Dec
Low-Income Housing Is Beautiful
In 2016, I wrote about low-income housing being a home. Everyone designs their home with whatever they can and does their best to provide a safe, stable place for themselves and their loved ones. I used my own apartment and the shared spaces to illustrate the potential of one to make a home out of very little while also acknowledging that there are limits to designing one’s way out of substandard housing code violations.
Then something almost miraculous happened. We organized.
A long-gestating movement focused on housing affordability reached my apartment building. In the District of Columbia, organized tenants who have a tenants association have what’s known as TOPA rights, or first right-of-refusal. Without getting into the legalese of it all, this right basically means that when the building goes up for sale, the residents have an opportunity to have some say over what happens with the building. This could mean that the building converts to a co-op, where everyone collectively owns and manages the building. Or we could continue to rent with a new property owner but only on the condition that they make significant improvements to the building.
Though our tenant association is one of the oldest in the city, formed in 1982, participation was sporadic and often operated like a dysfunctional family. We only got together when there was a family emergency or a funeral. Once again, the building was up for sale and we all had to sit in a dingy laundry room to discuss what that would mean.
I was rarely vocal in previous iterations of the sale of the building. In rare form, I sat back as prospective building owners told us empty promises and not much else. In those days, because our building was owned by someone who owned five other buildings in the District, any future owner of our building was responsible for buying all the others. That meant any funding we might need to improve the building would have been redirected to another, more desirable building in a more up-and-coming location.
This time was different.
The landlord offered up all five buildings for sale separately, allowing us for the first time to have some real say in how we would want to move forward as tenants. And this time, I felt more motivated to speak up.
The Long, Unglamorous Process of Local Democracy
There was a different political energy in the air that year. Bernie Sanders, who launched his first presidential run in 2016, inspired me to look beyond the horizon of my next paycheck and tap into a radical tradition of standing up for myself and others like me in the working class. I knew what was happening around me. I could see the development of newer condos and luxury apartment buildings towering all around us. We suffered through the demolition and reconstruction of the neighborhood Safeway with little in return but more noise and less natural sunlight. But when it came time for my neighbors — nearly all of us working-class Black and Latino — we treated this decision as business-as-usual. I couldn’t help myself. I said, “Look at the neighborhood. There is a building right next to us where the starting rent for a one-bedroom is $2,500. The building we live in is worth $15 million. Look at the changing makeup of the neighborhood. If we do not stand up for ourselves we are going to get kicked out of here. We deserve to live here well and live here affordably.”
That energy reset the conversation and we began the hard, unglamorous process of local democracy. We took a vote: Should we become a co-op? No. Only three tenants (including myself) wanted that. Should we have a new property manager take over? Yes, but on the condition that they invest in improvements in the building. For the first time, we had an opportunity to envision our most maximalist dreams. What would we want our apartment building to become?
We started tossing around practical ideas like new appliances, a new laundry room, and security cameras on the exterior and shared spaces. We took it further and asked for things like central air and heating, a dishwasher, and community room, a bike and storage room, a fitness room, an on-site office and on-site maintenance. We even got more confident and started asking for ambitious things like an elevator and a community garden. Instead of tamping down our long-held dreams of a dignified way of living, we were encouraged to pile up our dreams together. It soon became clear that we all wanted more than to simply not have roaches, mice, and bedbugs. We wanted to live well.
Then we began inviting prospective owners to pitch to us. The ensuing months of meetings were grueling. Coming home from a long day of work, feet were sore, it’s dinner time, and some kids needed to do their homework. Discussions were long and required a lot of patience. Interpretation for non-English speakers required a slower pace for those who are not fluent in Spanish and people frequently walked out of meetings if things went on too long. Keeping bored children distracted created more tension as meetings went on well into the evening. As a result, many of us did not want to come to these meetings. But with a lot of loving cajoling from our tenant board, people showed up. We met with several residential building companies. One came as far as Seattle. Most were disappointing; condescension while offering no meaningful concessions to our demands. In several meetings, I had to ask the building presenters to stop talking to us like we were stupid.
”Though our tenant association is one of the oldest in the city, formed in 1982, participation was sporadic and often operated like a dysfunctional family. We only got together when there was a family emergency or a funeral. Once again, the building was up for sale and we all had to sit in a dingy laundry room to discuss what that would mean.
Then came WC Smith. Known in the Washington, DC area as both a solid property manager and a straight-up slumlord depending on who you ask (and if your neighborhood is up-and-coming like ours), WC Smith came to us with real examples of how they renovated older buildings like ours. Property managers who themselves still live in the renovated units spoke to their own experiences with the process. We asked the necessary questions related to our demands and they were more than willing to respond, a refreshing response compared to other bidders.
I want to say that once we chose WC Smith, things from there flowed smoothly. But I can’t. I can’t even blame the profit motives of a greedy landlord. Instead, I have to fault the intransigence of local government. Project managers were familiar with the approval process with the DC Zoning Board, but they needed our help as tenants to speak to what these renovations would mean to us. I wasn’t working and had time during the day so I went down to testify. I was joined by my two other neighbors, both members of the tenant board; a retired nurse and hospitality worker respectively.
Local Housing Regulations are Good, But Tiresome
One of the things that immediately jumped out to me was how inaccessible this meeting was. It was held in the middle of the day when most people were at work, thus leaving those available middle-class people, retirees, or well-paid lawyers from commercial real estate developers.
”The experience of good public service does not stop at retail politicking, smiling faces, and watery eyes. It continues to move through the process behind-the-scenes where even seemingly small details can derail someone’s hopes.
I sat through proposals ranging from people looking to build a tiny home in a back yard, to people trying to justify why building half a window in a basement apartment is not a housing code violation. After hours of this, our time finally came to speak to the board. We spoke about the dignity that these improvements would afford us. All the board members seemed genuinely touched and were more than willing to approve the proposal Myself, my neighbors, and the project manager — all women — expressed joy and relief that things were finally moving forward.
Weeks later we were informed that one little piece of paperwork was not submitted, and the proposal was therefore not approved. Eventually, the proper paperwork was submitted and everything moved forward. I bring this up because the experience of good public service does not stop at retail politicking, smiling faces, and watery eyes. It continues to move through the process behind-the-scenes where even seemingly small details can derail someone’s hopes.
“Yes, things are happening for real.”
Spring 2019, we were moving and preparing for temporary displacement. While most people moved elsewhere in the city, myself along with a handful of others stayed in not-yet renovated units while about two-thirds of the remaining units were gutted. I would run into people in the city and they would ask me, “Are they really doing anything over there?” I would assure them, “Yes, they’re gutting it out, things are happening for real.”
”Instead of tamping down our long-held dreams of a dignified way of living, we were encouraged to pile up our dreams together. It soon became clear that we all wanted more than to simply not have roaches, mice, and bedbugs. We wanted to live well.
In early 2020 a novel strain of coronavirus called COVID-19 began to spread. In an effort to slow the spread of the virus, international lockdowns and quarantines caused major slowdowns in the supply chain of goods. This too affected the renovations. Nonetheless, workers came in every day to gut units and make major repairs as they waited for new flooring, roofing, lighting, appliances, shelving and other supplies to come in.
I worked from home, but like many I struggled to maintain a work/life balance. Even though I had lived in my temporary unit over a year, I did not unpack everything. I didn’t take the time to make my temporary apartment a home. I couldn’t set up my normal workspace because it sat immediately outside the corner of the Safeway loading dock. With decibel noise reaching 102db and a vibration that rattled in my chest for hours, my bedroom and workspace were basically unused. Add to that the daily construction, and the one thing I enjoy — creating a home of solace — simply did not exist.
To stay mentally and physically fit I would get up before dawn to walk through the neighborhood. Those were my favorite times because I could see the progress being made on the building. We had a little courtyard that suddenly had some greenery. The outdoor lamps added a warmth to the grimy back alley of the building. A wheelchair-accessible ramp was added as well. In the front lawn, grass that had been dug up for pipe repairs were replaced with sod and flowers. Those quiet times gave me hope that it was almost done.
Winter 2021, after over two years of renovations, we got the news that those displaced would now be able to move back, including myself. Most of the original tenants moved back, with only a few choosing to stay where they had moved to. Unfortunately, not everyone survived. Ms. Charles*, one of our more senior residents who lived here since the 1960s, had a heart attack that summer and was hospitalized. When she was discharged, it was agreed that instead of moving back to the now-renovated apartment she shared with her husband (who passed away in 2010), she should be closer to family in Virginia. She passed away in late 2021, surrounded by loved ones. Janice*, a more recent tenant lived on the lower level of my building and like me, stayed behind during renovations. Janice was always kind. I once confessed to her that I didn’t have enough money in my account to feed myself that day. She gave me $20 and basically saved me. Moving back into our units was physically demanding for all of us. Even if you are in good shape, climbing three-to-four flights of stairs, moving boxes, and unpacking stuff is huge. For Janice, her heart couldn’t take much more. She was found in her brand new apartment, dead from a heart attack.
I share these stories because these women make up the community that is this building. I often think of them, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The funny stories we’d share with one another as we greeted one another in passing. The contentious arguments we would have in a tenant meeting over the future of the building. The little tips I learned on how to keep the building safe and making sure my other neighbors knew too. I cherish all of it. They weren’t there with us to fully enjoy the fruits of our labor, but they are nonetheless crucial to making sure it happened.
We now have a community room where the property managers host an annual ice cream social. We once had a summer cookout with bounce house and games. We also have bike storage and secure mailboxes for deliveries. A lot of the newer tenants are younger and are always working. But I give them a pass because I was like that when I was younger. This city demands a lot of young people, so I give them a break. We may not hold as many actual tenant meetings as hoped, but we are still a community.
A summer party for the residents, circa 2022
Redecorating My Apartment, Now With a Clean Slate
Our units got everything we wanted: Central air and heating, dishwasher, microwave, new stove and fridge, hardwood floors, no radiators, improved heating systems. For me, this space provided a clean slate to start over and redecorate. I used some of my savings to invest in my renovated apartment. For about two years I used Pinterest like it was my personal interior decorator. Instead of going with paint I wanted to go with the concept of the “Instagram wall”: That cool backdrop that you just have to pose in front of.
Archdaily | Social Housing: 60 Examples in Plan in Section
There are times when I weep. I thought for a long time that this would never happen. That I could live affordably in modern, dignified housing. But now that I see it is possible, I don’t want to stop. Low-income housing is beautiful when it is well-maintained. Too often, that burden falls solely on the occupants and not the owners. It’s not fair or accurate. Low-income housing a truly beautiful when social investments in maintenance so that people who live there can make it come to life. It’s the people who ultimately breathe life into these spaces.
*Names were changed to protect their identities.