Vaulting the walls of NIMBY.
The Turkish woman on the BBC news program was being asked for her views about Greek refugees: 'Of course we feel sorry for them,' she said, 'They must be placed in safe camps and taken care of. But the camps must be far away from here.'
In other words, sure we must help them - but Not In My Back Yard.
If I want to know more than the latest weather Armageddon, or the most recent outburst from an orange-haired politician bloviating about building walls against Mexico, I need to watch a wider world than the one offered by U.S. network news. Generally speaking, American news channels seem indifferent to the suffering of refugees and migrants 'over there.' Hailstorms in north Texas are more newsworthy.
But this post is not about the sad state of Syria or the gross ineptitude of the European Union. Or even the news criteria of FOX, NBC, ABC or CBS. Adopting the parochialism of the networks, what I want to risk boring you with is happening in my back yard, less than a mile away.
The Hamptons boasts a hamlet, Sagaponack, that is said to be the richest zip code in the United States. A tiny number of 'one percenters' (I'm not one of them) live full time in these coastal towns but the majority of these Midases live or rent here only during the months of June, July and August. For nine months of the year, their huge houses stand bereft of life, monuments to the emptiness of avarice.
Despite their physical absence, these hedge funders, tax inverters, offshore bankers, movie stars and entrepreneurs do need service staff to maintain their properties, inside and out, throughout the year. The town of East Hampton, which is the epicenter of this Shangri-La, and its satellite hamlets also needs teachers, emergency medical staff, fire fighters, policemen and laborers.
Here's the problem: Despite the huge houses standing empty on half-acre lots, the Hamptons municipalities are not able to offer housing that's affordable for the kind of full time workers they need. So these less privileged folks commute daily from less affluent areas. Until now.
The town authority owns a piece of land on the Amagansett highway where it plans to build 40 apartments. The housing will be priced at a level affordable for low and mid-income people (the median household income in the U.S. is currently $52,000 p.a., a shocking 8% lower than it was in 2007.) The biggest outcry against the 'affordable' plan comes from the local school; the board is concerned that an influx of new children will compromise the quality of education they offer. Canute-like, Amagansett School resists what is, in their hamlet, a microcosm of the changing demography of America. Their complaints would more credible if it weren't for the fact that the current population per class is so low: 7. Yes, seven children per class. So the school board and parents appoint a consultant to tell them what they want to hear. Trapped in a redundant paradigm, they present his recommendations to support their cry of 'not in my back yard!'
Other concerns raised by the construction of affordable housing are the anticipated effects on security, traffic, and property taxes. And there are more 'Chicken Little' reactions when the parents talk about the future impact when these young pupils move on to high school.
Dig under these protests, though, and you may find the kind of emotions that are roiling much of America as the nation heads towards the presidential election in November. Here's an example:
The other evening I raised the issue of affordable housing with a local builder. Let's call him Bob. He's a man who has spent his whole life in the town. This the dialogue that ensued:
Bob: 'Well, you know who'll be living there. They won't be speaking English. And sure as hell I'm not going to learn Spanish!'
Me: 'Well, if we give these new kids a decent education, they'll soon learn to speak English.'
Bob: 'It'll put up our taxes. Look, I have my own businesses and some of these people work for me, and they're mostly hard workers. But the other day, I borrowed the car of one of my guys. He'd left a banking slip on the dashboard, and do you know how much he has in his bank account? Thirty-eight thousand freakin' dollars!'
Me: 'Well, he earned it. He didn't steal it.'
Bob: 'Look, I don't have thirty-eight thousand freakin' dollars! You know why? 'Cos they're frugal. They live on bean's 'n stuff. You don't see them out spending their money, like we're doing tonight.'
Me: 'I think it's a cultural thing. The Latinos are very family oriented and they send money home.'
But Bob the builder - living in a country turning browner and more diverse by the day - had made up his mind. He wants 'these people' to work for him; and the parents want 'these people' to clean their houses and mow their lawns. And go home. Heaven forbid they be allowed to live here and have their children educated at the local school.
The American dream may be fading but it seems that the price of entry needs to be kept high.
BCJ
Amagansett, NY
April 2016
The Hamptons boasts a hamlet, Sagaponack, that is said to be the richest zip code in the United States. A tiny number of 'one percenters' (I'm not one of them) live full time in these coastal towns but the majority of these Midases live or rent here only during the months of June, July and August. For nine months of the year, their huge houses stand bereft of life, monuments to the emptiness of avarice.
Despite their physical absence, these hedge funders, tax inverters, offshore bankers, movie stars and entrepreneurs do need service staff to maintain their properties, inside and out, throughout the year. The town of East Hampton, which is the epicenter of this Shangri-La, and its satellite hamlets also needs teachers, emergency medical staff, fire fighters, policemen and laborers.
Here's the problem: Despite the huge houses standing empty on half-acre lots, the Hamptons municipalities are not able to offer housing that's affordable for the kind of full time workers they need. So these less privileged folks commute daily from less affluent areas. Until now.
The town authority owns a piece of land on the Amagansett highway where it plans to build 40 apartments. The housing will be priced at a level affordable for low and mid-income people (the median household income in the U.S. is currently $52,000 p.a., a shocking 8% lower than it was in 2007.) The biggest outcry against the 'affordable' plan comes from the local school; the board is concerned that an influx of new children will compromise the quality of education they offer. Canute-like, Amagansett School resists what is, in their hamlet, a microcosm of the changing demography of America. Their complaints would more credible if it weren't for the fact that the current population per class is so low: 7. Yes, seven children per class. So the school board and parents appoint a consultant to tell them what they want to hear. Trapped in a redundant paradigm, they present his recommendations to support their cry of 'not in my back yard!'
Other concerns raised by the construction of affordable housing are the anticipated effects on security, traffic, and property taxes. And there are more 'Chicken Little' reactions when the parents talk about the future impact when these young pupils move on to high school.
Dig under these protests, though, and you may find the kind of emotions that are roiling much of America as the nation heads towards the presidential election in November. Here's an example:
The other evening I raised the issue of affordable housing with a local builder. Let's call him Bob. He's a man who has spent his whole life in the town. This the dialogue that ensued:
Bob: 'Well, you know who'll be living there. They won't be speaking English. And sure as hell I'm not going to learn Spanish!'
Me: 'Well, if we give these new kids a decent education, they'll soon learn to speak English.'
Bob: 'It'll put up our taxes. Look, I have my own businesses and some of these people work for me, and they're mostly hard workers. But the other day, I borrowed the car of one of my guys. He'd left a banking slip on the dashboard, and do you know how much he has in his bank account? Thirty-eight thousand freakin' dollars!'
Me: 'Well, he earned it. He didn't steal it.'
Bob: 'Look, I don't have thirty-eight thousand freakin' dollars! You know why? 'Cos they're frugal. They live on bean's 'n stuff. You don't see them out spending their money, like we're doing tonight.'
Me: 'I think it's a cultural thing. The Latinos are very family oriented and they send money home.'
But Bob the builder - living in a country turning browner and more diverse by the day - had made up his mind. He wants 'these people' to work for him; and the parents want 'these people' to clean their houses and mow their lawns. And go home. Heaven forbid they be allowed to live here and have their children educated at the local school.
The American dream may be fading but it seems that the price of entry needs to be kept high.
BCJ
Amagansett, NY
April 2016
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