Reflecting on a slower city
New York City needed a pause. The coronavirus has been a horror, bringing untold suffering to thousands and grief to their loved ones. I know four people who died; none that near to me, but none that distant, either. I’ve seen the pain the virus caused up close, and it is incalculable. The economic agony is profound, and likely to get worse before it gets better.
But New York City needed a pause. In it, we have been reminded of what is important in our city, on our streets, in our world.
Before coronavirus, we were hurtling ever forward — our apartments more expensive, our restaurants more packed, our skyscrapers going up and up and up. Crowds of tourists rolled down our Midtown streets like unstoppable tides.
And then…our roiling metropolis emptied out and quieted down. You could see sunlight on the sidewalks. Into the ether went packed subway rides, and waiting on line for coffee, and at the bank, and rushing, rushing, rushing for the latest scrap.
We couldn’t hit the new hot restaurant. We couldn’t see the hot new play. We couldn’t belly-stroke upstream in the swirling river of busy busy white noise — of useless, unimportant white noise — that defines so much of our time on this planet.
There is a narrative I’ve read that the Black Lives Matter protests were borne of pent-up energy from the shutdown, even of anger at the shutdown.
But I’d say the opposite. The shutdown gave us time to think about what is really important, what we really want our city to be. And when Derek Chauvin put his knee on George Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, we all knew what was truly important, and it’s not the latest hot restaurant, as nice as that can be.
On a glorious late-spring Sunday, my children walked across the Brooklyn Bridge to protest Floyd’s death, joining thousands of their fellow New Yorkers of all colors. I was worried about their safety, didn’t really want them to go, but now I’m proud of them. They knew what was important.
As a reporter, I dodged by millimeters bottles thrown at my head during the Crown Heights riot. During riots in Tompkins Square Park, a burly cop sent me flying into the bushes when I told him I was a reporter. (Had I been black, he may well have whacked me with his baton.)
But I never saw a protest like the one my children joined on the Brooklyn Bridge. There was anger, but it was a strange kind of — can I say this? — joyous anger. This was truly the people rising up for what was important.
Gov. Cuomo has talked about re-imagining our city, making it safer, more environmentally friendly, more modern in the way it teaches our students and polices our streets. I’m with him. But I say that’s just the surface: what we need is a revolution of the mind, a revolution in who we are.
In Thailand, elephants roam freely, unbothered by those who once paid to watch and ride them. In Venice, the tourists are gone; the Venetians are back, and they are wondering: Did embracing the seductive riches of tourism really serve us and our culture well?
I say again: The coronavirus is a horror. I know the loss of tourism dollars and other jobs is catastrophic for many. I know that first-responders and other essential workers did not have the luxury of staying home like I did.
Still, together, those who are hurting more and those who are hurting less can all enjoy the orangey summer evening light spreading across those empty sidewalks. Enjoy the green of the parks by the rivers. Enjoy the beauty of the sunset through the spindly black stanchions of the Gowanus Expressway. And with your mind free, think about what is really important.
Jamieson was deputy metropolitan editor of the Daily News and metro editor of The New York Times. He now works as a political and communications consultant.