Becky and Chad are Coming
A row angular, modern townhouses is under construction 7 blocks from my house. The corner used to a be a colorful community garden, where neighbors grew fleshy red tomatoes and watermelons that swelled in the hot summer sun under wide leaves and fragrant yellow flowers. That has been bulldozed down to dirt. Now, a chain link fence rings the dust lot, holding in yellow earth movers which stand in the lot like oversized Tonka toys. Signs hung on the fence display flashy architectural renderings of the new buildings.

The flashy drawings of the new buildings are an abrupt contrast to the modest single family homes that surround the lot. Fading paint, older cars, and pale dry grass mark the properties. Families sit on their porches and laugh while dark haired kids play in the pale grass. The yards all full of bikes and toys that belong to beautiful brown kids who laugh and tease each other, pretending not to hear when their abuelas call to them in melodic accents. For now, its a working class area, on the edge of Salt Lake’s downtown, with lots of multigenerational families, many of them recent immigrants. The shiny new townhouses are not being built for them.
I came to Salt Lake for the best snow in the world, and to enjoy a small, but dynamic, vibrant, and progressive city…. that was also dirt cheap. When I moved to Utah in 2012, people looked at me funny and wondered why I would want to live in a Mormon colony most people who struggle to find on a map. Five years later, the secret is out about Utah’s gorgeous mountains, lively bar and restaurant culture, four seasons, and strong economy. Now Utah leads the nation in population growth. As it’s capital and largest city, Salt Lake is the epicenter of that massive growth. The city is magnet for young, post-college and mid-career millennials looking for good jobs and cheap rent. As more and more people flood into Salt Lake, the demand for housing means apartments are going up in places Becky and Chad wouldn’t have ventured to at night just 5 years ago. That includes the Poplar Grove neighborhood where I currently live.
As much as I’ve loved it, one thing that was always tough about living here, was that the area is so white. Utah is an ethnically homogenous place, which probably surprises no one to hear. It wasn’t perfect but I had fallen in love with the mountains and sky. I quickly found a group of Black friends to hang out with, but I’ve missed just seeing other people that look like me when I’m out and about in the city. Still, I wasn’t about to leave my friends, my job, and 200+ inches of the best snow on earth every winter.
When I found the city’s west side, it was like a mirage to a thirsty legionnaire. It’s a cultural paradise of beautiful people in rich shades of brown and Black; they call to each other in languages I sometimes don’t recognize. The languages are sometimes unfamiliar: Arabic, Burmese, Congolese, but I recognize the smell of family dinners from the delicious smells of food cooking when I walk my dog in the dusky evenings. And I love watching the kids, jet black hair in every texture, big dark eyes, playing in the park or riding down the street two to a bike, like I did when I was that age.
I’ve heard about gentrification in turning places like Harlem from historic communities to soulless and white washed. I don’t want to trade that in for Poplar Grove to become another trendy affluent neighborhood. Those places have their own vibe and that’s great. I know where to go for cold pressed juice, or if I ever want to take a Pilates class. I don’t want the beautiful brown kids and laughing abuelas to get pushed out by privileged people with ironic tattoos, the kind that pedal expensive bikes wearing thrift store clothes. I want my neighborhood, and the people in it, to stay where, and how we are.
