What Will It Take To Save Elizabeth Street Garden?
Yet another example of the endless fight for joy over profit.
By Mina Dragani
Published
We’ve been here before: Elizabeth Street Garden, the beloved green space nestled in the heart of Little Italy, is facing eviction. If you spend any time in Lower Manhattan, you’ve likely heard of or even visited the garden. The experience of happening upon its open gates is unlike anything else. Your eyes dart from storefront to restaurant, breathing in the endearing air that is specific to Elizabeth Street, and then suddenly, the earth seems to open. Your view is no longer obstructed by red brick or decorated windows; instead, you’re met with neoclassical sculptures emerging from vibrant foliage and friends sitting in grassy patches, catching up, reading, or exchanging watercolor brushes. It’s the type of awe that never really falters—regardless of the circumstance.
The garden saw me through my college years, held me as I found my footing in the real world, and warmed me during moments when the only thing that could lift my spirits was the simple act of touching grass. However, Elizabeth Street Garden is not just a place of solace for those who choose to love it; it’s a creative hub that gives life to so many different art forms. This fall, the fashion house Libertine took over the garden, showcasing Johnson Hartig’s ready-to-wear designs alongside striking signs that read 'Save the Garden.’ He’s not the first to do this, and hopefully not the last.
In September, I attended a poetry reading in the garden hosted by McNally Jackson. People gathered and listened; it was one of those rare New York moments where the typical annoyances of the city vanished completely. No piercing sirens or unpleasant smells—everything was in perfect harmony. This is just a small glimpse into the world that this place has created. The garden has the capacity for both the biggest moments, like Patti Smith singing on Earth Day, and the smaller ones, like fighting off a nasty hangover by laying in the grass and sharing a bagel with friends.
Earlier this summer, I was sitting in the garden journaling when I witnessed someone steal the donation box. It was fast and shocking, but what struck me more was that some of the workers who sit warmly at the entry table went running after the culprit. As soon as the crime occurred, garden-goers expressed concern, offering water and food to those who witnessed it. Apologies filled the air, and donations were made to cover the lost money.
In a city that is known for being apathetic and careless, humanity shined through—as it always does in the garden. Twenty minutes passed, and somehow, someway—they returned with the box. I don’t know the workers who chased down the box personally, but if I had to guess, they didn’t do it because it was their job or because they had to. They did it because they love the garden in a real way. Not like how I adore that overpriced restaurant around the corner from my apartment or those new loafers I just bought. I can only assume they care for it as the living, breathing entity it is—a home away from home, and, most importantly, a place worth fighting for.
We’ve always known that it was only a matter of time until the city tried to take the thing they love most: land with the potential for profit. That’s why hundreds, if not thousands, of letters have been sent to the mayor. That’s why the donation box was so important. That’s why we savor every hour, minute, and second we get to spend in the garden. Earlier this year, The New York Times chronicled 103 letters from young students in New York City to the mayor. Each one urging him to save the garden.
Elizabeth Street Garden in 1990. Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Street Gallery.
It’s hard to tell how or when kids became so smart, but one of them eloquently wrote that Elizabeth Street Garden is “a part of our history.” Of course, the garden is a part of the city's history; it's been around for over 200 years, but in a different way—it’s a part of my history, and if you’re lucky enough, it’s a part of yours too. I turned 23 there, cried to my parents there, watched outdoor movies with people I adore there—any major emotional breakthrough I’ve ever had? Probably happened there. I've done nothing and everything in the garden. There are so few spaces in the city that let you forge this special kind of history, and if the garden goes, every last plot of green earth is fair game–putty in the city's dirty hands.
On Elizabeth Street Garden’s recent post announcing that the eviction notice had been served, hundreds of comments flooded in. “Okay, I wasn’t kidding about chaining myself to a tree there, so… who’s with me?” “This is so sad. Will no one listen to the actual residents of this city?” It is abundantly clear that once the garden is demolished and presumably replaced by an ultra-modern apartment building, the essence of the neighborhood will suffer in an irreparable way. The story of the garden will become obsolete, guised by something big and shiny—a blissful escape for those who can afford it. I can’t help but wonder: why would the city destroy its own history? They must know that the joy of New Yorkers is at stake. Why is that not worthy of protection? So much will be crushed under the wheels of the first bulldozer to pass through the chain-link gates.
After announcing the eviction notice, the garden shared that they have a plan, and that all hope is not lost. With every letter written and dollar donated—we are closer to saving Elizabeth Street Garden. Please consider doing what you can to protect this perfect place. It’s more important now, than ever.
Ways to help: