Tracy Scott Forson

Barry Farm in southeast Washington, D.C., is one of the city’s poorest areas, but it’s rich with historical significance. The community dates to 1867, when it was among the nation’s first developments for freed slaves.

Now, many of the residents face eviction to make way for an upscale development that will include apartments, houses, stores and some public housing. After multiple appeals that stalled the project, plans are now proceeding.

It’s a trend that black city dwellers from Oakland to Atlanta know well: A formerly neglected neighborhood gets gentrified, bringing amenities such as a dog park, a Starbucks and an art gallery but also soaring costs. The transformation smells like sweet progress to some, but it carries the stench of discrimination for those who persevered during the rough times but are now forced to move.

In working-class Philadelphia neighborhoods that experienced gentrification, the black population plummeted from nearly 16,000 in 1970 to fewer than 8,000 by 2000, according to a 2016 Pew Charitable Trusts report.

Oakland, the birthplace of the Black Panther Party, saw its African-American population fall 25% between 2000 and 2010. Recent U.S. Census figures show that whites account for 36% of the population, compared with 27% for African Americans.

In 2017, the Census Bureau estimated that Washington, D.C. – once known as "Chocolate City" because of a black population that topped 70% in the 1970s and ’80 – had reached virtual racial parity: 47% black and 45% white.

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It’s not the idea of increased diversity that drives opposition to gentrification, but rather the belief that cities and developers are making a concerted effort to lure more affluent residents at the expense of poorer ones.

The Fort Greene area of Brooklyn, a favorite muse for director Spike Lee's films of the 1980s and '90s, has changed so dramatically that the new, Netflix version of Lee's "She's Gotta Have It" includes white characters and racial conflicts that parallel real life. Longtime residents are fighting a 10.5 million remake of Fort Greene Park set to begin this spring, saying they were left out of a process aimed only at attracting new, nonblack residents.

Washington’s sweeping DC Cultural Plan, released last year, “articulates that policies will be changing to attract people of a certain age and people with certain professions,” says Aristotle Theresa, an attorney who last year brought a $1 billion lawsuit against Washington for catering to “the creative class.”

“There are laws that protect against discrimination when it comes to age and income,” Theresa says. “There’s been a pattern of practice of the zoning commission not protecting the interests of our clients.”

Barry Farm residents prevailed in a separate complaint last year, and the D.C. Court of Appeals agreed that community members should have a say about the plan for new housing – but by then many of Theresa’s clients had relocated.

In several other cities, lawsuits have been filed to help residents stay put or obtain comparable housing.

In 2016, a lawsuit in Los Angeles alleged that developers in Koreatown illegally ousted tenants from rent-controlled apartments. As a result, affordable housing was built. In 2017, New York residents in Manhattan’s Sutton Place sued over developers’ plans to erect a 78-story luxury apartment building. The resulting zoning change allows for a higher percentage of affordable units.

Troy Prestwood, chairman of an advisory neighborhood commission in Washington, says developers often promise to include affordable housing in new developments, but those units usually are the last to be built. By that time, the displaced residents have moved.

Developers of Barry Farm aim to attract residents who will “strengthen arts, humanities, culture and heritage,” as the Cultural Plan suggests.

“When they articulate it, they say it’s because it drives the economy,” Theresa says. “Studies have shown that the creative class skews white.”

Tendani Mpulubusi, one of Theresa’s Barry Farm clients, is working with developers in the hope that neighbors who haven’t already left will be able to benefit from revitalization.

“I’m not against neighborhood improvements,” says Mpulubusi, who produced a documentary about the neighborhood. “Make commercial space available for start-ups. Make housing affordable for entrepreneurs.

“The worst part about being displaced,” he says, “is you were here suffering during rough times, but won’t have a chance to benefit from the good times.”