Someone spray painted “white coffee” on the wall at ink! Coffee in Five Points and broke a window there in what appears to have been retaliation for a sign the business placed out front this week that read, “Happily gentrifying the neighborhood since 2014.” 
 
 The sandwich board sign sparked outrage — and drew national attention — when local writer and event organizer Ru Johnson shared a picture of it on her Twitter account Wednesday afternoon. Johnson, who has contributed to The Denver Post’s Reverb and The Know sections, added the caption “yo @inkcoffee we are not cool with this sign on 29th and Larimer. Bad decision. Bad design. BAD. W.T.F.” 
 
 The sign went viral on social media, motivating so many one-star reviews and angry posts on ink’s Facebook page Wednesday night that the coffee-shop chain shut down the review function. 
 
 The Aspen-born company apologized for the sign Wednesday, first with a short message on Twitter and Facebook and later with a longer statement from founder and CEO Keith Herbert. But many people made it clear they did not feel the responses, some of which cast the sign as a joke, were enough. 
 
 Really apologize by…..closing down ur store — Zolee (@ZoleeAKG) November 23, 2017 
 
 The vandalism to the shop, located at 2851 Larimer St., appears to have taken place over night. In addition to the “white coffee” tag and set of larger characters on the front of the building, there was a smaller, more profane message written on the store’s main sign. An object appears to have been thrown through one of the windows. 
 
 The gentrification sign itself, a manufactured, metal sandwich board that on the back side read “Nothing says gentrification like being able to order a cortado,” was stolen by a man on a skateboard Wednesday evening, according to Johnson. The Post has not confirmed the theft. 
 
 Denver Police spokesman John White said Thursday he could not confirm a police report had been filed in connection to the vandalism or the alleged sign theft. With the holiday and weekend to follow, White said it was unlikely any information would be available before Monday. 
 
 Herbert issued a third statement Thursday afternoon via ink’s Twitter account. He made no mention of the vandalism but pledged to better educate himself and his staff about the effects of gentrification in Five Points, one of Denver’s most storied black neighborhoods, and take steps to support the residents there. 
 
 “When our advertising firm presented this campaign to us, I interpreted it as taking pride in being part of a dynamic, evolving community that is inclusive of people of all races, ethnicity, religions and gender identities,” Herbert said the statement. “I recognize now that we had a blind spot to other legitimate interpretations.” 
 
 We have been following your comments on social media and listening to our customers, and we want you to know that we hear you. Included here is the full apology from our founder. pic.twitter.com/un7S3GYzwf — ink! Coffee (@inkcoffee) November 23, 2017 
 
 Herbert did not name the ad agency behind the sign, but Twitter users quickly identified Five Points-based Cultivator Advertising & Design. The firm took to its Facebook page Thursday to own up to its own “blind spot” when it comes to effects of gentrification. 
 
 “In hindsight, our campaign was callous, naive and uninformed to the true character of the neighborhood and to those who have long called it home,” the post reads. “We assure those within the local community and throughout Denver that the literal contents of the sign do not represent the values we hold as an agency or as individuals.” 
 
 Ink representatives did not immediately return calls or emails Thursday seeking comment about the vandalism. It is unclear if the Five Points location will be open its usual 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. hours on Friday. 
 
 A public demonstration will be held outside the store from 1 to 3 p.m. Saturday. Dubbed, “We Don’t Drink Ink,” the event is intended to highlight the negative impacts of recent redevelopment of Five Points has had on the many black and Latino families who lived there for years, organizer Tay Anderson said. More than 440 people had confirmed they plan to attend the event by Thursday afternoon. 
 
 “They need to know that their actions speak very loudly,” Anderson said of ink. “And it hurt a lot of us African-Americans who grew up in the community to see a sign that said, ‘Hey, we’ve been taking over your community since 2014.” 
 
 Anderson, who recently graduated from Manual High School and lost a race to represent Five Points and other portions of north Denver on the Denver Public Schools board, said he has heard widespread outcry across the Front Range about the impact the region’s recent growth has had on minority communities, citing plans to widen Interstate 70 in northeast Denver as an example of harmful growth. 
 
 He said ink’s apologies have not passed muster yet and he hopes their CEO and the managers of the Five Points store will sit down with him and community leaders to talk about the thought process behind the sign. 
 
 “This is going to be a peaceful gathering,” Anderson said of Saturday’s demonstration. “I want this to be the beginning of a dialogue on how gentrification negatively impacts African-American and Latino communities.” 
 
 Anderson also has a message for local politicians who may attend the event: It’s not a photo opportunity. If you don’t mean to get involved in addressing the problem, don’t come, he said. 
 
 “Our city council and mayor are responsible for a lot of the gentrification that has happened and pushed African-Americans out of the community,” he said. ||||| Five Points ink! store jokes about transformation of area home to artists and people of color, leading to social media outrage and anger on the sidewalk 
 
 The Colorado coffeehouse chain ink! became a lightning rod for economic ire on Wednesday, after one of its Denver stores displayed a message on its sidewalk sandwich-board that read: “Happily Gentrifying The Neighborhood Since 2014.” 
 
 On the back, the sign said: “Nothing Says Gentrification Like Being Able To Order A Cortado.” 
 
 Photos spread on social media, sparking outrage. While ink! has 15 locations in Denver, the store in question is located in the Five Points neighborhood, an area traditionally known as a home for artists and people of color that has been steadily becoming more white and middle-to-upper-class, due to gentrification. 
 
 By Wednesday afternoon, the ink! store had closed, citing the Thanksgiving holiday. A small crowd of people were nonetheless in attendance, hoping to find answers. 
 
 “At first I thought, ‘No way that’s real,’” said Ru Johnson, an event producer who works in the hip-hop industry. “And when I found out it was I was like, ‘Are you serious?’ To make wanton jokes about gentrification is just totally uncalled for and disrespectful to the people who still live here. 
 
 Facebook Twitter Pinterest The front of the sign in full. Photograph: Odie Anaya 
 
 “This city, and particularly this neighborhood, was made cool by the artists. Before that, this wasn’t a place that people could hang out, and certainly not a place where a coffeeshop chain would move in.” 
 
 Musa Bailey is co-owner of the hip-hop club Cold Crush, which was a few blocks away from ink! until a few weeks ago when its lease expired. 
 
 “Gentrification has totally affected me,” Bailey said. “It made it harder for us to operate our business. The rent is too expensive in this neighborhood. This historically was the neighborhood where graffiti artists would practice. [The ink! sign] is saying that gentrification is a joke. 
 
 “I came down here to talk to someone, but there’s no one here to talk to. I saw it on my Facebook this morning and wondered if it was for real, if it was photoshopped. I don’t think anyone found it funny, or knew what the point of it was.” 
 
 Katie Leonard, a Denver native just returned after graduating from Harvard with a degree in African-American studies, said the sign “really felt like a fork in my side. This is a historically black neighborhood. Five Points was known as the Harlem of the West. 
 
 “Coming home after four years of being in college, it’s unreal to see the changes that have happened in a short time.” 
 
 ink! did not respond to requests for comment but the company did post a statement on its Facebook page. It read: “Hmmm. We clearly drank too much of our own product and lost sight of what makes our community great. 
 
 Facebook Twitter Pinterest The ink! sign from the back. Photograph: Odie Anaya 
 
 “We sincerely apologize for our street sign. Our (bad) joke was never meant to offend our vibrant and diverse community. We should know better. We hope you will forgive us.” 
 
 In recent years the location of the ink! shop has been renamed RiNo (River North Arts District). The neighborhood was once known for rundown warehouses that were home to art collectives like Glob, Rhinoceropolis and Monkey Mania. Steady economic growth has forced much of the arts community out of their venues and studios and, in many cases, their homes. 
 
 Efforts by the city to remake the area to appeal to more mainstream audiences have only fueled anger in Denver’s DIY artist community. 
 
 “For a company to think ‘happily gentrifying the neighborhood since 2014’ is funny clearly means it has decided who is welcome in its establishment – white people,” said Bree Davies, a community organizer working on housing issues. 
 
 “This is a coffee shop that took a marketing opportunity to brag about displacement. The sign was not taken as a joke because it felt intentionally dismissive in an area of Denver where neighborhoods are being re-named and land is being sold out from under long-time residents.” 
 
 On Wednesday night the ink! Facebook page had disabled its reviews section, but at 5pm 9News reported that its rating fell to 1.6 stars after hundreds of one-star reviews were posted. The Yelp page for the Five Points location was down to 1.5 stars. Other locations showed three or four. ||||| Filmmaker Spike Lee has never been one to hold back his feelings. This, after all, is a man who's compared Tyler Perry to Amos n' Andy and said that Clint Eastwood ought to have an encounter "with a .44 Bulldog." And at an African American History Month lecture at Pratt Institute Tuesday evening, he had some strong words for the mostly local crowd, this time about "the other side" of gentrification. His response to an audience member who brought it up: "Let me just kill you right now." 
 
 Lee, who's been famed for his explorations of class tensions and community ever since his groundbreaking 1989 "Do the Right Thing," went on to expound about "some bullshit article in the New York Times saying ‘the good of gentrification.'" As Joe Coscarelli reports Wednesday in New York, Spike told the crowd, "I don’t believe that" before launching into an expletive-laced seven-minute discourse on the G-word. 
 
 "I grew up here in Fort Greene," he explained. "I grew up here in New York. It’s changed. And why does it take an influx of white New Yorkers in the south Bronx, in Harlem, in Bed-Stuy, in Crown Heights for the facilities to get better? The garbage wasn’t picked up every motherfuckin’ day when I was living in 165 Washington Park … The police weren’t around. When you see white mothers pushing their babies in strollers, three o’clock in the morning on 125th Street, that must tell you something." 
 
 But what, exactly, does it tell you? Earlier this month, the reliably rage-inducing Times Real Estate section ran a piece on the controversial "Case for and Against a Bed-Stuy Historic District," a piece on what's still one of the most dangerous, crime-riddled neighborhoods in New York City that came replete with dainty captions like "In Bed-Stuy, many a playful turret is to be found." And New York magazine recently asked, "Is Gentrification All Bad?" in a story that focused heavily on the "Dickensian juxtapositions" of changing lower-class New York neighborhoods like Inwood, where I've lived for the past eight years. My family and I moved here when we were squeezed out of our old, insanely gentrifying neighborhood in – where else? – Brooklyn. Now Inwood has become the subject of much of the recent conversation around gentrification. The Wall Street Journal sat up and took notice last month when the mostly Dominican area got its very first Starbucks -- where it naturally began offering overpriced, "exclusive" café con leche. 
 
 With his trademark passion and irritability, Lee made strong points Tuesday night about the exasperation felt by long-term residents when newcomers arrive with an inflated sense of entitlement. "The motherfuckin’ people moved in last year," Lee said, "and called the cops on my father. He doesn’t even play electric bass! It’s acoustic!" And he certainly can't be argued with regarding his questions over "Why did it take this great influx of white people to get the schools better? Why’s there more police protection in Bed-Stuy and Harlem now? Why’s the garbage getting picked up more regularly? We been here!" 
 
 Yet in Lee's eagerness to be enraged, he glosses over the profound complexities of neighborhood flux. He rather dramatically announces that "You can’t just come in the neighborhood and start bogarting and say, like you’re motherfuckin’ Columbus and kill off the Native Americans. Or what they do in Brazil, what they did to the indigenous people." The opening of a Connecticut Muffin shop is not now nor ever will be akin to genocide. And Lee can rail about "the white people" moving in, but that simplistic breakdown ignores issues of income and class. 
 
 I'm a white mom in a racially and socially diverse neighborhood, but I'm certainly at an exponentially lower socioeconomic level than Mr. Spike Lee. As are plenty of working families looking for affordable housing in an increasingly prohibitive market. Where are we all supposed to go? And though Lee can rightly question why it takes an influx of newcomers for the public schools to improve and the police presence to increase and the garbage to get picked up, there's also no denying that most of us – of all races and classes -- prefer to live in places with better public schools and lower crime and regular garbage pickup. The conflict that arises is, what happens when you start to get those things, and with them comes an artisanal cheese shop? 
 
 The challenges faced now are the same one Jane Jacobs wrote about beautifully over 50 years ago in "The Death and Life of Great American Cities," the same ones Lee himself confronted 25 years ago in "Do the Right Thing." How do we support the existing community of a neighborhood while welcoming newcomers? How do we improve living conditions for everybody, without pushing people out? These are hard issues for those of us who live in and love our neighborhoods and the people who inhabit them. They require considerably more than the untrammeled greed of real estate developers and trust fund kids looking for someplace edgy, but with kombucha. They also require more than just being pissed off. But though Lee is very much a mixed bag on the subject of gentrification, where he is correct is in his assertion that whoever you are, "You can’t just come in when people have a culture that’s been laid down for generations and you come in and now shit gotta change because you’re here?" As he says, "Get the fuck outta here." ||||| A chat about life's end over coffee and cake doesn't sound like everyone's cup of tea. But could it be a way to get people talking about a subject we can't escape and is often avoided? 
 
 I told about five people that I was going to something called a death cafe – the reactions were mixed, but none was particularly positive. "Will it be full of goths?", "How morbid", "That's weird." The thing is that people don't just find talking about death uncomfortable – they find the idea of talking about death uncomfortable. In general, we just don't do it. 
 
 This is what inspired Jon Underwood to create the non-profit death cafe in 2011, based on the Swiss Cafe Mortel movement. As he saw it, western society has long outsourced discussions about death to doctors, nurses, priests and undertakers. The result, says Jon, is that we have lost control of one of the most significant events we ever have to face. 
 
 He suggested to various cafes in east London his idea of setting up a place to go and talk about death, but there were no takers. So the first death cafe in the UK was in Jon's own house in Hackney and was run by his mother, Sue Barsky Reid, a psychotherapist. 
 
 It was a great success and interest grew, leading to the events, which are usually about an hour long, popping up in a range of venues from cafes and private houses to a cemetery and a yurt. The premise was simple: people go along, drink tea, eat cake and discuss death: not to be morbid, just to raise awareness and to "help people make the most of their (finite) lives". 
 
 Jon and Sue went on to produce a guide to running your own death cafe, which was published in 2012. Since then, hundreds of people have been hosting them around the world. 
 
 I went along to an event in central Edinburgh at a bohemian cake shop called Lovecrumbs. I had no idea what to expect, so I met with one of the organisers beforehand, Katherine Newbigging, director of Just Festival, who brought along Rebecca Paterson, who works for Good Life Good Death Good Grief, a campaign that has been involved in hosting other death cafes in Scotland. 
 
 Katherine Newbigging greets visitors to the death cafe in Edinburgh. Photograph: Murdo Macleod for the Guardian 
 
 I wanted to find out what brought people to the gatherings, which were undoubtedly popular: Katherine told me that the Lovecrumbs event that evening had a reserve list of guests as they were expecting to be full. "People are just interested. It's something a bit different. There aren't many places where talking about death is OK. We want to provide that environment, and help lead the discussion." 
 
 Rebecca agrees. "Talking about it can only be a good thing: not only does coming to terms with your own mortality mean you're more likely to live life to the full, being open about it means we can support each other, our families and ourselves when death has an impact on our lives. It makes for a healthier, happier community." 
 
 She paused, and for a second looks moved: "I've heard of people saying that death can be a really special time. Imagine that – how differently we would all feel about it if that could be the case?" 
 
 This struck a chord with me. My sister is a doctor who works in palliative care, and she has told me about talking to the families of frail, elderly patients with multiple illnesses. She tells family members that their loved one is going to die – they simply can't believe it and aren't equipped to deal with it, or even support the person involved. How have we got to the stage in our sanitised society where we can't bring ourselves to believe anyone is going to die? 
 
 It made me think that less than 100 years ago, death would have been all around us. People had big families because it was expected that some would die in infancy. Men went to war and never came back. Women died in childbirth. And not many people made it past middle age. Compare that with now: we all live so much longer, our lives sometimes prolonged by advances in medical care. The result is that we can now reach 35 or even 40 without ever having a relative die. Through what Underwood refers to as the "outsourcing of death", and through this lack of exposure to it, we have become ill-equipped to deal with it – and in denial of the one thing that affects us all. 
 
 At 6pm, Katherine hushes the assembled tea drinkers in Lovecrumbs and announces the start of the meeting. Customers who didn't know about the death cafe gulp back their tea and leave hastily, staring at us in concern and fascination. Menus are passed around: a list of questions for discussion, divided into starters, mains and tea & coffee. The questions, Katherine reassures us, are just conversation starters, and not to be stuck to rigidly. Between each course we will move around, to make sure everyone speaks to someone different. 
 
 I sit down next to a woman in her late 50s, Lesley. We scan the questions on our starters list: "Cremation or burial?", "Nature taking its course or assisted suicide?", "Where would you like to be when you die?" 
 
 For a second I feel daunted – these are certainly ice-breakers. But somehow, talking to someone you don't know about such things is a lot easier than starting a conversation about churchyards versus woodland burial with your husband when he gets in from work. 
 
 Lesley and I chat about the questions briefly before moving on to why she is here: "I suppose I'm interested in how people who want to talk about it actually do talk about it. Is death taboo? I'm not sure it is. But sometimes I think that talking about dependency – being dependent on others as you reach the end of life – is taboo. It worries me that so many people these days have a problem with that. As a child, you're dependent, then you're independent, then you become dependent again. That's what happens. It's nothing to be ashamed of. If we talked more about the inevitable, at least it would be easier to plan." 
 
 The woman next to her nods enthusiastically at Lesley's words. 
 
 S o I leave them to finish their starters and sit down with Rae and Rachel, two young women, both with fresh grief etched on their faces, and looking slightly daunted. Death cafes don't offer bereavement support or counselling, but sometimes it could be that people who have experienced death suddenly feel the need to talk about it. That is why Rae and Rachel have come. "We've lost someone close to us, unexpectedly," Rae explains. "We're not here to talk about that though – we talk about it all the time anyway. It's more that, since it's happened, I've been more open. And I suppose it's OK to talk about dying in general to your friends, but to talk about me dying? They would think that was morbid." 
 
 When we get on to the mains, the questions are a bit lengthier – the ice-breaking is over, and it is time for some in-depth discussion, with starters-for-10 such as: "What things do you think make for a good death?" and "What words do you want on your tombstone?" The room is noisy with chatter at this point, to the extent that Katherine has trouble getting everyone's attention. There are no tears, serious voices or solemnity, just animated discussion. 
 
 Eventually Katherine bangs a teaspoon on a cup to tell us all it is time for the tea & coffee part of the menu, and we all swap tables again. There are only two questions: "What song would you like at your funeral?", and "How would you like to be remembered?". These positive themes are happily discussed at my table. I turn to the woman next to me, Rebecca, and asked what has brought her to the cafe. She tells me that she was a death doula, which fascinates me, as I've always felt that so much planning goes into the hugely significant event of giving birth, but very little into the event of dying. 
 
 "I have a background in nursing, which gives me essential expertise, but a death doula is not a nurse," she says. "It's a completely different approach, in that it's not allied to medicine or the medical 'narrative'. It's led by the individual themselves – the person who is dying. It's somewhat similar to the role of a birth doula." 
 
 For someone who works with death, surely the cafe was a busman's holiday? Not at all, says Rebecca. "I wanted to see where other people were at in the discussion of death – it's very much part of my job so it's a lot easier for me to discuss, but I can't assume everyone else feels that way. I also wanted to find out what people felt about having someone there, other than family – someone like me, a death doula. What did I get from my discussions tonight? I feel as though people are keen to personalise their deaths – and their lives. And I'm glad." 
 
 The cafe winds down to a natural end after its official hour, but many linger, deep in conversation. I hail a cab and the chatty driver asks what I've been up to this evening. I hesitate, then tell him. And that was it, we are off, talking about death, to the point where even after we reach my house, we sit in the taxi for 20 minutes chatting before I go in. It seems that people really do want to talk about death. 
 
 • deathcafe.com
– A Denver neighborhood known as "the Harlem of the West" isn't taking too kindly to a local coffeehouse's recent sidewalk signage. The Five Points community has long been known as an artists' enclave and home to many black and Latino families, but economic growth and an attempt by the city to bring it into the "mainstream" has forced many people out of their homes and started to change the culture, the Guardian reports. Which is why it didn't go over well when ink! put up a sandwich board boasting about gentrification and it caught the eye of local writer Ru Johnson and others Wednesday, per the Denver Post. "Happily gentrifying the neighborhood since 2014," the sign's front read; the back noted: "Nothing says gentrification like being able to order a Cortado" (a coffee drink with warm milk). "yo @inkcoffee we are not cool with this sign ... Bad decision. Bad design. BAD. W.T.F.," Johnson posted on Twitter, along with a photo. 9NEWS notes the ire of others, who commented about "white privilege" on social media and posted bad reviews on Yelp. The outside of the coffeehouse was even sprayed with "White Coffee" graffiti Wednesday night. "Hmmm. We clearly drank too much of our own product and lost sight of what makes our community great," ink! wrote on Twitter Wednesday evening, followed by a longer apology from founder Keith Herbert Thursday. "I am embarrassed to say that I did not fully appreciate the very real and troubling aspect of gentrification," he wrote. He promised to keep on top of the issue, educate himself and his staff, and "demonstrate the depths of our contrition."