Reading 4 the Rev: 2008

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Fcked up!!!

New public housing at heart of a civic rebirth

By RENEE LEWIS GLOVER
Published on: 07/02/08

Atlanta has risen from its own ashes many times — most spectacularly after the Civil War. But there have been other occasions when the will of the people to do the right thing has fostered civic rebirth. While many Southern cities were mired in racial unrest and race riots, for example, Atlanta said, "We can do better," and we did.

Another example: During the Great Depression, one third of the nation was ill-housed. In Atlanta, the tenements were atrocious and the shortage of housing was critical. When the federal government authorized public housing construction during the mid-1930s, Atlanta's spirit of resurgence led the way. We built the first major public housing project, on 60 acres of blighted land near Georgia Tech that eventually became Techwood/Clark Howell Homes. Over time, Atlanta had more public housing units per capita than any other American city, and for many years these projects were transitional housing for the working poor, who were striving to achieve self-sufficiency and the American dream.

But by the 1970s, as a result of a series of less-than-thoughtful policy changes that forced out the working poor, public housing had dramatically changed. The "projects" had become islands of poverty and despair, where Atlantans were trapped in joblessness and poor education options and structurally locked out of mainstream America.

As Atlanta was preparing to host the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games, the Atlanta Housing Authority was ranked as one of the worst large public housing authorities in the entire country. Nearly all the schools serving students living in AHA properties were ranked among the worst in the entire state.

Just 12 years later, those dismal statistics have dramatically improved. AHA is now the national model for creating healthy mixed-use, mixed-income communities. More importantly, recipients are entering and succeeding in the work force and are on their way to achieving their version of the American Dream.

Last month, we began closing the final chapter on public housing "projects." The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development approved the demolition of Bowen Homes. HUD agreed with our assessment that the 650 units were irrevocably deteriorated and obsolete. Moreover, the families who were living in that environment, which had become the poster child for concentrated poverty, may now — through a choice-driven and supportive process using a housing choice voucher — find housing that will meet their needs.

Again making history

We anticipate quick approval for demolition of the remaining major projects: Bankhead Courts, Thomasville Heights, Hollywood Courts, Herndon Apartments, Palmer and Roosevelt. Those projects, together with Bowen, house about 2,400 households - families that can now look to bright futures in good neighborhoods.

When the last of those buildings comes down, we will have made history, just as we did when we built the first public housing. We will have become the first major American city to eliminate its large family housing "projects." This is an event that has ramifications for all Atlantans. People are returning to the city, which in recent years has been showing significant population growth for the first time in a generation. That resurgence would not have occurred if blighted housing projects continued to dominate the landscape.

Roughly 80 percent of the tenants are women and their children. What about them?

The answer needs to be stressed, underscored and emphasized: Every — every — resident of Bowen Homes will move to a new home of the family's choice. The only exceptions are those who engage in criminal behavior, refuse to work or violate the terms of their lease. They would be ineligible to remain AHA tenants in any case. And via housing subsidy vouchers, the amount they pay for rent and utilities will remain the same — approximately 30 percent of their income.

The residents choose where they live, and we know from recent surveys that more than 98 percent of the residents want to move, and support our policies. AHA provides each family at least 27 months of coaching and counseling to manage the transition into mainstream America.

Serving more residents

It's important to note that as the projects have come down, AHA's commitment to Atlanta's poorer residents has increased. Today, AHA serves 6,000 more residents than in 1995, and in substantially healthier environments.

Since 1995, more than 10,000 households have successfully relocated from the housing projects. Approximately 80 percent of the families chose to stay in the city of Atlanta, while the balance decided to use their housing assistance in other metropolitan Atlanta areas.

Georgia Tech economist and professor Thomas D. Boston has measured the impact of what we've done at Techwood/Clark Howell Homes. Before redevelopment, those neighborhoods were 35 times more violent than the city. After redevelopment, crime in the neighborhood dropped 91 percent.

Even more important than crime is what redevelopment has meant to children. Boston found that in 1995 just 10 percent of the students at the neighborhood elementary school passed a basic writing skills test. By 2002, a new neighborhood school had been constructed, new leadership appointed and a new curriculum adopted. Sixty-two percent of the neighborhood children passed the basic writing skills test — a level that was about 50 percent higher than all elementary schools in the Atlanta system.

That resurgence is enough to make every Atlantan proud.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Gentrification "reconciliation"

what, i wonder, is Portland doing structurally to ensure community(of color) control over development in the Northeast neighborhood? this is liberalism at its very worst. what do they expect to come of this, other than the white people having some sort of glimpse into their Black neighbors' lives, in order to embark on a kinder, gentler colonization of the neighborhood? and i'm sure, to feel like they are doing it responsibly ("well, we are dialogging"), to boot. what a mess.

PORTLAND JOURNAL
Racial Shift in Portland Spurs Talks
By WILLIAM YARDLEY
Portland, Ore., is encouraging black and white residents to talk about gentrification and race, but even this progressive city is having a hard time at it.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/29/us/29portland.html?th&emc=th

Friday, May 23, 2008

Previous Readings

May 22- Them by Nathan McCall

February 28- Water Wars by Vandana Shiva

January 10- Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler

who's in whose space?

The blazing yellow sun beat down on the curvy black road so fiercely that I wondered if I would witness a hardened street turn back to the same soft tar it had been when the sturdy brown men had laid it three years ago. I was in that fresh zone that accompanies participation in social movement for positive change; I was full in the throws of it this day a few weeks ago. My homegirl Keisha had called to say we were going to have one of our final building sessions to think through the logistics of this Children’s Social Forum that was to commence in three days, and to ask if we could meet up at my spot. Kate Shapiro and Karen Lopez – two young sisters whose veins pump organizing-type blood – were going to come over so we could talk about lesson plans, order last-minute supplies, and re-check our story telling/music creating/sign painting/capoeria playing schedule for the youth. Keisha, doing her usual million-and-one things at once, was out 20-W by Six Flags, and had decided to come over a bit early. I was running a bit late, because I had taken longer than I planned in the supermarket.

I knew I was trying to make this new dish Lewy had told me about with chicken and onions and tomatoes and garlic. I knew I wanted Italian seasoning in it, and I decided to go with boneless breast meat instead of drumsticks and thighs. The Tyson chicken had a “Manager’s Special” stamp on the price tag, so it was a little less expensive than usual. I thought for a moment about what it means for meat to be on sale. Is it bad? Going bad? Do they just have too much? The sell-by date was still two days away, and the isle was so air-conditioned that I figured the chicken – resting in an even cooler refrigerated shelf – was fine. I decided for sure that the chicken was just on sale because there was too damn much of it. It was stacked neatly from my knees to above my head. Chicken packages stretched several paces. Then the refrigerated meat section turned to turkey. Then to pork. Then to beef. Just beyond the meat section was the fish market. And just beyond that was the dairy…

I was surrounded by food. I regarded my grocery-shopping task as I often do: a necessary errand that was one of many items on my to-do list. I spent time in the produce section, and picked out what looked best. I decided on grapes (green and seedless), peaches (instead of nectarines) and salad-making veggies. I threw cheese in my basket. I figured beer would be nice. I wanted to put the chicken dish over some pasta. Fusilli or Rotini? Rigatoni or Spaghetti? I decided on Linguini, to be on the safe side (??), and realized that I forgot tomatoes. I zig-zagged back to produce hurridly, chose grape tomatoes over cherry or vine, and checked the time on my cell phone.

It’s crazy how we get trapped by goodies that are intended to make life easier.

I picked up the pace and tried to ward off that localized headache that I get sometimes when I am running late. In the line, I chose mint mojito gum, browsed through People and Us, and threw Essence on the belt. The seventy –eight dollars and seventy-eight cents caught my attention not because it seemed like too much money, but instead because it’s the year of my birth, twice. Seventy-eight seventy-eight. Not too much money for a 28-year-old graduate student to spend on some groceries…

Back home, I was preparing the food while Keisha read in the living room. The temperature was nearly 100 degrees outside, but “my” air had “my” condo down to 72. I own 800 square feet of property. Word has it that I am a successful American. I am a successful African American. I am a successful biracial American woman. I am a successful queer citizen of the world. I chose my identity. I create my subjectivity. I have a bachelors and a masters degree. I’m working on some more letters. I say who I am and where I live and what clothes I wear and what kind of tomatoes to buy. I decide when to take out the trash from my little kitchen.

So I did this day, I took out the trash because I wanted my guests to be able to throw away with plenty of space. I jogged down to the dumpster. It was absolutely blazing hot outside.

This is where my memory turns into s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. There is a way that I have to swing my garbage a few times, to get up the momentum to get it in the dumpster out back. It’s the type of industrial-sized dumpster that has a rusty door that slides back to reveal a window opening, about chest high, through which to throw one’s trash. With heavy bags, it’s actually a bit tricky to get it in, but I have had much practice and have come to perfect the craft. “One… two” I said to myself as I swung the trash back and fourth. Just as I was about to swing on three, I looked at my target and saw a man stand up. In the dumpster.

I froze.

He put his hands up.

“Excuse me ma’am. I – I’m sorry ma’am.”

His hands were still up, in a freeze-stance I have seen when people deal with cops.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said quietly. “I’m just looking for some food to eat.”

I stayed frozen.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again softly.

I laid the heavy bag of garbage I was swinging on the side of the dumpster and I gently put up my hands to mirror his. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, and I turned on my heels and ran.

Irantothehouseandcollectedlotsoffood:cheese,grapes,crackers,andtomatoes. I hurriedly told Keisha what had happened and I darted back out the door to bring him what I had gathered. I was shaking and running and out of breath.

But when I reached the dumpster and peered in, he was gone.

I stood there, shocked and scared and embarrassed and devastated. Why had I not said anything? Why hadn’t I been faster? Why was he in there in the first place? Where had he gone? Why was it so fucking hot out here?

Slowly, slowly, slowly, I headed back up to my air-conditioned space, to build with friends about social justice.