City Limits Magazine, November 1992 Issue

8/3/2019 City Limits Magazine, November 1992 Issue

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---November 1992 New York 's C ommun ity A ffa irs New s M agazine

U N IO N B U S T IN G IN T H E S H E L T E R S ?P O S S E F O R C H A N G E D L O S S U R E S T U R N S 2 0

IrAn uphill struggle against pollution-and government-in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

$2.5


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C i ~ V L i m i ~ s Volume XVII Number 9

City Limits is published ten times per year.monthly except bi-monthly issues in June/July an d August/September. by the City LimitsCommunity Information Service . Inc . a non profit organization devoted to disseminatinginformation concerning neighborhoodrevitalization.SponsorsAssociation for Neighborhood an dHousing Development. Inc.New York Urban CoalitionPratt Institute Center for Community an dEnvironmental DevelopmentUrban Homesteading Assistance BoardBoard of DirectorsEddie Bautista. NYLPIICharter Rights

ProjectBeverly Cheuvront.Former City LimitsEditorMary Martinez. Montefiore HospitalRebecca Reich. Turf CompaniesAndrew Reicher. UHABTom Robbins. JournalistJay Small. ANHDWalter Stafford . New York UniversityDoug Turetsky . Former City Limits Editor,Pete Williams . Center for Law andSocial Justice AffiJiatians for identification anJy.

Subscription rates are: for individuals an dcommunity groups, $20 /0n e Year. $30/TwoYears; for businesses . foundations , banks .government agencies and libraries. $35/0neYear. $50/Two Years. Low income, unemployed.$10/0ne Year.City Limits welcomes comments and articlecontributions. Please include a stamped , selfaddressed envelope for return manuscripts.Material in City Limits does not necessarilyreflect the opinion ofthe sponsoring organizations. Send correspondence to: City Limits.40 Princ e St.. New York.NY 10012.Postmaster:Send address changes to City Limits. 40 PrinceSt.. NYC 10012.

Second class postage paidNew York . NY 10001City Limits (ISSN 0199-0330)(212) 925-9820FAX (212) 966-3407Editor: Lisa GlazerSenior Editor: Andrew WhiteAssociate Editor: Steve MitraContributing Editors: Mary Keefe. Errol Louis.Peter Marcuse , Margaret MittelbachPro duction: Chip CliffeAdvertising Representative: Faith WigginsOffice Assistant: Seymour GreenInterns: Beth Greenfield. Donna LeslieProofreader: Sandy SocolarPhotographers: Isa Brito. F.M. KearneyCopyright 1992. All Rights Reserved. Noportion or portions of this journal may bereprinted without the express permission ofthe publishers.City Limits is indexed in the Alternative PressIndex an d the Avery Index to ArchitecturalPeriodicalsan d is available on microfilm fromUniversity Microfilms Inter national,Ann Arbor.MI48106.

2 /NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMITS

Wishful Thinking?T

roughout the presidential campaign I kept wishing and wantingand waiting to hear substantive debate about the future ofAmerica'scities-but it just didn't happen. If he deficit was the crazy aunt inthe basement during the past 10 months, then urban issues were thebastard son.Practical matters like low income housing were all but ignored andeven more im portant questions about racism and poverty were completelyshunted aside. They were apparently too disturbing, too divisive, tooperplexing for a campaign of sound bites an d simple factoids. So muchfor those who said the Los Angles riots would leave a profound imprinton the national consciousness.Amid the clutter on my desk is a pitifully thin pile of papers thatcomprise the policy statements from the candidates. President GeorgeBush has just four paragraphs on the topic of poverty. His solutions?Primarily strengthening the family, putting violent criminals in jail andgiving health care tax credits to poor people. This will "restore dignity,independence and security for all American families," according to theBush-Quayle '92 campaign.

Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton (who looks like he's about to bePresident Clinton) doesn't do a whole lot better. His proposals to establish community development banks and microenterprise loan funds area good first step-but only that. Clinton supports a permanent extensionof the federal low-income housing tax credit, bu t fails to see that directfederal subsidies for new affordable housing could provide the samekick-start to the economy that he's proposing with his new plans fortransportation. What 's more, his positions on welfare reform and "personalresponsibility" show little empathy or understanding for the dailystruggles of the poor.It's ironic that the theme of the entire campaign was change-and thatboth candidates offer so little of it for cities in their position papers.Fortunately, position papers and debate statements are not the onlyindicators of what an administration will achieve.There are a few signs of encouragement in the words and ideas comingfrom the Clinton camp, where there's discussion of serious federalinvestment in mass transit, clean water, energy efficient technologies andrecycling, as well as in Head Start and Job Corps for young people. At arecent forum on housing issues, Marc Weiss, a senior policy advisor to theClinton campaign, wore a button proclaiming "Housing Equals Jobs" andsaid that a Clinton administrationwould restore funding for housing andcommunity development to pre-1980 levels over four years. Weiss, whois the director of the Real Estate Development Research Center at Columbia University, also mentioned the need for more money for capacitybuilding at community development corporations.But so far all we've heard is talk. The first 100 days of the nextadministration will be the real test.

* * *We're pleased to announce that we have a new reporter on staff-SteveMitra, who joins City Limits after internships at Long Island Ne wsdayandThe Chicago Tribune. Close readers may have also noticed that we havesome other new names on our masthead. Seymour Green is our officeassistant 20 hours a week, thanks to the support of a federal labor programfor senior citizens, which pays his wages. Sandy Socolar is volunteeringas a proofreader, using the skills she honed at the now-defunct an d muchmissed Guardian. And Faith Wiggins is our new advertising representative. City Limits is growing in other ways-this is our second 36-pageissue in a row. Enjoy!

Cover photograph of Greenpoin t activist Irene Klementowicz by Sian Roderick.


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1 I ' ~ f j " 1 1 I I I FEATURESSouthside SurvivorsA look at a 20-year old Williamsburg community-basedhousing group-Los Sures. 14The Politics of PollutionTrying to put the green back in Greenpoint. 18DEPARTMENTSEditorialWishful Thinking? .................................................. . 2BriefsBronx First ............................................................... 4New York Leads ....................................................... 4Squatter Victory ............................................. .......... 5Federal Rent Subsidies Slashed ...... ........................ 5ProfileA Positive Posse ....................................................... 6PipelinesHomes for the Heartless? ......................................... 8Lost Opportunities ................................................. 11Local Solutions ............................. .... ..................... 24Vital StatisticsA Well-Kept Secret ................................................ 26CityviewStarting All Over Again ......................................... 28Review

Outside and Unwanted ........................ .............. .... 29Letters .. ........... ......................................... .......... ........ 32Resources Clearinghouse .......................................... 33Job Ads and Classifieds .......... .... ............................ .. 35

Posse/Page 6

Heartless/Page 8

Pollution/Page 18

CITY UMITS/NOVEMBER 19921


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BRIEFS

BRONX FIRSTAfter seven years of discussions, open hearings, draftingsessions-and a whole lot ofhoping-a development plancreateO by Community Board

Three in the South Bronx wasrecently approved unanimouslyby the City Planning Commission. It is the first communityinitiated plannin_g effort in thecity to receive official approval."It's a milestone event," saysJohn Dudley, the district manager of Community BoardThree, adding that the plan is"setting the pace city-wide forwhat community planningshould be ."Known as "Partnership forthe Future," the plan provides aframework for the comprehensive revitalization of CommunityBoard Three, which includes theneighborhoods of Bathgate,Melrose, Claremont, Morrisaniaand Crotona Park East.The City Planning Commission approved the plan'srecommendations for highdensity, mixed-income housinginstead of single-family suburbon-style homes like thoserecently built in the area .However, they requestedmodifications in the recommendation to promote residentialover industrial development.Other recommendations thatwere approved include creatinga greenway to link CrotonaPark to the Bronx's other majorparks and establishing a pilotrecycling program.The plan was a collaborativeeffort between members of thecommunity board, communityleaders and residents of theBronx, with the ConsumerFarmer Foundation coordinatingefforts and writing the 129-page plan.

"Our strategy was to workwith the city, not against them,to force them to include thecommunity," says Eldred Hill, aformer district manager , nowretired, who initiated the localplanning effort.Community Board Three isone of the poorest neighborhoods in New York, ranking57th out of the 59 communitydistricts in the city on the bosisof family income. The area'spapulation has declined enormously in the past 30 years,4jNOVEMBER 1992jCITY UMITS

Giant Step Fonranl: John Dudley, district manager of Community BoardThree in the South Bronx, says approval of a community-initiateddevelopm ent plan is a "milestone."from 150,000 in 1960 to just58,000 in 1990. Also, available housing has decreasedfrom 46,000 units in 1970 toonly 19,600 in 1990, leavinghalf the papulation crammedinto high-rise public housing.The community board plan iscurrently awaiting approval bythe City Council. If that isgranted, "Partnership for theFuture" will become a planningguide for all city agencies in thearea. While its recommendations are not legally binding,Hill says the plan provides aframework that city agencies"have got to respond to."Others soy the plan will provideguiding principles for development projects going through thecity's land use approval process.Besides the South Bronxplan, there are many othercommunity-bosed plans invarious stages of developmentunder the "197a" provisions ofthe recently-revised city charter,according to Carol Clark, thedeputy executive director of theDepartment of City Planning.The plans are from communityboards in lower Manhattan;Chelsea and Clinton; the UpperWest Side; Williamsburg andGreenpoint; South Brooklyn;Downtown Brooklyn; as well asone from Queens and anotherfrom Staten Island. 0 BethG ...nfI.ld

NEW YORK LEADSNew York housing advocateslike to applaud their city as a

center for innovation-and thefederal government apparentlyagreed recently, awarding theNew York region the greatestamount of money in the countryfor new initiatives to foster homeownership for low incomefamilies."I'm sure we got more thanour fair share," of the grants,says Adam Glantz, the localspokesperson for the federalDepartment of Housing andUrban Development (HUD).Eleven local organizations wererecently awarded a total of $6.5million that will help build orrenovate 1,500 units of housing.Federal officials originallyintended to distribute 'Iust ahandful of grants loca Iy withinthe second phase of the HOPEprogram, which stands forHomeownership and Opportunities for People Everywhere.But the number of applicationsprompted them to change theirminds, Glantz says.The grants ar e well -timed tocoincide with the presidentialelection , but this doesn't dim thebuoyan0' of the recipients,many of whom haven't receivedfederal funding for more than adecade. Summing up manygrantees ' feelings, Victor Bachfrom the Community ServiceSociety says, ''This was asurprise and a delight."Most of the recipients will usethe money to start turningneglected city-owned buildingsinto tenant-owned, low -incomecooperatives or mutual housingassociations where buildingsare cooperatively owned bytenants and community groups.

New York City's Departmentof Housing Preservation andDevelopment received thelargest single grant, $5 million,to implement communitycontrolled housing effortsthrough the Cooper SquareMutual Housing Association inthe lower East Side and theUnited Tenants AssociationMutual Housing Association onthe Upper West Side.The other grants are forplanning projects. The recipientsinclude the Consumer FarmerFoundation ($320,800); theCommunity Service Society ofNew York ($197,500) ; BedfordThroop Housing ($194,000); EIBarrio's FightbOck ($200,000);lower East Side Housing($85,000); the Mutual HousingAssociation of New York($36,800); East Harlem Renewal ($80,000); and theCarroll Gardens Association($26,700) . One grant wasawarded to the city of Newarkand another to an Albonyhousing group.The largest planning grant,to the Consumer Farmer Foundation, will be disbursed to fourcommunity-bosed groups in theSouth Bronx that are porticipotin.g in a foundation-backedeffort known as the Comprehensive Community RevitalizationProgram. The groups-theBanana Kelly CommunityImprovement Association,Promesa, the Mid-Bronx Desperadoes and the Mid-BronxSenior C i t i z e n ~ Council-willuse the funds to start creatinglow-income co-ops in 17 cityowned buildings clustered in theSouth Bronx.The Community ServiceSociety grant will also filterdown to a number of groups.''The purpose of the grant is tobuild four local mutual housingentities and create a city-wideMutual Housing Trust," explainsBach from CSS, who has beendeveloping the Mutual HousingTrust concept with the UrbanCoolition and the Urban Homesteading Assistance Board .The participating groupsinclude the OceanhillBrownsville Tenants Association,the Northern Manhattan Im-provement Corporation and theEcumenical Community Devel opment Organization. 0 UsaGlazer


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SQUAnER VICTORYPersistent community organizing has forced the city'shousing department to seriouslyconsider creating a one-timeamnesty to provide leases forsquatters in city-owned buildings. The policy shift could savebetween 50 0 and 900 familiesfrom eviction.Valerie Jo Bradley, a spokesperson for the Department ofHousing Preservation andDevelopment (HPD) says theamnesty is "almost certain" tobecome official policy.Until recently the housingdepartment has sought toenforce its Unauthorized Occu-

pant Policy, which states thatpeople who moved into cityowned buildings without HPDauthorization after April 1,1988, are subject to eviction .Under the proposed amnesty,anyone who has applied forlegal tenancy or who is listed inHPD records as an occupant asof May 1, 1992, can be considered fOr a lease.Tenant advocates attributethe proposed policy shift to asummer-long organizingcampaign. ''The only reasonthey're changing their policynow is because of the strengththe tenants showed," says LumiHilario, a housing specialist atthe Ecumenical Community

FEDERAL RENT SUBSIDIES SLASHEDIn the twilight session of the102nd Congress last month,legislators passed a bill thatincludes a severe funding cut forthe nation's largest low-incomehousing program. The cuts tothe Section Eight program couldhave dire consequences in NewYork, where the subsidy is thebockbone of the city's low-income housing efforts."It's awful. It's just awful. I

think it's appalling," saysRoberta Youmans of the National Housing Law Project inWashington .Section Eight, which isadministered here by the NewYork City Housing Authority,makes market-rate apartmentsaffordable to low-incomepeople by subsidizing a largeportion of their rent each month.Tenants receive the subsidy inthe form of a federal voucher orcertificate and usually live inprivately-owned buildings,paying about one-third of theirincome in rent.The cuts do not affect tenantswho already have the subsidy.But funding for new SectionEight vouchers and certificateswill be about 30 percent belowlast year's appropriation ifPresident Bush signs the bill, asexpected.The cuts come at a timewhen 132,200 New Yorkersare on a waiting list for SectionEight housing subsidies-a listthat has grown by 50,000 in

two years-and the city isbecoming increasingly d:pendent on the program for Itshomeless and low-incomehousing policies.For federal fiscal year 1993,which began October 1, Coneress appropriated a total of$1.2 billion dollars for newvouchers and certificates to bedistributed nationally. That'sdown from $1 .7 billion in1992 . Astonishingly, the cutsare not simply the result ofbudget woes. They occurred inlarge part because of theSenate 's frustration over laxoversight at the Department ofHousing and Urbon Development (HUD). In a report accompanying the bill, DemocraticSenator Barbara Mikulski ofMarylarid blasted the depar tment for "posing a serious riskto the American taxpayers"because the program lacks "acredible data managementsystem." Advocates criticizeMikulski for letting bureaucraticconcerns block needed funds forlow-income housing.Mayor David Dinkins' newpolicy for homeless families,announced in September, relieson Section Eight to providemore than half of all plannedpermanent housing for homelessfamilies in the future. The planincludes 2,600 Section Eightcertificates and vouchers to bedistributed to families in theshelter system next year, to help

Development Organization whoworked on the campaign, alongwith staff from the MetropolitanCouncil on Housing, CongresoNacional Daminicano, theRiverside-Edgecombe Neighborhood Association andnumerous families affected bythe city's policy.In June, activists marchedand protested at the home ofDeputy Mayor Bill Lynch . InJuly, they demonstrated at anHPD office when a group of"unauthorized occupants" at53 7 West 133rd Street-mostlyyoung women with childrenwere locked out of their apart ments by HPD . Sixteen familiesreceived leases shortly after

them pay for apartments ownedby private landlords or managed by community groups.Those subsidies comprisealmost three-quarters of lastyear's federal allocation for thecity, and are not threatened bythe federal cuts. But the newhomeless policy signals agrowing dependence on SectionEight subsidies in city government.In addition, many of thehousing rehabilitation prOlramsof the city's Department ofHousing Preservation andDevelopment (HPD) are bosedon the assumption that tenantsof buildings run by non profitsand private landlords willreceive Section Eight subsidies,and thus pay moderately highrents, keeping the newlyrepaired buildings financiallyaRoot.For instance, the owner of aprivately-owned building at 56 0West 144th Street receivednearly $1 million dollars ingovernment funds and low interest bonk loons last yearthrough the agency' s RentalRehabilitation ImprovementProgram to repair the occupied,44 -unit tenement. The housingdepartment increased rents inthe building to cover the cost ofmaintaining the property; oncethe work is complete, a vacanttwo-bedroom apartment willrent for $578 . Current lowincome tenants were promisedSection Eight subsidies to helpthem afford the increase . Now

these demonstrations.The fight for tenancy rightsfor families without leases incity-owned buildings began wa class action lawsuit in 1989by the Legal Aid Society.While applauding theproposed amnesty, Legal Aidattorney Michael Kink notes thnot all the policy glitches havebeen solved. For one, HPDrecords are poorly maintainedand may not have an up-to-dalisting of occupants . Also, theamendments require occupantto pay bock rent before theycan become tenants, even ifthey were living in apartmentswith near-uninhabitable conditions. cJ Barbara Fedd . . .

the availability of subsidies forsimilar projects in the future isquestion.The Congressional appropriations bill was not a compledisaster as far as Section Eightis concerned, advocates say,because it eased some of themore onerous provisions of the1990 housing act. Under thatlaw, the city's housing authoritwill have to find 1,600 "volunteer" Section Eight recipients tosign a contract saying they wilwork towards paying the fullamount of their rent within fiveyears. In exchange, they will boffered incentives includingaccess to job training, day cartransportation and other services . But if they don' t fulfill thecontract and become fullyindependent, they could still lotheir Section Eight voucher atthe end of five years.The new bill changed someof the rules for the program,known as Family Self Sufficiency, by allowing the housinauthority more leeway increating incentives and establishing a right to grievancehearings for tenants who fail tobecome independent. Congresalso pointed out that it wasunrealistic to expect the disabled , the elderly, or mothers very young children to take pain the program, and prohibitehousing authorities from discriminating aga inst them in theallocation of Section Eightcertificates and vouchers.Andr.w Whit.

CITY UMITS/NOVEMBER 1992


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By Elaine Iandoli

The Positive PosseYouth helping youth-including drug dealers.Cadling a cassette player pumping rap from the group MainSource, Raheed Bryant, 16,trudges along the streets of theSouth Bronx. With George Carter, also16, by hi s side, he ducks into asuperette on Longwood Avenue to getsome junk food. Then it's back to thestreet, to the cracked sidewalks, broken glass an d trash-strewn lots thatpockmark much of the neighborhood.A group of young men glare andstop their conversation about a videogame as Bryant and Carter pass acrowded playground on DawsonStreet. Perhaps another time, the teenswill strike up a conversation withthese same young men, give themcondoms or hand out a sheet detailinglocal job opportunities.The two teens, wh o call their ow nrap duo "Lyrical Assassins," are justchecking the neighborhood, scoutingthe scene as part of their work forPosse for Change.Now in its second year, Posse forChange is the reverse image of thestreet posses known for drug dealing.As its name says, Posse for Change isa tight-knit cadre of young peopleworking to stop the drug dealing andself-destructive behavior that's ravaging entire communities in New York.They've all ha d some experience withthe drug trade. "It ain't cool no more,"comments Bryant as he strolls acrossa South Bronx field.Posse for Change is a program ru nby Youth Force, a nonprofit organization within the Citizens Committeefor New York. With $300,000 from theNew York State Department of Criminal Justice Services and grants fromfour private foundations, there arePosse for Change groups working thestreets of East Tremont, the SouthBronx, Central Harlem, BushwickandSoutheast Queens.The posse is part of a movementwithin advocacy circles and localgovernment to develop dozens of newprograms for the city's youth. In adeparture from 1980s youth policiesthat focused on prisons and delinquency projects, government moneyis now funding everything from latenight youth centers to counselingservices, street organizing projects andsports tournaments, all in an effort toa/NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMRS

develop young people's talents andsteer them into productive work (seeCityLimits, August/September 1992)."I think they're at the cutting edgeof youth programs," says Michael

"They're at thecutting edge of

youth programs."

Greene from the Office of the DeputyMayor for Public Safety, which administers one of the Posse's grants."They really respect the skills andpotential skills of he youth they workwith."Instead of depending on adults,Posse for Change takes advantage ofthe talents of youngpeople who understand their peers. "Young people are

able to talk to other young people, andhave a lot of impact," says VivianBrady, the 25-year-old direc tor of theprogram. Teresa Francis, a youthcoordinator with the group, agrees.As she explains, "They dress the same,they talk the same, the lingo is thesame."Focus on the DealerPosse for Change differs from mostother programs that target drug problems by focusing on users. Here, thefocus is on the dealer. "We feel thatdealing is just as addictive as using,"says Keith Hyman, 20, a self-describedformer drug trafficker and one of fourfull-time youth coordinators in theprogram.Posse members are recruitedthrough community based organizations, street outreach and word ofmouth, and they are paid $50 a weekfor food and transportation. Some havehad family or friends that used drugs,while others were dealers themselves.They know that people deal fordifferent reasons-money for clothes,money for rent, power, prestige, respect. Some dealers even use theirearnings to put siblings throughprivate school or put food on the familytable.Angel Cintron, a Posse for Changeyouth organizer who started dealing


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drugs when he was 11 years old, recallsgiving his family money made fromselling drugs, helping another familystave off an eviction and donatingcash to fix up a neighborhood park.But one night, as he stood on the streetwith a cousin, a rival pulled a gun.Suddenly, the drug dealing businesshe ran with his cousins lost its thrill."I was right by my cousin when hegot shot," says Cintron, a solemn, softspoken 18-year old. "I stood there andwatched my cousin get gunned down.He dropped into my arms."Cintron later quit his high-leveldealing job. These days, his messageis simple: "All that stuff comes to anend," he tells a younger generation ofdealers who aspire to make severalthousand dollars a week, like he sayshe once did. "It comes to an en d whenyou're locked up or get shot."Posse for Change runs three programs. One concentrates on trainingyoung people to organize events an dprojects in their neighborhoods. Forexample, posse members in EastTremont learned ho w to raise moneyand set up their own youth center.Last summer, with funds from thestate, the city and charities, posseorganizers worked on "Take Back thePark" projects at Marcus Garvey Parkin Harlem and Putnam Park inBushwick. They helped plan movies,

games, and musical events, all in aneffort to keep the parks drug-free.Persistent Street OutreachThe second posse program-streetoutreach-teaches posse membershow to counsel other teens. Peer counselors learn about stereotypes throughrole-playing games. Theyhit the streets

"I stood thereand watched mycousin get gunneddown. He dropped

into my arms."in groups of wo or three, plan to makeinroads in a neighborhood, and bringjob lists and phone numbers of agencies that can help. They also hand outcondoms and AIDS information. Thisyear, they plan to develop a tip sheeton housing and homeless services.The approach is non-confronta-

tional-and persistent. "You gottapersuade 'em," Bryant says. "If theylet us talk to them, maybe we can dosomething to help them." Anotheyouth coordinator, GabriellBernardez adds, "You make them seeyou do want to help them."Above all, peer counselors in thestreet outreach program are committed to the neighborhoods. They comeback week after week. I t might takeweeks or months to break through thebravado or fear that dealers have-buthey still keep trying. "If people don'listen to me, I go to somebody else,"Bryant says. "I keep going around 'tisomebody listens."Francis, a student at Borough oManhattan Community College, saystreet outreach workers don't want totake over communities or preach toteens. They just want to lead othekids away from the things that hurthem and their neighbors. They wanto show them alternatives-and teachthem about theirown power to changeA third posse program, StrictlyBusiness, will offer training andgrants-starting this December-toteens who want to start their ownlegitimate business like runningfoodstands or selling T-shirts.Every week, Brady and "central"posse members meet to talk abouupcoming projects an d brainstormabout new ideas. A different teen

chairs each meeting and the sessionsstart with "ice breakers," games omental exercises designed to teachsome small lesson, like respect ocommitment to a goal. Posse membersdesign fliers, make calls to find ouabout jobs, or solicit agencies for freecondoms to pass out. A posse group athe Spofford Correctional Institutproduces a newspaper. An additionaprogram is planned for an alternativeincarceration center in CentraHarlem. Someday, posse memberhope to operate a "street universityfrom a mobile van.The ultimate goal is to show drugdealers that they can use theiconsiderable skills an d abilities inmore productive way. "There is tharaw material there," Brady says"There's a lot to build on. It's jusabout channeling it in the righdirection. "::ii "This," adds Cintron, "is a possthat's positive." 0

eli Elaine Iandoli is a freelance journalis t and an urban affairs graduate student at Hunter College.

CITY UMITS/NOVEMBER 1992/


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By Aaron Jaffe and Andrew White

Unions in the Nonprofit Shelters:Homes for the Heartless?The city's largest operator of privately-run shelters for homelessfainilies is facing a federal investigation of alleged antiunion activity following a failed, year-long organizing effortby professional counseling staff in the Bronx. The nonprofitorganizat ion, Homes for the Homeless, operates four of the largestshelters in the city, way-stations for a total of 520 homelessfamilies.

The investigation by the NationalLabor Relations Board (NLRB) is thedenouement ofa bitter fight over unionrepresentation at the Prospect Interfaith Family Inn, which climaxed inJuly with the firings and resignationsof the counselors that were involvedin the campaign. The investigation bythe board is based on three complaintsfiled by former staffers alleging thatmanagement at Homes for the Homeless illegally dismissed one employee,transferred another an d suspendedyet another because of their organizingactivities. Under federal labor law,it is illegal for an employer to penalizeemployees for union organizing activity.Eight former employees of the organization describe tactics bymanagement that they allege weredesigned to destroy the union organizing effort. In the end, they say, all ofthose employees involved were eitherfired, had reason to believe they wereabout to be fired, or felt intimidatedby management.

the [former employees'] allegationsacross the board are false. In the end,that's what the conclusion is going tobe."

drug abuse counseling.The union battle at the Prospectshelter comes at a time when the cityis slowly moving out of the shelterbusiness and becoming increasinglydependent on private, nonprofitagencies that aren'tbound by contractswith city social service unions. Wagesfor professional workers with bachelor's degrees in the private sheltersare usually in the $20,000 to $25,000range, while comparable workers incity shelters earn between $25,400and $31,000 an d have high-quality

"They've gotten rid of everybodywho was originally in family servicesat Prospect. They were threatened byus," says Chris tine Iyer, a former counselor an d one of the complainantsnamed in the NLRB charges. "Theyjust got rid of us because they wereafraid of the union." After participating in an effort to unionize theprofessional staff at the shelter, Iyerfound herself transferred to a newshelter in Manhattan. She says bitterness about the ordeal drove her out ofthe city to New England.

Battling the Bosses: Union organizer Ed Sabol says shelter staffers "didn't want to be treated inan arbitrary and capricious manner. "

Homes for the Homeless executivedirector Ralph Nunez did not returnseveral calls requesting comment onthe charges. However, a spokeswomanfor the organization says that "all ofa/NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMnS

Homes for the Homeless runs fourshelters providing private rooms andintensive social services for homelessfamilies. The organization receivedgovernment grants totalling $15.5million dollars in fiscal year 1991,along with another $844,000 infoundation and trust grants, according to the most recent filings with thestate Attorney General. The sheltersprovide a variety of services, including housing placement, day care, an d

citybenefits and pensions. Benefits inthe nonprofit sector are notoriouslyslim, and employee turnover is rapid,so payroll expenses stay relativelylow. Yet organizing the workforce ofservice-intensivehomeless sheltersa relatively new industry in New YorkCity-is no easy task, say unionleaders. And the leadership at Homesfor the Homeless, some of them say,has done all it can to obstructeffectiveorganization of its professional


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employees.The contest for union representation at the Prospect Interfaith shelterbegan in November, 1990, formeremployees say, at a time when Teamsters Local 917 already represented

the maintenance an d security staff aswell as the counselors and housingplacement workers. The latter twogroups, both considered social serviceprofessionals, voted to drop theirrelationship with the Teamsters localthat autumn because they felt theunion was neither active nor responsive to their grievances.One year later, another group ofprofessionals that had never beenunionized decided to join with thecounselors and housing staff an d jointhe Communications Workers ofAmerica, which represents severalgroups of nonprofit workers, formeremployees say. "We felt that the mainoffice doesn't have the best interestsof the clients in mind so we wanted avoice in order to stop that," says ScottAnderson, one of the former housingcounselors. "There were some suspensions of staff [before thatl, and werealized we didn't have much power,so we started looking into unions."Laid OffIn mid-December, 1991, three ofthe professional staff were laid offshortly after meeting with aides toNunez to complain about how thecompany had handled a case of sexualharassment at the shelter. Thecompany told them the lay-offs werethe result of a funding cut. But moralehad already deteriorated, say theformer employees, an d the eventsteeled them to organize the union."They wanted to be treated withrespect, an d they were having problems with that in the most fundamental ways" says Ed Sabol, the organizerwith the Communications Workers ofAmerica that came to meet the staffabout that time. "They wanted somesecurity in their positions. They didn'twant to be treated in an arbitrary an dcapricious manner and they wantedsome say in the decisions that weremade about their clients."By the spring, workers scheduled astaffreferendum to decide whether orno t to join the CommunicationsWorkers. Several former employeessay that Nunez, whose main communication with staffers up to that pointha d been through memos, then startedshowing up at staff meetings to discourage voting for the union. Dawn

Hymers, a counselor hired in April1992, recalls that Nunez "made twotrips to the shelter and held meetings .. He said some outrageous thingsabout unions," mentioning how Greyhound workers and air trafficcontrollers had lost their jobs becauseof union activity, she says. The Homesfor the Homeless spokeswoman deniesthat Nunez said anything of the kind.Major Selling PointAfter the Teamsters ha d been votedout by the professional staff, the organization continued telling prospective funders that the shelters were

Union organizingin privately-runhomeless sheltersis no easy task.

unionized, according to formergrantwriter Sue Merilees. "Sometimesfunders would ask, 'What is theworkforce like? Is it racially integrated? Is it diverse? ' They might ask,'Is it unionized?' It wasn't like thatwas a major selling point. But if theyasked, that was something we couldtell them." Merilees' replacement atHomes for the Homeless denies thatthe organization touted a unionizedworkforce at the time.In the meantime, the organizationreplaced the shelter's director. Thenew boss, Cid Rivera, promptly beganhiring staff for a new program designed to assist families in danger oflosing their children to foster care.Former colleagues say that the head ofthe new program, a long-time Homesfor the Homeless employee, resignedwhen she found she ha d no powerover who the shelter hired as her staff.Anderson, Hymers and other formeremployees charge that Rivera hiredacquaintances who he knew wouldvote against the union. Homes for theHomeless denies this.Morale of the professional staffcouldn'thave been worse. Suspicionsabout the new employees were rife;older employees say they discovered

they were paid less than the new workers' an d charges of incompetence flewback an d forth behind people's backsBefore long, Hymers says, her supervisor advised he r to look for a new jo"because she thought my job was injeopardy" after Hymers expressesupport for the union. Iyer returnedfrom maternity leave to find that shha d been transferred to a ne w sheltein Manhattan. When she got thereshe found Teamsters Local 917 alreadyinstalled as the union for the professional staff there, and fellow workertold her they had no choice in thematter, she says. That became the basifor a fourth complaint filed with theNLRB, this one against the Teamsterlocal, alleging that the union warecognized without the assent of theemployees. Local 917's representativeLangston McKay, refuses to commenon the allegation.The election to decide on representation by the Communications Workers was held at Prospect in late MayOn July 20, the CommunicationWorkers local an d several staffercalled in the NLRB, which impoundedthe ballots as part of their investigation. Hymers looked elsewhere, founda job, and left. Within a matter oweeks, most of the old professionastaff was gone. "We all left," Anderson says, adding that every staffer inhis housing placement departmeneither quit because they were so discouraged, or was fired.Minimal CompensationNow, the former employees arewaiting for the federal investigationto come to a conclusion. City laboleaders say that could take more thana year, although a spokesperson fothe NLRB points out that the boardtries to conclude investigations in amonth or two, and if a court case iswarranted, they often come to a decision or a settlement in about sevenmonths. Even if the case goes to courand the NLRB wins, the compensation for the former employees wouldbe minimal. Scott Anderson couldwin reinstatement an d back-pay plusinterest. The other charges, if prosecuted successfully, could lead to anadmittance of guilt by the employeand the posting of notices at the shelter saying Homes for the Homelesswon't suspend or transfer workersbecause of union activity.Homes for the Homeless' board odirectors includes some of the leadingliberal lights of New York City ,includ

CITY UMITS/NOVEMBER 1992/


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ing Gloria Steinem and the Very Rev.James Parks Morton of the Cathedralof St. John the Divine. Hartz Groupdirector and Village Voice ownerLeonard Stern also serves on the boardand was instrumental in the creationof Homes for the Homeless. (Indeed,the organizat ion's offices are locatedin the Village Voice building onCooper Square). Morton, Stern, andboard secretary Harris Barer all refusedto comment for this article.Labor organizers aren't the least bitsurprised to hear allegations of unionbusting leveled at a nonprofit organization. It's common, says Jim Guyetteof District Council 1707 which represents nonprofit workers in severalindustries. He cites other incidentswhere he's seen "management firingpeople to set an examrle, and thentrying to do an interna campaign tofind out who's pro an d who's antiunion and to eliminate all of those

they feel might vote for the union.""We find out that these nonprofitsare extremely vicious in their laborpolicies, even more so than the for-

"They just got ridof us because

they were afraidof the union."

profit private sector," adds GaryStevenson, the organizing coordina torfor the Eastern Conference ofTeamsters. "They are the shadiest of

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union busters. These executivedirectors have total control. Theirboards are just rubber stamps." Askedabout why one of the Teamsters localscould have done a poor job representing workers in the Prospect shelter, hesays that "some locals are more effective than others," and adds that it isnot uncommon for union locals-fromany union-to respond inadequatelyto workers' grievances.Union organizing efforts in the nonprofit sectors are only just beginning,at a time when social an d healthservices are among the very few growthindustries. "It's wide open," saysStevenson, whose union recentlycommitted $35 million to an organizing campaign among nonprofitworkers nationwide. "Wages stink,working conditions are terrible. It hasto be community-based organizing, avery public effort," he adds, becausethe funds for nonprofits are usuallytax dollars funnelled through localgovernment.Linda Schleicher of the SocialService Employees Union Local 371,which represents city shelter workers,says that incidents of abuse ofworkers'organizing rights in nonprofit,privately-run shelters underline themost basic problems of privatization."It's a transfer of decent jobs to notdecent jobs," she says. "I don't knowhow you can run a better institutionwith people who aren't paidadequately."As for the family shelters, saysElizabeth Lynch of he Citizens AdviceBureau in the Bronx, it's a sad situationfor idealistic young men and womenwh o go to work with the homeless"and then they realize that it's anoppressive environment. People whoare pretty progressive and political goto work for a place like that, and theyfind they're not working for progressive people. Some places arebetter, they treat families better andit's a lo t more open an environment.Others are like minimum securityprisons." DAaron Jaffe is a reporter for the AsianWall Street Journal Weekly.

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11/36

By Miriam Leuchter

Lost OpportunitiesChild care subsidies are available for women wholeave welfare and take jobs-but only a few hundredactually use it.

Nw York City has a desperateshortage of affordable daycare-but a government program that subsidizes privateday care for mothers who have leftwelfare and landed jobs is barely beingused. Thousands of women in NewYork City are eligible for the programbut a mere 236 of hem took advantageof it in an average month last year,according to city officials."The fact that we're no t using transitional child care money is outrageous," says Liz Krueger, a leader of theWelfare Reform Network, a coalitionof advocates. "It's a key, neededresource."For once, the problem isn't anabysmal lack of resources: there's nolimit to the amount of federal fundsavailable for the program. Instead, theproblem is limitedoutreach to womenleaving welfare an d a complicatedapplication procedure, according toadvocates and officials."When you get down to the level ofindividuals, parents are coming offwelfare, going into low wage jobs,they're not in a position to ge t qualityday care," says Tony Ward,the directorofChildCare Inc., a nonprofit resourceand advocacy group. "Not tapping into [transitional day care benefits] is avery serious problem."Sylvia Hunter, the Human Resources Administra tion (HRA) officialwho oversees the program, admitsshe's got a problem on her hands. Shestates it bluntly: "The transitionalchild care benefit is badlyunderutilized."Bridge to Self-Sufficiency?Welfare reform efforts became official four years ago with the FamilySupportActof1988, which mandatesstates across the country to operateprograms to move welfare mothers offpublic assistance and into theworkforce. The legislation includesfunding to subsidize day care for thefirst year that former welfare mothersenter the work force or increase theirearnings enough to lose their welfareeligibility. In effect, the day care money

is meant to provide an essential bridgehelping women work towards selfsufficiency.But the rhetoric hasn't translatedinto reality. Few people know thebenefit is available. Th e federalgovernment requires women to fillout an application to qualify for thesubsidy. And there are always questions about what will happen after thebenefit is cut off after a year.

"The fact thatwe're not using

transitional child.care money ISoutrageous."

In 1988, the Congressional BudgetOffice estimated that by 1991, 280,000families nationally would receive daycare subsidies each month throughthe program. They were wrong. Only56,000 families used the benefit inMarch 1992, according to the federalDepartment of Health and HumanServices.An obvious reason that the daycare subsidies are hardly used is thatfew women are able to leave welfareand get jobs because of the recession,advocates say. But even in New York,there's a pool of at least 3,000 womenwh o have made the transition toemployment, either through welfarereform programs or on their owninitiative , according to the most recent Mayor's Management Report.So why aren't many of hese womenreceiving the transitional day care benefit? One explanation is local budgetshortfalls: even though the federal government pays half the costs for the

program, the state and city administthe program and divide the rest o f thexpenses. "The state is not readycome up with that amount of moneyexplains Ward from Child Care IncComplementing this obvious dterrent is the fact that few people eveknow transitional child care benefiexist. Potential clients, communiservice groups and welfare caseworers are all woefully uninformed, thprogram's critics contend. For eample, a 1991 study by the New YoWomen's Foundation found that none of the 100 women on welfainterviewedhad been informed abotransitional child care benefits by hecaseworker.Hunter from HRA says she hastepped up outreach, employing twstaff members to inform other HRemployees and outside groups abothe benefit. She adds that each wefare center has a trainer that is meato be teaching caseworkers about thprogram. The benefit is available all women who leave welfare for woand earn a low wage; the cut-off poifor a mother with three kids is aannual salary of more than $27,900JoAnne Freidell, a state officiaadds that about 400 children ipublicly-run day care are also beinsubsidized by the transitional chilcare benefit. But advocates say thisnothing to brag about, explaining ththere are very few spaces available ipublic day care, so these children arusing day care slots that should be saside for families without otheoptions. As Ward explains, "Yoshould be talking about expandinservices with this money," no t jurearranging funding resources tsupport existing city programs.Limited OutreachBut efforts geared toward expansion of day care are limited. Ciofficials are targeting informatioabout the transitional day care benefto families most likely to use it: womewhose welfare cases are closebecause they've gotten a job. Eacweek an HRA computer spits out thnames and addresses of all thospeople-approximately 100 womenThen the agency sends them a list available benefits an d applicatioforms. It also sends packets to anyonwho requests information on thprogram.Some advocates say this is too constricting an approach,and fails to reacthe hundreds of women who clos

CITY U M I T S / N O V E M B 1992/1


12/36

their welfare cases withoutexplaining the reason to theircaseworker. Another problem, according to advocates,is that welfare caseworkersfrequentl y make mistakes typing in the reason cases areclosed, so even fewer parentseligible for the program receive information.The women who do findout about the program don'tnecessarily have an easy timegetting the benefit. They haveto fill out an often-bewildering application, says SusanGewirtz, staff associate at theCitizens Commit tee for Children. Besides basic requirements such as informationabout family income,children's ages, and the typeand cost of child care they'reusing, the application alsocalls for a month's worth ofcurrent pay stubs and asksprobing questions about thechosen day care provider.HRA says it needs that infor

The L u c ~ Ones: Jacqueline Johnson and her children. Terrance and Deashia. are among the few familieswho used the transitional child care benefit last year.mation to determine whether the daycare operator needs a license.Hunter estimates that only about25 percent of the applications herdepartment sends out draw a response.On top of that, "5 0 percent of theapplications that come in are incomplete," she reports. "It gets laboriousand logistically com plicated to followthem up and correct them."Most advocates call for the application to be simplified. Beyond that, theconsensus is that more potentiallyeligible parents should be informed ofthe program. "Everyone who leavesAFDC should be notified automatically, regardless of the reason theircase was closed," insists Ann Collinsfrom the Child Care Action Campaign.Nancy Lehman, a day care expert fromthe United Jewish Appeal-Federationsuggests that the city provide information in welfare resource centers an dwelfare offices, perhaps using videoto reach people while they're waitingfor other services.Even after a parent applies and.isdeemed eligible for transitional childcare, problems can still easily arise.For one thing, HRA needs 30 days toprocess applications. Add that to thetime i t takes to receive and fill ou t anapplication and it's clear that manyparents often wait months to receivethe benefits-even though HRA doeseventually reimburse clients for child12/NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMITS

care retroactively to the time theircases were closed.And the bureaucratic tangle doesn'tstop. After six months in the program,women must be re-certified to continue getting benefits. "By that timewe're losing them," Hunter says. "There-certification rate is not goodmaybe 50 percent." Both she and out-

A bureaucratictangle.

side critics of the system say thatmany eligible parents just don't wantto hassle with the system once they'reoff public assistance."The Gnostic Gospels"It's difficult topinpointexactlyhowmany women the program has servedover t ime-and exactly how many areeligible-becausebudget cuts an d lowstaffing levels at HRA mean the agencyhas a hard time keeping accuraterecords an d analyzing whom theprogram is reaching. "Transitionalchild care money is like the Gnostic

Gospels. It's hard to trace and we'resomewhatbaffledby what's going on."says Ward. In fact, program analysisat HRA is so inadequate that an outsidenonprofit group- the CitizensCommittee for Children-is taking onthe task.Advocates say the low utilizationrate of the child care benefit may bepartly the result of bureaucraticgridlockwithin HRA. As Krueger fromthe Welfare Reform Network puts it,"They're not mandated to do this.There are no sanctions, no punishments for not meeting quotas . . . It'slike most things at HRA that aren't thecrisis of the moment-it can go by thewayside for a long, long time."All ofthese glitches are indicativeof underlying problems that extendbeyond HRA and encompass the waythe entire welfare reform program isbeing run, many say. As Hunterexplains, single parents earning a lowwage and getting the child care subsidycan still wind up back on public assistance because it's so hard to makeends meet. "Unless they're lying tous, people in this program are makingvery little money," Hunter says. "Howthey can survive off welfare is beyondme."The issue of survival looms evenlarger after the one-year benefit runsout. Jacqueline Johnson is one of thefew women who are using the trans -

oClz..::::;:8a::Cl


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tional child care benefit. It helps hersupport her two children, Terranceand Deashia, by picking up most ofthe tab for a babysit ter while she worksweekends as a cook in a group homefor developmentally disabled adults.But the benefit is about to ru n out.Johnson wants to stick with he rjob, which she considers emotionallyrewarding, but she's unsure whetherher pay will be sufficient to meet herneeds, including day care. "It's goingto be tough," she says, acknowledgingthat she may be forced to reapply forpublic assistance. "If you want to getpeople off welfare, you still have tohelp them meet their needs." 0Miriam Leuchter is a freelance writerliving in New York.

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14/36

Sou sideSurvivors

The Los Sures community group is celebrating 20 years rescuingWilliamsburg from developers and disintegration. Where to from here?BY NORMAN ODER

The housing contrasts in Williamsburg's Southsideare clearly visible on Hewes Street, three blockseast of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and twoblocks north of Broadway. On the east side of thestreet, on a former vacant lot between South Thirdan d South FourthStreets, there's abrand new six-storybrick building, thefenced parking lot inback boasting greengrass an d shrubs .The sign up front announces thIS as another project of theSouthside UnitedHousing Redevelopment Fund, alsoknown as Los Sures,which has helpedrescue this low income Latino neighborhood from developers and disintegration.The scene acrossthe street suggests

on its 20th birthday, celebrated last month. In the past twodecades, the community-based housing group has takenon tenant organizing, low income housing developmentan d housing management, and now straddles all threeroles-sometimes uncomfortably-trying to increase itsprofessional capacity while staying in touch with thecommunity. The dwindling supply ofabandonedbuildingsin the neighborhoodis a testament to thegroup's accomplishments-and an important factor forcing its leaders to findnew ways to furtherimprovean area thathas been stabilized ..but is not yet thriving.

slower progress. The What Next?: Now that most of Williamsburg's abandoned buildings have been renovated,southern segment is Los Sures is moving into "joint ventures" with other community groups.

I you walk thestreets of the Southside, the Los Suresinfluence is quiteevident-the groupis currently acti ve inmore than 2,000apartments in morethan 140 buildings,a significant chunkof a neighborhoodn unpaved storagelot, harboring a small boat, random auto parts and a stackof tires. Next to t he lot is a five-storey, early 20th centurytenement typical in Williamsburg, graffiti marring theface, its inside and outside doors wide open. Los Sures("The Southsiders") oversees this city-owned building for22 formerly homeless families, but management doesn'tcome easy. Police have conducted several drug busts, an dthe pervasive drug dealing drove out the president ofthebuilding's tenant association.But major rehabilitation will begin next May, and LosSures housing manager Ana Bonano is optimistic. "Oncethe rehab starts, the drugs move out," she says, and tenantswill start to take charge of the building, especially if theypurchase their apartments when the building becomes alow income co-op.

This block highlights the challenges facing Los Sures14jNOVEMBER 1992jCITY UMIl'S

that once teetered on the brink of extinction. Without LosSures "we wouldn't have any Hispanic community,"observes Jesus Viera, a long-time community activist whoserves as the Los Sures board's treasurer.Monsignor Agustin Ruiz of Sts. Peter and Paul RomanCatholic Church, Los Sures' veteran board chairman,emphasizes that the renovation has created emotionalbonds. Now, he says, the Southside is a place wherepeople know each other and can rely on each other.Lydia Ramos agrees. Three years ago she never let herkids play in the hallways or outside her building at 227South Second Street. On the door to her ground-levelapartment, she ha d installed a Fox police lock-longmetal rods that extend to slots in the door frame-toprovide some protection from the stream of drug dealersan d their customers that filled the hallways.


15/36

Now her kids play In response, theinside and out, resi- boardassertedanewdents can hold bar- commitment to or-becues and Ramos ganizing in 1980,doesn't use the lock. and reiterated thatShe says , "Todo ha commitment aboutcambiado. Todo es four years ago.mejor." ("Every- This focus onthing has changed. community organiz-Everything is bet- ing is essential to theter. ") Thanks to the long-term vibrancyrenovation super- of local organiza-vised by Los Sures- tions, according toand the commit- Andy Mott of themenl of the tenants Center for Commu-and a brave superin- nity Change, whotendent- the 20- travels the countryunit building is giving advice topainted, clean and n e i g h b 0 rho 0 dfeatures a sturdy groups. An organi-door that drug deal- CommuniIJ Builders: The staff of Los Sures in front of their offices. Administrator David zation can "decideers can't destroy. Pagan is in front. to become moreIt's transforma- staff-drivenand pro-tions like this that have helped give Los Sures a good name fessional and implicitly removed from the community, oracross the city, leading community development experts it can decide to go out an d do more organizing," he says.like Marc Jahr from the Local Initiatives Support Corpora- "That's something we really push with groups. I f theytion (USC) to describe it as "a terrific group." But Los don't actively plan to go through that renewal process,Sures has no t escaped growing pains, especially from its then they'll become less relevant."role as a large-scale housing manager-a polite term for

Down the block from tenants who offhandedlycommendlandlording. BLos Sures, another group of tenants call maintenance ut while Los Sures keeps up the good fight againstworkers sloppy, an d charge that newcomers pay bribes to greedy landlords, the activist, insurgent spirit of the groupbypass lotteries for new apartment units. Los Sures overall has faded somewhat, replaced by institutionaladministrator David Pagan says he's heard such rumors maturity and technical expertise.but has never been given any proof. For example, Los Sures has stayed on the sidelines inAround the corner, long-time residents of a handsome, some contentious community struggles . While Los Suresbetter-organized Los Sures building have another com- personnel and board members have led local politicalplaint: their relatives can't get apartments while, nearby, fights suchas a lawsuitagainst urban renewallandgrantedLos Sures found space for formerly-homeless residents to local Satmar Hasidim an d the recent, successful boycottfrom outside Williamsburg, some of whom they accuse of of Eastern District High School, Los Sures itselfhas playedselling drugs. it safe, mostly staying in the background. It's a choice thatPagan, who oversees a staff of 72 from the bustling Los leaves .some supporters, like Carmen Calderon of theSures offices on South Fourth Street, recognizes that South Side Mission, a social service agency, frustrated bymanaging troubled buildings can stir resentment, but says the group's reticence.it's still worthwhile. "In the long run, when the buildings Then again, Los Sures has learned prudence from itsbecome stable, they will become resources for the commu- involvement, from 1976 to 1980, managing Clementenity," he says. Plaza, a city Mitchell-Lama project located outside LosRuiz, the Los Sures board chairman, fears that some Sures' main turf. The group attempted to keep a 3 to 1 ratioresidents take Los Sures for granted, an d see it as "almost of Latinos to Hasids at Clemente, counteracting Hasidica kind of government. They are not aware ..that this has dominance in other projects. The local Hasids sued and

been community work." the out-of-court settlement gave Latinos only 51 percent ofOneclearsignofthegroup'scontinuingcommitmentto the apartments. After that, Los Sures administratorsthe neighborhood is the size of its tenant organizing unit, decided to concentrate on their immediate neighborhood.led by Barbara Schliff, who is widely respected as one of Thus Los Sures stays focused on the job at hand-the most effective housing activists in the city. Los Sures rebuilding housing-and ensures that government officialshas six tenant organizers, more than most other commu- aren't miffed by the group. But this may also reducenity groups, an d they are well-known for forcing local community involvement in the organizat ion. Los Sures islandlords to make repairs, meet housing codes an d treat often credited for its board structure, which is meant totenants with respect. include numerous representatives from buildings run by"Sometimes I think it's my crusade, bu t it's also the the organization. But that idea works better in theory thanboard," says Schliff, explaining Los Sures' commitment to in practice. While the board can have almost 50 members,organizing. In the late 1970s, when federal assistance was it only ha d 27 at its peak an d currently has only about 15,cut, the organizing unit suffered, and Schliff says the divided between community activists and tenants. Whileorganization acquired an overly-bureaucratic reputation. the organization was once board-dominated, Pagan nowCITY UMnS/NOVEMBER 1992115


16/36

describes i t as staff-driven.Los Sures staffan d board members seem almost resignedto such low levels of participation. "We just get caught upin other stuff we're doing," explains Schliff. She an dothers concede they must work harder to foster participation.Los Sures officials add that the limited communityinvolvement on the board may also reflect a simple fact:tenants mainly get involved when their building goesthrough rehabilitation. Another explanation could be thedemographic changes in the area. Like several Latinoneighborhoods in the city, the Southside has changeddemographically,butLos Sures hasn'tcompletely adapted.Dominicans, not Puerto Ricans, nowrepresent a majority east of th eBrooklyn-Queens Expressway, and a

enormous Community Management Program. An articlefrom City Limits in December 1976 conveys the giddyexcitement of the times. "The tenants at 149 South FourthStreet on the Southside of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, havemade history. They recently voted unanimously to takeover management of their building from the city and tobuy it, after a trial period, for $200 a unit. Thus, they arethe first Los Sures tenants .. to elect to buy their building.More importantly, they rejected an offer by the city to do$100,000 worth of further work on the building, electinginstead to buy the building in 'as is' condition."Over the years, Los Sures has continued to grow,organizing tenants, rehabilit ating buildings and managingboth city-owned an d privately-ownedbuildings. By 1979, Los Sures ha d soldtwo buildings as co-ops to tenants.significant minority to the west of thehighway. Also, Mexicans, CentralAmericans and South Americans havemoved into the neighborhood. FatherBryan Karvelis of TransfigurationRoman Catholic Church, a veterancommunity activist, says he sees atouch ofPuerto Rican exclusiveness toLos Sures, whose board is dominatedby Puerto Ricans.Los Sures officials point out thatthere have been Dominicans on theboard, that the group has severalDominican staffers an d that Dominicans are widely represented in the

The insurgentspirit has faded

somewhat,replaced byinstitutional

Now the number is 12. Bonano saysthe organizing process that helps turncity-owned buildings into tenantowned co-ops, is at the heart of whatLos Sures is all about. "It would begood business to buy the building, bu tit's not our policy," she says. By owning their own property, she says, "Thetenants change."So has Los Sures. In the early days,the group's funding came from a fewmanagement contracts and a federaljob training program. Now they juggleresources from a range of funders, withmaturity.

buildings. But the mixed populationsleads to inevitable conflict whentenants choose new tenants. "Guess what-people aregoing to favor their ow n kind," says Pagan. He notes thatMonsignor Ruiz, the board chairman, is of Spanish origin,and thus seen as unaligned.

The Southside took off afte' the completion of theWilliamsburg Bridge in 1903, allowing Jews and otherwhite ethnic immigrants from the cramped Lower EastSide to cross the river. Puerto Ricans began building acommunity there in the late 1950s and 1960s. By the late1960s, many landlords le t their building deteriorate andthe communi y was crumbling, threatened by street gangs,drugs and arson. Meanwhile, other landlords, includingthe Kraus Construction Corporation, were renovatingtenements, hoping to attract middle-class tenants whovalued proximity to Manhattan.Communityactivists from the neighborhood's two mainchurches began to organize. A group called Sur, whichmeans "south" in Spanish, argued for moderate rehabilitation of buildings, not the disruptive an d expensive gutrehabilitation Kraus proposed. And another group, NewAge Realty, tried to organize tenants and convince landlords to turn management over to the activists. "We wereno t going to be moved. We were going to stay inWilliamsburg," recalls Will ie Vargas, one of the originalactivists, now a top official at the city's housing department.Emerging from the two groups was Los Sures, backed bylegal services lawyers and local churches. The groupreceived the first contract to manage city-owned buildings, an experiment that eventually grew into the city's16/NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMITS

the bulk of the money coming from thecity. Los Sures "has been very agile atstaying afloat," notes Jahr from LISe.The group has also become prudent about politics,navigating the fine line between gaining support frompoliticians while avoiding being used as a polit ical base.Luis Olmedo was the board's first chairman, and he usedthat position to ru n successfully for City Council in the1970s. Olmedo later tried to set the group's agenda,according to Vargas. When this wasn't permitted, Vargassays Olmedo turned against the group. In 1984 the politician was convicted of attempted extortion and criminalconspiracy, an d was sentenced to a year an d a day in jail.These days, board members have contacts with electedofficials-but the politicians want to assist Los Suresinstead of telling it what to do. For example, stateAssemblyman Vito Lopez helped bring money for a seniorcitizens building as well as the new building on HewesStreet and Councilmember Victor Robles helped bring asenior citizens meal program to the Southside.As the supply of abandoned buildings in Williamsburghas declined, Los Sures has begun to use its expertiseelsewhere, serving as a mentor to community development groups in Cypress Hills an d East New York. MichelleNeugebauer, executive director of the Cypress Hills LocalDevelopment Corporation, says she an d her counterpartin East New York chose Los Sures as an advice-providerbecause they were impressed with the group's buildingsand its training of staff.For Los Sures, self-interest accompanies the outreach.Because "we don't have space, we have to move into jointventures," says Bonano. Besides working with smallergroups, Los Sures is also conside ing teaming up withotherwell-established communityorganizations. Los Suresand the St. Nicholas Neighborhood Preservation Corpora-


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tion may join forces todevelop housing in theBroadway Triangle, anarea at the fringes ofbothgroups' turf.And while the Latinosand Hasidim inWilliamsburg have afractious history competing for scarce landan d housing, there maybe a rapprochement. LosSures an d the UnitedJewish Organizations,the main Satmar group,are planning to jointlydevelop an abandonedbuilding on DriggsAvenue just below

he was appointed actingadministrator, then tookthe permanent jobThese days he commutes from Flushing, arriving before eight mostmornings. Pagan says hehas tried to "simply takebusiness sense intodecision-making," analyzing proposals extremely closely. Sounding very much the businessman, he says, "Anyorganization which isnot developing newproduct lines will bedoomed to extinction."

Broadway, in an area Woth communities haveclaimed as their own. hile people werePagan knows Los Sures once fleeing Williams-might lose control over burg in the 1970s, thethe building-which he community is now rela-hopes would be split tively stable and there isamong Latino and a huge need for housing.Hasidic tenants-but Not only are there wait-thinks the risk is worth ing lists in the thousandstaking. "Those are things for Los Sure s-run apart-we have to deal with," ments, the Southsidehe says. faces encroachmentAnother area of focus from the Hasidic com-is the Southside Urban munity to the south andRenewal Area, where the . .. the Polish immigrantcity is acquiring about ='""' ime: Nelghborhood resldents at a block part y for Los Sures ' 20th community to the north.80 parcels of land a few 1 ay. Moreover, Williamsburgblocks east of he Brooklyn-Queens Expressway for afford- may be a victim of its own success. It has become "maybeable housing. Latinos in Williamsburg claim they've been too popular," observes Calderon, as yuppies an d artistscut out of the deal when urban renewal plots were devel- discover cheap lofts in what New York Magazine hasoped in the past (See City Limits, August-September hyperbolically hailed as "The New Bohemia." (A few of1991.) but this time they expect to have more input. "I those artists have even wandered into Schliffs first floorthink the interests of the community ..will be accommo- office, complaining of "unscrupulous landlords.")dated to a greater extent," says John Dereszewski, chair- Observers credit Los Sures with keeping key staff forma n of the local community board's land use committee. decades, which provides stability, an d for not only hiringThe New York City Partnership is slated to develop the community residents but giving them excellent training ashousing on the site. Los Sures officials are lobbying to be well. Still, it may take some new blood for Los Sures todesignated as the community sponsors-and for extra regroup and develop new ideas for the future. Thanks tosubsidies to make the housing affordable to locals. a grant from LISC, Los Sures recently hired Cathy Herman,Los Sures has branched out into economic develop- formerly of Brooklyn Catholic Charities, to serve as ament work, revamping Havemeyer Street, the Southside's deputy to Pagan. She's been active in the community formain shopping street, but it has not moved much into more than a decade. Her mandate? "To tell us what we cansocial service projects. While some groups try to separate do," says Ruiz, the board chairman. Los Sures staffers sayhousing management from social services to avoid potential they've been too busy to do much long-term planning.conflicts-of-interest, Pagan says Los Sures is not providing Along with a boost from the new staffer, Los Sures issocial services because the South Side Mission does a hoping a new Democratic presidential administrationperfec tly good job. Then again, Los Sures is cal ling for day would do more for community-based groups. Whil e Loscare and a nursing home on the urban renewal site. "If for Sures may branch out to new projects, housing is still thesome reason it's not being done, then we'll end up doing top priority. When people have housing it gives them ait," he says. stake in the neighborhood, says Pagan. Then, he adds,Pagan embodies the pragmatic approach of the mature "you can fight for what you want." nLos Sures . Measured and earnest, with degrees in accounting an d finance, Pagan joined Los Sures as a comptroll erin 1979 after working for the city's Office of EconomicDevelopment. After a few years and a few administrators ,

Norman Oder is a freelance writer based in Brooklyn whohas written for the Columbia Journalism Review and InThese Times.

CITY UMITS/NOVEMBER 1992/17


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TheBY SAMME CHITTUMWenever a toilet is flushed on Manhattan'sEast Side below 72nd Street, its contents gostraight to the working class neighborhood ofGreenpoint, Brooklyn.To Upper East Side residents, waste wateris a problem flushea and forgotten. But on GreenpointAvenue in Brooklyn, home to the city's largest sewagetreatment plant, the politics of sewage just plain stink.

And the NewtownCreek Water PollutionControl Plant,renowned for a stench that attacks like a slap in the face,is far from the only source of air pollution in Greenpointan d nearby Williamsburg. A walk down GreenpointAvenue past the plant reveals a bleak industrial landscapeof smokestacks, factories an d streets lined with giant oilstorage tanks that sprout like ominous metal mushroomsbehind barbed-wire topped fences. The area is ringed byrailroad tracks, elevated highways and industrial noman's lands.These two neighborhoods are at the center of the city'swaste disposal network. The sewage treatment plant receives about one-fifth of the city's waste water, and thedistrict contains one of the largest collect ions of garbagetransfer stations in town. Greenpoint is also home to a cityru n garbage incinerator, and a massive ne w incinerator isslated for construction in Williamsburg before the end ofthe decade.In the middle of this near-biblical blight of environmental ills are brick tenements, modest row houses an dmom-and-pop stores that are home to nearly 160,000people, many ofwhom have moved inrecent years from hopelessness to an-

The emerging conflict places the needs of the neighborhood directly at odds with the needs of the city-as theyare perceived by city officials-in a tough battle thatmirrors others going on all over the country. Greenpointdoesn't want any more pollution, yet officials want toexpand the plant to improve sewage treatment, complywith the federal Clean Water Act and reduce the filth in thecity's rivers and canals.Still, there is some hope that common ground exists.National environmentalis ts saythere are creative solutionsthat can accommodate both the city and the neighborhood,adding that scientific innovation, government flexibilityan d improved communication can lead to both cleanerwater an d a cleaner community. But will the city evercome around to this point of view? Local activists likeIrene Klementowicz are losing patience. She asks, "Howlong do you want me to stand still while you're peeing inmy shoes?"

RCha rdNewman isRegion Two wat'" pwgram directorfor the state Department of Environmental Conservation.His office is within whiffing distance of the NewtownCreek sewage plant, which processes, on average, about310 million gallons of sewage every day. The plant doesn'tdo its work very subtly. "Newtown is a real stinker,"Newman concedes.In the late 1980s, following years of neighborhoodcomplaints, Newman's agency filed suit against the citydemanding that the Department ofEnvironmental Protection (DEP) upger to strident environmental activism. Their aim: to put the green backin Greenpoint. Twelve months ago, itlooked like they were making someheadway. The city ha d just begun acourt-ordered, $850,000 Environmental Benefits Program to fund work onpotential solutions to th e neighborhood's woes.So far, however, the small butimportant experiment to combine theexpertise and resources ofgovernmentwith the energy of activists has been

Can grassrootsenvironmentalists

find commonground with citygovernment?

grade the 30-year-old plant and cutback on the sewage flow that waspushing it over capacity. The lawsuitresulted in a 1988 courtorder outliningnecessary improvements.I t was about that time that residents

of the nearby neighborhoods began tocome together to combat the environmental ills afflicting them, includingthe nearly 1,000 industrial firms thatspew hundreds oftons of toxic pollutants into the air, and a 20-million-an exercise in frustratjon. While citybureaucrats promote an agenda ofbuilding bike paths and farmers' markets, the leaders ofneighborhood groups say their top priority is establishinga moratorium on any expansion of the local sewage plantand other waste facilities, something the city refuses toeven discuss. As a result, the Environmental BenefitsProgramha d reached an impasse by the end of he summer.lS/NOVEMBER 1992/CITY UMITS

gallon underground petroleum lakecreated by leaking storage tanks. Theethnically diverse communities ofGreenpointand Williamsburg include a remarkably stablepopulationofPuerto Ricans, African-Americans, OrthodoxJews, whites, Eastern Europeans and recent Latinoimmigrants. They have ha d a reputation for activism sincethe early 1970s, when residents began a long an d successful fight to halt housing abandonment and stabilize small


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business-and lost a campaign to preserve health careservices. In the late 1980s, many community leadersshifted their focus toward the environment. Even as thecity promoted a plan to build a new garbage incineratorhere, an d researchers uncovered details about the toxinsin the ai r and water, residents educated themselves an dbegan to fight back.The state judge who ruled against the city and itssewage treatment plant in 1988 recognized the strength ofthe community activists, and ordered the city to financean $850,000 Environmental Benefits Fund to supportcitizen environmental efforts in the community. With themoney behind them , residents expected to work togetheron a formal assessment of local environmental problems,and a plan to reduce them. Early participants created aCitizens Advisory Committee to consolidate their power.So far, the committee has created a forum for peopleand organizations to meet , devise strategies, define goalsand even look at data compiled by city environmentalregulators . But in the 12 months that the Greenpoint-

Williamsburg Environmental Benefits Program has beenunderway, the obstacles placed in its path have seriouslyrestricted its ability to change the status quo.Foremost among criticisms is the charge that theprogram's basic structure is inherently flawed, with thecity government playing an administrative an d guidingrole and the state overseeing the whole enterprise.Community residents contend that the rules of thegame-established by the city's DEP-demand that thecitizens of Greenpoint an d Williamsburg sit politely andtalk about minor community improvements while the citycontinues to plot massive construction projects-like thene w incinerator an d the sewage plant expansion-thatcan only further damage the environment. It is no tsurprising, then, that many of the participants feel likeSitting Bull being asked to follow the U.S. Cavalry. "Thedistrust of the DEP is high and the DEP deserves thatdistrust," says Inez Pasher, a Greenpoint social workeran d environmentalist.Many participants see the city as a privileged partner

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that will benefit from undermining the program. "It's totheir advantage to keep the Citizens Advisory Committeeas loose as possible," says Mark Farran, chairman of thecitizens committee. Former co-chair John Mensing, alongtime activist who recently left New York City, saysDEP not only failed to midwife the program, bu t preferredthat it be stillborn. "They have no interest in seeing citizenenvironmentalismflourish in Greenpoint,"he says. "Theywant it to fail."The project's halting progress gives ample ammunitionto the most bitter critics. Only $110,000 of the allotted$850,000 in city funds for the program has been spent.Money to pay the citizens committee's bills has been slowin coming from the mayor's Office of Management andBudget. A consultant hired by the citizens committeewent six months without a paycheck. By summer's end, acitizens' liaison office intended to take complaints fromthe community still lacked a phone. Yet city officials willonly blame the delays on accounting problems at the citybudget office.

In addition, members of a Technical Advisory Committee, scheduled to meet every four months, have met onlytwice in a year and have had little ongoing contact withcitizens after a promising first meeting with them severalmonths ago. Technical experts like Paul Hill of he NationalInstitute of Chemical Stud-ies in Charleston, WestVirginia, which has doneextensive research an dcommunity outreach inheavily industrializedcommunities in severalstates, have a wealth of resources to offer. Hill hassubmitted one report. ButElizabeth Roncketti, wholives in Greenpoint, saysthe community wantsmore. "All these [technicaladvisory1 eople expressedtremendous enthusiasm forgetting involved. Where thehell are they?" she asks."We feel the DEP is keeping them from us."

the 30 health districts in the city. Rates of leukemia an dcancer of the nervous system in boys are also among thehighest in the city. The risk of contracting these types ofcancer in the district is 50 percent higher than in the cityas a whole, the study says.A local development corporation completed a $10,000survey of area industries with funds from the program,and the city compiled two citizen's guides on environmental law an d city policies an d procedures. Work has begunon gathering information on several kinds of pollution inthe community , and Nancy Kassim Farran says she gothold of data on the nearby city incinerator that she neverwas able to obtain in the past. Yet many of the participantson the citizens committee say the reports an d guides an dother small achievements are barely consolation for 12months' work. "Very little has gotten done," Pasher says.Mark Farran agrees. "We're sort of in a quagmire," he says.

As student. Reinerio Hernandez was a campus ,.dical.He was expelled from Cornell University because ofrepeated arrests during anti-apartheid demonstrations,and at the University of California at Berkeley he orga-nized a minority studentadvocacy group in the cityplanning program. On hisoffice wall at DEP's Officeof Environmental Qualityhangs an award fromformer co-workers thathonors him as "Most Likelyto Start a Revolution." Atthe en d of the summer, itbecame Hernandez' job topreventa revolution amongGreenpoint an d Williamsburg environmental activists fed up with the miniscule progress of th eEnvironmental BenefitsProgram.Hernandez is a deputydirector of he DEP divisionresponsible for th e program. He is the latest ofseveral administratorsassigned to work with thecommunity, but he is thefirst to give th e localactivists any reason tobelieve he's really committed to the project. Apparently, th e neighborhoodpeople say, the city finallywoke up to the fact that thecourt order required that

os: th e $850,000 be spentffi within two years-or comeg up with the same sum againa:: an d start over-and pu t an

Still, the first 12 monthsof he programhaven't beena total wash. Of the$110,000 spent so far,$45,600 paid for a study bythe city's Department ofHealth and the medicalschool at the City University of New York, profi lingincidences of cancer,asthma and childhood leadpoisoning in the neighborhood and putting th ecommunity's environmental ills on the front pages ofthe city's newspapers. Theresearchers found thatGreenpoint an d Williamsburg have the highest ratesof stomach cancer out of

Dangerous Neighboltlood: Residents of Williamsburg and Greenpoint areamong the most likely in the city to suffer some forms of cancer.

able administrator on thejob. Hernandez vows toinfuse energy into the

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moribund effort. "Iwant to get this program running. I wantto fix problems," hesays. Starting in September, he has heldmonthly meetingswith the citizens committee, and issuedcomprehensive minutes that outlinewhere th e variousparticipants are hoping to go with it.

"There's clearly a possibility that the underground oil couldbe disturbed and further damage the water table," she saysKlementowicz andRoncketti soonfounded the Concerned Citizens oGreenpoint to stop thecity from sneakingplans to expand thesewage plant past thecommunity.He says he recognizes that excludingall discussion of themoratorium issuelimits the agenda ofthe program. But hechampions one of the

program's primarygoals-the creation ofa computer databaseBattling Bureaucracy: Mark Farran says the Environmental Benefits Program is "sort ofin a quagmire. "

But at the sametime, they want thecity to deal with odoproblem as soon apossible. TheDEPhaa short-term "stabilization plan," a $60million project to contain the screens tha

of pollution information based in the community boardoffice-and says it will be a powerful tool for neighborhood residents. He has other priorities as well: Getting thecommunity liaison office up and running, boosting localrecycling efforts, and converting empty lots into community gardens. He also says the program will provideenvironmental education projects for local schools, plancommunity forums on environmental issues, and pushDEP to improve pollution monitoring and enforcement.But even a well-intentioned environmental ambassadorfrom the city has a thin line to walk in negotiating withcitizens while the generals at DEP layout the blueprintsfor new city facilities . He must work against the backdropof an environmental cold war between the city an d theneig

City Limits Magazine, November 1992 Issue

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