Priced Out: A California student grapples with the housing crisis
Kasper Dilmaghani
Kasper Dilmaghani is studying communication and journalism at Laney College, in Oakland, California, and is a staff writer and copy editor for the college district’s newspaper, The Citizen. He is part of On Spec’s Intern Mentorship Program. Follow him on Twitter: @KasperDilmaghan
In 2011 I moved from my hometown of Berkeley to neighboring Oakland, California. I was in my early twenties and unbeknownst to me, I was falling into a trap.
The reality of being stuck was not apparent right away. Teaming up with a co-worker from a coffee shop in Berkeley and two of her friends, the four of us moved into a four bedroom apartment in downtown Oakland in an attempt to escape high rent prices in Berkeley.
Oakland at the time was a haven, rents were cheaper than surrounding cities in Alameda County, let alone San Francisco. Even with an enviable location, the apartment my roommates and I eventually ended up signing a lease for had remained unoccupied, having been listed on craigslist for several months. The reason affordable units remained unoccupied was because of negative stereotypes that are still associated with the city. Oakland is often synonymous with criminal activity. Lately, Oakland has become synonymous with something else entirely.
Growing up in Berkeley I spent little to no time in Oakland. For me, and my friends, most fun activities took place in our hometown, or across the bay in San Francisco. As a kid and then as a young adult I became conditioned to believe that Oakland was a city to avoid.
I remember feeling nervous when I moved to my apartment in downtown Oakland. The first weekend in my new neighborhood, I noted how empty and abandoned the downtown area was. vacant parking lots on every block, barely anyone on the streets and practically no restaurants open.
Not long after I moved, I began working at a coffee shop in Oakland’s Lakeshore neighborhood. I was struck by the beauty of the lake as I biked around it to get to work. On the job I was charmed by the diversity of the clientele, people of all backgrounds teamed throughout the neighborhood. In my apartment, it was not unusual to hear people speaking different languages, especially Mongolian. Down the street I’d hear the beat of drum circles every day from the Malonga Casquelourd Center, where they practice African music and dance. My trips to Oakland’s Chinatown would envelop me in the smells of Asian food. West Oakland played host to several art and music shows set in abandoned warehouses from Oakland’s industrial past.
The feelings of doubt about moving began to fade and give way to a profound appreciation of what Oakland had to offer. I became tied to the city in a way I’d never felt before, even in my neighboring hometown. The people I met, coupled with the experiences I was having grew into a love for Oakland. I felt like I was a part of the city, I felt like I fit in, for a few years I truly felt free in the place I was living.
However, my growing infatuation with Oakland was blinding me from the changes that were taking place. Looking back, the first signs of change came right after the Occupy movement, where people filled parks and squares setting up tent encampments in protest of Wall Street’s greed and economic disenfranchisement. After the circling police helicopters left and the encampments were cleared by police, new restaurants and bars began to open. Crowds of people began to appear downtown, even on weekends. Events like First Friday where they convert a downtown street into a fairground were created, to lure people to Oakland.
At first the bars, restaurants and events were a welcome sight. There was more to do in the downtown area. So much so that soon the available rooms for rent in my apartment began to balloon in price. The four-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment I currently live in is not far off in price from a studio unit in the same building. I began to notice more English spoken in my apartment building, less diversity in the neighborhoods I love and the sounds of drums drowned out by the sounds of construction.
Tent encampments began to appear in parks, on streets and under highways where people becoming homeless took refuge. The skyrocketing rent prices show no mercy; those who can’t afford to pay don’t get a roof over their heads. To make matters worse, regular tent encampment clearings by police further unsettle an already displaced community.
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In the name of new housing, the parking lots that sat empty on weekends are jackhammered. Even the daycare center across the street from me got demolished for development. Block by block construction sites continue to break ground. One building is finished, two more begin being built. Streets and sidewalks are closed, traffic keeps cars at a standstill, communities are cut off from one another. The city grows taller, denser and less recognizable every day. Yet the homeless encampments continue to grow, which begs the question, who are these new homes being built for?
Not for the people in the encampments, not for me or my cohorts. The feeling of freedom I felt in the midst of my honeymoon phase with my new city has given way to a feeling of being trapped. My apartment was built before January 1, 1983. This means we are protected by rent control. Building management can only raise the rent a maximum of 3.5 percent annually. As the only remaining original tenant on the lease, my presence in the unit is the only thing keeping the rent from being raised to market rate for my roommates and I.
What began as a haven from high rental prices in Berkeley has turned into a prison, where no other affordable options remain in the county I was born and raised in. Facing the decision to move away to earn my bachelor’s degree also means leaving the place I am from and not being able to afford to return. If I do decide to escape Oakland, like so many of my peers, one thing is certain: I will not be leaving the same city I moved to in 2011.
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I hope that if I choose to leave, that one day I will be able to afford to return. Rent control is a good thing, but it is also not enough. Simply building new apartments without a plan for what to do for those not able to afford astronomical rent prices and living expenses will not solve the problems facing Oakland and the San Francisco Bay Area.
The key, to me, lies in remembering what made the city great to begin with: ethnic and class diversity, art, music, and culture. Although I am playing a part in Oakland’s gentrification, as a transplant from neighboring Berkeley, I am also an advocate for what makes Oakland a wonderful city. The people and things that make Oakland great must be cared for and protected in order to stymie the cascade of negative consequences born from a growing and changing Oakland. Those of us who made the Bay Area home or were born there should have the right to stay and return home, without earning a six figure salary.
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