The empire strikes back

The dot-com boom permanently displaced hundreds of poor families, artists, activists, and people of color. But downtown forces aren't satisfied – they're funding Care Not Cash and HOPE to finish the job.

By Cassi Feldman

IT'S FRIDAY NIGHT and a silver sedan pulls up outside Stars restaurant. A handsome older man helps his wife out of the car and hands his keys to the valet. You can tell this is a ritual. Soon they'll be sipping martinis, trying to decide between the grilled quail and the cardamom-scented lamb chops.

A few blocks away, small groups of homeless people cluster in United Nations Plaza. Two men sit on the rim of the fountain, playing guitar for their friends. Across the way, a woman with a dirty head-wrap rifles anxiously through her bag, crying.

It's a contrast most of us don't like to think about. But in a city that's only 49 square miles, we don't have much choice. And how we respond to poverty and homelessness says a lot about us.

In a Sept. 30 New Republic article, freelance writer Chris Nolan argues that San Franciscans these days seem more concerned with the rights of property owners than those of poor people, indicating a political shift to the right. A recent UC Berkeley poll found that when it comes to economic issues like universal health care or living-wage legislation, residents of San Francisco are far more conservative than those of Los Angeles.

Is it true? Are progressives losing ground? The city's business interests – groups like the Committee on Jobs and the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce – certainly hope so. They took a beating in the 2000 election, when voters threw out the mayor's corporate cronies in favor of an independent Board of Supervisors.

Now downtown forces are fighting back. They've already spent more than a million dollars on two November ballot initiatives designed to change the city's politics for good.

Proposition R, the Home Ownership Program for Everyone, allows landlords to convert any size building to condominiums. Proposition N, also known as Care Not Cash, purports to replace cash aid to homeless people with in-kind services such as food and shelter beds. Supporters say that if passed, these measures would help alleviate homelessness and fortify the middle class.

But beneath their compassionate rhetoric is an angry edge. The tourism industry is anxious about empty hotels and restaurants. Landlords are kicking themselves for not selling when the market was strong. And even though the city's top 10 companies – including Chevron, Pacific Gas and Electric Co., and Charles Schwab – earned combined profits of $12.9 billion in 2001, that's just not good enough.

So they've come up with a solution: If you whittle away the rental supply and make it virtually impossible for homeless people to survive here, they'll be forced to leave town – or never show up in the first place. If the city is richer and cleaner (and whiter), its economy will thrive (see Opinion, page 11).

This isn't the first time conservatives have tried to seize control. Reeling from a similar loss in the 1990 election, the Committee on Jobs crafted a secret plan to elect pro-business supervisors, block new taxes, manipulate the media, and rewrite the City Charter to concentrate power in the hands of the mayor (see "Hostile Takeover," 7/13/94). But their efforts were severely hampered by the return of district elections.

This time their success depends largely on middle-class voters. If they go for Props. N and R this November, they'll be drafted into what a new group known as SFSOS is calling an "army" of concerned citizens. If the army is powerful enough, big-money backers hope, it could oust the current board, privatize city services, and elect Sup. Gavin Newsom mayor in 2003.

But the makeover may not happen just yet. Labor unions, city officials, service providers, and community activists are fighting the initiatives. They have their own ideas on how to create more housing. But first they have an election to win.

'R' is for 'ruse'

One of the hardest parts of that effort is going to be convincing people not to vote for HOPE. Regardless of income, most Americans identify themselves as middle class and long for the trappings of a middle-class life: a nice car, a trip to Europe, and most important, a home. The city's conservative forces know that – and they're willing to exploit that longing if it means shifting the city's politics their way.

That's where HOPE comes in. If passed, over the next 25 years it would allow the conversion of 85,000 units to condominiums, eliminating more than a third of the current rental supply.

Prop. R backers say we shouldn't worry about the future, we should worry about the people who live here now. If we don't offer families a chance to own property, they'll be forced to leave town.

"Most people don't want to be renters for their entire lives," said Roberta Achtenberg, senior vice president of the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce. "Owning a home is the most important tool that any person has to stabilize their family, accumulate some equity, and give a child an education."

Too bad it's not a tool most San Franciscans can use. Sup. Tony Hall, who first introduced Prop. R, recently argued that if a family can afford to rent here, it can probably afford to own. In 2000, he said, 5,000 apartments were sold at an average of $156,000 each. He didn't bother to mention that that was the per-unit price of rental buildings sold to landlords. The average price of an individual condominium sold last year was $499,000.

Given the size of the city, the demand for housing will always outpace supply. That's why, despite the recession, home prices continue to climb. Yet if we try to stabilize prices through rent control or affordability requirements, landlords and developers strike back. The result is a tug-of-war that never seems to end.

The most dramatic of these battles was in the spring of 1979, when tenants turned the tables on Angelo Sangiacomo, a notorious landlord with more than 1,700 units citywide. Frustrated by sudden rent increases of 25 to 65 percent, wrote Jim Forbes in a 1999 a San Francisco Apartment Magazine story, they mobilized to put rent control on the ballot. It lost by a tiny margin, but city hall was forced to respond with a citywide rent control law.

Another tenant victory came in 1982. After a wave of evictions that included seniors and long-term tenants, then-mayor Dianne Feinstein passed the first cap on condo conversions, limiting them to 200 per year. "[The legislation] once and for all sets the standard that large complexes built for rental housing and inhabited by tenants will no longer be threatened annually by the possibility of conversion," she wrote at the time in a letter to the Board of Supervisors.

These days most new laws are still likely to favor tenants, who make up 65 percent of the city's inhabitants. But local landlords haven't exactly been suffering. The average rent on a two-bedroom hovers around $2,000, only a slight decrease from two years ago. Over the past five years, more than 13,154 evictions were filed, half of which made way for an owner to move in or for a building to be converted to condos.

Evidently, that wasn't enough gentrification to sway city hall; Prop. R demands more. "When tenants become owners, they make an investment in a community," the HOPE Web site explains. "They put down roots and gain a powerful incentive to work for better public schools and safer and cleaner streets." Implicit in this statement is the notion that homeowners are simply better for the city than renters. But many local leaders started off as renters (see "The Good Old Days," page 27) – and some still are.

HOPE would quickly eliminate the underground, entry-level apartments that allowed people like them to move here. Its backers say affordable rentals don't exist in San Francisco so there's no need to protect them. But, as of press time, there were 225 rooms in San Francisco listed on Craig's List for $600 or less. Just $375 gets you into a "Cool House in Lower Haight"; $500 provides a "Very Big Furnished Room For One Guy."

Even during the height of the dot-com boom, there was always a limited supply of affordable rooms like those. If Prop. R passes, they will evaporate – and so will the population of artists, activists, and immigrants who needs them.

'N' is for 'nasty'

Those aren't the only folks downtown is trying to exile. A new billboard funded by the San Francisco Hotel Council features a man with designer sunglasses holding a cardboard sign that reads, "I should be able to walk a block without being hassled for change." It's a sentiment you probably wouldn't have heard last year, but now, thanks to Newsom's Care Not Cash initiative, it somehow passes for compassionate.

Like HOPE, Prop. N is aimed at middle-class voters who feel frustrated with the status quo and underserved by city government. But neither measure is designed to work. In fact, both would likely punish the very people they claim to serve.

Newsom's approach is nothing new. For decades city officials have tried – often quite successfully – to sweep away the poor to win votes and impress investors. In 1970, Justin Herman, then head of the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency, was asked to weigh in on the impending eviction of elderly Filipino residents from the I-hotel. "This land is too valuable to let poor people park on it," he said.

In the late 1980s then-mayor Art Agnos was mocked for letting homeless people sleep in Civic Center Plaza. But Camp Agnos, as it was known, didn't happen by accident. "If there are homeless people on the streets, I thought they should be allowed to stay where the mayor could see them," explained Bob Prentice, the city's first homeless coordinator.

Now he says that decision may have cost Agnos a second term. Former police chief Frank Jordan rode into office on an anti-Agnos platform, promising to attack homelessness. And Jordan was true to his word: in 1993 he instituted the Matrix program, which vigorously prosecuted "quality of life" infractions such as sleeping on the street and aggressive panhandling.

Four years later Mayor Willie Brown promised a more humane approach, but according to a July 1997 Street Sheet story, police handed out twice as many citations in the first five months of 1997, under Brown, as they did in the same period of 1995, when Matrix was in full effect.

The punitive approach clearly hasn't worked. San Francisco has more homeless people than ever: estimates range from 7,000 to 15,000 a night. In New York, where former mayor Rudolph Giuliani used the police to "clean up" the streets, homelessness has risen steadily since 1998 (see "Tough Love or Tough Luck?," 10/6/02). Yet despite these proven failures, Newsom, in his bid for mayor, is introducing more of the same.

Care Not Cash is just one of 34 pieces of legislation he's drafted, many of which would outlaw specific aspects of homelessness. If they pass, people could be cited for panhandling on median strips, for example, or for getting in the way of street sweepers. But the homeless people we spoke with say it's the thought of seeing their already meager General Assistance checks cut down to $59 that stings the most.

"I think it's disgraceful," said David Collins, 48, a formerly homeless man who now lives at the Vincent hotel. 'Politicians turn on the poor like, 'We're going to take that welfare Cadillac away from them.' But it's no picnic living on the streets with $300 a month."

Ten years ago a General Assistance check was enough to rent a room in a single-room-occupancy hotel. Not anymore: the hotels charge as much as $600 a month for a dirty, 10-by-10 room with a bathroom down the hall. G.A. recipients get a maximum of $395 – and that's only if they're enrolled in a welfare-to-work program.

Rather than urging the hotel owners to bring down the prices or giving the recipients more money, Care Not Cash simply cuts the grants. Newsom claims this will save homeless people from overdosing on drugs and alcohol, but his research on the subject is flimsy at best (see "Getting Careless," 6/19/01). Critics say that's because he isn't actually trying to solve the problem; he just wants to make city streets – and himself, by extension – look good.

Even Andre Davis, a formerly homeless man who appears in the Care Not Cash television commercial, isn't sure it will work. "If you take something away, you have to give something in return," he said. "There's not enough room in the shelters." Does he think Prop. N will create the additional services Newsom promises? "I don't know," he said. "I hope so."

Newsom has promised that everyone will be provided a bed or else get their checks back. He also insists that this won't cost taxpayers a dime. Something doesn't add up. According to the Department of Human Services, there are only 2,417 shelter beds in the city.

Where will the G.A. recipients go? Under Care Not Cash it doesn't matter, as long as they get off the dole – and there's ample evidence that when you cut welfare, people disappear. No one knows exactly what happens to them. Care Not Cash relies on the assumption the no one really cares.

Change of heart

Unfortunately for Prop. N, a lot of people do. "I believe that San Franciscans genuinely care about the poor people and homeless people in their midst," said Sister Bernie Galvin of Religious Witness with Homeless People, one of the groups leading the anti-N brigade. "Prop. N exploits that goodness and compassion."

If HOPE and Care Not Cash supporters really wanted to make the changes they claim, she said, they should think about where these initiatives are coming from. After all, who knows more about homelessness: Newsom, a millionaire business owner, or the hundreds of service providers opposing his plan?

With the help of local experts, Sup. Tom Ammiano drafted Proposition O, Exits from Homelessness, as a much needed alternative to Prop. N. Unlike Care Not Cash, his initiative actually mandates the creation of more supportive housing and drug treatment slots.

Collins got off the street thanks to Ben Aymes, a city outreach worker who sat down next to him in the park one day. Aymes convinced Collins to move indoors and eventually got him a room at the Vincent, which is run by City Housing, a local nonprofit. It's nothing fancy, but the hotel provides access to clothing, appliances, and counseling. Collins has lived there for a year. "I'm proof that Proposition O would work," he said.

Mental health care is also critically important. San Francisco has the highest rate of involuntary commitment in the state, but many of those confined against their will are then released after 72 hours with no medication or support. Similarly, a 1999 Department of Public Health study found that, at any time, there are more than 1,000 people on waiting lists for substance abuse treatment in San Francisco.

If Newsom truly wants to help people stay off drugs and alcohol, critics say, he should demand that addiction be treated as an illness – and guarantee people the care they need.

"I think his efforts are disingenuous," said Mary Kate Connor, director of Caduceus Outreach Services, during a recent radio interview. "I think he's trying to get elected mayor on the backs of the homeless. People who have money and power are in a position to help people who don't."

As for homeownership, even the tenant activists opposing Prop. R say they can relate to the desire to settle down and avoid eviction. They just don't think one group should gain stability at the expense of another. The current condo-conversion cap was recently increased from 200 to 400 units a year, with those extra units reserved for actual tenants.

Meanwhile, the city's Community Land Trust Task Force is drafting a plan that would help low-income tenants buy their homes, while removing property from the speculative market (see "Why Can't You Buy This House?," 8/1/01). And Propositions B and 46 on this November's ballot would provide millions of dollars in down-payment assistance and new affordable homes.

These problems are not insurmountable, but the supporters of Props. N and R are making the most of public frustration and compassion fatigue. The measures represent a two-pronged attack on district elections and San Francisco's long history of progressive ideals.

It's not surprising. The city's wealthy elite has its own interests to protect. That's why its members have invested more than a million dollars in these campaigns (see "Follow the Money," page 25). They don't want to think about homeless people while they're dining at Stars.

But across town this particular Friday night, there's a party to raise money for No on N television commercials created entirely by volunteers. Two hundred young lefties are joking around, reading poems, and dancing. They'll share their dinner of rice and beans with anyone who walks through the door.

E-mail Cassi Feldman at cassi@sfbg.com.

Home(less) economics

Making the most of a monthly government grant

Theresa Guerra, age unknown, homeless. Receives General Assistance grant of $392. Housing and meals: provided by shelter. Savings: $152. Muni pass: $38. Clothing from Goodwill or Thrift Town: $20. Probation fee: $80. Pager: $9. Toiletries and makeup: remainder.

Calvin Davis, 52, homeless. Receives G.A. grant of $320. Two nights in a hotel: $100. "Real food" such as hot links or KFC: $30. Movies and entertainment: remainder.

Jewn Bug, age 26, pregnant and formerly homeless. Works 29 hours a week for Personal Assistance Services grant of $395 a month. Rent at Dalt hotel in Tenderloin: $295. Phone bill: $30-$40 a month. Fruits, vegetables, and other food from farmer's market: remainder.

Mel Beetle, 60, formerly homeless. Receives Supplemental Security Income payment of $829 a month. Rent: $560. Muni pass: $8. Medicines: $200. Food: remainder.

Cleveland Jones, 58, homeless. Receives SSI grant of $741. Rent (before he was evicted): $500 a month. Cell phone bill: $79. Laundry and groceries that don't require refrigeration (salt, sugar, and cereal): remainder.

David Collins, age 48, formerly homeless. Receives G.A. grant of $397. Rent at the Vincent: $300. Phone bill: $45. Cigarettes, videos, shaving cream, inexpensive food: remainder.

C.F.

The good old days
Community advocates remember their first apartments

'I remember the one that enabled me to come out, to do the thing that gay men did in the '70s of working not too many hours a week and spending lots and lots of time learning how to be gay. I lived in a $60-a-month apartment on Pearl Street, about half a block from the new LBGT center. That was my half of a two-bedroom. I had a kitchen of my own, and I shared a bath.

I moved a lot. In those days you could move. There were so many wonderful neighborhoods in this town, and it was possible to just move if you found a place you liked better.

I hadn't even dealt with being gay at that point. People came to San Francisco to start a new life. It was a necessary thing. It was an escape and a chance to breathe. I couldn't have done it if I needed to have first and last month's rent on a $1,500 apartment."

Harry Britt, former supervisor, now a teacher at New College of California

"It was 40 years ago. The bishop of the United Methodist Church asked me to come. Glide was about to close its doors: 35 people were there, and now we've got 11,000. San Francisco was ready for a diverse church, for multiracial participation.

My first wife and I lived near Mt. Davidson, about three blocks up from Portola toward the cross. We lived in a two-bedroom house with a family room, a dining room, a kitchen, and two baths. The church provided a place for us to stay.

I have a feeling that we're going to have a very difficult situation with housing for a long time. We need to move toward making places permanent, but they must be reasonably priced for people to purchase. I don't think this initiative [Proposition R] will do that.

Rev. Cecil Williams, CEO of Glide Memorial Church

"When I first came [in 1951], I'd been in Paris on the G.I. bill for four years. I came here because I heard there was lots of red wine. Cheap red wine and cheap housing.

My first apartment was at 339 Chestnut in North Beach. I think it was $60 a month for a huge flat with a view of the bay. I lived with my wife. It was about six rooms, a big old Italian flat.

I was writing and reviewing poetry for the Chronicle and teaching French and teaching Shakespeare at the University of San Francisco.

If it were the most expensive place to live in the United States, I wouldn't have come. North Beach was all possible then, with all these lofts for painters. Now they've all turned into condominiums."

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, first poet laureate of San Francisco

"I first came here on July 4, 1948, from Baton Rouge, La., with two children.

We lived on Buchanan in the Western Addition. My cousin was buying that house. We didn't have any money, no jobs, no nothing. The kids were 8 and 10 years old, so I was looking for work pretty soon.

I got married after that and moved into public housing in Potrero Hill. My husband was a veteran, and they could get priority housing.

We came here because my mother was working here and my cousin was buying a house here. If I didn't have my family here, I never would have come."

Enola Maxwell, executive director of the Potrero Hill Neighborhood House

"We lived in Daly City for a month or two, and then we moved to Carmel Street, between Cole and Shrader. Me and my former husband, Art. It was the early '50s. We were paying $75 a month on Carmel for a two-bedroom apartment with a gorgeous view.

I think people need rental housing when they first come out. They don't know exactly where they may want to live, and they may not be here for very long. They come and rent housing and decide if they want to stay."

Sue Bierman, community activist and former supervisor

C.F.

Some factual corrections have been made to the online version of this story.