OPINION
Page 6 n THE ASIAN REPORTER
June 19, 2017
Volume 27 Number 12
June 19, 2017
ISSN: 1094-9453
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MY TURN
n Dmae Roberts
Changing neighborhoods,
changing city
knew something was up when Richard, my
husband, spotted two people taking photos of
my next-door neighbor’s house.
“I think they’re realtors,” he said.
The next day, a “For Sale” sign went up in the
front yard.
Over the past few years, we’ve become
accustomed to realtors canvassing our southeast
Portland neighborhood trying to locate people open
to selling their home. We receive several fake
personalized letters and postcards in cursive print
each week from “independent” citizens who claim to
have “passed by” and fell in love with our house.
I bought my home in 1991 when I was single. It
cost $45,000. It was a struggle to get the down
payment together, but I did it. Even though a
30-year mortgage freaked me out, I was tired of
spending money on rent, so I found the perfect small
home I could afford. At least this way, I reasoned, I’d
have something called “equity.” Richard and I didn’t
marry until the latter part of the ’90s. He too was a
homeowner when we merged our lives and incomes.
Years later we paid off our mortgages.
Before marrying Richard, I didn’t get along with
my next-door neighbors. I was a single woman
living next to a traditional Greek family. Our
cultures and my single status didn’t mix. But that
changed after I got married. We became amicable
and respectful to each other, reaching a détente of
sorts over past misunderstandings. Even though we
may have had difficulties, I loved having a diverse
neighborhood.
When I spoke with my neighbor, she confirmed
what I’ve heard from many people. Now that they’re
older and their kids have families of their own, they
want to downsize and simplify their lives by moving
into a smaller place closer to their children.
I hugged her and told her I understood. Yet I still
felt some grief, not just about losing my neighbors,
but also about how my neighborhood — and my city
I
— has changed during the last 10 years. So much so
I don’t recognize much of Portland’s cityscape
nowadays.
Portland had a few tall buildings when I moved
here. Now when I drive over the Marquam Bridge, I
see dozens of high-rise buildings and more of them
are being built throughout the downtown and south
waterfront areas.
Neighborhoods, including mine, are becoming
lined with three-story row houses. It feels like just
about every block in Portland is undergoing some
type of construction. Anytime someone sells a home
or a precious vacant lot, row houses go up, or four- to
five-story condominiums, without parking. In an
effort to encourage residents to use public
transportation, neighborhoods like mine have
turned into bumper-to-bumper cars because now
there are few driveways or garages for them.
I have little doubt when my Greek neighbor’s
house sells, it will be bought by one of the more
affluent white people moving into neighborhoods,
who frequently displace people of color. One only
has to walk to north Portland — in particular the
Mississippi and Alberta areas — to see the dramatic
impact gentrification has had on the once vibrant
African-American community. When people of color
have moved out of my neighborhood, usually a
wealthier white resident has replaced them.
It took years for me and my neighbors to navigate
our proximity to become good and respectful
neighbors. I watched their children grow up and
saw them visit with their own children. I can’t help
but feel I’m losing a family member, perhaps not a
close one emotionally, but certainly close in
location.
I hope we get along well with our new neighbors.
But lately, Richard and I too have been thinking
about leaving, not just this neighborhood, but
Portland itself, as it becomes more crowded, less
diverse, and increasingly unrecognizable each day.
Opinions expressed in this newspaper are those of the authors and not necessarily those of this publication.