“We’re actually going to use the city subsidy program with the deepest affordability, the program really meant for neighborhoods like Brownsville. There will be apartments for a range of incomes, from twenty thousand to seventy thousand,” said the woman. She nodded, as if forgiving their mistake.
Tyrell was taking notes. “And will the new housing go to Brownsville residents?”
“All units will be advertised on the housing lottery, but community district residents will be prioritized for a percentage of units.”
“What’s in it for Bernard and Company?” Lina asked.
“You mean why are we interested in the project?”
“This kind of project is fairly integral to what we do,” said the man, still with that lecturing tone. “You probably know us as high-end housing developers, but we also build housing for the homeless. A mixed-income project is pretty much our bread and butter.”
Lina shook her head. He hadn’t answered the question. “I want to know how Bernard and Co. would profit off this project. We live in a capitalist society. It’s what you do.”
“Well, this is the kind of work we love,” said the woman, still playing good cop. “Of course, there’s the developer fee and rental income. But if you’re interested in a joint venture, we can offer your group a ten percent ownership stake in the property, along with management of the center on the ground floor.”
“So community ownership in name only, you mean?”
The two associates looked at each other, and Tyrell jiggled his knees under the table.
Lina was sick of this already. Millionaires, billionaires, profiting off the displacement and then acting like they loved themselves some charity work. She didn’t need to hear more.
“This is my point. We’re not in the business of privatizing our community. We’re bringing land into community control. We can’t work with a developer that’s drawing valueoutof the community.”
The two associates nodded in silence, cleared their throats.
“We understand your concern,” said the woman. “But as we see it, a joint venture provides all the ingredients needed for a successful project. As the developer, we offer the expertise, the money, while the community partner brings a good rapport with neighborhood residents.”
“These days, the city thinks it can help the poor by paying rich people to get richer.”
“The city needs its private developers,” the man said, folding his arms. “Unless the federal government wants to build more public housing. But it won’t do that, for good reason.”
“I think that’s exactly what the federal government should do. Just not in Brownsville.”
“And we could spend a whole day on that one,” Tyrell butted in before she could say more. He turned to the lady. “So specifically, how much space do you think we’d have for a cultural center on the ground floor?”
While Tyrell and the lady discussed what sort of things BYTE might like to see in a small community space, Lina dug in her purse for a tube of ChapStick.
When they finally headed to the elevators, Mr. Bernard appeared to say goodbye.
“It was nice speaking to your associates,” Lina said, shaking his hand. “But we will be submitting our own proposal, separately from Bernard and Company.”
Lina tried to ignore the look on Tyrell’s face.
“You have an independent streak,” Mr. Bernard said, grinning.
The Access-A-Ride was an hour behind schedule, and Transit Control authorized a car service ride. In a shiny black Uber, Lina and Tyrell zipped back over the bridge.
“The city wants to put more housing in Brownsville, and developers come drooling like dogs for bacon.”
As she ridiculed them, Tyrell didn’t laugh. He sucked his teeth and looked out the window.
“Look, I’m all about the community land trust and community control. But what about the financing? Where we gonna get it?”
“City grants. Bank loans.”
“The council won’t even allocate discretionary funds for BYTE at the level I’m asking. And the banks don’t want to work with small fry like us.”
Now, it was Lina who looked out the window. She was worried, for the first time, that Tyrell didn’t believe in her. He was using this nonprofit-speak these days, and they both knew she’d never incorporated any of her own organizations—the Freedom School, the Arts & Dreams Day Care. And, of course, he was right: you couldn’t erect a building foundation on barbecue fundraisers.
