Venkatesh and Kotlowitz on the decentralization of public housing

As part of their Slate dialogue (previously posted on), journalist Alex Kotlowitz and sociologist Sudhir Venkatesh, both of whom have spent decades doing research in Chicago projects, consider the broad implications of public housing demolition across the country. (Think of the scene early in the third season of The Wire, when Bodie and Poot watch as the politicos set dynamite to their geographic hub.)

First some background, from Venkatesh:

It is interesting to note how this movement to demolish distressed public housing began. The objective was to replace concentrated, highly segregated inner-city poverty with "mixed-income" housing in which the black poor would live with the nonblack middle class. Sounds noble enough. The problem was that there was no social science evidence that this kind of mixing was possible or even preferable. Hundreds of millions of dollars were given by HUD to mayors, with minimal oversight. All this rested on the hope that the poor would either live in newly designed mixed-income neighborhoods—or use vouchers to live among the middle class...

This massive federal initiative to alleviate poverty was done with the best of intentions: namely, to create vibrant, economically diverse neighborhoods. And nearly every tenant I ever met agreed that the conditions of the projects needed to be changed. But, in the end, the pace of demolition and relocation was too quick, there were few watchdogs looking to see that government monies were spent effectively, and the stories were never sexy enough to sustain the attention of academics and journalists. So, not surprisingly, we now hear calls of "land grabs" on the part of developers and of mayors wanting to get rid of the poor.

Now that the urban poor are out of sight, Kotlowitz wonders if they're out of mind.

The demolition of public housing will change the landscape of our cities and the lives of the poor for decades to come. I fear that Chicago and other cities will come to resemble the cities of Western Europe, where the poor—in Europe's case, mostly new immigrants—ring the city like a wreath. Truly out of sight, out of mind. What are the implications for cities? For addressing poverty? For American politics? What has happened to J.T., Ms. Bailey, and the others in your book now that their community has been leveled? I drive by that 2-mile stretch of what used to be the Robert Taylor Homes and Stateway Gardens, and it takes my breath away. It's all urban prairie, a stretch of vacant land awaiting the new homes to be built. Some 50 years ago, as the city's public-housing high-rises were being constructed, a local journalist suggested, in a moment of naive hope, that squalor is going out of fashion. I fear that people drive by that 2-mile stretch of now-empty land and think the same thing.

Decentralizing poverty, Venkatesh argues, dissipates anti-poverty work:

It's hard to imagine that a family could be worse off than in the projects! But, in fact, as the poor migrate outward, they find communities that simply don't have the services to cope with the influx of needy households: There are not enough settlement houses and faith-based organizations providing food and clothing; there is minimal affordable housing; landlords tend not to have much experience with the travails of poor people; and schools can't provide remedial education or day care. Public housing was more than simply shelter for most families. It was a place in which a number of supportive services for the poor congealed. Policymakers have simply hoped that the private market would provide a similar safety net and, to date, it hasn't occurred. Look around Baltimore, Atlanta, Chicago, and Miami and you see a real mess.

This is the urban fringe, and as Venkatesh notes, it produces some remarkable stories: "Some of it is truly inspiring: Dorothy Battie helps a network of a dozen families stay together by reinforcing the kind of sharing they used to experience in the projects: They trade day care for free food, one family cooks while the other does the laundry… and these families may be traveling several miles to do this, where once they lived on separate floors. Even the squatters have come together by staying in touch with one another and helping one another deal with homelessness."

Venkatesh and Kotlowitz on what they owe their subjects

A great dialogue on Slate on the relationship between outside observers (Kotlowitz is a journalist, Venkatesh a sociologist) and their inner-city subjects. They consider their own experiences balancing opposing ethical concerns--objectivity and independence on the one hand; and giving something back to their often poor subjects on the other. And in this research, how does the reporter observe events without shaping them?

These are hard, important questions that all journalists writing on marginal communities wrestle with. Adrian Nicole LeBlanc spent a decade with a couple women in the South Bronx, seeing them make bad decisions (with bad options) time and again, but still keeps herself out of both the narrative (and, presumably, the events). David Simon is completely absent in the events depicted in The Corner, though in a useful postscript notes that he paid for some things, within ethical bounds (such as cab rides to jobs). In contrast, Barbara Ehrenreich and Ted Conover (with whom I'm studying) place themselves himself in their narratives, rejecting the idea that a highly educated woman and a white guy can exist in blue collar and non-white worlds without having some impact on events. Rob Boynton (another teacher of mine) has compiled a series of interviews with "new new journalists" (immersive, participatory journalists) on their methods of negotiating this terrain.

Venkatesh and Kotlowitz seem to agree: there's no right answer, and the complexity of the question requires more dialog. Sounds like they're doing a pitch for j-school!

Evangelicals and the domestic poor

Nicholas Kristof has an interesting piece on the impact of evangelicals in fighting global poverty, climate change, and in Darfur. (He's careful to distinguish between this new type of evangelical and the gay-baiting, anti-abortion Pat Robertson type.)

He talks with Rev. Rick Warren, author of "The Purpose Driven Life" and the head of a California megachurch:

“I realized they [a 25 person church in Africa] were doing more for the poor than my entire megachurch,” Mr. Warren said, with cheerful exaggeration. “It was like a knife in the heart.” So Mr. Warren mobilized his vast Saddleback Church to fight AIDS, malaria and poverty in 68 countries. Since then, more than 7,500 members of his church have paid their own way to volunteer in poor countries — and once they see the poverty, they immediately want to do more.

Rev. Warren's remarks highlight a distinct feature of evangelical anti-poverty work: its focus is primarily, if not exclusively, international. America's poor in struggling cities and Appalachian backwaters aren't his focus. (Granted, there's poor and there's really poor, but we do have problems here.)

“Almost all of my work is in the third world,” Mr. Warren said. “I couldn’t care less about politics, the culture wars. My only interest is to get people to care about Darfurs and Rwandas.”

Interesting quote. The politics of welfare--enormously contentious and divisive partisan issues over the last 30 years--have turned the social work-minded Christian right away from addressing American poverty. Is he chanelling the conservative anti-welfare platform, e.g., poor people in this country (disproportionately drug addicted anti-social types, or so the thinking goes) deserve what they get? Or is he saying that this kind of work wouldn't be possible in this country because of opposition from the right?