What We See is Called Urban Renewal: Do See Enough to Care?

Gentrification (or urban recycling) is a process of community change through which old, dilapidate housing is bought, refurbished, and then either inhabited by the owners or rented or sold for profit.  It is socially significant because it often displaces the original residents who tend to be lower-or-working-class and replaces them with middle-and-upper middle-class residents who can afford to pay higher price that the property now commands.  It is a particularly acute problem in large U.S. cities where there is a chronic shortage of affordable housing.[1]

Urban renewal …  Often called “Negro removal” by critics, it provides countless examples of the interconnection of racial change with local policy.  Urban renewal systematically destroyed many African American communities and businesses and, for most of its history, failed to safeguard the rights and well-being of those forcibly relocated from those homes and businesses.[2]

Another days journey on Auburn Avenue. It was Saturday morning, March 1, 2014, and I wanted to shoot at sunrise.  I got up around 5:00 a.m., got my stuff together and off I went.  I arrived well before sunrise. Parked my care at Hilliard and Auburn Avenue and took off down Sweet Auburn. I was surprised to see so much life on the street so early in the morning.  Workers were working.  The workers were removing parts of the cobble stone street to be replaced by the asphalt and black tar that was to become the new Auburn Avenue.

The workers were African American, Latino and White.  They were going about their work and I was a going about my work.  We didn’t talk much but our eyes caught each other’s eyes.  It was as if we were asking each other what are you doing?  One asked me, why do you want our picture, or why are you taking our pictures?  As always I handed him one of my cards and began to tell of my desire to document this transformation.  He nodded, took the card, and returned to work.

As this process continues I am deeply moved by what I see. I see the street being transformed before my eyes and I am seeing more and more for sale signs popping up on the buildings.  Buildings that are vacant and occupied are now for sale.  The dramatic rise in the number of for sale signs has been a bit jarring.  What is this all about?   Who will the new tenants be?  Who will own and run the new business?

As the morning proceeds I spend most of my time camped out between Bell and Fort Street on either side of Interstate Seventy-Five.  The construction activity and the foot traffic this morning is around the under path of Interstate Seventy-Five. Many people live under Interstate Seventy-Five; this is their resting place. As the workers shift change the activity moves from the Bell and Auburn side of the under path over to the Fort Street side, where the park is and where the large sculpture of John Wesley Dobbs, the man who named this street, sits and watches the construction / deconstruction / reconstruction.  Across from the park is Thelma’s Barbecue that is still open but the building recently was put up for sale. 

What I am witnessing is gentrification / urban renewal. This is a take over and a push out.  Most of this morning I spent talking with Roy. Roy he is an entrepreneur who lives on Sweet Auburn and operates his mobile car wash.  Roy says to me, “This is over.  They about to get us out of here.  This thing has changed.” Roy is right…it has changed...it isn’t changing…it has happened.  Do we care enough for those who live on these streets as residents and business owners to at least pay attention?  Where will they go? How will they live? How will we journey along beside them as they struggle to survive? How many more times will this happen in our city?  When does progress mean oppress?

---

[1]  The Blackwell Dictionary of Sociology  by Alan G. Johnson  (Blackwell Reference, 1995), p. 120.

[2] Manning Thomas, June and Marsha Ritzdorf (editors) Urban Planning and the African American Community: In the Shadows  (Sage Publications, 1970), p. 8.