Have they no knowledge, those
evildoers,
who eat up my people as they eat
bread,
and do not call upon God?
...they will be put to shame, for
God has rejected them.
- Psalm 53:4-5
This weekend, I had the opportunity to
attend a
conference sponsored by Project
No One Leaves - a gathering of attorneys, organizers and
activists who are working together to address the US housing crisis.
Representing both the "shield" of legal defense and the
"sword" of grassroots direct action, practitioners from
around the country came together at Harvard
Law School to connect and strategize for building a broad-based
movement to keep residents in their homes and defend our
neighborhoods from the abuses of predatory banks and investors.
I was particularly excited to get to
know folks at City Life/Vida Urbana
(CLVU), an established community group that organizes around
issues of housing justice. CLVU is an inspiration for many of us in
this movement - a case study in what success looks like, and a model
to be replicated in other city regions. City Life/Vida Urbana has
pioneered a "sword-and-shield" approach to housing
organizing, pairing legal education and counseling by lawyers and
students with the power of direct public pressure brought to bear on
banks and investors.
The highlight of my time in Boston was
Sunday, when I was able to participate in CLVU's campaign to
challenge the dirty dealings of City
Realty Group, which has bought up over a hundred properties
across Boston and is systematically evicting tenants and imposing
brutal rent increases to drive out working-class residents. We spent
time Sunday canvassing properties owned by City Realty, talking with
tenants about their rights, and encouraging them to come to CLVU
meetings to get free legal counsel and organize with others in their
same situation.
It was a powerful experience to witness
the human cost of City Realty's business practices. One woman we
talked to had her rent raised by $150 dollars when City Realty bought
the building. She had been living in the building for five years and
never missed a rent payment, but when her rental check was one day
late she woke up to find an eviction notice on her door! I met
another man who lost his home to foreclosure and tried to buy it back
from the bank for $230,000. At the last moment, City Realty group
swooped in and bought his home out from under him for $233,000. Then,
they let him know that he could have it back, but it would cost him
$490,000!
While we were canvassing, we actually
ran into a couple of folks who apparently worked for City Realty.
From what we could tell, the tenants of the building had been
evicted, and these men were getting the property ready for new,
higher-rent tenants. As we tried to engage them in conversation, they
were intensely defensive. These men knew that they were up to no
good.
Door-knocking in west Boston, we saw
both sides of this story. We met those who had been struck, and those
who were delivering the blow. We saw the working-class women and men
of color who wanted to stay in their homes, and the wealthy investors
who saw their homes purely as business opportunities. I was outraged
at the gangster-like character of these real estate investors, whose
business model relies on pushing families out of their homes. It was
almost enough to make me want to move up to Boston and get involved
in the fight. I was mad as hell!
Later on, I had the opportunity to
debrief my experience with a friend. I told him about what I
witnessed, how furious I was, how wrong the men at City Realty were,
and how we had to fight back. My friend was clearly concerned about
the way I was talking. "What about 'that of God' in the real
estate investors?" he asked me. "Aren't we called to love
them, too?"
This question surprised me. I had just
described a grave injustice occurring - evictions, dispossessions,
the livelihood of ordinary folks being gobbled up to line the pockets
of a few crafty men - and my friend's first reaction was to talk
about "loving" these perpetrators of structural violence?
Of course, as a follower of Jesus
Christ, I
am called to love my enemies. But that does not mean I do not
have enemies, nor that I need to be nice to those who plot evil and
eat
up my people as if they were bread. Jesus
knew how to call a fox a fox. He
knew a den of vipers when he saw one. I looked into the face of
evildoers yesterday, and I am not going to sugar-coat what I saw. I
am not going to play nice with those who steal
from orphans and widows.
It has never been clearer to me that
there are times to bind
up a whip of cords and chase out the moneychangers. Real love
refuses to allow injustice to stand. If "loving" the
oppressor means assuming the best about their motivations, I don't.
If "loving" them means treating them with gentleness,
allowing them to continue doing evil unchallenged, I can't.
Real love gets furious in the presence
of oppression. Real love sees that the only way to freedom - for all
of us, regardless of our station in life - is to work for justice for
the widow and the orphan, the foreigner and the poor, those who
are most marginalized in our society. We
will be judged based on how we treat the least of these.
Too often, we religious people try to
suppress anger. We want to skip over it, and go straight to joy,
tenderness and healing. We want the resurrection without the
crucifixion. I fear that, all too often, we worship a God who lets us
off the hook, rather than a holy, righteous God who expects us to be
transformed - who
baptizes us with the Holy Spirit and with fire.
Anger is a gift from God. It is an
alarm bell, alerting us to the presence of conditions that we should
not accept. Before we can even consider how to speak tenderly to
those who are taking advantage of our people, we must first know that
wrong really is wrong. We must hear the wake-up call of anger,
letting us know that this kind of behavior is unacceptable. We have
to feel in our bones that dispossessing the poor is evil, that
pushing families out of their homes for profit is a despicable
business.
For a middle class person like me, it
is easy for me to treat this kind of injustice as an abstraction, but
I cannot do that anymore. Holy anger has woken me up. This struggle
is real, and I have to be a part of it.























