Relocation in Harlem: One Tenant’s NEP Experience
By Roselene Dolce

Last month, Harlem tenant Roselene Dolce told how she was forced out of the city-owned abandoned building she lived in. This month’s installment tells what happened when she moved into a Neighborhood Entrepreneurs Program building—part of the Giuliani administration’s efforts to turn city-owned property over to private landlords—while waiting for her old building to be renovated.

In 1997-98, I spent 14 months at 47-49 West 129th St. before being relocated back to my old apartment on West 130th Street. The 24-unit building was a lot bigger than the eight-apartment one I had lived in for 12 years. After living without water for nearly two months, seeing running water again was very emotional for me. Being able to flush the toilet, wash my face, drink a glass of water, take a bath, cook something to eat, brush my teeth, wash dishes, whatever you do with water, was just overwhelming. Tears came to my eyes. I could not believe I survived that ordeal.

Living there was strange and uncomfortable. I did not know anybody except the other tenant who was also relocated in that same building. The block had many abandoned buildings and the street was always filthy. Young and old men who had nothing to do would hang out 24 hours a day. I felt intimidated when I would walk down the street to go to work and school. Drug dealers and users were everywhere in my building and the others on the block. I did not feel safe even inside my apartment. There were always people sitting on the stairway smoking crack cocaine and using other drugs, inches from my door. I would look out my peephole at any hour of the day or night and there they were, men and women getting high. Some of them lived in the building. A few times I would click the locks pretending I was coming out; however, they did not care. Then one day I came home from work and saw scratches on my door saying “fuck you.” I was scared and shaking. I thought about calling the police many times, but I don’t know what would have happened to me if I had.

I was ashamed to go in and out of the building because of the drug trafficking. The conditions were so bad that I did not want people to see where I lived. Most of the times when I went out or came in, there would be five to eight people standing in line in the entrance doors buying drugs. There were always one or two dealers waiting for the addicts inside, while a companion would stand outside as a lookout for police. It was definitely moving from one dump to another.

My biggest fear was that if there ever was a drug raid by police and I just happened to be walking in or out, who would say I was not one of the drug people? I was very vulnerable and angry at those criminals. I would stay locked inside my apartment unless I really had to go out. It took them a couple of months to realize I would not stoop to their level. Whenever they saw me coming or going, they would say to their customers, “move out of the way, let the lady pass.” However, the new arrivals sometimes thought that I was coming in to purchase drugs. I would angrily say to them that I was not one of their crackheads.

I had been living there less than three days when the mailbox was broken into. I knocked on the super’s door, and he fixed it the next day. He was not surprised, because crime and vandalism were common. I never saw him try to say or do anything about the drug dealers and users. Maybe he feared retaliation. Every morning he would sweep and mop the stairways, yet the vandals would litter and urinate in the halls. On three separate occasions, I saw blood trails in the hallway, leading to the street. Stabbings and shootings were also common. I felt sorry for the children living in the building. How could we expect them to listen to their parents saying drugs are bad, when they were witnessing young men and women counting large sums of money without having to go to work?

Despite the awful conditions, I hung in there. I became a stronger person. I had to make sure that the new landlord who took over my old building moved me back in after it was renovated into a decent place to live. With the help of a caring friend and Action for Community Empowerment, we were able to make it happen. We wrote letters, we held meetings, we got the politicians involved, we made phone calls, and thankfully we got some positive results.

I had endured a great deal over the last 12 years. I deserve to have this new place, which is now beautiful. Finally, a building that I’m not ashamed of.

There are still some disagreements regarding the Neighborhood Entrepreneurs Program (NEP) policy. Because of poor management, the new mailbox was not taken care of for six weeks, so I had to pick up my mail at the Post Office. The heating system was making so much noise that I could not sleep without being startled every half hour. NEP landlords have a tendency not to give tenants documents in writing. And when they do, they give them to you at the last minute, expecting your signature without giving you the time to read what you are signing—and sometimes the copies are so poor that you cannot read them. I had to go all the way to the Bronx to pick up my lease and other documents at the landlord’s office, six weeks after I had signed them. The landlord had still not signed the lease. I had to wait another three weeks before receiving it in the mail, after several phone calls to the office.

The bottom line is that the NEP, NRP and Central Management programs are not what their directors are making them out to be. Some tenants have been living in their apartments for decades, yet they are being displaced or pushed out in the streets. We have been harassed, threatened, and disrespected by landlords whose goal is to kick us out in order to rent the apartments at market rates. They are getting away with this because they think people in Harlem are not going to stand up and fight. We have to realize that we have more power than we think we do. We are not going to be treated fairly if we ourselves don’t expect to be. Organization is the key. I learned a lot during the last three years. One of the lessons was standing up for my rights. I have suffered indescribable hardships. However, I have survived and am still fighting.