the printshop would also close. In which case, I would have to call my students to postpone our sessions for a few weeks. Maybe I should head home, I thought. My throat was itchy and I had developed a mild cough, on top of chemically-provoked nausea. Allergies. Yes, that is it—allergies. I always get a bit of a cough when the seasons change.

Later that night, I texted my cousins to ask if anyone had heard from our extended family in Bari, Italy. 

Two days later, I noticed my cough was getting worse. It was allergies— and maybe stress. I had convinced myself of that. 

“Julia, you should really call your doctor,” said my friend with the baby. 

My dog and I were walking around Prospect Park when she called. I was happy to hear her voice, despite her concerns about my health. Should I call my doctor? No, I’m fine, I thought. I’ll pick up cough syrup in the morning. Maybe if I tell her I’m drinking cough syrup then she’ll stop worrying about me.  

The next day I walked to the bodega on 8th Avenue and asked the owner if she had any cough syrup. I was too focused on her breath to hear her words. I could feel it circle in the air. I pictured infected and microscopic droplets touching my face. My heart began to race as the panic set in. I stepped back, thanked her anyway, and wished her a good day. I’ve always liked her. 

I called my doctor from the corner of 7th Ave., outside of the fourth bodega of the day. I assured him I didn’t have COVID but I really needed cough syrup. I couldn’t find it anywhere. The hoarders of Park Slope had planned for this. He addressed me gently as if I were about to receive life-altering news. He ignored my self-diagnosis of allergies and recommended that I pick up the prescriptions immediately and take them as directed until the bottles ran out. He also suggested that I self-quarantine and use an inhaler—“just in case.” We both knew that getting a COVID test was a nearly impossible feat. 

The next day, word got around that some of my colleagues were sick with COVID-like symptoms. It’s a good thing I was laid off, I thought. Matthew and I were going over our finances. I could tell he was stressed. He assured me his job was secure but I was skeptical. We both knew that my loss of income would drain our savings. In times of skepticism and uncertainty, I’ve found that it’s helpful to make lists of gratitudes and to recite them as mantras. 

We are safe. We are healthy. We are blessed.  

New worries involving probable state mandates and rumors of forced isolation began to culminate in the media. Fears of de Blasio shuttering the bridges and quarantining the city were circulating and had reached the ears of most New Yorkers. Upon learning this news, Matthew decided we should shelter in place with his family, in a small suburb north of Boston. We would share his mother’s one-bedroom apartment. He decided that we would sleep on the floor, and I would work on my art in her living room. 

I refused. Brooklyn was my home. If the virus was going to ravage and decimate the city for a few weeks, or maybe a month, I would be there to see it through. This couldn’t last forever, could it?

The disagreement continued for hours. 

Cigarette butts began to collect in a defaced olive jar on our back porch. Throughout the week, I reminded Matthew that the CDC recognized smokers as “high-risk” and vulnerable to respiratory illnesses. “You really need to take Chantix,” I said. 

My friend with the baby told me to go easy on him. “This is a stressful time for everyone,” she said. 

 I had convinced myself that this was all temporary. I would take this time to work in my studio and continue developing my visual arts practice. If I am forced to stay in Brooklyn, I should at least be productive, I thought. This can’t last forever. I will be back at work soon enough. 

That day I sat in my studio, surrounded by my work, and cried. My art, which is largely autobiographical, was not important. People were dying.

 The laundromat that I had used regularly for two years was closed. I worried about the owners, two brothers. I hoped they had closed for personal reasons unrelated to the pandemic. Our Federal Government has failed to protect essential workers, I thought. 

. . .

It was April 12, Easter Sunday. This day means everything to my family but nothing to me. I walked home from my art studio, up to 18th street to 7th Ave. A cop rode past on a motorcycle, slowing down at the four-way stop. He flashed his lights to stop the cars approaching him. Behind him was a black Cadillac hearse with a purple flag that read funeral. There was no congregation of mourning family; no church bells; no priest. The body would likely be buried alone. I wondered if the unlucky person passed away in isolation. I imagined that the body inside of the hearse belonged to an older man— a man with a bald head and a full beard. I prayed for his soul to reach others, somewhere in another realm, far away from Brooklyn. 

I called my Dad to wish him a Happy Easter and to tell him that I missed him. Physically, I was healthy, somehow, but mentally, I was slowly falling apart. The isolation, the economic fallout, the burials on Hart Island, the nonstop news updates— COVID was consuming all of my time. It was the first thing I read about in the mornings and the last thing I would consider at night. I was hardly sleeping in those days. Small moments of solitude were infamously interrupted by the sounds of ambulance sirens. 

“Dad, can you hear that?” I asked. The NYPD was looping around the park with a megaphone, blasting prerecorded messages at park-goers to “wear a mask” and “stay at a six-foot distance.”

“This feels like… Communism,” I said. As soon as the word Communism rolled off my tongue, I regretted it. 

“This is not what Communism is like,” said my Dad, apathetic to my misery and inherent privilege. He reminded me that his parents and siblings lived through the Mussolini regime in Bari. My dad was born a year after the war ended. “You kids have it so much better than we did.” 

A month later, police officers arrested a young Black mother at the Atlantic Avenue-Barclays Center Station for not wearing her mask properly. The encounter ended in a violent assault. 

We gave our landlord a 30-day notice on May 1st. Our lease was up and he refused to let us continue renting month-to-month, despite the city’s high-infection rate and the eviction moratorium. Maybe this will be good for us, I thought. Matthew had accepted a job offer in Southern California. 

. . .

The 7:00 pm cheers for medical frontlines and essential workers kept me going. I looked forward to them every night and made an effort not to miss them. But tonight I was cheering quietly. I was carrying home groceries and didn’t want the bags to touch the ground. I listened to the sounds of applause, and the car horns, and the homemade instruments, while consequently walking past the trailer morgues on 7th Ave. Holding my breath, I peered through the gate. The morgue workers were outside. This can only mean one thing, I thought. 

I don’t think I will ever be able to expunge the horror that the images of those trucks brought to the city or me personally. Coming back from that hellscape seemed [and sometimes, still seems] unimaginable. 

It was the end of May and the moving truck had come and gone. We cuddled up in blankets and sleeping bags on the hardwood floor of our apartment. The sounds of police sirens were aggressive, and we heard helicopters circling overhead. We knew they were headed towards Barclays. We laid awake in silence for most of the night. I prayed for the safety of the protestors. 

The next morning we packed up our Jeep and left the city. The dogs were in the back, wedged between suitcases and sleeping bags. We drove over the Verrazano Bridge to Staten Island and through Jersey. I thought about the past few months and all of the loss the city endured. It would take time, maybe years, but the city would heal. Nature has a way of rebounding after wildfires devastate the land; and so would NYC. I would miss Brooklyn and the life I had created, but I was eager to get to California. The state’s economy was in the early stages of reopening and the infection rate in Los Angeles was on the decline.  

Los Angeles has a great art scene, I thought. How delightful it was to be so naïve.