Why does anyone hate us? Coming Back Home To New York

For many years, New York City was my home. In abstract way it still
is, although I had chosen not to live there for many years. New York is
where I became an internationalist, it's where I managed to shed my
racial prejudices imported from Central Europe; where I discovered that the
world is round, consisting of hundreds of fascinating cultures,
traditions and approaches to life.

New York is where I spent countless hours browsing through progressive
bookstores of East Village, where I learned all I had to know about
jazz in Harlem's Baby Grand, where I used to take advantage of six dollars
standing room at the very back of the Metropolitan Opera House. My New
York was that of great and cheap Indian eateries, of art and revival
cinemas, of avant-garde theatres.

But above all, my New York consisted of friends: people from all
imaginable corners of the globe. Many of them were Jewish progressive
writers and classical musicians - natives and émigrés - while others were
Latin Americans, Europeans, Asians and South Africans. All of them to
certain extend insane or at least eccentric.

I left several times but I always came back. And then, few years ago,
I left for good, beginning to spin around the world, searching for
important stories, writing articles and books, making films about the
pitiful state of the world.

Living and working in some of the most desperate parts of the planet,
I soon discovered that New York was not seen everywhere just as a
vibrant cultural and art capital of the world. Quite far from it! It was one
of the symbols of the Empire, of neo-colonial arrangement of the world,
of economic might and terror.

I watched in disbelief September 11th events on the television screen
in my apartment in Hanoi. While Vietnamese friends and colleagues were
offering their deep condolences, home made rockets and firecrackers of
celebration were flying towards the night sky from almost all
surrounding villages. New York was hit, it was damaged and injured. I realized
that for many Vietnamese, the city was a symbol of their past suffering,
of terrible and genocidal war; of death. It was not the capital of the
country which destroyed their homes and killed their families - but for
some reason it was the most powerful symbol representing it.

I disagreed, I felt like arguing that by American standards New York
was in fact unique, inhabited my so many progressive men and women, by
countless minorities, by the millions of poor families hardly making
their ends meet. It was in vain: New York the symbol, New York of might,
the victorious New York - all this was already sold by the rubbish films
and novels to the people all over the world. And it backfired.

Time passed, new wars erupted and unjustifiable invasions took place.
I refused to go back. I couldn't imagine living in a country which was
directly or indirectly devastating large parts of the world. I
developed almost physical allergy to the present administrations (federal and
that of the city itself), to neo-conservative fundamentalist ideology,
to intellectual submissiveness of main-stream media and publishing
world.

I missed New York; I missed things which I used to take for granted
but which now appeared like tremendous luxury. I missed seeing people of
every race and nationality; I missed cultural and culinary diversity. I
missed the feeling that just about everything great that this world
ever created is available in one relatively small area. I missed activism
and desire of many New Yorkers to participate in changing the world.

Then suddenly time came when I had to return. My film about Suharto's
atrocities was opening in Manhattan. I had two book projects I had to
take care of. And some networking had to be done for my future work in
Southeast Asia.

I couldn't sleep on the 18 hours non-stop flight from Singapore to
Newark, NJ. I was thinking about what's waiting for me after landing. I
was going back to the city which I knew intimately. But I was also going
back to New York - the city seen by many as the center of unjust
economic order which was destroying large parts of impoverished world. Were
New Yorkers victims or victimizers, or both?

Singapore Airlines landed at Newark Airport, NJ, surrounded by
depressing factories and warehouses. Half an hour later I was being driven
towards Manhattan by African American cabbie, who was indulging in endless
outpour of insults towards the present administration. He compared
George to several domestic animals and I made myself cozy and comfortable
at the backseat, enjoying this colorful monologue more than the ride
itself. What he said made sense. I had nothing to add.

Holland Tunnel was clogged with traffic and we took side streets
through several dilapidated towns, in order to reach Lincoln Tunnel. It was
the same mess as before; not much changed.

The very first evening I was dragged to a party thrown by my friend -
well known concert pianist. Grand Steinway piano was taking half of his
living room; it was covered by a thick cloth and had been used (for
lack of space) as provisory table for snacks and booze. His girlfriend
cooked delicious dishes in something loosely resembling small size walk-in
closet.

Money seemed to be on everybody's mind. There were well-justified
fears of losing mortgages, medical insurances, rent controlled apartment
leases. In the meantime I was told that 75 thousand dollars a year before
taxes is now a minimum income that could sustain one single person in
Manhattan. I was wondering how many New Yorkers were averaging this sum
of money.

Next day I was taken to a new left-wing cable television station
operated from dilapidated downtown loft, run with almost no money but with
tremendous determination. Dissent was still alive but stripped of cash.
Most of the downtown progressive and "subversive" bookstores in East
Village closed down, unable to pay exuberant rents. Main-stream
booksellers quickly filled the gap.

Manhattan used to be a precise barometer of American social problems.
Beggars and homeless people were proportionally represented everywhere,
living on the same streets as those with seven digit incomes. That was
a brutal honesty of New York - nobody could escape reality, everybody
was forced to take note of the social inequalities and desperation. Now
there was a dramatic decrease in number of beggars on the posh
Manhattan streets. I saw almost no poor people in exclusive neighborhoods. They
were pushed away; swept off like dirt, like garbage. New York was
turning into a segregated town.

How many of those who had to leave the town because of skyrocketing
real estate prices, how many of those who were "removed" from the streets
felt like victorious members of the Empire?

After visiting "Ground Zero", I took the Uptown E-Train. First thing I
saw was a man lying on the floor. His glasses, his instant camera and
other belongings were scattered all around him, his wrist was encircled
by a plastic batch from a hospital.

I found a train conductor, insisting that he immediately calls for
medical help which he did, after some hesitation. Train was stuck for
fifteen minutes. Then police arrived. They poked into an old man with their
clubs: "Hey, buddy! Get up, buddy!" One minute later, three
firefighters entered the car. Their presence was truly Kafkaesque. Eventually, a
man got up and stumbled out of the car. Paramedics never arrived.

Was this man responsible for the plundering of natural resources of
the third world?

While some parts of Manhattan were shining with new neon lights,
exposing elaborate make-up, overpriced eateries (which replaced local
Chinese restaurants and Greek diners) and posh chain stores, large parts of
the city were as dilapidated as before, consisting of low income
neighborhoods and desperate ghettos hardly visible in other of "developed"
countries.

Great majority of New Yorkers didn't resemble arrogant victors or
self-assured and omnipotent Empire. Most of them look preoccupied and
tired. They didn't appear like people who were living extravagant, wasteful
and lavish lifestyle supported by child-labor in Philippines or
exploited and underpaid Mexican workers on the border. Some, of course, were,
but they were minority like everywhere else.

Empire's increasing grip on the rest of the world didn't make New
Yorkers carefree and frivolous; it obviously didn't give them any extra
security. Money from all over the world was flowing through the city's
banks and stock exchanges, but offered almost no benefits to the great
majority of the city's inhabitants.

Brutal empires of the past were conquering, destroying and exploiting
neighboring countries, as well as far-away nations. Large part of the
loot was inevitably grabbed by the rulers, but the rest was usually
distributed among the common folk. In this respect, American Empire is
unique. Loot stays in the limited number of pockets. Majority of American
people pay for the conquests and foreign expeditions with their taxes,
while receiving very little or nothing in return. New countries are
being conquered, new markets forced to "open" to our business and
geopolitical interests. But at home, public services are being cut and the
standard of living is decreasing for decades.

It's always good to return home, even if the home is not a structure,
even if it's not defined be some set of walls. Home can't be always
unlocked by a key; it can be a state of mind; an abstract entity. But my
home was becoming more and more divided. Some parts of it were
crumbling, others were increasingly lacking identity. Some people there went
hungry, some were ruling the world. There were victims and victimizers,
martyrs and executioners.

In some ways, New York is a victim of the Empire. In much broader
sense, even the Empire itself - the American Empire - is subservient to
much larger empire, one constructed on greed and business interest world
wide. This doesn't justify anything (definitely not invasions and other
military actions performed by the armed forces of this nation), but it
explains a lot.

Although it is rarely pronounced, majority of American people have
exactly the same enemies as the poor people in Latin America, Africa and
Asia. Their lives are being influenced by the same forces, controlled by
the same rulers.

The night before leaving, standing near the Ground Zero late at night,
I felt endlessly sad. This place was an overwhelming symbol of
misunderstanding. Innocent men and women who died on September 11th were
already buried. Few years after the attack, new high-rise structure will
dominate New York skyline again. Thousands of lives were lost, but the
system that is plundering the world continues to exist, intact.

Those who are forming the system, those who rule the world don't sit
in one particular building; they don't live in one particular city. They
are scattered all over the world. The only way to resist their
dictatorship is for majority of the people on this planet to agree on new rules
for the different, better world; and to stick to these rules, refusing
to participate in existing immoral concepts.

I believe that such scenario is possible and inevitable. If it would
be achieved, cosmopolitan, multi-racial and multi-cultural New York
could and should play important role in forming the new world.