Early morning, September 18, 1990, hundreds of Atlantans gathered downtown at Underground Atlanta to watch a telecast of the International Olympic Committee announcing Atlanta as site of the 1996 Olympics. The giddy celebration, at the pricey tourist center partially funded by federal funds for low-income job development, was a troubling omen for certain poor and majority-black Atlanta neighborhoods. And as the ticker-tape enthusiasm settled down to street-level planning for Olympics construction, neighborhood residents and 1996 Olympics planners realized a conflict loomed.
The Atlanta Olympics proposal included an impressive Olympic Village near the Georgia Institute for Technology downtown, but omitted that Georgia Tech abuts 75 acres of public housing plagued by drugs, crime, and residents' financial frustration. South of downtown, surrounding the proposed $150 million Olympics Stadium, lie three neighborhoods whose economic vitality has steadily eroded over the decades due in part to construction imposed on them by developers.
The private Atlanta Committee on the Olympic Games (ACOG) and its public overseer, Metropolitan Atlanta Olympic Games Authority (MAOGA), must marshall Atlanta's resources for a six-year game plan that includes a $1.5 billion budget. Most Atlantans are cheering them on. The total Olympics experience is expected to bring an estimated $4.3 billion to Georgia. Some neighborhood residents fear, however, it may be one more debilitating obstacle to economic justice.
ACOG, in order to meet its timetable and to negotiate high advertising revenues, operates under extreme secrecy. Subject to little public accountability, ACOG is able to follow paths of the least economic and political resistance. Neighborhood interests--"minutiae," according to a local magazine--get in the way. Everyone with any say-so says the Olympics should be a catalyst for neighborhood improvements; but many residents, weary of broken promises and wary of ACOG's secrecy and business connections, are skeptical. "They're making plans for us, not with us," says Horace Tribble, a resident of Techwood Homes.
Controversy over the public housing neighborhoods to be affected--Techwood and Clark Howell Homes--has drawn national media attention. Techwood, on the National Historic Register as the nation's first public housing development, and on potentially lucrative real estate, is a political hot potato. Olympic planners consider Techwood/Clark Howell a "public relations nightmare," envisioning reporters broadcasting to the world pictures of the ill-maintained apartments and frequent drug deals. Suddenly, everyone wants to revitalize (or bulldoze) this embarrassment.
Some residents fear that "revitalization" means eviction. The Atlanta public housing stock is already inadequate, and residents resent being treated like pawns in a corporate and political game. "The answers they gave us were too easy, too sweet; there were no real guarantees," a resident said, describing the meetings held by revitalization planners.
DISSENT AMONG THE residents is not unanimous. Techwood/Clark Howell tenants association president Margie Smith approves the plan proposed by a team (known as PATH) appointed by the Atlanta Housing Authority (AHA). PATH conducted resident surveys and workshops before devising the plan, which will leave only one-third of the current public housing units. In a close vote, residents of Techwood/Clark Howell and two adjacent high-rise apartment buildings for elderly people endorsed the PATH plan.
Smith believes this plan, despite the dubious motivations, is an opportunity to give Techwood/Clark Howell children better opportunities and could be a model for future public housing. "For me, it came down to this: Do I try to improve my neighborhood or leave it like it is?"
The community, if the plan is fully implemented, will be safer, more attractive, and economically diverse. Relocation plans include public and subsidized housing, and HUD requires that no public housing be lost without equal replacement. Everyone, it seems, will be taken care of.
Skeptical residents know that the two-thirds to be relocated will be at the mercy of the AHA, rated as one of the worst housing authorities in the country. "They won't fix our toilets, so why would they build us new apartments?" many ask.
The vague relocation plans involve numerous questionable contingencies, such as HUD waiving certain regulations, attainment of extra funds, and a multi-layered approval process. Residents fear they will be hoodwinked by powerful people who hold secret meetings and make grand promises to the poor.
The neighborhoods around the proposed Olympic Stadium are not all public housing and are thus less vulnerable, but the dynamic is still poor residents with little political clout trying to shape decisions that affect them. Last summer, ACOG changed the site for the Olympic tennis arena when nearby residents--middle-class and primarily white--protested. Poor neighborhoods who fear the disruption of yet another massive construction project doubt their "input" will be taken as seriously.
The largest stadium-area neighborhood, Summer Hill, has its own revitalization plan that predates Olympics planning. Neighborhood leader Douglas Dean believes that stadium construction may actually boost Summer Hill's plan. The plan--from the "belly of the neighborhood," not from outsiders, Dean says--could be a showcase for other rebuilding communities and an impressive before-and-after exhibit for Olympics visitors.
Some residents suspect Olympic planners are more skillful at creating a perception of cooperation than at actually cooperating. Ethel M. Mathews, of Atlanta Neighborhoods United for Fairness (ANUFF), believes poor black people are being pitted against each other to dilute opposition. She fears Summer Hill will be granted a few token favors to justify mistreatment of two smaller neighborhoods near the stadium--Mechanicsville and Peoplestown.
"We're not against the Olympics," Mathews says, "but we want our neighborhoods to be treated fairly. They're trying to sell us a bill of goods."
Despite the generous rhetoric and Atlanta's reputation for racial harmony, the results will come down to money and power--with an underlying racial tension. Those with no money must resort to whatever means of power they have.
REAL POWER in Atlanta is held by predominantly white business interests, with the predominantly black local government running second. The Atlanta City Council passed a resolution demanding that the total number of public housing units in Techwood/Clark Howell not be decreased, but the resolution is not legally binding. Politicians debating ACOG's private status yet enormous public impact primarily fear post-Olympics debt and taxpayer anger.
Officials publicly acknowledge that, with no legal basis, public housing will not be built in affluent white areas, although HUD requirements negate most everywhere else. Other areas may be strained further as poverty is red-lined and concentrated, out of embarrassment range.
A standing civic organization representing neighborhood interests, the Atlanta Planning and Advisory Board (APAB), has tried to influence the impact of the Olympics on both sites; but this very democratic system has repeatedly been ignored, according to APAB president Vincent Forte. "They say they want our input, but only after they've already decided what to do," Forte said.
Several Techwood residents filed suit to halt implementation of the PATH plan, alleging contract violations and voting irregularities. The prospect of a lengthy court battle could either kill improvement plans for Techwood/Clark Howell or induce Olympics leaders to modify their plans. Stadium-area neighborhoods must rely on the savvy of grassroots coalitions to piece together enough power to control their own communities.
Improvement of Olympic-area neighborhoods has become a hot topic in Atlanta, but successful Olympics development is the dominant concern. Residents of both areas, acutely aware of their problems, state clearly and practically their alternative: a stable, functional, diverse community viable for poor people over time.
Both revitalization plans include this idea, but only neighborhood residents see it as a survival issue. In Atlanta's rush to perform well in the summer of 1996, the issues vital to less visible and influential citizens may be left at the starting gate.
Jerry Gentry was a free-lance writer based in Atlanta when this article appeared.
Coveting Naboth's Vineyard
Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt attended the dedication of Techwood Homes, America's first public housing community, in 1935. "We have cleaned out antiquated, squalid dwellings," the president declared. "In their places we see bright, cheerful buildings."
The community may come full circle, as the 1996 Olympics planning has renewed interest in getting rid of Techwood Homes--a tough, crime-riddled area. Will its demise lead to an improved era of public housing, or to the enrichment of developers who have leered over this land for years?
"Reverend" Horace Tribble, a Techwood resident respected for his biblical knowledge and good works, cites the story of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 21) plotting to seize Naboth's vineyard beside Ahab's palace as a text for Techwood's plight. "All I want is justice and righteousness for my neighborhood," Tribble says. "But there's too much secret trickery going on."
Coca-Cola's headquarters on the west, Georgia Tech University to the north, a potential corridor to the financial district to the south--Techwood is a vineyard worth having. Techwood and the adjoining Clark Howell Homes, according to Tribble, could be a convenient, functional place for low-income residents if maintained and improved appropriately. Or it could be a valuable prize for developers.
Whether confronting the deadly drug culture or exhausting economic injustice, living poor in Atlanta is hard. Tribble hopes the city takes to heart Elijah's words to Ahab: "I have found you, because you have sold yourself to do what is evil in the sight of the Lord."
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