Welcome to the District (It’s a Mad Plunge Into Adulthood)

by Mike Plunkett

Shortly after I moved to Washington, D.C., I crossed paths with a man and a boa constrictor.

The man and the boa were together, walking south on 14th Street, and although the two weren’t necessarily arm-in-arm, the closeness of the relationship was evident.

The encounter was short and bemusing. I gave a quick head nod to the man and a double-nod/raised-eyebrow combo to the large snake on the man’s shoulders. The man didn’t reciprocate. Neither did the snake. Then, it was onward to the Metro stop.

What was strange wasn’t seeing a man traveling with a large snake. What was strange was that I wasn’t surprised in the least to see a man and a boa constrictor traveling together. It never ceases to amaze me who and what you’ll see in my neighborhood. Welcome to the District. Nearly 18 months after I packed two suitcases and headed east to claim my fortune, I am finally a Washingtonian. Or a Districter (How about Districteúr?).

The move came after a stint in Northern Virginia and the greater Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. In fact, the end of February marked two years since I went looking for a place to pee at the Zachary Taylor Nature Area.

Being a West Coast boy, I read about the Civil War in Mr. Olson’s 8th grade U.S. History class, but I didn’t realize the reality of “the North” and “the South” until I noticed the gravestones of two Confederate soldiers in the grassy knoll of the shopping center near my apartment complex. Every so often, somebody came by and spruced up the tombstones, providing fresh flowers and a new Confederate flag. Once, somebody even left a sticker proclaiming The South Will Rise Again. I don’t think they’re referring to Mexico.

It’s been a year and a half since I last wrote for FourStory. In that time, we got a new president and D.C. exploded in symbolic flames of wonderment, ending 40 years of wandering in the desert of faux-conservatism. Americans got stimulated, got repressed and almost got depressed. We became really excited for all that could be (as per DailyKos’ terms) and we got really cynical about all that really is. All in all, it seemed like the country was going to mature. We would recognize the errors of our ways, take responsibility, and make decisions in favor of long-term sustainability and security. We were ready for the challenge.

And yet, just as we reached the summit of health care reform, Americans realized that the USA isn’t a “real” democracy, but rather a constitutional republic. That means that Senators representing 10 percent of the general population have the procedural capability to stop the will of the super-duper majority. What a country.

Shortly after his Inauguration, President Obama stated that he worked in Washington, but he lived in the District. His stops at local establishments spawned the Obama Foodie Tour. Yes, the Obama Foodie Tour consists mostly of hamburger and hot dog joints, with some cuisine pizza on the side. One of the locations which the President visited, Ben’s Chili Bowl on U Street, has a note which states that only two people can eat at Ben’s for free: Bill Cosby and President Obama. To be factual, someone scrawled underneath his name that the President paid for his half-smoke.

It isn’t hard to see the disparity in the realms of Washington and the District. Nearly 60 percent of the city’s population is African American, and that’s down from the almost 80% of black residents in the 1950s before Urban Renewal took root in Southwest Washington, with White and Black Flight soon following. Racial disparity, economic deviation, and the derision of D.C. public schools are still rampant, as are homicides and robberies. Yet folks are moving in. Soon the District will reach 600,000 residents. Buildings are being built, coffee houses and wine bars are opening, and, most important, workers are starting to construct a Metro line from the Orange Line in Northern Virginia to Dulles Airport.

There’s something simmering beneath the screaming and schizophrenic American polity. While tea partiers are dipping and progressives are regressing and misinformation is being thrown around from bit to bit, I find myself right smack in the middle of an interesting and uncertain social experiment: Welcome to Columbia Heights, my new neighborhood. There’s always something going on in Columbia Heights, for good or for ill. Columbia Heights is home to DCUSA, a bustling shopping center anchored with a Target, Best Buy, Marshalls, and Bed, Bath and Beyond. Luxury condominiums were built around the neighborhood square, creating a common dwelling space in the midst of the neighborhood. Open spaces extolling future businesses and residents fill the gaps in storefront windows housing business potential and, currently, not much else. Vendors sell flowers, local potions, and the latest merchandise featuring the First Family. Members of the Israelite Church of God in Jesus Christ, Inc. prophesize the death of the White Man, exclaiming she/he/it/they will pay for their sins in enslaving the true Jewish race for two hundred years. Mormon missionaries are out in full force, as is the solitary figure who screams (yes, screaming is a constant action at 14th and Irving) for sinners to repent, for “His Coming is Nigh!”

It wasn’t that long ago that Columbia Heights was in a ward of hurt. Decimated during the 1968 riots following the death of Dr. King, much of Columbia Heights was blighted, with no reason or incentive for people to visit or live. With the completion of the Metro stop in 1999 and with housing remaining affordable due to rent control, the neighborhood is on the mend. And no one follows the mend better than yuppies. Lots of them. Allegedly, I am one of them. In the midst of the bustle and trying to avoid the hustle, I wonder how I became a yuppie. A young, urban, professional pie, that’s me.

Just so you know, I started writing this article months ago. In a bittersweet tinge of irony, I finally found time to finish the piece in large part because I lost my job. Thus, I started the New Year like so many Americans: looking for work, questioning the standards of productivity and success, and praying like hell that those who talk about two-year unemployment periods aren’t talking about me. I mean, I went to grad school! Welcome to adulthood, Mike Plunkett.

So, here’s the formula: Take one vibrant and proud neighborhood with a rich African American history. Add years of economic blight and high crime, mixed in with public education woes and the obvious reality that having no representation in the federal government really means having no representation. Stir in a perceived perfect area for big-box retail in the District and a central place to draw folks who don’t want to travel to Woodbridge, Virginia to go to Target, with the dire need for more sales revenue. Don’t forget a tablespoon of yuppie power.

What do you get when you add commercialism to tradition? That answer is still up in the air. However, I’m guessing it will include more encounters with boa constrictors.

Welcome home.

Comments

No comments.

Comments closed.