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the ones who didn’t go to the laundromat because we had our own
washing machines. If you go far enough back, you will arrive at some
point in the 1950s, as white middle-class flight to the suburbs was
reaching its peak. While those with means were moving out of the
city, a few prescient beings decided to move back in. They renovated
brownstones, passed historic preservation legislation, and fought off
urban renewal schemes. In contrast to suburbanites, they were look-
ing not just for a home, or a good school for their kids, or a shopping
strip where they could get their groceries. They liked what cities had
to offer in terms of proximity, vibrancy, and diversity. They wanted,
like Goldilocks, a “just right” neighborhood: one that was not too
expensive, not too dangerous, not too far from their jobs.
As time has passed, these “just right” neighborhoods have become
increasingly wrong due to their own popularity. Now, more than
50 percent of households in New York City pay what’s officially con-
sidered “unaffordable” housing costs. In San Francisco, the percent-
age is even higher. And the rate of gentrification is accelerating. Gov-
erning magazine determined that between 1990 and 2000, fewer than
one out of every ten poor neighborhoods gentrified; the following
decade, that number grew to two out of every five. And that’s nation-
wide: in celebrity cities like New York City; Portland, Oregon; Min-
neapolis; Seattle; Washington, DC; and Austin more than two out of
every five poor neighborhoods, and sometimes three out of every
five, gentrified.1 Along the way, central cities have lost thousands of
African Americans and Latinos, numerous mom-and-pop stores,
and many rooming houses that served as housing of last resort for
poor, single, unemployable men, especially those with mental health
problems. In some ways, the back-to-the-city movement, as it was
called in the 1950s, brought too many people back to the city. It has
ended up destroying many of the traits that attracted middle-income
professionals to urban centers in the first place: diversity, affordabil-
ity, and authenticity. In the 1920s and ’30s, sociologists developed
what might be called the donut theory of urban development. Univer-
sity of Chicago Professor Ernest Burgess placed the central business
GENTRIFICATION, DEFINED
One tongue-in-cheek definition of gentrification is that it’s something
that happens when people richer than you move into your neighbor-
hood. In other words, people tend to see themselves as victims of gen-
trification more frequently than perpetrators of it, and only protest
when it threatens their ability to remain. It is a very subjective term,
which is one reason I have adopted a very simple definition: gentrifi-
cation is the process by which a low-income neighborhood becomes
a wealthy neighborhood. (To qualify, the neighborhood’s median in-
come has to move from less than the median of the surrounding met-
ropolitan statistical area, to more than the area median). Some other
definitions of gentrification also consider whether housing prices in-
crease, or the ethnic and racial make-up of a neighborhood shifts, or
to fight tooth and nail to get a mortgage from those same financial in-
stitutions. (See chapter 2.) Once they realized how much money was
to be made, banks certainly enabled the renewed affluence of selected
neighborhoods in the past sixty years. But to suggest they were the
primary drivers misses the mark. Is it the home-buyers themselves
who are doing the “reinvestment”? Sure, a home is an investment,
but for the upper-middle income professionals who moved to brown-
stone neighborhoods in the 1950s and 1960s, it was primarily a home
that just happened to appreciate in value. “Reinvestment” describes
inputs— the money being spent within a neighborhood— while “gen-
trification” describes outputs— the changing demographics.
The term displacement is related to gentrification, but it’s different,
and it does have unavoidable negative connotations. Displacement
describes the forced relocation of a household because its home can
command a higher price than it can afford. Neighborhoods may
change because low-income residents are forced out by rising rents,
or perhaps, the low-income families were about to move out anyway
and higher-income households took their place. (This latter process
is sometimes called succession.) I discuss the complicated question of
whether gentrification causes displacement throughout the book. It
is my conclusion that gentrification does not cause as much displace-
ment as might be expected, but it causes enough disruption to indi-
viduals that we should try to mitigate its impact.
This brings me to three main arguments.
Man of this era, for they were “communities [built] in his image.”6 By
contrast, the “creative” economy that has emerged more recently os-
tensibly values independence, adaptability, and imagination; creative
workers seek neighborhoods that express those traits— or at least
purport to. Other demographic trends, such as the proliferation of
two-earner families and the choice by women to have children later
in their lives, have also contributed to the appeal of living in a city.
Among academics, such an explanation of gentrification’s origins
is known as a consumption-side theory: consumers drove the migration
of middle- and upper-middle-income individuals back to the city.
Chapter 6 explains the “production-side” model, which holds that
real estate developers, investors, and marketers were instead respon-
sible.
ment. Mayors and other local leaders were quick to pooh-pooh such
concerns, and the federal government acted too slowly. Nor did
the nonprofit sector effectively intervene; instead it chose to battle
redlining. The answer these apologists gave again and again was that
gentrification was a fringe phenomenon— until, suddenly it wasn’t.
At that point, the solutions that would have been cheap to impose in
the 1970s and ’80s were several times as expensive.
moral “right to the city” as some activists have suggested they do; but
I do agree society is better off minimizing the disruption to the lives
of large numbers of people.
I also try to avoid any nostalgia of pre-gentrified urban places.
Those supposedly noble industrial jobs of the 1940s and ’50s where
people (or at least white men) could earn an honest living often in-
volved back-breaking labor and were unsafe; the quaint neighbor-
hoods we miss today gained their sense of community from segrega-
tion and ethnic tribalism. The breakdown of those communities came
in part due to antidiscrimination laws, intermarriage, and assimila-
tion. Many writers lament the fact that cities have become less “in-
teresting” because of the disappearance of ethnic enclaves. But think
about this: If you come upon a place and declare it “interesting” or
“uninteresting,” aren’t you seeing a neighborhood as something that
exists for your enjoyment, rather than viewing it from the perspec-
tive of the people who are living there? Let’s judge neighborhoods
first on how they serve their inhabitants rather than on whether they
please visitors.
I provide some historical context to gentrification in order to chal-
lenge these preconceptions from the Left and Right. Readers must
recognize the sorry state in which most American cities found them-
selves in the 1950s and ’60s in order to consider fairly whether gen-
trification has done more harm than good. A historical account also
shows just how difficult it is to distinguish between the idealism that
sparked gentrification, and the exploitation of that ideal. Most of all,
history tells us what it was like for mayors, homeowners, and land-
lords to be there, at any number of critical junctures over the past
sixty years, uncertain whether cities would flourish or perish.
also has unique features that have exacerbated its housing shortage.
The city’s geographic area— a mere 46 square miles, some of which
is undevelopable due to its topography— was prematurely circum-
scribed in the nineteenth century. The economic development of the
Bay Area would further complicate San Francisco’s future, because
job centers grew both downtown and in the farmland 30 miles to the
south, which came to be known as Silicon Valley. Those two factors
would lead to housing and transportation problems that found their
locus in the Mission District, a working-class area with a strong sense
of community.
In chapter 4, the action moves to the Near North Side of Chicago, a
notable area where great wealth and deep poverty have existed nearly
adjacent to one another since the early 1900s. In the 1950s and 1960s,
the same back-to-the-city impulse that affected Brooklyn Heights
took root in Chicago’s Old Town. Affluent residents both embraced
urban renewal and advocated historic preservation, not realizing that
they would price out the idiosyncrasy and diversity that had made
their neighborhood special. As Old Town’s wealth spread, it butted
up against one of the city’s most violent public housing complexes,
Cabrini-Green, right at a time when the Chicago Housing Author-
ity had come to a standstill, unable to build new complexes because
of politics, or to repair the old ones because of finances. Those two
factors— the growing affluence of the city, and the collapse of public
housing— would together set the stage for the unthinkable: the gen-
trification of Cabrini-Green.
The second part of this book describes the era from the mid-1970s
to 2000. Gentrification was fully underway and had in fact engen-
dered a backlash that we have largely forgotten about today. I devote
chapter 5 largely to the activities of a university professor from Phila-
delphia, Conrad Weiler, who tried to make the public, and govern-
ment, aware of the potential downsides of gentrification. He pro-
posed many of the solutions that are still circulated today— such as
buying up buildings and converting them to permanently affordable
housing. Those ideas would have been a lot cheaper had they been
implemented at 1975 prices than at today’s.
I revisit New York and San Francisco in chapters 6 and 7, respec-
tively tracing how the rise of the so-called creative class was partly,
though not wholly, responsible for those cities’ fiscal health in the
1980s and 1990s— as well as their gentrification. Brooklyn’s Dumbo
neighborhood provides a fascinating case study of artist-led gentri-
fication, as well as of a developer’s ability to take advantage of it. The
developer in question, David Walentas, cleverly crafted a myth that
the neighborhood was dead when he found it, and encouraged artists
to lend the area some cachet before kicking them out. But Walentas
also deserves more admiration than he typically receives; he metic-
ulously re-created the development patterns he witnessed in SoHo
and applied many of the principles outlined by Jane Jacobs in her
1961 treatise, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, which has
emerged as the bible of contemporary planning.
San Francisco made its housing shortage worse for itself— though
sometimes in ways that no one could have predicted. Housing and
community preservation activists were so burned by the excesses
of urban renewal in the city that it took a strict no-displacement ap-
proach. As a result, they pushed for zoning changes that permitted
very little new residential building, and limited the amount of new
office space that could be created in any single year. The idea was that
by curbing the growth of jobs, the legislation would also reduce the
price pressure on housing. Unfortunately, real estate developers and
employers found ways around the law.
I also devote a chapter to rent regulations, which have recently
gained popularity as an antidote to gentrification. While it is tempt-
ing, as many conservative commentators believe, to argue that rent
restrictions exacerbate high housing prices, the evidence suggests
their impact has been minimal. In large part, that’s because contem-
porary rent laws already accommodate some degree of free-market
economics. At the same time, poorly written rent control laws can
Chief among them is the stance, adopted too often over these past six
decades by people in power, that gentrification is a fringe phenom-
enon that is not likely to grow, and whose benefits outweigh its costs.
We had solutions to displacement all along; what we failed to do was
to implement them.
Despite the current crisis, I hope readers find something to laugh
at in this book. The history of gentrification is full of inspiration and
humor, of unintended consequences and delightful surprises, of very
committed individuals working— at times at cross purposes or with
bitterness toward one another— but nonetheless with the common
conviction that humans living in close proximity to one another,
sacrificing private space in favor of communal space, encountering
strangers and acquaintances on the street, is the best civilization has
to offer.