Bridge 3 Zine – S.O.S East River

Bridge 3

Chosen Location: Roosevelt island

Perspective: Water or H-2-O

Bridge 3 was all about collaboration and creating a zine for a chosen location and perspective. Together our group (Kayla, Flo, Jaqueline and myself) explored Roosevelt island, which used to be island of prisoners. Each of us further observed the location in a different perspective, which happens to be water in my case, in order to understand/value the importance of Roosevelt’s cultural and historical existence.

Vignette in the perspective of water (East River):

Roosevelt Island

S.O.S H-2-0

Roosevelt Island the slice of land, surrounded by me, the body of water, the essence of life. They call me the east river but in pride I am simply H-2-0. The creature of atoms. The creature of the start and the end. I am the force of corrosion and a dancing wavy creature, when days are grey, white and black. The one who was poisoned a long time ago, back when European strangers have settled. I remember Dutch, Indians and British strangers. Strangers, that urbanized the land and duplicated themselves. I was used 24/7, for drinking, for washing, for cleaning and for industries. I soon became a convenient place for sewage and refuse disposal. I got stinky, puppy and severely. Soon fish and oysters dissipated. Left alone, sad and ill. A toxic soup. Treated with no respect. Treated with no value. Treated like waste. I was known for the stinky, polluted river, where the city and its animals dumped their waste into. I was toxic, undesirable. But still existing. I remember back then when Roosevelt island was a place of shadow. Inspiring but spooky. Generative but uneasy. The edge where things start to merge and hide. A place of black and grey. I remember when Roosevelt was once being a prison island which was the workhouse with its stripe shirts. A place that was rundown, neglected and mirrored the black side of New York’s shitty imperfections. Surrounded by me, the soup of toxic. I was wavy and chilly. Corrosive and aggressive. I had rapid holes surrounding Roosevelt. I change my currents daily shifting up and down in a 24-hour rhythm. My signs of anger, discomfort and pain. I bubbled and roared. But animals on land didn’t listen. Boats kept floating against me. Toxin me day by day with oil, fumes and carbon. Algae kept growing like hair, on cliffs on riffs and coasts. Fishes were dying and oysters were leaving. I was lonely, ugly and poor. I had nothing to offer. I was a shame to mother earth. I was the barrier between white and black. The barrier between rich and poor. The barrier of real and fake. Fairness and freedom. In other words, I was “Poop” the water, the boundary between Roosevelt and Manhattan, Manhattan and Queens. The place between innocence and prisoners. The barrier between light and dark, secrecy and truth. Animals didn’t talk about us. We were hidden. We were not at great value. A place where people with voices and risks were locked away. The place of hide and seek. A shadow of human existence.

Days have passed, things have changed. Animals are more alert, but not respectful yet. The north of Roosevelt lost and old. The south modern and pure. Two different worlds in one, which are in stages of change. Greener than before but still surrounded by rusty and pupping industries. At least animals started swimming again though bacteria levels are still high and plastic bags are covering my body. But still I am sick from needing to hide and being unheard. I wish my color could be more light than dark. Be more pure than dirty. More blue than greenish. More salty than stinky. Around Roosevelt I am still too toxic. I shift up and down the river and deposit all my waste at the shores. No oysters there yet. A place that still needs to detox gate. Place that needs greener smoothie people to clean and look after. More eyes, more voices, more respect towards me. The power that keeps all of us alive and clams our souls.

SOS-H2O, 911 Roosevelt

Site Visit and observations made: