A Personal Walk Through the Vanishing Urban Culture of Berkeley.
Something I miss about living in Berkeley before the late ’90s was that you could leave your home and walk and enter into an energetic, economic ecosystem. Every day was ripe with surprises, possibilities, and interconnections. You would go into a cafe and just see what the day (or night) would bring. You would walk down the street and just see what the season would bring to trees, to the air, to flowers. Everyday was different and magical – and everyone participated. There was a wavelength to tune into. People shared their energy, their discoveries and imaginings…and it was free. It reminded me of the Red Hot Chili Peppers song from the ’90s with the chorus “Give it away, give it away, give it away now.” Regardless of your feelings about the band, they captured something unique to this time – before the monetized internet and late stage capitalism hoarded everything behind computer screens and corporate big box retail.
Prior to this shift in the ’00s you could walk down a street and the air would just be alive with the smells of incense, coffee roasting, garlic and onions, BBQ…..the sounds of music coming out of shops and cars – reggae, punk, R&B. It felt like surfing – riding each day’s energy, stopping in a cafe, record store, or bookstore to see what new things had come in – like treasures washing up on shore. I would make friends with shop owners and they would know what I was interested in. We would talk about music or writers, they would turn me on to new things, and I would gift them with my interest and enthusiasm. It was an energetic economy – even if I couldn’t purchase a book or record that day, the passionate conversation was payment enough. You could be hungry then and still live off these exchanges.
Berkeley was vibrant yet small – people often knew me through different work places or through different family members, or school. This kept people in check, for the most part. I had worked in numerous cafes across town as well as record stores. It felt like small but also worldly, limitless. You could get music, books, or food from all over the globe. It felt relatively safe because of a shared local history and certain East Bay code of honor. There was also freedom because it was an anti-authoritarian town – but if you screwed people over, word would get around.
But something happened when everything was replaced by online billionaires buying everything up, monopolizing the internet, retail, and the media. In partnership with a gradual take over of the political sphere they narrowed the world and separated everyone from each other. Rents and home prices rose to inhumane levels, local businesses closed down, jobs went away. Generations scattered to more affordable shores. Everyone became fractured and divided…closed off. The energy went into hiding. It survives now mostly in the trees, wild neighborhood gardens, and old houses. This is why it’s so important to preserve these spaces – green and architectural – because they’re the last places to still hold these transactions…free of charge.