Pittsburgh is famous for its hills. I spent eight years of my life on one of Pittsburgh’s hills, sandwiched between Oakland and the Mon River, in a small grade school with big, wooden, windows in every classroom and broken blinds to match. In sixth grade, my English teacher placed me right across from the window; during our most boring lessons, I watched the hum of Pittsburgh as it blossomed below my eyes.
When I looked with care for the first time, I was puzzled by what I saw—the views from my perch were always diverse. I saw the UPMC buildings, the universities, the mansions of Oakland, but I also saw decrepit housing and run-down corner shops. I could see the metal steel stacks shooting steam, and how the river, even on sunny days, was never quite blue. On a broader scale, I came to know the divisions of Pittsburgh, and I saw a silent tension arise between the old and the new. The growing pains of Pittsburgh's “rebirth,” though tangible, never sparked outright conflict.
With Donald Trump’s election, our country faced increasing polarization, and Pittsburgh felt reverberations of disunity; with the onset of the pandemic, Pittsburgh faced another painful challenge that exposed the divisions in the city. The two faces of Western Pennsylvania grew more and more explicit, fractured now by political parties and general reception to the pandemic. Pittsburgh suffered under a culmination of long-standing and new frustrations. COVID-19 exacerbated the disunion of the city. Bigotry against Asian-Americans was rampant; the Post-Gazette reported that Chinese restaurants and stores in Squirrel Hill lost 20 to 40% (Mihaly) of their business, and people grew distrustful of Pittsburgh’s large community of foreign students. However, the pandemic’s bigotry extends beyond racial discrimination. An insidious form of hate has infected many members of my community, one which feeds on the tunnel vision brought by fear. When people are afraid, uncertain, or suffering, there is one easy way out: blame your problems on someone else, and in both faces of Pittsburgh, I have seen our defenses erect, our hearts shrink, and our resentment of others grow. The fragile cracks of Pittsburgh are becoming more and more strained by the force of our political climate—the new blames the old, the old blames the new—and for the first time, I see the possibility of total separation. I have admired the evolution of my city, and I value the pride that comes with being a “Pittsburgher”— native or not—but I fear the day when this sentiment is meaningless.
However, through my foggy mess of nerves, I see a light at the end of the tunnel. I work at a Chinese tea shop in the city; we serve a very diverse customer base, and unlike my 6th-grade self, I have hundreds of interactions with other Pittsburghers every week. Yes, there are divisions between people, but I have found extreme solace in the wonders of stripped-down humanity. When you interact with people face-to-face, when you share a moment of laughter or affability with a stranger, those walls begin to crumble, and the menace of resentment slowly fades. Polarity reigns supreme, but people are still people, and Pittsburghers are still Pittsburghers, and the attributes I consider natural to us—empathy, compassion, understanding—endure, even when we muffle them in the back of our brains. I see this spirit in my community, and I realize why I love my home—not for its conformity, but for the links it inextricably ties across borders, imperfect yet intimate, creating a web of quiet connection in a city of difference. Through one rebirth, we have persevered. I have faith we will continue.
Kommentare