Taking DC Public Transit Bus as a Liberatory Exercise
Salvation on the 70 bus.
It’s been at least a decade since I’ve been fully inaugurated into DC’s sociocultural landscape. It has drastically changed due to gentrification, for the once notorious Chocolate City, is more Mocha now. Between Florida and Georgia Ave, there is an iconic Metro PCS that blasts Gogo Music, the sonorous soundtrack and reverent philosophy of DC. The block used to go up with a boisterous bounce and rambunctious rhythm. You couldn’t hit that block and not be met with spirit. The harmless crackheads on the corner, chasing their own euphoria would enchant you to catch your own, on the boom of the base. For the new uncolored implants, this communal jovial sound was cantankerous. Soon, they began making daily calls to the local precinct, then ultimately to the city, to make the Metro PCS stop the music, arguing the music violated local noise laws. It was ultimately proven it wasn’t by the city. But that didn’t satisfy the uncoloreds, so they went above the Metro PCS store owner, and persuaded T-Mobile, Metro PCS’s parent company, to stop the music. T-Mobile agreed, which sparked a whole movement led by DC natives, “DONT MUTE DC”. Don’t Mute DC is an organization dedicated to combating Black expulsion and cultural obliteration in DC. A petition was created which garnered over 80,000 signatures. Daily congregations around the store turned into vehement objections by local residents, which encouraged T-Mobile to change its decision. So now today, when I’m heading to Sankofa, a local bookstore for an event, I got pep in my step, applauded by the baba in the wheelchair with the loosie hanging on his lip.
DC historically was one of the first cities, after Emancipation, where formerly enslaved Africans settled in to create a flourishing and prosperous community. Brownsville, Brooklyn who’s motto “Brownsville, Never Ran, Never Will” is the place I spent my formative years. It has the largest concentration of projects in NYC. Over 90% of the inhabitants are African American, Puerto Rican, or other diasporic or continental Blacks. Brownsville is one of the very last frontiers where working class Blacks are holding on. Not too long ago, a friend of mine sent me a viral video of boutique high rises announcing its opening in Brownsville. I was astonished. I was gobsmacked. I thought damn, my girl was right, white people aren't afraid of Blacks anymore. While yes, gentrification is, at its core neo colonialism, white folk with higher socioeconomic statuses come and not only co-opt the local culture but drive up the price of living exponentially for local residents.
This is the part where I look left and I look right.
It also brings some benefits. The places that were known to be historic food deserts, now have farmers markets, better healthier options for consumption, coffee shops, diverse dining and entertainment, and not to mention the preservation of historic architecture. I love my oat matcha lattes from Sey! And it wouldn’t have been possible without gentrification. WHO DOESN’T LOVE OAT MILK MATCHA LATTES?!
On a more serious note, the very crux of gentrification is to instigate a mass exodus and displacement of the lower income residents, i.e red lining. It is asserted by some that once gentrification consumes an area, it lowers the crime rate down which implies poor and working class folk commit high rates of crimes. The very existence of the police doesn’t prevent the actualization of crime, for they respond to it. The origin of modern day policing, derives from Slave Patrol in during the time of African enslavement in the US, created in the Carolinas in the early 1700s. They were organized groups of armed white men who watched and enacted discipline upon enslaved people. Their modus operandi was to prevent enslaved rebellions, catch defiant runaways and uphold the status quo. It would be a great dishonor, an opprobrium in fact, to cheekily share my love of Oat Milk Matcha Lattes, without the implications of the accessibility of said drink. Oat Milk Matcha Lattes would be much more enjoyable if everyone could have them or know they have the option to. A $10 Oat Milk Matcha Lattes aren’t for folk who are living paycheck to paycheck, Cafe Bustelo can suffice. And that’s exactly where the point of contention lies.
It’s this point of contention that brings me to the liberatory experience of taking the public transit bus in DC. The first time I rode it, it was during Homecoming with a beloved friend of mine. As the bus approached and I reached for my wallet, he whispered to me “Don’t worry about paying, follow me, its an experience”. The bus doors opened, he, I and the others embarking on this bus in Southeast, walked on, bypassed the tap machine. I was bewildered. This event, I thought, was a one off. Until I moved here, I learned it wasn’t a one off, it was an existential statement. Everytime, the Black people boarded, they greeted the driver, said thank you, some didn’t but all bypassed the tap machine. I, of course, was inclined to follow suit.
Then, I began running a social experiment of sorts. I was curious. Do the whites pay? I started taking the bus to predominantly white neighborhoods. I was met with great glee. THEY DO. EVERYTIME.
Was this our form of reparations? I know change happens incrementally, and this is absolutely revolutionary. Free Black labor is what provided what Marx calls “primitive accumulation” for what we now as capitalism and the economy to thrive in the West. Black people have incessantly resisted since being stolen from Africa and dispersed across the Atlantic. Black people have relentlessly organized, fought and reimagined new worlds. Maybe the next time, I take the bus I’ll salute the driver with a strong Black Power Fist.
