The Nation's Capital
Once a comfortable home for generations of working and middle class folk, DC is now a city for the rich. DC has been—at least for the minutes I’ve lived here—a place where working and middle class families could live in a fairly nice home with trees on the sidewalk, grass in the backyards, and necessary conveniences nearby. Lots of families have done so for grandparents and great-grandparents deep. I say this with full awareness of the city’s many, many shortcomings and failures to provide basic services to many of the residents. These thoughts are clearly the reflection of a woman who grew up comfortable and, to a degree, privileged.
Before my eyes we morph into a southern New York City, where on nearly every block sits luxury residences, a sign for coming luxury residences (O bliss! O rapture! More condos!) or conveniences for the wealthy inhabitants of such residences. Whole Foods, Storehouse Furniture, Bistro this, Cafe that.
The oddest juxtaposition I’ve seen in the last few months is the Design Within Reach store in Adams Morgan. This store brings upscale design to urban living. (I admit I’ve never been inside). What’s so interesting about this new face in the neighborhood is, financially, it is out of reach of the ever-shrinking population of working and lower class residents who’ve sustained the neighborhood for years. O the irony of walking from your efficiency or one bedroom unit past the gleaming neo-whatever windows of the design store, knowing it is as within your reach as the rings of Saturn.
How disheartening to notice the stylish proclamations of “Luxury Condominiums Opening 2005,” or “Coming Soon Loft and Flat Style Living.” Signs abound across the city, and each time I see one the urge to yank them from the ground is almost incontrollable. The buildings may be physically constructed in 2005 or 2006, but they will never come to me or other sorta middle class folks like me. (Is a young professional complaining about the luxury she’ll never enjoy, without being grateful for the comfort she already enjoys? Yes. I am.) With the exterior walls not yet developed, I can see how lovely the condos will be—high ceilings, grand staircases—and that is the limit of my enjoyment.
The recognition of that distance is hard to bear. As a lifetime resident of this city, I anticipated my generation (shout out to Banneker ‘95 and ‘96) and colleagues would one day inherit it. We were groomed to one day assume leadership. Our parents and extended family managed the city through good times and worse, riots and all. Then once we entered the workforce, I anticipated we would apprentice ourselves in preparation. Friends have entered a variety of fields needed to manage a city—law, education, city planning, social work, engineering, business and finance—and, as I go about daily routines, it gives me a thrill to recognize the name or face behind the counter, on the phone, or a letter. In a small way, our ascension has begun.
This ascension, however, is being rapidly eclipsed by the booming real-estate market. If we didn’t buy just out of college (this would be early 2000), or don’t have a six-income occupation, it will be difficult for us to make a permanent stake in our city’s growth and care. I take that personally. I recognized some neighborhoods would always be out of reach: Woodley Park, Cleveland Park, Gold Coast Sixteenth Street. Never did I think I wouldn’t be able to afford a nice house in Brookland, or LeDroit Park, or Takoma Park. (Cynics, I hear you saying “that’s capitalism, get over your entitlement.” Yeah, okay.) This is the struggle of living in a small town with a big reputation, national and international purpose and prestige. Lots of folks want a piece of it. Having generations of family and history in the nation’s capitol isn’t nearly as powerful as the leagues of capital you can invest in it.
The exclusion I feel as a result of understanding my new place in the city is discomforting. I thought I knew and was apart of this sweet pseudo-Southern town. Maybe now I just live here.
Before my eyes we morph into a southern New York City, where on nearly every block sits luxury residences, a sign for coming luxury residences (O bliss! O rapture! More condos!) or conveniences for the wealthy inhabitants of such residences. Whole Foods, Storehouse Furniture, Bistro this, Cafe that.
The oddest juxtaposition I’ve seen in the last few months is the Design Within Reach store in Adams Morgan. This store brings upscale design to urban living. (I admit I’ve never been inside). What’s so interesting about this new face in the neighborhood is, financially, it is out of reach of the ever-shrinking population of working and lower class residents who’ve sustained the neighborhood for years. O the irony of walking from your efficiency or one bedroom unit past the gleaming neo-whatever windows of the design store, knowing it is as within your reach as the rings of Saturn.
How disheartening to notice the stylish proclamations of “Luxury Condominiums Opening 2005,” or “Coming Soon Loft and Flat Style Living.” Signs abound across the city, and each time I see one the urge to yank them from the ground is almost incontrollable. The buildings may be physically constructed in 2005 or 2006, but they will never come to me or other sorta middle class folks like me. (Is a young professional complaining about the luxury she’ll never enjoy, without being grateful for the comfort she already enjoys? Yes. I am.) With the exterior walls not yet developed, I can see how lovely the condos will be—high ceilings, grand staircases—and that is the limit of my enjoyment.
The recognition of that distance is hard to bear. As a lifetime resident of this city, I anticipated my generation (shout out to Banneker ‘95 and ‘96) and colleagues would one day inherit it. We were groomed to one day assume leadership. Our parents and extended family managed the city through good times and worse, riots and all. Then once we entered the workforce, I anticipated we would apprentice ourselves in preparation. Friends have entered a variety of fields needed to manage a city—law, education, city planning, social work, engineering, business and finance—and, as I go about daily routines, it gives me a thrill to recognize the name or face behind the counter, on the phone, or a letter. In a small way, our ascension has begun.
This ascension, however, is being rapidly eclipsed by the booming real-estate market. If we didn’t buy just out of college (this would be early 2000), or don’t have a six-income occupation, it will be difficult for us to make a permanent stake in our city’s growth and care. I take that personally. I recognized some neighborhoods would always be out of reach: Woodley Park, Cleveland Park, Gold Coast Sixteenth Street. Never did I think I wouldn’t be able to afford a nice house in Brookland, or LeDroit Park, or Takoma Park. (Cynics, I hear you saying “that’s capitalism, get over your entitlement.” Yeah, okay.) This is the struggle of living in a small town with a big reputation, national and international purpose and prestige. Lots of folks want a piece of it. Having generations of family and history in the nation’s capitol isn’t nearly as powerful as the leagues of capital you can invest in it.
The exclusion I feel as a result of understanding my new place in the city is discomforting. I thought I knew and was apart of this sweet pseudo-Southern town. Maybe now I just live here.
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 8:31 PM
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