I remember walking back from Chelsea to my apartment in the East Village during what is now recorded as the second most widespread power outage in human history, the Northeast Blackout of 2003. It was a hot sweaty August afternoon as power outages spread throughout 8 US states. Except for backup services, a busted landscape of frozen air conditioners and blinded electronic clock boards railed millions of workers striding steadily towards the Williamsburg and Brooklyn bridges, as if hurriedly rehearsing a 2012 apocalyptic movie set before dark. Lucky it was still 5 p.m. and with three more hours of daylight, it all appeared orderly considering transit stop lights blotted havoc. Very few police were in sight at any intersection. To direct traffic I saw honorable but a bit crazy civilians calling rights of way on major streets. Histrionically tickled by the calm in such massive malfunction, several subway systems were still evacuating riders to the ground.
Twenty minutes into the blackout it was rumored that we would spend the night in darkness. I remember thinking how cool it would be to see the Milky Way with my naked eyes.
Candles, lanterns, and batteries quickly became scarce and few corner stores would sell you a bag of ice. I began to think that perhaps the structures of society were beginning to fall apart, like a house of cards.
Instead of panicking, the crowd drew connected by commonality, like agrarian cultures in which reciprocal relationships based on mutual needs were the norm. In this way friends, family and community become irreplaceable.
But our society has monetized relationships into services and nature into its downright commodity, I mumbled.
In the vicinity of 14th St. and 1st Ave, restaurant and grocery owners had realized that their goods would perish quickly. With no refrigeration, an empathic frenzy ignited gelato and ice-cream parlors to give out scoops for free. Mobs of hipsters were lining up for their favorite flavors, I confess I got a triple chocolate fudge. It was sweet, as a gift, in complete abundance, inspiring everyone to compete in the act of giving. If only security came from giving, not set up by the money system where security comes from the acquisition of goods and services.
What if those who gave the most had the most wealth? We would be beyond the end of growth, living in a gift economy where ecosystems would no longer be considered annual cash.
Soil, ground water, trees, and mountains are all sacred along with the free oxygen they provide us to breathe.
I remember feeling a cold blob of dripping sundae on my left thigh when a nervous neighborhood kid shoved and pushed the passersby.
When economic decisions become aligned with what is good for the planet, we will live in “the gift.”
A few blocks down, several sushi restaurants had set tables on the sidewalk and were giving away crab Sashimi and their best white tuna. I don’t remember ever eating in such delightful abundance for free. As the impending darkness of the riot-less skyscraper shadows caressed the city sunset, I remember feeling true with the connected self. That moment was for all of us, nothing left to convert to money, perishable goods had become gifts.
Approaching St. Marks, the smell of burning soot consumed Tompkins Square Park, I noticed a cop on every corner equipped with clubs and heavy flashlights. A big glare came from the center of the square, right below the Hare Krishna Elm.
Alphabet City residents playfully celebrated in what I thought was a postindustrial tribalist happening; a huge bonfire burned with found junk and garbage. The smokestack lit up 12 feet into the canopy giving the ceremony a spectral appearance. Rattlers and drummers with strange tattoos danced in roundabouts; runaways with their pit bulls circled barefoot and plucked dollar beers and yelled or chanted to a token tune. It was apparent, just for that night, we could all be free. Anything was permitted. A feeling of connectedness brought us together in this hour of structural systems failure.
I finally made it to my roof access apartment on 6th St. Standing on the still hot tar in total disbelief, I looked up at the dark sky, longing for a clear shot of the Milky Way. For a split second I recalled that in gift cultures the connection with the firmament is an irreplaceable experience that ties us with the cosmos.
I opened my eyes to great shock and disappointment, discovering that it was not enough for eight states to burnout. There was still way too much residual light and reflection in the eastern continental seaboard.
My reality check was cold in that blackened blazing hot summer night. I could see only a very fuzzy faint first magnitude lonesome Orion star.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carlos Cuellar Brown is a New York City media artist and essayist who has written on new media, social theory and metaphysics. His essays have been posted online by Opendemocracy, The Global Dispatches, The Pelican Web, Kosmos Journal, and STARDRIVE.
In 2013 his essay “Intermedial Being” was published by A Journal of Performance and Art PAJ #106 MIT Press Journals. In 2015 Mr. Brown was nominated for the TWOTY awards out of the Netherlands for his essay “Blueprint for Change”. He has been a regular columnist for Second Sight Magazine and Fullinsight.
His book, In Search of Singularity: Reflections and Chronicles from the End of Time, published 29 January 2017, is a series of reflections on the current cultural evolution from competition to cooperation, from patriarchy to reciprocity between humanity and the human habitat.
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