I am super excited to present the first guest post on this blog, by Sherry Quan Lee! This piece is a must read about the complex issues of race, class, gender, and privilege. Ann
Sherry Quan Lee
Note from author: I started to write an essay about my experience buying a foreclosed townhome. A second story wanted to appear, one about race. Does everything always have to be about race? The second story is in caps. Then, someone wrote to tell me about her experience buying a foreclosed home in North Minneapolis. Yet another story wanted visibility. The letter to Dear Caucasian (in italics) is not a replica of any sent letter to any particular person, but hopefully gets to the heart of the difference of understanding and of experience. It is difficult for me to write a story without including factors of race, class, gender, age, etc., whether I want to or not. Thus, the following story may feel disjointed and be unwieldy to read, but that’s the point.
Buying Home: The Story the Story the Story
I am a single woman, with a low/average income, student loans in forbearance, a bankruptcy on my credit report, no savings account, and no down payment; however, I just experienced buying a home. Foolish, lucky, naïve, and determined, I now live in another new neighborhood.
Nomad. For forty-two years, since I left my childhood home at the age of nineteen, I’ve moved at least fifty times. In the past eight years, I moved eight times. I moved because I had to. I moved because I wanted to. I moved because someone else wanted me to. I moved for love. I moved to get away from love. I moved because the moon was full and I was foolhardy. My most recent move, moved me, surprised me, challenged my bravado. Told me some things are not true, some things are.
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THE STORY I WASN’T GOING TO TELL, THE STORY I DIDN’T THINK WAS PART OF THIS STORY IS TRYING TO BE HEARD.
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I didn’t plan to take advantage of low interest rates, and foreclosed homes. My plan was to take control of my life. Stop whining about relationships, renting, winter—any number of, perhaps, unrelated things. It was time, I thought, to plan my future. An ad for a senior high rise, enticed me. There was something seductive about the neighborhood, and about the building itself. It’s subtle curve. How it leaned into the sky. How the price was—affordable. However, by the time I was, much to my surprise, pre-approved for a loan, the affordable unit was sold. Other units in the building I couldn’t afford, especially the remodeled unit with a tenth floor view of star filled nights.
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THE STORY I AM TRYING TO AVOID IS REMINESCENT OF TOO MANY STORIES. THE ROOMMATE WHO LOCKED ME OUT OF OUR APARTMENT WHEN I TOLD HER I WAS BLACK. THE APARTMENT THAT WAS SUDDENLY UNAVAILABLE WHEN I SHOWED UP IN PERSON. THE ALL WHITE NEIGHBORHOOD I GREW UP IN. NEIGHBORS WITH GUNS. THE LUTHERAN CHURCH I WAS A MEMBER OF (TAUGHT SUNDAY SCHOOL AT, SANG IN THE CHOIR, AND EDITED THE NEWSLETTER) THAT SAID NO BLACK PEOPLE WERE WELCOME.
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I had no money and not the best credit, but I was paying $720 for rent in an unkempt, noisy apartment building with no heat or too much heat, broken windows, mold, and any number of annoying problems. I had been feeling sorry for myself for being such a loser: no partner, no home, no career, and no extra $s. I would forgo the penthouse, exercise rooms, stainless steel appliances, and a short commute to work for anything that came with an affordable mortgage.
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DID IT MATTER WHO MY NEIGHBORS WERE? SO WHAT IF THEY WERE ALL WHITE. IF THEY DIDN’T LIKE ME, SO WHAT? IT WAS TIME I NO LONGER WORRIED ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE’S REACTIONS TO ME.
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Dear C (Caucasian),
Thank you for sending me your new home announcement. Congratulations on purchasing a new home. Yes, I am sure you are thrilled that you were able to buy a low cost home, and given thousands of dollars extra to live in North Minneapolis, even though you had a suitable down payment. And, yes, I am sure you are happy that you will be living in a diverse neighborhood (wherever I live, the neighborhood is more diverse by one person).
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I found a realtor on the World Wide Web. He recommended a mortgage broker: if anyone can get you a mortgage, this man could. I was pre-approved—for less than some people still pay for cars. Tears of joy. I was going to own a home.
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C, do you want to know why your happiness makes me angry? As a white person you can use your unearned privilege to move anywhere you want and expect to be safe, and even welcome without giving it any or much thought.
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WAS I WORRIED ABOUT HOW NEIGHBORS WOULD REACT TO ME, OR WAS I WORRIED ABOUT HOW I WOULD REACT TO THEM?
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When I was a girl, my aunt lived in North Minneapolis in the projects—how much choice did she have? Another aunt moved into the, then, Jewish neighborhood in North Minneapolis—was she safe or welcomed?
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Silly me. I knew I would need a down payment, but I didn’t bother to calculate how much, or other expenses. (The first time I dropped out of college it was because I was going to fail math.) I can’t believe I asked a friend to gift me the down payment, but asking is what we sometimes have to do to take control of our lives, and it doesn’t have to be about shame.
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HE GAVE ME MONEY IF I ASKED FOR IT, BEGGING. I GAVE HIM………. HIS FATHER HELPED BUY US A HOME, BUT I HAD TO PRETEND I WASN’T BLACK………HE DIVORCED ME TO MARRY A WHITE WOMAN WITH A FATHER……..MY CHINESE FATHER LEFT HOME. HE AND HIS NEW WHITE WIFE AND THEIR KIDS MOVED NEXT DOOR TO MY BLACK RELATIVES IN CAMDEN WHO WEREN’T ALLOWED TO VISIT MY MOM, THEIR SISTER, IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD, OUR HOUSE, BECAUSE THEY WERE BLACK AND WE WERE PASSING FOR WHITE.
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Yes, Dear C, you are correct, it was a long time ago that my aunts lived in North Minneapolis, but don't fool yourself into thinking racism has disappeared. Just the other day three Black men were stabbed because the white man that stabbed them didn't like Black people. Just the other day, I saw KKK painted in life-size letters across a garage in a Minneapolis suburb.
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Unfortunately, the bottom line isn’t always the bottom line. There are half truths and avoidances. Extra expenses included a pre-purchase house inspection, and fees and interest I only half understood. And, boxes, and bubble wrap, and movers--$10/hr and pizza and beer. And locks, and window coverings, and cleaning supplies, and painters—$10/hr and pizza and beer.
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I GREW UP POOR. BEFORE GOVERNMENT CHEESE THERE WAS CANNED MEAT AND POWDERED MILK. WAITING IN LONG LINES. AID FOR FAMILIES OF DEPENDENT CHILDREN (AFDC). SALVATION ARMY FOOD BASKETS AT THANKSGIVING. MOTHER WAS A DIVORCED SINGLE-PARENT ( FIVE CHILDREN) WITH AN EIGHTH GRADE EDUCATION, YET SHE OWNED A HOME. I AM COLLEGE EDUCATED WITH A GRADUATE DEGREE. I OWN NOTHING, BUT A BIT OF SHAME (AND SOME REALLY GOOD BOOKS). IS IT TRUE THE DOLLAR IS WORTH LESS TODAY THAN FORTY-FIVE YEARS AGO?
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The process of finding a home, putting in an offer, and closing, took three months. My realtor, mortgage broker, and closer were patient and mostly calm—unlike me--the frustrated, impatient, nervous, sometimes angry buyer. I was in control of some things. Checking the MLS listings daily, telling the realtor which townhomes I wanted to see. Most things I had no control over: where properties I could afford were located, the condition of the properties I could afford—and if they were FHA approved.
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WHEN I FOUND A HOME I COULD AFFORD IN A NEIGHBORHOOD I WASN’T FAMILIAR WITH I ASKED MYSELF WHO LIVES HERE—ANY PEOPLE OF COLOR, ANY GLBT, ANY WRITERS, ANY ACTIVISTS, ANY GRANDMOTHERS, ANY ………….. WITH NO TIME FOR ANSWERS, I MADE AN OFFER, WHICH WAS ACCEPTED. I KEPT TELLING MYSELF, IF THEY DON’T LIKE ME IT’S THEIR PROBLEM. IF THEY DON’T LIKE ME, IT’S THEIR PROBLEM. I KEPT TELLING MYSELF I WAS NOT AFRAID.
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In response to your proclaimed happiness, I am writing this letter to tell you about my experience. I too recently moved. IT WAS NEVER NOT ON MY MIND IF I WOULD BE WELCOME and IF I WOULD BE SAFE in my new community.
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Both the realtor and the inspector were surprised by the condition of the foreclosed home I purchased. It was not trashed. Apparently it had been tidied by Fanny Mae. The appliances weren’t missing. The walls weren’t bashed in. Although the property sat empty for a year, there were few cobwebs, no mouse turds, not a stain on the carpet. Okay, there was/is that icky smell of dog pee.
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The townhome I bought is what I could afford. What I could afford wasn’t much. No swimming pool, no gym, no balcony, no flowers, no picnic benches.(No grass to cut, no snow to shovel.) The furnace is twenty-five years old. The dryer doesn’t work. The dishwasher is covered with hard water stains. The front door handle is missing, as well as a window screen. Next door, another foreclosed property sits empty. What isn’t much, is much more than I expected—and I am thankful for my new home (as well as truly sad for someone else’s misfortune).
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FEAR IS THE FEELING SUNK INTO MY BONES, HISTORY CLINGING TO THE PERSON I AM. MORE PREVALENT THAN FEAR, ANGER. ANGER, WHICH EVERYDAY I TRY TO TRANSFORM INTO LIVING, INTO LOVE.
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I have made one friend where I live. I have made a couple of enemies. Others, pay me no mind. Not all people in my neighborhood are white, though according to the 2000 census, most were. I look forward to the next census.
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MY MOTHER IS HERE, I CAN HEAR HER, AND MY AUNT GRACE AND MY AUNT MARION. THEY ARE SAYING IT IS FORTY-FIVE YEARS LATER. I SEE THEM. THEY ARE SHAKING THEIR HEADS.
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Dear C, do you really think that I would believe you? How could you honestly say you had no other options?
Sincerely,
A woman who didn’t learn about oppression from a book.
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I await my tax credit. I have some gifting to do and some carpet to buy.
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SHERRY QUAN LEE, author of Chinese Blackbird, 2002 (“an underground favorite”) (Asian American Renaissance, 2002, reprinted Loving Healing Press, 2008), approaches writing as a community resource and as culturally based art of an ordinary everyday practical aesthetic. She is a honorary Distinguished Alumni of North Hennepin Community College. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Minnesota in 1996. Recently retired from ten years of teaching Creative Writing at Metropolitan State University, Saint Paul, Minnesota, Quan Lee facilitates community workshops at Intermedia Arts/SASE: The Write Place, and elsewhere. Quan Lee was a first year participant of Cave Canem. Previously, she curated cabaret performances and edited journal anthologies for the Asian American Renaissance.
