Eviction on Trial

Cities from New York to Minneapolis are providing free attorneys to low-income tenants facing eviction.

NEW YORK — Shawn Johnson’s mom died of a heart attack in his arms in their Brooklyn apartment. He recounts that day in August 2018 folding his arms like he’s cradling her ghost. His brother, who also lived with them, died of cancer a few months earlier in February. He takes a moment to steady himself, one hand on a wall, breathing slow and deep to push back tears. There is no place for this kind of sorrow in housing court.

Jared Riser, who is working on Johnson’s case, nudges him into the present. Johnson is scraps of paper away from eviction. Riser tells Johnson he needs three more documents to place him in the apartment two years before his relatives died. Can he dig into that black plastic bag again? Johnson unspools the paper skeleton of his life onto the covers of a few waste bins, their makeshift office on the fourth floor of Kings County Housing Court.

The number of U.S. eviction cases has been stubbornly high since the mid-2000s. About 6 percent of all renters in the country went to housing court in 2016, according to statistics from Princeton University’s Eviction Lab. Roughly two million people (about 6,300 a day) were evicted that year.

These numbers worry city officials nationwide. They see eviction fueling expensive problems, such as homelessness, truancy, and unemployment. Desperate for a solution, an increasing number are latching onto an idea that looks promising: giving free attorneys to low-income tenants facing eviction.

New York City introduced the first program in 2017. Since then, Washington and San Francisco have funded similar ones. In July, Philadelphia’s council budgeted for a program and, in November, Minneapolis followed. In December, Newark, New Jersey’s City Council moved to have attorneys in court by summer. Some cities, like Cleveland, are exploring a pilot project. These investments, city officials say, will offset the cost of shelters and future legal proceedings.

“This is not about a contract. This is much bigger. Eviction presents a huge burden on city services,” says Philadelphia councilwoman Helen Gym. “We have to think about what can we do legislatively and politically to make it a pressing agenda that defines politics for the future.”

Housing court has long been a lopsided affair, according to the National Coalition for a Civil Right to Counsel. Before these programs, almost all landlords had attorneys; practically no tenants did. That’s one reason evictions rose in New York City despite active rent regulation in a majority of its apartments.

“That unequal playing field and inherent unfairness all too often led to eviction that could have been prevented,” says Steven Banks, commissioner of the city’s Human Resources Administration.

New York City’s plan is the most expensive in the country. Fully implemented, it will cost $155 million and represent 400,000 people. Advocates say the cost is worth it. From July 2017 to June 2018, tenants with representation increased by 30 percent, while evictions by city marshals decreased 27 percent from 2013.

“Evictions impact all aspects of life – employment and children’s education,” says Edward Josephson, director of litigation and housing for Legal Services NYC, one of the groups that provides low-income attorneys for housing court. “There is such a cascade of horribles that comes out of losing one’s home.”

Johnson says the day after his mother died, someone called about the lease. Anxiety about eviction triggered her heart attack, he says. As he is hunched over these trash cans looking through prescriptions, social security letters and gas bills, he wonders if the stress will take him, too.

“I’m tired, I’m sleepy and I’m scared,” Johnson says. “I feel like I gave them enough paperwork. I mean, what more do you need?”

Riser keeps Johnson focused. The New York Legal Assistance Group is representing Johnson. Riser, who just graduated from Brooklyn Law School, is working with them as part of a two-year fellowship program. When he is done, he may become one of the 500 city-funded attorneys and paralegals. They work for established nonprofit aid groups that staff the courthouse on alternate days. Riser, working under a supervising attorney, is negotiating on a bench in a fluorescently lit hallway with the landlord’s attorney, Paul Finkelstein.

Finkelstein’s client says Johnson is a good tenant – quiet and paid up. But Johnson’s name is not on the lease of the federally subsidized apartment, and so he is trying to prove the apartment was his primary residence for the two years before his family passed away. Johnson’s documents include his driver’s license, prescriptions, and letters from social security. The landlord needs Johnson’s documents to meet Housing and Urban Development guidelines, Finkelstein explains.

Without representation, Johnson would have been in front of a judge. It’s unlikely he would have had help screening documents or sought alternative methods to prove residency.

“It is a big shift in the way housing court works. It gives people really tremendous access to justice,” says Jonathan Fox, director of tenant’s rights for the New York Legal Assistance Group, adding that the change was a long time coming. “You can’t have rents that never stop rising and incomes that never go up and not expect a housing problem.”

Expanding legal representation in court is part of a larger movement known as the right to counsel. New York City scholars and coalitions on the frontlines of the housing fight, which dovetailed with this legal push, created a blueprint of the city’s movement to share with other cities.

Minneapolis officials were interested. Its population had been in decline for decades but has rebounded to near peak 1950s levels.

“Said plainly, we don’t have enough homes for people who want to live here,” says Minneapolis Council President Lisa Bender. With rents rising, low-income families are being evicted. Some can’t make rent, others have landlords who want tenants who can pay more.

The city approved $650,000 for low-income housing court counsel; it would take $5 million to represent everyone, Bender said. Lacking those funds, officials employed other tools to help renters. For example, the City Council moved to use tax breaks to spur affordable housing development and leverage rental license fees to keep properties maintained. A controversial development plan called Minneapolis 2040 passed in December, part of which would increase multi-unit rentals in historically white neighborhoods by removing single-family zoning.

“When the federal government passes policy that exacerbates income inequality or HUD (the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development) slashes funding for affordable housing, or when the national minimum wage falls behind what it takes to support a family, the consequences fall to local government,” Bender says. “Our constituents are demanding we do more.”

Back in Brooklyn, after more than two hours of digging and phone calls, the landlord isn’t sure that Johnson’s paperwork satisfies federal requirements. A hearing is set for February, where a judge may decide. Until then, Riser and Johnson will keep digging.

“My lawyer, he helps me,” Johnson says. “But court – it makes me feel like I’m nothing, like they don’t want me to stay (in my home) knowing I’ve been there, helping take care of my mom and my brother.”

Source: usnews.com