Human beings are inherently social creatures, reliant on relationships, interdependencies, and networks for survival and meaning. Yet, this dependence often evokes resentment and a desire for separation. Individuals, groups, and even entire cities may find themselves in complex emotional and structural entanglements where they both loathe and rely on their connections to others. Nowhere is this contradiction more visibly manifested than in the relationship between Newark, New Jersey, and nearby New York City. Newark exists in the shadow of one of the world’s most iconic metropolises, its proximity both a source of opportunity and a trigger for an enduring identity crisis. This essay explores the broader human tendency to detest yet depend on others by analyzing Newark’s struggle to differentiate itself from New York City while remaining inextricably bound to it.

At the heart of the human condition is the tension between autonomy and community. On one hand, individuals and collectives yearn for recognition as distinct, self-sufficient entities. On the other, survival, relevance, and growth are often tied to association with others—be it in terms of economic interdependence, cultural exchange, or infrastructural cooperation. For cities like Newark, located a mere handful of miles from New York City, this creates a double bind. Newark gains economically from its access to the New York metropolitan area: its airport serves as a critical international hub; its residents often commute to Manhattan for work; its logistics, warehousing, and industrial base serve the wider region. Yet, this very relationship renders Newark a satellite, often dismissed as an appendage to a larger, louder neighbor.

This ambivalence is not unique to Newark. It is echoed in the dynamics of younger siblings living in the shadow of a more successful elder, or post-colonial nations struggling to forge national identities distinct from their former imperial rulers. What is distinctive in Newark’s case is the spatial and psychological proximity to New York City. Unlike distant rivals or loosely connected urban peers, Newark’s relationship to New York is intimate—bordered by transit lines, shared economic corridors, and overlapping cultural narratives. The closer the connection, the more intense the need for distinction.

This tension can be seen in Newark’s persistent efforts to assert its own identity. While New York has long branded itself as a cultural and financial capital of the world, Newark emphasizes its history of industrial strength, its vibrant local arts scene, and its role in the civil rights movement. Civic boosters promote Newark as a city of firsts, from America’s first public-use electric generating station to one of the earliest publicly funded schools. These efforts speak to a deeper psychological need to be seen as something more than “New York’s neighbor”—to craft a narrative of independence, self-worth, and intrinsic value.

Yet, this assertion of difference often masks a deeper dependence. Newark’s economic development strategies frequently hinge on its position within the broader New York metroplex. Its airport is marketed as an alternative to JFK and LaGuardia; its real estate is sold as more affordable metropolitan living; its businesses benefit from the proximity to New York’s consumer base. The paradox is that Newark cannot separate itself from the gravitational pull of New York without losing many of the benefits that make its aspirations feasible.

This dynamic leads to a complex form of civic resentment. When Newark is overlooked, dismissed, or reduced to a footnote in conversations about the region, bitterness arises. But when Newark is identified too closely with New York—when it is called a suburb, a “step-city,” or just “across the river”—a different kind of irritation sets in. It is the annoyance of a younger sibling whose accomplishments are always seen through the lens of comparison, whose value is interpreted relative to another’s stature.

This tension is made more potent by historical memory. Newark, once an industrial powerhouse in its own right, has experienced economic decline, population loss, and reputational damage—most infamously during and after the 1967 riots. In the postwar period, as white flight hollowed out the urban core and suburbanization redefined New Jersey’s demographic map, Newark’s loss of prestige became a point of pain. In contrast, New York’s global stature only grew. The disparity in narrative arcs fueled Newark’s defensive posture: not just wanting to be noticed, but wanting to be respected on its own terms.

The psychological pattern here is not just civic but deeply human. We often find ourselves tethered to people or institutions we resent. A child may crave independence from their parents while relying on their support. An artist may rebel against the very tradition that shaped them. A company may disdain market forces while depending on them for capital. This contradiction is not hypocrisy—it is a structural feature of human relationships. We long to be recognized as unique, but our uniqueness is often defined in contrast or reaction to something larger. The more we depend, the more we struggle to assert our independence, and the more difficult it is to be at peace with the association.

Newark’s case reminds us that place-based identity is rarely pure. Urban centers do not exist in vacuums; they evolve in ecosystems. Newark will never fully extricate itself from the shadow of New York, nor should it have to. Instead, the challenge is to embrace the paradox: to acknowledge dependence without shame and to build distinction without hostility. Newark’s future may not lie in severing ties with its neighbor but in leveraging that proximity creatively—while continuing to cultivate its own story.

In the end, Newark’s ambivalence toward New York is a mirror of the broader human condition. We hate needing others, and we hate being needed too little. Between the poles of autonomy and attachment lies the uneasy truth of our lives: we are always in relation, always striving to define ourselves in the context of those to whom we are most intimately bound.