I Got 99 Problems, But Eminent Domain Ain’t One: White Brooklynites Against Jay-Z

Jay-Z has been dipping his toes in the political waters of late. First, he and Beyonce showed up at the White House (which was stellar). Then, he surfaced as entrenched in an imbroglio (not so stellar) with the New York Guv, a potential Queens "racino," and Rev. Floyd Flake, the borough’s behemoth ex-Congressman-cum-powerbroker. Then the governor, even while busy swimming in a flood of scandal, killed the deal. And yesterday, Jay-Z appeared standing shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of New York politicos and dignitaries to take a big step towards building his dream: a stadium for the Brooklyn Nets. And lots of people are peeved about it.

The hip-hop mogul may have scored ever-more white fans since Danger Mouse and the endless iterations of Black Album riffery. But Jay-Z can count a few detractors amongst white folks in brownstone Brooklyn.

Early yesterday afternoon, Jay-Z arrived to break ground on Atlantic Yards, the hyper-litigated, on-again-off-again—now apparently on for good—project to build a colossal arena complex and a mini-city with skyscrapers, condos and the like smack dab in the middle of central Brooklyn. All sorts of luminaries flanked Jay-Z, including Governor Paterson, Mayor Bloomberg, and the project’s developer (and Jay-Z's partner in Nets ownership) Bruce Ratner—public enemy #1 for the anti-Yards crew. A cardboard sign at the nearby Freddy’s Bar, the unofficial headquarters of the protesters, read “Indict Ratner.”

I live two blocks from Atlantic Yards, which is now just a gaping stretch of dug-up earth. Since I plunked down only 18 months ago, I cannot harbor any sad nostalgia for the pre-Yards era. I can only see the issue in stock caricatures: greedy developers v. neighborhood defenders; community investors (promising affordable housing) v. pompous gentrifiers (promising more strollers?). The project seemed slightly tolerable when Frank Gehry was onboard as its architect; if only he designed it with the same ingenuity he gave his hats.

My city councilwoman, the vivacious Letitia “Tish” James, is an ardent opponent of the project, and an ardent introducer of quirky policies. (Dammit, if I don’t think that naming a subway station in honor of Michael Jackson isn’t some brilliant legislating.) She took on a pro-Yards primary opponent, reportedly backed by Ratner, and clocked her. James has several other local officials with her rebuffing the Bloomberg-Ratner project.

And rightfully so. It looks like a monstrosity. It feels like a landgrab. It’s fueled by a Russian oligarch. Its imminent, eminent ka-thunk will likely send ripples of change through the better parts of the neighborhood. It would destroy the relative, insular tranquility of the streets. It would sanitize the gritty, inimitable Fulton Mall. Its arrival could usher in a SoHo lite, more Park Slope panache, or—God forbid—another Times Square.

But, still.

I enjoy empathizing with the Brooklyn old-timers, who—unlike the mostly Gen-X protesters—still feel the sting of losing a beloved stadium. There’s something warm and fuzzy about having a local team to root for that’s not in midtown. If I could afford the tickets, I might go. But why can’t they put it elsewhere in the borough? In Red Hook, next to the Ikea? Or out in Bushwick in lieu of the DIY trailer park? Or in Jay-Z’s old abode, off the J/Z?

Which—aha!—all points to the prickly NIMBY aura of the anti-Yards movement. This, of course, is a reasonable argument for the one man who is, in fact, being booted from his entire actual yard. But it’s difficult to imagine such an uproar if Ratner had settled on property in, say, East New York. The developers, perhaps, did not anticipate the libertarian-streaked feistiness of the neighbors.

Yet a defeatist air lingered over the protest yesterday. I overheard a woman lamenting: “It’s really a sad day.” The protesters spent years in opposition and scores on legal fees, only now to face the inevitable—Bloomberg’s drive to get stuff done. Yesterday’s protest felt like a miffed dirge. This was helped by the presence of Rev. Billy Talen, the erstwhile Green Party mayoral candidate who, despite his earnest virtue, barely topped the write-in ballots for Monty Burns. (Regrettably, I didn’t spot the most amusing third-party candidate, the bombastic, possibly anti-Semitic founder of the Rent Is Too Damn High party.)

One doughy guy stood across from the protest crowd donning a Brooklyn Nets jersey, with S. Carter (Jay-Z, presumably) on the back. Press flocked to him for, you know, contrarian quotes. This event looked like it was proving that Jay-Z might be Bloomberg & Company’s best shot for smoothing over local bumps in the project with a glossy PR finish. And he delivered: "I could never be opposed to the side of the people," is what Jay-Z said. "But this project, when you look at the numbers at the end of the day, was so overwhelmingly in favor of the people: the job creation, the housing that's being built."

His is definitely better support than the pro-Yards group ACORN. And it might not be much of a feat for the self-made Brooklynite to brand and sell his baby to the borough. Jay-Z's business savvy, after all, has been edgier and more entertaining than his recent emceeing.

But Jay-Z may never win over the diehard, anti-eminent domain brownstoners. They jeered the ground-breakers with chants of “shame on you” as they arrived. Some held oversized masks of Ratner, Bloomberg, Chuck Schumer and even Eliot Spitzer. But no Jay-Z. This may indicate the (predominately white) protesters’ (thankful) tact, rather than their lack of rage.

So Jay-Z and his crew dug those shovels in—and its unclear what the opponents could possibly do now to stop it. Ultimately, the protest unfurled like a cantankerous old man who will probably never enjoy Jay-Z: angry and impotent.

Mark Bergen used to work in politics, but now he is trying to write.