Part of the Problem
I recently rented a house in Charleston for life after graduation. It is a modest two bedroom, supposedly built in 1947. The neighborhood is full of houses of a similar age. Some have been recently updated, some, like mine, could use a little TLC. The streets are lined with newer Hondas and Volvos. Women clad in Lululemon push sporty baby strollers down the sidewalk. The house backs up to a park where people go for runs, play catch with their kids, and walk their dogs. I can ride my bike to work, or to the local farmers market. There are three craft breweries within one mile of the house. I can walk to an artist supply store and a vintage vinyl shop. New trendy restaurants pop up every month. It is a young-professional, hipster paradise.
This was not the case even five years ago, much less ten. This neighborhood is “north of the Crosstown,” synonymous with the wrong side of the tracks. Charleston is rapidly gentrifying. As once poor neighborhoods like Cannonborough/Elliotborough become cool and rent increases, people keep spreading north. Charleston’s East Side neighborhood is one of the last hold outs. The lifelong residents of the neighborhood are slowly being squeezed out between developments on King Street and East Bay Street. The East Bay development is anchored by the Cigar Factory, Clemson Architecture’s new Charleston home.
Gentrification is bad, right? But it is good for some, and I am pretty sure I am part of the problem. I chose my neighborhood because it is on the rise and it has all the amenities and walkability that I want. I wanted to live in one of the cooler more established neighborhoods farther south on the peninsula, but I simply could not afford it. I may not be a long time resident, but I did get priced out. In turn, I am moving to a more affordable neighborhood and pricing others out.
The readings this week made me really think about my neighborhood. Who built my house in 1947? Was it a developer? Was it a family? How many kids did they have? What ethnicity were they? How much money did they make? Who were their neighbors? When did they move out? Who moved in? How many people have lived there before me? Is this a dramatic gentrifying shift? Or just a natural trend? Who moves in when I move out?
I think you question of who moves in when you move out is thought provoking. This idea of transferring neighborhoods for affordability has seemly long been established. At this point in time, the cities seem to keep sprawling to keep up with the demand and the every shifting developments and transfers from good to bad and bad to good. My question becomes who defines what is good or bad? Does it all have to do with your socioeconomic level or profession? What happens when people are just given the opportunity to live together with a wider diverse background than perviously presented?
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