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Even the artist behind "You/We belong here" recognizes the phraseology's ironies; beyond question of belonging, it's a governmental gift of new promotional space

Yesterday, Gregg Bishop of the Joe & Clara Tsai Foundation's Social Justice Fund spoke at a nonprofit summit sponsored by the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce.

He invited all attendees to Saturday's "unveiling of an art installation at the Berkeley Center plaza," referring to the "You belong here/We belong here" neon sculpture by Tavares Strachan, currently being installed on the exterior of the transit entrance. The event, with free food, from 4-7 pm.

(Note that Bishop described it colloquially as the Barclays Center plaza, though it has had a series of sponsors, and is today the SeatGeek Plaza.)

An article in CityLab last week suggested the artwork could read both "like an expression of solidarity" with protesters who gathered frequently at the plaza last year and "a pointed rebuke" to those who once opposed the arena.

I pointed out, though, that commerce takes precedence, given that protesters were barred from the plaza last May when a Nets' playoff game took precedence. Another potential irony: yesterday, I saw at least two clusters of homeless people in the seating area behind the transit structure, as hinted in the photo above.

Room for skepticism

Apparently artist Strachan, who has previously installed that phraseology in other cities, recognizes that its meanings are multiple, and invite skepticism.

As the New York Times Style Magazine reported 9/16/20, in a profile of the artist:
Another neon piece, one of his most visible to date, reading “You Belong Here,” is already emblazoned on the facade of Compound, a new exhibition space in Los Angeles.

The seemingly anodyne expressions are meant to provoke a certain amount of skepticism in the viewer. If neon is the language of advertising and storefront seduction, what are these works selling? Lately, amid the protests, Strachan imagines the sentiments might strike some perpetually disenfranchised people as ludicrous. “It’s a seemingly friendly gesture kind of couched in an array of really tough questions,” he said of the piece in Los Angeles. “Like, who’s the you? How are we defining ‘here’? And who gets to belong?”

Those questions compound when the art is within an advertiser- and sponsor-heavy context, an issue ignored in the official rendering distributed to CityLab.

Who belongs, and who has power?

"Who gets to belong" is an important issue. The Social Justice Fund has pledged $5 million a year (over ten years) to such belonging, notably a loan progam to BIPOC businesses. That can make a significant difference, especially compared to philanthropy by previous arena operators. 

But that not only is dwarfed by the billionaire's tax savings--more on that in another post--it doesn't make up for the promises of jobs, low-income affordable housing, job training and more that were part of the original Atlantic Yards promises of belonging.

A more central issue is power. The arena operators have the crucial power to leverage a public asset, and public assistance, for this new work.

Bishop said that, at the unveiling event, the foundation has contracted with the restaurants that it's helped with the loan program to offer free tastings. 

"But we are also connecting them to our supplier diversity program," he said. "So, using the assets that we have, which is the arena... [we are] helping those businesses with capital but then also helping them with other areas, such as marketing, helping them figure out their growth strategy."

Unmentioned: the "asset" of the arena involves considerable government help, since it's nominally publicly owned, to enable tax-exempt financing and avoidance of taxes. 

(Note: though it came five days later, I got CityLab to correct its designation of the Tsais from owners of the arena to the arena operating company, though recognition of the distinction from the start might have prompted a more skeptical article.)

Claiming public space, not making corporate sacrifice

Moreover, the state override of city zoning allowed the artwork to be installed, allowing the arena operators to promulgate a social justice message at little cost to their operations.

Remember, when the protests started in May 2020, the oculus was still blaring discordant advertising from the arena's various corporate partners. After several days of protests, and various criticism of the ironies, the arena operators savvily swapped in a quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.: "The time is always right to do what is right."

When the arena re-started operations last November, as the pandemic abated, the King quote was gone, replaced by regular advertising. Moreover, during the pandemic year, the arena added a new LED screen for advertising and messaging over the entrance doors.

So instead of taking a hit and using the oculus--or another part of the arena--for a social justice art message, which would've cut into revenues, the arena operators got permission from New York State to deploy previously unused space for the artwork, for at least three years. (Can't knock that hustle. No progress without profit.)

And that message not only invites--however ambiguously--the public, it also burnishes the reputation of arena operator Tsai, who probably would rather have chatter about his progressive posture/spending in Brooklyn rather than his regressive support for the regime in China--and his company's contribution to that regime.

That space over the transit entrance was never contemplated or approved for messaging, whether commercial or artistic, because it was never part of the Atlantic Yards plan, but rather a "temporary"--now surely permanent--feature when the flagship office tower wasn't built. 

Similarly, the sides of the transit entrance were never contemplated for advertising--until they were. Can't knock that hustle either.
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