Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City

by Matthew Desmond

Rents continued to rise. Arleen’s next apartment took $600 of her $628 monthly check. It was only a matter of time before her lights were shut off. When that finally happened, Jori went to live with Larry, and Child Protective Services placed Jafaris with Arleen’s sister. Arleen began to unravel. “Just my soul is messed up,” she said. “Sometimes I find my body trembling or shaking. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. I’m fitting to have a nervous breakdown. My body is trying to shut down.” Arleen stood back up. She borrowed money from her aunt Merva to get her lights back on, and her boys came back. She took another apartment on Tamarack Street, near Tabernacle Community Baptist Church. This apartment had no stove or refrigerator, but they boiled hot dogs in a crockpot or went to St. Ben’s to eat beef stroganoff with the winos. Sometimes Arleen would head out to a food pantry and Jafaris would ask, “Will you get me some cakes, Momma?” Arleen would smile and say, “You know I’ll try if they have them.” Jori had been thinking about his future. He wanted to become a carpenter so he could build Arleen a house. “People be not thinking that I can do this. But you watch,” he said. Arleen smiled at Jori. “I wish my life were different,” she said. “I wish that when I be an old lady, I can sit back and look at my kids. And they be grown. And they, you know, become something. Something more than me. And we’ll all be together, and be laughing. We be remembering stuff like this and be laughin...