Big Yellow Taxi

This summer’s closing of the Harvard Square Abercrombie and Fitch was well-timed; it coincided almost perfectly with the disposal of the last vestiges of high school Abercrombie gear from my own wardrobe. A nostalgic lump formed in my throat as I retired my A&F rugby jersey, #92, having never played a day of rugby in my life.

But that’s neither here nor there. I couldn’t wait to see what would fill the vacancy on JFK Street. The much-hoped-for all-night diner of yesteryear? A gallery? A reasonably priced sports bar?

Think again: a goddamn much bigger branch of the Citizens Bank that already existed but a two-minute walk down Mass Ave. And to make matters worse, an in-yo-face sign popped up in August as the bank readied for opening.

“We can’t wait, either,” it read. Why dost thou mock me?

I was crestfallen. And pissed as hell. Recall that this is the fourth bank (next to Fleet, Cambridge Trust, and Cambridge Savings) to settle down within a 100-yard radius of Out-of-Town News. A fifth, Sovereign Bank, is “Coming Soon.” This wouldn’t be so lamentable were it an isolated incident. But, as we well know, it’s part of a much more pernicious and destructive pattern: the de-Harvardization of Harvard Square.

Two years ago, hundreds wept as the cheap, folksy Rockbottom bar shut its doors. Around the same time, the departure of Pacific Sunwear left yet another opening for something new and fresh; what we got instead was an utterly useless and offensively ostentatious Omega watch store. Gentrification has overrun countless college bars and eateries, forcing them increasingly out of our reach. The Grolier Poetry Book Shop—the oldest of its kind in the United States—was recently slated to close, though it seems to have retreated from the brink.

Sure, specks of light that have emerged along the way. A DVD rental store (albeit one with a limited selection and horribly scratched discs) was definitely in order, and Felipe’s is much appreciated. But these are the exceptions. Even as the Roman Empire was meeting its demise, I’m sure the occasional, delicious taqueria sprouted up. Am I right or am I right?

The first week of school, I decided I would march into the new bank and give them a piece of my mind. Or something. I really just wanted to know how they ended up there. Was the move really necessary? What cool would-be venues had they outbid to land this coveted bit of real estate?

Upon entering, I was greeted only by a generous-sized vestibule housing a bunch of ATM kiosks. Amid the merciless beeping, I couldn’t help but think of what a contender this spot might have been. I imagined puppies tripping over each other in the window of a pet store, the checked red-and-white tablecloths of a little Italian restaurant, the lacquered mahogany walls of a neighborhood pub. For a moment, I even harked back to the buff, headless mannequins in the window of the old Abercrombie, the plastic smiles of the salespeople who always looked like they just hopped off their surfboards. O cruel, harlot fate! Where was the humanity now?

So frustrated was I that I began wondering what modes of recourse were available to Harvard students flustered with the commercial state of affairs. How much of a voice did we have in the decision making process, if any at all?

In my quest for answers, I got in touch with Beth Rubenstein of the Cambridge Economic Development Division. She explained that while there tends to be a lot of community input in these matters, there is actually very little in the way of local regulation. Though development projects of 50,000 square feet or more are subject to community hearings, property owners are reserved tremendous autonomy for smaller endeavors.

Where does that leave us? Let’s move from most passive to most active. First: Obviously, patronize the stores you like and don’t support the businesses that you have issues with. If your family comes to visit, tell them to do the same. Second: Take a walk. This particularly goes for River people. The strip along Mass. Ave from Harvard up to and including Porter Square is one of the most useful, independent and under-appreciated areas of Cambridge. Central, Inman, Davis and Kendall Squares also call from no more than two miles away. Third: Take action. The Economic Development Division of the Community Development Department (get your bureaucracy straight) is always open to community suggestion. In turn, they pass recommendations on to businesses considering setting up shop in the Square. The privately managed Harvard Square Business Association can play a similar role in making certain we are supplied with what we demand, provided it’s good for local business.

Of course, the final call is left up to the property owners, who are likely to rent to the highest bidder. But if we, the students, make a concerted effort to get our voices heard—in unison—think of who the highest bidder might be. The ever-elusive all-night diner? The Paris-inspired coffee shop? The bar where everybody knows your name™?

We could even jumpstart a Harvard student commercial advisory organization to let businesses know that we have preferences and make those preferences known.

Or we could stand idly by and watch Harvard Square gradually deteriorate into Princeton North. And that would be the real tragedy.

Jared M. Seeger ’05 is a government concentrator in Pforzheimer House. His column appears on alternate Thursdays.