Why I Feel Like An American Stranger In Brooklyn for Labor Day.
In March 1918, black scholar and activist W.E.B. DuBois wrote The Black Man and the Unions:
“I am among the few colored men who have tried conscientiously to bring about understanding and co-operation between American Negroes and the Labor Unions.” A born and raised Bk girl is what I have always been and represent; yet when Labor Day comes around I feel lost in my own borough. How did the days’ original meaning get lost is a question that I often ponder.
Growing up in Bed-Stuy gave me a totally different perspective and experience on the Labor Day parade, also known as the West Indian American Day Carnival. My friends and I always looked forward to taking the just about mile long walk to Eastern Parkway to observe the steel drum, vibrant costumes and great eats of the Caribbean culture. A day filled with running into old friends and meeting new ones as well. I can remember being a teenager and having a fond appreciation for the cultural pride that was represented during the parade.
Moving to Flatbush (Prospect Lefferts Gardens) totally changed the game. My very first Labor Day in the neighborhood was a culture shock, as I had never even heard of J’ouvert, the pre Labor Day celebration and the fact that it was actually taking place in my backyard. I had to actually show the police my driver’s license to be allowed to drive pass a certain point in order to get to my street. From then on I made it a point to not be in town during the holiday weekend. Honestly, I think it was a combination of the all night noise and the senseless violence that was reported in the aftermath that got to me. Even as I type this post, there has been so many reported acts of violence including a NYS employee of Governor Cuomo’s office this 2015 weekend in itself.
Because of the way I grew up, I was always accepting of other cultures and interestingly, it wasn’t until I moved to Flatbush that I began to feel like an American Stranger. Frequently being asked, not only where I was from but my lineage at times, dating back to my grandparents. All the while thinking, am I not in Brooklyn, New York, the American from which I was born? Even as I attempted to get involved in community work, I was constantly ask the same question, when I repeatedly gave the response of being born and raised in Brooklyn and my parents both being from NYC and my grand parents and great grandparent being from the south….. ooh, the shade.
Now don’t get me wrong, many of my nearest and dearest friends are Caribbean. Yet it still doesn’t change the fact that when Labor day comes around, I am reminded of how far we’ve gotten away from the meaning of holiday and it doesn’t seem to be a big deal partially, because of the colorful distractions.
Mas Camp
Mas Camp Band
– At some point during the beginning of the summer, they just appear and with increasing frequency as you get closer to Labor day. The pre celebratory festivities ensue with storefront crowds, drinking and sidewalk barbecuing.
J’ouvert All Nighters
Parade Participants
-Back to back traffic, all night music, and basically no sleep for almost a full 24 hours before the parade.
Policing the Weekend Festivities
-If the loud music is not enough, the helicopters hovering over the streets combined with the remnants of horse poop and patrol that is keeps the community “safe” if a nightmare in itself.
If there’s something that I miss, it’s not being a stranger in my beloved Brooklyn for Labor Day. Remembering the purpose of the holiday for black people, being able to listen to the music of my choice, and enjoying the last unofficial weekend of summer in the way that I choose seems to be too much to ask for and offensive to some.
As my family returned from vacation just yesterday, a friend of mine posted a video that was funny however; so true and resonated with many:
Labor Day is so much more then a parade and a day off; Spread Love, It’s the BrooKlyn Kisha Way!
What Labor Day Means to Me….
Spread Love:
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