Community Organizing

When I lived in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, from 1985 to 1996, the neighborhood was "in transition." It had already moved from unbelievably bad to dicey. During our time there, it progressed from boderline acceptable to the edge of fashionable. Today, Fort Greene is associated with urban chic.

The best thing about Fort Greene was that it was a true neighborhood. Our block, two rows of attached townhouses built more than a century ago, had a loosely organized community association which sponsored a party every summer and street clean-ups in the spring and fall. When an abandoned building on the block turned into a drug den, we at least had a rudimentary framework for dealing with it. But we quickly saw that planning a party or picking up trash hardly prepared us for the serious threat in our midst. In fact the problem got much worse before we attempted to do anything about it. We had no block president, no experience working with the police, no idea who to turn to for help.

Eventually, a couple of neighbors talking in the street became an emergency meeting in the house three doors down from ours. Everyone who came was sick with worry. The people coming and going (staggering, really) from the dilapidated brownstone directly across the street were clearly heavy drug users. Crack was the drug of choice and drug deals were going down on the corner. The more vocal members in the gathering tossed out ideas: phone calls to local politicians, a meeting with police, a neighborhood watch detail. Some people voiced concerns about police involvement. From their perspective, having lived on the block for 20, 30, 40 years, the police were conspicuous for their absence. Nobody volunteered to contact the local precinct. We agreed that we would draft a letter addressing our concerns, and we'd take it door to door gathering as many signatures as possible. I was charged with writing this letter. In the meantime, we all agreed to call the police station any time we witnessed suspicious activity.

The offending house grew from nagging sore to cancerous tumor. Someone finally contacted the Police Chief, who agreed to send a representative to our next meeting, which we hastily called. Some 30 people packed themselves into a neighbor's living room to listen to what the officer had to say. Cooperation was key. If we were willing to work with the police, they were willing to work with us to try to solve the problem. Nearly all policing in those days was done in patrol cars. They agreed to assign a beat cop to walk past the drug house several times daily. We believed that this would soon solve our problem. It didn't, although the guys on foot patrol were very friendly, and it was comforting to have overt police presence.

We were forced to get creative. We tried to have the house boarded up, but found this would be impossible since somebody officially still owned the wreck. The owner couldn't be located, was possibly a fugitive and owed thousands of dollars in back taxes. A few of us videotaped the comings and goings. Someone suggested we get Al Sharpton involved. Used needles scattered the sidewalk from the house's front stoop to the corner. A block that once felt safe, felt more and more like a war zone.

I'd like to say that it was through neighbors organizing themselves to fight a common enemy that this problem was solved, that through cooperation between community and police, the blight was removed. The solution, rather, came in classic deus ex machina fashion. Stripped of its wiring, the building had no electricity. The crackheads lit candles at night, and one of these candles apparently fell over and set an old mattress on fire. The fire department put out the blaze, declared the building unsafe and boarded it up. My family had been on vacation at the time and missed all the excitement.

The block association organized a party for the police precinct as a thank you for its support. We were starting to understand that public relations was an important part of protecting our interests. I went with fellow neighbors to transport and enjoy a southern-style feast at the police station. It was the best fried chicken I ever ate. Officers drifted in and out, appreciating the food and the thanks. Our grassroots efforts hadn't closed a drug house, but it had accomplished some important things. All of us working together to solve a problem was better than any one of us working alone. We were better prepared for the next issue that came our way.

Commitment, compromise, cooperation and a liberal dose of luck. We were a diverse group of people--black, white, young, old, owners, renters, heck, even a Frenchman--but we came together for the common good, and something good came out of it.

Community organizing. Don't knock it unless you've tried it.