The abominable snowman- alive and well in NY

✍Political rants from an unemployed kiwi in Brooklyn✍

November 1st. My first day in New York. Well technically that would be true if I left Brooklyn that day, but I didn't. Instead I spent a jet lagged day in Bayridge (think Hamilton- the most boring part) cold calling people in apartment buildings for a local city councilman called Vincent Gentille. With the election in a couple of days, Vinny's big sell was that he had gotten rid of sunday parking meters. That's right- because of Vinny you "don't have to pay to pray!" And if you can't get re-elected on your parking policy, then what hope is there right?

Several hundred phone calls later, Vinny won. The democrats mayoral candidate did not. To be fair, running against a Republican incumbent with millions of dollars to throw into his campaign was always going to be a hard ask. You see, here in the land of the free, limiting how much of your personal money you put into your campaign would be an infringement on your freedom of speech. Who knew that you could buy free speech?! Mayor Bloomberg obviously.

But it's not all about the politics right? There's high rise buildings, good pizza, bright yellow taxi cabs and picket lines. But not as we know it. You see, a strike in New York is an expensive business. If you are a subway worker for instance, and decide to take part in an organised strike when the MTA threatens to raise the age of retirement and make you start paying a big chunk of your pay to cover healthcare, you could not only lose your job but be forced to pay a $25,000 fine for each day that you strike. Fined to strike? I'm still not sure if the right to strike is as expensive as free speech. I'm sure there is a catalogue somewhere that could tell me.

The MTA workers went on strike though. For two days Manhattan ground to a halt. Thousands of people walked across the Brooklyn bridge, complaining as they went about how many blocks they would have to trek that morning. I walked across the Bridge with them and wondered- if I asked them whether they would be willing to walk for two mornings so that some guy who has worked under ground for 20 years will have the right to retire next year, instead of in 6 years, would they do it? What if I threw in a free bagel and coffee?

And now it is February. The month that the Young Democratic Socialists of America hold their annual conference. It was I guess the equivalent of Young Labour's summer school, except here the conferences are used as a chance to remind the small number of YDSA members that there are others out there that think the way they do. Like the three guys from Arkansas I met, who drank whiskey like it was beer and had the fist and rose tattooed on their arms.

So there it is. I can testify that America has Democratic Socialists. Not quite enough to give you hope that things will change- the political system here doesn't leave room for that kind of wishful thinking. But they exist all the same. It's a bit like seeing a Yeti though-they are rumoured to exist but only the odd lucky person ever sees them- and even then no one would probably believe you.

I believe in the Yeti. I just hope they can vote.