Brooklyn residents wait outside Peaches to pick up food.
Food and the city How a pandemic is birthing a more neighborly New York Story by Tafari Fynn, photos by Tobin Polk The city of New York resembles a type of organism, one that is dependent on its organelle-like structures to function. Growing up in Brooklyn for all my nineteen years, I have come to recognize the pillars that define this city: The Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA), the varied governments and chambers of commerce, and the thousands of small businesses scattered throughout the five boroughs. While the phenomenon of New York City’s diversity and independence is often portrayed as derived from some mythical power source, it would cease to exist without its many social and economic systems, both formal and informal. Cities of this stature have exhibited various responses to the global COVID-19 pandemic. Starting in March of this year, I’ve observed the ways that New York and its inhabitants have coped with the world-wide health crisis. As hardships around the globe have produced mass outrage and grief, I’ve challenged myself to examine the intersections between the current fight for social justice and the viral pandemic, to address how they shape the universal expression of resilience. My own experience began last March, with a swift return home from my university’s dormitory halls in the midst of national fear-shopping and stockpiling that emptied retail and bulk stores across the country. Supermarkets saw lines of shoppers that wrapped around city blocks; cleaning products became nearly impossible to find on shelves. This panic-based reaction shed light on our fragile access to resources in the city and the ways distribution of these necessities is informed by socioeconomic and racial circumstances. Widespread gentrification has inhibited access to quality produce and isolated resources in richer enclaves. In many neighborhoods that were once home primarily to residents of color, the influx of wealthy, white residents (and resultant overdevelopment) has destroyed old cultures and pushed out the people who sustained them. These cultures included implicit social guidelines and lifestyles, such as navigating through high-crime neighborhoods. It’s frustrating for New York natives, such as myself, to witness their city government invest in communities only upon the arrival of privileged occupants. Unequal food access can be used as a means of regulating the socio-demographics of particular populations, establishing invisible boundaries that divide a city based on race and class. This sort of racism — ingrained in the behavior of our institutions and fellow citizens — perpetuates poor diets and leads to health complications within Black and Brown communities. I’ve lived in Bedstuy for the past three years, a neighborhood comprised of Black working-class residents. The interdependent character of the neighborhood has secured the presence of small businesses, reinforcing a strong sense of community throughout the pandemic. Inner-cities in the United States all face issues of food 32
