Empty Houses

Week 58 of the Occupation

Homes left empty by the foreclosure crisis are like open wounds. My neighborhood is no exception. Over the years we have had our share of abandoned houses, but most found their way to new families.

But the foreclosure crisis hit us like a tidal wave. Three years ago my neighbor of 35 years left her home. A retired DPS teacher, she took out a loan to fix her roof, build a new garage, and pave her driveway. Sensible repairs on a house she intended to live in with her sister until she died. She was too embarrassed to tell anyone that the loan she took out to pay for these repairs had suddenly ballooned. Even with the help of her sister it was too much for her.

So one morning the moving truck arrived. By evening she was gone, leaving a box of things on the porch she thought her children might want. Only as she was pulling out did she call and tell them what had happened.

She had raised three children in that house. They had celebrated birthdays, graduations, and daily life. Her sons grew to adulthood with the help of the basketball net above the garage doors. Her husband died in that house. Over the years it expanded to include grandchildren and friends. It was a place of memory and comfort, conflict and sorrow. And it was a source of community safety. Someone was always home, keeping an eye on the coming and going. It was the house we all went to for the neighborhood news.

That disappeared in a day. Her children came for the box, shocked. They would have helped. They had no idea. In the end they emptied the box. All that was left of the life they had shared.

Over the next two years the only thing the bank did was paste a sign on the window. Neighbors organized to keep the grass cut, shovel the snow, and pick up the leaflets that seemed to appear every day. We kept watch and discouraged those who tried to take pipes and siding.

Finally, we were lucky. A couple bought the house. But they cannot replace the hole left in our community. Relationships build over time, shared lives and experiences disrupted are a ragged edge, not easily repaired.

I have been thinking about the day my neighbor left as I read the report from the Haas Institute this week. “Underwater America” describes how the problem of “underwater mortgages” where homeowners are stuck in loans for more than their house is worth persists in communities across the country. It documents that the housing crisis is far from over.

It explains, “How the legacy of predatory lending has meant a disproportionate negative impact on African American and Latino communities.

“Neighborhoods in all regions of the country – from Milwaukee to Memphis, Atlanta to Las Vegas, and beyond – are continuing to suffer with more than one fifth of homes currently underwater in the 15 hardest hit metropolitan areas with populations over one million," said Professor Gregory Squires, of the Department of Sociology at George Washington University.

Detroit ranks number 5 of the hardest hit cities with 47% of our homes underwater. It is number 1 in the absolute number of homes in foreclosure or default in 2013.

Behind these numbers are the lives of people facing impossible, painful choices.

Professor Squires offers some hope, saying, "The failure of a wide array of federal programs to stem this tide has caused many desperate local communities to consider bold action, including the use of eminent domain, to purchase these loans at current market value and refinance them to help millions of at-risk families to save their homes. These local laboratories of democracy may well signal a nationwide social movement that will put the financial crisis behind us.

Welcome as our Mayor’s efforts to invite families into now empty houses, we need to do a lot more to strengthen our communities.

Jackson Rising

By Tawana Petty

The first weekend in May, I was able to attend the Jackson Rising: New Economies Conference in Jackson, Miss., with an incredible Detroit delegation. The conference was born out of the vision of late Jackson Mayor Chokwe Lumumba (Baba Chokwe), the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement (MXGM), which he founded, and the Jackson Peoples’ Assembly.

It meant a great deal to be in Jackson at a time when, much like Detroit, its citizens are struggling to pick up the pieces after a devastating blow. Baba Chokwe, a lifelong revolutionary, activist and organizer, made history when he was elected mayor in a grassroots campaign, then suddenly died after only two months in office. His election had not only ignited residents in the city of Jackson, but also inspired many people in his hometown Detroit.

Baba Chokwe’s struggle for democracy, economic justice, self-determination and a better quality of life for the residents of Jackson’s predominantly Black city, was a direct contrast to the actions of Detroit’s mayor and emergency manager. It was inspiring to see a city where the government appeared to be actually in tune with the people.

Unfortunately, shortly after Baba Chokwe’s death and his son’s failed attempt to secure his father’s seat as mayor, the city yanked their support of the conference and the vision.

Luckily, with pure people power, the conference successfully moved forward and the spirit of Baba Chokwe remained vibrant throughout.

When you are a culture creator who was born and raised in Detroit, you tend to carry with you a sort of visionary skepticism that allows you to pinpoint ugly at its onset, while envisioning its beautiful potential at the same time. Sometimes it’s a skill this artist loves and wishes she could escape from contemporaneously.

I learned a lot from the people in Jackson and I am optimistic they are paving the way for a global cooperative movement.

However, there were moments during the conference when I felt a sort of vulnerability for my people there. As I listened to some of the development language and watched the outsiders like myself snap pictures of dilapidated properties, priced cheap to sell and bursting with potential, I was consumed with emotion and fear.

After all, I come from a city where Blacks have been abandoned through urban renewal. A city under dictatorship and spectatorship, where most Black residents are walking on eggshells, while hipsters eat overpriced omelets from fancy pop-up shops. Development language scares the hell out of me, even in well-intentioned settings.

William Copeland, who was part of the Detroit delegation, also reflected on the conference in his article for Orchestrated Pulse. “Our delegation . . . represented a generation of cultural organizers and theorists who recognize liberation requires a transformation of culture and collective behaviors, not just new policies put in place.”

Many in the Detroit delegation were adamant about the need to reflect on value systems as a priority, recognizing no matter what economic structure you put in place, the end result will be the same if a cultural transformation isn’t part of the plan. Part of that cultural transformation includes language. We were able to appreciate how far both cities have come and how far both cities have yet to go. But, I think our greatest appreciation was that we were willing to be part of the collective journey.

During my short visit to Jackson, I grew to love it and its people and I grew protective of them. Moreover, I am confident the peoples’ vision for economic justice can be realized against all odds

Tawana Petty is a mother, organizer, author and poet.