Fieldwork 1

Basic Idea: In New York, I live upstate. I watch the gentrification of my village over the years, and the growth of governmental surveillance. As I watch them institute more cameras and more laws, they watch me write down what I think about their actions on my laptop, from the inside of the screen. In 2017, many people felt invaded by the plethora of cameras on every corner but soon after accepted the situation as life, and what they had to deal with in order to prevent serious crime. It’s 2060, and the government offers special free removal of bad memories. People forget things that once defined their existence. They say it’s for the bettering of the nation, I believe it’s for the brainwashing of humans.In this ethnography, I will be assessing NYC, specifically Brooklyn.

- On August 26th, 2060, I pack my bags from my home in Palenville New York to move to Crown Heights Brooklyn. Crown Heights is a central section of Brooklyn, which was one of the most wealthy areas in the borough when the century changed. Although now it’s filled with people in their 20’s, it was known for having a reputation of intolerance and violence after there were riots in 1991 involving Hasidic Jews and blacks. A majority of people in the area are now African-American, as is most of NYC. Similar to the riots of 1991, in 2051, there was a three day riot in all of New York City where black people grouped together and took the city as theirs, and also the secession of NYC from the United States (while keeping all of the geography the same), and renaming it Zinmara, under the control of ​Harmen Liddell. ​r A lot of what I’ve heard on the news about this new country is that they have no crime, and no identity theft.

They’ve had 9 years to develop, and haven’t sent anything to the outside world other than things already manufactured on the island. They rely on importation, that is all checked before the goods arrive in Zinmara.

- As I get onto my train, I sit down. I notice that it isn’t anything special. It has black fabric seats with a cream toned wall. The wood paneling between cars looks vintage, and the conductor is in a blue uniform, with pale skin. He smiles at me as I take a seat with my luggage, hoping that the furnishing of the house is livable. I don’t really know what I’m getting into, or how I’ll fit into this new country, as I’m going to be a minority now. After an hour on the train, I transfer.

I step onto the new train from the platform and show my passport to a tall light-skinned black man. He asks to take my fingerprint, and a photo of me.

When I look confused he explains that it’s procedure. He also writes down the serial number of all my devices, while he searches my bags for anything that might be a threat. I feel empathetic, knowing that they had just been created as a country and are probably hesitant of all outsiders visiting, especially a white person. I’m given the clear once all the steps are completed. A dark skinned

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man is behind me, with his passport out, knowingly. He goes through the same procedure.

This new train is all green and white, with TV screens showing live video from different parts of the city. You can also choose one to watch. I notice on the buttons of the remote, there are small glass coverings with scanners. I assume it’s another fingerprinting, and start to realize the level of security around the nation and if it’s necessary. The screens also have small red dots at the top, making me aware that my actions were being filmed at all moments. Even if the screen was off, the light was on.

I arrive in the Bergen Station, and go up to a vendor selling Jamaican Beef Patties. I give them my card to pay, and I’m confronted with an annoyed “I need your ID too”. I give it to her, and glance around the station. Everything is shining, beautifully clean. Lining the walls are small screens, where people can, by providing their fingerprints and a facial recognition, can use the phones for multiple purposes for free. I see people buying metrocards, calling rides, and tickets home. Some people are checking their social media notifications.

Everything seems normal, but oddly mechanical. Talking is kept at the level of a murmur.

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I leave the station and head to my apartment in Crown Heights. I have one friend here named Ella, who I plan to see later. She lives in the same building as me, and we met through Facebook.

- I stop at Whole Foods, getting some pasta and brussel sprouts for dinner. Cameras line ever aisle, and some show you what they record.

Some cameras are hidden in the rows with the food. I feel really uncomfortable, and go to the check-out. I get in line and look down the I see the cashier, named Yurt. He’s around 5’6”, with brown skin, and he smiles down the line. When I look at the other rows, I realize many of the cashiers look very similar. Everyone in line knows the drill, “ID and fingerprint, please”. Most of the people in line are of darker skin tone, with me being the lightest. Some cashiers I overhear ask for an additional form of documentation before they begin the transaction, such as turning on the webcam atop of the register computers. I was somewhat surprised by this, but I felt myself adapting to this lifestyle already. I get to the front of the line, and pull out my wallet. Before Yurt begins the transaction, he asks for my ID and Fingerprint. I oblige and get my goods before leaving. The doors all have cameras above them blinking their red eyes at me as I walk out.

I understand the need for security in a new nation like this, yet wonder if there’s any way that this could be avoided by just completely reconstructing the city and power ideals. I look up a library closeby to go do some research in another day, and plan to get a few articles from a stand to see what news is going on. I think that the placing of more security in a place so small seems to be a breach of civil liberties.

- I get a text from my friend Ella, asking how close I am to the apartment. I open it with facial recognition and a thumbprint. I laugh to myself as I think about the “security” this provides us with alongside other people, yet it couldn’t protect us from anything else. I swiftly reply that I’m on my way, on the subway. The trains here are much more efficient, and you always have wifi in the tunnels. She invites me to the roof to hang out with her and two friends from Park Slope. I quicken my pace and hurry to the apartment.

Posters litter the walls of the station. In clear text it states that WiFi is free, and they suggest everyone uses it to keep in touch. “Communication is key, so the WiFi is free!”.

For years, everyone has known that websites collect data about us so that the advertisements can reach you in a positive way, thus making them more money. I believe that it might be stronger here, leading to more than just pointing ads at you. I think that it’s probably to point fingers.

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As I walked onto the roof I see Ella, nails painted a pure white with her ankles crossed atop the table. She smiles at me and waves me over, her long brown braids swinging as she moves her head around. “This is Henri,” she says as she points to a heavier set woman with light skin, and curly blue hair, “and this is Nadia”, who has a very dark complexion, thick lips, and wears a natural afro.

Her slim frame is hidden beneath a light pink dress. Ella doesn’t hesitate to pour me a glass of wine as I greet my new friends. They pick up their discussion about the weather. I’m curious why so many people discuss it in such a detailed manner. “Why is this happening? It’s so hot! What the fuck,” says Henri. As they all laugh, Henri lights a cigarette and takes a puff. She repeats plainly, “It is so damn hot though.”. Ella looks at her with quickly and says “Be careful of what you say. You don’t know who’s here with us.” Immediately I think of God, and wonder if the two are discussing religion. I keep quiet. Henri giggles, and states under her breath, “I know, but they think I’m talking about the weather.” I realize the meaning at that point, understanding they meant the surveillance and the police. Ella pokes me, and asks what I’m writing down. I tell her I can’t really tell her outside, but later on she can read it. She complies with my terms and conditions, laughing, calling me a “Big Smart Guy full of Secrets”.

I’m realizing as the day goes on that no one is really treating me very different than anyone else would on the first day I met them. A lot of the people here are really kind, and are treating me with respect. Discussions about the surveillance seem to be limited when outside, or in certain indoor spaces.