City Limits Magazine, May 2000 Issue

8/3/2019 City Limits Magazine, May 2000 Issue

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H E N E W S C H O O L O F A C T I V I S T S


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Rock the Boat

hardly immune from the laws ofnature, New York City. com is running on an accelerated chip these days, intoxicated with technology and its riches. With a pocketful of taxbreaks and subsidies, Mayor Giuliani has done much to make that happen, trans

forming the city into an office park in which the needs ofbusiness come first.There are obvious pluses for the city economy, like an unemployment rate that has sunkto less than 5percent. But it also means that we have come to exist under a hard new paradigm, in which neighborhoods-unless they happen to be able to pay for their own streetcleaning-come last.How can the city put people first again? How can a strong economy and citizens' dignity coexist productively? How can the private sector be held accountable to the rest of thecity when businesses can leave town faster than you can say "the Dodgers"? At a time whenmany residents lead second lives as police suspects, such questions may sound pointlesslyacademic, but they need to be asked now-loudly and publicly.That's because New York will soon see its own version of the George W Bush effect. Inhis campaign for president, Bush is in an unenviable position: Crashing the Clinton/Goreparty after eight mostly solid years, he has been forced to invent apolitical persona for himself hat promises more of he same, with adifferent flavor of deological dressing on the side.The likely candidates for mayor are now in the same boat: They will be under enormouspressure to stick with the Giuliani formula for economic success. Granted, it's early yet. Butit's worth noting that only Sal Albanese has so far made a commitment to figure out creativeways to split the economy's dividends with the entire city. Even liberal Mark Green has beencourting dot-coms-afocus that takes smart advantage of he city's intellectual capital butthat alone will do little to spread the wealth.Those ofus who think a air city is a strong city need to ask the unpopular questionsor be prepared when the answers never come.***In February, Senior Editor Kemba Johnson left City Limits to become an editor at theweb startup minorityinterest.com. In March, she was honored as a inalist by InvestigativeReporters and Editorsfor "The Harlem Shujjle" (November 1999), her stunning expose ofa publicly funded real estate racket. If this keeps up, by the time you read this Kemba willhave become the first person to cross the East River via levitation. Starting as a collegeintern, Kemba left here nearly four years later an investigative sharpshooter-and did Imention photo editor too?Joining us are two talented journalists, Annia Ciezadlo and Sajan P. Kuriakos. Anniais a familiar City Limits byline; she has also written for the New York Observer andNewsday. Saj, we're proud to say, is the first staffer we've ever recruited from Talk magazine, where he was a reporter; before that, he was a senior reporter for the TimeslLedgernewspapers in Queens.

Now go make trouble, guys.

Cover photo by Gregory P. Mango. Clockwise from top right: Jimmy van Bramer. Lavita McMath.Betty Yu. Majora Carter. Sophia Quintero. Brad Lander. Frances Miller and Caitlin. 4.

Alyssa KatzEditor

City Limits relies on the generous support of its readers and advertisers. as well as the following funders: The AdcoFoundation. The Robert Sterling Clark Foundation. The Hite Foundation. The Unitarian Universa list Veatch Program at ShelterRock. The Edna McConnell Clark Foundation . The Joyce Mertz-Gilmore Foundation. The Scherman Foundation, The North StarFund. J.P. Morgan &Co. Incorporated, The Annie ECasey Foundation. The 'Booth Ferris Foundation. The New York CommunityTrust, The New York Foundation, The Taconic Foundation, Deutsche Bank, M&TBank, Citibank, and Chase Manhattan Bank.

(ity LimitsVolume XXV Number 5

City Limits is published ten times per year. monthly exceptbi-monthly issues in July/August and September/October. bythe City Limits Community Information Service. Inc.. a nonprofit organization devoted to disseminating informationconcerning neighborhood revitalization .Publisher: Kim NauerAssociate Publ isher: Anita GutierrezEdito r: Alyssa KatzSenior Editors : Sajan PKuriakos. Kathleen McGowanAssoc iate Edito r: Annia CiezadloContributing Editors: James Bradley. Wendy Davis.Michael HirschIntern s: Naush Boghossian. Laura CiechanowskiDesign Direction: Hope ForstenzerProofreader: Sandy SocolarPhotographers: Mireya Acierto. Gregory P. Mango.Spencer PlattCenter for an Urban Future:D rec tor: Neil KleimanResearch Director: Jonathan BowlesFamily Desk Director: Shalini AhujaBoard of D rec tors ':Beverly Cheuvront . New York City Coalition Against HungerKen EmersonMark Winston Gr iffith. Central Brooklyn PartnershipAmber Hewins. GrantaCelia Irvine. Manhattan Borough President's OfficeFrancine Justa. Neighborhood Housing ServicesAndrew Reicher. UHABTom Robbins. JournalistMakani Themba-Nixon. GRIPPPete Williams. National Urban League"Affiliations for identification only.Sponsors:Pratt Institute Center for Community

and Environmental DevelopmentUrban Homesteading Assistance BoardSubscription ratesare: for individuals and communitygroups. $25/Dne Year. $39/Two Years; for businesses.foundations . banks. government agencies and libraries.$35/Dne Year. $50/Two Years. Low income. unemployed.$1 a/One Year.City Limits welcomes comments and article contributions.Please include a stamped. self-addressed envelope for returnmanuscripts. Material in City Limits does not necessarilyreflect the opinion of the sponsoring organizations. Sendcorrespondence to: City Limits. 120 Wall Street. 20th Fl..New York . NY 10005. Postmaster: Send address changes toCity Limits. 120 Wall Street. 20th Fl.. New York . NY 10005.

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On the Web: www .citylimits.orgCopyright 2000. All Rights Reserved. Noportion or portions of this journal may be reprinted without the express permission of the publishers .City Limits is indexed in the Alternative PressIndex and the Avery Index to ArchitecturalPeriodicals and is available on microfilm from UniversityMicrofilms International. Ann Arbor. MI 48106.


3/40MAY 2000

FEATURES

The Young and the Leftisthe civil rights generation no longer has the franchise on social activism.Having come of age in Reagan's material world, a crop of young activistspursue change with a combination of tough pragmatism and idealistic fervor.

Prescription for PainMedicaid managed care promised savings with dignity. Instead ,it's fraught with pitfalls for the poor, who find it's up to them tohunt down health care. By Annia CiewdlA Picture of HealthStaffed by volunteer doctors and medical students, a free clinictreats the Bronx's uninsured, running on idealism and adetermination to show it can be done. By Mauro McDe111UJInsanity PleasKendra 's Law was supposed to make sure the mentally ill got help.In the hidden world of mental hygiene courts, that's just whatthe doctor ordered. By Wendy Dav

PIPELINESUna's Major BattleBrooklyn 's tightly controlled Democratic machine could blowa gasket as Councilwoman Una Clarke prepares to oust her formermentor and guide, powerhouse congressman Major Owens. By James BradleDoes it Give a BAM?The Brooklyn Academy of Music wants to turn its surroundingsinto an artistic mecca. Yet Fort Greene already is a cultural capital-one with many ideas of what that means. By Robert Neuwirt

COMMENTARYBook Review 129Race to the Bottom By Margaret GroarCityview 130Budgeting for Tune By Glenn Pasane

DEPARTMENTS

Editorial 2 Job Ads 32Briefs 5 ProfessionalDirectory 35


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Travel and ArtItalian Seaso_Wllie Garcia is sharing a few tradesecrets. "I would walk up and say'Buon giomo ," he says, in perfectly accented Italian. Sweeping hisarms wide, he acts out the approachand the courtship: "I tried to conversate, that'swhat I tried to do. And then I would tell them Iwanted to photograph them."For Garcia, as with the two other photographystudents who accompanied him to Tuscany, the realtrick to photography isn't in light levels or focal distance-it's in connecting to people.Garcia and theothers are in aprogram called Pathways to Housing,which helps people recover from homeless ness,mental illness, and drug and alcohol addiction.Practicing photography in a foreign country for 10days is a new chance to hone that skill.Garcia smiles, gesturing commedia dell'arte-

style toward awall of photographs of himself withItalians. Boldly approaching strangers, engagingwith them and then taking their pictures-withhimself in the frame!-is something he neverMAY2000

would have done in cold, brusque New York City."I am a shy person," agrees fellow studentBruce Eyster, "but when I have a camera, I can getout there and-" he mimics a snapshot with aclickof his tongue. "It really did help me."The main mission of Pathways to Housing is tohelp people with psychiatric disabilities live successfully in apartments of their own. But findingan apartment is just the beginning. Pam Parlapiano's twice-a-week photography class, along withothers that teach writing and painting, gives theparticipants away to engage with other people andproduce something lasting."A lot of agencies just treat this as a little craftsand babysitting," says Parlapiano, looking around atthe paintings and photographs on display last monthin the Cork Gallery in the basement of Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall. One is a stark black-andwhite portrait of an emaciated, frizzy-haired womanstaring intently at the wall. In a more painterlyphoto, a classically beautiful young woman sleepson a bench, arms folded, beneath a bank of bloom-

ing azaleas. "I think the most important thing is tpeople are learning how to be artists," she ad"This isn't 'Outsider Art'-it's art."A painter for years before the trip to ItaEyster decided to find the faces he'd seen inUffizi and the Metropolitan on the streets of Iian cities, then photograph them using the portconventions of Renaissance painting.He came back with a comprehensive bodywork and an experience any artist would envy:chance to study art in Italy, going to museums ding the day and coming back to a meal of psciutto, fresh Tuscan bread and glazed fruit.they traveled through different villages , Eyswas struck by how much the people he saw looklike the subjects of famous paintings. "They 'resame ones that are in the museums," he says.wanted to take them home with me."Garcia got something else out of the trip: cofidence. Before he left, the photography class tostudio portraits at Iris House, a residence for HIpositive families . Garcia turned down the invition. "It seemed so intense ," he says. "I was jtoo shy to think about doing something like thaCould he do it now?He looks at the portraits, takes a step back, thforward again . "Yeah, I think so ."

-Annia Cie za


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Briem........ - - - - - - -........ - - - - - - - - - -

Refuse ReduxRailroadedOut

More than 500 Hunts Point residentspacked a school auditorium lastmonth to loudly protest a proposed waste transfer station thatwould bring some 5,200 tons ofgarbage a day through their small South Bronxneighborhood.Hunts Point community groups have been innearly constant battle with state and city officials in recent years over the increased trucktraffic that waste transfer sites bring to theneighborhood. But according to AmericanMarine Rail, which is floating this most recentproposal, this new transfer station wouldn 't addmore trucks. Instead , trash from all five bor-oughs would be brought to the site by water insealed barges . The garbage would then be trans-ferred to rail cars inside a specially equipped

M

building, and shipped out by train.But residents claim the proposal is doomedto fail. The rail system in the area is alreadyovercrowded, they say, and cars full of rottinggarbage often sit in station yards for days at atime.At the hearing, residents demanded that environmental officials require the rail company tocomplete a comprehensive environmental impactstatement, instead of the shorter form the company filed. Angry residents also accused public officials of allowing their neighborhood, whichalready has 23 transfer stations, to be flooded withmore garbage and trucks.The state Department of Environmental Conservation "has never seen a [waste transfer station] proposal in the South Bronx that it doesn'tlike," says Paul Lipson, executive director of ThePoint, a local community organization. "It happens again and again and again ."American Marine Rail was given a tentativego-ahead by both the city and state environmentalagencies. The ultimate decision rests with a stateenvironmental judge, who is now considering theplan.

-Laura Ciechanowski

LawsuitsGuestPrivilegesTme and time again, people on welfarecomplain that after waiting for hours atwelfare benefits centers, they leave con-fused about their rights, unsure of what'sgoing on and in the dark about how toget help. But no sooner than welfare advocatesshow up at welfare centers to offer legal advice andcoaching, city officials show them the door.These advocates could serve as mediators andtranslators for welfare recipients who don't speakEnglish, and help clarify complicated welfare rulesand regulations for those who do. Instead, anyonewho hasn't been specifically invited beforehandby a client is usually asked to leave.Now that policy is being challenged in a lawsuitfiled jointly by the Brennan Center for Justice atNew York University's law school, the welfareadvocacy group Make The Road By Walking andseveral individual welfare recipients. The complaint, filed March 6, asks a federal court to declarethe practice unconstitutional, arguing that it violatesclients ' free speech rights by preventing them fromaccessing information that is relevant to their cases.The city's Human Resources Administration"is afraid of people knowing their rights and ofpeople banding together and holding governmentaccountable," charges Andrew Friedman, co-director of Make The Road By Walking. Friedman, whoreports that his organization has logged more than600 complaints from welfare recipients, says manypeople are denied benefits simply because theycannot communicate effectively with the caseworkers and officials in the welfare centers.Ruth Reinecke, an HRA spokeswoman, defendsthe rule, pointing out that the agency 's policy is nodifferent from that of any other government office:only those who have business to take care of maybe present. Further, she says, welfare offices shouldprotect recipients' right to confidentiality.But according to Friedman, the policy is simplyan attempt to hide problems with the welfare system. The city locks out advocates in the same waythat restaurants with myriad [health code] violations don't like health inspectors coming into theirrestaurants." -Laura Ciechanowski

For more news updates,events and job ads,subscribe to theCITY LIMITS WEEKLYCall 212-479-3349 or [email protected].

CITVLlMITS


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__--------. . . . ---------------sBriem"0 W a ~ S \ O ~ r r y aGiuliani Crony? f

e-t-

Public Housing

Oer the last decades, residents of thePleasant East Apartments in EastHarlem have learned to cope with theirlackadaisical landlord by using theirown money and labor to keep the building clean, tile the walls and floors, and makeminor fixes.So when their landlord, Albert Medina, finallygave up the buildings in early February, the tenants rejoiced. They had no idea they'd soon be getting the boot.Medina had been getting federal rent and mortgage subsidies from the federal Department ofHousing and Urban Development through theSection 8 program in exchange for keeping rentslow. After he had neglected the buildings foryears, though, both the feds and the city publichousing authority cut off his payments. On February 9, cash-strapped Medina turned the buildingsover to HUD.As soon as HUD took over, it quicklyarranged for repairs and improvements, like anew temporary boiler, new security guards andrepairs to the elevators. But three weeks later, tenants got an ugly surprise: a notice to evacuate.Due to "health, safety and security reasons," theMAY 2000

SORHY.' THAT'SNOT YOURFINAL ANSWER!

letter read, the 150-apartment complex would beclosed July I. Tenants would have to find a newplace to live.Housing officials say these eight buildings on117th and 119th streets are in terrible condition.They scored only 2 of 100 on the agency's 100-point evaluation scale, and only 5of 100 on another independent rating. "[They] didn't even comewithin spitting distance of being characterized assafe," says HUD spokeswoman Sandi Abadinsky."There are dead rats decaying in the walls, crimeproblems, heat problems-absolutely horrendousconditions, among the worst our inspectors haveever seen."But tenants are baffled by the assessment, anddistraught that they'll have to move. They alsofear that the federal housing agency has anothermotive: to demolish the buildings, some of whichborder other vacant and developer-friendly property. ACORN organizers are now working withthe tenants to help them stay in the buildings.Carmen Estrada, who lives in a four-bedroomapartment on 119th Street, says her building's infine shape. '1t's in great condition;' she says."These are strong structures with nice apartments.I feel very safe here." A tour of about five other

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Pleasant East buildings also revealed few vissigns of distress or damage. HUD merely saysthe apartments have a legion of minor problemissing doors, leaking pipes, missing tiles, semold and rust."Some of the apartments are in good cotion," admits Abadinsky. Nevertheless, she a"it's unsafe to live in. How can we spend taxer money to keep people in a building that endanger their health and safety?"Abadinsky emphasizes that the federal houagency cannot afford to rehab the properties oown-"HUD itself does not have the resourceinvest in abuilding this bad," she says-but inthe buildings would not be demolished, andthat any new owner would be required to mainthe buildings as affordable housing.

An agency architect is now doing an in-dstudy to determine how much repairs will cosFor now, HUD has promised to help the families at Pleasant East find new apartmeand to compensate them for moving costs.But the tenants don't plan to go withofight."It's the kind of building where you lyour key under the doormat in case someneeds to get into your apartment," says 10Garcia, who has lived for 25 years in PleaEast. "Now they just want us to leave. Howthey force us to live in places where we knowone?"

-Matt Pac


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Una's Major BattleCouncilwoman Una Clarke wants a new job-the one that belongs to her former mentor.

PIPEliNE By James Bradley__ .... .1

Protege UnaClark (left photo )is angling forli beral stalwartMa jor Owens'congressionalseat, roilingBrooklyn pol itics.

:M

For incumbents aligned with Brooklyn's Democratic machine, the borough has usually been a patch ofparadise. But this year, a political fightthreatens to litter the borough with tomalliances and fractious factions.Term limits have most of Brooklyn'sCity Council members looking for a newjob, and forced state and federal politiciansto defend theirs . One councilmember, UnaClarke, now plans to challenge her one-

time mentor: veteran congressman Major 1Owens, who helped Clarke become EastF1atbush 's councilmember in 1991 .Six months before the primary, the raceis already intense. Born in Jamaica, Clarkeserves a community with a large irruni- cigrant population and insists that the jincumbent has not done enough to servethat constituency. Owens, an African-


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mer Owens staffer still respects him as a legislatorbut calls the district office on Utica Avenue"appalling ." If people came in with a problem thatwas not a federal matter, says the ex-staffer, theywere told they couldn't be helped. Numerousrequests for help went unacknowledged. There arestill only four hours a week when constituents cancome in without an appointment, during which theysit in an overcrowded waiting room. Indeed, a 1998Daily News analysis ranked Owens ' constituent service as the least responsive in the city's congressional delegation.Not suprisingly, Clarke plays up these complaints. "He is absent from this community," shesays. "My constituents have gone to his office andhave not been pleased with the way in which theyhave been served ."Chris Owens, Major's son and campaign manager, concedes the congressman's district office hashad its share of problems but says that the numberof requests for help with immigration are daunting .'"This is the one area where state and city can 't domuch ," he says. "We're talking thousands of caseloads that have been processed [at this office]."(Congressman Owens did not return repeatedphone calls requesting an interview.)Major Owens may be vulnerable, but the advantage of incwnbency is enormous, and federal elections don 't come cheap. Clarke's handlers believeshe needs to raise some $300,000 to mount a successful challenge. According to campaign filingsfrom the end of 1999, Clarke had raised $56,000-advisors say it's now up to $70,OOO-while Owenshas secured more than $150,000 . Clarke has raisedall her money from small, individual contributions;Owens has amassed more than half his chest frompolitical action committees, mostly unions, healthcare groups and trial lawyers.Clarke 's fledgling campaign has been furtherhobbled by a large fine recently imposed by thecity 's Campaign Finance Board . The agencyslapped the councilwoman with a $100,000 penalty for violating spending limits in her 1997re-election campaign-a race , incidentally, inwhich her Republican opponent got just 1 percentof the vote. Clarke plans to appeal the fine , theheaviest on a City Council candidate in the 12-yearhistory of the Campaign Finance Board.

Owens ' seniority also works in his favor. Shouldthe Democrats retake Congress this November, hewould rank high on the Education Committee andcould even chair a subcommittee. Clarke wouldbegin at the bottom, and she is slightly older thanOwens. "A 64-year-old freshman is not an appealing prospect," one political insider quips .

The history between Owens and Clarke runsdeep, going back to the 1970s. Owens was aguiding force in her election to the CityCouncil: the Coalition for Community Empowerment, a group of left-leaning politicos, union leaders and activists that Owens helped found, support-MAY 2000

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B

ed her against Carl Andrews, who was backed bythe Brooklyn Democratic machine. "I put mycareer on the line when she ran," Owens told theDaily News earlier this year. ''This is a case of oneof your children rising up to try to eat you."Clarke, meanwhile, believes she has been equallyhelpful to Owens, introducing him to many WestIndian community leaders.

It would be ironic if ethnicity played adecisiverole in this race. From his work with a 1960sgroup called Christians and Jews United forSocial Action (a Legal Aid precusor) to the Coalition for Community Empowerment, Owens hasbuilt his career on forging multiracial and multiethnic coalitions. He has repeatedly denouncedNation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, often at apolitical price that has included a difficult primaryin 1994.But given the incumbent's poor track recordserving the immigrant community, it is inevitablethat ethnic issues will come to the forefront-andClarke's supporters will most certainly exploit them."You have to detail how you're going to be differentfrom your opponent," explains Democratic consultant George Arzt, who will be working with Clarke.

The councilwoman herself says it's Caribbeans'time to show their strength: "It's a natural progression. The community has matured in many ways,[and] we're no different from other immigrantgroups."What's more, the political landscape haschanged dramatically. Many of Brooklyn's mostfamous black leaders have been of Caribbeanancestry-Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm,district leader Leslie "Mac" Holder, even ClarenceNorman-but that fact was not often highlighted,since the group was a minority within a minority.That has changed."It has become almost popular these days todefine oneself as Caribbean," says Hugh Hamilton, legislative aide to City Council memberLloyd Henry, who represents the district adjacentto Clarke's. ''There was a time when it was considered divisive to assert a Caribbean ethnic identity within the context of the overall AfricanAmerican community."Hamilton and others note that the 1996 federalwelfare bill, which included many provisions hostile to immigrants, was a political catalyst in communities like East Flatbush. "It acted as a light-

BEAR IT FIRST( i t v LimitsIndisptnsibltnft's on tht potitiu of housinCJ, wtlfm, aimt, jobs, sdaools.LNmwhat City Hall dOfSll't want you to bow about Ntw York's ntiCJhborhoods.And kHP up with tvtryont who's workinCJ to mot thtm bttttr.

ning rod to mobilize previously dormant segmentsof the neighborhood," he explains, pointing todevelopments since then that include widespreadinterest in this year's census and the addition otens of thousands of immigrant citizens to thevoter rolls. "We're still not as organized as wecould be. But we've certainly come a long way."To even have a shot of pulling off an upsetClarke must line up an army of allies to matchOwens'. Clarence Norman and the countymachine are with Owens, even though their relationship has been shaky in the past, while Congressman Edolphus Towns, who has been feudingwith Norman for years over judicial appointments, is backing Clarke. Owens can also counon Lambda Independent Democrats and theWorking Families Party. Already endorsingClarke are Ed Koch and Canarsie councilmanHerb Berman, whose Thomas Jefferson Democratic Club will provide organizational help to hecampaign."This will be a door-to-door race," predictsArzt. "You can't depend on TV in such a smaldistrict.... This race is gonna be won in thestreets."

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PhoDf: (lll) 419-3144 - fax (lll) 344-6451CITY LIMITS


11/40

Does it Cive a BAM?Brooklyn's avant-garde outpost creates a community plan-as Fort Greene wonders where itfits in.ByRobert NeuwirthSeking to capitalize on the city realestate frenzy, the Brooklyn Academyof Music plans to develop the neighborhood around its theaters as an arts andentertainment district. Using stealth ratherthan the verve with which it promotes theballets, operas and films it presents , theAcademy has completed a strategic plan,hired staff and raised $300,000 to bankroll

a long-dormant Local Development Corporation that will coordinate real estate development around BAM .Fort Greene, the neighborhood that hashosted BAM since 1908, has greeted thenews with cautious optimism . Optimism,because residents feel the area,which is peppered with vacant lots and empty storefronts, could use some new development.Caution because the arts center has a reputation for paying more attention to international performers and Manhattan patronsthan to Fort Greene and the rest of Brooklyn.To BAM, its role is benign. "We wantto create a vibrant 24-hour mixed-use cultural district right in the area aroundBAM," says Jeanne Lutfy, who wasrecently hired as president of the LDC."We don 't want to disrupt the community.We want to weave this into the existingfabric of the community."Lutfy, who ran public relations andmarketing for the city's Public Development Corporation under mayors Koch andDinkins, insists BAM doesn't want to buildthe Lincoln Center of Brooklyn. She saysthe LOC 's master plan, which is expectedto be completed by summer, will includeimprovements like tree planting, installation of new signs and new street lighting.BAM's LDC will also most likely advocatesome development , with housing, storesand arts space all potential parts of the mix .But some Fort Greene residents fear thatBAM 's plans will further fuel the real estatefervor that has just put one brownstone onthe market for the unheard-of price of $1million. The artists and retailers who havemade Fort Greene a mecca for African andAfrican-American culture are likewise discovering that they cannot take the characterof their neighborhood for granted.

"It's sort of like a takeover. That's what itfeels like," says Lucille Kenney, who haslived on Cumberland Street, a few blocksfrom BAM, for about 30 years. Kenney con-MAY 2000

tends that news of the proposed cultural district has generated many unsolicited visitsfrom real estate agents. She fears that all theinterest in the neighborhood-BAM's LOC,the plan to build movie studios at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, the recent idea of putting aGreyhound bus depot on Myrtle Avenue andthe redevelopment of several buildingsalong Hanson Place-has prompted realtorsto pressure her and other long-term homeowners to sell their properties.Realtor Eva M. Daniels , who has beenselling homes in Fort Greene since 1982,points out that real estate throughout thecity is commanding top dollar; FortGreene is simply part of the trend . At thesame time, she concedes sadly, the rocketing values have changed the neighborhood . "It still has a large percentage ofAfrican-Americans," she says. "But it 'snot as much as it was even two years ago."

Prom the 1970s to the 1990s, as impresario Harvey Lichtenstein transformed BAM from a second-rate theater into a tabernacle of the avant-garde , theAcademy thought and acted globally, bringing Swedish theater, Japanese dance andGerman performance art to Brooklyn. Butlocals have long groused that BAM seemsmore interested in servicing patrons fromManhattan-BAM even runs vans to ferryticket-holders from across the river to itsshows-than developing an audience andartists closer to home.Fort Greene, a middle- and workingclass black neighborhood, has creativeassets of its own . Artists such as jazzsinger Betty Carter and director Spike Leehave called it home, and local venues likethe Paul Robeson Theater and BrooklynMoon Cafe promote homegrown musicians, poets and artists. Only recently, with

PIPEliN

Brooklyn'sculturalconquistadorsplan to expandtheir business,while localsworry that theneighborhoodwill no longer btheir own.


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the opening of the BAM Cafe, has BAMregularly showcased local performers .Now Lichtenstein, who has retiredfrom BAM but pushed to create the LDCand heads its board, is leading the chargeinto development. Fort Greene residentsand merchants wonder whether he willfinally push BAM to knit itself into theircommunity."What the BAM LDC is doing willalmost certainly benefit our merchants ,"says Errol Louis, executive director of theBogolan Merchants Association , a groupof businesses clustered along Fulton Streetjust east of BAM that cater to the blackdiaspora-American, African and Caribbean. (The group takes its name frombogolanfini, a mud-dyed ceremonial clothfrom Mali.) "Anything that brings morecultural dollars and tourism and arts andentertainment has got to be a good thing."At the same time, some Bogolan members say, BAM remains insular. Merchantslaugh as they describe having to takeLichtenstein and other academy bigwigson a tour to introduce them to vibrantartistic businesses located just a fewblocks from the theaters. "The idea ofmaking this a cultural district on the faceof it is good," says Selma Jackson, whoowns 4W Circle of Art and Enterprise, afashion and art boutique two blocks fromBAM on Fulton Street. Yet the culturalinstitution hasn't done what it could, shesays, to put Fort Greene's existing creativeculture on the map . "This is already a cultural district. Why are we reaching outsidethe community and not reaching to thepeople who are here?"One clear answer is that culture meansdifferent things to different people. Whenever an institution talks of creating a cultural district, Louis points out, "you getinto some very sticky questions as to whoseculture or what culture or why certainchoices are made." To make sure the LDCreflects the community, Bogolan is askingthe LDC to add two merchants to its board.For now, the only local representativeon the board is the district manager ofCommunity Board 2, which covers Brooklyn Heights as well as Fort Greene. TheLDC also tapped several real estate developers for the board, most notably BruceRatner, who also chairs the Academy'sboard. Brooklyn's leading builder, Ratnercreated downtown towers for MorganStanley and Metrotech and put suburbanstyle retail around the comer from BAM in

the Atlantic Center mall.As the designatedbuilder for two nearby urban renewal sites ,he stands to benefit from the dollars anddevelopment opportunities the LDC canbring to the area .

A t this stage, it's hard to say exactlywhat the LDC wants to do. Lichtenstein hints that the group may beinvolved in a new charter school. Otherstalk about retail development.Lutfy refused to provide City Limitswith the LOC 's strategic plan, insisting thatit was an internal "think piece." But a copyobtained elsewhere shows the LDC is contemplating some big real estate maneuvers.The report presents three scenarios.

"It's sort of likea takeover.That's what itfeels like," saysLucille Kenney,who has lived afew blocks fromBAM for about30 years.

First, BAM could develop what it cans a"big bang"- a gigantic $100 to $200 mil-lion arts pavilion along the lines of theNew Jersey Performing Arts Center, whichopened two years ago in downtownNewark. The report notes that this scenariocould run into community resistance andwould take years to implement.The second approach would createmarket-rate housing, possibly reserving 20percent of units for low-income renters.Apartments, the consultants argue, wouldadd to the vitality of the streets aroundBAM and could throw off as much as $7million to endow the LDC's future operations. The report also suggests that a midsize "boutique" hotel could be a strongaddition to the area.Finally, the third concept would have theLDC function more like a merchants' association , creating an urban design scheme to

unify the neighborhood. The report cautionsthat this strategy wouldn 't necessarily raiseBAM 's profile or create a cultural hub.Marilyn Gelber, head of the independence Community Foundation, whichgave the BAM LDC a three-year,$300,000 grant, expects Lichtenstein,Lutfy and company to start their effort byplanning for Ratner's two nearby urbanrenewal sites. Each has many vacantparcels where buildings were demolishedlong ago. There are also a few tracts thatwere mapped for urban renewal but nevercondemned, including a block betweenFlatbush Avenue and Fulton Street. Gelberfigures these sites could accommodatehousing, retail and art studios.BAM 's move into development is possible now because the Manhattan realestate boom is proving a bust for many artsgroups. Already, several major dance companies-including Trisha Brown, LauraDean, Paul Taylor, and Twyla Tharphave said they expect to be forced out oftheir current spaces as their leases expireover the next few years. BAM is countingon Manhattan 's loss becoming Brooklyn'sgain . "You have as an anchor the oldestperforming arts center in the country," saysGelber. "There's a great community inFort Greene. Why not build on thesestrengths? The arts will be a growing sector of Brooklyn's economy."Even now, Fort Greene is attracting artsgroups. Early this year, the Alliance ofResident TheaterslNew York plunkeddown $1.25 million for a building onSouth Oxford Street to provide officespace for 19 small theater companies. Andthough construction has not yet started, theMark Morris Dance Company says it plansto move its headquarters and rehearsalspace to a building across the street fromBAM by the end of the year.Bogolan 's Errol Louis says there's stilltime for the arts groups and the neighborhood to come together. He hopes BAM'sLDC will make the effort. "Nobody's terribly upset that they 're making plans forthe area and haven 't shared them with us,"he says. "But if the attempt through theLDC is once again taking one person'svision and attempting to hardwire it in, Ijust don 't think it will work." .Robert Neuwirth writes on urban issuesand is working on a project reporting onsquatter communities in the developingworld.

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THE YOU NG AN 0 TH EMeet 12 of New York's Savviest Activists

Dn't stop thinking about tomorrow. It's not s o m ~ -thing I'm proud of, but there was amoment In1992, while I sat on a riend's couch watchingthe election returns, that I really thought everythingwas about to get a ot better. That's what growing upduring the era of Reagan and Bush does to you. Mygeneration went through our formative years withoutever having a Democrat in the White House. It canmake you a ittle goofy-headed at the prospect of having a iberal as President.Or maybe that's just me. I've since noticed that some of thesmartest, toughest and funniest activists around are also of my generation. Apparently, growing up during an era of conservative triumphcan also make you more intrepid and more resilient-and nurture abeautifully perverse sense of humor to boot.For too long, the civil rights generation has been getting all the credit fornoble values, public commitment and social conscience. That's not without cause: According to one depressing poll, awhopping 36 percent of college freshmen now feel that it's important to be socially active, the lowestpercentage in 15 years. According to another, 52 percent of them expectto be millionaires by the time they are 40 years old.

But not every twenty- and thirtysomething is a slacker, hip-hopimpresario, internet entrepreneur or Steve Forbes booster. In fact, NewYork City hosts some truly extraordinary young social activists .

At City Limits,we wanted to profile ahandful of these people in partfor the simple reason that they rarely get recognized. We also wantedto identify what is unique about this generation of activists.In aword, it's pluck. .

These New Yorkers are accustomed to sticking their necks out In an

MAY 2000

era that is hostile to grassroots activism and social justice. Back in thday, t might have been easy to organize aprotest or start anew community group when itwas the cool thing to do. These people, on the othehand,are expert at going against the grain. They have amuch tougheaudience, and as a esult they are clear-eyed and strategic. (They're lsfunny-no coincidence that two of the 12 are also comedians.)

When we brought agroup of these progressives together to talk,na'lvely asked them whether they thought the upcoming changescity government-new mayor, new City Council-would give themchance to go from outsiders to insiders. They all rolled their eyes.

Most of them did think things would probably be getting better. Thewere just realistic about the possibilities. "I don't expect the neadministration to be great friend of progressives, but they will be lesinterested in demonizing progressives," is how community develoment star Brad Lander put it.

In keeping with that, they talked tactics a ot, explaining how tmaintain progressive influence in a eactionary era. Don't throw outhe old tools, like marches and protests, but use them creatively: scrickets loose during agarden auction, or send teenagers on bikeout to police law-breaking truckers. Target the politicians who actually have power-even if they are Republicans-and keep the heon them, even between elections. Use identity politics as away tmobilize people, not as an end in itself. Figure out ways to make bsplashy protests like the one in Seattle last year connect to locissues, like why there are no jobs in Bushwick.No more faith that one politician will change it all. Instead, Irather pin my idealistic hopes on these pragmatists. They s ~ s t ~ iand encourage the New York City that most of us would rather live Iwhere justice and vitality are as important as order. When timechange, and if these progressives find themselves in the majority,wwifl all benefit from their tenacity. New York is lucky to have them.

-Kathleen McGowa


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M AJ 0 R

FRANCESMILLERLegislative Aide ManhattanSe calls herself a ealist, impatient with ideologues.But perhaps sheprotests too much. Miller, 29, is the legislative aide and right-handwoman for one of the most idealistic politicians to hit Albany in ageneration : he openly gay,unabashedly left State Senator Tom Duane.LikeDuane, he blunt and funny Miller knows how it feels to be an outsider.Growing up in an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn, going toyeshiva, Miller was raised in a ulture that was supportive but ultimatelysuffocating."I earned a ot from [that worldHow I organize, and the benefits ofcommunity," she says now. But when she entered Brooklyn College, shemoved out-to the dismay of her f a m i ~ and neighbors. "I was expectedto get married at age 18, live a ertain life, have the kids, he house," Millersays. "I won't say I understand the experience of homophobia . But I doknow what it feels like to potentially lose your family" over life choices.

After doing homeless outreach for three years, Miller welcomes thepower that working for an elected official can bring,and the opportunity tobe involved in forging effective political compromises-getting Senate

Republicans to see the value of work-study for welfare recipients, forexample, or backing a entrist like Hillary Clinton. "Hillary has her faults .But that's not the point-l '1I do whatever Ican to get her elected. We getso self-righteous, we hurt ourselves."

Q: What do you think you missed coming into the game when you did?Being an activist in 1990s is a est. It's eally weird to hear 25-year-oldson MTV talking about downsizing government, hearing them spew therhetoric of the right.

Q: Would you ever run for office? I'm going to run for something.Butyou have to have abase. I'mworking toward that. And I'll back out of it ifI eel that it gets to my brain, ike it does with a ot of electeds.Aot of people go into politics bright-eyed,and the power gets to them.-KathleenMcGowan

L A V TAMCMATEducation Policy Analyst CDn't assume that because her job is to a n a ~ e budgets and public policy,is awonk sequestered in front of her computer. Since moving to New Yorkto study urban policy at the New School, McMath has done more hands-onfortify neighborhoods than a ity block of average folks.Before signing on with the Citizens' Committee for Children as staff assistant

cation and child care in 1998, McMath had spent time as a c o n s u ~ a n t at thethe City of New York, where she coordinated a onference on f a m i ~ preservahelped found A s s e m b ~ a n Roger Green'sBenjamin Banneker Community DevCorp. She is also aay leader at B r o o k ~ ' s Emmanuel Baptist Church, amentorstudents and member of Community Board 2.

All this is no slight on her day job, which she loves. "My studies provide the actgible information that supports our group's budget advocacy," she says. "You havewhat's there to make recommendations that make sense for what needs to chan

grew up in public housing in Chicago, in ahousehold with roots in Mand a trong sense of church and f a m i ~ . She says that the lessons she learned thegiving back to the community are the hidden link between her diverse interests. Afuture, she leaves that open, be it community development, advocacy, policy or sendeavor. "Running for office? Iwouldn't rule it out," she says. "But I'm not intethinking about that now."

G: What makes you angry? Apathy. People not taking astand or not stickinsomething they believe in.G: What would you taU a21-year-old goq into your field? Find an organiza

job that allows you to learn all you can and to grow. Take advantage of those oties, and don't be discouraged with being the youngest at ameeting. See it as atunity to grow. On e day you'll be the one that people r e ~ on; you'll be the expert.

~ r l

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Aa ilm major at Wesleyan College,Majora Ca rter never imagined that her life'swork woud bing her back toHunts Point, he poor Bronx.neighborhood where she rew up. "I urned 17 and Iwas like, There's no way I'mgoing back,'" she says now. What drew her back home was simple economics-a cheap place to live whileshe went to school for creative writing at NY U .But it changed her life completely.

While teaching writing in the Bonx in 1997, Ca rter volunteered for the Point, originally ayouth developmentprogram with a ultural bent. That evolved into amission: helping Hunts Point residents see the neighborhood 'spossibilities ,amission buoyed by the theat of amonster waste transfer staion that could bring 5,200 tons ofgarbage aday. After getting togetheraSOO-stro ngcommunity meeting inMarch, says Carter, "I eltahuge victory, that people finally feel they havea igho be ounted"

One of Carter's innovative rojects at The Pont was ecruitingneighborhood kids,armed withbikes and walkietalkies , to confront truckers driving llegally on residenial streets. As part of acommunity regeneration plan,Carter identified an abandoned city street with ccess to theBo nxRver. Thanks to aPartnership for Parks grant,it's the future site of the peninsu lar neighborhood's first waterfront park in 60 years, complete with communityboathouse.Carter, now 33, says that at one time she was rather apolitical. "I inally got my hands on Pedagogy of theOppressed and I hought-maybe I should be reading this." While Carter'swork is pretty all-encompassing,it hasn 't overwhelmed her artistic side. In the midst of planning the fourth annual South Bronx Film and VideoFestival , she'snow learning how to play guitar.QWhat makes you angry? When organzations come to s as if they are ur great white hope. If you want to work

withus on our projects, that's ine. Buhaving awhiteman who runs abg greenorganization fabicate our visionmakes me angry.QWhat have you learned from your parents that you bring into your work? My father,who died last year,was

quiet in his way of protesting. It had to o withdignity.Fo r example, he word "nigger." We never used that word.Myblack friends and white friends, heway he was the same with everyone. ealized that what he was trying to show usis the way you show yourself and the way you treat others. - JllPiluck

MAY 2000

SOF IA QU INTERPolymathE-chief-of-staff for aCity Councilwoman,ex-policy analyst,tor of aLatino web site and astand-Up comic, here'soneQuintero prefers best: generalist. Only 30, this Bronx naalready tried her hand at everything from studying statistics atbia's chool of international affairs to budget analysis at the citpendent Budget Office,grassroots grant-making at the North Sand teaching a lass on hip-hop at the Brecht Forum.At the newly formed lBO , she and her colleagues valiantlyimportant social services data out of a eticent administrationthe numbers into sharp analysis of city policy. With the New Yorkthropy Initiative,she helped survey how foundations fund the cityroots groups,a roject still underway.E v e n t u a l ~ she says, "Idecided what Ineeded to do is oncentr

area where I an be useful no matter what issue I'm working on .ThaI ealized Iwas a eneralist,and there's othing wrong with it."Sh e says .she learned her biggest political lesson at the age of 2working at the City Council: Identity politics has its limits. "Derepresentation doesn't mean anything. A erson may look like yoyour race and gender,but not be the best person to represent youtero instead now thinks of identity politics as a tarting point,ation for challenging oppression.

Quick-talking and expansive, Quintero is optimistic about thebig hope: he Intemet. "On e brother said to me recently: Idon't neonline, because the revolution 'sgonna be on the streets ,'" she lasaid,yeah--but you 'll miss it because you didn't get the emaiL"

Q: Do you feel like you missed out, getting into this when Things have changed,economically, p o l i t i c a l ~ , c u ~ u r a l ~ . Some folksnostalgic for a ime they didn 't ive in. They all want to be a oung Black Panther. I hink you can't rash everything [the older generadone,but street actions and rallies alone are not going to change ev

Q: What do you see as the p o l ~ i c a l future for our generatitrump card is that we're going to bow up out of nowhere.Thedon 't stand for anything;meanwhile,our generation has highof entrepreneurship this countrY has ever seen.The more visiis for-profit; but a ot is civic-oriented, nonprofit. They've unmated us. -Kathleen M


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B R A D L A N D E RCommunity Developer Park SlopeRised and educated in Midwestern cities, Lander has only been aNew Yorker for a ittle more than seven years.He 's pent almost allof them as head of the Fifth Avenue Committee, aneighborhoodnonprofit that he turned into a ommunity development powerhouse. Atonly 23,he took over the organization,building it from a taff of about ahalf-dozen into a eritable empire with more than 50 employees and several spin-off subsidiaries, ncluding an ecologically sound dry cleaningfranchise and anonprofit temp agency.

Although he'sbecome an expert at the practical, Lander also has ascholar'sbackground, with amaster's degree in anthropology that hegot in London on aMarshall scholarship. He 'sgood at connecting thespecific to the general-he may know all the Park Slope gossip andunderstand the specifics of low-income housing development, but healso follows the socialist politics of inner London.This more critical academic perspective also shows in his demeanor:Lander may be progressive , but he's no ideologue . He thinks-and s p e a k s - < 1 e l i b e r a t e ~prone to answering questions with "on the one hand" responses .But Lander doesn't hesitate to glow over Brooklyn. "Not to romanticize it, but what's suggested by this kind of commitment to diverseurban life is fabulous," he says. "It's the hint of apossibility of whatsociety could be like."

Q: Ever consider academia? Not anymore.But Iwish that there wereways to be engaged in more thoughtful collective reflection on the work

Yecame an activist on June 4, 1995, the day she found herself on the wrong sideof abarricade at aChinatown protest. On hand to photograph her sister and othersin ahunger strike to protest a estaurant's labor practices, Yu decided that takingpictures wasn't enough. "I joined the hunger strike the next day," she says.

She has continued on the path she began that day--passionate, focused on her community and committed to her f a m i ~ . Today, Yu, project director for the Chinese Staff andWorkers Association and cofounder of the National Mobilization Against Sweatshops,pushes for better worker's compensation services for injured garment workers and forequal pay and treatment for low-income women. Her family is still amajor source ofinspiration-both her parents have worked long days in the garment industry since theycame to this country from China 27 years ago, and her mother has become an importantleader in their Sunset Park community.A raduate of NewYork University's prestigious film school, the 22-year-old Yu says hervisual skills are now l a r g e ~ devoted to helping Chinatown youth learn how to documentthe world they live in. "I view the camera as aweapon to tell one's story and to exposeinjustice," she says. ''There was no way I could play both roles of being adocumentaryfilmmaker and an organizer. So right now, I'm organizing."

Q: Do you feel like you missed out? Yes and no. But I'm not regretful that Ididn't growup in the 1960s because I eel that people need to go back to their own communITies toorganize. And for the Chinese community, the 21st century is the most important time toorganize--in many ways, things are just getting worse.Q: How do you prepare for a ig public speech? Ialways r e ~ a ot on our members. Iconfer WITh them [before] Ido a peech to try to represent the needs of our group,whichis member-based. I confer WITh the leaders and WITh my mom about what should I putout there. They'll guide me. -Carl Vogel

we do while still doing it-that you didn 't have to make choice between - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -toiling in the trenches or pondering things .

Q: Did the protests in Seattle inspire you? Progressive politics noware not speaking to people in away they need to---they don't engagepeople on acultural level. Seattle touched on connecting some peoplein those ways, but it didn't translate into ways that made sense for people of color in disenfranchised communities in New York City.

-Kathleen McGowan

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v U

to:

____________ __c5t

II______________________________________________________________ J

Vn Bramer has been on the losing side of more than a ew battles .But he says that theissues he has fought for-notably gay rights, universal health care and campaignfinance reform-are too important to let the setbacks affect him. "Obviously,progressives want to win and want to be inpower," he says. "But change is incremental, and I'mcertain that we 're doing good things and moving forward ."A ommitted outer-borough booster, van Bramer, 30, has done most of his work in hisnative Queens.As a tudent at St. John'sUniversity, he tried to force that Catholic school toofficially recognize a ay and lesbian club (the effort ultimately failed),and he now serves asexecutive vice president of the Lesbian and Gay Democratic Club of Queens. He also wasinvolved in electoral issues citywide as the deputy field director of the 1998 CleanMoney/Clean Elections campaign.

Today,van Bramer organizes support for Queens ' 63 libraries as the system 's ommunityrelations specialist. "Libraries are critical to every community," he says, emphasizing thataccess is particularly important in Queens,with its large immigrant population.

Bramer is still fighting difficult battles.Most recently,he ran as a elegate for Bill Bradleyin the 7th Congressional District,amissed opportunity to be Queens ' first openly gay elected official. As is his style,he is not discouraged. "[Bradley] spoke the truth to power,"Bramersays. "And we need to keep pushing that along."

Q: What do you feel like you missed out on? On amore personal note,as a ay man, he1970s and 1980s were about revolution arid about AIDS. I'm not sorry that Ididn 't experiencethat loss,as a ot of people did,but something happened there,and Iwasn't here for it.0: Do you feel like you're standing on the shoulders of giants? I have great respect andadmiration for the people that came before me who made it possible for us to be doing whatwe are today. I don't know the names and the faces of most of them , hey were the peoplewho would show up at aprotest in DC. when that was adangerous thing to do.Many wedon't know; they're regular people but they were incredibly courageous. --Carl Vogel

MAV2000

I

DUSHAWHOCKETPublic Housing Tenant Organizer CA16, Hockett was already marching on City Hall to protest budget cuts. Now 25, this elOQuent defender of housing fochairs the New York City Public Housing Resident Alliance.also on the staff of the Center for Community Change, a ational sfare group--even while he finishes his sociology degree at Hunte

Hockett grew up in Bushwick Houses in B r o o k ~ n , where he stilpolitical life began the summer after he graduated high school, whunteered as Congresswoman Nydia Velazquez' neighborhood poduring her maiden campaign. After she won the primary, he joined

where his work included helping public housing tenants mired icratic quicksand. Housing rights for the poor soon became his life

But his decision to become an activist was s e v e r e ~ tested. "Mmother was a ehovah's Wrtness and believed that it wasn't man'seek change--it was God's will," says Hockett. The two were e x cclose, but even as he defended his beliefs she clung to hers. "Mmother forced me to take a deeper look and put a ot more enthought into what Ido," he says. "But I ett that on this one issueable housing for the poor, Icould make an impact."

Last fali, he u n q u e s t i o n a b ~ did, as thousands of tenants packeHousing Authority's public hearings on policy changes. Hockett wascenter in that organizing effort. His determination seems to be f a m ilast year, Hockett saw just how much her faith meant to his graAfter a riple bypass, she needed ablood transfusion but refused bwent against her faith. "She made the choice c o n s c i o u s ~ withoudoubt," Hockett says. She died for what she believed in." He pausis apowerful thing-to believe in what you do."Il:WI you 1111 for pollical office? tt l ight now. Ibelieve I'll be refor political office when the community I epresent is p o I i t i c a l ~ sopenough to hold me accountable. One needs to be beholden to the com0: What are you reading? All Too Human, by George StephaI am always interested in how young people get into politics.-Saan P


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Brooklynr Monifa Akinwole-Bandele, reading science fiction

isn 't only an escape-it's amodel for organizing. "Idon't like boundaries," says the Brooklyn-born activist.eople who see themselves as revolutionaries almost havebelieve the impossible ."As Brooklyn project director for the Urban Homesteading

Board,Akinwole-Bandele helps tenant associaof some 250 buildings navigate through acity prothat gives low-income residents a hance to own their'sust her day job. An alum of Spelman College

Lincoln University, Akinwole-Bandele started the Newchapter of the Malcolm XGrassroots Project, ablack

group that ties young African-Americans to theirheritage and works to free political prisoners., she coordinated a police brutality speakout for

Bronx high schoolers. "UHAB is fulfilling work," she"but it's still working within the system ."Akinwole-Bandele ,29,always had strong community roots.

all, her father,aQueens social worker, joined the Black,and her mother,aDallas-based school administrais a ormer Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee

. he propaganda machine is now stronger, she says,thinking about that era refuels her vision, one that will be

along to her year-old daughter Naima.Q. Do you feel like you have a community? All theseof African descent. Caribbean ,West Africa. I kind of

them my community. Then there are neighborIhave a trong connection to Brooklyn. If I'm in Texasinto someone who 'swhite and from Brooklyn, I'm

to hang out with them all night.Q. Do you feel like you are standing on the shoulders of

Geronimo Pratt. Sekou Odinga. Talking to peopleincarcerated keeps you going. If I had been infor three decades, Iwould be a eal bitch . For them

be these beautiful, oving people who still believe whatbelieve in, t really blows you away.

-Jill Priluck

OMARFREILLAClean Air Activist CitywideUEnvironmental Justice is involved with issues thatpeople deal with on aday-to-day basis," says

Freilla, transportation coordinator for the NewYork City Environmental Justice Alliance, anetwork of 15community-based sustainable development groups. "tt'sbread-and-butter things, like being safe from toxins, andgetting to jobs."

From Sunset Park to Melrose, Freilla works to stop polsfrom cutting off waterfront access or building s m e l ~ busdepots with no input from the people living nearby. One ofFreilla's biggest goals: getting the MTA to run natural-gasbuses in the city."I've always fett like organizing was in my blood," saysBronx-born Freilla, 26, whose parents emigrated from theDominican Republic and settled in Mount Eden. As amaster's student in environmental science at Miami Universityof Ohio, Freilla heard about aFlorida agricuttural community confronting environmental racism and resolved to connect that kind of activism back to his city roots.As with many of his counterparts, Freilla's work dominates his I ~ e , though he also manages to bike and catch anoccasional drum and bass or hip-hop show. For now he'scontent ensuring that acity agency doesn't screw over acommunity, even if that means reading page after page ofregional transportation studies-"voluminous documentswhich can break your back."Q. How are the younger activists different from theolder ones? Now, there's much more of aendency to thinkof problems we're dealing with to be interconnected: race,gender and sexuality, for example. Another big differenceis that we don't have such big egos. We don't have somany notches under our bett to make us think that we'reabove criticism.Q. Did the protests in Seattle move you? Iwas turnedoff because of the lack of involvement by people of color. Idon't r e a l ~ f e e l l i k e being a ioneer to deal with other pe0-ple's entrenched racism when I can be a ot more successful and sane working here. -JillPriluck

OONACHATTERJEANDREWFRIEDMANLocal Agitators Bushw

Catterjee and Friedman,co-founders of Make tqhe Rby Walking , ended up finding their calling-alaunching their feisty Bushwick community actgroup-through starkly different paths.Friedman, 29, was a punk rocker during his high scdays in Washington, DC. He gravitated from that culturprotest to global activism , demonstrat ing outside

Nicaraguan embassy in his teens, and against Columbiaversity's South African investments while a tudent there

Chatterjee, 28, grew up near Philadelphia and went toto study English; once she got there, she was inspiredpolitical involvement. "A ouple of my activist friends atwere very articulate about their work," she recalls.After ming to New York,Chatterjee worked as a ampus organizerBut both Chatterjee and Friedman have political activin their blood.Chatterjee'smaterna l grandparents were fdom fighters against the British Raj in India.Friedman 'smembers of the American Communist Party.

Today, both have become part of the immigrant mosaBushwick , running this three-year-old organization withaim of "showing the community how to determine itsfuture ." What that means, n part, is setting up seminarsstudy groups showing young people how to organize forcauses they care about most, like after-school programssafe streets, and mobilizing welfare recipients to pushtheir rights . Chatterjee'shome is literally an extension owork: She lives above the organization 's office on GStreet. Friedman lives only a ew blocks away. "We wantelive in the community where we work," Fr iedman says.

Q: How have people responded to your efforts? Chajee:There are immigrants here who've come from the Domcan Republic, Mexico, and Ecuador .from countries alrestruggling for social justice. This is not new to them .Q: How do you feel about the generation before yFriedman: I eel there's agap in understanding the strucof an activist group. Older activists tend to organizegroups along strictly hierarchical lines.We make decisioncommittee. -Saan P. Kuri


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Wen New York's first television ads for Medicaid managedcare ran a few ago, young mothers-{)r rather, actressesplaying them-earnestly praised the benefits of the system. "No more taking my kids to the emergency room when theyhave a simple cold," said one, her voice cracking with outrage. Forthe poor, suggested the ads, it would be health care with dignity.The promise of Medicaid managed care was that poor peoplewould finally have more preventive care and better access to specialists instead of being trapped in a debilitating round of Medicaid mills and hospitals. For taxpayers, who ultimately pay the tab,the emphasis on preventive care would mean subsidizing fewervisits to the emergency room.As it turns out, it's not that simple. For average Americans, learning to deal with the whims and peculiarities of managed care hasbeen exasperating, at best. For poor people, it can be a nightmare.Managed care simply wasn't built to deal with people who move frequently or are homeless, don't speak English, gain and lose theircoverage in quick succession, have no savings to pay for bureaucratic slip-ups, or in general lead unpredictable and chaotic lives.Both homeless and unable to speak English, Iris Ramirez isexactly the kind of person the new Medicaid lets down. Ramirez,28, is hardly shy about seeking better health care for her family.She has three good reasons to be vigilant: herself; her II-year-old,asthmatic daughter Lilliana; and an infant, Gabriel Ivan-"like theangel Gabriel," she explains, as he drools into her collar.So last spring, when she saw the tables at her daughter's schooladvertising various Medicaid health care plans, she paid attention. ToRamirez, the plans seemed to promise access to the kind of healthMAY 2000

care she couldn't get from regular Medicaid. Even better, a representative from aplan called HealthPlus, who spoke Spanish, told herit would work just like Medicaid, but with extras. She signed up."1asked her if 1could get all the regular Medicaid services withher health plan, and she said yes," Ramirez explains through aninterpreter. "I f here was something that Medicaid didn't cover, thenHealthPlus would cover it. That both of them would be working inan emergency-that's what 1asked tl:le woman, and she said yes."Deftly burping the baby, Ramirez details what happened next.First, she says, she never got her cards from the plan; an erroneously keystroked zip code most likely sent them astray. Whenshe called to find out why, the people on the other end were rude,and "no one knew anything."Two months in, Ramirez was already unhappy. But when shecalled to switch back into the old Medicaid system, HealthPlusfirst tried to convince her to stay, then told her she wasn't allowedto drop out of the plan until the end of the year. 'They were'doingeverything possible so that 1 couldn't leave," she says. Finally,. they sent her disenrollment forms, which she promptly submitted.'This," she says grimly, "happened three times."On June 15 , she finally got a letter from New York MedicaidChoice, the company in charge of enrollment, stating that she hadbeen dropped from HealthPlus . "After July 1st, 1999 you will gethealth care using your Medicaid card at any doctor's office or clinic that takes Medicaid," the letter promised.It didn't work. Two months later, she got a letter from HealthPlus telling her that they were her insurers until September I."Medicaid was telling me to call HealthPlus , HealthPlus was

At communityhealth clinics,Medicaidbecomes amuddle.


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Iris andGab ri elRam irez aredo ing fine now ,but his birthwas amanagedca re sca re.

telling me to call Medicaid," she says. "The two were at war."Meanwhile, she was growing increasingly frantic: Now pregnant and suffering from gestational diabetes, she needed prenatalcare. But even though she had supposedly switched back to oldstyle, non-HMO Medicaid, Medicaid refused to reimburse herdoctor for treatment. Her unpaid bills were piling up, and the doctor's secretary told her he wouldn't see her anymore. Ramirez hada Caesarian section scheduled just a month away, without either adoctor or the cash to pay for one.Terrified she would miss the surgery date, she turned to a bilingual advocate. With his help, she got back on traditional Medicaidin October-almost six months after the ordeal began.Looking as pained as her television counterpart, Ramirez sumsup her experience with the new Medicaid. "What it is," she says,disgusted, "is complete disorganization."

Mre than a decade into the insurance revolution, millions ofAmericans have been through the HMO wringer. But IrisRamirez' predicament is more than just another managedcare nightmare. She was a ghost in a brand-new machine: thesleek, competitive model of Medicaid that was going to stripdown a money-guzzling bureaucracy, save billions and give people better health care at the same time.Medicaid patients in New York State have been allowed-butnot required-to enroll in HMOs since the early 1980s. Then, inJuly of 1997, New York became the 13th state to require all itsMedicaid recipients to switch to managed care. With 2.4 millionMedicaid recipients, this transition to mandatory managed care isthe nation's biggest.The most obvious difference between "fee-for-service" Medicaid and the new managed care regime is the way providers are paid.Before, doctors who served Medicaid patients billed the program

for each patient visit. Now, physicians sign on to several plans annegotiate a flat fee per patient per month, no matter how often oinfrequently the patient comes. The plans, in turn, get a set fee evermonth from the state for every patient they enroll. For plans, th"capitation" system gives them fixed costs and aguaranteed markeFor patients, the biggest advantage is that their doctors canow easily refer them to specialists, something that was mucharder before. Theoretically, there is another plus: patients canow choose the plan best suited to them. The idea was that poopeople, just like everyone else, would be able to shop around.On the contrary, what many patients are finding is that they hava hard time choosing anything at all that makes sense. As mandato

ry Medicaid managed care takes hold in New York City-SouthwesBrooklyn, southern Manhattan, and all of Staten Island started laOctober, and the rest of the city will follow during the next threyears, subject to approval by federal monitors-theevidence is staring to accumulate. Before managed care can effectively serve pooNew Yorkers, the state Department of Health and the plans it workwith will have to shoulder abasic responsibility that they now don'They'll have to make sure people on Medicaid get care at all.Uder the old system, sick patients had only one obligationto find a doctor who accepted Medicaid. Now, the responsibilities have become much more complex. Like anyonenrolled in an HMO, Medicaid patients are finding that they havto become diligent, inquisitive experts on the rules of managecare to get what they want-whether it's a new pair of glasses o3 ~ - d a y drug treatment instead of a five-day detox."We know that some people who've joined a health plan try tgo where they used to go and get turned away," says ChristinMolnar, director of the Medicaid managed care education projecof the Community Service Society. "Other people don't undestand that the place where they're looking for care doesn't speatheir language." In the parts of the city in which managed carenow mandatory, 19 percent have a plan chosen for them and mahave no idea where they can see a doctor.Instead of dealing with one bureacracy, people on Medicainow have three to contend with if something goes wrong. Firsthere are the plans themselves. Just two, HIP and Wellcare, arlarge corporate HMOs; 16 others are "prepaid health serviceplans," networks of doctors who serve people on Medicaid. Thosplans vary greatly in size and scope, ranging from 5,000 t250,000 patients. Most only operate in certain parts of the cityonly five are citywide, and six serve just one or two boroughsPatients who move from one part of the city to another cannot necessarily expect their plans to move with them.Just like regular HMOs, every Medicaid managed care plandifferent, and it's not always easy to figure out what will anwon't be covered. Some cover nicotine patches, for example, anothers don't. Fidelis, an alliance of Catholic hospitals, won't covebirth control or abortions.If patients want to switch, they now have to negotiate witthe enrollment broker, the go-between that traffics informatiobetween patients, plans and government. In New York City, thbroker is Maximus, the nation's largest private provider of sociaservice case management. Critics charge that Maximus is mishandling the job, leaving patients misinformed and confusedMost recently, the company's hotline came under fire from Public Advocate Mark Green for incorrectly answering caller

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questions about their rights.The last line of defense is the state Department of Health, whichis supposed to grant exemptions so that some people-including thehomeless, people who don 't speak English and, for now, mentally illpeople and people with HIV-can see any doctor they want. So far,however, patients seeking exemptions frequently find their applications rejected. In fact, every single person who has applied for anexemption because of language problems has been turned down.Already, people like Ramirez are getting stuck between thesecogs. Many of them, report health policy analysts, are fighting toget back into fee-for-service Medicaid while it still exists; thenumber of people who enroll in managed care before they areforced to remains well below expectations. What's especially frustrating for health care advocates is knowing that those patientsthey do see are ones like Ramirez, passionate enough about theirhealth to take matters into their own hands.For every patient aggressively pursuing health care, there'sanother who, lacking the language skills or the gumption, has simply given up; advocates speak of seeing patients who either didn 'tknow they were in a plan or had no idea how to use it. "Our dailybread," says policy analyst David Wunsch of Care for the Homeless , which provides health care and other services to people in thecity's homeless shelters, "is people who are coming in and areenrolled in managed care and have never seen their doctor."Tat managed care tidal wave has already hit mentally ill,homeless, and HIV-infected patients-people who were supposed to be on dry land. Health professionals who work withthe homeless say they are seeing more people showing up at shelters with severe or chronically undertreated illnesses like asthmaand already enrolled in a managed care plan. Often, the doctorsdon't belong to the same plan, leaving them with two options: eitherdon't treat the patients, or try enroll them in old-style Medicaidinstead. Instead, most shelter-based providers simply treat homelesspeople at their own expense, knowing that they can't be reimbursed."We find out that most people don't even know they're in amanaged care plan," says Susan Moscou, a family nursepractitioner at Montefiore Care for the Homeless in the Bronx."How do they find out? They find out when I write them a prescription and they find out the plan doesn't cover it." Most commonly, says Moscou, the prescription is for an asthma nebulizer,which many of the plans don't cover. Until she can get them disenrolled, or convince the plan to cover a nebulizer, she gives thema loaner from the center, and hopes she'll get it back: ''I have twoof our nebulizers out now to people who are on plans," she sayswryly, "and one has a big sign saying "Don't Lend Out.'"Plus, a lot of patients who don't even belong in managed carewind up mistakenly enrolling in an HMO. Andrea Ryan, a socialworker with the Urban Justice Center, has a caseload of theseMedicaid clients. She was leading a workshop on Medicaid managed care at a supportive housing facility in Brooklyn when shemet Ethel (not her real name), a sweet-looking middle-agedwoman. Methadone made Ethel talk very slowly.Ethel approached Ryan after the workshop and asked for somehelp. Unhappy with her health plan because she couldn'tget glasses, Ethel wanted to get out of it. As it turned out, sheshouldn't have been in managed care in the first place-as a mentally il l substance abuser and someone living on SupplementalSecurity Income, she qualified twice over as someone who couldMAY 2000

stay for now in the old fee-for-service system. (Eventually, thestate will have two separate managed care systems, called "specialneeds plans," for people with HIV/AIDS or mental illness.)"1 old her, 'This is easy-you qualify for an exemption. We'lljust call ,'" recalls Ryan. But when Ryan got on the phone to Medicaid Choice, the operator refused to speak to her or to Ethel. "Shekept saying "I can 't do this, I can't do this: recalls Ryan.When Ryan insisted it was all right for Ethel to have an advocatewith her on the phone, the operator hung up. In the end, Ethel had toapply three times, in three different ways, to get out of her plan-aplan that she never should have been signed up for in the first place.The fact that Ethel was recruited points to one of the big flawsin the market-driven managed care system. According to Ethel, arepresentative from New York Hospital Community Health Planfirst approached her in the waiting room of a day treatment center

for substance abuse-a good place to find recruits, but also a goodplace to find people with HIV and mental illness who are not supposed to be in managed care to begin with."Granted, the plans can say they didn't know they wereexempt," says Ryan. "But if [patients] are in an outpatient clinic,you should know!" It's not an uncommon story, advocates report.(New York Hospital Community Health Plan could not bereached for comment.)Aggressive marketing from plans has been a problem in everystate that has Medicaid managed care; some states have even passedlaws against all marketing. After patients were routinely misled,New York prohibited HMOs from directly recruiting patients, onlyto lift the ban one year later after enrollment declined precipitously.New York now requires Maxirnus to conduct a phone interviewwith patients who voluntarily enter managed care, verifying thatthey are willingly signing up for a plan. For people who live in

Managed carefunding cuts hiUlysses KilgoreBed-Stuyclinic hard-squeezing it tisqueals."


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At a Tremontclinic. patientswithoutinsurance getfree healthcare- and Dr.Ne il Caiman getsto show wha t'swrong with mosthealth care forthe poor.

neighborhoods where managed care is mandatory, Maximus is supposed to check a database provided by the city's welfare agency tomake sure that people who qualify for exemptions get them automatically-a provision intended to keep plans' marketers in check.Ryan contends that recruitment agents still abuse the process allthe time, and she has the clients to prove it, including AIDS patientswho were approached by plan marketers and urged to sign up ')ustto get information" (she had to walk them through the disenrollrnentprocess). "Unless somebody has died, nobody seems to care," Ryanfumes. "How is this better than the emergency room?"

Ptients aren't the only ones struggling through this transition-the community-based health centers that have treatedpoor people all along are also suffering.In his audit the public advocate found that Maximus had particular difficulties educating immigrants about managed care. Tohelp bridge language and cultural barriers, Green recommendedthat the company forge ties with community-based health organizations that have long track records working with immigrantgroups and low-income people.Yet managed care is already taking a toll on some of the mostessential of these resources: the city's 32 community health centers, which rely on Medcaid dollars. So far, the cost of treatingMedicaid patients has remained about the same, but the amount ofmoney coming in has dwindled. "You're squeezing the dollarlonger, now," says Ulysses Kilgore m. director of the BedfordStuyvesant Health Clinic. "You're squeezing it till it squeals, now."

Under the old Medicaid, fee-for-service payments providedclinics like Kilgore's with a funding stream that, coupled with federal grants, allowed them to treat uninsured patients. It also allowedthem to run preventive programs like nutritional counseling, translation services and health education. Now, says Kilgore, ''The capitated dollars that are coming through now aren't even paying forthe uninsured. So how can they pay for these other services?"Over the past three years, with more and more patients in BedStuy choosing to enroll in managed care, his clinic lost half a milliondollars from its budget; this year, he expects to lose even more. Kilgore says he's had to concentrate on raising funds just to stay open."What has happened is that, while we're trying to concentrate oncare, we have to spend more time scraping for dollars," says Kilgore. "To be in this money-searching mode all the time, when we havethis moral commitment to serving everybody who comes throughthe door-it's a dispiriting experience for me. It's immoral."The state Department of Health is supposed to help out here aswell, by tracking which doctors speak foreign languages and making that information available to patients. That database has comeunder fire from State Comptroller Carl McCall, who found lastyear that the managed care plans were submitting unreliable andmisleading information about doctors' language abilities. McCallrecommended that the state put in place some sort of verificationprocedure. Almost a year later, there is none.Still, the state health department continues to use that list whenpatients ask to get out of managed care because they cannot finda doctor who speaks their language. Apatient can get out of man-

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aged care if there are fewer than three doctors in the area whospeak his or her language. So far, not one of the 204 people whohave petitioned for exemptions under this rule has been approved.Those routine denials add up to a pattern of discrimination ,according to a complaint filed earlier this year with the federalOffice of Civil Rights by Legal Aid lawyer Elisabeth Benjamin .One of her clients, a Russian named A1eksandr G., had chronicasthma and depression , but according to the complaint, his regular physician wasn't enrolled in any managed care plan.So A1eksandr began his search. First, the state sent him a list ofRussian-speaking providers, culled from its comprehensive roster.But the list of 42 supposedly Russian-speaking doctors came withno phone nllillbers. Out of those 42, says Benjamin, only 15 werelisted in the phone book. An English-speaking friend of A1eksandr'scalled all of them and found that just five actually spoke Russian.Of the five , only three knew how to treat A1eksandr's conditions , and only one was less than half an hour from his home.

Even so when he applied for an exemption to managed care, thestate turned him down. The system that forced A1eksandr to stopseeing his own doctor-who had successfully treated his asthmaand depression-had delivered a universe of alternatives that narrowed down to a choice of exactly one.

Utimately, the biggest obstacles to making managed carework in new York lie not with patients, providers or evenwith plans, but with forces beyond their control. Thoseinclude the growing number ofpeople falling off the rolls for good.APicture of Health! Bnm cliDic puts the oninsored at the centerof attention.

By IIaura IIcDelwttAa home health aide, Karla Sacaza has spoon-fed patientswith AIDS and tuberculosis, bathed a woman dying fromthe effects of obesity, and soothed adults who are mentally ill, or just plain ornery, all for $6.15 an hour.After all ofthat, Sacaza had no one to take care ofher health.For a while, she had relied on Medicaid. But after her secondchild was born, a caseworker told her that she would lose herhealth benefits. Neither her part-time job nor her husband'sposition at a paint store offer medical coverage, and their budgetis so tight that Sacaza says even a $27 physical exam at a clinicis beyond their reach. ''I've been working since I was 14 yearsold," Sacaza says, still outraged. ''Why shouldn't I get healthinsurance?"

It turns out the caseworker was wrong, and Sacaza can gether health insurance back. But she might never have known thatif it weren't for an unusual experiment taking place in a smallbrick building in the Bronx.At the comer of Walton Avenue and East 177th Street inTremont, a team of doctors and medical students from the

MAY 2000

One reason plans recruit so aggressively is that they are constantly losing patients. Welfare reform, and New York City 'S effortsto discourage eligible people to apply for Medicaid, have resulted ina 13 percent drop in the rolls in the last five years. Even families whoremain on the rolls will frequently lose their coverage temporarilybecause of stringent eligibility rules and bureaucratic snafus.New York State's Medicaid managed care plans lose almostfour percent of their patients each month and about 40 percent ayear. ''Think about it: almost half the people who are in the planat the beginning of the year are not in your plan at the end of theyear," says Deborah Bachrach , a policy analyst for the Coalitionof Prepaid Health Services Plans. "All of the work that goes intocare management, it never takes hold. I

Documents

City Limits Magazine, May 2000 Issue