Batman vs. Gentrification

Gotham has changed, and not for the better.

Nov 14, 2024

Editor’s note: Today’s guest post comes to us from writer Ari Ben-Avram! He describes himself as “a hack who writes about Batman when he should be teaching his son to read.” I describe him as a nice and talented fella! You decide who’s right.

police man walking on street during daytime — Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Bat Diary, Wednesday.

Gotham has changed, and not for the better.

This used to be a city of bloodthirsty creeps, roving street gangs, hustlers, and all such manners of vice. The type of city that needed a raspy-voiced hero. Now, I’m not so sure.

I fear that Gotham may be beyond my help…

I waited all day for crime-related activity when, finally, I witnessed a man running out of Whole Foods with a loose armful of stolen olives. The bastard didn’t even bother using the toothpicks set aside for samples.

I swooped down from a really cool-looking gothic gargoyle perch—which are a sadly rare sight these days with all of the shiny new towers going up. I mean, what the actual fuck? The city is called GOTHAM. Why has this new generation of city planners moved so decisively away from the classic gothic design that I pretty much based my whole vibe on?

Sorry. An entry for another time.

I smashed into my new nemesis, the Olive Thief. The blow sent him tumbling to the ground. A crowd was starting to form. They had their phones out filming. If the citizens of Gotham came to see these Batboots kick some petty criminal ass, they were in luck.

I moved toward the Olive Thief with the sort of strut that says, “This suit doesn’t allow for a lot of neck movement.” The punk didn’t even have the decency to run.

He just looked up at me. “What the hell, man?! Not cool!”

“You know what else isn’t cool?” I asked rhetorically. “Stealing groc—”

“I worked here for three years without a single raise. We got fired for trying to unionize. Corporate wage theft is the real crime here.”

I clenched my jaws in fury. “Those olives were taken away from their parent company and tossed into the gutter like fermented little orphans.”

“What?” The Olive Thief whined. “They’re just olives.”

POW! I smashed my fist into his face. BAM! A roundhouse kick to his stomach. KADOOSH! I finished the notorious Olive Thief off with a headbutt.

I hogtied the villain and hung him above the Whole Foods entrance for the police to deal with. Evidently, that made my onlookers think I was on the city payroll. They started chanting in unison.

“Defund the police! Defund the police! Defund the police!”

“I’m not a policeman!” I shouted back. “I am fear incarnate!”

This gave them pause. Now they know who they’re fucking with…

“Defund fear incarnate! Defund fear incarnate! Defund fear incarnate!”

Goddamn it.

Fortunately, at that moment, the bat signal lit up the sky. I was needed elsewhere.

I heard a voice. A man in a romper pointed toward the sky. Probably a graphic designer. “Oh my god! That is such a huge waste of energy and public resources.”

“It’s not just a signal for me. It’s a signal to the city’s criminals: fear me!”

“Don’t you think community engagement might be a more effective long-term strategy?”

I had heard enough from this loser. I snatched my bat-grapple gun from my utility belt and aimed for my gargoyle perch. But he wasn’t done.

“How do you have the money for all of these gadgets? Who are you?”

I was about to respond with something very cool and very cryptic, but a woman with a yoga mat chimed in: “He’s clearly some rich guy with an adonis complex. Just look at his six-pack.”

Idiot! I corrected her. “Eight-pack.”

I dropped some smoke pellets and launched myself into the night sky.

Commissioner Gordon was standing beside the bat signal spotlight on the roof of a formerly abandoned building. It had recently been converted into an office space for graphic designers. Like cockroaches, they find their way into every nook and cranny.

“Gordon.” I alerted him to my presence. “What do you got for me? Double homicide? A new serial killer on the loose?”

“Actually, we got a complaint that a costumed man is popping out of dark corners surrounded by a vortex of bats.”

“It’s a new gadget I’ve been working on. I call it the Bat Vortex.”

“Clever. But you’re scaring civilians.”

“I’m SAVING civilians.”

“One of your bats bit a graphic designer yesterday.”

“Graphic designers. My nemeses.”

“Sounds like you’re really scraping the barrel of nemeses. Anyway, our epidemiologists think the ‘Bat Vortex’ is a health risk.”

“But I’m fighting the greatest health risk of all: crime.”

“Actually, crime has been trending down since the 1980s.” Gordon sighed. “The fight has moved on, Batman. And so have I.”

“What does that mean? Stop being cryptic. I’m the cryptic one.”

“The wife and I are moving upstate. Cheaper rent. Cheaper everything.”

“You’re going to make me an orphan, Gordon? A cop orphan?”

I tried to hold back the tears. “This whole damn city’s gone crazy!” I know men don’t cry, but orphaned bats often do, especially when they transfer their parental bond onto other authority figures… or so I’ve read in NatGeo.

Gordon tried to make it make sense. “Well, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, right?”

“But Gotham has gotten easy, right? That’s the opposite of tough. So by that logic shouldn’t the tough do the opposite of go? Shouldn’t you… stay?”

But when I looked up, Gordon was already gone. The son-of-a-bitch stole my move.

I looked out over the skyline. There wasn’t a single siren blaring within earshot. It seemed the city I loved was no longer a playground for the ultra-wealthy to overcompensate for their childhood traumas.

Gotham has changed, and not for the better.

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