Jose Parra first noticed things were changing in the neighborhood when the local musicians weren’t showing up for dinner at his family’s restaurant. For the last 17 years his mom has run El Apetito in Boyle Heights, a historic Mexican-American neighborhood in Los Angeles.
“[The tables] used to be full of mariachis, norteños,” said Parra. “They’re still here, but not like before.”
Parra also lives in this building with his mom and grandmother, and one day last fall, they received a letter from their landlord. The building owner had permits to demolish all three apartments and five businesses. It would be replaced by a 50 unit apartment building and commercial tenants. Parra’s mom Rosa Garcia feared the worst.
“Los Angeles is full of people who live on the streets,” said Garcia in Spanish. “We could be more of those people. Because the whole family depends on this place.”
The building also is home to Re/Arte Centro Literario, an independent, bilingual bookstore. The owner, Viva Padilla points out that the whole neighborhood would change if the building comes down.
“Small businesses are what makes a community what it is,” said Padilla. In addition to El Apetito’s 53 years in the community, she points to the block’s long-time panaderia and check cashing place. “This is what keeps us fed [and] connected to the community.”
Often there isn’t much tenants can do to change a developer’s plans. And for the past year the building’s tenants have stared down the kind of change that can push working-class people out of big cities, and transform the character of neighborhoods. But in this case, these tenants have used the city’s own processes to fight back — and scored some victories.
The City of LA has an appeals process. Padilla filed one with the argument that the demolition and replacement building would gentrify the neighborhood.
The owner of the property, Will Tiao, said he is not trying to displace Boyle Heights tenants or erase the community’s culture. “This neighborhood is changing. We want to be part and parcel of that change,” said Tiao.
Tiao and his wife bought the building four years ago. He’s been buying and managing real estate in Boyle Heights for more than a decade, and joining neighborhood organizations like the local Boys & Girls Club along the way.
“I think that there are ways to make things change that are inclusive, and that’s what we’re trying to be,” said Tiao.
For instance, five of the 50 units will be very low-income apartments, and current residents would have first right of return. To keep the commercial rent lower, the first floor would be an airy open marketplace with vendor stalls.
Earlier this year, the city heard the appeal. Tenants argued that the displacement would have a negative mental health impact on the neighborhood, and ultimately, the city agreed. Padilla’s gentrification argument actually worked and, for now, the building can’t be demolished. “It’s crazy to think that it happened,” said Padilla. “I’m still processing.”
It’s not a done deal though. California law says there has to be a measurable public health or safety issue to stop new housing projects. Gentrification and displacement don’t quite reach the threshold when there’s a housing crisis in LA. And so Will Tiao’s company sued the City of LA to keep the project alive, and the case is still in court.
California is invested in building more housing with developers like Tiao. After all, his plan is to demolish a single building with three apartments, and replace it with another that has 50 apartments.
“The idea is that the more supply you have, the lower the rents are for everybody else,” said Tiao. “Our hope is that it actually makes the area more affordable.”
Still all of this is leaving the actual current tenants like Rosa Garcia in limbo. If Garcia lost the apartment because of a demolition, local laws say her family would be entitled to at least $8,662 in relocation assistance. But she said it would be difficult to find another apartment with the below market rate she currently pays. These days the average rent in the neighborhood costs $2,300 a month.
“This daily stress needs to stop because it isn’t life. You’re not really living,” said Garcia. “The pressure grabs hold of you because you say, ‘What’s going to happen when tomorrow comes?'”
