Harlem is where I found My People. After three trips to New York, I finally went to Harlem. Walking up and down 125th Street and Lennox, strolling down neighborhoods lined with brownstones, I could see myself living there.
New York’s contrast between the ultra-rich and the working class is so stark that it is disconcerting. I stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel in Manhattan's theatre district, within walking distance of Times Square, Rockefeller Center, and 5th Avenue. One afternoon, I had lunch at a small café near Central Park where an older female New Yorker sat alone having lunch. I couldn’t help but notice the huge solitaire diamond ring that extended to her knuckle. Her large Louis Vuitton monogram multicolor bag lying casually in the chair across from her. She interrupted our conversation when she heard us planning to get an Uber back to the hotel. She laughingly told us it was close enough to walk, but we could take the subway if we didn’t want to walk. The woman gave us directions to the subway and told us which trains we could take. After that excursion, we traveled by subway often, getting directions from the hotel concierge, taking careful note of whether we were going uptown or downtown and the letters and numbers of the trains. We only took an Uber a few times because two women in the group had knee injuries.
Of all the places I visited, the New York Public Library with the stone lions in front was the most impressive. The massive collection of knowledge and works of literature stored in such an imposing structure was quite frankly overwhelming. Stone pillars, marble floors, masterful artworks, and chandelier-lined hallways. Opulent private rooms for scholars and public rooms for laypersons to study. Coming to such a place whenever I wanted would be a privilege. The view of New York on 5th Avenue juxtaposed with the street vendor of 125th Street in Harlem shocks the senses, but Harlem felt real. The history of the Harlem Renaissance was etched into the brownstones I passed, and whispers of Louis Armstrong’s horn floated down the street. I could envision Langton Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston looking down at these same streets and writing about our struggles today. The hustle and flow of Harlem mixed with the unity that we are in the struggle together was the feeling I walked away with when I left Harlem.
I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I know it won’t be the same Harlem I saw on this trip because there were glaring indications that it would not be the Black Mecca it is now. The vibe that Harlem was and is will soon be watered down into something less soulful. As I took the train uptown back to the hotel, I couldn’t help but pray that this place called Harlem, with its cultural and historical significance, would not be lost to gentrification.
“A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin, and culture is like a tree without roots.” ----Marcus Mosiah Garvey
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